The Emperor snorted: “A few days ago, Chengjian and his Third Uncle-in-law brought Kang Sumi to see me. That old barbarian merchant was full of excessive flattery, far more skilled at speaking than you. He claimed he saw a divine revelation in the sacred fire, saying that I am the reincarnation of the Light God, destined to win every battle, with no equal under heaven…”
Blatant lies, Li Yuangui thought. During this Tang-Tuyuhun war, when the outcome was uncertain and the Tang army’s detachment suffered a major defeat at Yehu Gorge, Kang Sumi had been hedging his bets, secretly sheltering Prince Zun as a backup plan. It wasn’t until Li Jing captured Fushi City and Murong Fuyun fled that the old merchant decided to side with the victors, then immediately sold Prince Zun to the Tang court—and did so without even informing Li Yuangui…
“I know his heart isn’t pure. But why should we demand such things from a foreign merchant? Even our flesh and blood are full of selfish thoughts,” the Emperor said, glaring at Li Yuangui. “Selling yourself to a barbarian merchant for fifty thousand bolts of silk—quite precious, aren’t you! Is that all the blood of the Tang dynasty’s founding emperor is worth? A few coins?”
I was wrong, Li Yuangui realized. Kang Sumi hadn’t just “sold Prince Zun to the court without telling me”—he had sold me along with him.
Li Chengjian’s subsequent probing and posturing must have stemmed from this too. The Emperor and his son couldn’t fully trust his loyalty, yet needed to use him while remaining cautious. Perhaps it wasn’t until that moment at the funeral libation when he unwittingly prevented the Emperor from drinking that “poisoned wine” that their doubts were finally dispelled?
No matter how immature, rash or foolish Li Yuangui might be, he would never allow harm to come to his Emperor brother… His half-brother seemed to consider this too, his expression softening as he sighed:
“Your youthful spirit and ambitious dreams of conquest aren’t wrong. At your age, I was the same—restless if I couldn’t ride horses wildly for even a day. But what era did I live through? The world was in chaos, bandits everywhere, killing, burning, and looting—people couldn’t survive! The Emperor Emeritus was ordered to suppress the bandits and pacify Hedong, and though he won every battle, never suffering defeat, what use was it? Crush one group of bandits and ten more would raise their flags in the mountains—the common people couldn’t survive otherwise. The fighting never ended, only growing more frequent, with no end in sight…”
“So Your Majesty advised the Emperor Emeritus to raise troops in Taiyuan, depose the Yang Emperor, then campaign east and west to unify the realm, finally achieving today’s prosperous peace,” Li Yuangui said glumly. “We subjects are fortunate to live in peaceful times and be born into the imperial family—we should just stay home and study, praising this prosperous age, without harboring any improper ambitions.”
His words carried a hint of grievance and resentment, which the Emperor detected, responding with a derisive laugh:
“What do you mean by improper ambitions? You’ve studied hard since childhood in both civil and military arts, wanting to achieve merit on the battlefield, and feel wronged because I stopped you? I spent half my life in warfare, personally creating the imperial army, and now I’m also prevented from leading campaigns or fighting wars—who should I complain to? Forget about personally leading troops—even my strategy to have Li Jing strike directly at Gaochang from Tuyuhun territory, do you know how much effort I put into it? How many days and nights I spent calculating over sand tables and accounts, how much hope I placed in it, only to have it all wasted when you and your father-in-law joined forces to remonstrate against it? Ah!”
He struck the railing with his hand, the sound reverberating even amidst the wild cheering below, revealing his inner frustration. If Li Yuangui wanted to argue, he had ready words—those of his father-in-law—ahem—Minister Wei Zheng’s remonstrance that day in Wanchun Hall: “Your Majesty is the ruler of all under heaven and should prioritize the peace of the state and the welfare of the common people. Deploying troops for war and planning attacks and defense are the duties of generals, not the concerns of the sovereign!”
But Li Yuangui didn’t want to argue. This wasn’t a formal audience between emperor and subject, but rather—if one could say so—a heart-to-heart between brothers.
Below, the polo match continued. There was no need to look at the score to know that Yang Xinzhi was far ahead. The musicians and guard spectators along the field enthusiastically beat their drums and played their instruments, but mere instrumental music wasn’t enough—two groups of spectators began singing military songs against each other, using the tune of “Sword and Weapon,” their lyrics carried by the wind:
“The Emperor wields his blade with might, One by one before the Prince of Qin… Hearing of the enemy’s bravery, Intending to sweep forward… Three or five falls with a casual stroke, Who among ten thousand dares to stand?”
The other group responded just as vigorously with the same tune: “A man’s strength complete, One worth a thousand… Fierce qi bursting from the heart, Viewing death as sleep… Never leaving the hand, Always at the battle’s front…”
The lyrics were crude vernacular popular among soldiers, sung in praise of the former Prince of Qin—now the current Emperor. When the Emperor had just arrived, the Court of Imperial Music performed “Seven Virtues,” originally named “Prince of Qin’s Battle-Breaking Music,” which was also a spontaneous dance of soldiers and common people during the Emperor’s campaigns. Since the Zhenguan era, Li Yuangui had heard and seen it countless times, but now it carried a different flavor.
If he could follow his heart’s desires, his second brother would probably prefer to be just a soldier, a general, focusing all his thoughts on military strategy and the thrill of battle, indulging in competition, and overcoming challenges. This was where his true interests lay, and where his real talents shone.
