With one’s time on earth, there are always some things that no matter how dangerous and difficult you know them to be, even if you know they can only end in certain death, you’d still do it.
Couldn’t Cai Wen have done anything else?
Li Jianhong’s answer to that is, No, because he had no other choice.
Cai Wen and Cai Yan’s father Cai Ye was once a literati of the Central Plain. After the Liao emperor breached the capital, Cai Ye defected to Liao and became one of the framers who created the structure of the Southern Administration. Years later, due to a plot cooked up by the Chen empire to sow dissent within Liao ranks, Cai Ye was accused of a crime he did not commit and put to death by the Liao emperor, leaving behind the two brothers to fend for themselves. There were few Cais left in the southern part of the continent. When Yelü Dashi overturned Cai Ye’s case, the most difficult problem he came across was how he should settle the Cais.
Everyone dreaded the idea of a Cai descendent becoming a south-side bureaucrat, and the northern bureaucracy was tightly controlled by the Han family and Empress Xiao. There was nowhere for Yelü Dashi to slip someone in. The only high-ranking post Cai Wen was suitable for was a military official. So, send him to the army? He couldn’t have done that — he had a younger brother at home to care for. That’s why Yelü Dashi made Cai Wen serve as captain of the Shangjing city guard, and tried his hardest to encourage him.
The Cais were never a warrior family to begin with, so Cai Wen trained assiduously to be up to the task, but alas he was already past the best time for martial arts training in his life; his lack of a good foundation made it impossible for him to become a great soldier. He did alright as long as things were peaceful, but if the nation’s ever invaded then this is a foregone conclusion. Before Li JIanhong carried out the plan, he confirmed it with Yelü Dashi several times, and Yelü Dashi believed that although Cai Wen’s abilities were not up to standard, his loyalty was beyond question — he’d defend Shangjing to the death.
And as they expected, Cai Wen lost his life in the fighting. In exchange for the life of a son born of a concubine, the Cai family’s loyalty to Yelü Dashi is now uncontestable, and Cai Yan’s future is certain to be a bright one.
“This too shall pass.” Li Jianhong says to his son, “There are some things we must do even if it ends in certain death. That’s what it means to be a Confucian.”2
Normality is gradually restored in Shangjing after the war. Biyong College was on fire so while they’re straightening out the place and rescuing its collection of books, the students are given a long holiday. Three days later, Dean Tang has chosen a new location; they’re to go to school during the day and return to their respective homes in the evening.
When Duan Ling sees Cai Yan again he just feels terribly sad, but as Li Jianhong has taught him, as long as Cai Yan doesn’t talk about it, Duan Ling doesn’t ask either — he just pretends nothing ever happened. After Cai Wen’s death Cai Yan is even more taciturn than he was before; he seldom speaks to his fellow students and even with Duan Ling his words are far and few between, and most of them are about their studies. As soon as school is over for the day, he picks up his bag and goes home.
Meanwhile, Duan Ling spends the day at school and trains in the martial arts with Li Jianhong once school lets out in the afternoon. He’s starting to feel that he’s pressed for time now. All the time he’s wasted in the past seems like an outright sin.
How long will he have to train to become as capable as his father? He ponders upon this question often, but he never says it aloud. Instead, what he asks is, “When can I ever get to be like Lang Junxia?”
“There are so many people under the sun,” Li Jianhong says, while giving Duan Ling’s sword a quick polish, “but out of all these people, only four became assassins. It’s not like you’re going to be an assassin, so why would you imitate them?”
Duan Ling is speechless.
“Learn however much you can. Merely learning the martial arts is not enough, you have to practice it too. A master can bring you through the door, but how much work you put in depends on you.”
Duan Ling hums in the affirmative; he has matured a lot as well in the past several months and he’s developed his internal force. Even though compared to freaks like Lang Junxia and Wu Du he’s got quite a ways to go, with some effort he can manage to leap onto the top of the wall.
Another winter has come. Duan Ling has been counting off the days one by one, and if Yelü Dashi is a man of his word then it’s nearing the time for Li Jianhong to go. But he hasn’t asked, and Li Jianhong hasn’t said anything either. Before the first snow of the season arrives fashionably late to lay a silver carpet over Shangjing, before the director of academic affairs sends out letters informing the students that repairs on Biyong College will be finished come New Year’s, everything remains the same as before.
