LFHYB -Chapter 93 Wishing to Speak with Zhishi Lang

The Sui Dynasty inherited many official titles from the Wei and Jin dynasties, which in turn inherited them from the Han.

For example, the title “General of the Tiger Guards” comes from “Tiger Guard Zhonglang General.”

Although the names are the same, their duties and status are quite different. Originally, the Tiger Guard Zhonglang General commanded the imperial guard and could only be held by trusted officers. Now, it is just a mid-level officer in the fubing system.

In the third year of Daye, Yang Guang reformed the military system, converting the twelve remote-command fubing units into twelve guards and four offices, collectively called the sixteen guards. Newly added offices, the Left and Right Personal Guards and the Left and Right Gate Monitors, were given the authority to protect the emperor and palace, taking these duties away from the original twelve guards. The fubing units they once commanded became the “outer army.”

After Yang Guang changed the most basic Wei Guard Cavalry Command (骠骑府) into the Eagle-Raising Command (鹰扬府), he greatly increased their number. Almost every prefecture now had one or two Eagle-Raising Commands. As their numbers grew, however, the authority of each Eagle-Raising General was diluted.

Yang Guang’s move was meant to weaken the control that high court generals had over these units. Most of the newly created Eagle-Raising troops were recruited locally, and under the emperor’s orders they were not to take commands from other Eagle-Raising Commands. As a result, what had once been the central imperial guard was transformed entirely into regional forces.

The consequence of this evolution was that these forces were first defeated one by one by peasant rebel armies, and then the surviving Eagle-Raising Commands rebelled and declared themselves independent, their generals becoming local warlords.

Most of the many so-called “rebel kings” at the end of the Sui dynasty were originally Eagle-Raising generals of the Sui.

A Tiger-Brave General (虎贲郎将) was the deputy to one of the Twelve Guard Grand Generals, and in peacetime was the real field commander. He took orders directly from the emperor and had the authority to mobilize multiple Eagle-Raising Commands.

Under normal circumstances, Tiger-Brave Generals remained central officials and only took the field when dispatched by imperial decree.

By appointing Li Shimin as Tiger-Brave General and Li Xuanba as his deputy, the Tiger-Fang General, and stationing them permanently in Qinghe Prefecture, Yang Guang broke the old rule that only central officers temporarily led armies on campaign. Now mid- to high-ranking generals were being directly stationed in the provinces.

This change made many court officials extremely excited.

When Emperor Wen of Sui had unified the realm, he had also delegated military power to the provinces, establishing general-governor offices that combined civil and military authority at key strategic points.

Once the realm was pacified, Emperor Wen naturally reclaimed local military authority, abolished the general-governor offices, and stripped military power from local administrators.

Now, with rebels rising everywhere, restoring a system of combined civil-military authority to suppress them quickly was indeed the best way to stabilize the state. The right of generals to establish their own headquarters—which had been abolished under Yang Xian and Yang Guang—would likely be reopened as well.

For now, this was only the beginning.

If the rebellions were swiftly crushed, Li Shimin and Li Xuanba would certainly return to the capital. Their current posting in Qinghe could still be seen as nothing more than a normal expedition.

Thinking of it that way, many ministers and nobles secretly hoped that the rebellions would not be put down too quickly.

The chaos of the Wei, Jin, and Northern–Southern Dynasties had lasted three hundred and sixty-nine years. The Sui dynasty’s unified empire was only in its second generation. Most senior officials at court still remembered the age of war.

If Yang Xian could usurp the throne from a powerful regent, why couldn’t they?

In an age of chaos, anyone with a dream could step onto the stage.

Yang Guang, however, did not think that far ahead.

He did not take the rebels or Goguryeo seriously. Goguryeo was no bigger than a single Sui prefecture. If he brought the full strength of the empire against it, it would surely be a crushing victory.

When he returned in triumph, his army could simply crush those rebels like insects along the way.

That was why Yang Guang was especially irritated by officials who wore anxious expressions.

“Learn from Li Erlang and Li Sanlang,” he told them. “I sent you to suppress bandits so corvée labor and military conscription can proceed smoothly. Don’t slow down my personal expedition.”

Yang Guang was not a fool. He knew that noble families kept private soldiers and weapons, and that local strongmen still maintained fortified estates.

But how much of a threat could a handful of rebels really pose to those powerful families? The officials who kept making a fuss at court were simply unwilling to spend their own strength suppressing rebels for the dynasty without compensation.

To interrupt his great imperial campaign for such a trivial matter was, in Yang Guang’s eyes, an open display of disloyalty.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Several censors who had urged him to postpone the Goguryeo campaign because of the widespread rebellions were thrown into prison.

Su Wei had also wanted to advise Yang Guang to slow down and give the people a chance to breathe, but seeing what happened, he shut his mouth to avoid bringing disaster upon himself.

