LFHYB -Chapter 29 Sui Dynasty Version of Entertainment Literature

Three days later, Li Zhao and Chai Shao returned for the formal homecoming ceremony. Duke Tang Mansion held a grand banquet, inviting all the Li family members who could attend.

Li Zhao and Chai Shao paid respects to Old Lady Dugu, Li Yuan, and Lady Dou, and also greeted other members of the Li clan.

Afterwards, Li Jiancheng brought the older Li family members who had already reached adulthood to drink and chat with Chai Shao. Li Zhao went to the back courtyard and found Li Xuanba and Li Shimin.

“Da De, your sister has set music to your poem. Want to hear it?” Li Zhao took out her pipa. “No running away.”

Li Xuanba sighed: “I wasn’t planning to run. And please continue to call me Third Brother.”

He truly wanted to run—because once Sister played the pipa, he and his second brother would be forced to perform together.

During the Sui dynasty, Emperor Wen believed that any music outside of the “proper tones” would bring ruin to the state. He didn’t favor musical skills and dismissed most musicians back to the common folk. But Yang Guang loved all music, and Pei Yun gathered over thirty thousand musicians into the palace to create and perform music for him.

The Sui elite, influenced by Xianbei customs, merged Western string instruments with the traditional pipa, creating a new pipa capable of both traditional Qing-Shang melodies and Western-style flourishes.

The Sui nobility loved the new pipa. Even though Emperor Wen disliked it, he could not stop the nobility from enjoying it.

Once Yang Guang embraced music, the elite could freely perform. The new pipa, like the qin, became a required skill in high society.

Li Xuanba and Li Shimin had started learning qin and pipa at age five.

Li Shimin, lively by nature, enjoyed all dynamic and audible entertainment, while Li Xuanba was less interested in instruments.

Moreover, in the Li family, everyone except him loved music. Whenever music played, he would be swarmed in the courtyard by a crowd of female relatives and servants performing together.

Noisy. Exhausting.

But since third sister had come to visit, at least that much face had to be given.

Li Xuanba frowned like an old man as he slowly tuned the pipa.

Li Shimin was already holding the pipa horizontally, taking a wide stance, and began plucking with a “plunk plunk” sound, tilting his head back and howling “aah aah aah” as he played—very much like those goofy boys in later times pretending to be cool with their guitars.

Watching his second brother’s ridiculous antics, Li Xuanba really wanted to draw this scene and show it to his fans in future generations. His fan account would now have new material to roast Emperor Taizong of Tang.

The musical notation of the Sui dynasty wasn’t standardized sheet music; it was written in text, recording finger positions for each instrument.

Such scores were hard to preserve for posterity; future generations could not know the exact scales or rhythms. Hence the saying: “Ancient pieces cannot be fully restored.” Modern reconstructions of ancient pieces are all newly arranged; a single ancient score could be adapted into countless pieces.

Although Li Xuanba didn’t have much musical background in his previous life, he still recognized simple musical notation. While practicing the pipa according to the fingerings, he pondered whether, once he became an idle prince in the future, he might contribute something to the music world of posterity.

That was a matter for the future. For now, he thought, maybe he’d forget about it when he grew up.

Although the scores of the present were hard to pass down, they were perfect for teaching instruments. After a quarter-hour of practice following the notation, Li Xuanba and Li Shimin could play the piece.

Li Shimin laughed: “The piece Sister wrote is really beautiful. If it were performed publicly, it would definitely spread through every street and alley.”

Li Xuanba’s face stiffened: “We can’t play it in front of outsiders. It would affect Sister’s reputation.”

Li Shimin’s expression fell: “I hate reputation. It’s always ‘reputation this, reputation that’—so annoying.”

Li Zhao smiled: “It’s fine. I’ll close the door and sing it myself. Even though you can’t sing this piece yet, once the notation is finished, many people will compose new lyrics to it. Your talent, Third Brother, will still be known everywhere.”

