Chapter 023: Scholar Du Visits the Flower House

Li Zaixing, with a fist in one hand and tofu in the other, wielded both carrot and stick, coaxing and intimidating the martial monks into beginning their daily training. Running ten laps around the courtyard seemed easy enough from a distance, but once they started, it was a different matter entirely. After only three laps, half the monks already showed signs of fatigue, their faces betraying reluctance and dread.

At this moment, Li Zaixing began to run himself. He swung his arms wide, took long strides, and charged ahead with the vigor of a five-kilometer cross-country runner from his previous life, racing forward with unstoppable energy. By the time the monks reached their fifth lap, he had already caught up with them.

Passing by the monks, he said nothing—only glanced at them with disdain, then strode on, continuing his swift run.

All the martial monks were dumbfounded. Revenge? The difference in strength was far more than just slight.

When the fastest monk finished eight laps, Li Zaixing had already completed ten. He turned to Zhiyuan and said, “Watch closely. No one gets a drink until they've run ten laps. If anyone tries to snatch water, break their legs. If someone dies, I’ll take the responsibility.”

“Alright,” Zhiyuan replied smugly, grabbing a wooden stick and glaring fiercely at the unfortunate monks. Behind him stood a few burly kitchen stewards sent by Wuneng, their faces greasy and well-fed, clearly accustomed to sneaking treats.

Having demonstrated his strength, Li Zaixing returned to the western courtyard, stripped off his clothes and tossed them to Axin, drew two buckets of water and washed himself in the yard, changed into clean attire, and went to find Du Fu.

Lady Yang was beneath the window, cutting fabric in preparation for making clothes. Du Zongwen hovered around her, occasionally stroking the silky material, his eyes filled with excitement. Seeing Li Zaixing enter, Lady Yang rose to greet him, but Li Zaixing quickly gestured for her to remain seated. “I’m here for Brother Du, please don’t mind me, continue with your work.”

Lady Yang smiled demurely. “He’s writing just now. Zongwen, go brew a pot of tea for your uncle and bring some pastries.”

Tang people never drank tea alone—they paired it with all manner of treats. Du Fu, once destitute, could only take tea at the temple as a gift, unable to be particular. Now things were different; that morning they'd purchased a variety of pastries and fruit at the western temple, and at last Lady Yang could set out a proper tea service.

Excited at the prospect of snacks, Du Zongwen agreed happily and skipped off to prepare. Li Zaixing turned into Du Fu’s bedroom, where Du Fu sat at his desk, stroking his beard in contemplation. Ink and brush lay before him, along with a draft half-filling the paper.

“Brother, you’ve come just in time. Help me look over this rhapsody.”

Li Zaixing was at a loss—me, review your writing? I’d be lucky to recognize all the characters. He cleared his throat. “Brother Du, perhaps you could read it aloud to me?”

Du Fu obliged, picking up the manuscript and reading with dramatic flair. After only a few lines, Li Zaixing waved him to stop.

Du Fu looked disappointed. “What’s wrong? Do you find it improper?”

Li Zaixing considered carefully. “Brother Du, are you opposing the Emperor’s use of troops at the border?”

“Of course.” Du Fu spoke with righteous indignation. “The Emperor prizes frontier achievements, and those barbarian generals vie for glory and favor, heedless of their soldiers’ lives. Gao Xianzhi stirred up strife in Anxi, while last year Geshu Han launched a fierce assault on Shibao Fortress in Hexi, sacrificing over ten thousand soldiers for a lone city. An Lushan, seeking merit, repeatedly attacked the Khitans, resulting in countless casualties…”

Li Zaixing grew increasingly uneasy as he listened. Why are all three major border generals barbarians? The founding emperor was right—political power comes from the barrel of a gun. How could the Tang’s elite troops all be in barbarian hands?

Upon hearing Li Zaixing’s doubts, Du Fu sighed deeply. “The Tang dynasty never used barbarians as frontier generals; even those like Ashina She’er and Qibi Heli, who accomplished great deeds, were not entrusted with supreme command—real military power always lay with Han Chinese. But Li Linfu monopolized power, and to block frontier generals from rising to prime minister, he appointed barbarians as commanders. Over the years, our elite troops have gathered at the borders, strengthening the branches and weakening the trunk; the situation is perilously unstable. If this trend is not reversed, I fear disaster will erupt within, arising from our own heart.”

Li Zaixing nodded, though he didn’t entirely agree. Du Fu was right—concentrating military power in barbarian hands was risky for national security—but abandoning frontier expansion was another matter. Without a strong defense, how could society remain stable?

He pondered for a moment. “Brother Du, do you think submitting this rhapsody will have any effect?”

Du Fu’s expression dimmed, hesitating. “It may not succeed, but if it can remind His Majesty, that’s a worthy intention.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Li Zaixing replied bluntly. “You think only of comforting your conscience, not whether you can accomplish anything. That’s not the mindset of someone with real responsibility.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Du Fu asked.

