Chapter Eighteen: Schemes and Strategies—First Encounter with Helan (Part One)

A faint blush rose on the young man’s face. When it came to poetry, he was still confident. “Recite it,” he said, “let me hear it.”

“Spring sleep knows not the dawn, everywhere the song of birds. Last night the sound of wind and rain, how many petals have fallen? That is the first poem. Good rain knows its season, when spring arrives it brings life. It follows the wind, entering the night in silence, nourishing all things without a sound. The footpaths in the wilds are shrouded in cloud and darkness, yet the river boats are lit with a single fire. At dawn, one sees the red, damp places where flowers weigh down the city of Chang’an. That is the second. I heard these were composed by the Crown Prince after a spring rain a few days ago, in delight. I have also heard another poem by the Prince; perhaps you would call it crude, but I feel it has substance. Listen closely. The wheat dies for lack of spring rain, the grain wilts in autumn frost. At year’s end there’s nothing to eat; in the fields, people dig for roots. But to what use, gathering them? To exchange for a little dried grain. At dawn, they shoulder their hoes, by dusk their baskets are still not full. They carry it to the wealthy homes, and sell to the lords with fair faces. You feast your fat horses, so plump they dazzle the earth. I wish you’d trade a little leftover grain, to save these suffering, hungry guts. The Prince wrote this after seeing drought signs following a rain—he was deeply worried. Just as he was drinking a medicinal soup containing that very root, he thought of his own life of ease, and of those who gather herbs, not knowing what lives they lead.”

The young man named Cui was silent. The last poem was rough, but filled with heartfelt compassion for the people, making him feel remorse. As for the first two, whether in literary quality, depth, or elegance, their imagery was superlative—far surpassing the piece he had just recited with pride.

Xiangxue silently mouthed the verses, lost in admiration.

Li Wei continued, “Oh, and the Prince once heard His Majesty describe the scenery at Mount Tai during the imperial sacrifices, and thus composed another poem. I’ll recite that for you as well. ‘How grand is the Lord of Peaks! Its verdant heights stretch endlessly into Qi and Lu. Creation gathers all spiritual beauty here, where the shifting of yin and yang sunders dusk from dawn. Towering clouds stir the soul, returning birds reach the eye’s end. One day I shall stand atop the summit, and view all other mountains in a single glance.’”

Inwardly, Li Wei thought, “Well, little Cui, are you convinced now? This poem alone should crush your pride.”

After hearing this final poem, the young man’s forehead was beaded with cold sweat. In the end, he spoke weakly: “All these poems were written by the Crown Prince?”

“Without a doubt.”

“I am truly ashamed by my own inferiority.”

Li Wei went on, “Master Cui, your talent is truly exceptional. I am sure you will one day enter officialdom. But remember this: poetry, prose, even song lyrics—these are but minor arts. The true path is in making the nation strong and the people prosperous. Consider Lady Xiangxue here—her actions today may save several lives. If everyone were like her, what crisis could the court not weather? In great calamities, one cannot rely solely on the emperor and empress—they are not blessed with three heads and six arms. It requires everyone’s effort. As the saying goes, ‘The rise and fall of the nation concerns every person.’ Instead of complaining here, it is better to emulate Lady Xiangxue and lend a helping hand to the victims of disaster.”

He first suppressed Cui with “my poetry,” then pressed him down with a grand principle—righteous and dignified.

Sure enough, both Censor Li and Masters Cui and Wei were left speechless. The phrase “the rise and fall of the nation concerns every person” had not yet entered common discourse—a thousand years ahead of its time, Li Wei had thundered it forth.

He continued, “The grass on the plain stretches far, each year it withers and flourishes anew. Wildfires cannot destroy it; in the spring wind, it lives again. Though the court faces difficulties now, these hardships will be overcome. The setbacks suffered at the hands of the Tibetans will be repaid in full, and the people will again know happiness. The Tang Dynasty will become a powerful, prosperous, and open kingdom the likes of which history has never seen! Gentlemen, you will see for yourselves.”

Another elegant short poem, spoken offhand. His words rang out, confident and composed, so that for a moment, his slender figure seemed tall and imposing in the sunlight.

Little Cui didn’t even dare open his mouth. By now the food was distributed, and several guards approached. Li Wei let the boy off, bowed, and said, “Gentlemen, forgive me, I have pressing matters to attend. I take my leave.”

With that, he led a few guards into the East Market.

A long while passed before the young man surnamed Cui asked, “Censor Li, do you know who that gentleman is? His bearing is extraordinary.”

He was utterly convinced; even the proud Wei Siwen had to admit that beside Li Wei, in demeanor, spirit, or words, he was outshone.

