“In the whole wide world, is there seriously no one who can kill Li Jianhong?”
Mu Kuangda lets out a long, long sigh, with the masked Chang Liujun standing behind him.
The great general Zhao Kui is standing across from Mu Kuangda. Zhao Kui is dressed like a literati scholar today, and he’s in the study practising calligraphy. Wu Du, standing at his side, does not speak a word.
“It’s not that they can’t kill him,” Zhao Kui replies, “It’s that they’re not permitted to kill him. Wu Du, Chang Liujun, Zheng Yan, as well as that Nameless One are all bound by the Zhenshanhe. As long as that sword is in Li Jianhong’s hands, then they cannot raise arms against him.”
Zhao Kui’s calligraphy is robust and decisive, each stroke spilling onto the paper like a rainstorm wrapping around countless blades.
“Since Nayantuo died,” Zhao Kuai says in a low tone, “it’s been difficult to find another who can rival Li Jianhong.”
“No matter how strong he is, he’s only human,” Mu Kuangda postulates, “And if he’s human, he has weaknesses. If he has a plan for everything and believes everything is going according to his plan, then there has to be some variable in those plans.”
Zhao Kui says, “Perhaps the Nameless One is his variable. That man first betrayed his teacher, then massacred his entire school — even now there’s been no explanation as to why. I already had him tracked down based on what Wu Du told me. He’s from the end of the Xianbei mountain range, and when Li Jianhong went on the run he also stayed there for a short while.”
Mu Kuangda brings a teacup to his lips, and after taking one sip he turns to look outside at the gallery. “I’m quite at the end of my rope when it comes to him — I can only leave it in your hands, General.”
“Aside from that, I remember there is someone still,” Zhao Kui puts down his brush, “who may be able to fight against Li Jianhong.”
Zhao Kui turns to Mu Kuangda. “But I’m in no position to hire him, so I can only leave it in your hands, Chancellor.”
Mu Kuangda looks pensive, but says nothing.
“When Master Wangbei was heavily wounded by Nayantuo, he passed the Duanchenyuan to Kongming.” Zhao Kui continues, “Master Wangbei had another disciple junior to Kongming who studied Buddhism without shaving his head. Later, he betrayed his sect and took Duanchenyuan with him.”
“Well we can’t count on Wu Du or Chang Liujun.” Zhao Kui heaves a sigh. “To them it’s permissible to kill anyone under the sun aside from Li Jianhong; he is the only exception”
“As for the Nameless One, he must be coming here on an important mission. The Mongolians have declared war on Liao; if things proceed as I expect them to, in a few months when war breaks out all over the place, Li Jianhong will definitely show himself.”
For a long time, Mu Kuangda stays silent, not saying a word.
The Mongolians are marching south and their advance party has already captured Huchang. From the bureaucracy to the common folk, the Liao populace are thus alarmed. Refugees swarm toward Shangjing. By the fifteenth of the sixth month, there were already near thirty-thousand people gathered outside the capital of Shangjing. Li Jianhong takes the highways with Duan Ling on horseback all the way to the city gates.
“Who’s there?!” The guard at the gate says, “Show your documents! We need to search you!”
Li Jianhong turns the horse’s head and whistles toward the top of the city walls. Cai Wen, charged with the city’s defence, spots them, and sends someone down to open a side door, letting the two of them in.
“Thank him,” Li Jianhong tells Duan Ling. From his perch on horseback Duan Ling cups one hand in another at Cai Wei, and Cai Wen returns the salute. Presumably, he’s too busy with work to come ask the two of them when they left the city and what business they had outside.
Though it’s only been a scant few days since they’ve been gone, by the time they get home, Duan Ling feels as though a lifetime had gone by. Since the moment he stepped out of the house that night to rescue Batu, he had involuntarily stepped onto an epic, momentous path — in a single night he has become part of the Southern Chen imperial clan, his father has somehow turned out to be the foremost warrior of the border, the Han god of war … and now with the sudden change in Southern Chen’s situation, Li Jianhong had no other option but to wander far from home, and the two of them must depend on no one else but each other.
