Chapter Seven: The Coldness of the World, Beauty Like a Blossom (Part Two)

As a warrior, Yang Chengyou had yet to grasp the situation and said, "Little sister, listen to Father’s words."
You’ve already reached the gates of the prince’s bedchamber; if you continue to act out, you’ll cause a serious scandal.
He entered, then prostrated himself on the ground. "Greetings, Your Highness the Crown Prince."
"General Yang, Lady Yang, please rise," Li Wei said. He glanced at the siblings. Yang Chengyou was in his thirties, handsome and refined. His fiancée was even more striking, her large black eyes lively and spirited. Her cheeks were tinged with peach blossom pink, below which were two dimples. Her face was delicate, lips like cherries, shoulders slender, waist narrow, legs long, clad in a lake-green floor-length gown. She was fifteen years old.
Li Wei was momentarily dazed, but having seen all kinds of beauties in his past life—at least on television—he quickly regained his composure. This girl was exquisitely beautiful, a true gem. Yet Li Wei soon collected himself and instructed, "Please, be seated."
"We dare not," Yang Min answered, lifting her head. She was still as before: pale-faced, thin, her manner gentle, though she spoke in a reluctant, soft voice. "I heard Your Highness was gravely ill days ago. Only yesterday did I learn of it and failed to visit in time. Please forgive me."
"Lady Yang, your father serves as Captain of the Guards within the palace. Only hearing yesterday that the Crown Prince was ill is rather odd," Biyer remarked abruptly.
Upon mention of the fiancée, Biyer had grown increasingly dissatisfied.
It was understandable; this illness had caused even the eunuchs to keep their distance. As a daughter of officials, with decent birth and such beauty, she might not be willing to marry the prince—even if he was the Crown Prince.
Li Wei said, "Biyer, do not be rude. Someone, bring tea."
"No need for ceremony, Your Highness, we dare not accept," Yang Chengyou replied, embarrassed by Biyer’s remark.
Li Wei was unsure what history Li Hong had with them and remained silent. Biyer chimed in again, "Actually, Your Highness, I think the story of the Cowherd and Weaver Girl is rather pitiful—they can only meet once a year."
She was deliberately embarrassing the Yang siblings, emboldened by Li Wei’s recent favor—ultimately, it was for his sake.
Li Wei replied, "That’s already fortunate, Biyer. Yesterday, I saw General Liu and thought of those soldiers on the frontier. Some may be stationed at the borders for ten or twenty years, unable to reunite with wife and children. Without their sacrifice, how could our Tang people live in peace? Bring me a small drum."
"Certainly," Biyer left, delighted.
Yang Chengyou nudged his sister with his elbow, prompting Yang Min to ask, "Your Highness, how is your health these days?"
"It’s alright."
"Recently, the weather has been erratic. Your Highness’s health is delicate—please take extra care."
"Indeed, spring and autumn are seasons when one easily catches cold. After circling the gates of hell this time, I know to be cautious. But thank you, Lady Yang, for your concern."
Thank you for your concern? Though polite, it sounded so distant. Was the ailing Crown Prince dissatisfied with her? Yang Min was still young. While some youths of fourteen or fifteen already took charge of households, she was still just a girl. If she saw the poems written by Wu Hou and Li Bai, she’d immediately spot the difference; Wu Hou’s were poor, Li Bai’s masterpieces. Yet, her grasp of worldly affairs was still lacking.
Yesterday she’d received a political lesson from her father, and another before leaving home this morning, leaving her head spinning.
She lifted her gaze to Li Wei, who wore a gentle smile, showing no sign of anger.
The smile was courteous, as his words were, gentle as jade. They’d met a few times before, but Li Hong had never behaved like this. Sensing Li Wei’s aloofness, disappointment stirred within her.
Biyer brought a small drum. Li Hong took it, placed it on the table, and said, "Biyer, I’ll say this: ‘You are not a fish, how can you know the joy of fish?’ Perhaps the Cowherd and Weaver Girl, though meeting only once a year, are still happy in their hearts—unlike those whose marriages are torn apart by their parents. It’s like soldiers at the border; they leave home young and return old, but for the sake of the nation, may still be happy. Let me recite another short lyric for you."
Yang Min sensed Li Wei’s distance, but Li Wei also sensed her disfavor. She was indeed beautiful, he understood, but there was no need to offer warmth unreciprocated—especially as he was now the Crown Prince—so he simply ignored the siblings.
He tapped the small drum, finding the rhythm.
"Why use a drum?" Biyer asked, puzzled.
"Some poems, or short lyrics, are written with heroic spirit and fiery passion; they must be accompanied by drums to set the mood. Others need a jade zither, or a bamboo flute, or an exquisite flute, or a se, a konghou, or a bi li, but some are too grand for a small drum and require a large drum. This lyric can be matched with a small drum."
This perspective was new to the Yang siblings.
Li Wei ignored them, slowly tapping the drum, and sang with a powerful voice: "Autumn arrives at the frontier, the scenery changes; the wild geese fly south from Hengyang, indifferent to all.
From all sides, the sounds of the border rise with the bugle, amidst the thousand peaks, long smoke and sunset close the lonely city."

