002. The Kindness of Recognition
At that time, Li Xi was still a slave awaiting sale. After being brought back to Tang by the border troops of the Great Tang, he was quickly sold to a distillery. Because he was strong and sturdy, the owner paid special attention to him, leaving all the hardest, most exhausting work in the workshop to him. And because he was strong and handsome, the beautiful and flirtatious mistress also paid special attention to him, saving the most exhausting tasks at night for him as well.
In just three months, Li Xi’s weight plummeted from one hundred and sixty jin to ninety jin. He became emaciated, first unable to manage the night work, and later, even the day work was too much. The disappointed owner and mistress beat him severely, then sold him at a third of the original price to the notorious slave dealer, Spotted Tiger, in Linzhou. Because of his serious injuries, Li Xi remained unsold for two months. The shrewd Spotted Tiger judged that the now-skin-and-bones Li Xi would need at least half a year to be marketable, and even then, he would never fetch a high price. Such a slave, to be fed well, was a waste, so the boss specifically instructed the manager: “Give him just enough to keep him alive, don’t let him starve to death.”
With these instructions, Li Xi, a slave for sale, could only lie there all day, for he didn’t even have the strength to sit up. To be a slave to this extent, sometimes Li Xi thought it might be better to kill himself. This thought occurred many times, but he never acted on it; he knew full well that even dying took strength, and for someone who could barely sit, smashing his head to death was a luxury.
Since death had become a distant hope, he had no choice but to live humbly for the time being.
On this late autumn afternoon, as warm as early spring, Li Xi and more than sixty other slaves for sale were gathered in a small square. Guests were expected, and at noon, they had been given an extra meal.
The sixty slaves were divided into five groups. The first group, twenty men, all robust and aged fifteen to thirty-five, varied in height and build, skin tone from dark to pale, some with thick hair, others thin, and one completely bald. All were bare-chested, exposing their muscular torsos.
The second group, seven young women aged fourteen to twenty-four, stood tall and graceful, with delicate features. Their only shortcomings were sallow skin, lifeless eyes, ragged clothes, and messy hair. Each stood straight, trying to make a good impression on the overseer.
The third group consisted of thirteen people, mostly men, aged thirty to fifty, of various statures, none particularly strong or beautiful, but all healthy.
The fourth group, twelve children—half boys, half girls—aged five to twelve, all with blank stares and sallow faces.
The fifth group, eight in total, included the old, weak, sick, disabled, and pregnant, their sole shared trait being that they were still breathing.
Li Xi was in the fifth group, because he could still breathe. Prices varied by group: the first and second groups started at ten strings of cash each, the third and fourth at five, and the fifth at one string, with Spotted Tiger occasionally offering a thirty percent discount if in a good mood.
Giving the slaves a better meal before guests arrived was Spotted Tiger’s business wisdom: it made them look healthier and more energetic, helping fetch a better price. Naturally, the food differed by group. The first and second groups each received a piece of cooked meat and two white wheat buns. The third and fourth each got a duck leg and two black wheat buns. As for the fifth group, they received a bowl of thin gruel and a black wheat bun.
Li Xi, under Spotted Tiger’s special instructions, still got only half a bowl of gruel and half a bun—his “ration.” He did not fight or complain, collected his share, ate, then lay down to nap. With such fine sunlight, it would be a waste not to take a nap.
After the meal, Spotted Tiger arrived, riding a horse as fat as himself, his gaze stern as he inspected his merchandise. Seeing the glowing faces of the first and second groups after their meal, he nodded with satisfaction. Even the third and fourth groups, who’d just argued over whose gruel was thicker, now, in front of their master, became docile as cats, eager to please. As for the fifth group, as long as they were still breathing, there was no point in looking.
With a grunt, Spotted Tiger turned away, hands behind his back, belly protruding as he strolled leisurely. His attendant set up a chair under the south wall, where he sat and basked contentedly in the sun. But after only a short while, he stood, straightened his clothes, and with a face full of smiles, went to the crossroads to welcome a small sedan chair approaching from the direction of Yichun Lane.
The sedan, modest and somewhat worn, was carried by two middle-aged men, accompanied by a swaying young woman. As they drew near, the woman was revealed to be a slender, fair-skinned maiden.
