013. Water Moon

“Oh, looks like the kid’s got some tricks up his sleeve.”
No need to ask; the one who uttered this contemptuous remark was surely Liu Motong. Relying on his lineage as a descendant of a military family and his recent achievements in the campaign to suppress bandits in the northwest of the capital, he paid no heed to me, a former director of a certain bureau’s archives in my past life.
Li Xi was determined to teach this arrogant Commander Liu a lesson, to let him know that although our bureau advocated civilized law enforcement, the foundation of forceful enforcement had never been abandoned. Every cadre and staff member, even someone like me—a mere director of the archives—was not one to be trifled with!
It was early morning, and beating someone too harshly would be unseemly. Besides, the younger brothers were all present; one must maintain appearances and allow the big brother some dignity in front of his men.
So, he decided to give a token gesture—a “Child Pays Homage to Buddha.”
With this thought, Li Xi clasped his hands tightly, and though he held no sword, he wielded a blade in his heart. He pressed his palms together and raised them high, suddenly opened his eyes wide, and shouted:
“Big Brother, Second Brother, Third Brother, Old Third Brother, good morning!”
“Morning, my foot. The sun’s already roasting our backsides,” Liu Motong barked, raising his hand to strike again.
Li Xi hurriedly bowed with a smile, saying, “Big Brother, calm your anger. Your little brother practiced last night and stayed up late. Only at the end of the third watch did I doze off for a bit, so I got up a little late.”
Liu Motong was somewhat satisfied with Li Xi’s explanation. He circled Li Xi, scrutinizing him carefully, and the more he looked, the more pleased he became:
The youngster was not bad—features well-defined, bearing a striking resemblance to his ill-fated brother. If this fellow stood before the old lady, even letting her touch his face, she’d touch and touch, but would she really discover the truth?
Touching was out of the question; no matter how much the face resembled, the bone structure wouldn’t match. The hands are keener than the eyes, after all.
But to fool ordinary people, it was more than sufficient.
What Liu Motong appreciated even more was that this “Yang Zan” was quick-witted. Say something to him, and he’d grasp it instantly. He understood the stakes at a glance; ask him to play a double, and he’d play a double; tell him to act humble, and he’d do so without a fuss. Clever.
Another virtue was his diligence and dedication. He’d been told that he only needed to play the grandson for three days in front of the old lady, and all would be well. Yet, look at him—he had already made playing the grandson his lifelong endeavor.
With the mindset of pursuing a career, he approached his work, and how could he not achieve something great?
Diligent, attentive, perceptive, and with excellent aptitude to boot, Liu Motong was more than satisfied with the substitute “Yang Zan” that Li Laosan had found.
After reassuring Li Xi with a few words and reiterating the promised benefits, Liu Motong declared calmly, “From today on, you are Yang Zan, my brother, the only son of Marquis Jingbian, the court’s ‘Ping Shan Zi,’ the old lady’s favorite grandson, and the newly appointed ninth-rank military advisor of Shaozhou, Lingnan, Tang Empire. Do you understand?”
Li Xi nodded, “I understand, Big Brother.”
Liu Motong pressed his hand on Li Xi’s shoulder and continued, “Li Xi, you—the you from thirteen days ago—died in the great fire at the mule and horse market in Linzhou. Do you remember?”
Li Xi nodded solemnly, “Big Brother, I remember.”
Liu Motong patted Li Xi’s face, saying, “You’d better remember: Li Xi is dead, and the dead remain dead. If he comes back to life, it’s a resurrection—a monster, you get it?”
Li Xi nodded vigorously, cheeks flushed, and exclaimed with excitement, “The dead cannot return; there is no such person in this world anymore.”
Liu Motong waved his hand, “Even if there is, it doesn’t matter. But if I ever see him, I’ll light another fire and burn him again. You have no objections, right?”

