025. Winning the Beauty’s Heart
Therefore, when “Li the Stool” spread his arms wide and called out the name “Lotus,” rushing toward the goddess of his heart, she screamed, broke away from the crowd, and ran off in the opposite direction from Li Xi, crying as she fled.
“Well, girls ought to be reserved in such situations. There’s no reason for them to throw themselves into your arms; that would be far too awkward.” Li Xi comforted himself with this thought. He pushed off powerfully with his feet. The distance between them was scarcely ten feet; how could she expect to escape so easily? Li Xi extended his tongue and licked his lips with gusto, shouting, “Lotus, here I come!”
The tale of Gray Wolf and the Prince teaches us that every good match, before it becomes legendary, always suffers the interference of a troublemaker. Sometimes it’s an evil man; more often, it’s a woman.
She always appears at the most opportune place and critical moment—such as the song and dance stage before the Hall of Virtue at Taiji Palace in Great Tang, right when Li Xi was about to seize his goddess.
She appeared—a charming, lively figure darting from the crowd like a bolt of lightning, striking Li Xi as surely as thunder.
Li Xi, like a soldier hit by stray bullets while charging, fell tragically. At that moment, he was only three inches from “Lotus”; the fingertips of his left hand had even brushed the soft warmth beneath his goddess’s thin gauze...
So close, yet so far; such cruel fate, so unjust! Heaven, let me be struck down by thunder and end my misery.
After “being shot,” Li Xi lay on his back, crying to the sky—a lament unanswered, a cry ignored by the earth. In that instant, he truly wished for death.
Yet the stray bullet that struck him cared nothing for his feelings. No sooner had she succeeded, than she mounted his waist, cradled his face, and while he cried out in confusion, seized him completely. After throwing herself into his arms, she bestowed a sweet, passionate kiss, then whispered a single word in Li Xi’s ear.
Suddenly, Li Xi felt as if enlightenment had dawned upon him; his spirit soared, and he hugged her tightly, rolling—
Not rolling in bed, you scandalous minds! The stage was covered in red wool carpet, and they rolled across it.
The game called “Scatter Flowers of Fortune” was hardly a new invention; the commanders of the frontier garrisons had played it to exhaustion. Li Xi’s dominance and swift action were entirely due to precise intelligence. Otherwise, with his scrawny build, how could he hope to carry off a beauty? Even his stool would be snatched away.
After the old eunuch scattered flowers, he slipped away; a pack of hungry wolves and burly men howled as they rushed the stage, maidens fleeing in panic. The sheep were still sheep, but the Gray Wolf had not come, and in the blink of an eye, none remained intact. Conflict was inevitable.
Seeing them exchanging southern fists, northern kicks, and Arhat palms in chaotic fashion, Li Xi instantly understood his situation. Should he abandon a sesame seed for a watermelon? Only a fool would try. Each should be content with what they have.
Li Third had instructed him beforehand: the rule of “Scatter Flowers of Fortune” is that whoever grabs a beauty, keeps her.
The standard for “grabbing” is neither renting a house together nor registering for marriage, nor does it depend on bearing sons or daughters, but simply carrying the woman off the carpet.
Li Third had also emphasized: all four feet must be outside the carpet.
If the man’s feet are off the carpet but the woman’s are not, the prize might still escape—don’t argue that sheep can’t fly, even cooked ducks can escape, let alone live sheep.
If the woman’s feet are off the carpet but the man remains inside, the woman is confiscated, and the man, for wasting resources, seldom meets a good end.
With this in mind, when the young woman whispered “roll!” in Li Xi’s ear, he wasted no time and rolled away with her.
The stage was ten feet wide in every direction; from center to edge was less than five feet. Running was risky—too many wolves—but rolling, now that made all the difference.
The floor was full of “wolves” rolling about; perfect cover for a surprise escape.
The girl’s body was so petite that when she shrank into Li Xi’s embrace, she seemed like a joey burrowing into its mother’s pouch. Li Xi locked his arms around her and rolled, successfully leaving the carpet, then rolled again and tumbled off the stage.
Fortunately, he landed on his back. Li Xi groaned twice, patting the motionless little “kangaroo” resting in his arms.
“Hey, dawn is breaking.”
“Mmm,” the little kangaroo poked out her head, looked around in confusion, and asked, “Have we landed?”
“…”
It took Li Xi quite a while to stand up; his waist hurt, his legs ached, his shoulders were sore. In the process of rising, the little kangaroo was a great help, busily dusting the official robes so he could present himself to the Emperor with proper dignity.
“Your subject thanks Your Majesty for your gracious favor.”
Fortune comes from the Emperor; a drop of grace should be repaid with a fountain. Thunder and rain alike are imperial favors; to fail to repay is to bear children without an anus.
