Chapter 030: The Game of Strategy

Li Zaixing had just defeated Zhang Wan. While listening to the famed singer Zheng Juju of the Zheng family perform, the banquet at the Yang household was also drawing to a close.

Yet the atmosphere had turned peculiarly tense.

Wei Yingwu had gone to great lengths and expense to host this feast at the Yang residence, intending to use the reputation of the newly minted Presented Scholar, Shen Zhongchang, to bolster his own standing. Shen Zhongchang, in turn, seized the opportunity to forge ties with the influential Wei family of Tianchiwu. Their interests aligned perfectly: Wei Yingwu provided the funds, Shen Zhongchang his renown; it seemed a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Who would have guessed that Li Zaixing would so thoroughly disrupt the proceedings? First, Wang Zhun was forced to bark like a dog before the assembly, utterly humiliated, and stormed off in a fury, casting an awkward pall over the gathering. Then, Shen Zhongchang and his peers were left flustered by a poem from Li Zaixing.

At first, even Shen Zhongchang himself didn't take it seriously. Li Zaixing's poem seemed unremarkable: the language was plain, lacking any ornate flourishes, not a single word stood out; nor did it contain any allusions, which, for Tang poets who delighted in such references, made it rather pedestrian—perfectly in keeping with the reputation of an uncultivated brute like Li Zaixing. By their reckoning, any one of them could easily compose a better poem, especially Shen Zhongchang, a newly appointed scholar.

Yet as poem after poem was recited in response, the singular value of Li Zaixing’s verse grew steadily clearer.

No flowery language? No matter. No obscure allusions? No matter at all. The reason was simple: he was a man of arms, unlettered, but he possessed genuine insight. Consider his lines, "Seen from the side, it's a range; from the end, a peak—its shape varies with every angle." So plain, yet it expresses a profound truth: any scene, viewed from different perspectives, appears utterly changed. Many have visited Mount Lu, but how many have truly felt this? And the couplet, "We cannot know the true face of Mount Lu, because we are within the mountain itself," carries even greater significance. If the first lines are on par with the mountain, the perspective of these latter lines soars above, looking down upon Mount Lu from a distance. Only by stepping outside the mountain can one truly perceive its shape.

The Tang poets prized grandiose vision and heroic spirit, favoring such lofty perspectives—hence the enduring popularity of Li Bai. His poem "Viewing the Waterfall at Mount Lu" was celebrated across the land precisely for its sweeping imagery: "A stream plunges straight down three thousand feet, as if the Silver River were falling from the Ninth Heaven"—what grandeur, what vigor! How stirring those lines!

Though Li Zaixing’s poem lacked such dazzling metaphors and flamboyant diction, its artistic conception was equally profound.

If Li Bai’s poetry was a lavish feast made from rare delicacies, then Li Zaixing’s ode to Mount Lu was a humble dish, yet its lingering flavor was subtle and memorable. At first taste, nothing extraordinary; yet the more one savored it, the more its uniqueness shone through. The harder they tried to surpass his poem, the more they sensed its elusive genius.

Had Li Zaixing been a scholar, even a newcomer, they would not have begrudged their praise, and might have helped raise his fame—Tang poets were never small-minded. But Li Zaixing was a warrior ignorant of letters. If they could not best him in verse, what face would the learned men of the capital have left?

As the saying goes, "Tang poetry is proclaimed aloud, Song poetry pondered in silence." Tang verse demands exuberance and freedom; yet the more they sought to match Li Zaixing’s poem, the more their inspiration failed them. Each sat, racking his brains, with neither heart nor face left for wine.

Dusk was falling. Though Wei Yingwu cared little about paying double for lighting, the guests had lost interest. As the guest of honor, Shen Zhongchang, left in dejection, the others too departed in twos and threes.

Yang’s mother and daughter, who had hoped for a windfall, were left disheartened by the sight.

Worse, Li Zaixing, who had promised to share wine and confidences with Yang Miaor, abandoned her to visit Zheng Juju’s house instead. Had Yang Miaor rejected Li Zaixing and driven him out, that would have been one thing. But for Li Zaixing to cast her aside instead, that was quite another—especially when he brazenly declared he had no interest in her and preferred the company of Zheng Juju.

This was a slap not only to Yang Miaor, but to the entire Yang family.

If Li Zaixing were merely a coarse, uncouth man-at-arms, it might have passed unnoticed. But this very warrior had stunned the assembly with his poetry, prompting even the new scholar to depart in shame. For such a man to disdain the Yangs and go out of his way to visit the Zhengs—what would people say? Even if others held their tongues, would the Zheng family not seize upon this story for boasting?

A trivial matter, compounded by these circumstances, had suddenly become one that could jeopardize the Yang family’s reputation. Yang Miaor, mortified, wept alone in her room; even Yang Lair, the leading courtesan, felt her pride wounded. When Wei Yingwu went to settle the bill, Yang Lair mentioned, with studied indifference, that Yang Miaor was crying alone in her chamber.