School will resume in the third month.
Today, Li Jianhong has finished instructing him, and Duan Ling is moving into the closing form of the style. Over a stretch of nearly nine months, this one sword style is the only one that he has learned. While he’s still in the courtyard concentrating on sword practice, a visitor arrives.
“He’s defected.” It’s Xunchun’s voice.
Li Jianhong stands in the corridor. Duan Ling is thinking about going to him when Li Jianhong raises a hand, pointing into the courtyard, meaning he should keep practising and not come join them.
“Before he left, I told him that if he needed to he could lie low for a while.”
Xunchun doesn’t say anything. Her figure is hidden behind the spirit screen,3 casting a shadow in the snow.
“For the next several years, I will be leaving this place in your hands.”
Xunchun still hasn’t said anything.
After a heartbeat Li Jianhong adds, “You will have your vengeance eventually, but now is not the time.”
Xunchun heaves a sigh.
“Unless I come personally, do not let anyone take him from here.”
“As you will,” Xunchun replies.
In the snow-filled courtyard, Duan Ling can hear a rustling as though Xunchun is taking out something. Soon, she continues, “This is the letter our master wanted to give him on the day he and I parted ways. All these years, it has passed through many hands, but ultimately it never made its way into his hands.”4
“How old is he?” Li Jianhong asks, sounding detached.
“He made his name at sixteen. The year he started working for Zhao Kui, he was nineteen. If he will see fit to find his way back onto the right track, please let him live, Your Highness.“
“Hard to say whether he’s on the wrong or the right track, really.” Li Jianhong comments coolly, “A fine fowl perches only on a fine tree and we’re all bound to our own destiny. You kill me, I kill you — that’s all that is. He’s honest with his feelings, unlike Lang Junxia; if he’s willing to defect to me, I’ll be sure to make good use of him. You may go.”
Xunchun bows slightly and excuses herself.
Li Jianhong turns back around in the corridor; sword in hand, Duan Ling turns to meet his father’s eyes. The two of them face each other for a long time in silence.
“Dad has to go.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“As short as one year, as long as two.”
“Oh,” Duan Ling replies, and continues practising.
Li Jianhong walks through the winding corridor to the parlour. Duan Ling has always known that this day would come, so what he feels is not much of a surprise but a sense of loss.
He practises for a while longer. When he turns around to look at Li Jianhong, he sees him sitting in the centre of the parlour, watching him quietly. A breeze sweeps up the snowflakes, spinning through the time in between them, drifting away before their eyes.
“You may not be the best emperor in the future,” Li Jianhong starts to smile, “but you’ll be the best looking emperor since the dawn of history.”
Duan Ling gives him an embarrassed smile. He’s grown; his every move, every step carries the aura he’s inherited from Li Jianhong, but it doesn’t feel quite as flashy on him. It’s as if there’s a mirror between the parlour and the courtyard, and the still somewhat boyish Duan Ling on one side is just like a reflection of the mature, dignified Li Jianhong.
“I really really want to go with you. But I know I shouldn’t cause you trouble, I …”
“Don’t say anymore.” Li Jianhong waves his words off. “You say one more thing and I’m not leaving anymore. I never wanted to leave in the first place.”
From a certain day on, Duan Ling has begun feeling embarrassed about hugging Li Jianhong. He’s learned a lot in this past year; Li Jianhong’s company has sped up his development, and it’s made him more mature. Duan Ling deliberates and handles things the way an adult does.
This is the coldest winter in Shangjing in the past ten years. Piled up snow is blocking the front gates, and there is nearly two feet of snow accumulated in the courtyard. With a brazier burning in the parlour, Li Jianhong began instructing Duan Ling on the internal workings of the imperial court, government administration, and other things about Southern Chen. Even though Chen has three departments and six ministries5 but in reality it is controlled by one each high-ranking civil and military official. Zhao Kui is a general with great merit to his name, having earned his laurels from the Battle of Huai River. When the Chen military retreated in defeat, Zhao Kui was the one who helped the Li family escape unscathed, withdrawing to Xichuan.
As for Mu Kuangda, he came from the Jingchuan gentry class and joined the bureaucracy by virtue of earning the Primus rank during the imperial palace examination. Once he entered the imperial court, he stabilised Great Chen, and became a true cornerstone of the empire.
