Chapter 890

I, Sage Zhang, am old. He was born in the second year of Qianhua of the Later Liang, 912 CE, and this year he is already fifty-one.

That year, the loyal minister Comrade Zhu Quanzhong had still led troops north early in the year, attempting to rescue Liu Shouguang of Youzhou, who was being pummeled by Li Cunxu.

Then he left behind the lament "for a son, one should have a son like Li Yazi," but immediately after performed the King of Qin circling the pillar, and was murdered by his son Zhu Yougui.

When Sage Zhang was born, the Great Tang had only been utterly declared fallen for less than five years, so counting broadly, Zhang Zhao could even be considered one of the heroes of the late Tang.

In the Eastern Capital at Kaifeng Prefecture, by the Bian River, in the Moon-Gathering Detached Palace, the fifty-one-year-old Zhang Zhao gently removed the mourning garments he had worn for twenty-seven days. Twenty-seven days earlier, his birth mother, the Compassionate Sage Empress Dowager Lady Song, had passed away from illness at the age of sixty-seven.

In this life of Lady Song's, the husband she married was not the one she wished to marry, and then she was widowed before the age of twenty, so by all rights her days should have been unbearably hard.

But at the age of forty, her son Zhang Zhao suddenly soared upward like a rocket, until he established this empire unprecedented in all history.

In terms of personal life, Lady Song could be called full of hardship. She lived as a widow for a full forty-seven years, was a devout Buddhist who cared little for enjoyment, and in her later years became so zealously devout that she adamantly refused to acknowledge Zhang Zhao as her son.

Because Lady Song felt she did not have such great fortune as to give birth to a living Buddha who was a direct disciple of the Buddha. When she saw Zhang Zhao, she even wanted to kneel and perform the rite of worshiping the Buddha.

This made Zhang Zhao very awkward, and so for the past ten years, mother and son had barely seen each other except at the seasonal festivals.

Zhang Zhao ordered men to build the Sage-Nurturing Temple on Mount Longmen specifically for his birth mother Lady Song, and invited the learned bhikshunis whom Lady Song favored to live and practice there with her.

He also opened new cave shrines on Mount Longmen, sponsoring more than three hundred Buddha statues, large and small, for Lady Song.

This was the largest corvée labor project of the Zhang Zhou dynasty, which hardly even repaired prefectural and county walls, apart from river embankments, waterworks, and the like.

Lady Song was kindhearted, unwilling that the excavation of the cave shrines should harm lives and offend the Buddha's compassion. She specially took all the gold and silver Zhang Zhao had provided for her upkeep and turned it into grain and cloth distributed to the laborers, and often personally helped cook porridge and rice to give away. It could be called scattering away all her worldly wealth.

After her passing, the august Empress Dowager possessed, apart from court robes, ceremonial robes, and matching jewelry, only three sets of spare clothing, two sets of gold ornaments, six attending bhikshunis, and stored gold, silver, and goods worth no more than thirty strings of cash.

Therefore, in the last ten years of her life, Lady Song's reputation among the common people was very high. On the day of her funeral procession, tens of thousands of commoners from the various prefectures and counties spontaneously came to escort her coffin.

As for Lady Song, Zhang Zhao's feelings were actually not that deep. This body had been separated from its mother at just over a year old, and compared to Lady Song, he was more familiar with and more dependent on his legal mother, Lady Li.

By the time the Central Plains were secured, Lady Song had also always lived in deep seclusion, and in the last ten years they had gathered even less.

But when Lady Song truly passed away, an inexplicable sorrow welled up in Zhang Zhao's chest and lingered for a long time, hard to dispel.

And to dispel this sorrow in my Sage Zhang's heart, naturally there was only his treasure in the palm, the third imperial daughter born of Empress Cao Yanxi, the Princess of Qi, Zhang Qinan.

Well, originally the second imperial daughter, the Princess of Song, Zhang Qixiu, who married Pei Quanfu, eldest son of Pei Yuan, would also do, but Zhang Qixiu was currently in her month of confinement after childbirth, so only Zhang Qinan came.

Looking at his third daughter, already twenty-three this year yet still as innocently charming as a young girl, the sorrow in Zhang Zhao's heart indeed eased considerably.

But when he suddenly saw the tall, handsome man behind Zhang Qinan, bearing seventy or eighty percent resemblance to Zunlong, with an even more noble and refined bearing, his brows immediately furrowed.