Censor Li could only smile wryly. “He is His Highness, the Crown Prince.”

...

Defeating Cui Rong with “his poems” was, perhaps, not the noblest victory; it was quickly forgotten. Instead, a graceful figure kept flitting through his mind—yes, that Xiangxue was truly beautiful. But did he dare approach the Hall of Fragrant Embraces?

He sent a guard back to the Eastern Palace to fetch some money, and, accompanied by his awe-struck younger siblings, wandered through the East Market.

Both the East and West Markets occupied two wards each, nearly a square kilometer—a vast expanse. Compared to the two markets, even the grandest supermarkets of later ages were but a fleeting cloud.

In Chang’an, except for the sparsely populated southern wards, all others were divided by main cross-streets into four sectors, each with its own cross-street and four subdistricts—each ward thus had four gates. But the two markets were arranged on a grid, with nine large sectors and eight ward gates.

Within, there were all manner of shops, businesses, and workshops. Though the drought had dimmed business somewhat, crowds still thronged the stalls. The only drawback was the rigid regulations—drums were struck three hundred times each morning to open the market, and bells three hundred times at dusk to close it. There were no night markets.

Li Wei walked attentively, examining everything—brush shops, instrument sellers, pipa players, ironmongers, clothiers, apothecaries, tailors, pawnshops—all observed in detail. There were also acrobats, a favorite of Li Lingyue and Li Xulun, who stopped at every show.

But when passing a paper shop, Li Wei’s eyes lit up.

Wei Siwen’s words echoed in his mind. In recent years, his mother’s formidable presence had given rise to unfavorable rumors, which only worsened after the Tang army’s defeats and successive disasters. Not that he was particularly ambitious, but even if he were, such rumors would persist. What could he do about it?

His mother—Wu Zetian—was so formidable that, in a modern context, people would either be jealous or come shake his hand and say, “Son, you’d best look after yourself.”

She thrived most in adversity; the greater the challenge, the harder she strove. Perhaps it was time to win her some credit. It’s easy to add flowers to brocade, but to send charcoal in the snow is hard. The merit would not only be hers, but his father’s as well.

But he was no expert, so he strode inside to investigate.

The paper shop was large and well stocked. Here were all the famous papers of the Tang realm: Yanxi rattan paper made from wild vines, seaweed paper from the coast, fragrant bark paper from Luo Prefecture, Wu region secret formula papers from hemp or old cloth, called cocoon paper for their fine texture, Chu bark paper from the south, slippery Linchuan paper, Jiujiang’s cloud-blue paper, Yangzhou’s Liuhes, and more. The most renowned were the hemp paper from Yizhou and the yellow rattan paper of Wuzhou—these two, even Li Wei himself could only use sparingly. Yet here, almost all could be found.

There was nothing to fault—apart from the ordinary grades, the top-quality papers like Yizhou yellow hemp and Wuzhou yellow rattan were as tough and smooth as any later product. But one flaw remained—they were too thick, thick enough to wear as clothing.

“Brother, what’s so interesting about this paper?” Li Lingyue asked, munching a large bag of snacks impatiently.

Li Wei glanced about and made up his mind. He lowered his head and said, “Since our little princess commands, let us move on.”

“Brother, you spoil our little sister too much,” Li Xian shook his head. Throughout their walk, whenever Princess Taiping wanted something, Li Wei bought it for her. There were no dragons for sale in the East Market, but if there were, he suspected his brother would try to buy her one.

But his eyes drifted to the most prominent shelf, where the Wuzhou yellow rattan paper was displayed.

Li Wei noticed and understood at once. Among his siblings, Li Xian was the most scholarly—though Li Hong was also talented, he lacked the same aptitude. Li Xian could almost memorize books at a glance.

So Li Wei stopped and pointed at the yellow rattan paper. “How much for a sheet of this?” he asked the clerk.

“Twelve hundred cash a sheet.”

“What? You may as well be robbing people!” Li Wei exclaimed. Sheets were large, true, but not worth that much. In a good year, a peasant could sell a dou of rice for just five cash. What did twelve hundred mean?