The emperor of the south has been chronically ill since the capital was moved, and hasn’t officially chosen an heir-apparent yet. The fourth prince Li Yanqiu assisted in the affairs of state while Li Jianhong campaigned abroad. By rights the heir should be the older one, thus it should be Li Jianhong who accedes. Li Jianhong used to have close ties to the military and Zhao Kui had become Li Jianhong’s staunchest supporter, but as time went by, Zhao Kui was no longer willing to support Li Jianhong.
“Why is that?” Duan Ling asks.
“Warmongering. Glory-seeking. They’re worried that once I become the emperor I’d raise too many troops and dig Great Chen’s grave. But judging by the current state of affairs, Liao is no longer our most formidable enemy. That’s because Liao has made the central plain its home for too long — Liao is just another Han now. Even farther north of Liao is another wolf waiting for its chance to march south.”
“That’s why in the long run our approach must be to ally with Liao and resist Yuan together,” Li Jianhong continues. “Taking vengeance for the invasion and sating our hatred for the loss of our home will have to be set aside for now. If we continue to check and balance each other, both Khitan and Han will be exterminated by the House of Borjigin. They’re like jackals — each city they capture is another city massacred.”6
From Li Jianhong, Duan Ling also learns about many of the major features of Liao’s system of government. Ever since the Liao founder entered the central plain, Liao imperial court has been divided into south-side and north-side bureaucrats. Most south-side bureaucrats are Han, while there is only one Han north-side bureaucrat, with the rest being Khitans. The actual workings of the northern government is divided into the southern and northern administrations, both have charge of the military.
The Southern and Northern Administrations hold power over the entire Liao empire. The only Han in the Southern Adminstration is Han Weiyong; Empress Xiao is the one behind Han Weiyong, while the Northern Prince of the Northern Administration is Yelü Dashi.
Han Weiyong and Yelü Dashi are evenly-matched in power within Liao. Several years ago Han Weiyong’s son Han Jieli came to Shangjing to attend school, and part of that arrangement was meant to place him here as a hostage. Once he graduated from the Illustrious Hall, Han Jieli left on some pretext. Clearly they don’t feel entirely reassured with Yelü Dashi.
“The young Yelü Dashi was the northern tiger. These years though, he’s gotten too comfortable, drank excessively, and allowed his appetite for beautiful women to eat at his health. To think that he’s doing so badly as to get hit with an arrow and fall off his horse, so you can well imagine how Liao will fare in the future.”
“Is the Viburnum’s wine …” Duan Ling still remembers what happened the very first day he came to Shangjing with Lang Junxia.
“To call it poison, well that’s impossible. But in the long run, drinking it will waste one’s essence away. Their target isn’t Yelü Dashi. It’s the Liao emperor and Han Weiyong.”
“Before they managed to assassinate Yelü Longxu, that old man died. Right now Empress Xiao is keeping an eye on the young emperor Yelü Zongzhen, and he hasn’t come to Shangjing in years; there’s no way he’d go to the Viburnum so he’s even less likely to give them the chance.”
“Borjigin Batu, Yelü Zongzhen, Cai Yan, Helian Bo, Han Jieli … in the future these people may all become your enemies,” Li Jianhong finishes.
Duan Ling is silent for a long time.
“I’ll take care of as many as I can for you. Once I’m back in the south, I’m not going to take the title of emperor. Your grandfather is already on his deathbed, he can’t manage the government. All I can do is force him to abdicate to your uncle, and he’ll declare you his heir-apparent. There are no other candidates.”
“What about you?”
“Dad can’t be emperor. First I must help your uncle free himself from Mu Kuangda and Zhao Kui’s control.”
“How is he right now?”
“He’s a chronic patient. And there’s nothing he can do about those influential officials. Mu Kuangda’s power over the government is overwhelming, but that actually means he’s easy to deal with. The most troublesome one is Zhao Kui who controls the military.”
“Why is that? In my opinion I think Mu Kuangda is harder to deal with.”
“It’s because Mu Kuangda is smart. He’s a scholar. He won’t dare install a new regime and become the emperor himself. If he can control your uncle, he can have what he wants — he’ll essentially be the emperor. But Zhao Kui’s not like that. Zhao Kui wants to be emperor himself.”
“Because he’s a soldier.” Duan Ling gets it now.