After coming upon such a radical change to his life, everything that has happened before now feels unfamiliar. Lang Junxia’s secrecy, his father’s arrival — all of it has an explanation now
There is much you must accomplish in the future.
A lot of what he didn’t understand before, all at once he understands entirely.
In the corridor he sits beneath the eaves, staring blankly into the courtyard.
“Dad.”
“Hey, son.” On the other hand, Li Jianhong is acting the same as he ever was as he waters Duan Ling’s flowerbed with a water pot.
Duan Ling doesn’t say anything. Once Li Jianhong finishes watering the plants, he draws more water from the well, gets the rice steaming, and cuts up a fish next to the well as he makes a meal for Duan Ling.
This startling change has come too rapidly and too suddenly; Duan Ling has no idea what he should be doing with himself. He stares at Li Jianhong’s back, feeling as though the man Master Kongming, Lang Junxia, and the Madam of Viburnum knows of is somehow not the same one as his father. It’s just like a dream.
While Li Jianhong is shaving off fish scales he even takes the time to look back at Duan Ling. “Hungry? Food will be ready soon. Half an hour.”
“Dad,” Duan Ling says, “what should I be doing right now?”
Li Jianhong looks at him blankly for a heartbeat, then he starts to smile. He carries the fish into the kitchen, and Duan Ling chases after him, watching Li Jianhong from behind as he heats up the oil in the wok.
“You can do whatever you want,” Li Jianhong offers casually, “All those old grievances are your dad’s problems. In no way are they your fetters.”
“Your problems are my problems. What does a prince have to do?”
Li Jianhong makes Duan Ling step back a bit, and stands between him and the wok so the sputtering oil won’t splash onto him. He slides the fish down into the oil by the wok’s edge, and with a light splutter a mouthwatering fragrance fills the air.
“Your fourth uncle doesn’t have an heir yet,” Li Jianhong says offhandedly, “Even if he does, the future throne of Southern Chen is still going to be yours. You’re not a prince. You’re the emperor.”
Duan Ling stares at him speechlessly.
Liu Jianhong taps the edge of the wok with the back of his hand, and the pan-fried fish spins in the wok. Then Li Jianhong flicks it with a finger and jolts the fish into a flip. Now the golden side is facing up as it sizzles in the oil.
“When you study, you’re learning how to be an emperor.” Li Jianhong says with a smile, “it’ll save you from running around like a chicken with its head cut off when you take the throne. Do you remember what the great ancestor said?”
“Governing a large country …” Duan Ling is staring the fish inside the wok, “is like simmering a side dish.”2
“Exactly.” Li Jianhong says in deadly earnestness, “Looks like studying is useful after all.”
“But I don’t know how to do anything.”
Li Jianhong adds half a ladle of water, tosses in green onions, ginger, garlic, and throws a lid on it. He wipes his hands. “If you don’t know then learn. Your majesty, grab a bowl, it’s time to eat!”
Li Jianhong picks up Duan Ling sideways and drops him off outside the main hall. Duan Ling goes to set the table.
“When you have free time you can think about what you want to do once you become the emperor,” Li Jianhong says this to Duan Ling seriously during dinner.
Duan Ling nods, nonplussed. Li Jianhong bids him, “Before everything is done and dusted, just think about it to yourself — no need to tell anyone lest they get jealous. After all, of most everyone, nine out of ten of them can’t become an emperor.”
Duan Ling bursts out laughing. Sure, that’s true, but it just feels like such a remote thing. That night, Li Jianhong sits in the corridor beneath the eaves, arms wrapped around his knees as he watches the stars, while Duan Ling does some reading in preparation for the fast approaching exam. Little by little, he falls asleep while sprawled on the desk. Li Jianhong picks him up carefully, brings him back inside, and the two fall asleep on the same bed.
“A scholar mustn’t be anything but firm and persistent …”
The weather grows gradually hotter. Duan Ling recites the words of Zengzi3, and he cannot help himself from glancing at Li Jianhong, who’s reading a book next to him.
