014. Facing the Imperial Gates

The bandit scourge of the Shatuo, which had plagued the northwest for many years, was finally eradicated in the autumn of the eleventh year of the Yuanhe era. Even before the army had returned to the capital, news of the court’s rewards for the meritorious officers had already reached the troops. Yang Zan of Pingshan, for his distinguished service, was appointed military adviser to Shaozhou in the Lingnan Circuit, with the official rank of the ninth degree.

Ninth degree was not a high rank, to be sure, but it was nevertheless a formal court appointment. The position of military adviser carried no fixed duties: one acted when needed, otherwise remained at the yamen to study, making it an ideal starting post for a scholar entering officialdom.

Li Xi was quite satisfied with this appointment. Though he had lived in the Tang realm for two years now, he’d always drifted along the borderlands and was a complete novice to the intrigue of officialdom. To begin his career in such a position—aloof from the fray yet close to the heart of things—could not have been better.

Of course, this presupposed he would survive long enough to actually take up the post.

Lingnan lay at the very ends of the empire, Shaozhou three or four thousand li from Chang’an, far from the Tang heartlands. By officialdom’s customs, it was a place of exile for the disappointed and discarded.

Exile—an unpalatable word, but surely preferable to being butchered once the millstone had turned.

Li Xi sincerely hoped Liu Motong and his associates would exile him. He would gladly never return to Chang’an for the rest of his days, but whether things would turn out as he wished was uncertain. Perhaps there was hope, now that so much effort had been spent to send him so far away. Could it be merely for convenience, to dispose of him more easily? That remained to be seen.

It was after getting drunk at the banquet and, in a fit of drunkenness, attempting to embrace a dancing girl—only to be trampled by her—that Yang Zan of Pingshan became famous. The young rakes were astonished to discover such a formidable character hidden in their midst; truly, the real dragons hide their claws until the moment they astound the world.

During his convalescence, the now-notorious “Yang Zan” received so many visitors that the door curtains were nearly torn from their hooks. This made Shi Xiong rather anxious, to the point that he kept watch at the bedside, sword at his side, all day long. Those unacquainted with the truth were moved: what brotherly devotion, what passion!

Li Xi dealt with them all without letting slip the slightest error. Even so, at Shi Xiong’s instigation, Liu Motong subjected him to a severe admonishment. Li Xi, all humility and contrition, expressed sincere remorse and vowed never to repeat such a scandal.

Liu Motong was left speechless; still, Shi Xiong continued to mutter in his ear.

“Brother, did you see that? The lad is playing tricks on us.”

“How so?” asked Liu Motong, pausing in his stone weight exercises, frowning.

“I think his drunken outburst was premeditated, with a purpose.”

“Oh? Go on.”

“Think about it, Brother. At the banquet, General Lu and Adjudicator Chang were there, and all the officers drank with restraint—even Zhang Yuan, usually a notorious drunkard, held back that day. But look at him: normally shrewd and cautious, yet this time he lets himself get roaring drunk. If it were only drunkenness, fine, but then what? He makes a scene, tries to embrace the dancing girl. Bold, reckless—none of the brutes like Xiao Wenyuan, Qiu Long, or even Zhang Yuan would dare such a thing. Yet he did. I think he’s playing games—he’s afraid we’ll kill him once we’re done, so he deliberately creates an incident, making sure everyone knows he exists. Next time we want to act, we’ll have to think twice. So I say, he’s not simple—he’s got a mind, and we need to watch out.”

“Are you finished?” Liu Motong was still smiling.

“That’s all. Brother, you don’t believe me?” Shi Xiong was a little surprised.

“I do. So, what do you intend to do with him?” Liu Motong set down the stone weight, took a towel to wipe his sweat, and smiled.

Seeing Liu Motong’s expression turning less amiable, Shi Xiong forced a laugh. “Brother, don’t look at me like that. We took this risk for a reason—so the Lady wouldn’t be overwhelmed, so no lives would be lost in vain. What we did was a good deed—how could a good deed end in murder? I have no intention of harming him. But even so, one must guard against villains, right? Suppose…”

Liu Motong cut him off. “Is it so bad to be cunning? It means he’s clever, and clever men know when to advance and retreat. Tell me, what good would it do him to expose this? If we’re hauled off to jail, will he escape unscathed? If you and I deny everything to the end, he’s the one in real danger. Conversely, if he plays deaf and dumb, he can enjoy wealth to his heart’s content. Could a musician ever compare with a court baron, a ninth-rank official? Think: telling brings him nothing but harm; keeping quiet brings all these benefits. Why would he speak?”

