Chapter Eleven: The Banquet of Unbridled Joy

Li Residence, Yanxing Lane. After hearing the report from the servant sent by Magistrate Xie, Li Yu smashed the precious Yue kiln celadon tea bowl in his hand to pieces. For a long moment, he could not utter a single word—yet the smile on his face only grew wider.

The servant, kneeling on the floor, kept banging his head in terror. He had long heard that this son of the Prime Minister was notorious for feeding people to the dogs, and his face was pale with soul-crushing fear.

The master of the Li family’s Yangzhou villa was a man past forty, a seasoned steward who had served Li Linfu for over a decade—rising from a minor advisor to the chief manager of Li’s holdings in Yangzhou. He was not particularly afraid of the young man he had once carried as a child, and sneered with a tone neither warm nor cold: “Young master, you are still young. Though our Li family is vast and powerful, we cannot execute that boy in the county hall. He is the son of Yu Jia’ao. Years ago, Sword Saint Pei Wen lost half a move to Yu Jia’ao and vowed that whoever dared kill Yu Jia’ao’s only son, he would personally hunt them down to the ends of the earth and annihilate their entire clan.”

Li Yu smiled, “So it seems, Manager Zhang, you’ve long known that young Yu Lang is Yu Jia’ao’s sole heir. Yet you never thought to warn me? Would you rather see the Li family destroyed by the Sword Saint?”

Manager Zhang hastily replied, “Never would I dare, young master!” He bowed, maintaining a measured tone. “I am loyal to the Li family, but I know very well the young master cannot kill Yu Lang.”

“Oh?” Li Yu’s face was full of curiosity. “I am counted among the finest of Chang’an’s young generation—how could I not kill a mere twelve-year-old boy?”

Manager Zhang took a sip of tea and sighed, “Because he is Yu Jia’ao’s son. The master and I have contended with Yu Jia’ao for more than a decade, never once gaining the upper hand. The tiger fathers no dog sons.”

Li Yu scoffed, “That’s because you two are incompetent. If Yu Jia’ao hadn’t died young, I would have relished a proper duel with him!”

Having vented his anger, Li Yu waved dismissively at the trembling servant. “Go back and tell your master Xie that the Li residence owes him a favor. Try to keep Zhang Jiuling’s eight bodyguards locked up in the county jail for as long as possible. When the matter is settled, he will be handsomely rewarded.”

The servant carefully memorized Li Yu’s words, thanked him profusely, and hurried out.

Manager Zhang advised, “Young master, perhaps you should wait a few days—strike when Zhang Jiuling separates from the Yu family and returns home alone.”

“That’s far too dull. I want to kill Zhang Jiuling right here in Yangzhou. Years ago, he tattled to His Majesty over a trivial cockfight, causing me to lose favor and leaving me a mere Assistant Minister at the Imperial Temple. Highway murder in the wild is tedious. Killing must be grand—like parading in silk robes at night, otherwise, it’s pointless.”

Manager Zhang wished to protest further but was silenced by Li Yu’s chilling gaze.

If not for needing your connections in Yangzhou, I’d have killed you already, Li Yu thought bitterly. To believe I can’t kill Yu Lang? Such nonsense only fools my senile father. You don’t care about my life at all. If I kill Yu Lang, the Sword Saint may not dare touch the Li clan—there are two great figures in the palace, after all—but my own life would certainly be forfeit. Damn it. After brooding for a moment, Li Yu turned and, smiling, began plotting the murder with Manager Zhang.

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Ping’an Lane, Yu Residence.

Yu Chaoran cleared the main hall of clutter and set up two tables—one large, one small, both made of poplar wood.

Zhang Jiuling and Yu Chaoran sat at the head of the large table; Li Bai, Zhang Xun, Lei Wanchun, and Yu Lang took seats along the sides.

The small table was reserved for the girls: Qingqing and Ningxue.

Yu Chaoran had specially invited a chef and two serving boys from Delight Pavilion to entertain the guests. After all, Moon Pavilion had once belonged to the Yu family, and Yu Chaoran was always generous with his staff. The manager agreed without hesitation.

Li Bai couldn’t resist Qingqing’s pleadings, and with Zhang Jiuling doting on his granddaughter, he reluctantly shared a pouch of Western mare’s milk wine with Qingqing and Ningxue. Yu Lang appeared attentive to the conversation, but his mind was entirely occupied with Ningxue—observing the way she held her chopsticks, which dishes she preferred, the expressions on her face, hoping to catch a glimpse of his old lover’s mannerisms. Sadly, aside from her face, Ningxue shared none of the habits he remembered; it seemed mere coincidence.