Li Jianhong cuts in sedately, “… for his responsibilities are great and his road is long.”
“For his responsibilities are great and his road is long.” Duan Ling recites along.
His head is full of questions. His father is all by himself, and the only person he can order around is Lang Junxia. Southern Chen has hundreds of thousands of soldiers and its territories are vast. With nothing but his identity as an imperial kin, how is he supposed to take it all back?
“Dad,” Duan Ling asks, “do you know Yelü Dashi?”
“I know him. He’s always pretending he doesn’t know me.”
Duan Ling looks at him questioningly.
Li Jianhong derides, “It’s for the same reason why when one person beats up another, the one who got beat up always tries to avoid him.”
Duan Ling stares at him silently for a bit. “Then will he come after you?” He has been thinking a lot in the past little while, and he realises that his father’s identity is rather sensitive. Once he’s on his own, his enemies will probably come calling.
“He won’t. We used to be his enemy, but not anymore. Yelü Dashi is an extraordinarily cunning man, and he’s always trimmed his sails with the wind. And besides, he has no idea I’m here.”
“Then what do we do about the south?”
“I’ve been considering that lately.” Li Jianhong thinks quietly to himself for a moment before saying, “Basically I just have to borrow troops, make alliances, cozy up to Liao, and resist the Mongolians. If Yelü Dashi would lend me ten thousand men it’d be a cinch to take down Zhao Kui.”
“Would he lend you troops?”
“Now that’s something worth thinking about, and that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about. How do I give him a reason that he has no choice but to accept. I was talking to Batu’s dad that day about this very arrangement. I told him to deploy his troops to Yubiguan, that way Southern Chen’s army can’t make it up here, and Shangjing will have no choice but to ask for reinforcements from the southwest road.”
“And just like with Batu, leave me here as a hostage …”
“No way.” Li Jianhong’s expression darkens, and his tone turns sombre and cold. “You cannot say that again. In your eyes, is that the kind of man your dad is?”
Duan Ling can only nod then to indicate that he won’t say it again, and sneaking glances at Li Jianhong soon afterwards, he finds him looking a little bit angry. So he goes over and tries to smooth things out. Li Jianhong turns around and folds Duan Ling to himself with one arm. He says simply, “Yelü Dashi must not be allowed to find out who you are.”
Duan Ling hums in agreement. Li Jianhong says, “If anything changes, dad will discuss it with you. You don’t have to worry about these things.”
Duan Ling nods, and leans back in Li Jianhong’s lap to read and prepare for his exams, while Li Jianhong stares intently at a yellowed old map on the desk. On the map is the vast territory of the north, stretching south past Yubiguan all the way down to the Huai River, and it has a massive character written on it — Liao.
For days on end, Li Jianhong is pondering over this, while the day of Duan LIng’s examinations fast approaches. Speaking of which, oddly enough Duan Ling feels as though he’s grown up overnight; he seems to no longer care about all the other things he was so fond of doing before, and no longer clamours about wanting to go play. His life seems to have more important things in it, waiting for him.
This must be fate, isn’t it? He’s beginning to develop another sort of new, and intense sentiment about his father — his worship of his father has gone from a formless idea to a feeling that even though his father is his, he’s also responsible for many other people, a responsibility that cannot be shirked. Perhaps this is exactly what the headmaster meant when he spoke of benevolent rule. And this way of the benevolent rule belongs to both Duan Ling and his father.
Little by little, he begins to avoid bothering Li Jianhong, trying his best not to interrupt when Li Jianhong spends long periods of time lost in thought. Summer is here, and the call of cicadas is a constant thing; Shangjing’s summer days are dry and cool, with a fresh scent that lingers.
Today, Duan Ling walks through the corridor with a bundle over his shoulder, and turning towards the parlour where Li Jianhong is having tea, he says, “Dad, I’m heading to the entrance exam.”
Li Jianhong watches him from the parlour, his gaze is remarkably complicated but filled with a sense of warmth.
“You’ve grown,” Li Jianhong says.
