Chapter Thirty-Eight: Taiyi and Zhongnan, Clouds Stir in All Directions (Part One) — An Explosion

“Kneel.”

Xu Yanbo obediently knelt.

“These past two days, you haven’t come home. Where have you been fooling around?”

“Grandfather, I only accompanied a few friends on a trip to Zhongnan Mountain.”

“You didn’t go to the Duke of Zhou’s residence?”

“No.”

“From now on, you’re not allowed to go there even once.”

“Why?”

“You still ask me why?” Xu Jingzong finally lost his temper, rage flashing across his face. “I told you to distance yourself from the Crown Prince, not to help Wu Minzhi humiliate him! You are a minister, the Crown Prince is the heir apparent, governing Chang’an in the emperor’s stead. What right do you have to insult the Crown Prince?”

“I didn’t, I just stopped him from hitting the Duke of Zhou again.”

“Before the Crown Prince struck Wu Minzhi, did you speak up for him? Did you?!”

“I did say a few words. But Grandfather, didn’t you also say the Crown Prince wouldn’t last much longer?”

“Not necessarily,” Xu Jingzong mused, recalling his conversation with the Crown Prince. For once, he’d truly misjudged. “Has any word come from Luoyang?”

“No, but then why did you do this?” Xu Jingzong’s anger flared again. “Imperial favor is unpredictable. Have you not seen the fall of the Changsun clan, or the Fang family? Look at Li Yifu! I’ve walked a path of thin ice to get here, working diligently until these old bones are worn out. And look at you!”

In truth, Xu Yanbo had regretted it too. At the time, grateful for Helan Minzhi’s help, he’d stepped in impulsively. As things unfolded, he realized he’d been reckless, and, fearing his grandfather’s wrath, he’d gathered some friends and fled to Zhongnan Mountain. But in the end, the ugly bride must face her parents-in-law.

Bowing his head to the floor, he said, “I was wrong.”

“More than wrong! Do you know how many headaches you’ve caused me these two days, trying to clean up your mess?” With that, he grabbed the feather duster and began to beat him.

Xu Yanbo didn’t dare resist his grandfather—remembering his own father’s fate. Over a mere serving girl, he’d been banished to Lingnan. Once the beating was over, Xu Jingzong commanded, “For the next few days, you are to stay in this house and go nowhere. Step a foot outside, and I’ll break your legs!”

“Yes,” Xu Yanbo replied, enduring the pain, meek as could be.

“Go.”

Xu Yanbo withdrew. Xu Jingzong sat, staring blankly out the window at the night. A candle flickered, snapping him from his reverie. He called, “Attend me.”

...

“Beyond the border, autumn comes, the wind brings change...”

A courtesan was singing “Song of the Fisherman’s Pride.” She was a beauty, her singing voice as sweet as an oriole’s call. Yet her coy, delicate tone grated on Liu Rengui’s ears.

A song meant to stir the blood, she rendered as soft as water, sweeter than honey. If not for his strong constitution, Liu Rengui might have spat out his wine and meat right then.

He waved her away. “You may go.”

Liu Rengui could endure no more.

If she kept singing, even his appetite for food and drink would vanish.

The other officials at the table stifled laughter behind their hands. The chief clerk beside him remarked, “General Liu, Longzhou is not the capital—our courtesans can’t compare.”

“No matter. I was only seeking a little diversion. But while we drink, let’s not let down our guard.”

“Yes, sir!” they replied in unison.

After the debacle at Dafichuan last September, winter had descended, and the border had remained relatively quiet these past months. Yet something Li Wei had half-said the other day made Liu Rengui suddenly see things clearly. The Tibetans had lost their advantage by descending to the plains, and, wary of the Tang—even with the drought in Guanzhong—they were unlikely to risk marching east.

But water has no fixed shape, armies have no constant formation. In war, one need not always act by reason—as Han Xin once fought with his back to the river. So, come spring, the court had immediately redeployed troops along the border.

Longzhou was somewhat distant from the front, but it was the vital gateway to Chang’an, with terrain radiating south to Qinwu, southwest to Hedan, and west to Lanliang. It protected the capital, and if the Tibetans marched north or east, Longzhou would have to respond at once. That was why the court had recalled Liu Rengui to take command here. On arrival, he set about restoring discipline and training the troops. The officials beneath him dared not slacken.

Just then, a guard came in with a report. “News from the capital.”

“Let him in.”

The courier entered, saluted, and presented the official dispatch. Liu Rengui tore it open, and, reading, his anger flared. He ripped the dispatch and flung it to the floor.

Since arriving in Longzhou, the troops had posed no great problem; the real issue was provisions. With the court increasing frontier forces, Longzhou was one of the main supply routes. Jiang Ke had been promoted to Left Minister, and as yet no one had been appointed in charge of the northwest—some soldiers were stranded here, making provisions ever more strained.

