LFHYB -Chapter 205 Know Them Better Than They Know Themselves

Li Xuanba considered and held a literary gathering at the Jin Palace outside the city, inviting young scholars from Chang’an to enjoy the snow and plum blossoms.

He brought small copper pots suitable for charcoal, sliced ingredients thinly, and prepared many sauces so that the scholars could cook themselves—both warming and fun.

Charcoal copper hotpots were a favorite of the Qing Empress Dowager, and Li Xuanba figured the Tang scholars would enjoy them too.

Li Xuanba was not only the Acting Jin Prince of Tang but also the recognized leader among the scholar-gentry.

The popular songs and lyrics at the time were adapted by him from folk to literary versions, elevating the material to scholarly recognition.

He also held the title of a Sui scholar.

Though his “scholar” status had been somewhat superficial back in Sui, when he was still a Sui subject, he had looked down on the scholar-gentry. But now Sui was no more. Anyone claiming that Li Xuanba’s “scholar” status was shallow would be mocked for being overly bitter.

Now Li Xuanba reclaimed his scholarly identity and invited only young scholars to an elegant gathering. Even those from the Shandong aristocratic families, who appeared aloof and claimed to disdain mingling with corrupt nobility, sent their best sons.

The Zheng family of Xingyang, still reeling from Li Jiancheng’s failure, also sent representatives.

They had intended to send Zheng Guang, the only one under Li Shimin and Li Xuanba (actually under Li Zhiyun), but Zheng Guang, impatient with interference from his clan, settled his parents in the capital and then set off with a few attendants to search for Li Shimin and Li Zhiyun on the plains.

The Zhengs could only repeatedly instruct those attending the feast to remain humble and cautious.

Aristocratic families, though claiming glory, were fragile. A glance at any family genealogy would show countless ancestors slaughtered, leaving only collateral branches or orphaned heirs to inherit.

Even the current preeminent Cui family had been wiped out once during the Northern Wei historical purge.

Cui Hao’s kin and in-laws—over two thousand people—were killed, nearly clearing the family line.

The Zhengs, heavily implicated in Li Jiancheng’s collusion with the Turks, bore even graver sins than the “historical purge” cases.

Like the current Cui family, which restored some pride through collateral lines and orphaned heirs, the Zhengs could potentially survive if Li Shimin targeted them—but would those future Zhengs have anything to do with the present ones?

Aristocratic families claimed to be pure and noble, but in reality, those with true backbone were often killed during dynastic transitions. Those who survived were mostly opportunists.

The Zheng ancestors maintained their status in Sui only by collaborating with Emperor Wen.

Now, with their main line’s investments failing, they had to lie low. To preserve the family, humility was not shameful.

Not only did the Shandong aristocrats send young heirs, but even the “foreign surname” families led by the Xiao clan, and the proudest “Guanzhong families,” carefully selected their young scholars.

Even declining families, such as the “Wu,” “Zhu, Zhang, Lu, and Gu” clans, sent their young scholars. Other mid-level aristocratic families attending Li Xuanba’s literary gathering were all exceptionally handsome and elegant at first glance.

Li Xuanba said to his fifth brother-in-law, Zhao Cijing, “Good thing I invited you.”

Zhao Cijing laughed through tears. “In Third Lord Li’s eyes, am I only useful for my face?”

Li Xuanba said firmly, “No way! My brothers-in-law still need to compete with these scholars in talent.”

Zhao Cijing joked, “Then you must just value my face above all else.”

In actual history, Zhao Cijing would have been killed after failing in the campaign against Emperor Yao Su, but now he remained in Chang’an. Though he lost the chance to gain military merit, he also avoided imprisonment.

Thanks to his identity as the husband of Li Shimin and Li Xuanba’s sister, and his universally admired face, even if he didn’t earn merit, Li Shimin—who inherited Li Yuan’s strong preference for handsome men—would promote him well. Moreover, Zhao Cijing was truly capable in both civil and military affairs.

Li Xuanba looked over the laborers who were still idle, and his first thought was of his brothers-in-law.

The eldest brother-in-law, Feng Shaoshi, was mature and steady. He wasn’t particularly talented, but reliable—a family-oriented man who had already been appointed regional governor, pacifying and managing the local populace.

The second brother-in-law, upon hearing of Li Yuan’s uprising, divorced Li Xuanba’s second sister. Now his whole family hid in their hometown, afraid to come to the capital. Their mother was arranging another suitable marriage for the second sister, strengthening family ties so she wouldn’t suffer again.

The third brother-in-law, Chai Shao, was still in Chengdu “raising pandas,” and reportedly had trained a panda as a mount. Li Xuanba felt this third brother-in-law had a rather unusual style.

The fourth brother-in-law, Duan Lun, was, like Chai Shao, very capable.

Duan Lun was originally meant to be the fourth sister’s second husband, arranged by Li Jiancheng. Li Xuanba had taken a look in advance, found Duan Lun handsome, and recommended him to Li Yuan. Duan Lun and the fourth sister had already formalized their marriage and were deeply harmonious.

Now he had been sent by Li Shimin to Chengdu to assist the third brother-in-law. Duan Lun took the fourth sister with him, saying that since Chai Shao was showing off his “white panda,” he would take his wife along to see it. The journey in the mountainous Shu region was long, so their son was left in the care of his own mother.