Standing in the brightly-lit courtyard, Duan Ling bathes in the rays of the summer sun. He should be glad, but he doesn’t know why when he hears his father say that it makes him feel a little bit sad.
“But dad likes the way you are right now very much.” Li Jianhong rises with a smile. “Let’s go.”
Duan Ling wasn’t going to let Li Jianhong waste any energy on him, but Li Jianhong has never forgotten. Everything is already packed, waiting near at hand. He sets down the teacup now and picks up the bundle, to head to Biyong College with Duan Ling for his exams.
This is the first time Duan Ling has ever taken an exam, and above all else he feels a bit nervous. But Li Jianhong is telling him, “Don’t worry. If you don’t get in, then all dad has to do is spend some money to get you in for fun.”
Duan Ling starts to laugh, and that nervousness feels lighter. Biyong College is already overflowing with students coming here to take the exam, noisily talking amongst each other. Li Jianhong finds a seat and makes him sit down. Then he says quietly, “Dad will wait for you on that tree outside.”
A heartbeat of silence passes before Duan Ling says, “You should go home.” He’s feeling rather embarrassed, though the inside of Biyong College is quite crowded and no one has taken notice of them.
Li Jianhong sets the table for him with paper and brush. “You’ll have the opportunity to handle many grand occasions yet. Just write whatever you feel like. You don’t need to prove yourself with this sheet of paper. Dad believes in you. No need to take this too seriously.”
Duan Ling suddenly understands what Li Jianhong means and nods back at him. Mastering the literary and martial skills is for the sake of benefiting the imperial family, and since he is part of the imperial family, what’s there for him to worry about? What Li Jianhong probably means is that he needn’t put in too much effort, lest he stands out and draws too much attention to himself.
Li Jianhong gives Duan Ling a thumbs up, then he turns, and goes outside.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
From Laozi’s Tao Te Ching. ↩︎
Zenzi was a student of Confucius. ↩︎
“In the whole wide world, is there seriously no one who can kill Li Jianhong?”
Mu Kuangda lets out a long, long sigh, with the masked Chang Liujun standing behind him.
The great general Zhao Kui is standing across from Mu Kuangda. Zhao Kui is dressed like a literati scholar today, and he’s in the study practising calligraphy. Wu Du, standing at his side, does not speak a word.
“It’s not that they can’t kill him,” Zhao Kui replies, “It’s that they’re not permitted to kill him. Wu Du, Chang Liujun, Zheng Yan, as well as that Nameless One are all bound by the Zhenshanhe. As long as that sword is in Li Jianhong’s hands, then they cannot raise arms against him.”
Zhao Kui’s calligraphy is robust and decisive, each stroke spilling onto the paper like a rainstorm wrapping around countless blades.
“Since Nayantuo died,” Zhao Kuai says in a low tone, “it’s been difficult to find another who can rival Li Jianhong.”
“No matter how strong he is, he’s only human,” Mu Kuangda postulates, “And if he’s human, he has weaknesses. If he has a plan for everything and believes everything is going according to his plan, then there has to be some variable in those plans.”
Zhao Kui says, “Perhaps the Nameless One is his variable. That man first betrayed his teacher, then massacred his entire school — even now there’s been no explanation as to why. I already had him tracked down based on what Wu Du told me. He’s from the end of the Xianbei mountain range, and when Li Jianhong went on the run he also stayed there for a short while.”
Mu Kuangda brings a teacup to his lips, and after taking one sip he turns to look outside at the gallery. “I’m quite at the end of my rope when it comes to him — I can only leave it in your hands, General.”
“Aside from that, I remember there is someone still,” Zhao Kui puts down his brush, “who may be able to fight against Li Jianhong.”
Zhao Kui turns to Mu Kuangda. “But I’m in no position to hire him, so I can only leave it in your hands, Chancellor.”
Mu Kuangda looks pensive, but says nothing.
“When Master Wangbei was heavily wounded by Nayantuo, he passed the Duanchenyuan to Kongming.” Zhao Kui continues, “Master Wangbei had another disciple junior to Kongming who studied Buddhism without shaving his head. Later, he betrayed his sect and took Duanchenyuan with him.”