Wei Yingwu took it to heart. Crying? Alone in her room? Shouldn’t she be sharing wine with Li Zaixing?

Without another word, Wei Yingwu hurried to Yang Miaor’s boudoir. She was in a rage, smashing things left and right; Wei Yingwu barely dodged a flying brush pot as he entered, breaking out in a cold sweat.

As Wei Yingwu attempted to console her, Yang Miaor recounted her grievances in tears. He felt both relieved and vexed: relieved that Li Zaixing had not stolen a march on him, vexed that it was not Yang Miaor who spurned Li Zaixing, but Li Zaixing who looked down on Yang Miaor.

Wei Yingwu offered gentle words of comfort. In the end, Yang Miaor declared: if he could bring Li Zaixing back from the Zheng household and restore her honor, she would invite Wei Yingwu to stay the night. If he failed, she would become a nun and never see him again.

Wei Yingwu hesitated—he had no wish to beg a rival like Li Zaixing. But Yang Miaor’s pleading, and Yang Lair’s coaxing, wore him down. He gritted his teeth and agreed to give it a try.

Yet he lacked confidence. He and Li Zaixing were rivals, not friends. Would Li Zaixing show him any respect? Standing outside Zheng Juju’s door, Wei Yingwu was pondering his approach when he saw a servant hurrying out. Grabbing the man and questioning him, he learned that Li Zaixing was not merely there for wine—he was making trouble.

Wei Yingwu’s brow furrowed as he conceived a plan. Whispering a few instructions to the servant, who then dashed off, Wei Yingwu strode into the Zheng residence. The madam of the house recognized him and rushed to greet him, but he waved her off, signaling for silence. He sauntered in and took a seat in a room beside Li Zaixing, refusing any attendants, and listened with interest as Zheng Juju sang. Though Zheng Juju was less famous than the Yang sisters, she was still a celebrated courtesan in the capital, and Wei Yingwu had spent no small sum on her in the past. Yet this was the first time he had heard her sing so many songs in succession.

As her stirring melodies filled the air, Wei Yingwu himself felt his blood quicken. At that moment, several officers in ocher uniforms burst in, weapons drawn, scowling fiercely as they shouted, "Who dares cause trouble here? Are you not afraid of the law?"

The madam of the Zheng household was terrified and pulled the servant aside to scold him: "I told you to fetch Zhang Wan’s men, not the constables!"

Every ward in the city had its own constabulary, with several officers responsible for the gates and local order. Unless it was a matter of life and death, brothels preferred to deal with local ruffians like Zhang Wan rather than call the constables, who were even more troublesome and greedy.

Their presence was like an ill omen, negatively affecting the reputation of the brothel.

The servant, aware of the consequences, explained Wei Yingwu’s request. He had also, with some initiative, inquired about the recent events at the Yang house, which were now the talk of those who had just left.

The Zheng madam, shrewd and experienced, immediately sensed something amiss. Li Zaixing had come straight from the Yangs, and now they wished him back? Such things did not happen easily. She frowned, but quickly devised a countermeasure.

In the courtyard, the arrival of the constables interrupted Zheng Juju’s performance. Their leader, surveying the toppled rockery and Li Zaixing seated at the center, sneered, "What insolent rogue dares stir up trouble here?"

Li Zaixing set down his winecup and replied unhurriedly, "Merely a contest of arms, nothing more. Who is making trouble?"

"Where are you from? You look unfamiliar. Have you just drifted into the capital? State your name, origin, and residence. Have you a criminal record?" The constable’s barrage of questions greatly displeased Li Zaixing. These men were worse than ruffians, more predatory than bandits—accusing him before asking anything. He laughed coldly, slammed his cup down, and barked, "What mangy cur is yapping here, disturbing my pleasure?"

The constable, enraged, lunged forward, kicking at Li Zaixing’s table and reaching for his blade.

But as his foot rose, Li Zaixing, seated, pressed a hand to the edge of the couch and sprang up at an angle, kicking twice—once at the constable’s shin, once at his sword hand.

With two sharp cracks, the constable lost his balance and crashed to the ground, his forehead striking the table’s corner, blood streaming down. He clutched his broken leg, howling in agony.

The other officers, incensed, shouted and drew their weapons, some raising shields, all surging forward. Li Zaixing charged into their midst, fists and feet flying. Amidst a cacophony of blows, in moments the constables lay scattered across the floor—some cradling broken legs, others bleeding from the head, all wailing in pain.

Li Zaixing strode back to the hall, hands clasped behind his back, and shouted, "Worthless scum, unfit even for a beating, dare to provoke me? Were it not for the young lady of the Zheng family, I’d have taken your lives today. Now get out of my sight and let me enjoy the music. When Lord Xie arrives, I have a contest to settle with him—I’ve no energy to waste on the likes of you."