Chapter Ninety-Four: For Your Sake, I Have Skipped Work Until Now

For days on end, Zhang Qian was tormented by the same question. He wanted to forget it, but could not. He wanted to settle it, yet could find no proper way.

It would never do to go knocking on Zhang Ruoxu’s door and ask the old man what his niece was really called.

The old gentleman had spent half his life dalliance among flowers, while Zhang Qian, across two different worlds, had a total of less than three days’ worth of romantic experience. The gulf between them in matters of the heart was like that between a max-level boss and a raw beginner just stepping out of the tutorial village.

Zhang Qian was certain that the moment he circled the conversation around to the old man’s niece, Zhang Ruoxu would guess at once what he was up to.

And this was eighth-century Chang’an, not twenty-first-century Xi’an. No matter how much the old gentleman admired him, no matter how kindly he regarded him as a junior, he would never support any foolish fantasy Zhang Qian harbored for a niece already betrothed to another. Much less when that betrothed was the king of Tibet.

Zhang Qian was equally certain that if he showed even the slightest admiration for the niece in Zhang Ruoxu’s presence, the old man would throw him out at once and sever all ties.

And if the old man were to be driven to a stroke or some such thing, there was no medicine in this world that could save him, and no surgery to open the skull and relieve the pressure. So, for the sake of giving later generations a chance to see Zhang Ruoxu’s third poem, and for the sake of their friendship, Zhang Qian could only abandon this most convenient path and turn his attention to the second candidate.

The second candidate was Xi Duorou.

Yet this groom, who had only recently attached himself to Zhang Qian’s household, possessed a head full of scheming thoughts but had never once used them in the right place. When Zhang Qian tried once more to steer the talk back to that day’s events, and after a great deal of effort finally guided the subject toward Zhumo, the man merely shook his still-swollen head and said in a thick, muffled voice, “Zhumo’s father is a very, very important official, and she probably also has the surname Yang. What, Master, you didn’t hear her name clearly? Did she even say her name that day? Did you hear it wrong? Why didn’t I hear it then? But none of that matters. Once she reaches Tibet, the empress dowager will give her a new name anyway. Whatever surname she had before, whatever she was called before, it’s all the same!”

“How can that not matter? That was the name her parents gave her, and the name she used in Great Tang!” Zhang Qian was both disappointed and vexed. Frowning, he muttered a protest.

“Didn’t Great Tang have a saying, ‘Marry a chicken and follow the chicken, marry a dog and follow the dog’?” Xi Duorou shook his head, unwilling to agree. Then, seeing Zhang Qian’s unconscious movement, he sprang back half a zhang at once. “Master, don’t clench your fist. I, I really don’t know Zhumo’s name. I’m just a lowly squad leader. By Tibetan custom, I’m not even allowed to look her in the face when speaking to her. What right would I have to know her true name?”

That last sentence made perfect sense. Zhang Qian could only give up the pursuit, shake his head in frustration, and turn away.

But Xi Duorou suddenly had an inspiration. He hurried after him a few steps, keeping a safe distance where Zhang Qian’s fists and feet could not reach, lowered his voice, and cautiously warned, “Master, you haven’t fallen for Zhumo, have you? That won’t do. Even though the tsenpo is only four years old, he is still our Tibetan tsenpo…”

“What? The tsenpo is only four?” Zhang Qian was stunned. His eyes went wide at once.

The Tibetan king was only four this year, yet Princess Jincheng and the ruby girl were to be married to him as queen and consort. Two grown women would be coaxing a little brat to eat and dress himself, and by the time the brat grew into a man, they would already have lost the bloom of their youth. In this age, the average life span of both men and women was only a little over thirty; once a man passed thirty, he could already call himself an old fellow...

