Chapter Four: Strategy for Winning Over the Eminent

To become a renowned scholar, one must first understand what constitutes such a figure. These individuals, sometimes called “famous gentlemen,” are simply those who enjoy a considerable reputation but have not yet entered officialdom; more broadly, the term refers to anyone of notable standing.

Before the Yellow Turban Rebellion, such notoriety was not highly valued, for the paths to official positions were firmly controlled by powerful families and the eunuchs known as the Ten Attendants. No matter how celebrated one was, it made little difference. Yet, after the Yellow Turbans were crushed and the land split into competing warlords, the true worth of a famed scholar became apparent.

For a warlord carving out a domain, the presence or absence of advisors was a decisive matter. In the early days of these struggles, warlords like Yuan Shao and Cao Cao, who possessed both able generals and wise counselors, saw their power expand swiftly. In contrast, Liu Bei, though he had his share of soldiers and commanders, lacked strategic minds and found himself battered and driven from place to place, often unable even to look after his wife.

It was only after his famed three visits to the thatched cottage, when he finally enlisted the genius of Zhuge Liang, that Liu Bei could turn his fortunes around and gradually establish himself as the master of Shu. Thus, the importance of a capable advisor to a warlord cannot be overstated.

Throughout the Three Kingdoms era, every warlord with any ability placed tremendous value on his strategists. Whether or not he had his own ideas, he would always consult his advisors before making decisions, as a gesture of respect.

As for the advisors themselves, they neither needed to fight on the front lines nor offer solutions to every dilemma. If they had no idea, they simply kept silent; whenever they did provide counsel, and if their advice was heeded and led to victory, rewards swiftly followed. It was a low-risk, high-reward path.

However, to secure such a stable and lucrative position, ability was essential, but reputation was even more crucial—perhaps the most important thing of all! Without fame, could one even be called a renowned scholar? What warlord would entrust his fate to an unknown?

Herein lies the question: how does one become such a figure?

According to the prevailing views of the time, the first step is to study. The famed scholars of the Eastern Han were all learned men, so to join their ranks, one must first be accepted among the literati. To be recognized as such, it was essential to be well-versed in the Six Classics—Poetry, Documents, Rites, Music, Changes, and Spring and Autumn Annals. Without mastery of these, one could not even mingle with the scholarly circles, let alone forge alliances.

Yet mastering so many works was no simple task. The time and effort required were formidable, and simply finding a good teacher could be a major challenge, fraught with obstacles.

At this thought, Xu Kang frowned and clicked his tongue.

“Bah… I’m not afraid of the difficulty of study, but I dislike joining cliques. I prefer to go my own way. Yes… that’s what I’ll do!”

Having made up his mind, Xu Kang turned to his next problem: how could he achieve fame on his own terms?

Should he, like Zhuge Liang, retreat into seclusion?

That was clearly not an option! After all, Zhuge Liang was part of a close-knit circle of famous friends; even in seclusion, he was promoted by others. Without that, Liu Bei would never have heard of the “Sleeping Dragon,” let alone sought him out three times.

Guo Jia, too, was recommended to Cao Cao by Xun Yu after the death of Xi Zhicai. Most other advisors found their positions through similar channels. As the old saying goes, “A fence needs three stakes, a hero needs three friends.” The benefits of forming alliances among the learned were evident.

Still, this did nothing to shake Xu Kang’s resolve to go it alone. He began to ponder more carefully.

“By today’s standards, scholars are supposed to be both virtuous and talented. But I know nothing of military strategy or politics. That means my reputation must shine!”

In later ages, a good reputation was admirable but not essential to one’s fortunes. Not so in the Eastern Han. In this era, reputation was everything; a tarnished name could spell the end of one’s prospects—or even one’s life!

Take Kong Rong, one of the “Seven Masters of Jian’an,” for example. As a descendant of Confucius, he could have lived as he pleased, but a single careless remark brought disaster upon him. His words went something like this:

“What bond is there between father and son? At its root, it is but the product of passion and desire. And between mother and child? It is like storing something in a clay jar—once removed, there is no longer any connection.”

Even in later times, such views would provoke outrage, let alone in Han China, where filial piety governed society. Cao Cao, already annoyed by Kong Rong’s sharp tongue, didn’t hesitate to execute him for “unfilial conduct” and “disgracing the sage.”

Truly, disaster springs from the tongue.

Liu Bei, on the other hand, was the opposite. He understood how to cultivate his reputation. Thanks to his renown for benevolence and righteousness, talented people flocked to him; even while fleeing, common folk willingly followed. This solid foundation among the people paved the way for his future rule in Shu.

Clearly, reputation was invaluable in this era.

With Liu Bei as his guide, Xu Kang found his direction. He resolved to make “benevolence and righteousness” his own signature.

The thought brought a broad grin to his face.

“Heh, if I’m going to champion virtue and morality, I need a fitting courtesy name! Look at Cao Cao and Liu Bei—Mengde and Xuande. I should pick something with ‘De’ as well!”

A courtesy name, or “zi,” is a name given in addition to one's given name, often reflecting one’s character or the meaning of the original name. In this era, it was impolite to address adults by their given names, so a courtesy name made social interaction easier.

As Xu Kang had not yet come of age in this new life, he did not have a courtesy name, but there was nothing stopping him from choosing one early. After a short while, he settled on one he liked.

“I’ve got it! What I value most is winning others over through virtue. My courtesy name shall be ‘Yi De’—Xu Kang, styled Yi De… Xu Yi De. Not bad, not bad!”

With his new name chosen, Xu Kang felt invigorated. Wide awake, he opened the door, sat on the high threshold, and gazed up at the bright moon, pondering deeply.

“What should I do? What must I accomplish to become a great and admired scholar?”

These three questions were far harder than the last. Xu Kang thought long and hard, but found no answer, and eventually drifted off, slumped against the doorframe.

He was awakened by a commotion.

“Mother, don’t stop me. That corrupt official is deliberately making trouble for us! Today I’ll show him what’s what!”

“You wretch, stop right there! Are you even listening to your mother?”

“No, mother, please listen to me…”

Hearing the ruckus upon waking, Xu Kang felt as if he had grasped something. He frowned, murmuring to himself.

“Corrupt official… scholar… corrupt official… to become an official? Should I become an official first?”

At this, Xu Kang’s eyes flew wide open. The problem that had troubled him all night was suddenly solved, and his heart felt light and clear.

He could not help but burst out laughing.

“Hahaha! How foolish I’ve been! All this time, I thought I needed to become a scholar before I could become an official, when in fact, becoming an official first is the best way. As an official, would I not quickly gain fame? Hahaha…”