He deeply missed the days when Gao Jiong and Yuwen Bi were still at court.

If those two old men were still there, they would surely have argued forcefully with the emperor.

Su Wei even considered writing to them and asking them to step forward to remonstrate, but he worried that Yang Guang still hated Gao Jiong. Afraid of being branded part of Gao Jiong’s faction, he gave up the idea.

The ennoblement of two teenage “Generals” sent shockwaves through the court. Every official, great and small, began plotting in their own way.

Having achieved his goal, Li Xuanba stayed a little longer in Zhuo Prefecture.

When Ye Hu’s caravan arrived with treasures from the Western Regions, hunting hawks, and fine horses, Li Xuanba delivered gifts to each of the Five Great Families of the Daye era, and then sent Yang Guang a lavish package of hunting dogs and hawks. Only then did he set out.

During this time, he stayed in the palace to accompany Yang Guang and the empress. Only in the last two days did he lodge at the residence where Li Yuan was staying.

By then, Li Yuan had sorted through his emotions and calmed down.

After thinking it over carefully, cold sweat broke out over his whole body. In a moment of carelessness, he had nearly dragged his entire family to the executioner’s block.

When he saw Li Xuanba again, all he could say was guiltily, “Dade, this time it was your father who almost harmed you.”

Li Xuanba replied irritably, “Second Brother and I would probably only have been exiled. You, Father, would definitely have been ordered to commit suicide.”

He even made a throat-cutting gesture, which earned him a knock on the head from Li Yuan.

Seeing that his son could still complain so irreverently, Li Yuan knew he was not angry, and he relaxed.

He explained, “I only told you to act as you saw fit and to humor the Zheng clan a little. I never meant for you to become their guards. Even if you really were the private troops of my Tang Ducal House, you’d never go be bodyguards for the Zhengs.”

The more Li Yuan thought about it, the angrier he became. Slamming the table, he said, “How did it get twisted into me ordering you and Erlang to serve as guards for the Zheng clan?!”

Li Xuanba replied, “Probably because the name of the Zheng clan of Xingyang is so famous that even our own household servants think they’re superior. Isn’t there a saying, ‘Emperors come and go, but aristocratic clans endure’? High noble families are seen as more exalted than the imperial house itself. A lot of people probably think that way.”

Li Yuan sneered. “Enduring aristocratic clans? Those ‘enduring’ clans have been slaughtered plenty of times.”

Li Xuanba was not surprised by that answer.

Li Yuan did value great clans, but only for the benefits they could bring him. He had no genuine reverence for the golden signboard of aristocratic pedigree.

When Li Yuan later became emperor, he acted entirely on his own preferences and did not care at all about the great clans. He favored the Hedong Pei clan only because they were the “original shareholders” who had invested in his uprising.

At the Zheng clan of Xingyang, Li Yuan also showed a very snobbish side of himself.

When he was seeking a Zheng daughter as a bride for Li Jiancheng, Li Yuan behaved like a shameless sycophant toward a great aristocratic family.

But once the marriage was settled and the Tang Duke’s household began to flourish, Li Yuan put on the airs of a Tang Duke when dealing with the Zhengs.

Back then, when the Zheng clan wanted to invest in Li Xuanba and Li Shimin’s soap workshop and printing shop, Li Yuan had declined with the excuse that they were doing business together with the emperor and imperial princes—he did not want the Zhengs to get a share of that pie.

Li Yuan was not a broad-minded man. Since the Zhengs had once been lukewarm toward him, he now treated them with nothing more than bare formal courtesy.

“If it weren’t for Jiancheng writing to ask me, I would have wanted to decline this trip,” Li Yuan explained. “After all, it’s his in-laws’ place, so I still have to give them some face.”

Li Xuanba said, “I know. To Father, to Second Brother, and to me, the Zheng clan isn’t important; but to Eldest Brother, the Zheng clan is very important. Eldest Brother will probably walk the civil-official path, and he needs the Zhengs’ support.”

Li Yuan thought of how Li Jiancheng had voluntarily gone to Zhuojun to earn merit, only to be unable to endure the hardship and cry his way back to Luoyang midway. A trace of disappointment surfaced in his eyes.

“The future glory of the Tang Duke’s household will still have to rely on you and Daxiong,” he said.

Li Yuan patted Li Xuanba on the shoulder and spoke earnestly, “Your elder brother is hopeless now. It’ll be good enough if he isn’t stripped of his title and can just collect a duke’s stipend and live as a rich idler. The future brilliance of the Li family can only depend on you and Daxiong. But Dade, even though this matter is urgent, you should have brought Daxiong with you. Your martial skills are so poor—what if something happens to you on the road?”

The more Li Yuan spoke, the more worried he became, and he grew increasingly long-winded.