“You must figure out how to persuade His Majesty to adopt your advice, not just be content with expressing your feelings.” Li Zaixing stood and paced the room. Du Zongwen entered with tea and pastries, setting them on the desk, then crouched nearby, watching eagerly. Li Zaixing picked up a pastry and fed it to Du Zongwen, then continued, “So you need to appeal to His Majesty’s interests, say what he wants to hear, and subtly weave your own ideas in, so he finds them reasonable and accepts them gladly.”

Du Fu’s face darkened, displeased. “Are you advising me to be a sycophant?”

“Definitely not,” Li Zaixing said with a bitter smile. “I’d never suggest you become a sycophant. I’m simply advising you to rephrase your points to increase your chances of success.”

“Remonstration should be direct and blunt; how can it be circuitous and flattering? If I did that, how would I differ from those sycophants?”

“Not so,” Li Zaixing shook his head patiently. “Sycophants flatter for their own gain; your tactful words are for remonstrance, for the benefit of the world. The methods may appear similar, but the intent is different…”

Du Fu cut him off decisively. “Even so, I cannot abandon principle and degrade myself.”

Li Zaixing was speechless. This old scholar was stubborn beyond compare—it was no wonder he never attained high office. He quickly ended the debate. “Brother Du, I know nothing of poetry or rhapsody. Don’t take my words seriously. It’s getting late—shall we be on our way?”

At the mention of drinking at the flower houses, Du Fu’s spirits rose immediately. “Indeed, let’s go. If we delay, we’ll waste more money.” He called outside, “Madam, where are my new clothes?”

Lady Yang entered, handed him the garments, and assisted him in dressing, smoothing the corners carefully. In the end, she said softly, “Husband, I think Brother Zaixing’s advice is sound. If Prime Minister Zhuge hadn’t endured and sought advancement, how could his renown have echoed through the ages?”

Du Fu glanced at her. “Women’s opinions—what do you know? If a gentleman relied on flattery for advancement, could the Yangs of Hongnong have achieved their prestige?”

Lady Yang sighed and withdrew. Du Fu dusted his new clothes, his eyes shining. “Brother, let’s go.”

…

Though the distance was short, Du Fu insisted that Li Zaixing ride, with Lu Hu and A Duan leading the horse, to ensure proper display. If not for Ermeti’s injured leg, he’d have suggested bringing her along as well. Though this barbarian maiden was tall and robust—certainly not delicate—her golden hair was striking, drawing every eye. More impressively, she was skilled in martial arts; if she stood behind them with two curved swords, the effect would be dazzling.

When it came to matters of visiting flower houses, Du Fu was anything but stubborn—quite the opposite, in fact. The shift was so abrupt that Li Zaixing struggled to adjust.

“Brother, there are rules at these establishments. A typical visit costs no more than eight hundred coins, rarely exceeding a thousand. But if you go alone, as a new face, they’ll charge double.” Du Fu stroked his beard, smug. “But I’ve been to several; they wouldn’t dare cheat you if I’m with you.”

Li Zaixing couldn’t help but laugh to himself. I’m here to cause trouble, not to worry about a few extra coins. I don’t even plan to pay—I intend to take more.

“Brother Du, which flower houses do the local ruffians frequent?”

“That depends.” Du Fu answered like a seasoned guide. “I told you, the capital’s gallants are divided in two. One group are sons of noble families, wealthy and powerful, spending lavishly in the South and Middle Quarters. The other are street ruffians, mostly unruly youths, playing rough and extorting small sums—they can only hang around the North Quarter. Those who frequent Pingkang Lane and cause trouble at Bodhi Temple are naturally the lower-status gallants. To find them, you should go to the North Quarter.”

“Are you familiar with the flower houses in the North Quarter?”

“Not very,” Du Fu boasted. “After my father passed, I was impoverished. But when he was alive, I had some money and frequented the South and Middle Quarters, and the famous flower houses like Li’s at Mingke Lane—I often went there.”

“Which house do the well-known street gallants in this area visit most?”

“Li Xuanzhen’s in the North Quarter, and perhaps Zheng Juju’s in the Middle Quarter.”

“Let’s start with Zheng Juju’s then.”

Du Fu hesitated but said nothing further, leading Li Zaixing onward. As they passed the central crossroads, the streets grew crowded—bright clothes, fiery steeds, fur-lined hats and robes, each person radiant and spirited. Even the stable hands were better dressed than most. Every house had fine horses waiting outside, and boasts could be heard in passing.

Yet, none of the horses along the way could compare to Li Zaixing’s Teler steed. His arrival drew countless gazes—not just from the flower house greeters, but even from the young nobles, whose eyes betrayed envy.

Li Zaixing strode proudly through the throng, scanning the crowd, and spotted a familiar face. He waved and called out loudly, “Wei Third Son, how have you been?”

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