This man was none other than my Sage Zhang's third son-in-law, the sixth son of the King of Wu Li Jing, Hanlin Academician, Drafter of Edicts in the Central Secretariat, Commandant-Escort of the Princess of Qi, Duke of Jiangning Commandery, originally named Li Congjia but renamed Li Yu by Zhang Zhao as an exceptional grant.

Li Yu was at this moment wearing a blue roundel-patterned official robe, a hairnet on his head, striking a carefree pose.

The reason this was possible was that the Compassionate Sage Empress Dowager Lady Song, on her deathbed, had said that she had believed in Buddhism all her life and wished only for the common people of the realm to be safe and joyful, and that they should not all be made to wear mourning white and lose their cheer because of her alone.

Therefore she had specially left a testamentary command for Zhang Zhao to issue an edict that after her passing, the whole nation should treat a day as a month, shortening the mourning period that should have been twenty-seven months to twenty-seven days.

The moment Li Yu entered and saw his imperial father-in-law looking at him, his scalp immediately went numb.

Sure enough, before he could even offer his salutation, Zhang Zhao asked directly, "My son, have you composed any poetry or lyrics lately? Do you have any fine lines to present?"

Before Li Yu could speak, Zhang Qinan began tugging at Zhang Zhao's arm and wheedling, "Brother, Grandmother has only just passed away. Six Lang and your daughter have been grieving to the utmost. How could we have the heart to compose any poetry or lyrics!"

Li Yu had completely captivated Zhang Qinan. After four years of marriage, the way she looked at her husband still dripped with adoration.

Though thinking about it, it was only natural. If in a later age there were a great literary master who had won the Nobel Prize in Literature and the Mao Dun Literature Prize so often his hands were tired, and he also happened to be as handsome as Zunlong, never mind women—even men would be dazed.

Li Yu secretly extended a thumbs-up to Zhang Qinan, then quickly picked up the thread, his head bobbing up and down like a chick pecking at rice.

Although he loved poetry and lyrics and was especially skilled at them, every time he exchanged verses with Zhang Qinan or with the literati and refined scholars outside, he received thunderous, deafening praise, and people of the time even praised him as the Li Taibai of the Great Zhou.

But only when it came to his father-in-law Sage Zhang did he repeatedly ask whether he had any new works, yet after presenting them, he inevitably received a scolding of "hating iron for not becoming steel."

This made Li Yu very uncomfortable. Although his imperial father-in-law was also a master of poetry and lyrics, were his own compositions really that unbearable? Surely not!

"Ai!" Zhang Zhao looked at Li Yu, who now had the appearance of a super tall, rich, and handsome man, and suddenly let out a long, deeply emotional sigh.

"It is I who have harmed you, it is I who have harmed you!"

At these words, Li Yu was even more baffled. Although he feared Zhang Zhao always asking him about poetry and lyrics, he could feel that his father-in-law treated him extremely well.

Since fourteen years ago, when his father the King of Wu Li Jing had surrendered his territory, Li Yu, as the son of a fallen king, had not only suffered no persecution but had been taken into the palace to constantly accompany the imperial princes and princesses. Many of the Emperor's own sons still had no noble titles, yet he, Li Yu, was already Duke of Jiangning Commandery.

In the seasonal festival bestowals, his brothers and sisters all received the ordinary treatment of meritorious officials' children; only Li Yu was treated exactly like the Emperor's own sons.

Before the age of fourteen, he could enter and leave the forbidden palace without even a jade pass, and every year he accompanied the imperial progress by edict, traveling far and wide on inspection tours, making the children of meritorious officials throughout Zhang Zhou so envious their eyes turned red.

Upon reaching adulthood, he married the Emperor's most beloved daughter, the first child born of the Empress, the Princess of Qi, Zhang Qinan.

This favor and honor, to say it crowned the entire court would not be excessive.

There was even a period when rumors constantly circulated, saying that when the Emperor had entered Guanzhong in years past to suppress rebellion, he had encountered Li Yu's mother Lady Zhong, and therefore Li Yu was actually Emperor Zhang's own son.

How convincing were the rumors? So convincing that Li Yu himself had actually suspected he might truly be Sage Zhang's son, and it was not until he married the Princess of Qi that the rumors died out.

Therefore, Li Yu was extremely grateful to Sage Zhang. Especially after comparing his treatment to that of Meng Chang's sons, he regarded Sage Zhang as his true father.