Li Xuanba tried to escape midway, but Li Yuan clamped him down with both hands and failed his escape. He was forced to listen to Li Yuan’s nagging for a full hour.

As Li Yuan complained on and on, he drifted into worries about Li Xuanba’s health and the fright of having nearly angered Yang Guang this time, and before he knew it, he was wiping away tears.

Li Xuanba had to turn around and comfort him instead.

He was secretly glad Second Brother had not come this time—otherwise he would definitely have ended up crying together with Father, doubling the sonic attack.

Fortunately, he was about to leave.

The waterways were clogged with ships transporting provisions, so Li Xuanba rode back to Qinghe on horseback.

Li Yuan escorted him to the city gates.

When they parted, Li Yuan sighed with emotion that his son had surpassed him.

Although both held the title of general, a fubing general and a miscellaneous-title general were completely different things. He himself would also have to work hard and beat his sons to promotion as soon as possible.

After Li Xuanba had ridden a few hundred meters, he looked back. Li Yuan was still craning his neck to watch him.

When he saw Li Xuanba turn his head, Li Yuan waved at him.

Li Xuanba’s lips unconsciously drooped. He flicked his riding crop toward his father and sped up.

He had originally thought that since he had “lodged a complaint with the emperor” and gotten Li Yuan punished, his father would resent him no matter how wrong he himself had been.

He had not expected Li Yuan to apologize, to reflect on himself, to be frightened for having implicated him and Second Brother, and even to worry about his health.

Seeing Second Brother’s official rank surpass his own, Li Yuan was a little dejected and uncomfortable, but he still showed relief and pride.

Li Xuanba thought of the parents in his previous life who had dragged him into the abyss, whose faces he could no longer even remember.

In the eyes of most people in later generations who grew up in normal families, his parents in this life would certainly be considered quite bad.

He suppressed the urge to look back again, only slowing his horse after passing a bend in the road.

He took a deep breath and exhaled the heaviness in his chest.

“Stop.”

The guards reined in their horses in confusion.

Li Xuanba said, “Change route. I’m going to Mount Tai.”

Chen Tieniu tried to dissuade him. “Young lord, the Qi-Lu region is also in serious turmoil. We should hurry back and reunite with Second Young Master.”

“I have something to do,” Li Xuanba replied. “This is an order. Follow me to Mount Tai.”

He stretched out his arm.

With a sharp jiu, Wu Di landed on it.

Whether in Qinghe or on the way to Zhuojun, Wu Di had always stayed by his side.

Neither Yang Guang nor Li Yuan knew that a golden eagle had been circling above them, swaggering down at night to eat meat from their kitchens.

“Wu Di, do you remember this road?” Li Xuanba asked.

Wu Di shook its head.

Li Xuanba sighed. “True enough. We’ve only walked it once—you can’t possibly remember it. Then just keep following me.”

Wu Di: “Jiu jiu!” Even if I do remember, I’ll still say I don’t, hehe.

Li Xuanba said to one of the guards, “Go back to Qinghe and tell Second Brother that I’ll be late. Don’t come looking for me—we’ll miss each other on the road.”

When they had left Qinghe Commandery, Li Shimin had ordered his confidants to obey any command Li Xuanba gave.

The guard was worried, but could only comply.

After the messenger left, Li Xuanba led the remaining men toward Jibei Commandery.

Although there was unrest in Qi-Lu, in the seventh year of Daye the Sui dynasty’s rule was still very stable, and the peasant rebels had not yet reached the stage of capturing cities. The commandery cities were very safe.

Mount Tai had always been a gathering place for scholars and literati. Even with unrest, there were still many men of letters visiting at its foot.

They all brought guards with them and did not care about the disturbances.

The peasant rebel bands would usually avoid these well-protected sons of officials and nobles.

To reach Mount Tai one had to travel part of the official road. Although the road was under “traffic control” due to the transport of grain and supplies, Li Xuanba, as an official, could still use it.

He rode past expressionless male and female laborers, passed scattered corpses on both sides of the road and the living dead crouched over them cutting off flesh, and finally reached the smaller road leading toward Mount Tai.

In the small town at the foot of Mount Tai, the wine banners of the taverns were still fluttering in the wind.

Li Xuanba chose a more elegant inn and dismounted. Turning to Tieniu, he said, “Go rent a large courtyard. If you can’t rent one, buy it. I’m staying here for several days.”

Chen Tieniu said with a miserable face, “Young lord, I beg you, hurry back to Qinghe. Second Young Master is waiting for you.”

“This is an order. Understand?” Li Xuanba said.

“I understand, I understand—can’t let the young lord repeat an order twice. I’ll go right now,” Chen Tieniu muttered.

The guards all sighed.

The leader, Zhou Da, said, “Third Young Master, if we really run into danger, what should we do?”