Chapter 6: The Military Strategies of Lord Wei

Li Bai had still been a little unconvinced at first, but upon seeing Li Zaixing deliberately reveal his true skill, he realized that Li Zaixing had shown mercy earlier. Otherwise, with a single strike, his own legs might have been shattered like that tile, leaving him unable to stand, let alone speak.

He let out a sigh. “Young friend, your spearplay is truly superb. I concede. As for that Tekla steed…” He gritted his teeth, unwilling to let it go. “It’s yours now. I hope one day you’ll ride it into battle and distinguish yourself, living up to the worth of such a fine horse.”

“Thank you, Banished Immortal, for the gift of the horse.” Li Zaixing cupped his fists in both hands and bowed. “One day, I shall not fail the kindness you have shown me today.”

“Let’s hope so.” Li Bai gave a bitter smile, then turned to glance at Li Mi. “With a warrior like this for company, it’s no wonder you’re unwilling to sit with an old man like me. Li Changyuan, the younger generation truly is to be feared.”

He had come brimming with heroic spirit, eager for a contest, but was defeated in a single bout, utterly unable to strike back. The arrogance had already faded from his face; as he spoke the words “the younger generation is to be feared,” he seemed even more desolate. Gone was the poetic grandeur of the Banished Immortal; before them stood a man whose years were slipping away, yet who had accomplished nothing.

Li Mi saw this and his former aversion softened somewhat. He sighed and consoled him, “Banished Immortal, do not take it to heart. Victory and defeat are common among men of arms. Your age alone means you need not concern yourself with martial prowess. The aged steed still longs for a thousand-mile gallop; the loyal heart of a hero burns undiminished by the years. Now that a wise ruler sits on the throne and the realm is at peace, strategy and persuasion are out of season; it is no fault of yours.”

Li Bai blinked, then broke into laughter, instantly regaining his composure and confidence. He sheathed his long sword, shook his leg, and with some difficulty made his way outside. His voice rang out from afar, still full of vigor and heroic spirit.

“Li Changyuan, after glory comes decline. Though we have an enlightened sovereign, traitorous ministers hold sway. We both know the true state of the world. Have patience—let us see, in a few years, whether my arts of diplomacy will find their chance.”

Li Mi shook his head, then hurried to the courtyard gate to watch Li Bai’s departing figure. Li Zaixing, meanwhile, was utterly bewildered—Li Bai, a master of political persuasion? Wasn’t he a poet? How had he become like Su Qin or Zhang Yi, famed strategists and diplomats?

When Li Mi returned, Li Zaixing voiced his confusion. Li Mi was not surprised; after all, Li Zaixing had grown up in Banruo Temple. Though his master, Lazy Chan Monk, was a deeply accomplished monk whose chanting was renowned, as a Buddhist monk he would have little interest in such matters. It was perfectly natural for Li Zaixing to be uninformed.

“In the Great Tang, there are only a few routes into officialdom. One is through hereditary privilege—aristocratic scions, naturally, are exempt from the usual process. Sons of officials of the fifth rank or higher can enter the bureaucracy by virtue of their fathers’ achievements. But officials of the fifth rank are few, so most people must rely on other methods…”

Li Mi gave a brief overview of the Tang dynasty’s paths to office. Aside from the rare few able to enter by hereditary right, the majority had to rely on their own learning and talent. Those with exceptional talent could enter through the imperial examinations, but that was no easy feat—only twenty or thirty were admitted each year, sometimes fewer than ten. Even passing the exams did not guarantee an official post; one had to await the Ministry of Personnel’s selection and appointment before receiving a real assignment.

Those of lesser talent, with no hope of passing the exams, could only enter the lower ranks and slowly climb the ladder through years of service. This, too, was arduous—promotion required passing four examinations, held every four years. Many spent their whole lives without ever donning the crimson robe of a fifth-rank official, let alone the purple robes of the third rank.

There was also the path of military merit. The emperor rewarded those who secured victories at the frontiers, and great feats in battle offered more opportunities for advancement. But to carve out a way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood was hardly something ordinary men could achieve.

The vast majority, proud of their talents but unwilling to endure years of menial service and lacking the ability to win military honors, were left with only one choice: to seek the patronage of the powerful, hoping for a recommendation that would open the doors of officialdom. This was the path chosen by Li Bai and Li Mi. In fact, most scholars of the Tang followed this same route. There were two ways to court the influential: one was to humble oneself, flatter the powerful, even serve as their lackey; the other was to compose poetry and essays, forge friendships far and wide, build a reputation, and win an opportunity to serve through fame and talent. Li Bai chose the latter, and in his youth he studied the arts of diplomacy from Zhao Rui, hoping to rise swiftly, like Su Qin and Zhang Yi. Yet he overlooked one thing: the art of diplomacy and persuasion thrives only in an age of turmoil, when rival states contend as in the Spring and Autumn or Warring States periods. When the empire is unified, such skills are as useless as dragon-slaying—grand in theory, but without practical application.

And so Li Bai’s life was wasted in vain. His brief appointment to the Hanlin Academy was due to his literary talent and poetic fame, not the arts of persuasion in which he took so much pride.

After hearing Li Mi’s explanation, Li Zaixing was still puzzled. “But if his literary talent is so outstanding, why didn’t he sit for the imperial exams? Even if his arts of persuasion were useless, surely his learning would suffice for the exams.”