Now, hearing my Sage Zhang say he had harmed him, although Li Yu did not know why, he immediately dropped to his knees, clutched the hem of Zhang Zhao's robe, and said:

"Father, why do you say such words? Your child has received your instruction since childhood, received great kindness, and been granted a fine marriage and a life of wealth and honor. Ten thousand deaths would not suffice to repay it. For Father to speak thus, Yu truly cannot bear it."

Hearing this eternal sovereign of ci poetry speak so, Zhang Zhao let out another long sigh.

In history, Li Yu's life could be called a complete failure, but when the nation is unfortunate, the poet is fortunate. The posthumous fame of the Last Ruler of Southern Tang, and his place in Chinese history and in the history of Chinese literature, could be called so magnificent and resplendent as to reach the Southern Gate of Heaven.

But in this time and space, no matter how Zhang Zhao prodded and pressed, without the utterly agonizing experiences of the original timeline, the ci that Li Yu wrote had completely changed.

He could not write lines of such haunting beauty as "Flowing water, falling flowers, spring is gone—heaven above, the human world below."

Instead he wrote a great pile of wealthy, worldly verses in the manner of Liu Sanbian: "Rows of ornate lanterns, a thousand gates, ten thousand households. Across the nine avenues, silken fragrance drifts faintly. For ten li, crimson trees blaze. Turtle Mountain towers high, flutes and drums fill the sky."

How could Zhang Zhao not be anxious! If the Last Ruler of Southern Tang were lost from the history of Chinese literature, how would he ever explain himself to posterity!

Thinking of this, Zhang Zhao rallied his spirits, pulled Li Yu up from the ground, and looking at him with the greatest patience, said:

"Six Lang, could you not write those wealthy, worldly verses? Could you write a little of the sorrowful, plaintive grief of a fallen state and a ruined family, the anguish and regret of a homeland no more?

If you have trouble getting into the role, could you perhaps try imagining yourself as your father?"

Thud! Li Yu dropped straight to his knees, then burst out wailing, "Sage, your subject's father has never had any anguish or regret over a homeland no more!

He deeply knows that the Sage regards him as a younger brother and treats our Li family with great kindness and virtue. Every day at home he laments that he should have surrendered the state earlier, should have earlier attached himself to the Sage's coattails to restore the great dynasty. He has absolutely not the slightest resentment!"

This time, not only was Li Yu frightened, but even Princess of Qi Zhang Qinan was frightened too, because Li Yu's words were half true and half false.

That fellow Li Jing, these past years he's been like a man possessed — on one hand saying he should have surrendered his territory earlier and become a meritorious subject, on the other hand courting death by wanting to receive posthumously the temple name and posthumous title that only a sovereign is entitled to.

Fortunately Zhang Zhao paid him no mind. Sage Zhang knew that this sworn younger brother of his, in the dozen-plus years since surrendering his territory, had been guzzling wine in great quantities every day — if he didn't drink five or eight catties a day, he'd long since developed alcohol dependency and drunk his brains out.

But though Zhang Zhao himself thought this way, others were afraid. In history, there had been no shortage of emperors who grew muddled and started causing trouble once they entered old age.

This little scene between the young couple only made Zhang Zhao more irritated. Though he was now fifty-one, not a hair on his head or beard showed the slightest gray, and his body was still strong enough to ride spirited horses and draw a stiff bow. What he hated most was people thinking he was old.

"Worrying about nothing all day long — with a father like yours, would I stoop to take issue with a drunkard?" Zhang Zhao had no choice; he decided to deploy his great art of plagiarism.

"I mean, see if you can write a poem like this."

Zhang Zhao adjusted his mood, then slowly began to chant: "The forest flowers have withered their spring red — too hurried, too hurried. Helpless before the morning's cold rain and the evening's wind."

The moment these lines came out, Li Yu's eyes suddenly blazed bright, like two lightbulbs, and he too slowly chanted along:

"The forest flowers have withered their spring red — beautiful, urgent, beautiful, urgent! Too hurried, too hurried, yet laden with boundless regret and melancholy.

Helpless before the morning's cold rain and the evening's wind. Not only are the words exquisite, the turn is even swifter — one could call it a single wave with three turns.

Father, please quickly compose the second stanza — the second stanza must be a peerless verse bursting forth from within the tender sorrow."

Go to hell!

The veins on Zhang Zhao's forehead bulged. He badly wanted to give Li Yu a sharp knock on the head. Did I come here to listen to you play the flattery squad? I wanted you to continue the verse!

But seeing the intense longing and adoration in Li Yu's eyes, the second stanza was already on the tip of Zhang Zhao's tongue, impossible to hold back. He quickly gathered himself and slowly chanted again.