Li Xuanba said: “Thank you, Sister.”

This was exactly the first step in the career path he had envisioned, and his sister was helping him take it.

After organizing the poems he could recite, Li Xuanba realized with a headache that there weren’t enough.

All told, he could recite just over a hundred poems. To fit his persona, even fewer were usable. Moreover, poems after the Tang dynasty might have rhymes that didn’t match the Tang style. At his current age, he could get away with “my poetic knowledge isn’t yet regular,” but that wouldn’t work when he grew up.

During the Sui and Tang, poetry was highly valued; officials who didn’t appreciate it were marginalized. For example, Tang minister Yang Zuan, a competent official, was criticized for not liking to compose poems and was looked down upon by his peers for not understanding elegance.

Li Xuanba had tried writing poems himself, but his talent simply wasn’t there. At every gathering, everyone composed poems—but Li Xuanba didn’t have that many.

How could he avoid being invited to compose poems? After much thought, he decided to create a bold, unconventional “mad scholar” persona while the remnants of the Wei-Jin style still lingered. He would say, “I don’t like writing poems,” focus on lyrics, and occasionally write one or two poems to show off his talent.

In later generations, “poetry” and “lyrics” are often grouped together as if both are “classical literature,” but that isn’t true.

“Lyrics” (ci) are formally called “quzi ci,” essentially popular lyrics that originated among commoners.

During the Northern and Southern Dynasties, folk lyrics already existed. From the Sui and Tang onward, they developed; pieces like He Chuan and Yangliu Zhi were originally Sui folk songs. By the High Tang, many literati participated in lyric composition, giving rise to literati ci. In the Northern Song, this accumulation gave birth to the brilliance of Song ci.

The tonal patterns (pingze) of lyric forms are actually “ancient musical notation.” A lyric form started with a tune; once it became popular, other literati wrote lyrics following the tune, forming a fixed “ci pattern.” In modern terms, it’s like “covering a song with new lyrics.”

For example, Man Jiang Hong was a new tune created by Liu Yong. In his youth, Liu Yong frequented pleasure houses. Every time a musician composed a new tune, Liu Yong would write lyrics. Once the new tunes became popular, other literati followed suit, and the lyric form Man Jiang Hong spread.

At this stage, lyrics were in their infancy, and there were few fixed forms. Li Xuanba could pick a piece from future generations; they would all be “new tunes,” and he could decide the tonal patterns and rhymes. If a word didn’t fit, he could freely change it.

Lyrics were “folk art” at the time. Composing lyrics was occasionally done by literati as an elegant pastime, but asking a literati to write lyrics was like hiring them as musicians. Nobles might sing along, but they wouldn’t compose tunes and ask Li Xuanba to add lyrics.

Yang Guang could have asked Li Xuanba, but given his personality, he would just write lyrics himself and let others sing them.

From then on, Li Xuanba’s “literati path” became clear.

When he still had to consider others’ opinions and attend literary gatherings, if someone asked for elegance, he could compose tunes and add lyrics. Occasionally, if a situation suited a poem he already knew, he could recite it to show his talent, but only as a rare exception.

Once his fame grew, his main focus would be literary writing. If he couldn’t write parallel prose well, he’d write Han-Tang-style essays, preemptively starting the Classical Prose Movement.

The Classical Prose Movement, advocated by Han Yu, rejected ornate parallel prose in favor of substantive Han-Tang-style essays—a “literary renaissance,” so to speak.

Li Xuanba, after all his years on the internet, could easily mock trivial writings, right?

Once his brother became emperor, he could abandon poetry entirely, no longer pretending to fit in by memorizing verses, and focus on writing essays to critique politics.

Even if his brother got criticized, he’d praise Li Xuanba for his satire, calling him a mirror.

Hands clasped, palms up. This was how the prestige of a great literary master was built. With that reputation, he could gather a group of literati in the court and “form factions.”