Qingqing, meanwhile, secretly watched the absent-minded Yu Lang, wondering what had possessed him to be so taken with a woman he had just met.

A few hot dishes and cups of wine loosened the atmosphere. Zhang Jiuling reminisced about his days as a scholar traveling to the capital for the imperial exam, sharing amusing stories with the group. Li Bai, ever lively, lamented his merchant background, which barred him from taking the exams. Even the usually reserved Zhang Xun joined in, recounting the mishaps and ridicule he faced as a top scholar seeking a government post.

Lei Wanchun, a man of martial background and little formal education, was most intrigued and asked questions that made everyone laugh.

“Damn it, if I’d known studying was this fun, I wouldn’t have bothered practicing martial arts!” Lei Wanchun laughed heartily.

Zhang Jiuling shook his head. “I rather agree with Yang Jiong’s verse: ‘Better to be a captain among a hundred men than a mere scholar.’ Even if a scholar rises to be prime minister, freedom is scarce—on the court, honey-tongued vipers abound; in the palace, eunuchs cloud the emperor’s mind. It’s exhausting. If only I had martial prowess…”

Zhang Xun asked, “Is Chancellor Zhang worried about An Lushan?”

“Indeed. Back when his power was weak, it was the best time to eliminate him—alas…”

Alas, Li Linfu thwarted him.

Yu Lang marveled at the old chancellor’s foresight and inwardly resolved that, once strong enough, he would find a way to rid the empire of An Lushan—the root of Tang’s future chaos.

Lei Wanchun slapped the table. “I’m no official, but I can’t stand that bastard either. In Yingzhou, I saw him use a prisoner’s severed head as a wine jug. Though it was a condemned criminal, anyone capable of such a beastly act is no good. Chancellor, rest assured—give me a few days, I’ll bring you his head from Yingzhou and rid Great Tang of this menace!”

Li Bai hiccuped drunkenly. “Brother Lei, you are truly heroic, but you’re no match for that barbarian. Not counting his thirty shadow guards and five hundred armored warriors, his personal martial power is unmatched—perhaps only the Sword Saint could defeat him. Yet figures of the Sword Saint’s caliber never act lightly; too many interests are entangled.”

Lei Wanchun was inwardly alarmed. “Brother Taibai, are you saying An Lushan has surpassed the Realm of Void Breaking? Impossible! I’ve always heard that those who reach such heights in cultivation become serene and wise, understanding the deepest truths. How could that fool possibly…”

Yu Lang recalled the distinctions in the “Xuanyuan Qi Cultivation Method,” and was equally shocked. Cultivation divides into three stages: First, Hundred Refinings—drawing qi into the body and storing it in the dantian, where it ebbs and flows; Second, Sea Traversing—the dantian transforms into a qi sea, which connects with the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, forming a perpetual cycle; Third, Void Breaking—the qi sea dissipates, allowing direct use of heaven and earth’s spiritual energy without storage; beyond that, the author of “Xuanyuan Qi Cultivation Method” could only sigh, “One becomes a celestial being.”

“To let everyone who meets him think him a fool—perhaps that’s a kind of enlightenment. Besides, his Dao is not found in gentle breezes and bright moons, but forged in the heat of battle, verging on the demonic path.” Li Bai’s smile showed rare melancholy.

As the conversation turned somber, Zhang Xun stood and solemnly raised his cup to Zhang Jiuling. “Today, I swear: if An Lushan ever rebels, though I am but a scholar, I will raise an army, fight to the death, and break his teeth so he cannot swallow Great Tang!”

Though this scholar lacked martial strength, his words—quiet yet resolute—commanded absolute respect.

Zhang Jiuling’s hand trembled with emotion. “Young Zhang, you are truly a peerless statesman!”

Li Taibai laughed aloud, “Such spirit! Meeting Young Zhang is the greatest fortune of my life.”

Lei Wanchun reached out and patted Zhang Xun’s shoulder. “I too swear an oath—though I’m a rough man and lack flowery words, this life, I follow you!”

Some people have a magic about them—when they speak, others believe without question. They will do it, or die trying; there is no other possibility.

Yu Lang glanced at the gentle smile on Ningxue’s face at the side table, sighing inwardly—why must his rival in love be such an impeccable hero?

Qingqing, as a woman, felt differently. She preferred to shape her own destiny, not rely on any hero.

Suddenly, the serving boy crawled in, panicked and breathless. “The chef—the chef is dead!”