A cup of cloudy wine, home ten thousand miles away; before the banners of Yanran are carved, there is no hope of return.
The pipes of the Qiang people play softly, frost covers the earth; no one sleeps, the general’s hair white, the soldier’s tears."
The drum, the song, the words—all evoked a deep, heroic melancholy.
After the song ended, Yang Chengyou clapped his hands, "Wonderful, wonderful!"
Biyer said, "Your Highness, this lyric would be perfect paired with your calligraphy. But what kind of lyric requires a large drum?"
At the time, the poetic style favored delicacy; grand, heroic works were rare, though not absent. The likes of Emperor Taizong’s poetry carried grandeur, though still tinged with elegance—not yet the sweeping spirit of the High Tang.
This lyric was already heroic to the extreme; what would one be like if accompanied by a large drum? Even Yang Min was lost in thought.
"For the large drum," Li Wei mused. No, best not—if a large drum sounded in the Eastern Palace, officials would soon come to admonish him.
He said, "I won’t sing it, but I’ll write it for you to contemplate."
He picked up a brush and wrote on a yellow hemp paper from Yizhou: "The great river flows east, sweeping away all the heroes of history... Wandering through the old kingdom, I should laugh at myself for my many feelings."
He paused, modified it: "Body frail, hair yellowed. Life is but a dream, let me pour a cup to the moon at the pass."
Changing a few words, he lessened the sense of melancholy and added a note of hope, but the grandeur of the lyric remained.
As he wrote about feather fans and silk headbands, laughter turning masts to ashes, all were transfixed.
Yang Min whispered, "Such heroic poetry."
She even forgot the ancient, vigorous calligraphy.
Li Wei still ignored her, turning to Biyer, "Not only short lyrics—even spoken words, if used well, can evoke grand imagery. Listen carefully: ‘Let me fly, if you will...’"
He sang Xiao Qi's "Unrestrained."
Afterwards, Biyer’s eyes sparkled, "Your Highness, you are truly brilliant. Perhaps only you in this world can grasp such truths."
Not necessarily; understanding this truth took many people many years.
He turned to Li Min, her large black eyes shining with curiosity, disappointment from neglect, and contemplation provoked by Li Wei’s words. He said, "You may sit."
"We dare not," Yang Min replied softly.
Yet Yang Chengyou detected shyness in his sister’s voice—a good sign. This Crown Prince was indeed talented; with just a lyric, he could create such grandeur. No wonder Liu Rengui praised him so highly.
"Please sit, we are kin after all; don’t be so formal."
The two sat at the corner of the couch. Yang Chengyou said, "Your Highness, in my opinion, these two lyrics would be perfect gifts for General Liu. He would surely love them."
"General Yang, that is not appropriate. These were written yesterday after discussing the Great Feichuan battle with several gentlemen, moved by the spirit of the moment. To give them to General Liu is no harm, but I am the Crown Prince; discussing matters of state is my duty. The rise and fall of the nation is the responsibility of all. But to gift my own calligraphy or works privately is a matter of personal relations. With the emperor in his prime, it is unwise."
Li Hong’s posturing was excessive; adjusting for effect was fine, but befriending influential ministers, especially elders like Liu Rengui, would concern his father, Emperor Li Zhi, and his mother, Empress Wu.
Yang Chengyou was startled, bowing, "I was mistaken."
Li Wei continued, "No matter. Ultimately, we are all subjects of the emperor and empress. Just remember: sincerity and caution."
He said this loudly, so the distant eunuchs could hear.
Placing spies by his side to monitor him hadn’t reached that extreme, but some eunuchs likely reported to his parents.

Wisdom! This was the thought that rose in Yang Chengyou’s heart.
Even without the strong support of Xu Jingzong or Liu Rengui, this wisdom alone would one day carry him to the throne. He nudged his sister again.
At this moment, Yang Min’s mind was in turmoil. Their few previous encounters had been brief; she’d deliberately avoided him, and Li Hong had been wary of public opinion. She hardly knew him. Yet today, Li Hong’s demeanor completely overturned her impression and was entirely different from what Duke Zhou had described.
If these short lyrics were his own, then Li Hong was truly remarkable.
As for his health, though he’d been gravely ill, he now appeared in better spirits than before, singing and speaking without a single cough. Yang Chengyou’s nudge brought her back to herself. She took out a sachet from her bosom, saying, "Your Highness, this is a sachet I made myself, and I asked the abbot of Yongtai Temple for a peace charm to place inside."
In truth, her mother had risen before dawn, gone to Yongtai Temple to offer incense, had a sudden inspiration to ask the abbot for a peace charm, then went to the West Market to buy a sachet, placed the charm inside, threaded it with silk, and hung it on Yang Min’s chest.
In this way, her affection was even more clearly expressed.
Yang Min herself was skilled at embroidery, but she had not wanted to offer it until now, when she was finally willing.
The sachet was exquisitely made, embroidered with silk tree blossoms and several broad green leaves, crafted from red silk, filled with unknown fragrant herbs, scent wafting out.
"Thank you," Li Wei took it, examined it, and said, "Lady Yang’s embroidery is excellent."
His expression remained calm and unruffled.
………………………………
"Sister, sister!" Yang Chengyou called twice.
"Brother, what is it?"
"Are you lost in thought?" Yang Chengyou laughed.
"You’re the one lost in thought!" Yang Min retorted.
"Are you lovesick? But I’ve met many talented young men in the capital; compared to the Crown Prince, they are nothing. Imperial temperament! Without it, who could write such heroic lyrics?"
"Short lyrics are still not fit for the grand stage."
"Are you certain?"
"…"
The carriage rattled along the streets of Chang’an. Through the curtains, they could see willow trees curling smoke, the tender yellow of spring. After yesterday’s refreshing rain, the faces of the townsfolk were bright with smiles.
Spring had arrived. Yang Chengyou glanced at his sister, who was also gazing outside, lost in thought. Spring had truly come, and so had his sister’s spring. Most wonderful of all, the object of her affection was precisely the one she ought to love.
He laughed aloud.
"Brother, why are you laughing?"
Yang Chengyou continued to laugh, ignoring her.
Yang Min realized, and stretched out her slender foot to kick him.