Li Jianhong nods. “He’s wanted to revolt ever since the Battle of Huai River. He’s been enlisting talent, recruiting soldiers and buying horses, raising a private army — waiting for the day he can name himself the emperor. But as long as I’m not dead, his mind will never be at peace. Zhao Kui is a formidable opponent.”
It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever heard the words “formidable opponent” from a conversation with his father; quite perceptively he senses that Zhao Kui is extremely difficult to handle, but Li Jianhong must understand the ins and outs of his opponent much better than Duan Ling does. Sometimes Duan Ling wishes he can grow up faster so he can be of help to Li Jianhong. Yet he knows full well that when it comes to commanding an army and going to war, even if he spends a lifetime studying he won’t be able to hold a candle to his father.
He suddenly understands what Lang Junxia said to him, and all those words he kept to himself. What’s the point of learning how to fight? Even if you do you’ll never be anywhere near as good as your dad. If you want to accomplish something great and become someone useful to the world, the only thing you can do is study.
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. ↩︎
士 / Shi can either be translated to warrior or scholar, but it’s not the occupation Li Jianhong is referring to here, but the adherence to Confucianism — to fulfill one’s duty within one’s defined role. ↩︎
It’s a shield-like structure on the inside of the main gates. That way when you open the gate to speak to someone they can’t see directly inside. ↩︎
The “him” here is shidi, which is a title for a fellow younger male student who studied in the same school as the speaker. I will be going with the standard of using names instead of casual titles for the rest of the translation, and you will get the title in a mouse hover, and they will be listed in the reference page index. This one is an exception where you only get a pronoun because the original is intentionally ambiguous even if it’s not hard to guess. ↩︎
Here’s a quick wikipedia link that goes right to the flowchart for the structure of the three departments and six ministries. ↩︎
It sure seems like that from the invaded peoples’ perspective, but this was how a smaller force like the Mongolian coalition of tribes managed to take down entire empires. A few massacres (leaving just enough people to run away to spread the story of how horrible it was) was how they made the threat stick. The Mongol army always gave cities an ultimatum — surrender, or you all die. After the first few cities, everyone else just surrendered when the Mongols came to their gates. In the long run it actually killed far less people overall than a war of attrition. ↩︎
With one’s time on earth, there are always some things that no matter how dangerous and difficult you know them to be, even if you know they can only end in certain death, you’d still do it.
Couldn’t Cai Wen have done anything else?
Li Jianhong’s answer to that is, No, because he had no other choice.
Cai Wen and Cai Yan’s father Cai Ye was once a literati of the Central Plain. After the Liao emperor breached the capital, Cai Ye defected to Liao and became one of the framers who created the structure of the Southern Administration. Years later, due to a plot cooked up by the Chen empire to sow dissent within Liao ranks, Cai Ye was accused of a crime he did not commit and put to death by the Liao emperor, leaving behind the two brothers to fend for themselves. There were few Cais left in the southern part of the continent. When Yelü Dashi overturned Cai Ye’s case, the most difficult problem he came across was how he should settle the Cais.
Everyone dreaded the idea of a Cai descendent becoming a south-side bureaucrat, and the northern bureaucracy was tightly controlled by the Han family and Empress Xiao. There was nowhere for Yelü Dashi to slip someone in. The only high-ranking post Cai Wen was suitable for was a military official. So, send him to the army? He couldn’t have done that — he had a younger brother at home to care for. That’s why Yelü Dashi made Cai Wen serve as captain of the Shangjing city guard, and tried his hardest to encourage him.
The Cais were never a warrior family to begin with, so Cai Wen trained assiduously to be up to the task, but alas he was already past the best time for martial arts training in his life; his lack of a good foundation made it impossible for him to become a great soldier. He did alright as long as things were peaceful, but if the nation’s ever invaded then this is a foregone conclusion. Before Li JIanhong carried out the plan, he confirmed it with Yelü Dashi several times, and Yelü Dashi believed that although Cai Wen’s abilities were not up to standard, his loyalty was beyond question — he’d defend Shangjing to the death.
And as they expected, Cai Wen lost his life in the fighting. In exchange for the life of a son born of a concubine, the Cai family’s loyalty to Yelü Dashi is now uncontestable, and Cai Yan’s future is certain to be a bright one.
