Wang Gui’s poetry composition requirement died without resolution. The military officials drank even more enthusiastically. Yun Ye and Li Chengqian had to run around holding wine jars, even though there were attendants in the tavern. Li Er deliberately made these young people do such tasks.
Xue Wanren took the opportunity to grab Yun Ye and said, “Brother, compose one for me too! His Majesty married his sister to me, and I hear she’s one who likes poetry—needs to sound good. If you could say it was your older brother who composed it, I’d be eternally grateful.”
Hearing Xue Wanren’s request, Zhangsun Wuji squatted nearby to watch exactly how Yun Ye would fiddle together a good poem. He still didn’t believe one could compose a poem that people would relish reciting this way. In several thousand years, how many masterpieces had been passed down? If patching things together really worked, what would be the point of studying? The typesetters at the academy would all be poetry masters.
Looking around, he noticed Li Er was whispering with Li Jing, Old Cheng was lecturing his son, and Li Huairen was leaning boredly against a pillar picking his nose. Watching him flick the booger away without knowing where it went—even if you beat Yun Ye to death tonight, he wouldn’t take another bite of this feast.
“Old Xue, we’re brothers, so I definitely have to help with this little favor. Where were you stationed recently? Let’s write a poem about the frontier. This way Princess Danyang might favor you more. But once the poem is finished, you can’t skimp on the painted boat feast on the Qu River.”
“Naturally! If you come be my groomsman, I’ll cover a whole year of feasts, brother.”
This bastard clearly wasn’t stupid. Right now the women of Chang’an were ruthless and vicious toward men. Which groomsman didn’t end up bruised and battered? Trying to trick a fool? He wouldn’t even be Li Chengqian’s groomsman. He had already offended several princesses—if he dared go, he wouldn’t even keep his life.
“Dream on. Find someone thick-skinned to take the beating. I’m not going. Helping you compose poetry is already my limit.”
Seeing Yun Ye wouldn’t take the bait, Xue Wanche could only say irritably, “Fine then. Don’t know who started it—in the past when people took wives, they didn’t suffer like this. Let’s write verses about Liangzhou.”
“You’ve been to Liangzhou, but I haven’t experienced it. Quickly tell me what’s there, and I’ll patch something together for you early so I can rest too.”
“What’s in Liangzhou besides sand? When the wind blows, it can fly up to the clouds. Just one lonely city, surrounded by dark mountains on all sides—horses can’t even climb up. You figure it out.”
“Then how about: Yellow sand rises far to white clouds’ edge, one lone city with mountains on four sides—what do you think?” Seeing Zhangsun Wuji sneaking looks and Wang Gui stretching his ears to eavesdrop, Yun Ye deliberately wrote several characters wrong.
“Good, good! Just hearing it, it’s already a good poem.”
Hearing Xue Wanche, a rough man, praising poetry that sounded like plain speech, Zhangsun Wuji really couldn’t stand it and interjected, “This old man thinks changing ‘one’ to ‘a stretch of’ would be better, and changing ‘four-sided mountains’ to ‘thousand-ren mountains’ would be more imposing.”
Xue Wanche laughed heartily and said, “Thousand-ren mountains are indeed better than four-sided mountains. Why don’t we just write ten-thousand-ren mountains? Ten thousand ren is ten times more than a thousand!”
Yun Ye gave a thumbs up in praise, quickly changing it to “a stretch of lone city, ten-thousand-ren mountains.” Even Zhangsun Wuji had to admit that Xue Wanche’s off-the-cuff words indeed had great momentum. However, having written the momentum to its extreme, he wanted to see how these two literary degenerates would bring it back around.
“Old Xue, the momentum is sufficient, but we have no way to continue writing. If we write ‘hundred-thousand ren’ we’ll ruin this poem, so let’s write something else. What do you all do in the military?”