The clerk didn’t even look up. Though their party included several servants, Chang’an was full of wealthy nobles. He replied, “Young master, even the Emperor favors Wuzhou rattan, but the process is difficult, so only six thousand sheets are sent in tribute. In all of Chang’an, only we have any for sale. If you find it dear, there are other papers—Yizhou tribute hemp in three grades, at six hundred, three hundred, or one hundred cash per sheet; Yizhou scraps, talc, golden flower, long hemp, fish scale, and ten-color papers from fifty to three hundred per sheet; Yanxi paper from sixty to three hundred; Songbo black thread from fifty to one-fifty; Wu cocoon paper from forty to eighty; Yangzhou Liuhes from fifty to one-twenty; Linchuan slippery paper from twenty to eighty; Jiujiang cloud-blue from twenty to one hundred; Jiangnan Chu bark from twenty to sixty; Luo fragrant bark and fish scale from fifty to two hundred; Puzhou fine oiled paper from thirty to sixty. If you still find these expensive, there are the less refined types—Xuanqu case paper, Junzhou large mold, Hangwu Yue yellow and white, all from fifteen to forty. Seaside reed paper is similar. Cheaper still are the coarse hemp papers, just ten to fifteen cash a sheet.”

Li Wei was silenced. Clearly, they relied on brand effect and scarcity to drive up the Wuzhou rattan’s price. Ordinary hemp paper was just ten cash a sheet—given the size and thickness, it wasn’t unreasonable for the time.

He gritted his teeth and bought four sheets—really four thick rolls—for Li Xian.

Li Xian hesitated, then quietly said, “Thank you, brother.”

By now it was noon. Li Wei glanced around and noticed a tavern called Li’s, which seemed busy and spotless. They went in, ordered a few dishes—everyone was hungry after the long walk, except Li Lingyue, who had filled up on snacks and was now looking around curiously.

Li Xian said, “Brother, have you noticed something?”

“What is it, second brother?”

“Since we left the Eastern Palace, I’ve only heard you cough twice.”

“Hmm, I cough much less now,” Li Wei replied, but was uneasy—why was his brother counting his coughs?

“Congratulations, brother,” Li Xian said, grinning.

Li Wei’s alarm eased—so it was just concern. “Thank you for worrying about me,” he replied.

Suddenly a hearty laugh rang out nearby. “Manager Li, I haven’t seen you in a year—your business is better than ever.”

“Hu Dalang, you flatter me. It’s nothing, nothing—I owe it all to the favor of you and our guests. Otherwise, how would I have today’s success?”

“Haha! Fatty, you’re getting slicker by the day,” the bearded Hu man called out, his broad hand thumping the shoulder of a plump middle-aged man—Manager Li, the tavern’s owner. Three others followed. They took seats at a window booth, and Manager Li gestured, “Please, gentlemen.”

Once they were seated, Manager Li withdrew. Hu Dalang looked at the others, “Lu Silang, Ye Dalang, what brings you here?”

Lu Silang said quietly, “Hu Dalang, you have connections everywhere. Could you get some horses from Tuyuhun for me?”

“People in Guanzhong can barely survive; what do you want horses for?”

“To be honest, though Guanzhong suffers drought, Tuyuhun has fallen, Anxi’s four garrisons are lost, and in Hedong and Hebei, livestock—especially horses—are still rising in price. But my connections there are limited. Yours are much broader. How about we work together?”

“Well, let’s keep an eye on the court’s actions. If they don’t send troops, or only defend Liangzhou, we can work together then.”

“Agreed.”

“And you, Ye Dalang?”

“I heard you brought back a lot of spices from Dashi this time—could you spare me a little more?”

“The best of that batch is already spoken for. There’s not much left, but I’ll see what remains and let you know.”

“Good.”

After those two deals, Hu Dalang turned to a young dandy. “Yulangjun, what do you want from me?”

“I heard you brought back some medicinal jade from Dashi—any chance you could let me have a few of the finest pieces?”

“We’re friends, but those are already promised—to the Duke of Zhou, no less.”

At the mention of the Duke of Zhou, everyone drew a sharp breath and fell silent.

After a while, Yulangjun said, “In that case, promise me this—next time you go to Dashi, bring me a few women from Greater Fulin.”

“What do you want with those women? Most are blue-eyed, blond-haired, and covered in thick body hair—you’ll be frightened.”

“But I like that!” came a lewd laugh.

“Bringing them over isn’t hard—just afraid the border guards will think I’m smuggling in monsters!” It was a joke, and the group chuckled quietly.

After their laughter, the Hu man began telling stories of Dashi.

Li Wei reflected—no matter what, the Tang Dynasty’s openness was remarkable. Greater Fulin was the Eastern Roman Empire. In later dynasties, a wealthy dandy would never dare ask a Hu merchant to bring him European women.

After the meal, Li Wei told Bi’er, “Let’s go find your two brothers.”

It was time to get down to business.

(Note: I could not find historical records for how paper was sold in the Tang Dynasty, but I imagine it was like cloth, with various sizes and grades determining price. These prices are estimates based on the fame, quality, and yield of Tang paper and the cost of living at the time. Do not take them as authoritative.)