The Empress was just starting to look at potential matches, and Li Qiniang had just been born, so the household had no laborers for Li Xuanba to employ.

After checking around, only Zhao Cijing, who was still serving his sick mother, remained in the capital. So Li Xuanba personally went to Zhao Cijing’s residence to summon his fifth brother-in-law.

Zhao Cijing’s mother immediately scolded him, saying that while he might stay in the capital to care for her, he should still accomplish something. Staying idle in the city was not filial piety—it was laziness.

“You are now a Commander of the Imperial Son-in-law Guards. Do you want to rely on your wife’s family to shield you for a lifetime? You once promised to make Lady Li proud!”

The dutiful Zhao Cijing, embarrassed by his mother’s scolding, didn’t even dare return home. If he didn’t help Li Xuanba host this literary gathering properly, he would have no face to meet his mother or wife.

Li Xuanba, a master at filing complaints and credit-claiming, waved his sleeve, hiding his intentions and merit.

Invitations had been sent out in advance. Li Xuanba, with Zhao Cijing and Li family youths, began flipping through genealogies.

Since the Wei and Jin dynasties, aristocratic politics had been established; every family maintained genealogies, and all social interactions revolved around them.

From friendships to marriages, scholars first presented their genealogies to check each other’s family backgrounds.

When selecting officials, one also consulted records of noble families. Though the Sui and Tang no longer appointed officials solely based on family, examining genealogies remained necessary to prevent tightly connected clans from monopolizing key posts.

The Tang continued the Sui’s Bureau of Genealogies, staffed by prominent scholars.

Anyone claiming to be a learned scholar had to memorize the major genealogies of prominent families.

Even ordinary aristocratic offspring had to memorize their own and their in-laws’ genealogies.

When Li Shimin and Li Xuanba were young, their mother had them memorize their own and in-laws’ genealogies until they were dizzy and sleepy.

Although Li Xuanba had a photographic memory and Li Shimin could memorize after a few readings, genealogies were dull; even after memorizing them, one felt sleepy.

Zhao Cijing, confident in his talent, had never memorized so many genealogies.

Pressing his temple, he said, “You are the superior host. Even if you don’t know their genealogies, they won’t complain. They probably wouldn’t even bring it up in your presence.”

Li Xuanba continued flipping through the genealogies of the scholars attending: “They won’t boast about their genealogies in front of me, but when I converse with them, I know both their family and in-law genealogies inside out. Would they feel honored, or frightened?”

Zhao Cijing frowned thoughtfully, then smiled and sighed: “If it were me, I’d probably be scared.”

When a superior pays excessive attention to memorizing genealogies, it is no longer delightful—it is purely intimidating.

Li Xuanba said, “All the scholars attending are from aristocratic families. Though I haven’t barred children from humble families, some high-ranking officials of humble origin dare not send their children. It’s not that they overvalue aristocrats—they just know aristocratic children are better educated and don’t want to embarrass themselves.”

After finishing one genealogy, he opened a second: “Tang still needs these aristocratic children. To prevent powerful families from becoming unmanageable like in the Wei and Jin periods, we must balance all aristocratic forces—support weaker families, suppress stronger ones.”

Later generations often misunderstood Emperor Gaozong and Empress Wu as favoring commoners over aristocrats. In reality, they supported their own aristocratic families and suppressed the Guanlong faction.

During the Zhenguan period, Shandong aristocrats were largely ignored by Li Shimin. By the time of Gaozong and Empress Wu, they eagerly aligned themselves with the throne. While commoner officials did make some gains, it was not decisive. Most prime ministers were aristocrats.

The Empress personally favored noble lineage, well-known at the time. Supporting Shandong aristocrats was both personal preference and necessity: commoners then lacked the talent to challenge Guanlong nobles. Only aristocrats could suppress other aristocrats.

After the Shenlong coup, Shandong aristocrats were once again suppressed for being on the wrong side. It wasn’t until the Anshi Rebellion, when Guanlong military aristocrats were badly depleted defending the Tang, that Shandong families regained influence in the mid- and late-Tang, almost rotating as prime ministers.

Guanlong nobles limited imperial power but were pragmatic; Shandong aristocrats were less capable in governance and strategy but obedient, and as long as they had troops, they could be utilized.

Later, the clans in Shandong, who “shared the same fate as the Tang,” were wiped out by Huang Chao, making them a family of loyal martyrs. Li Xuanba held no prejudice against them and was willing to give them a chance.

Li Xuanba, in a last-minute effort, memorized the family trees of all the aristocratic youths attending the gathering.

His memory, like a recorded disc he could pull from at will, was the only “cheat” he had in coming to the Tang dynasty.

As for communicating his true feelings to his second brother—that wasn’t a cheat, just a way to relieve stress.

“You probably know these families better than the aristocratic youths themselves now,” Zhao Cijing admitted, completely overwhelmed. Though his memory was good, cramming so many names into his head had left him utterly confused.

Li Xuanba laughed. “I show such respect for their lineage; they’ll surely be touched and willingly serve me.”

Zhao Cijing gave a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’ll be deeply moved.”

Or perhaps they just don’t dare to move, right? After all, you’re holding a slaughtering knife!