“I generally practice martial arts and drink. The soldiers sometimes blow their flutes making that wula-wula sound. When they anger me, I whip them with willow switches. After a few lashes they behave. You don’t know—Liangzhou willow branches are both tough and resilient. Common folk use them to weave carrying baskets. Whipping people with them is very satisfying. The willow trees there bud late, so you can use them for half a year. Once they sprout, they become brittle and no good.”
“Don’t the beaten soldiers resent you?”
“Resent what? If they resent me, I’ll beat them again.” Xue Wanche drank a large bowl of wine with heroic spirit, pulling Yun Ye to explain the way of leading troops. Being a general was also simple—one word ‘authority’ said it all. The army was full of killers. If you were soft, they’d be hard. In short, leading troops was one word: ‘beat.’ Two words: ‘beat hard.’ Beat them until they’re completely submissive, and they’ll vent their fury on the enemy’s heads. Only then will they charge forward courageously in battle.
Although Yun Ye thought doing this would increase chances of taking arrows in the back more than encouraging military morale, in order to patch together verses, he gave a thumbs up in praise, clasped his fists saying he was enlightened, then wrote on the paper: “Why should Qiang flutes complain of willows? Spring wind doesn’t cross Iron Gate Pass.”
Just after finishing, the back of his head received a slap. Old Cheng said angrily, “What nonsense! Iron Gate Pass is in Yanqi—it should be Jade Gate Pass! And you’re a commander? How embarrassing!”
Yun Ye quickly changed Iron Gate Pass to Jade Gate Pass. Only then did Cheng Yaojin let it go. Zhangsun Wuji’s face turned ashen as he sat back in his seat without a word, looking thoroughly devastated.
“Yun Ye, what have you all patched together this time? Bring it for me to see.” Discovering a dispute, Li Er stopped his conversation with Li Jing. Seeing Yun Ye, Xue Wanche, Cheng Yaojin and others patching together verses again, curiosity drove him to come look.
The paper was covered in a chaotic mess of black marks. Frowning, he read aloud: “Yellow sand rises far to white clouds’ edge, a stretch of lone city, ten-thousand-ren mountains—good poem, great momentum!” Xue Wanche quickly approached Li Er saying, “Your Majesty, this ‘ten-thousand-ren mountains’ was your subject’s idea, and the ‘a stretch of’ at the front was Zhangsun’s, hahaha.” Cheng Yaojin also held up his wine bowl saying, “These three characters ‘Jade Gate Pass’ were this subject’s contribution.” After speaking, he drained a bowl with Yuchi Gong.
Li Er read on through gritted teeth: “Why should Qiang flutes complain of willows? Spring wind doesn’t cross Jade Gate Pass? Xue Wanche, you actually know ‘Folding Willows’?”
“I know it. Your subject folded willows to beat those flute-playing soldiers, beat them until they didn’t dare complain.”
“‘Why should Qiang flutes complain of willows’—this verse means that?” Li Er’s voice rose eight octaves.
Yun Ye, Xue Wanche, and Cheng Yaojin all nodded together. Even the bitterly smiling Zhangsun Wuji nodded in acknowledgment, saying to the Emperor, “Your Majesty, this poem’s meaning is: sand flew up to the sky, the lonely city is surrounded entirely by high mountains, flute-playing soldiers disturbed peaceful sleep, so they were whipped with willow branches until they didn’t dare complain. Spring wind doesn’t reach Jade Gate Pass, so the tough and resilient willow branches can always be used as whips to beat people. Your Majesty, don’t overthink it. These are its original meanings—it has no connection to the song’s artistic conception.”
Old Wang Gui drank a large bowl of wine and wept with his face covered. Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui stood dumbstruck. Li Er tore that paper to shreds, trampled it twice more, then kicked over the table and said to Duan Hong, “Prepare to return to the palace.”
The military officials escorted the Emperor and civil officials out, then returned to the tavern, prepared brush and ink, and began writing their own poetry…
Returning to the palace, Li Er remained restless and irritable. His poetic talent, which he took such pride in, couldn’t compare to a few rough warriors—how could the extremely proud Li Er endure this?