The last time Liu Rengui returned to the capital was partly to discuss the Tibetan threat, but also to plead for more supplies. He received a small allocation, but it was far from enough. Skipping over the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue, he went straight to the central administrative officials. Most of those left in Chang’an now had some connection to the Crown Prince, but at last he found Li Jingxuan. As Deputy Minister of the Secretariat, Li Jingxuan was also the Crown Prince’s Right Attendant; Liu Rengui was the Left. He had always spoken highly of the Crown Prince, hoping to use this connection to get more rations.

But Li Jingxuan replied with a long list of difficulties, and refused to spare even a scrap.

The chief clerk picked up the letter, read it, and frowned. Difficulties surely existed, but this was not Chang’an. If soldiers went hungry and discipline broke, disaster could result. Still, he was a minor official, nothing compared to Liu Rengui or Li Jingxuan, so he dared not speak up.

Suddenly Liu Rengui said, “Prepare my horse.”

“General Liu, why at this hour?”

“I’m returning to Chang’an.”

“But it’s late, and even if you arrive, the Cold Food Festival is upon us. All officials are on leave.”

Longzhou was just under five hundred li from Chang’an. Riding hard, he could reach the city by mid-morning. Of course, it would be exhausting, and officials wouldn’t resume work until the day after next. There seemed no need for such haste.

“Precisely because of the timing. With three days’ leave, affairs will pile up, and when business resumes, everything must be scheduled at once. By then, even rations may have been allocated, making them even harder to obtain.” With that, he donned his armor and mounted.

The other officials dared not stop him, and could only watch as he and a few guards rode off into the night.

...

Inside the Xiangxiang Pavilion, a quiet little building, a vase of flowers stood in the upstairs room, beside which sat two young women.

The flowers were beautiful, but beside the two lovely girls, they seemed to blush and shrink away.

They sat in silence for a long time. At last, Xiangxue asked, “What do you think of that man?”

“I’m not sure. I only heard he’s fifty-two this year, with several wives and concubines at home, but treats Guiyan well. So Guiyan made do and let him buy her freedom.”

Another silence. The three of them had once been famed throughout Chang’an, and were close friends. Since Helan had taken Guiyan’s virginity, her reputation had collapsed—not that this was the worst of it. Some patrons reasoned that, since she was no longer pure, why should she be reserved? As her fame faded, so did her business. The brothel madams turned cold, and some wealthy clients, having paid dearly, forced Guiyan to spend the night with them.

But one’s character is not changed by the loss of chastity. Having guarded her virtue so many years, Guiyan refused. Life at the Lihun Pavilion grew ever harder. The other courtesans, seeing her fall, mocked and scorned her all the more.

In despair, she let a merchant from Yangzhou buy her out.

Hualiu spoke again. “What if the Duke of Zhou summons us? What then?”

They had their own protectors behind the scenes, but that did not mean they were untouchable. In the capital, there were still powerful men capable of taking them by force. Yet, being so renowned in Chang’an, these men, even if they coveted them, would not publicly commit such vulgar acts.

But Helan Minzhi cared nothing for appearances. What did it matter who stood behind them? Who would truly risk clashing with Helan Minzhi over a courtesan?

“We’ll take each day as it comes,” Xiangxue said, shivering. If she ever ended up like Guiyan, a concubine to some merchant in his fifties—children or not, her offspring would have no standing—what then?

Proud by nature, she shuddered at the thought. If it came to that, death would be preferable.

It wasn’t impossible. Their fame in Chang’an was too great; sooner or later, Helan Minzhi would come for them.

“At my birth there was no purpose, and after my birth the Han dynasty declined. Heaven is unkind, sending war and chaos; earth is unkind, making me live in such times... Heaven and earth apart—my father west, my mother east; my sorrow fills the long sky. The world is torn, and I am not allowed to belong.”

In a low voice, she sang lines from Cai Yan’s “Eighteen Songs of a Nomad Flute.” Though their lives and circumstances differed, their suffering was the same.

“Sister Xue, I’m worried. Perhaps I should find someone suitable to marry tomorrow, to avoid Guiyan’s fate,” Hualiu said when the song ended.

“Perhaps the Duke of Zhou will forget about us, and we needn’t be ruined,” Xiangxue replied, trying to comfort her.

Silence fell again.

Not only Xiangxue, but Hualiu too was proud. As beautiful and gifted as Xiangxue, though in different arts—Xiangxue excelled at the zither and poetry, while Hualiu was skilled at painting and calligraphy. Yan Liben himself had once seen her work and sighed, “What a pity she’s a woman, else I would have taught her myself.”

A woman—that was the polite way of saying it. The real pity was that she was a courtesan.

To be noticed by Yan Liben spoke volumes for her talent.

“Perhaps heaven will leave a path. At least, compared to the starving peasants outside the city, we’re still lucky,” Xiangxue said.

By such measure, it was true—they were fortunate. In their youth and beauty, even as a merchant’s concubine, they might have some years of affection. But could either truly resign herself to such a fate?

Just then, the door burst open. The madam hurried in, exclaiming, “Bad news! The Duke of Zhou has sent for you to attend a banquet at his residence.”

PS: Here comes the first big update. No empty promises—just solid updates for your votes.