Having traveled through time once, doing nothing would be disrespectful to the gods of transmigration. Li Xuanba was laying low now only because the emperor was Yang Guang—not because he was truly lazy.

In his previous life, he had struggled at the bottom all his life. Just as things were improving and he was preparing for the adult college entrance exam, he transmigrated. Of course, he longed for fame and wealth.

As for morals? He had some, but not much—probably less than his purely native ancient brother.

For Li Xuanba, everything he sought was simply for himself and those he valued to live well. His desire to shine in court wasn’t about lofty ideals; it was about making a name for himself and giving his family a better life.

Using the Sui-Tang version of “literary entertainer” as his stepping stone to open the doors of the literary world, and forging his own literary stature through satirical essays—that was Li Xuanba’s plan, one he had pondered for many years and finally settled on as his career path.

Now, once his third sister and brother-in-law spread the score for Man Jiang Hong, he would finally take his first step.

As for that literary duel with Lady Zheng, it had merely been a pleasant surprise, one that incidentally helped him clarify and perfect the path he intended to follow.

Although Li Xuanba did not enjoy noise, he could tolerate the temporary clamor for the sake of his career.

Sure enough, just as he had expected, once the sound of the pipa began, more and more people gathered in the small courtyard where he and Li Shimin were staying.

Lady Dou was chatting with Lady Li Da and Lady Li Er—who had come home for a brief visit with their parents during Li Zhao’s return-home banquet. Hearing the commotion, Lady Dou, accompanied by Lady Li Da, Lady Li Er, and a group of Li Yuan’s concubines, joined the gathering, along with the female guests attending the banquet.

Among the group of women, there were also two seven-year-old children, and various instruments—qins, zithers, pipas, konghou, flutes—were brought out one by one.

Some of the women were so excited that they even had a large drum brought over, dancing on it to add to the fun.

All the women were very fond of Li Zhao’s Man Jiang Hong. Encouraged by Lady Dou, the three married Li ladies—Li Da, Li Er, and Li San—danced with swords together.

Li Shimin, who was easily carried away by excitement, abandoned the pipa and jumped onto the drum, bouncing up and down. “A-Xuan, come play too!”

Li Xuanba sighed, stuffed his ears with two silk threads to filter out the loudest sounds, and took up a small mallet to beat a gong.

Li Shimin jumped and stomped on the drum with both feet, Li Xuanba struck the gong expressionlessly, and the three married ladies performed their sword dance with a swish, swish, swish.

The elegance of their sword dance could perhaps only be compared to Du Fu’s Ode to Swords:

“Swift as Hou Yi shooting down nine suns,
Graceful as emperors riding dragons in flight.
Striking like thunder to quell anger,
Ceasing like rivers and seas in tranquil light.”

Watching them, Li Xuanba couldn’t help but feel the corners of his mouth lift slightly, and his half-closed eyes brightened with energy.

Meanwhile, Li Shimin, who usually kept his eyes wide open, now squinted in laughter.

If one did not know better, seeing his boundless energy and sweat-soaked appearance, one might think the roles of Li’s second and third sons had been swapped.

After singing Man Jiang Hong, the women performed other popular, bold songs of the moment.

Who said women only liked plaintive songs? Whether military songs, battle hymns, or lyrical tales of chivalry, they could all sing them skillfully. Some songs, even Li Shimin and Li Xuanba had never heard before.

Old Lady Dugu came with her cane to watch for a while. Rarely did she avoid being attended to by Lady Dou, leaving quietly on her own.

Afterwards, Old Lady Dugu sent a large amount of fine wine so that the women of the household and the female guests could drink their fill. The granddaughters stayed overnight, returning home the next day.

Not yet satisfied, Li Shimin, brought down from the drum by Lady Dou herself, held onto a wine jar: “I want to drink too!”

Li Xuanba chased after him: “No! Children can’t drink wine, you’ll get sick!”

Li Shimin ran circles around his brother: “I’m not you, A-Xuan.”