After offering his thanks, Li Xi turned with interest to examine his “fortune”:
She reached only to his chest,
Her thighs were scarcely thicker than his arms,
Her waist, naturally, was exceedingly slender—so much so that Li Xi worried for her,
Her hips and bust were nearly identical in measurement; there was no curve where there ought to be, no lift where one might expect,
Her little face was rosy and plump, two adorable rabbit-like front teeth,
Her mouth not too big, her lips not too thin, her nose delicately small, and above her lips grew a sparse down—
Ah, just peach fuzz…
This was clearly a little girl.
Li Xi gazed at the majestic Emperor atop the platform, bowed again, then turned to ask the girl:
“Miss, what is your name? How old are you?”
She folded her hands in a decorous bow, lowered her eyes, and replied, “In answer to my master, I am Cui Yingying, twelve years old.”
Li Xi drew a sharp breath: “Your name is… Cui Yingying?!”
The girl was startled, not knowing why Li Xi’s eyes suddenly widened. She hurriedly lowered her gaze, trembling, and said, “I deserve to die, I spoke wrongly. As a lowly slave, I have no name. My humble name is Ah San.”
Flustered and confused, she shivered as she spoke, and then knelt again.
Li Xi, seeing her trembling shoulders, felt pity and affection. He had lived in this era for two years, and for much of that time, he had been a slave himself; the bitterness of servitude was etched in his heart.
He gently supported Cui Yingying’s shoulders, helped her up, and said softly, “This union, Miss, is heaven-sent. I have not yet taken a wife; if you are willing, let us share our days together. I will petition the Emperor to free you and remove your slave status.”
“Ah…” Hearing this, the girl was dizzy with surprise and a hint of sorrow. Tears welled in Cui Yingying’s dark eyes; she gazed at Li Xi in a trance, unable to restrain her feelings, her shoulders trembling.
At first, Li Xi thought she was moved, but soon sensed something amiss. He took her hand and asked, “You don’t believe me? I, Yang Zan, always mean what I say.”
Cui Yingying quickly wiped her tears, shook her head vigorously, then nodded with equal force. Her brows remained furrowed, but her eyes now held a smile, a pitiful, endearing look.
Li Xi suddenly found his future bride quite amusing and seized her hand, saying, “Come with me.”
Her hand was soft as if boneless, but the chief eunuch of the Palace Music Bureau’s face was icy.
Cui Yingying and her fellow dancers were not palace maids, but slaves assigned by the Agricultural Ministry to the Music Bureau to study song and dance. Their household registration was with the Agricultural Ministry, making them ordinary government slaves. However, as skilled dancers, they were often seconded to serve in the Palace Music Bureau.
In modern terms, Cui Yingying’s registration was with the Agricultural Ministry, her organizational affiliation with the Music Bureau, and her daily work arranged by the Palace Music Bureau—complicated relationships.
When the Emperor scattered Flowers of Fortune, soldiers who won beauties and wished to marry them could petition for their emancipation. But a procedural issue arose: who would petition the Emperor?
It couldn’t be the soldiers themselves—that would be chaos. Usually, the department holding the beauty’s registration—Agricultural Ministry or Music Bureau—should petition. For Cui Yingying, the Agricultural Ministry should do so, possibly with Music Bureau support. But now, things were complicated: her registration was with the Agricultural Ministry, assigned to the Music Bureau, and then borrowed by the Palace Music Bureau.
The Palace Music Bureau belonged to the inner court, led by eunuchs—a power base in the northern court, deeply at odds with the southern court departments like Agricultural Ministry and Music Bureau.
Thus, the simple issue of who should petition for Cui Yingying’s emancipation became a major embarrassment.
The Agricultural Ministry refused to step forward—it’s too troublesome! Why should they clean up after the Palace Music Bureau’s effort to please the Emperor with the gift of a beauty? No way. Furthermore, they feared the Palace Music Bureau would renege: “You petitioned to free her, but now I’m short-handed. Why didn’t you consult us? Do you even respect the Emperor? Are you planning a coup, usurpation, or abduction of the Empress?”
Given that the northern court was gaining ascendancy, the Agricultural Ministry veterans decided to play deaf and dumb—let things unfold as they may, and don’t come to me if trouble arises.
With the department derelict, the Palace Music Bureau seized the chance to take over, guided by the principle: “Kill one, profit; kill two, prosperity.” The eunuchs were eager, fully prepared to fleece every passing goose, every chicken, and even extract frog oil from the toad at the door. They openly extorted the petitioning officers.
The thirty-four-year-old assistant manager, Zhu Lian, listened to Li Xi’s oral petition to marry Cui Yingying and have the Palace Music Bureau petition the Emperor for her emancipation, then frowned and feigned difficulty: “Deputy Yang, it’s not that we don’t want to help, but this matter is rather tricky. This Cui Ah San’s family was convicted of treason, and under Tang law, emancipation requires a special decree.”
“Oh…” Li Xi frowned, recalling that over a thousand years later, he had read a treatise on Tang dynasty slave regulations. Though he skimmed it and remembered little, it seemed such rules existed: ordinary government slaves could be emancipated during general amnesties, but those enslaved for treason or rebellion required special pardons.
If Cui Yingying was enslaved for treason, it was indeed troublesome.
