LFHYB -Chapter 95 Lord Zhishi, Please Read My Poems

The young Daoist was startled by Li Xuanba’s sudden question. “W-Wei… Wei Zheng, courtesy name Xuancheng.”

Li Xuanba took a sip of warm water to calm himself.

He forced himself to stay composed. “Your native place?”

Wei Zheng replied, “Julu, Quyang…”

Li Xuanba took another sip of warm water.

That was enough. No need to say more. It really was him.

Why on earth would I run into Wei Zheng at the foot of Mount Tai?!

Li Xuanba took the poetry booklet from Chen Tieniu. His fingers were a bit stiff as he turned the pages.

The handwriting in Wei Zheng’s booklet was neat and rigorous, quite similar to the regular script that Yan Zhenqing would create in later generations.

Li Xuanba looked up at the refined, elegant young Daoist with his flowing beard, then down at the disciplined, upright handwriting in the booklet.

It really didn’t match.

Like most recommendation booklets of the time, Wei Zheng’s began with a title page listing his native place, family background, and teachers.

For scholars from humble families, writing this page was agony—no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t even make up half a page.

Because of the lingering Wei–Jin fashion, Sui-dynasty people still valued pedigree. The title page almost determined whether someone could be recommended at all. Looking at Wei Zheng’s booklet, the title page was far more wrinkled than the pages behind it—it was obvious how many closed doors he had met.

Li Xuanba skimmed Wei Zheng’s self-introduction and flipped straight to the next page, beginning to read the poems and essays he had written in his youth, works that history would never record.

When Wei Zheng saw Li Xuanba turn past the title page, the tightly clenched fist he had been holding finally loosened, and his eyes reddened again.

How long had it been since someone had flipped his booklet to the second page?

Those frayed edges were the result of him, after every rejection, turning the pages again and again while reading his own work in despair and bitterness.

Although not many of Wei Zheng’s writings were handed down, even the few surviving pieces showed his talent—possessing that balanced blend of substance and elegance characteristic of early Tang literature.

Li Xuanba suddenly thought of his own second brother.

Originally, he had thought his second brother had no talent for poetry. Only after watching him study it for several years did he realize that wasn’t true—his brother simply favored ornate, parallel prose and especially loved writing palace-style poems that were full of gorgeous words but thin in meaning. In modern terms, they were flowery, melodramatic teenage angst essays.

When his second brother wrote straight from the heart, his poems were quite good. But he just didn’t like writing that way.

Hearing Li Xuanba sigh, Wei Zheng, who had just relaxed a little, grew tense again. “I-is there something wrong with my poems?”

Li Xuanba shook his head. “Nothing wrong. It’s just that seeing how you combine substance and refinement made me think of my second brother. When he writes straight from the heart, lines like ‘Once I rode off on a single steed; now I command ten thousand chariots’ are truly bold and heroic. But he insists on writing things like ‘Hiding sorrow across a thousand miles, repressing layer upon layer of grief’—pure melodramatic whining. If he were willing to cultivate his heroic style properly, he ought to have a literary reputation in this age.”

The more Li Xuanba spoke, the angrier he became.

His second brother clearly had poetic talent that Li Xuanba himself didn’t, yet he refused to hone it properly. If he spent the same effort on sincere, forthright verse as he did polishing palace-style poetry, the Tang might well have produced a great frontier-ballad poet of the bold, heroic school far earlier.

But no—he just wouldn’t.

Flowers, snow, clouds, rain—piling up a whole poem of gorgeous scenery and then tacking on a bit of sorrow and resentment at the end. Every time Li Shimin finished one of his “good poems,” he forced Li Xuanba to critique it, and Li Xuanba felt like throwing up every time.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he got, muttering to himself as he kept reading Wei Zheng’s work.

Wei Zheng fell into thoughtful silence.

When Li Xuanba finished the booklet, he placed it on the table. “Your poems are good. If you don’t mind, would you accompany me for a few days? When I go to Qinghe, I’ll recommend you to my second brother.”

Wei Zheng hurriedly said, “I am willing to serve under Third Young Master!”

Li Xuanba shook his head. “Your presence is too sharp—I can’t keep you in check. Be a good boy and go to my second brother instead. Only he can handle you.”

Wei Zheng was startled. “Third Young Master can read faces?”

Li Xuanba said, “A little. Not much. Yours just stands out too much.”

Wei Zheng asked curiously, “And what does my face say…?”

Li Xuanba sighed. “Whoever you follow will die. Whoever you recommend will rebel.”

Wei Zheng: “……”

Blood rushed to his head and his vision went black.