Li Xuanba ran a few steps but couldn’t keep up, panting: “Sisters, help me!”

The three married Li ladies laughed heartily: “No! Chase him yourself!”

Li Xuanba gnawed his teeth in frustration.

Seeing his brother unable to keep running, Li Shimin opened the small wine jar and took a gulp, then widened his eyes: “Ah! Why is this vinegar?”

Lady Dou, who had been smiling while watching Li Shimin and Li Xuanba roughhouse, bent over and laughed, patting her legs.

Li Shimin complained: “Mother, you tricked me!”

Lady Dou: “Ha ha ha, brave one, vinegar and wine come from the same source, they’re basically the same.”

Li Shimin spat out the sour taste: “Not the same!”

Li Xuanba laughed so hard he could barely breathe: “Serves you right! You wanted to drink, now keep going!”

Li Shimin rolled his eyes and then held the vinegar jar up to Li Xuanba.

Before Li Xuanba could react, his older brother poured a mouthful of vinegar into him: “Pff!”

Vinegar sprayed all over Li Shimin.

Li Shimin blinked.

The women laughed so hard they were in tears.

Li Zhao helped Li Shimin wipe his face while scolding him jokingly: “Serves you right! Who told you to bully the third brother?”

Li Xuanba hurried to wash the vinegar from his mouth.

The water was sweet, with the scent of grapes… wait, that’s not right—that’s wine! Only after drinking a whole cup did Li Xuanba realize it was actually grape wine.

Li Shimin complained: “A-Xuan is so cunning! You won’t let me drink, yet you enjoy it yourself. No, I also want… Ah? A-Xuan! What are you doing?!”

Li Xuanba put down the cup, picked up the pipa, and climbed onto the drum.

“The winding river comes from the sky!” Li Xuanba strummed the pipa haphazardly and began to sing in a tune no one could understand.

The women stopped drinking to watch Li Xuanba’s drunken antics.

The tune had no proper melody, the lyrics made no sense—it was like a commoner’s random chatter, crude and unrefined. Yet coming from a child, it held a certain innocent charm.

Li Xuanba forgot the lyrics halfway, his head spinning. He tossed the pipa aside, curled up on the drum, and snored loudly.

He had actually been knocked out by a single cup of wine.

The women, who had been thoroughly enjoying his performance, couldn’t help but laugh again at his sudden collapse.

Li Shimin climbed onto the drum and poked his brother’s face: “A-Xuan, wake up.”

Li Xuanba: “Snore… snore…”

Li Shimin poked again: “Da De, wake up!”

Li Xuanba rolled over: “Snore… snore…”

Li Shimin shook his head and sighed: “Mother, A-Xuan is drunk! Luckily I didn’t drink.”

Lady Dou laughed: “Bring the third son away, and let us continue drinking!”

“Alright!” the women laughed.

Li Shimin, not wanting to leave his brother behind, though still wanting to play, left with him.

Their little courtyard had been taken over by the womenfolk, so Li Shimin and Li Xuanba were assigned by Lady Dou to sleep in Li Zhiyun’s smaller courtyard.

On the way, they ran into Li Yuan, who was stopped by the servants at the courtyard gate.

Li Yuan, slightly tipsy himself, looked puzzled: “What? Is there somewhere in the Duke of Tang’s residence that even I, the Duke of Tang, can’t enter? I’m only here to ask the ladies a question—has the banquet ended yet?”

The gatekeeper servant woman smiled: “It’s by the orders of the old madam and the lady of the house. All the ladies are having so much fun; it’s better if the men don’t disturb them.”

Li Yuan frowned in dissatisfaction: “But I am the Duke of Tang!”

The servant woman asked: “Shall the Duke go ask the old madam and the lady of the house?”

Li Yuan hesitated for a moment, then pointed at Li Shimin, who was coming out of the courtyard, and at Li Xuanba, carried on the servant’s back: “They’re men too!”

