Chapter 4: The Officialdom-Enchanted Poet Immortal (Asking for Recommendations and Favorites)

Wei Pavilion stood upon the Summit of Gathering Worthies, nestled on the southern slopes of Mount Heng. In the era of the Northern and Southern Dynasties, while war raged endlessly in the north, the lands south of the Yangtze enjoyed relative peace. During this time, Daoism flourished in the south, and Mount Heng became one of its sacred peaks, home to a multitude of Daoist temples—over thirty of which still remain today. Among them, none enjoyed greater incense and devotion than Wei Pavilion. Legend tells that in the Eastern Jin dynasty, Lady Wei cultivated the Way here for sixteen years before ascending to immortality in broad daylight. Revered thereafter as the Lady of the Southern Peak, the temple took her name and became known as Wei Pavilion.

During the Tang dynasty, when Daoism was the state religion and the pursuit of immortality the dream of many, the tale of the Lady of the Southern Peak inspired great fascination. Moreover, with Wei Pavilion situated conveniently near the city of Hengzhou at the mountain’s base, it became a favored retreat for those living in semi-retirement from worldly affairs.

Li Bi was currently residing at Wei Pavilion. His recent stay at Prajna Monastery on Tianzhu Peak had been to seek the wisdom of the reclusive monk Lazy Remnant and another eminent figure, the so-called Stone Monk.

Li Zaixing accompanied Li Bi as they entered the pavilion. At the entrance, Li Bi paused, an expression of curiosity flickering across his face as he halted. Perplexed, Li Zaixing asked, “What’s the matter?”

Li Bi gestured with his hand. Following his direction, Li Zaixing saw, at a distant hitching post, two fine horses and an ornately decorated carriage. Beside the carriage stood several young men in embroidered garments and jaunty caps. Though unfamiliar with the details of Tang dynasty attire, Li Zaixing could easily surmise these were servants of some wealthy household. Still, given Li Bi’s experience and station, it seemed odd for him to be so surprised.

“Are there distinguished guests at the temple?”

“It would seem so,” Li Bi nodded, his gaze narrowing. “That yellowish-white steed is a Teler Piao, bred in Dayuan. Such horses are exceedingly rare in the south, and even in Chang’an one seldom sees them. Whoever owns such a horse is surely no ordinary wealthy man.”

Li Zaixing felt a pang of embarrassment. Li Bi’s mind was indeed meticulous—he could infer so much from a single horse. Li Zaixing, having loved horses in his previous life, had only recognized it as a fine steed, never realizing its rarity and value.

Casting another glance at the carriage, Li Bi led Li Zaixing inside, turning into a side corridor toward their guest quarters. Just as they were about to enter, a young Daoist boy approached them with a cheerful smile. “Master Li, you’ve finally returned!”

Li Bi looked slightly surprised. “You were waiting for me?”

“There’s a distinguished guest in the temple who, upon hearing you were here, sent me to invite you for a meeting. Unexpectedly, you’ve been out for most of the day and even missed the midday feast.”

“What kind of distinguished guest?”

“The former Hanlin Scholar, Li the Banished Immortal.”

“Li Bai?” Li Bi’s brow furrowed, then he laughed. “So, it’s him. It seems he’s found wealth again.”

At the mention of Li Bai, Li Zaixing’s heart began to race. Li Bai’s name was known to all, both high and low. Even someone indifferent to poetry, like himself, had heard of the great Li Bai—the very embodiment of the flourishing Tang dynasty. What child in later generations had not recited his verses? He had not expected to encounter such a towering poet so soon after descending the mountain.

Yet, amid his excitement, Li Zaixing keenly noticed Li Bi’s tone of disdain. He quickly suppressed his budding smile and watched Li Bi in silence. After a moment of contemplation, Li Bi said, “Let me change my clothes, then I shall pay my respects.”

The Daoist boy, skilled at reading faces, bowed quickly. “Then I shall inform my master and the scholar of this good news.”

Li Bi nodded and led Li Zaixing into the guest room of the western annex. Opening the door, Li Bi gestured, “Please, brother, make yourself comfortable.”

Li Zaixing leaned his long staff outside and fetched water from the courtyard well to wash his face. Noticing Li Bi’s continued frown, he asked, “What, Sanlang, are you unwilling to meet the Poet Immortal Li?”

Li Bi shot him a glance, hesitated, and replied with a touch of helplessness, “You may not know this, brother, but while the Poet Immortal’s verses are indeed peerless—graceful, vigorous, with elegant allusions and novel metaphors—his character is less admirable. He is wild and unrestrained, his actions often unworthy of the celestial aura his poetry suggests. A few years ago, his temperament led to his dismissal with gold—a polite way of saying the emperor let him go. Since then, he’s wandered the land, seeking favors from the powerful in hopes of returning to office, but to no avail. Now, hearing of my presence here and eager to see me, I fear his purpose is related to this. If we meet, I truly do not know what to say to him.”