Chen Tieniu turned in disbelief to his lord. “My lord! Then why are you still keeping him?!”

Li Xuanba laughed. “He brings misfortune to his lords, but with my second brother he complements him perfectly—they’ll become a famous pairing. But Wei Xuancheng, you should have wandered for another ten-odd years before meeting my second brother. Instead, you’ve handed me your calling card early. Why not try elsewhere first? Maybe it’s those ten years of drifting and hardship that forged the talent you’ll have ten years from now?”

Wei Zheng’s face flushed bright red. He stammered for a long time without getting a word out.
Do I really have to believe in this physiognomy nonsense…?

Chen Tieniu whispered, “My lord, if you’ve already read his face and said he brings misfortune to his masters, would he still dare go and serve someone else?”

Li Xuanba joked, “There are only the three of us in this room. If I don’t say it, you don’t say it, and he doesn’t say it, could Wu Di go out and spread rumors?”

Wu Di tilted its head left and right. “Chirp!”

Wei Zheng trembled as he cupped his hands. “Third Young Master, please don’t scare me.”

Seeing that he had frightened the young Wei Zheng, Li Xuanba burst out laughing.
“Hahaha, fine, fine, I won’t scare you anymore. Since you’ve already come before me, I won’t make you suffer another ten years of wandering. Stay with me for a while as a clerical officer. Let me see what you can really do with your art of persuasion.”

Chen Tieniu hurriedly protested, “My lord, didn’t you say he brings misfortune to his master?! It wouldn’t be right for him to follow you!”

Whatever his lord said, he believed. If Wei Zheng brought misfortune, then he truly brought misfortune!

Li Xuanba smiled. “With my second brother here, he won’t be able to curse me. Besides, my own fate is thin enough already—how much worse could it get?”

He instructed, “Have the village head arrange for someone to make him a clerk’s uniform. Give him half of yours for now. This is a great talent—don’t shortchange him.”

Chen Tieniu replied, “Yes.”

Li Xuanba said to Wei Zheng, “Although I know you’re a great talent, you haven’t yet displayed it. You’ll have to start from the lowest clerical post and build experience. I hope you won’t be offended.”

Wei Zheng hurriedly bowed. “How could I be? I’m deeply honored!”

“Go wash up and tidy yourself first,” Li Xuanba said. “Shave off that long beard. You’re going to be one of the young talents beside my second brother and me—don’t try to look so old-fashioned.”

Wei Zheng touched his long beard and gave a wry smile. “Yes, my lord.”

After bowing again and again in thanks, he followed Tieniu away in a daze.

Wu Di fluttered down onto Li Xuanba’s lap, stretching out its legs and settling snugly in his arms.

Li Xuanba held the affectionate bird. “Curious about him?”

“Chirp!”

Li Xuanba laughed. “Even if I told you, would you understand?”

Wu Di flapped its wings. “Chirp chirp chirp!”

Even if I don’t understand, I still want to hear!

Li Xuanba stroked Wu Di’s wings, speaking as if explaining Wei Zheng’s story to the bird, yet also as if talking to himself.

Wei Zheng, style name Xuancheng, was Emperor Taizong of Tang’s famous “bronze mirror”—a legendary upright remonstrator.

His grandfather Wei Yan served as Governor of Guang Prefecture in Northern Wei. His father Wei Changxian had been a Court Gentleman for Composition in Northern Qi, but because he satirized current politics, he was sent out to serve as Magistrate of Tunliu in Shangdang, and died when Wei Zheng was still in his teens. Wei Zheng grew up orphaned and poor, yet prided himself on lofty ambition and great talent and refused to engage in ordinary work, so he ended up destitute and became a Daoist.

In terms of “background,” Wei Zheng was the very definition of a poor scholar.

But even poor families could have inherited “classics.” The Wei clan passed down the craft of history. Outstanding members of the family all aspired to write official histories. One of Wei Zheng’s clan elders, Wei Shou, older by several decades, was a famous historian and author of the Book of Wei. Even though people of his own time denounced it as a “tainted history,” he never compromised.

Wei Changxian had dreamed of compiling the Book of Jin. He was close to realizing that dream, but exile cut him off from it, and he died in bitterness and frustration.

“Wei Zheng may not have been able to compile the Book of Jin, but he did edit the Book of Sui. In a way, he fulfilled his father’s wish,” Li Xuanba murmured as he smoothed Wu Di’s feathers, sighing at having encountered Wei Zheng so early.