“Of course, Master. Didn’t you know?” Unable to understand why Zhang Qian was making such a fuss, Xi Duorou took two more steps forward and smiled as he added, “The tsenpo carries the blood of the gods, so he can be betrothed from birth. Master, though the tsenpo’s consorts will be many, he may not even remember every single one of them. But if one of them were spirited away by you, it would surely spark war between our two countries. And you, Master, are not a prince of Great Tang... ah, don’t hit, Master, don’t hit, I was wrong! I really am thinking of you! Ah—”

A cracking kick landed hard on his shoulder and at last silenced him.

“If you dare mention a single word of what you just said today, I’ll send you back to Tibet!” Zhang Qian drew back his leg and glared fiercely at Xi Duorou, who lay on the ground pretending to be dead. Grinding his teeth, he issued the threat.

“Won’t, won’t!” Xi Duorou immediately covered his own mouth, his bulging fish eyes rolling frantically in their sockets. “Rest assured, Master, I absolutely won’t tell a second person. In truth, many people like Zhumo, but none of them dares say it out loud, much less has the guts to spirit her away! Ah—, Master, don’t hit, don’t hit, I know I was wrong, I certainly am not one of them!”

This fellow was born asking for a beating. But since he had already come under Zhang Qian’s roof, Zhang Qian could no longer put him to death. So after casually “loosening” his joints a little and forcing him to swear by his faith that he would not speak nonsense, Zhang Qian could only leave in frustration.

A third person? It seemed there was no third reliable candidate.

On the way back to the study, Zhang Qian resignedly discovered that apart from Zhang Ruoxu and Xi Duorou, he could not find a third path by which to inquire after the ruby girl’s name.

Indeed, Zhang Ruoxu had a daughter named Qingheng, who was the ruby girl’s cousin, and the two were on very close personal terms. Yet Zhang Qian himself had met the girl only once; he could hardly go to Zhang Ruoxu’s house for no reason at all and demand a private meeting with the old man’s daughter.

True, the number of female attendants who had come with Princess Jincheng as part of her dowry was surely limited. If Zhang Qian kept at it, he would certainly be able to find a court lady surnamed Yang among the list. But where exactly could he see that list? He had no idea. Nor could he be sure that the court had even issued such a list at all.

And there was another deeply frustrating, yet very real, problem: even if he determined whether the ruby girl was called Yang Qingxing or Yang Qingqing, all that would amount to was matching the shadow in Zhang Qian’s heart with the other party’s name.

And once that match was made, what could he do next? What should he do after that? Zhang Qian’s mind was blank.

Had he fallen in love with her? Zhang Qian was not sure.

In the twenty-first century, love was like a ghost to him: many people claimed it existed, yet he had never once had the chance to see it.

And if he truly had fallen in love with her, what then? Zhang Qian was equally uncertain, and equally vexed. For this question, beyond making his heart feel as though someone had slammed a fist into it whenever he thought of her, held no other meaning.

If this love really did exist, and if he wished to give it a perfect ending, Zhang Qian’s only choice would probably be, as Xi Duorou had hinted, to whisk the ruby girl away before she officially set out with Princess Jincheng on the road to marriage.

If he did that, he would not only have to face the wrath of the emperor of Great Tang and the king of Tibet, but would likely spend the rest of his life burdened by guilt for having ignited war between the two countries.

Very well, then. He could choose to build a ship and sail away.

He could assume that before he and the ruby girl raised sail and departed together, the secret police of Great Tang and the constables all across the land would be unable to find him.

Then he need not feel guilty over war. After all, even if the marriage alliance succeeded, when Tibet decided it was time to invade Great Tang, it would invade all the same. It would never miss an opportunity simply because the tsenpo had married a princess of Great Tang.

However, elopement ought to be a matter for two people. And Zhang Qian faced another crucial question: did the ruby girl like him as well?

“Would she like me?” While the Demon Refining Cauldron was undergoing its regular maintenance, and he had handed the work over to his two junior brothers, Zhang Qian crouched in the study at home and kept scribbling on the paper over and over.

He drew a great ship, then drew a huge question mark as its sail. After that, he gave a wry smile and shook his head.

The answer he had arrived at after thinking for several days was rather bitter, because the possibility that the ruby girl did not like him was far greater than the possibility that she did.