But rules are made by people; for every move, there’s a countermove. Li Xi, with a smile, was about to launch an emotional appeal.
Suddenly, someone shouted, “Old eunuch, I want my wife’s emancipation!”
The voice was familiar. Li Xi turned to see a tall, burly black man carrying a graceful beauty—Wang Jian, the commander from Chengde Garrison. Seeing Li Xi, Wang Jian grinned and called out, “Brother Yang, fate has brought us together! This is our third meeting today.”
Li Xi noticed three fresh scratch marks on Wang Jian’s left cheek and teased, “Hey, Brother Wang, what happened to your face? You were fine just now at the banquet.”
Wang Jian laughed heartily, slapped the woman’s backside with a loud smack, and said, “Got scratched by this little wildcat.”
“Ah!” The slap clearly hurt the wildcat, who protested.
“What are you fussing about? I’m redeeming you now—save your strength for tonight.”
Wang Jian spoke tenderly, but Li Xi felt his teeth ache. Zhu Lian also pursed his lips, apparently as uncomfortable with Wang Jian’s bravado as Li Xi.
“Well, since the officer wishes to petition for his wife’s emancipation, please provide your name for the record.”
“I am Wang Jian of Tongzhou, now commander at Mingdi Garrison, Chengde Circuit. My wife…” He frowned and prodded the woman’s waist, “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Usilan,” she replied, suppressing a smile.
“Wu Silan—right, that’s her name.” Wang Jian chuckled, casting a sidelong glance at Cui Yingying, as if driving a BMW and meeting a schoolmate with a rickshaw. “Sister-in-law’s not bad, may I ask your name?”
Li Xi despised his smugness and turned away.
“I have no name, I am Ah San,” Cui Yingying answered timidly, seeing Li Xi silent.
“Lowly slave girls have no names, but after emancipation, their names are restored.” The chief eunuch produced a pre-printed document, wrote the woman’s name as he spoke: “General Wang, you are fortunate—Usilan is one of our finest beauties, the star of tonight’s Flowers of Fortune. You’ve won the grand prize.”
“Yes, it’s Usilan.” Wang Jian muttered, embarrassed he’d gotten her name wrong.
Zhu Lian finished the paperwork and called Wang Jian, “Please have your wife place her handprint here.”
“Alright.” Wang Jian cheerfully released the woman, leading her to the desk.
She was tall and slender, curvaceous, standing gracefully—a perfect figure. Yet beside the burly Wang Jian, she seemed almost childlike. Her clothes were disheveled, one shoe missing, her skirt torn, her hair loose and covering half her face. Having lain on Wang Jian’s shoulder, she faced away from Li Xi, so only now did he see her face.
His heart pricked: Usilan was the “Lotus” he’d almost won!
Lotus, seeing Li Xi, was awkward—the image of the “villain” with the extended tongue had left a deep impression. She glanced at Li Xi, then lowered her head, her heart pounding: Is this the “villain”? Without his tongue out, he’s not unattractive, not really a villain; in fact, he has a certain scholarly elegance.
After reaching this conclusion, Usilan glanced at the “meat mountain” beside her. Li Xi’s refined appearance became even more impressive. She lifted her head again, stealing another glance at Li Xi, who gazed at her like a fool.
Usilan lowered her head, her mind in turmoil, then looked at her “meat mountain” again, feeling a sudden surge of resentment.
At that moment, Wang Jian was practicing “push hands” with the chief eunuch Zhu Lian, negotiating his wildcat’s emancipation. After Usilan placed her handprint, Zhu Lian pressed it down, chatting idly and delaying the paperwork. Wang Jian understood and handed over a jade pendant.
The gesture was obvious; the eunuch blushed, pushed it back, but Wang Jian insisted, and so they played a Tang dynasty version of “push hands.”
“Hey, here.” Cui Yingying quietly nudged Li Xi's hand, slipping a silk handkerchief into his palm.
“Huh?” Li Xi was puzzled.
“You, you have a nosebleed.”
“Oh,” Li Xi hurriedly wiped his nose—indeed, fresh blood.
“Well, the dry air—must be from not drinking enough water. Remember, for moist skin and no nosebleeds, you must drink plenty of water.” Li Xi pressed the handkerchief to his nose and instructed Cui Yingying.
“Mmm, I’ll remember.” Cui Yingying replied respectfully.
Li Xi was pleased with the girl’s humility and eagerness to learn, nodded, and sent her aside.
He then surreptitiously admired the former “Lotus,” now Usilan: a seductive figure, healthy ivory-white skin, exquisite features, enchanting, dignified temperament. Everywhere, inside and out, was exactly what he admired, desired, and longed for. Most captivating was her slightly sunken eyes and straight nose—a mixed-race beauty.
Even with the handkerchief, Li Xi’s nose threatened to bleed rivers.
Suddenly, he yanked a yellow jade Buddha from his belt, the only valuable he possessed—a gift from a wealthy patron who appreciated his tunes at the Yichun Quarter.
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