When Li Xuanba had examined Wei Zheng’s poems and writings, he had carefully traced through Wei Zheng’s life. He discovered that Wei Zheng’s current wandering around Qi and Lu also left traces in the historical record.

For the first half of his life, Wei Zheng was always frustrated and unrecognized. Seeing the empire in chaos, he set his heart on the strategies of persuasion and alliance, constantly searching for a power to attach himself to.

The first time the histories recorded Wei Zheng holding an “official post” was in the thirteenth year of Daye, when he served under Yuan Baozang, Deputy Governor of Wuyang Commandery.

Wuyang Commandery bordered Jibei Commandery, and Mount Tai lay within Jibei.

Wei Zheng’s native place was Julu Commandery, yet his first official post was in Wuyang.

Normally, poor scholars like him had no chance to enter office. But when rebellions were being suppressed, officials at all levels would recruit poor scholars as staff.

Clearly, Wei Zheng had first gone to Qi and Lu—the regions with the most peasant uprisings—to look for a chance to serve.

What he hadn’t expected was that it was only the seventh year of Daye, when the peasant armies had just raised their banners, and he was already wandering all over Qi and Lu.

Li Xuanba calculated his age. Wei Zheng was already thirty-one.

Thirty-one and still poor, drifting, and unsuccessful—no wonder he was willing to take risks and come to Qi and Lu.

Thinking about how Wei Zheng would bump into walls for another six years before finally being employed by Yuan Baozang, Li Xuanba couldn’t help admiring his perseverance.

If it were anyone else, their mentality would have collapsed long ago. Wei Zheng truly believed in his own talent; no matter how much hardship he suffered, he refused to compromise.

“As for saying Wei Zheng ‘brings misfortune to his masters,’ that was just me suppressing him, to keep this proud young man from running around just because my second brother is young,” Li Xuanba chuckled. “In truth, when he later followed Li Mi and submitted to Tang, he was already a Tang official. Serving under Dou Jiande was only because he was captured in battle—so it doesn’t count as acknowledging Dou Jiande as his lord. He was just unlucky enough to be tied to Li Jiancheng.”

But back then, being favored and heavily used by the Crown Prince—who would have called that unlucky?

Just like when Wei Zheng recommended Hou Junji and Du Zhenglun as men with the talent to be chancellors—who could have imagined they would later be dragged into Li Chengqian’s rebellion?

Wei Zheng was simply… unlucky.

Yet he met Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin, and all that bad luck turned into good fortune. Even when Li Shimin was furious, the worst he did was knock down Wei Zheng’s merit stele and refuse to marry into his family. Later, he quietly had the stele erected again.

With any ordinary emperor, if someone you recommended got involved in treason, you’d be punished along with your entire clan.

“So, who would have thought?” Li Xuanba laughed as he rubbed Wu Di’s head with both hands. “You and Han Gou are in danger now!”

Wu Di chirped. “Chirp chirp?”

It only understood the last sentence. What do you mean? Why are we in danger?

Li Xuanba burst out laughing.

…

After an unexpected little interlude that even Li Xuanba hadn’t anticipated, that very night the village head came to pay him a visit and respectfully announced, “Zhishi-lang has come.”

Li Xuanba was forced to crawl out of bed in the middle of the night. He drank two cups of honey water before his low blood pressure and low blood sugar finally rose a little.

Yawning, he said, “So you’re finally here?”

The village head knelt and replied, “Zhishi-lang heard that Third Young Master Li even treated a poor, destitute Daoist with courtesy, so only then did he believe that Third Young Master Li truly wished to meet him.”

Li Xuanba smiled at Wei Zheng, who had already shaved off his beard and changed out of his Daoist robe. “Looks like I owe this to you. Do you dare to sit in on this?”

Wei Zheng answered respectfully, “Third Young Master, I am said to bring misfortune to all lords except you and Second Young Master. I can only serve under you two. There is nothing I wouldn’t dare to hear.”

Li Xuanba laughed. “You really are bold. Then listen carefully and tell today’s events to my second brother later. I’m too lazy to explain it myself.”

Indeed, this future upright remonstrating minister would one day even join the ‘rebels’ of Wagang.

Wei Zheng replied, “Yes.”

Inside, he was extremely excited. To meet rebels in secret at night was something that could lead to the execution of one’s entire clan. He had only just joined his lord’s service, yet his lord trusted him this much?!

Chen Tieniu scratched his head. Well, whatever—his lord was always right. He would follow his lord’s orders.

He decided to keep a close eye on Wei Zheng. If Wei Zheng dared to run away and inform on them, he would chop off Wei Zheng’s head with a single strike.