Li Mi blinked, pondered for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Brother, I once wondered the same thing. Li Bai may be a bit ostentatious, but few can match his literary gifts. With his knowledge, the exams should have posed no problem. And yet, strangely, he never sat for them. Do you know why?”

Li Zaixing rolled his eyes. “What’s so mysterious about it?”

“To sit for the exams, one must submit a literary essay and a family record. The family record must list the names and official posts of one’s father and grandfathers, three generations back…” Li Mi paused, fixing his gaze on Li Zaixing.

Li Zaixing was taken aback, then suddenly understood. “Li Bai’s family background is unclear?”

“Exactly.” Li Mi smiled. “The family record isn’t simply self-declared—it must be verified and stamped by the authorities in one’s place of origin. Li Bai claimed descent from the Li clan of Longxi, saying his family fled west during the chaos at the end of the Sui and only settled in Shu during the Shenlong era. But his family’s history before entering Shu is vague and contradictory. If he wanted to enter office through the exams, he simply couldn’t complete the family record.”

Li Zaixing saw the light, but soon thought of his own predicament. By Li Mi’s explanation, although he didn’t need to provide a three-generation family record as for the exams, he would at least have to know who his parents were if he ever wanted to become an official. Otherwise, he could only remain an ordinary commoner, or return to Banruo Temple and live out his days as a monk.

This only made him more determined to uncover his own origins.

Li Zaixing suddenly felt a headache coming on. Last night, his master, Lazy Chan Monk, had given him a keepsake, but he’d found no clue in it—only that the person who had entrusted the monk to protect him was in Chang’an, and likely someone of some standing. For the rest, he would have to go to Chang’an and search for answers himself.

It was a daunting task. He knew nothing of Chang’an, and once he arrived, he would be a stranger in a strange land. With only a mysterious keepsake and no leads, how was he to begin? That was why he was so eager to persuade Li Mi, this prodigy, to accompany him—not only for Li Mi’s intelligence, but also for his connections. Li Mi was a native of Chang’an, moved freely in palace circles, and was acquainted with both the Emperor and the Crown Prince. Having such a companion in Chang’an would solve many problems, and his connections might prove invaluable if needed.

As for joining the army to enter officialdom, that was just a pretext. Even if he truly intended to do so, he would have to resolve his identity first. Otherwise, he would be nothing more than a rootless drifter in the Tang, unable to become an official.

Convincing Li Mi to go with him to Chang’an would not be easy, especially now, with his master unable to help—he would have to rely on his own efforts. And Li Mi was so clever as to seem almost demonic; trying to outwit someone like him was a daunting prospect.

His only advantage was that Li Mi knew little about him, while he knew at least a bit about Li Mi. But for how long could he keep this up? With Li Mi’s keen eye, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t slip up eventually.

“You won the Tekla steed from Li Bai—do you really intend to join the army?” Li Mi asked with a smile.

“I can’t think of any other path,” Li Zaixing replied with a wry smile. “As for family, I’m an orphan found by a monk; I don’t even know who my parents are. As for learning, I can’t write poetry or essays, so the exams are out of reach. Other than joining the army, what options do I have?”

“That’s true. Even for the military exams, you’d need a family record.” Li Mi nodded in agreement. “But, to rise by military merit is no easy thing. Leaving aside the dangers of the battlefield and the uncertainty of life and death, even if you achieve unparalleled feats, it’s still impossible nowadays to become a top general or chancellor.”

“I’ve never dreamed of such heights,” Li Zaixing laughed, “I just want to live a comfortable life. By the way, could you teach me to read the Art of War?”

“You’ve looked at the Duke of Wei’s treatise?” Li Mi had already noticed that the book on the desk had been moved, and now realized it was Li Zaixing.

“I glanced at it, but didn’t understand much,” Li Zaixing admitted, scratching his head in embarrassment. “Who is this Duke of Wei?”

Li Mi stared at him in astonishment, making Li Zaixing inwardly anxious, afraid he’d let something slip.

“You want to join the army, but you don’t even know who Li the Duke of Wei is?”

“Li… the Duke of Wei?” Li Zaixing thought for a long while before it dawned on him, and his face turned bright red. So the Duke of Wei was not someone surnamed Wei, but a title! Li the Duke of Wei—how could he not know? The Tang’s God of War, Li Jing, one of the Two Pillars of the Tang, along with the very Li Mi before him.

Embarrassment was quickly swept away by a wave of excitement. “Is this really Li the Duke of Wei’s treatise on war?”

“Of course.” Li Mi smiled with pride. “I copied it by imperial permission when I was in the palace.”

Li Zaixing raised his head and silently thanked all the gods and buddhas of heaven. Li Jing, the Tang’s God of War, not only won legendary victories but also left behind military treatises. It was said that all who had studied his works became great generals of the Tang. Perhaps Li Mi’s later achievements were due in part to his having read Li Jing’s treatise. Unfortunately, by the Song dynasty, Li Jing’s treatise had already been lost; those that survived were either fakes or mere fragments.

Who would have thought he’d find a complete version here with Li Mi? It seemed the heavens had granted him a boon.

No matter how much effort it took, he would not let this opportunity to study slip away. Li Zaixing made up his mind.

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