Yang Xuanji followed the servant’s pointing finger and casually glanced toward the palace gates.
The early morning light was faint, and a cold wind blew at the second palace gate. By the crimson gate stood a small, slight figure—the Eighth Prince, Li Chengtai.
He was wrapped in a thick gray-gold fur cloak, his delicate face peeking out from the folds, his little nose red from the cold. His large, dark eyes blinked repeatedly, and his tiny hands were tucked into the cloak. Though still childlike, he stood firm in the wind like a little tiger.
Spotting Yang Xuanji, Li Chengtai’s eyes brightened. He hurried over and greeted respectfully, “Good morning, Master.”
His voice was still soft with youth.
Knowing that the elder Yang Xuanji would enter the palace today, Li Chengtai had risen early, dressed in fresh clothes, and waited at the gate with sincere eagerness.
Yang Xuanji stroked his beard, his sharp eyes appraising the child before him.
He had long heard that Consort Chen had only recently returned to the palace. Her two sons had been raised in Donghua Mountain, leading to widespread gossip that the consort’s children lacked proper manners.
But today, Yang Xuanji saw that Li Chengtai was courteous and earnest.
He knew his etiquette well.
Yang Xuanji felt a flicker of satisfaction.
“You are polite, but I value talent more than manners,” Yang Xuanji said sternly. “If you lack ability, even an imperial decree won’t sway me.”
Li Chengtai smiled sweetly. “Please enlighten me, Master.”
Yang Xuanji stroked his white beard and strode toward the Guangwen Hall.
...
The Guangwen Hall was quiet, with eunuchs moving precious ancient texts. Yang Xuanji led Li Chengtai to an empty pavilion.
Attendants waited outside while Li Chengtai knelt properly at the low table inside. The room was bright and clean, and steaming Biluochun tea was served.
Yang Xuanji stroked his beard, his voice deep. “You’re still young, so I won’t test you with anything too complex.”
Li Chengtai sat up straight. “Please enlighten me, Master.”
Yang Xuanji started with simple foundational questions. Li Chengtai answered them all, his memory sharp. Though not flawless, Yang Xuanji was moderately pleased.
Then, Yang Xuanji raised the difficulty, quoting classics and posing questions from ancient texts. Some Li Chengtai could answer; others he hadn’t yet studied, so he noted them down to review later.
Learning wasn’t just rote memorization. Beyond knowledge, Yang Xuanji tested Li Chengtai’s analytical skills, comprehension of classical texts, and memory.
Time slipped by unnoticed. The Biluochun tea on the table cooled, and the sky outside brightened fully.
Yang Xuanji’s expression grew increasingly approving. The boy was clever, quick to extrapolate—a promising student indeed.
He decided to take him as his disciple.
Considering Li Chengtai’s royal status and potential future as ruler, Yang Xuanji decided to probe his views on governance.
Stroking his beard, Yang Xuanji said slowly, “Donglin is a vassal state of Qing, paying tribute yearly. But now, with the rise of Southern Chu, if Donglin allies with them, war may reignite. Young Prince, how would you dissuade Donglin from cooperating with Southern Chu?”
Qing State bordered Yue Kingdom to the northwest, Southern Chu to the south, and Donglin to the east.
Li Chengtai unfolded a map of Qing State, his gaze lingering on Donglin in the east. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Father once mentioned that Donglin lacks sufficient grain and must purchase it from Qing yearly. We could use grain as leverage.”
Yang Xuanji nodded slightly. “Grain control is a sound strategy. But Qing doesn’t always have bountiful harvests. In years of drought, we may lack surplus grain to sell.”
Li Chengtai scratched his head. “Donglin is small—we could conquer it outright... But no, Yue and Southern Chu might seize the opportunity to invade.”
After racking his brain, he glanced at the map again and suddenly brightened. “I have an idea! Master, look—Donglin lies low, relying on the Mingyuan River for water and irrigation. The river’s upper reaches are within Qing’s borders.”
He traced the Mingyuan River on the map with his small finger. “We could build dams upstream. If Donglin obeys, we release water. If they defy us, we flood them.”
Yang Xuanji was stunned.
He never imagined a child could devise such a ruthless plan. Furious, he huffed, “The people of Donglin are innocent! Flooding them would be a massacre!”
Li Chengtai spread his hands. “But this ensures Qing’s stability.”
Yang Xuanji scolded, “A ruler must win hearts with virtue, not violence!”
Li Chengtai pouted, his little face sulky. “Father says Qing’s interests come first—we can’t tolerate threats at our borders. If Donglin rebels, we must crush them.”
Yang Xuanji fumed. “Such cruelty is unbecoming of a wise ruler.”
Li Chengtai muttered, “Power speaks loudest. Crush those who resist.”
This was a lesson Shen Wei had taught him, and he remembered it well.
The two argued fiercely. Li Chengtai frowned, thinking the old man too rigid.
Their disagreement ended badly. Yang Xuanji stormed out of Guangwen Hall but didn’t leave the palace—instead, he headed to Chang’an Palace to pay respects to the emperor.
Refusing to back down, Li Chengtai also hurried to Chang’an Palace.
...
...
Chang’an Palace was silent, the scent of incense drifting from bronze burners.
Li Yuanjing massaged his temples, flipping through border reports with a throbbing headache.
Prince Heng had fled to Southern Chu and become its new emperor. Now, Southern Chu and Donglin conspired to harass Qing’s borders.
The war with Yue Kingdom had just ended, with a century-long peace treaty signed. Before Qing’s soldiers could rest, another conflict loomed.
Li Yuanjing pondered which generals to dispatch south to guard Mingyue Pass against Southern Chu’s impending invasion.
“Your Majesty, Yang Xuanji and the Eighth Prince request an audience,” Eunuch De Shun announced.
Surprised, Li Yuanjing recalled that today was Yang Xuanji’s evaluation of Li Chengtai.
He summoned them.
His gaze swept over the pair—the white-haired Yang Xuanji, his face flushed with anger, and the small, aggrieved Li Chengtai.
What had happened between them?
Yang Xuanji paid his respects and recounted their dispute in detail.
Li Yuanjing nearly dropped his teacup.
Frowning, he beckoned his son forward. Unfolding a map of Qing State, he asked Li Chengtai, “Show me where you’d build these dams.”
Li Chengtai sat in his father’s lap, studying the detailed map before him. His small finger tapped the southeastern corner where the Mingyuan River and several other waterways snaked through the terrain. "These spots here!" he said. "The terrain is narrow, with deep gorges and no nearby villages. Building dams and controlling the water flow would be most effective."
"Qing State relies on the sea, but the water is salty. They depend on the Mingyuan River for drinking and irrigation. Father, if we control these rivers, we hold Qing State by its throat."
Li Yuanjing fell into deep thought.
It was indeed a viable strategy.