Li Zaixing understood. Li Bai had been dismissed by the emperor a few years prior—“dismissed with gold” meaning he was sent home with a reward, but really sacked. Unwilling to accept obscurity, he had since sought official posts everywhere, but how many officials would dare employ someone the emperor had dismissed? His repeated failures were, therefore, unsurprising. Perhaps Li Bai hadn’t come to Wei Pavilion for Li Bi specifically, but upon hearing of his presence, was eager to see him due to Li Bi’s special status.

Don’t be fooled by Li Bi’s current circumstances—he was a man of limitless potential, vastly superior to Li Bai’s prospects. Not only was he young, but he was also favored by the emperor and a close friend of the crown prince. Once the prince ascended the throne, Li Bi would surely rise high. Li Bai, having spent time in the capital, likely knew this, which was why he was now willing to humble himself before Li Bi, regardless of age or status.

Who would have thought that the Poet Immortal was so fixated on officialdom?

Yet, Li Bi’s reluctance to see Li Bai likely stemmed from more than just the latter’s opportunism. From his tone, it was clear Li Bi’s opinion of Li Bai’s character was lukewarm at best. “Wild and unrestrained” was hardly a compliment, and “unworthy of his celestial aura” was overtly critical.

“Has the Poet Immortal behaved so improperly?” Li Zaixing inquired.

“Alas,” Li Bi sighed, “it is said he hails from Suiye, and possesses a temperament laced with foreign boldness. His manners are not consistent with the teachings of the sages; his conduct in society is, frankly, eccentric. To lose himself in wine and neglect duty, to show no respect for his sovereign—these faults could perhaps be excused as a poet’s nature. But to marry into a noble house for wealth, that is a flaw of personal virtue. Brother, please wait here a while. I’ll be back shortly.”

Clearly, Li Bi did not wish to discuss Li Bai further. He left Li Zaixing alone, changed his clothes, and reluctantly went to meet Li Bai. Though Li Zaixing didn’t fully grasp all the details, he could sense that Li Bi’s attitude was not just indifferent but openly disapproving—especially concerning Li Bai’s private morals. Marrying into a powerful family as a son-in-law? Even in the modern age, that carried a stigma, let alone in ancient times—and for the sake of wealth, it seemed excessive even to Li Zaixing.

Was this truly the real Li Bai? Li Zaixing felt a tinge of disappointment. Having spent time with Li Bi, he knew the man rarely spoke ill of others behind their backs. For him to say such things, Li Bai must have indeed acted thus.

The truth was bitter to swallow. With a sigh, Li Zaixing pushed thoughts of Li Bai from his mind and surveyed his surroundings. Li Bi’s room was simple: a bed, a desk, a few seats, a plain folding screen, some books on the desk, a garment on the rack—nothing more.

Bored, Li Zaixing picked up one of the books. After a glance or two, he lost interest. In the eight years he had spent in this world, he’d read very few books. His master never read, and all his learning had come from oral instruction. The only writing he’d encountered was on temple steles and wall inscriptions—never a proper book. The monastery had a scripture library, but he had no interest in Buddhist texts and had never visited.

Li Bi’s books were handwritten manuscripts, vertically arranged in traditional characters, without punctuation—making them awkward to read. It dawned on Li Zaixing that, despite eight years in this world, he was still far from truly integrating. Even if he had no ambition for officialdom, he could not avoid written communication in the future. Reading and writing were basic skills he would need.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to read the book character by character. Only with great effort did he realize it was a treatise on military tactics, apparently penned by someone surnamed Wei. The section he was reading discussed training soldiers, resembling modern infantry drills—which piqued his interest. Yet, with his rudimentary grasp of classical prose, simply gleaning the gist was an achievement; understanding or mastering the essence was a distant dream.

Still, Li Zaixing was tenacious by nature. Though he read slowly and only half-understood, he persisted. Before long, however, voices from outside interrupted his thoughts, and the lines he’d just read vanished from his mind.

He had barely stood up when a figure strode in. The newcomer stood about six feet tall—a giant even by modern standards—wearing a soft-lappeted cap, a blue round-collared robe, and black leather boots. Most striking was the ornate sword at his waist, its scabbard worn from use—not a mere ornament, but a true killing blade, lending an air of martial authority to his scholarly attire.

The man looked Li Zaixing up and down, then laughed. “So, is this the Venerable of Prajna Monastery whom Li the Prodigy never ceases to praise?”

At the sound of his voice, Li Zaixing guessed this bearded elder of about fifty must be the Poet Immortal, Li Bai. Judging from his faintly mocking tone, he was not in high spirits. Glancing at Li Bi, who had just arrived and could only spread his hands in helplessness, Li Zaixing understood.

With a calm smile, he replied, “I have not received the Ten Precepts, so I am no true monk—merely a man of martial pursuits, unworthy of the title ‘Venerable.’ Might you be the Poet Immortal Li Bai, whose lines run, ‘The Yellow River’s water comes from heaven, rushing to the sea, never to return’?”

Li Bai paused, surprise flashing across his face. “The Yellow River’s water comes from heaven, rushing to the sea, never to return? Whose verse is that? Such grandeur!”

A new story has begun—recommendations and favorites are much appreciated!