“Well we can’t count on Wu Du or Chang Liujun.” Zhao Kui heaves a sigh. “To them it’s permissible to kill anyone under the sun aside from Li Jianhong; he is the only exception”
“As for the Nameless One, he must be coming here on an important mission. The Mongolians have declared war on Liao; if things proceed as I expect them to, in a few months when war breaks out all over the place, Li Jianhong will definitely show himself.”
For a long time, Mu Kuangda stays silent, not saying a word.
The Mongolians are marching south and their advance party has already captured Huchang. From the bureaucracy to the common folk, the Liao populace are thus alarmed. Refugees swarm toward Shangjing. By the fifteenth of the sixth month, there were already near thirty-thousand people gathered outside the capital of Shangjing. Li Jianhong takes the highways with Duan Ling on horseback all the way to the city gates.
“Who’s there?!” The guard at the gate says, “Show your documents! We need to search you!”
Li Jianhong turns the horse’s head and whistles toward the top of the city walls. Cai Wen, charged with the city’s defence, spots them, and sends someone down to open a side door, letting the two of them in.
“Thank him,” Li Jianhong tells Duan Ling. From his perch on horseback Duan Ling cups one hand in another at Cai Wei, and Cai Wen returns the salute. Presumably, he’s too busy with work to come ask the two of them when they left the city and what business they had outside.
Though it’s only been a scant few days since they’ve been gone, by the time they get home, Duan Ling feels as though a lifetime had gone by. Since the moment he stepped out of the house that night to rescue Batu, he had involuntarily stepped onto an epic, momentous path — in a single night he has become part of the Southern Chen imperial clan, his father has somehow turned out to be the foremost warrior of the border, the Han god of war … and now with the sudden change in Southern Chen’s situation, Li Jianhong had no other option but to wander far from home, and the two of them must depend on no one else but each other.
After coming upon such a radical change to his life, everything that has happened before now feels unfamiliar. Lang Junxia’s secrecy, his father’s arrival — all of it has an explanation now
There is much you must accomplish in the future.
A lot of what he didn’t understand before, all at once he understands entirely.
In the corridor he sits beneath the eaves, staring blankly into the courtyard.
“Dad.”
“Hey, son.” On the other hand, Li Jianhong is acting the same as he ever was as he waters Duan Ling’s flowerbed with a water pot.
Duan Ling doesn’t say anything. Once Li Jianhong finishes watering the plants, he draws more water from the well, gets the rice steaming, and cuts up a fish next to the well as he makes a meal for Duan Ling.
This startling change has come too rapidly and too suddenly; Duan Ling has no idea what he should be doing with himself. He stares at Li Jianhong’s back, feeling as though the man Master Kongming, Lang Junxia, and the Madam of Viburnum knows of is somehow not the same one as his father. It’s just like a dream.
While Li Jianhong is shaving off fish scales he even takes the time to look back at Duan Ling. “Hungry? Food will be ready soon. Half an hour.”
“Dad,” Duan Ling says, “what should I be doing right now?”
Li Jianhong looks at him blankly for a heartbeat, then he starts to smile. He carries the fish into the kitchen, and Duan Ling chases after him, watching Li Jianhong from behind as he heats up the oil in the wok.
“You can do whatever you want,” Li Jianhong offers casually, “All those old grievances are your dad’s problems. In no way are they your fetters.”
“Your problems are my problems. What does a prince have to do?”
Li Jianhong makes Duan Ling step back a bit, and stands between him and the wok so the sputtering oil won’t splash onto him. He slides the fish down into the oil by the wok’s edge, and with a light splutter a mouthwatering fragrance fills the air.
“Your fourth uncle doesn’t have an heir yet,” Li Jianhong says offhandedly, “Even if he does, the future throne of Southern Chen is still going to be yours. You’re not a prince. You’re the emperor.”
Duan Ling stares at him speechlessly.