Li Xi replied, “It’s him you’re burning, what objection could I have? Big Brother, let me assure you, if he dares come back to life, you won’t need to lift a finger—I’ll set the fire myself and make sure he’s reduced to ashes.”
Liu Motong placed both arms firmly on Li Xi’s shoulders, his expression solemn, “Brother… uh… shall we go drink together?”
Li Xi was still stunned when Shi Xiong smacked him on the head, laughing and cursing, “You idiot, Big Brother’s accepted you as a brother, and you’re still dazed?”
Li Xi suddenly kicked back at him, shouting sternly, “Second Brother, I warn you—touch me again, and I won’t be polite.”
Shi Xiong was startled, his face turning black, about to explode, but Liu Motong stopped him, saying, “Fourth Brother did nothing wrong. Family brothers—why should you be allowed to hit, but not others to hit back?”
########
This is the Tang Dynasty, yet not the Tang Dynasty; not the Tang Dynasty, yet it is.
Where exactly am I tonight? Once again, this question turned Li Xi’s mind to mush.
After two years as a wandering outcast, enduring the wretched slave’s life, he finally reached a turning point.
It was an unforgettable autumn afternoon. Li Xi, having not eaten for two days, lay sprawled at the base of a mud wall with closed eyes, resting. Two days without food—sitting was tiring, squatting made his legs numb, so lying down was the only option. Suddenly, the cheerful song of a magpie rang in his ear.
Magpies call, fortune comes. It was not an empty saying.
No sooner had the magpie woken him than luck descended from the heavens: Madam Hu Sanniang, chairman and CEO of Linzhou Yichun Entertainment Development Group—an expert in music and strategic vision—appeared before him, and her powerful, magnetic voice, full of the charm unique to a strong woman, sounded in his ear:
“Hum the tune you just sang again.” The voice was cold, yet tinged with excitement.
“If you want me to hum, I’ll hum. May I ask your name?” Li Xi, tormented by hunger, had little energy for conversation.
“You hum well. I’ll buy you and hire you as a musician.”
The beautiful, gentle Lady Liuyun spoke, her words tender and full of feminine allure. What else could he say? Any more pretense and he’d be a fool.
They say brothels are not meant for decent folk, but Li Xi disagreed—his good days began at Yichun House. As chief musician there, for the first time in two years, Li Xi ate his fill for three consecutive days.
His compositions were fresh and distinctive, establishing his own style. In no time, Li Xi’s fame spread throughout the mule and horse market, and he became something of a treasure within Yichun House, living a life of decadent luxury—clothes served, food delivered.
Those beautiful young buds, eager to shine, would compete to throw themselves at him just for a new song. So young, so unrestrained—how will they turn out? Truly depraved, but I liked it.
Ten new songs a month was a miracle, and Li Xi felt he could keep this miracle going for another two or three years. What, you don’t believe me? You think my nickname “Young Master Karaoke” was conjured from nowhere? After more than a millennium… Wait, that’s awkwardly phrased. Never mind, I won’t quibble.
After two or three years, I’ll be rolling in wealth—“ten thousand strings around my waist, riding to Yangzhou.”
Ride a crane? I can’t ride a crane; I’ll ride a horse—sturdy, comfortable.
Don’t ask why I won’t go to Chang’an or Luoyang; I’m heading for Yangzhou.
Can’t you see? The world’s about to plunge into chaos.

It’s only the Yuanhe era. Oh, look at you, mouth agape—did you lose your tongue? Got a spare?
I flew through time in a car, so what else can't happen?
Don’t tell me Emperor Li Er and the second husband of the imperial concubine, known as the “Three Emperors of Tang,” are in their prime. In two years, he’ll choke on an elixir. Nor that “Little Taizong” is still a prince—so what if he’s swaddled? Concubine Guo doesn’t like him; if he wants the throne, he’ll have to wait, outlasting a brother and three nephews, and only on the fifth round will it be his turn. By then, the Tang Dynasty might have already become something else.
Wang Shoucheng is said to have made it in the palace, while Liang Shouqian and Tutu Chengcui are still battling, currently at a disadvantage. Another grand eunuch, Qiu Shiliang, hasn’t shown up yet. If the Tang ends now, the Sweet Dew Incident won’t happen, and without that, Qiu would struggle to make his mark in history.
If the Tang collapses now, the monks will secretly rejoice; without an emperor, Li Yan’s Buddhist faith would fade. Li Deyu might still make it into the chronicles—after all, gold shines wherever it’s placed. As for old bureaucrats like Niu Sengru, it’d be tough to stand out; there have been plenty of slick officials through the ages. Why would historians favor him? Just because he’s both monk and scholar? Even if your surname is Niu, it doesn’t matter. I’m not the son of Iron Fan Fairy, and even if I were, we’re not related.
Li Xi admitted he was overthinking—too much wine does that. Though this wine couldn’t compare to Maotai or Wuliangye, it was alcohol all the same. If the wine doesn’t intoxicate, the person does. Once drunk, wild thoughts run rampant.
Wild thoughts don’t count. All these big names have yet to step onto the stage of history—how could the world change so suddenly?
But, it’s entirely possible.
This Tang is not that Tang.
After generations of transmigrators tirelessly reconstructing, editing, and refining, who can guarantee that this Tang is the same Li Tang dynasty recorded in history? Isn’t it said that trusting the histories too much is worse than having none at all? The history of late Tang is a muddy mess anyway. Expecting to command the realm by reading “Old” or “New Tang Book”? Hmph, you wouldn’t even know how you died.
No point thinking about it; it’s futile.
Thirteen nights ago, in that pitch-black evening, his life’s trajectory changed again. Pretending to be a dead man to cheer up an old lady—who could believe it? If you believe it, you’re a fool; if you don’t, why agree to do it? Faced with those murderous faces, would you dare refuse? Whether you stick your neck out or shrink back, it’s a blade either way. If it’s fortune, it’s not calamity; if it’s calamity, you can’t escape. Pray for heaven’s blessing, cherish the present, muddle through, indulge in drunken dreams, seize pleasure while you can.
Whether it’s the Tang of romance or the Tang of illusions, since I’m here, I’ll make peace. If I die, everything ends; if not, I’ll strive for a brilliant life…
Ah, where did all these spinning tops come from?
Through drunken eyes, Li Xi suddenly saw countless spinning tops—oh, not tops, but the swirling skirts of dancing girls. Such scant attire, such white thighs, such fragrant lips—this Tang Dynasty, I truly adore.
A different Tang, I’m here…
Li Xi left his seat and lunged forward, but instead of catching a dancer’s skirt, he received a barrage of furious kicks from dainty feet.
Oh! How come there are high heels here? Where am I, really?
…
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