“This too shall pass.” Li Jianhong says to his son, “There are some things we must do even if it ends in certain death. That’s what it means to be a Confucian.”2
Normality is gradually restored in Shangjing after the war. Biyong College was on fire so while they’re straightening out the place and rescuing its collection of books, the students are given a long holiday. Three days later, Dean Tang has chosen a new location; they’re to go to school during the day and return to their respective homes in the evening.
When Duan Ling sees Cai Yan again he just feels terribly sad, but as Li Jianhong has taught him, as long as Cai Yan doesn’t talk about it, Duan Ling doesn’t ask either — he just pretends nothing ever happened. After Cai Wen’s death Cai Yan is even more taciturn than he was before; he seldom speaks to his fellow students and even with Duan Ling his words are far and few between, and most of them are about their studies. As soon as school is over for the day, he picks up his bag and goes home.
Meanwhile, Duan Ling spends the day at school and trains in the martial arts with Li Jianhong once school lets out in the afternoon. He’s starting to feel that he’s pressed for time now. All the time he’s wasted in the past seems like an outright sin.
How long will he have to train to become as capable as his father? He ponders upon this question often, but he never says it aloud. Instead, what he asks is, “When can I ever get to be like Lang Junxia?”
“There are so many people under the sun,” Li Jianhong says, while giving Duan Ling’s sword a quick polish, “but out of all these people, only four became assassins. It’s not like you’re going to be an assassin, so why would you imitate them?”
Duan Ling is speechless.
“Learn however much you can. Merely learning the martial arts is not enough, you have to practice it too. A master can bring you through the door, but how much work you put in depends on you.”
Duan Ling hums in the affirmative; he has matured a lot as well in the past several months and he’s developed his internal force. Even though compared to freaks like Lang Junxia and Wu Du he’s got quite a ways to go, with some effort he can manage to leap onto the top of the wall.
Another winter has come. Duan Ling has been counting off the days one by one, and if Yelü Dashi is a man of his word then it’s nearing the time for Li Jianhong to go. But he hasn’t asked, and Li Jianhong hasn’t said anything either. Before the first snow of the season arrives fashionably late to lay a silver carpet over Shangjing, before the director of academic affairs sends out letters informing the students that repairs on Biyong College will be finished come New Year’s, everything remains the same as before.
School will resume in the third month.
Today, Li Jianhong has finished instructing him, and Duan Ling is moving into the closing form of the style. Over a stretch of nearly nine months, this one sword style is the only one that he has learned. While he’s still in the courtyard concentrating on sword practice, a visitor arrives.
“He’s defected.” It’s Xunchun’s voice.
Li Jianhong stands in the corridor. Duan Ling is thinking about going to him when Li Jianhong raises a hand, pointing into the courtyard, meaning he should keep practising and not come join them.
“Before he left, I told him that if he needed to he could lie low for a while.”
Xunchun doesn’t say anything. Her figure is hidden behind the spirit screen,3 casting a shadow in the snow.
“For the next several years, I will be leaving this place in your hands.”
Xunchun still hasn’t said anything.
After a heartbeat Li Jianhong adds, “You will have your vengeance eventually, but now is not the time.”
Xunchun heaves a sigh.
“Unless I come personally, do not let anyone take him from here.”
“As you will,” Xunchun replies.
In the snow-filled courtyard, Duan Ling can hear a rustling as though Xunchun is taking out something. Soon, she continues, “This is the letter our master wanted to give him on the day he and I parted ways. All these years, it has passed through many hands, but ultimately it never made its way into his hands.”4
“How old is he?” Li Jianhong asks, sounding detached.
“He made his name at sixteen. The year he started working for Zhao Kui, he was nineteen. If he will see fit to find his way back onto the right track, please let him live, Your Highness.“
“Hard to say whether he’s on the wrong or the right track, really.” Li Jianhong comments coolly, “A fine fowl perches only on a fine tree and we’re all bound to our own destiny. You kill me, I kill you — that’s all that is. He’s honest with his feelings, unlike Lang Junxia; if he’s willing to defect to me, I’ll be sure to make good use of him. You may go.”
Xunchun bows slightly and excuses herself.
Li Jianhong turns back around in the corridor; sword in hand, Duan Ling turns to meet his father’s eyes. The two of them face each other for a long time in silence.
“Dad has to go.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“As short as one year, as long as two.”
“Oh,” Duan Ling replies, and continues practising.