Li Shimin looked puzzled: “Father, what are you talking about? Didn’t you say before that my brother and I are just children, not men? Since my brother is drunk, I’ll take my leave first.”

With that, Li Shimin led the servant carrying Li Xuanba away, swaggering as they left.

Li Yuan: “……”

The servant woman asked: “Do you want me to go ask?”

Li Yuan waved his hand: “No, no. It seems they don’t want to end the banquet yet. Let’s go, Jiancheng—we’ll continue drinking in the front courtyard!”

Li Jiancheng, who loved drinking, cheered at the suggestion: “Good! We’ve already drunk Chai Shao under the table—who’s next?”

Li Yuan said: “Take your elder brother-in-law and second brother-in-law down too!”

Li Jiancheng excitedly agreed: “Excellent!”

So father and son linked arms and went back to the front courtyard to continue their drinking contest.

That night, both the front and back courtyards drank until dawn. Men and women alike lay drunk in the gardens, sleeping among the flowers and grass.

The next day, the tune of Man Jiang Hong spread everywhere.

From the homes of princes and nobles, it reached the Qinlou and Chuguan, then spread to the streets and alleys.

Among the humble scholars seeking connections with the powerful, a craze for writing lyrics erupted for the first time, each hoping their version of Man Jiang Hong would catch the eyes of the nobles.

The fame of the Li siblings, Li Sanniang and Li Xuanba, also spread along with this “popular song,” reaching a wider audience of commoners.

As for the name “Li Zhao,” only Li Yuan, Lady Dou, the old Lady Dou, and the three brothers Li Jiancheng, Li Shimin, and Li Xuanba knew it—apart from Chai Shao. Chai Shao had even given Li Zhao a new character as a single name: “Yin,” calling himself a “kindred spirit.”

Li Xuanba commented that it was nothing but cheesy love talk.

The original version of Man Jiang Hong was locked away in the noblewomen’s back courtyard, only played and sung privately at gatherings of close friends.

But no wall is truly airtight, and no song can be completely hidden. Eventually, the original Man Jiang Hong still reached some ears.

Although no one outside seemed to sing the original, as soon as the first Man Jiang Hong was mentioned, everyone seemed to know it.

Yang Guang also heard Man Jiang Hong and immediately wrote his own lyrics, ordering musicians to perform it.

He greatly enjoyed songs that combined folk tunes with literati lyrics, considering them elegant yet accessible, giving a sense of a prosperous and harmonious age.

When news of Yang Su’s severe illness reached him, Yang Guang was discussing with Pei Yun about collecting small lyrics from across the country to compile a “lyric manual,” intending to promote this interesting folk “pop music” at court.

“Yang Su refuses to take medicine?” Yang Guang was delighted. Inspired by a folk tune called Willow Branches, he wrote new lyrics, using “plucking the willow” as a farewell, and secretly sent it to Yang Su.

Yang Su, already gravely ill, became overheated with blood upon hearing the lyrics, fainted, and later lay bedridden, his mind confused. Even if he wanted to take medicine, it could no longer cure him.

Thus, Yang Su, originally expected to die at the end of July, passed away in late June.

With Yang Su’s death, a huge weight lifted from Yang Guang’s heart. He staged an extremely grand funeral, posthumously awarding Yang Su the titles of Grand Minister of Works, Grand Commandant, and ten provincial governors, with the posthumous title “Jingwu.” Even ordinary princes’ funerals could not compare.

Yang Guang personally mourned for Yang Su and, “touched by the scene,” wrote the lyrics to Willow Branches, ordering it to be sung mournfully at Yang Su’s funeral.

Yang Su’s eldest son, Yang Xuangan, had heard Willow Branches at his father’s bedside half a month earlier. He bit his finger to write down Yang Guang’s lyrics on paper and then burned them before his father’s spirit, harboring hidden resentment—temporarily set aside for the moment.

The news of Yang Su’s death also spread to Daxing City.

