Chapter 036: Trouble

Li Zaixing had no choice but to knock on Du Fu’s door.

Du Fu was still awake, sitting before his desk deep in thought, surrounded by piles of manuscripts. When he saw Li Zaixing, and then noticed the little girl with him, he was startled. “Dear brother, what brings you here at this hour…?”

Li Zaixing felt quite embarrassed as he explained the situation. The girl, Chongniang, refused to share a bed with Aiermaidi, and since he didn’t have an extra bed to offer, he could only ask Madam Yang to take care of her for the night. Madam Yang, who was already asleep with her son Du Zongwen, was roused by their voices. She hurriedly threw on an outer garment and, from the inner room, called out, “Brother Li, let the child come in.”

Li Zaixing gave Chongniang a look, and she gazed back at him with some reluctance, inching her way to the doorway, casting another longing glance at Li Zaixing. He waved her on encouragingly. “Go on, Chongniang, Madam Du is a kind woman, and the young master will play with you. You’ll enjoy it.”

With her lips pursed in resignation, Chongniang went inside. Madam Yang, upon seeing her, let out a surprised laugh. “Why, she’s a little blue-eyed foreign girl—so pretty!”

“Auntie is pretty too,” Chongniang replied sweetly.

Having entrusted Chongniang to Madam Yang, Li Zaixing finally breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced at Du Fu’s desk and smiled, “Are you preparing to study, brother Du?”

“What’s the use of studying anymore?” Du Fu sighed heavily. “I’m nearing forty and have achieved nothing. My chests are stuffed with poetry and essays, yet I can’t feed or clothe myself. I was just wondering if I should burn these manuscripts and look for honest work tomorrow.”

Li Zaixing was shocked. Was the Sage of Poetry so disheartened tonight that he’d consider burning his works? He hurried to dissuade him. “Brother Du, you mustn’t do that! These are the fruits of your years of labor. How could you even think of destroying them?”

“Labor of love? And of what use is it?” Du Fu forced a bitter smile. “I gain no fame, nor can I support my family. What’s the point in keeping them?”

“Fame? Is your reputation as a poet not already great?”

Du Fu smiled awkwardly. “Dear brother, I’m grateful for your high regard. But my reputation is not as grand as you imagine. You saw it yourself at the banquet today; my poetry hardly stood out.”

Li Zaixing recalled the reactions at the Yang family banquet, and also the evaluation relayed by Wei Yingwu, that Shen Zhongchang found Du Fu’s verses technically correct but not timely. He suddenly didn’t know what to say. In his eyes, Du Fu was certainly the equal of Li Bai, a sage of poetry. Yet today’s events had surprised him; clearly, in the eyes of the world, Du Fu’s fame could not compare to Li Bai’s. Shen Zhongchang’s comments were right on the mark.

Still, Du Fu would indeed become the Saint of Poetry in later times, while Shen Zhongchang left no mark in history.

Li Zaixing thought for a long while. “Brother Du, a true man seeks a name that endures for all generations. What is popular now may not become a classic. Was it not said, ‘Since ancient times, sages and worthies have all been lonely’? Only those who can endure solitude become eternal and revered. I think you must persevere—one day, your name will shake the world. As for those others, why concern yourself? They are like fireflies, not even meteors, and certainly unworthy to stand beside you.”

Du Fu glanced at Li Zaixing, his brow easing a little. “You are quoting Cao Zijian’s poem, aren’t you?”

Li Zaixing shrugged. “Perhaps—I can’t quite recall.”

Du Fu let out a laugh, then fell silent. Li Zaixing couldn’t even remember the lines of Cao Zijian, yet the two poems he had casually recited had won him fame, and the favor of Zheng Juju, so much so that two famed courtesans, Zheng Juju and Yang Miaor, had quarreled over him. Meanwhile, Du Fu himself had been writing for thirty years with no success. Was it truly that, since ancient times, sages and worthies had all been lonely?

…

The next morning, Li Zaixing rose early to practice martial arts. Training in the depths of winter and heat of summer was an unshakable habit of his. It might not seem a feat to shake the heavens, yet the perseverance to keep at it year after year was not something everyone could manage.

Just as not everyone could cultivate martial skills as formidable as Li Zaixing’s.

After practicing his fist techniques, Li Zaixing moved on to the spear, wielding a long staff in the courtyard, thrusting and parrying. The moves were not complex; he simply practiced them over and over, until the staff felt like an extension of his own limbs, obeying his will.

While he trained, Aiermaidi watched from the side. Her leg was still injured; she could barely stand, let alone walk, much less practice martial arts. Yet she sat there, her eyes fixed on Li Zaixing’s every movement, her hands unconsciously mimicking him, her brow furrowed as if puzzled by something.

“Is there something you don’t understand?” Li Zaixing asked, handing the staff to Lu Hu after finishing, and wiping his sweat.

Aiermaidi smiled. “There’s a lot I don’t understand. But I’d rather wait until my leg heals, exchange a few moves with you, and then ask.”

Li Zaixing laughed. “Very well. Then focus on your recovery. I look forward to crossing arms with you, to see your techniques and broaden my horizons.”