Li Xuanba brought along the advisor he had just recruited today to meet Wang Bo. Wang Bo and the village head were both startled, and their admiration for Li Xuanba only deepened.

The village head lit a bonfire in the open pavilion.

When Li Xuanba, wrapped in a cloak, walked into the pavilion, a middle-aged man in a hooded cloak was already drinking by the fire.

“‘Righteous as the clouds’ Second Young Master Li, ‘Virtuous and benevolent’ Third Young Master Li—this humble one is Wang Bo. I have long admired you,” the man said as he removed his cloak and cupped his hands in greeting.

Li Xuanba was full of question marks. Was this a filming of Romance of the Sui and Tang? Since when did he and his second brother have nicknames?

The future historian Wei Zheng’s eyes flickered as he silently recorded these two “sobriquets” in his heart.

“I didn’t know my second brother and I had such grand titles. This is the first I’ve heard of them,” Li Xuanba said, gesturing for Wang Bo to sit, as though this were his own territory. “Zhishi-lang, coming here alone—now that’s courage.”

Wang Bo gave a bitter smile. “Isn’t the one who truly came alone Third Young Master Li?”

Li Xuanba sat down on a stone stool in the pavilion, already warmed by the fire, and loosened the collar of his cloak. “This is still the Great Sui of His Majesty. As one of His Majesty’s Tiger-Tooth Commanders, wherever I go, I’m never alone.”

Wang Bo’s expression darkened. “So Third Young Master Li is here to pacify me?”

Li Xuanba shook his head. “His Majesty has ordered: ‘Commandants, Yingyang officers, and prefectures are to pursue them jointly; once captured, execute on the spot.’”

Wang Bo cursed, “That dog-thief of an emperor!”

Li Xuanba picked up a wine bowl and poured one for each of them, handing one to Wang Bo.

Wang Bo took it. “Then why did Third Young Master Li deliberately come here?”

Li Xuanba smiled. “To meet a future colleague. Zhishi-lang, do you believe in fate?”

Wang Bo said grimly, “Are you saying I’m fated to submit to that dog-thief emperor? Impossible! He starved my entire family to death—I only want to personally cut off that dog-thief’s head!”

Li Xuanba shook his head. “Of course you won’t submit to His Majesty. Let’s change the topic. Zhishi-lang, have you ever thought about the future after you raise your banner?”

Wang Bo stared straight into Li Xuanba’s indifferent eyes. “No.”

Li Xuanba said, “At least you’re honest.”

Wang Bo replied, “I just don’t want to die. Everyone who followed me up the mountain only wants to not die today. So Third Young Master Li, what future are you talking to me about?”

Li Xuanba changed the topic again.

“Can you read?”

Wang Bo frowned. “A little.”

“You wrote ‘Song of Dying on the Road to Liaodong’. You must be literate.”

Li Xuanba took a booklet of poems from his robe. “Have a look. If you think they’re worth it, spread these poems among the people.”

“Poems?” Wang Bo was completely confused. One moment they were talking about fate and the future, the next about literacy and poetry?

Wei Zheng looked curiously at the master he had just acknowledged. Was Third Young Master Li always this mysterious and hard to grasp with everyone?

Though people who speak in riddles make you itch to beat them up, they are also the best at arousing curiosity.

Wang Bo placed the poetry booklet on his knee, holding the wine bowl in one hand and turning pages with the other, reading by the light of the bonfire.

There was a poet named Li Bai, with “The Song of Ding Duhu”, lamenting:
“The water is muddy, it cannot be drunk;
The pot of wine has half turned to earth.
Look at Stone-Mango Hill—
Tears hide a sorrow for a thousand ages.”

There was a poet named Bai Juyi, with “The Old Charcoal Seller”, sighing:
“Pitiful, his clothes are thin,
Yet he worries charcoal will be cheap and wishes for cold weather.
One cart of charcoal, over a thousand jin—
The palace agents drive it away, too heartless to spare him.”

There was a poet named Du Fu, with “The Official at Shihao”, grieving:
“One son has sent a letter home,
Two sons have just died in battle.
Though the old woman is weak,
She begs to go back with the official through the night.”

And even more so a poet named Qu Dajun, with “The Lament of the Vegetable People”:
“Husband and wife starve together in a year of famine—
Better that I sell myself in the market of human ‘vegetables’.”

Before Wang Bo could finish the poems, his wine bowl fell to the ground. His eyes were bloodshot, and from his throat came a hoarse, animal-like howl of pain.

Wei Zheng stared at him in shock. He didn’t know what Wang Bo had read to make him lose all composure and burst into such uncontrollable tears.