Liu Jianhong taps the edge of the wok with the back of his hand, and the pan-fried fish spins in the wok. Then Li Jianhong flicks it with a finger and jolts the fish into a flip. Now the golden side is facing up as it sizzles in the oil.
“When you study, you’re learning how to be an emperor.” Li Jianhong says with a smile, “it’ll save you from running around like a chicken with its head cut off when you take the throne. Do you remember what the great ancestor said?”
“Governing a large country …” Duan Ling is staring the fish inside the wok, “is like simmering a side dish.”2
“Exactly.” Li Jianhong says in deadly earnestness, “Looks like studying is useful after all.”
“But I don’t know how to do anything.”
Li Jianhong adds half a ladle of water, tosses in green onions, ginger, garlic, and throws a lid on it. He wipes his hands. “If you don’t know then learn. Your majesty, grab a bowl, it’s time to eat!”
Li Jianhong picks up Duan Ling sideways and drops him off outside the main hall. Duan Ling goes to set the table.
“When you have free time you can think about what you want to do once you become the emperor,” Li Jianhong says this to Duan Ling seriously during dinner.
Duan Ling nods, nonplussed. Li Jianhong bids him, “Before everything is done and dusted, just think about it to yourself — no need to tell anyone lest they get jealous. After all, of most everyone, nine out of ten of them can’t become an emperor.”
Duan Ling bursts out laughing. Sure, that’s true, but it just feels like such a remote thing. That night, Li Jianhong sits in the corridor beneath the eaves, arms wrapped around his knees as he watches the stars, while Duan Ling does some reading in preparation for the fast approaching exam. Little by little, he falls asleep while sprawled on the desk. Li Jianhong picks him up carefully, brings him back inside, and the two fall asleep on the same bed.
“A scholar mustn’t be anything but firm and persistent …”
The weather grows gradually hotter. Duan Ling recites the words of Zengzi3, and he cannot help himself from glancing at Li Jianhong, who’s reading a book next to him.
Li Jianhong cuts in sedately, “… for his responsibilities are great and his road is long.”
“For his responsibilities are great and his road is long.” Duan Ling recites along.
His head is full of questions. His father is all by himself, and the only person he can order around is Lang Junxia. Southern Chen has hundreds of thousands of soldiers and its territories are vast. With nothing but his identity as an imperial kin, how is he supposed to take it all back?
“Dad,” Duan Ling asks, “do you know Yelü Dashi?”
“I know him. He’s always pretending he doesn’t know me.”
Duan Ling looks at him questioningly.
Li Jianhong derides, “It’s for the same reason why when one person beats up another, the one who got beat up always tries to avoid him.”
Duan Ling stares at him silently for a bit. “Then will he come after you?” He has been thinking a lot in the past little while, and he realises that his father’s identity is rather sensitive. Once he’s on his own, his enemies will probably come calling.
“He won’t. We used to be his enemy, but not anymore. Yelü Dashi is an extraordinarily cunning man, and he’s always trimmed his sails with the wind. And besides, he has no idea I’m here.”
“Then what do we do about the south?”
“I’ve been considering that lately.” Li Jianhong thinks quietly to himself for a moment before saying, “Basically I just have to borrow troops, make alliances, cozy up to Liao, and resist the Mongolians. If Yelü Dashi would lend me ten thousand men it’d be a cinch to take down Zhao Kui.”
“Would he lend you troops?”
“Now that’s something worth thinking about, and that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about. How do I give him a reason that he has no choice but to accept. I was talking to Batu’s dad that day about this very arrangement. I told him to deploy his troops to Yubiguan, that way Southern Chen’s army can’t make it up here, and Shangjing will have no choice but to ask for reinforcements from the southwest road.”
“And just like with Batu, leave me here as a hostage …”
“No way.” Li Jianhong’s expression darkens, and his tone turns sombre and cold. “You cannot say that again. In your eyes, is that the kind of man your dad is?”
Duan Ling can only nod then to indicate that he won’t say it again, and sneaking glances at Li Jianhong soon afterwards, he finds him looking a little bit angry. So he goes over and tries to smooth things out. Li Jianhong turns around and folds Duan Ling to himself with one arm. He says simply, “Yelü Dashi must not be allowed to find out who you are.”