As they chatted, Zhiyuan came to summon him. Li Zaixing followed him to the training ground, where the martial monks were gasping for breath as they ran laps. Per Li Zaixing’s orders, from today onward, their first task each morning would be to run ten laps around the grounds with weights. The training ground wasn’t large, less than two hundred paces per lap—so ten laps would be just under three kilometers by his reckoning. But the monks' stamina was poor; five kilometers was a tough ask, so gradual progress was needed.

Some kitchen hands brought breakfast—fried eggs, steamed buns, and steaming porridge. The aroma made the monks drool. Without Zhiyuan’s urging, each ran like a randy little donkey, eager for their meal.

“Uncle Master, your method is brilliant,” Zhiyuan beamed. “After feasting on tofu yesterday, they got up to run at dawn without being called.”

Li Zaixing looked around. “Where is that one surnamed Tian?”

Zhiyuan was momentarily confused, then realized who he meant. He chuckled, “You mean Wudao? He was injured yesterday, but insisted on running. By the fifth lap, he couldn’t go on; the last five laps he basically crawled, and only finished by midnight. He’s probably…”

Zhiyuan cut himself off, clicking his tongue. Tian Jinjiang was slowly making his way over, clutching his chest with one hand and leaning on a wooden pole with the other. He glared at Zhiyuan, then faced Li Zaixing, staring at him fiercely. “I finished all ten laps yesterday, not a single step short.”

Without a word, Li Zaixing pointed at the monks still running. Tian Jinjiang paused, his eyes flashing with grim resolve. He tossed the stick aside and ran after them. Li Zaixing watched him for a moment, then called out, “Wait!”

Tian Jinjiang stopped and looked back, puzzled. Li Zaixing stepped forward, pressed the heel of his palm to the injured spot, and ordered, “Inhale—deeply, as much as you can. Then slowly exhale. Repeat three times.”

Tian Jinjiang obeyed. At once, the pain in his wound flared, cold sweat breaking out on his brow. But he gritted his teeth, drew breath until his lungs were full, then exhaled slowly. After three cycles, the pain eased with each repetition. His complexion grew rosier, and he exhaled in relief.

“Jog, and adjust your breathing as you run,” Li Zaixing instructed coolly. “Afterward, I’ll teach you some martial techniques.”

“Alright.” Tian Jinjiang nodded and jogged off.

When the monks finished their ten laps, they crowded around eagerly for breakfast. Seeing Li Zaixing nearby, they didn’t dare slack off; each greeted him respectfully, which Li Zaixing accepted with composure. While they ate, he outlined the day’s training.

These monks lacked solid foundations; it was unrealistic to make them masters in a short time. Fortunately, their opponents were only a pack of young ruffians, so Li Zaixing didn’t intend to teach them advanced skills—just basic grappling techniques, enough to subdue troublemakers when needed. He also didn’t want them to become as ruthless as himself; that would bring trouble upon his senior, Juehui.

After explaining, he demonstrated the techniques, repeatedly, pointing out key principles, then gave individual guidance until each had grasped the basics and could practice with a partner.

By the time he finished, the sun was high. Li Zaixing returned to the western courtyard, where Du Fu and Madam Yang were already up. With the maid Axin helping, Madam Yang had little to do and could simply sit in the courtyard, directing Axin. Seeing Li Zaixing return, Madam Yang greeted him with a gentle smile, “Brother Li, where did you find this little Daoist girl? She’s so adorable; I almost hate to let her go.”

Li Zaixing glanced at the house. “She’s not up yet?”

“She’s sleeping soundly,” Madam Yang said with pity. “The child is truly exhausted—she won’t wake no matter how I call. There really are such heartless parents in the world, to work a child so hard for a little money.”

Li Zaixing frowned. “Did I ever say I’d send her back?”

Madam Yang smiled. “If you don’t send her back, do you mean to keep her? Money isn’t the main issue, but Qinen Lane is the residence of the imperial consort and her sister. If the Daoist girl who blessed their new home goes missing, do you think they’ll let it go? They’ll come looking at Bodhi Monastery sooner or later.”

Li Zaixing understood her meaning. Imperial Consort Yang was highly favored; offending her would be disastrous—neither Madam Yang nor the monastery could afford such trouble.

“And if I do send her back—what will become of Chongniang then?”

“If you just hand her back like this…” Madam Yang hesitated. “I’m afraid it won’t end well.”

A chill ran through Li Zaixing’s heart. After a moment’s silence, he said, “In that case, I have even less reason to send her back. Don’t worry, sister-in-law—I’ll take her elsewhere immediately, so Bodhi Monastery won’t be implicated.”

Madam Yang felt a pang of shame and said nothing more.

At that moment, Li Mi strode in briskly. Seeing him, Madam Yang quickly rose and withdrew inside.

“Dear brother, in just two days you’ve become famous!” Li Mi said with a grin. “The moment I entered Pingkang Lane, all I heard was talk of your poetry…”

“Here you are at the crack of dawn just to poke fun at me?” Li Zaixing rolled his eyes. “Enough joking—what’s your real purpose?”

“Of course there’s business,” Li Mi glanced around. “Will you come with me to admire the murals of Wu Daozi and Wang Mojie?”

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