Chapter Fifty-Four: Golden Sands Swirl Around the Western Capital

Within the city of Western Capital, yellow sands drifted endlessly day and night. Years of war had left their mark; aside from the government offices, there were few decent buildings to be found, a far cry from the grandeur of Yangzhou. Yet, as troops were often stationed here, and soldiers, flush with rations or rewards after victorious battles, needed diversions, the city boasted no shortage of taverns, brothels, gambling dens, and eateries. There were, of course, differences even among the soldiers: the young and valiant, ever at the front lines, enjoyed full purses and feasted well, while the old veterans, crippled or wounded, could do little more than chew on cold buns, tantalized by the distant aroma of meat and wine.

Yet even the veterans’ lot was not the harshest. Some soldiers perished on the battlefield, leaving widows and orphans with no compensation but the misery of begging to survive.

Every city had its rich and its poor, but nowhere was the gulf so pronounced and so crowded as in Western Capital—where an officer, arms entwined around courtesans as he swaggered out of a brothel, might pass within arm’s reach of a beggar child, hunched over, gnawing at scraps in the sand. Years would pass; that beggar child might one day enlist, earn military merit, and squander his earnings just the same, already forgetting the bitterness of his own youth.

Yu Lang watched these absurd scenes unfold, struck by the sense that this was the way of all dynasties: the starving poor would eventually rise, and once they had seized power and grown wealthy, they too would forget the hunger that once drove them. People lamented the injustice of society, not because they truly sought fairness, but only because they themselves had been placed on the losing side. Should they ever grasp power, their aim would be to consolidate their own interests, not to eradicate injustice.

Though it was late spring, the city remained bitterly cold. A sturdy little boy, bundled in thin clothing, begged on the street. Before him sat a filthy clay bowl; his lips, purple-black with cold, trembled as though he might faint at any moment.

Qingqing, unable to bear the sight, bought two buns and offered them to the boy.

The boy thanked her profusely, stuffed the buns into his mouth in a few quick bites, and choked, his face flushing red. Qingqing hurried back to the bun shop and fetched him a bowl of hot water.

After a few sips, the boy caught his breath and bowed his head in thanks.

Suddenly, Qingqing’s warm smile froze. The boy abruptly ducked down, bit through the jade bracelet on her wrist, snatched it, and bolted.

The bracelet had been a birthday gift from Zhang Jiuling in a previous year. Blood trickled from where the jade had cut Qingqing’s wrist, but it was not the pain or the loss of the gift that wounded her most—it was the look on the boy’s face as he fled, vicious, mocking, utterly devoid of guilt or gratitude.

Yu Lang did not intervene, for Qingqing herself held back. She now possessed the cultivation of the Sea Initiate realm; had she wished, she could have subdued the boy on the spot. But Yu Lang understood that Qingqing did not know what she ought to do if she caught him—beat him, or deliver him to the authorities? She could do neither.

Just then, a bystander emerged from around the corner, dragging the boy behind him.

This newcomer appeared to be about Yu Lang’s age, exceptionally handsome, and though his manner was carefree and unrestrained, his bearing was remarkable.

The boy, eyes brimming with tears, whimpered, “Sister, I didn’t mean it. My little sister is gravely ill and we have no money for medicine. That’s why I... I’ll give it back to you.”

The boy returned the now broken jade bracelet to Qingqing.

Qingqing, heart softening once more, put the bracelet away and took a tael of fine silver from her sleeve, pressing it into the boy’s hand. “Be good. Take this and find a good doctor for your sister.”

The boy hesitated demurely for a moment, then suddenly drew a dagger and lunged at Qingqing’s chest.

Qingqing caught his wrist, anger finally flashing across her face. “Why? I’ve treated you with nothing but kindness—why do you keep—”

The handsome youth kicked the boy away with a single motion. “It was I who put him up to it,” he said. “After I caught him just now, I gave him a copper coin and a dagger, and told him to stab you. So here he is.”

Qingqing stared at him. “Why would you do this? Do we even know each other?”

“I wanted to teach you a lesson—that a copper coin spent on a bun for this creature would have been better spent feeding a dog. At least a dog, after eating your food, would remember your kindness and not bite you. But them? They won’t.” The youth’s refined appearance belied the venom of his words.

Qingqing was furious. “He’s just driven by poverty, not evil by nature. How can you be so merciless?”

With that, she moved to help the boy up. The boy, again, pulled another dagger from his coat and slashed at her face. Qingqing caught his wrist, tears welling in her eyes. “Why? Why?”

The youth kicked the boy aside again. “Get lost. And next time you see me, keep your distance!”

The boy weighed the silver in his hand, sneered, and slunk away.

Yu Lang watched the scene unfold in silence. He had seen the darkness in the hearts of the poor at Beigu Mountain and knew that virtue and vice were not dictated by station; the weak were not necessarily good, merely lacking opportunity. Though he could not fully agree with the youth’s words, he could see that the youth had meant no harm to Qingqing.

The youth, it seemed, wished only to wake Qingqing to the dangers of her kindness, lest it be used against her in the future. But who was he, Yu Lang wondered.

Seeing Qingqing in tears, the youth crouched down, tapped her nose, and offered her a silk handkerchief. “After all these years, you still have that bad habit—wiping your tears with the back of your hand. The sand here is fierce; it’s not good if it gets into your eyes.”

The gentle tap, the handkerchief, and the tenderness in his voice—suddenly, Qingqing remembered. “You—you’re Brother Li Mi!”

Li Mi smiled gently. “It’s been nearly five years since we last saw each other.”

Hearing the name Li Mi, Yu Lang was stunned. According to the histories, this man was considered the foremost genius of the mid-Tang, rivaling even Yu Lang’s own great-grandfather, Xu Maogong.

Qingqing, cheerful once more, took Li Mi’s hand and led him to Yu Lang, as if the earlier unpleasantness had been forgotten.

“Yu Lang, Yu Lang, this is Li Mi—he was my best childhood companion. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face; he’s brilliant—well, just a little better than you, maybe. When he was seven—”

Yu Lang smiled. “At seven, he debated before the emperor and two chancellors in the Golden Hall and bested them both. At ten, he entered the holy ground of the Daoist sect on Mount Myriad Phenomena and confounded its abbot. At thirteen, he mastered the sword and challenged the Sword Pavilion, defeating its three greatest swordmasters.”

The two chancellors were Emperor Xuanzong’s wise ministers, Zhang Shuo and Zhang Jiuling. Zhang Shuo, in his youth, had ranked first in the imperial examinations and dominated the literary world for thirty years, a true master of his generation. Yet, before the Golden Hall, he had been left speechless by the seven-year-old Li Mi. Both he and Zhang Jiuling greatly cherished Li Mi’s talent, and the young prodigy was a frequent guest at their homes.

Li Mi met Yu Lang’s gaze, returning the smile without a trace of modesty. “A genius, nothing more. What’s so extraordinary about that?”

Qingqing laughed. “You’re as arrogant as ever, never knowing humility.”

Li Mi’s wry smile was sincere. “If even I, a genius, must pretend at humility, what face would be left for the true heroes of the world?”

This man was truly remarkable.

His arrogance kindled a fighting spirit in Yu Lang’s heart. This was his first encounter with the most brilliant of the Tang dynasty’s young generation, and within him surged a bold desire to test his strength against such men.