Li Yuan and Changsun Sheng, along with their eldest sons, agreed to visit the grave together, while newlywed Chai Shao had to accompany Crown Prince Yang Zhao on a long trip.

All eyes were on Yang Su’s funeral. Stretching leisurely while waiting for the right moment, Li Xuanba burned the repeatedly revised drafts and went with Li Shimin to visit their teacher Lord Gao.

Upon hearing of Yang Su’s death, Lord Gao had fallen ill from grief, only allowing his eldest son to pay respects.

When Li Shimin and Li Xuanba visited Lord Gao, he claimed he was in good spirits despite being bedridden, reading in a pavilion in the middle of the lake.

Li Xuanba glanced at Li Shimin. Li Shimin smiled at Lord Gao: “Teacher, A-Xuan has something to ask you. I’ll go find Gao Sanlang to play first!”

With that, Li Shimin ran off before Lord Gao could reply.

Lord Gao looked at Li Xuanba in puzzlement.

He had no attendants with him. Li Xuanba had his attendants leave along the waterway corridor as well. Speaking quietly in the pavilion ensured no one else could hear.

“Teacher, I have a matter I wish to consult you about,” Li Xuanba said respectfully, bowing slightly.

Lord Gao asked: “Why did you need to send away the attendants for this?”

Li Xuanba replied: “It concerns the future.”

Lord Gao asked: “Do you want to ask about your future career?”

Li Xuanba shook his head: “I’ve already seen the future. I just wish to ask how to avoid future disasters.”

Lord Gao didn’t immediately understand him.

Li Xuanba continued: “For example, the Zhao Xuan brother my second brother just went to see—he is your third son, and also the excuse the Empress Wenxian used to frame you for disloyalty to Emperor Yang of Sui. In the future, he will…”

Gao Jiong exclaimed angrily, “What did you say! Empress Wenxian has never falsely accused me!”

Li Xuanba said, “Teacher, don’t you already know? That’s right. Your father was once an official under Dugu Xin, the father of Empress Wenxian, and was even granted the surname Dugu. You believe your family has a very close relationship with the Dugu clan. Although you support the Crown Prince and do not wish for palace upheaval due to replacing the eldest with the youngest, the Crown Prince is also Empress Wenxian’s son. How could she hold a grudge against you simply because you do not want her son to kill his own brother?”

Gao Jiong’s chest heaved, and he frowned as he looked at this seven-year-old child he had never fully understood.

He had long sensed that Li Xuanba was mysterious, sometimes not quite like a normal child.

At this time, with Buddhist culture flourishing, legends of “innate wisdom” and “Buddhist spirits incarnating” were everywhere. Gao Jiong couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander to the most mystical possibilities.

Still, he asked, “But your father Li Yuan told you to tell me this?”

Li Xuanba shook his head: “Father does not know this matter. Even my father does not know the things I can foresee. Besides my elder brother, I have only told you, Teacher.”

“Foresee the future?” Gao Jiong frowned. “Do you think I will believe that? What are you trying to say? If you can foresee the future, how can you not tell your father but tell me, an outsider? Aren’t you worried I might spread this?”

Li Xuanba said, “Because I can foresee the future, I know that Teacher is deeply disliked by the Emperor and will die at His Majesty’s hands next year. That is why I came to you. Even if Teacher were to spread this matter, no one would believe it. The Emperor would hate you even more, thinking you have other motives. What I have come to ask you, Teacher, is precisely how to save you from the fate of certain death next year.”

Li Xuanba wiped the corner of his eye with his sleeve; the ginger juice stung, and tears instantly welled up.

He blinked hard, bowed deeply, and choked out, “As your student, even if revealing myself brings danger, I do not wish for Teacher to die by the hand of a foolish ruler. Please teach me how to save you.”

Gao Jiong was dumbfounded. What? I’ll die next year?!

He had just been happily celebrating the death of the ungrateful Yang Su, that scoundrel, and now… he himself is going to die?!