"Rouge tears, keeping the drinker drunk — when shall we meet again? It is ever thus: life is long in regret, and water flows ever east."

Li Yu was suddenly stunned. In that instant, he felt that of all the many ornate, wealth-laden verses he had composed and been praised for, not one had the impact of this poem.

This one poem surpassed ten thousand others. And moreover, he felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if this poem ought to have been composed by him.

Over on the other side, Zhang Qinan had already taken her father Zhang Zhao's arm, tears dripping down.

"Father, grieve no more. Grandmother's spirit has returned to the Land of Ultimate Bliss — she has gone to be reunited with Grandfather.

Perhaps in the Land of Ultimate Bliss she will meet His Venerable Ancestor Huan, and happily tell them of Father's deeds in reviving the Zhang clan and restoring the great dynasty."

Hmm, "life is long in regret, and water flows ever east" — it could, with some effort, be taken as sorrow over the death of a close relative.

And Li Yu was still swaying dizzily, as if drinking fine wine. At this moment, he felt an inexhaustible literary brilliance as if it were about to burst directly out of his brain, yet always blocked at the final pass, leaving him extremely uncomfortable, so stifled he could barely breathe.

Just then, the Fourth Prince, Zhang Xianjing, enfeoffed as Duke of Dunhuang, strode in hurriedly from outside. Seeing his father Zhang Zhao, he cried out joyfully: "Father, Second Brother has sent a victory report from Persia!"

"Persia?" Zhang Zhao was slightly startled. It had only been a little over three years — that little dark-skinned chubby Zhang Xianyu had already fought his way to Persia?

"Right!" Zhang Xianjing laughed as he opened the victory report and read it aloud: "Your son, Yu, Chief Deployer of the Hezhong Field Headquarters, reports good news to the Imperial Father from Shiraz, the old capital of the Persian kingdom, ten thousand li away.

In the eleventh month of the third year of Qianyuan, your son crossed Merv and attacked Khorasan. In the first battle he was victorious at Mashhad, seizing the Khorasan capital; in the second battle he captured the key Persian city of Semnan.

In the third month of the fourth year of Qianyuan, the great army fought a decisive battle at the Three Forts of Jia, southwest of Semnan, against the Arab usurper Adud al-Dawla and his host of over a hundred thousand.

By the Imperial Father's protection and the soldiers' devotion, we utterly routed the Arab army, beheaded forty thousand, took over a hundred thousand prisoners, and captured baggage, provisions, cattle, and horses beyond count. We have now taken the key cities of Ray, Isfahan, and Shiraz.

We have also captured the Arab usurper Adud al-Dawla's mother, maternal aunt, paternal aunt, sisters, nieces, daughters, and several dozen others, all of whom are being escorted to the divine capital Luoyang."

"Hahahaha!" Zhang Zhao could not help but laugh aloud in excitement, and immediately let Li Yu off, who was stuck at the critical juncture unable to break through.

"Erlang has not failed my years of personal training. This battle has utterly cowed the Arabs and firmly secured the land of Persia.

Thinking back to the Great Tang, when Gao Xianzhi, blinded by greed, forcibly slaughtered the city of Shiguo, he pushed the Nine Zhaowu Clans, who had been inclined toward us, over to the Arabs. I have always deeply regretted it.

The long-cherished wish of the loyal and prudent last Persian kings Peroz and Narsieh to restore their kingdom will finally be fulfilled."

"Erlang surely has a plan in the victory dispatch for further crushing the Arabs!" Zhang Zhao continued.

Zhang Xianjing nodded in surprise. "Father's sagely insight illuminates all — indeed there is!"

With that, Zhang Xianjing recounted to Zhang Zhao the strategy that Zhang Xianyu had discussed with Bai Congxin, Hu Guang, and the others.

Zhang Zhao immediately decided to support it, because he understood that Zhang Xianyu had been taught by his own hand, and Bai Congxin and Hu Guang were both men of great talent. Moreover, they were right there in Hezhong and certainly understood their specific situation better than Zhang Zhao did.

The plan the three of them had worked out together was surely the most reliable and most feasible plan.

"At tomorrow's grand court assembly, order all those of the Secretariat from the rank of Drafter and above, all those of the Department of State Affairs from the rank of Supervising Secretary and above, all those of the Bureau of Military Affairs from the rank of Commissioner and above, as well as all members of the Secretariat's Zhaowu Academy, the Qionglin Academy, and the Department of State Affairs' Hanlin Academy to attend."

Related