Duan Ling hums in agreement. Li Jianhong says, “If anything changes, dad will discuss it with you. You don’t have to worry about these things.”
Duan Ling nods, and leans back in Li Jianhong’s lap to read and prepare for his exams, while Li Jianhong stares intently at a yellowed old map on the desk. On the map is the vast territory of the north, stretching south past Yubiguan all the way down to the Huai River, and it has a massive character written on it — Liao.
For days on end, Li Jianhong is pondering over this, while the day of Duan LIng’s examinations fast approaches. Speaking of which, oddly enough Duan Ling feels as though he’s grown up overnight; he seems to no longer care about all the other things he was so fond of doing before, and no longer clamours about wanting to go play. His life seems to have more important things in it, waiting for him.
This must be fate, isn’t it? He’s beginning to develop another sort of new, and intense sentiment about his father — his worship of his father has gone from a formless idea to a feeling that even though his father is his, he’s also responsible for many other people, a responsibility that cannot be shirked. Perhaps this is exactly what the headmaster meant when he spoke of benevolent rule. And this way of the benevolent rule belongs to both Duan Ling and his father.
Little by little, he begins to avoid bothering Li Jianhong, trying his best not to interrupt when Li Jianhong spends long periods of time lost in thought. Summer is here, and the call of cicadas is a constant thing; Shangjing’s summer days are dry and cool, with a fresh scent that lingers.
Today, Duan Ling walks through the corridor with a bundle over his shoulder, and turning towards the parlour where Li Jianhong is having tea, he says, “Dad, I’m heading to the entrance exam.”
Li Jianhong watches him from the parlour, his gaze is remarkably complicated but filled with a sense of warmth.
“You’ve grown,” Li Jianhong says.
Standing in the brightly-lit courtyard, Duan Ling bathes in the rays of the summer sun. He should be glad, but he doesn’t know why when he hears his father say that it makes him feel a little bit sad.
“But dad likes the way you are right now very much.” Li Jianhong rises with a smile. “Let’s go.”
Duan Ling wasn’t going to let Li Jianhong waste any energy on him, but Li Jianhong has never forgotten. Everything is already packed, waiting near at hand. He sets down the teacup now and picks up the bundle, to head to Biyong College with Duan Ling for his exams.
This is the first time Duan Ling has ever taken an exam, and above all else he feels a bit nervous. But Li Jianhong is telling him, “Don’t worry. If you don’t get in, then all dad has to do is spend some money to get you in for fun.”
Duan Ling starts to laugh, and that nervousness feels lighter. Biyong College is already overflowing with students coming here to take the exam, noisily talking amongst each other. Li Jianhong finds a seat and makes him sit down. Then he says quietly, “Dad will wait for you on that tree outside.”
A heartbeat of silence passes before Duan Ling says, “You should go home.” He’s feeling rather embarrassed, though the inside of Biyong College is quite crowded and no one has taken notice of them.
Li Jianhong sets the table for him with paper and brush. “You’ll have the opportunity to handle many grand occasions yet. Just write whatever you feel like. You don’t need to prove yourself with this sheet of paper. Dad believes in you. No need to take this too seriously.”
Duan Ling suddenly understands what Li Jianhong means and nods back at him. Mastering the literary and martial skills is for the sake of benefiting the imperial family, and since he is part of the imperial family, what’s there for him to worry about? What Li Jianhong probably means is that he needn’t put in too much effort, lest he stands out and draws too much attention to himself.
Li Jianhong gives Duan Ling a thumbs up, then he turns, and goes outside.
I do not monetise my hobby translations, but if you’d like to support my work generally or support my light novel habit, you can either buy me a coffee or commission me. This is also to note that if you see this message anywhere else than on tumblr, do come to my tumblr. It’s ad-free. ↩︎
From Laozi’s Tao Te Ching. ↩︎
Zenzi was a student of Confucius. ↩︎
