“This story was passed down to me by the older generation in my family,” Lu Zheng said. “It should be from several thousand years ago, events of a previous dynasty…”
Lu Zheng then recounted the tale of Emperor Minghuang of Tang and Yang Guifei in vivid detail, naturally adding considerable artistic embellishment. He emphasised the emperor’s deep love for Yang Guifei and highlighted Yang Yuhuan’s extraordinary beauty and talents.
After all, for an emperor, the rarest achievement is genuine sincerity of heart. For a consort, what spreads most widely is her influence on history.
One need only look at the famous beauties recorded in Chinese history. None gained renown without the backdrop of great national events: Xi Shi bringing chaos to Wu, Wang Zhaojun sent beyond the passes, Diaochan causing Dong Zhuo’s downfall, Yuhuan linked to Tang’s decline, not to mention the sole female emperor, Wu Zetian.
Among all these women, Yang Yuhuan’s place as one of the four great beauties owes most to Li Bai’s “Qingping Lyrics”.
“A cloud-like gown, a flower-like face, spring breeze on the balustrade, dew thick and rich. If not glimpsed atop Jade Mountain, then met beneath the moon on Jade Terrace.”
Once this poem appeared, all others paled in comparison.
“Fine poetry!” Si Lingxi nodded. “Not a single word directly describes beauty, yet it captures beauty perfectly. Such a poem, and it never passed down into legend? Whoever wrote it was no ordinary person.”
Si Lingxi’s eyes flickered as she thought rapidly, trying to match this poem to any great poet of中原 history.
She had lived three thousand years, often travelling through the Central Plains, and had personally discussed literature with many famous scholars and poets. Most of the highest-regarded poets of the last thousand years, she had met in person.
“Was it Deng Yi? Or Huang Fei?” Si Lingxi asked. “Surely not Li Zhenhé?”
“No, that does not fit. Their lifetimes do not match the period of the story you describe.” She shook her head. “It was none of them.”
Lu Zheng was speechless, inwardly trembling…
This was exactly why he had not wanted to blend the story with real history. The great expert before him had actually lived through it. Lu Zheng could almost feel Si Lingxi’s probing gaze piercing through the mist and fixing upon him.
He remained perfectly composed, gave no answer, and simply continued the tale.
Soon the story reached the An-Shi Rebellion. The capital fell into turmoil, Emperor Minghuang fled in haste with Yang Guifei, and finally at Mawei Station the soldiers mutinied, forcing him to order Yang Guifei’s death.
“What?”
“Order her death?”
“Incompetent!”
“Shameless!”
Angry protests rose from the neighbouring hot-spring pool.
Si Lingxi, however, remained quite calm. From the groundwork Lu Zheng had laid earlier, this Emperor Minghuang had neglected state affairs, allowed the nation to crumble, permitted border chaos, and let military commanders seize power. Plunging into turmoil was only natural.
“Since ancient times, beauties have been blamed for chaos. It is hardly unusual,” Si Lingxi said coolly.
Lu Zheng shook his head and sighed. “Yet the decisions are always made by men, are they not? Take Feihong Ji and Consort Li from history here. One was branded for bewitching the sovereign, the other called a demon consort of troubled times, yet both merely did their duty well in pleasing the ruler.”
Feihong Ji and Consort Li were imperial consorts from previous dynasties in this world, occupying positions roughly equivalent to Daji in ancient Chinese history.
“As times change, a nation’s decline arises from many causes combined: population growth, land consolidation, regional autonomy, natural and man-made disasters, court corruption, insatiable greed among interest groups. What has any of that to do with one woman at the emperor’s side?”
Lu Zheng gave a cold snort. In this world, evaluations of Feihong Ji and Consort Li mirrored ancient China’s views of Daji and Baosi. Almost no one considered the issue from a materialist historical perspective.
“Speaking of which, by the end of a dynasty, interest groups have already solidified. As common folk suffer, incense offerings dwindle, and the dynasty’s foundation weakens. Being emperor becomes ever harder, only slightly less demanding than for a founding ruler. Thus, unless a heaven-sent genius appears, collapse is merely normal.
“Though cultivation exists in this world and the land is vast, so dynasties last longer than in ancient China, ascension is rare and immortality difficult. Over time, founding emperors and their civil and military officials who became gods after death, along with court-enfeoffed stellar officials and city gods, all fade and are replaced, each generation weaker than the last. Eventually the court can no longer control the regions, local powers develop separate ambitions, and under mounting pressure, any small natural disaster serves as the spark. Changing dynasty then becomes merely going with the flow.”
Lu Zheng spoke mildly. “The ones who record history and shape opinion are precisely those responsible for the dynasty’s fall, and they may even be the founding emperor or meritorious officials of the new regime. Do you think they would criticise themselves?
“No. They simply heap all the disasters, the suffering of the people, upon the last emperor of the old dynasty and his favoured consort. Thus the debt dies with the dead, no one remembers the true causes of collapse, the realm enjoys peace and prosperity once more, and the music plays on.
“Then history repeats, until the next decline produces another tyrannical final emperor or bewitching demon consort to bear the blame for great chaos… hmph!”
His words fell, and silence blanketed the scene, broken only by gentle breezes and the sound of flowing spring water.
Lu Zheng turned and saw Liu Qingyan’s jade-like face glowing, her eyes shimmering. When she looked up at him, they burned with passion.
“Lu-lang!”
“Hm?”
Liu Qingyan grew so stirred she could barely contain herself. Unable to hold back, she pressed close and, unusually bold, thrust her small tongue into his mouth.
“Mm—”
Moments later she regained her senses, hastily withdrew, cheeks flushed crimson. She sank down until only her small head remained above water, eyes darting anywhere but at him.
“Hee hee!”
“Haha!”
“Hey hey!”
Her impulsive act broke the previous hush. The women laughed a little and recovered their composure.
Yet…
With his keen senses, how could Lu Zheng miss the several burning gazes coming from the neighbouring pool?
Shen Ying was one thing, but what about Du Yueyao and Wang Xiaowan? And… Si Lingxi?
Good heavens, what did I say?
Wasn’t all that just common knowledge? Surely any ordinary young Chinese person who completed modern nine-year compulsory education could offer the same insights?
“Young Master Lu is remarkable!” Yi Xiaoqian felt utterly shaken.
Du Yueyao shook her head and sighed. “If Brother Lu were willing to take the examinations, he could surely become a general or prime minister, rising to cabinet chancellor.”
Wang Xiaowan nodded repeatedly. “Senior Brother is a cultivation genius, truly capable in all things. I never imagined he held such profound views on dynastic change.”
Shen Ying pressed her lips together. Through the mist she saw Lu Zheng’s expression as calm as if he had merely mentioned eating egg fried rice for lunch, and her heart raced. It reminded her of the day he had first saved her, treating her with sincere equality.
If the setting were different, she would already have thrown herself at him.
Si Lingxi lay quietly at the pool’s edge, steadying her emotions. She nodded and said mildly, “Unique insight. Well said.”
Yet the unusual light in her eyes lingered for a long while.