The Tang Emperor turned his face away, gazing at the azure sky beyond the railings, and spoke amid the endless clamor:
“You were born into the imperial family, with the glory of your father’s and brothers’ achievements, never having to worry about food or clothing your whole life—what more could you want? Why seek merit and achievement? Why charge into battle to win territory? Why not enjoy the ready-made glory and wealth, what are you seeking? On the battlefield, swords and arrows don’t distinguish between surnames—who cares if you’re surnamed Li or are a prince? Lose a battle and you face disgrace, dismissal, and imprisonment; win, and what benefit is there? Eating in the wind and sleeping in the dew, never properly fed—you’re young now and don’t know the hardships, but after thirty, who doesn’t end up with a body full of ailments? The brothers who follow you into battle will want high positions, rich rewards, titles for their wives, and privileges for their children—can you give these? Are you in a position to decide? If you fight for these things, your father, brothers, and court ministers will see you as ambitious, expanding your power base daily, heading straight for usurpation—how will you explain? How will you prove your innocence?
“So why study the art of war, why pursue the path of general and minister, why seek to leave your name in history? Born into such a family, you must accept your fate. While you’re young, don’t think too much, just enjoy yourself. Marry a beautiful bride from a noble family, live in harmony as husband and wife, take a few concubines, have some children, play with them in your leisure time, teach them horsemanship and archery, and eventually enjoy your grandchildren on your knees. Take an easy official position, go to your fief, let your administrators handle the daily affairs, gather some scholarly friends, compose poetry under the moon, drink and dance, enjoy spring flowers, go hunting on horseback—live however makes you happy. Before you’ve had enough of such days, old age will come. Just don’t let yourself have regrets then…”
After these words, the brothers fell silent for a long while, each lost in their thoughts. Li Yuangui finally gathered his courage and tentatively called out: “Your Majesty…”
“Hmm?”
“About what Your Majesty said regarding my father-in-law… might your subject go to the Court of the Imperial Clan to receive the edict… has the Emperor already granted by imperial word the marriage between your subject Yuangui and the Wei family?”
After a moment, the Emperor’s face finally broke into a laugh:
“You rascal! How clever you are at seizing opportunities! If only you showed such wit in your official duties!”
Since he didn’t refuse, that’s as good as consent… Li Yuangui asked further: “Then what about the fifty thousand silk debt contract I wrote to Kang Sumi? After all, the Tuyuhun prince has been found…” Currently running about happily on the polo field below.
“Did you find him?” the Emperor gave him a sideways glance. “Claiming credit for heaven’s work, aren’t you ashamed! To tell you the truth, Kang the old merchant has already presented your fifty thousand silk debt contract to me, so from now on I’m your creditor…”
Before he could finish, footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs, and both brothers turned to look. It was a palace maid dressed in men’s clothing, commonly known as a “wrapped-head servant,” who was announced by the internal attendant at the stairs. She approached the Emperor, bowed, and reported:
“Your servant comes from Wanshan Nunnery across the street. The Empress reports that there may be a major development in the case of the Linfen County Princess’s murder at Gangye Temple early this year. She requests Your Majesty to bring along Prince Wu, along with all physical evidence and witnesses including Kang Sumi, to a location for questioning.”
Li Yuangui’s heart suddenly sank. He heard the Emperor say in surprise: “Why bring up that case now? Very well—don’t let the Empress trouble herself further. Come, let’s cross over to that temple.”
Note: The two military songs mentioned in Chapter 38, beginning with “The Emperor wields his blade with might,” are from the Dunhuang song “Sword and Weapon Words.” Professional scholars have now reconstructed these thousand-year-old songs, which can be found online. Whether these lyrics praise Li Shimin’s bravery first as Prince of Qin and later as Emperor is still debated, as the verses are close to contemporary folk songs and difficult to interpret.
However, military songs represented by “Prince of Qin’s Battle-Breaking Music” remained popular in the Tang armies. In the “Song Names” table of Tang Cui Lingqin’s “Records of the Music Bureau,” there are three tunes: “Battle-Breaking Music,” “Battle-Breaking Tune,” and “Little Prince of Qin,” all derived from this. According to “Tongdian” Volume 146: “The ‘Battle-Breaking Music’ was created by the Great Tang. When Emperor Taizong was Prince of Qin, campaigning in all directions, there were folk songs with the tune of ‘Prince of Qin’s Battle-Breaking Music.’ After ascending to the throne, in the seventh year of Zhenguan, he ordered the creation of ‘Battle-Breaking Dance Diagrams’… commanding Court Diarist Lu Cai to teach 120 musicians according to the diagrams, wearing armor and holding halberds while practicing. It consisted of three variations, each with four formations, showing movements of advancing and retreating, quick and slow strikes, matching the song’s rhythm. It was completed in several days. The movements were vigorous and inspiring, the melody passionate, harmonizing with the phrase ‘Prince of Qin’s Battle-Breaking Music.’ It was performed at feasts. Emperor Taizong told his attending ministers: ‘When I was a prince, I frequently led campaigns, and the people created this song. Who would have thought it would become formal music today? Though its vigorous movements differ from civil comportment, our achievements came from this, leading to today. Therefore, it is included in musical compositions, not forgetting its origins.'”
The famous Tang minister Zhang Yue also wrote “Two Battle-Breaking Music Songs,” here’s one excerpt to give you a sense of how Tang people perceived this tune’s “vigorous and inspiring, passionate melody”:
“Young courage soars to the clouds, All acknowledge the hero stands apart. Single horse west of the city challenging battle, Lone blade north of Ji joining the army. One drum and the Xianbei submit, Five baits and the Khan resolves conflict. Vowing to make a name serving the country, Ashamed to discuss merit in open halls.”
By the Song Dynasty’s era of ci poetry, the “Battle-Breaking Tune” remained popular, perhaps most famously in Xin Qiji’s “Drunk I Raise the Lamp to Look at My Sword,” still maintaining its frontier battlefield character. In Dunhuang murals, there is one depicting soldiers at a city gate welcoming envoys—some scholars believe they are performing dances like the “Battle-Breaking Music.”