Li Jianhong walks through the winding corridor to the parlour. Duan Ling has always known that this day would come, so what he feels is not much of a surprise but a sense of loss.
He practises for a while longer. When he turns around to look at Li Jianhong, he sees him sitting in the centre of the parlour, watching him quietly. A breeze sweeps up the snowflakes, spinning through the time in between them, drifting away before their eyes.
“You may not be the best emperor in the future,” Li Jianhong starts to smile, “but you’ll be the best looking emperor since the dawn of history.”
Duan Ling gives him an embarrassed smile. He’s grown; his every move, every step carries the aura he’s inherited from Li Jianhong, but it doesn’t feel quite as flashy on him. It’s as if there’s a mirror between the parlour and the courtyard, and the still somewhat boyish Duan Ling on one side is just like a reflection of the mature, dignified Li Jianhong.
“I really really want to go with you. But I know I shouldn’t cause you trouble, I …”
“Don’t say anymore.” Li Jianhong waves his words off. “You say one more thing and I’m not leaving anymore. I never wanted to leave in the first place.”
From a certain day on, Duan Ling has begun feeling embarrassed about hugging Li Jianhong. He’s learned a lot in this past year; Li Jianhong’s company has sped up his development, and it’s made him more mature. Duan Ling deliberates and handles things the way an adult does.
This is the coldest winter in Shangjing in the past ten years. Piled up snow is blocking the front gates, and there is nearly two feet of snow accumulated in the courtyard. With a brazier burning in the parlour, Li Jianhong began instructing Duan Ling on the internal workings of the imperial court, government administration, and other things about Southern Chen. Even though Chen has three departments and six ministries5 but in reality it is controlled by one each high-ranking civil and military official. Zhao Kui is a general with great merit to his name, having earned his laurels from the Battle of Huai River. When the Chen military retreated in defeat, Zhao Kui was the one who helped the Li family escape unscathed, withdrawing to Xichuan.
As for Mu Kuangda, he came from the Jingchuan gentry class and joined the bureaucracy by virtue of earning the Primus rank during the imperial palace examination. Once he entered the imperial court, he stabilised Great Chen, and became a true cornerstone of the empire.
The emperor of the south has been chronically ill since the capital was moved, and hasn’t officially chosen an heir-apparent yet. The fourth prince Li Yanqiu assisted in the affairs of state while Li Jianhong campaigned abroad. By rights the heir should be the older one, thus it should be Li Jianhong who accedes. Li Jianhong used to have close ties to the military and Zhao Kui had become Li Jianhong’s staunchest supporter, but as time went by, Zhao Kui was no longer willing to support Li Jianhong.
“Why is that?” Duan Ling asks.
“Warmongering. Glory-seeking. They’re worried that once I become the emperor I’d raise too many troops and dig Great Chen’s grave. But judging by the current state of affairs, Liao is no longer our most formidable enemy. That’s because Liao has made the central plain its home for too long — Liao is just another Han now. Even farther north of Liao is another wolf waiting for its chance to march south.”
“That’s why in the long run our approach must be to ally with Liao and resist Yuan together,” Li Jianhong continues. “Taking vengeance for the invasion and sating our hatred for the loss of our home will have to be set aside for now. If we continue to check and balance each other, both Khitan and Han will be exterminated by the House of Borjigin. They’re like jackals — each city they capture is another city massacred.”6
From Li Jianhong, Duan Ling also learns about many of the major features of Liao’s system of government. Ever since the Liao founder entered the central plain, Liao imperial court has been divided into south-side and north-side bureaucrats. Most south-side bureaucrats are Han, while there is only one Han north-side bureaucrat, with the rest being Khitans. The actual workings of the northern government is divided into the southern and northern administrations, both have charge of the military.
The Southern and Northern Administrations hold power over the entire Liao empire. The only Han in the Southern Adminstration is Han Weiyong; Empress Xiao is the one behind Han Weiyong, while the Northern Prince of the Northern Administration is Yelü Dashi.
Han Weiyong and Yelü Dashi are evenly-matched in power within Liao. Several years ago Han Weiyong’s son Han Jieli came to Shangjing to attend school, and part of that arrangement was meant to place him here as a hostage. Once he graduated from the Illustrious Hall, Han Jieli left on some pretext. Clearly they don’t feel entirely reassured with Yelü Dashi.