The fact that she had hurried away that day and introduced herself by name could not mean anything. Otherwise, why had she not gone more slowly? Why had her words been so disjointed, tossed east and west with no order at all?

The ruby girl was Princess Jincheng’s attendant bride, destined to follow the princess into far-off Tibet and then naturally become a consort of the Tibetan king. Her current name was Zhumo, and even her mount had been a gift from the Tibetan queen mother.

And as for himself, Zhang Qian glanced at the green robe and black cap hanging on the study rack, and his smile turned even more bitter.

An eighth-rank chief clerk and the lord of a realm—who was the better choice was obvious enough. Though, though that Tibetan tsenpo was still just a little brat playing in the mud.

The only thing he could perhaps compare with the other man was that he had never had a girlfriend, whereas the other was destined to have a vast harem. But in the eighth century, whether in Great Tang or Tibet, neither side seemed to care much for monogamy!

What was more, according to the logic of certain time-travel romances, even if one were transported to the inner palace of Great Qing as a mere lowly imperial concubine-in-waiting, one could still defeat the talented ladies, the noble consorts, and the empress in succession, and in the end capture the heart of the Fourth Prince. The whole process overflowed with thrills and challenge, enough to make the woman forget to return home. What possible advantage was there in never opening a harem of his own?!

...

That was the curse of never having been in love: he had far too little confidence in himself, and no real grasp of how to read a woman’s heart. If Zhang Qian were replaced by one of those greasy fools who believed that “if a woman accepts a man’s invitation to dinner, she is agreeing to sleep with him,” he would never be so anxious and indecisive.

He might immediately devise a “perfect” plan: have the ruby girl run away with him, then find every possible means of getting her father to hand over all his wealth and influence to him, even helping him kill the emperor of Great Tang and assist him in becoming the sovereign of all ages.

Of course, whether such a “decisive and ruthless” plan could ever be realized was another matter entirely. Bragging, after all, cost nothing in either the eighth century or the twenty-first.

“Brother Zishou, my senior brother is right inside the study. Please, have some tea in the guest room first. I’ll go and...” Before Zhang Qian could figure out what virtues of his own might win the ruby girl’s heart rather than prove to be nothing but wishful thinking, Ren Cong’s anxious voice suddenly rang out from outside the study.

“No time to waste. The fire is already at our eyebrows. How can we mind all these tedious formalities?” Zhang Jiuling’s voice followed immediately, and then he burst into the study.

Ignoring all basic social courtesy, Zhang Jiuling strode in three steps in two, reached Zhang Qian, who was staring in bewilderment, seized one of his arms, and turned to leave. “I know you won’t listen to me. Hurry and change your robes, then return to the Ministry of Armaments! His Majesty is summoning you. There will be a court audience at the You hour this afternoon!”

“An audience? For me? Brother Zishou, you must be joking! The alcohol has only just begun production. If the emperor wants results, he’ll have to wait until the end of the month at the very least.” Zhang Qian could hardly believe his ears. While quickly tucking his left hand behind his back to roll up the paper with the drawn ship and the full page of notes, he shook his head vigorously with a laugh.

Even deputy heads of the Ministry of Armaments were rarely summoned by the emperor. He was only an eighth-rank chief clerk, and he had been keeping an extremely low profile of late. How could he possibly have suddenly caught Emperor Li Xian’s eye?

There was no need to ask; it was surely Zhang Jiuling who had discovered that he was always slipping away during work and had deliberately come to frighten him, lest the habit take root and displease his superiors.

“Who has the leisure to scare you in this bitter cold?” Zhang Jiuling snatched the paper away at once and flung it hard onto the chair beside him. “Didn’t I tell you? You’ve only just taken up your post, so don’t go flitting off like everyone else—and you still wouldn’t listen! Well, now look. His Majesty is asking about the windmill and the well pump, and no one can find you anywhere. Change your clothes and come with me at once. If you miss the audience too, Zhang Yongzhao, then you can wait to be stripped down to the bone!”