Wiping his brow and donning his robe, Liu Motong continued, “Brother, it’s not wrong to be wary, but one must also keep an open heart. If you never let anything go, you’ll suffocate yourself in time. When you return to court, you’ll be posted to Shandong, with hundreds of men under your command. If you keep everything bottled up, you’ll wear yourself out. Take my advice—broaden your heart, and the world will broaden with it.”

Shi Xiong was left speechless by this, though in secret he still instructed a few trusted guards to keep a close watch on Li Xi and report any unusual activity at once.

By the day the army returned to the capital, Li Xi was just barely able to walk. The long-legged dancing girls were lovely to look at, but when they kicked, they kicked hard: they’d broken one of his ribs.

Horseback was out of the question—he was a poor rider even when healthy, let alone now. In truth, Liu Motong had worried his lack of skill would give him away, but now he had ample reason to ride in the baggage cart.

Yet Li Xi preferred to hobble along with a cane behind the cart. What wretched wagons! Not even rubber wheels, and the jolting was enough to turn one’s brains to mush.

As he walked, he tried to recall what he knew about rubber-making. He remembered from history class that in the nineteenth century, British and French colonialists had set up rubber plantations in Southeast Asia, forcing local laborers to tap the white sap from rubber trees and ship it back home to be processed.

Natural rubber came from the milky sap of rubber trees. That much Li Xi recalled clearly. But as for how it was processed, the books never said, so how was he to know?

Lacking both knowledge and resources, with no books, no Baidu, Soso, or 360 search engines—never mind Google, whose results never displayed anyway—the idea of making the first rubber wheel in the Tang dynasty was abandoned.

Better to think about what to do upon returning to the capital. Just three or four days away, so they said. He and Yang Zan of Pingshan were said to look remarkably alike, and with Shi Xiong’s schemes, the Lady should not be hard to deceive.

Better to consider the future—if death comes, all is over; first, think how to live.

Tradition dictated that a new official should present his superior with gifts. What should he bring? Carrying things seemed awkward; perhaps a cash gift? But there were no cards to load; perhaps a couple of red envelopes? Carrying strings of coins was a hassle; maybe a couple of gold bars, or some silver ingots—if only he had any. But he didn’t.

Perhaps two beauties, a songstress and a dancer? He’d heard such things were in fashion. Alas, he had none of those, either.

Riding past on horseback, Old Li the Third spotted Li Xi limping along with the soldiers and reined in his horse, calling out with a laugh, “No horse for you? Why not ride?”

Li Xi, preoccupied with what gift to bring his future superior, answered without thinking, “I just like watching infantry.”

“Infantry?” Old Li the Third asked, puzzled. “What infantry?”

Only then did Li Xi realize his slip. Raising his cane with a sheepish grin, he replied, “My injury’s not healed—I can’t ride, and the cart’s worse than walking. So, I’ve become infantry.”

Old Li the Third burst out laughing, then scolded, “Serves you right! You must have nerves of steel—daring to lay hands on General Lu’s woman! You’re lucky all you got was a kicking; you should’ve been tied up and drowned in a ditch.”

He leaned down and whispered, “You really didn’t know? That long-legged girl in the purple skirt is General Lu’s concubine. The blue-eyed, yellow-haired one belongs to Adjudicator Chang. You know what that means—the chief secretary’s woman, and the chief secretary and our commander are like brothers. You touched the commander’s woman!”

Li Xi found these relationships rather tangled—difficult to unravel, and awkward to ask more. He merely laughed, “Would I dare touch General Lu’s woman? I was dead drunk; my mind was a mess.”

Old Li the Third gave him a look that said he wasn’t convinced. At that moment, the bugle sounded—time to rest.

Old Li the Third slipped off his horse, tossed the reins to a guard, and joined Li Xi under a tree. He took a swig from his waterskin, splashed some on his face, and sent the guard off.

He watched Li Xi ease himself down with difficulty and exclaimed, “You really are that badly hurt?”

Li Xi finally settled himself and, with a bitter smile and a furrowed brow, replied, “If I had to fake something, it wouldn’t be this. Besides, it’s not exactly a glorious wound.”

Old Li the Third nodded. “True enough.” Then he added, “We should have had Old Two speak to Sima Zhao—could’ve claimed ‘wounded in battle’ and gotten some special treatment. Old Two and Sima Zhao are from the same hometown—cousins, thick as thieves. One word and Sima Zhao would have agreed. What a pity.”