“The young Yelü Dashi was the northern tiger. These years though, he’s gotten too comfortable, drank excessively, and allowed his appetite for beautiful women to eat at his health. To think that he’s doing so badly as to get hit with an arrow and fall off his horse, so you can well imagine how Liao will fare in the future.”
“Is the Viburnum’s wine …” Duan Ling still remembers what happened the very first day he came to Shangjing with Lang Junxia.
“To call it poison, well that’s impossible. But in the long run, drinking it will waste one’s essence away. Their target isn’t Yelü Dashi. It’s the Liao emperor and Han Weiyong.”
“Before they managed to assassinate Yelü Longxu, that old man died. Right now Empress Xiao is keeping an eye on the young emperor Yelü Zongzhen, and he hasn’t come to Shangjing in years; there’s no way he’d go to the Viburnum so he’s even less likely to give them the chance.”
“Borjigin Batu, Yelü Zongzhen, Cai Yan, Helian Bo, Han Jieli … in the future these people may all become your enemies,” Li Jianhong finishes.
Duan Ling is silent for a long time.
“I’ll take care of as many as I can for you. Once I’m back in the south, I’m not going to take the title of emperor. Your grandfather is already on his deathbed, he can’t manage the government. All I can do is force him to abdicate to your uncle, and he’ll declare you his heir-apparent. There are no other candidates.”
“What about you?”
“Dad can’t be emperor. First I must help your uncle free himself from Mu Kuangda and Zhao Kui’s control.”
“How is he right now?”
“He’s a chronic patient. And there’s nothing he can do about those influential officials. Mu Kuangda’s power over the government is overwhelming, but that actually means he’s easy to deal with. The most troublesome one is Zhao Kui who controls the military.”
“Why is that? In my opinion I think Mu Kuangda is harder to deal with.”
“It’s because Mu Kuangda is smart. He’s a scholar. He won’t dare install a new regime and become the emperor himself. If he can control your uncle, he can have what he wants — he’ll essentially be the emperor. But Zhao Kui’s not like that. Zhao Kui wants to be emperor himself.”
“Because he’s a soldier.” Duan Ling gets it now.
Li Jianhong nods. “He’s wanted to revolt ever since the Battle of Huai River. He’s been enlisting talent, recruiting soldiers and buying horses, raising a private army — waiting for the day he can name himself the emperor. But as long as I’m not dead, his mind will never be at peace. Zhao Kui is a formidable opponent.”
It’s the first time Duan Ling has ever heard the words “formidable opponent” from a conversation with his father; quite perceptively he senses that Zhao Kui is extremely difficult to handle, but Li Jianhong must understand the ins and outs of his opponent much better than Duan Ling does. Sometimes Duan Ling wishes he can grow up faster so he can be of help to Li Jianhong. Yet he knows full well that when it comes to commanding an army and going to war, even if he spends a lifetime studying he won’t be able to hold a candle to his father.
He suddenly understands what Lang Junxia said to him, and all those words he kept to himself. What’s the point of learning how to fight? Even if you do you’ll never be anywhere near as good as your dad. If you want to accomplish something great and become someone useful to the world, the only thing you can do is study.
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. ↩︎
士 / Shi can either be translated to warrior or scholar, but it’s not the occupation Li Jianhong is referring to here, but the adherence to Confucianism — to fulfill one’s duty within one’s defined role. ↩︎
It’s a shield-like structure on the inside of the main gates. That way when you open the gate to speak to someone they can’t see directly inside. ↩︎
The “him” here is shidi, which is a title for a fellow younger male student who studied in the same school as the speaker. I will be going with the standard of using names instead of casual titles for the rest of the translation, and you will get the title in a mouse hover, and they will be listed in the reference page index. This one is an exception where you only get a pronoun because the original is intentionally ambiguous even if it’s not hard to guess. ↩︎
Here’s a quick wikipedia link that goes right to the flowchart for the structure of the three departments and six ministries. ↩︎
It sure seems like that from the invaded peoples’ perspective, but this was how a smaller force like the Mongolian coalition of tribes managed to take down entire empires. A few massacres (leaving just enough people to run away to spread the story of how horrible it was) was how they made the threat stick. The Mongol army always gave cities an ultimatum — surrender, or you all die. After the first few cities, everyone else just surrendered when the Mongols came to their gates. In the long run it actually killed far less people overall than a war of attrition. ↩︎