Such beautiful poetry! “Song of Liangzhou”—Yellow sand rises far to white clouds’ edge, a stretch of lone city, ten-thousand-ren mountains. Why should Qiang flutes complain of willows? Spring wind doesn’t cross Jade Gate Pass.
The first two lines described how magnificent and imposing the city surrounded by desert and high mountains was, stirring heroic spirit in one’s heart. The last two lines were mournful and lingering, telling of soldiers blowing “Folding Willows” while missing their homeland. Desolation and magnificence, sorrow and longing intertwined and blended, scene and emotion fused—absolutely a rare masterpiece. Even if it became an eternal classic in the future, he wouldn’t be surprised. But thinking of Zhangsun Wuji’s explanation, he felt nauseous.
Using a paperweight to smooth the paper, he dipped his brush full of thick ink and re-copied it on the paper. He wrote excellent feibai calligraphy. The poem was a good poem, the characters were good characters—the two complemented each other perfectly. But each time he looked, more disappointment filled his heart.
“Oh my! Did Your Majesty compose this poem? The momentum is magnificent yet gracefully turns a hundred times—such a good poem, such a good poem! Your Majesty can be called a poetry master. This consort will have this calligraphy mounted and preserved in the treasury right away.” Zhangsun wore gauze clothing, her dark blue chest wrap faintly visible. Usually whenever Zhangsun dressed this way, the two would quickly go to the inner palace to rest.
Today, however, Li Er had not the slightest desire. Sitting behind his desk looking at Zhangsun, he said, “If I told you this poem is actually complete nonsense, just a patched-together result—Empress, would you believe it?”
Zhangsun, who was preparing to put away the calligraphy, froze for a moment, then smiled again. Covering her mouth, she said to Li Er, “Your Majesty is deceiving this consort again. Who has the ability to patch together such words? If you’re so capable, patch together another one for this consort to see.”
Li Er sighed, picked up the brush and wrote on the paper again: “Lanling wine with turmeric fragrance, jade bowl holds amber light. But let the host intoxicate the guest, who knows where is homeland?” After finishing, he pushed the paper toward Zhangsun and sat in his chair sulking.
“Who did this?” Zhangsun’s voice immediately sharpened, asking Li Er angrily.
“Yun Ye held the brush. Cheng Yaojin, Xue Wanche, and Wuji also contributed a few characters, and it became this appearance. In the future, whoever dares show off poetry and prose before me will be beaten out with clubs! I now suspect whether those beautiful writings of antiquity were also created this way. If so, thousands of years of literary culture is one big joke.”
After hearing Li Er recount the events, Zhangsun noticed Yun Ye’s shadow always hovering in the middle of things. She nodded thoughtfully, held up a bowl of porridge and placed it before Li Er saying, “Your Majesty, rest assured. These poems are definitely good poems. They won’t be some patched-together result—they’re genuine superior masterpieces. This consort dares to be certain: Yun Ye is playing tricks.”
“You’ve forgotten he has a discipline specifically studying how to converse with people. Even if Cheng Yaojin and Xue Wanche studied for thirty years, they couldn’t compose poetry like this. In this world, only one person could compose them—that’s Yun Ye’s immortal master. How did Your Majesty forget you still have ‘Rhapsody on the Epang Palace’ in your hands? With this extraordinary text as foundation, this consort believes these poems are all works of his immortal master.”
“Hmph! Using guided methods to make Cheng Yaojin and Xue Wanche talk along paths he arranged, then putting on an act himself to vex Your Majesty—it must be this way. Did you punish him again today?”
Li Er hurriedly retrieved a scroll from the sea of scrolls containing texts, opened it for a glance, put the scroll down, and said to Zhangsun, “That little bastard’s thousand paddle-strokes—I’m determined to give them.”