The sedan stopped. The maiden helped down a woman in her early fifties, dressed in gold and silver, her face powdered thickly, cheeks rouged, lips painted a vivid red. Alighting, she rotated her neck, stretched her limbs, straightened her back, one hand swinging a feather fan, the other holding the red-skirted maiden’s arm. The maiden, with delicate features, had no choice but to follow, struggling to keep up.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Spotted Tiger began showing the woman his wares.
Pointing to the first group of robust men, he boasted, “These are just brought in by the border troops—some Shatuo, some Xi—all have served as soldiers, strong as bulls.”
The woman was the headmistress of a music house in Linzhou—a mere front, for her real trade was buying clever girls of twelve or thirteen, teaching them songs and dances for three to five years, then selling them as adults for huge profits.
In recent years, with war in the northwest and trade cut off, her business had declined. Many peers had closed shop, yet she persisted. But these hard days would soon pass: a month ago, she’d heard that the imperial army was closing in on the Shatuo rebel leader Ranbu Chixin. If the army triumphed, the officers would surely take girls back to Chang’an as gifts or for personal use; then her business would boom.
Some advised caution, reminding her that three years ago, the same optimism had proved false. Yet she was convinced: with so many sons of nobility being sent to the military, surely the end was near. Even if she guessed wrong, the girls wouldn’t eat much in a few months, and it was a good time to buy cheap in troubled times.
With confidence, she approached the second group and declared, “I’ll take all seven.”
Spotted Tiger was overjoyed, quickly telling his clerk to make a list and prepare the paperwork.
She moved to the fourth group, picking four girls around eleven or twelve with delicate looks, and three handsome boys. “I’ll take these too.” Spotted Tiger almost wanted to thank the gods.
That noon, as he was napping after lunch, the steward had come to report that Madam Hu from Yichun Lane was coming to buy people. Normally, even for an old regular like Madam Hu, he wouldn’t have come in person, but the magpies outside his window made such a ruckus it felt like an omen, so he went himself.
The “Mule and Horse Market” was just a name; it sold people, not livestock.
In a blink, fourteen slaves were sold. Spotted Tiger’s joy was tinged with disbelief—so much good fortune, was he dreaming? He pinched himself hard—no, he was awake.
Maybe Madam Hu had lost her mind?
He eyed her suspiciously, as though meeting her for the first time. But Madam Hu was too sharp for tricks; she worried Spotted Tiger would raise prices if he realized what she was up to. Despite the war, with little trade, Spotted Tiger had a backlog of slaves he could barely feed, and merchants needed to keep their money moving.
Madam Hu thought, “Let him suffer in silence.”
She now approached the first group. Spotted Tiger almost thought she was buying men for a brothel, perhaps to open a ladies’ section.
Yet in truth, Madam Hu was in a bind. The night before, a brawl at her music house among some military cadets had gotten out of hand, her loyal servants were killed or maimed trying to protect her, and the young lords who started it were untouchable. She had no choice but to pay for coffins herself; otherwise, who would risk their lives for her in the future?
Madam Hu’s crafty eyes scanned the group of men, then she pointed at two at the head of the line. “That dark, burly one, and that fresh-faced youth.”
As she said “fresh-faced youth,” her eyes softened for a moment. The red-skirted maiden at her elbow suppressed a giggle. The old woman scolded, “You little minx, laugh again and I’ll send you to entertain guests tonight!” The girl stuck out her tongue and fell silent.
This girl, known as Jasmine, was the daughter of an official family. After her father was disgraced, the family was enslaved. She served two years as a government slave in Chang’an, then was given as a concubine to a frontier general. When the general fell from grace, she was seized by bandits and sold in Linzhou. Her talents, beauty, and poise caught Madam Hu’s eye, and within half a year at the music house, she was a sensation.
Those were her golden days, with merchants and nobles fighting and bleeding over her, and young gentlemen kneeling in the snow, begging to redeem her or take her as a concubine. She found none of them pleasing, too crude, too plain, too this, too that—until she missed her chance.
Now, older, her voice not as clear, business waning, she was reduced to learning the trade of a slave-dealer from her godmother. It wasn’t a bad life—her godmother cared for her—but it wasn’t the life she wanted. She longed for the lively, bustling days of before, and if she could shine again for even two years, she’d save up, buy her freedom, and perhaps find a good man to marry.
Jasmine understood well why her godmother bought young men; it wasn’t just for business. She laughed at her for always preferring tender grass, chewing it to the bone. That poor, fair-faced youth would soon be as emaciated as the rest.
She couldn’t help but laugh, and though she meant no harm, it was not out of malice.
After the scolding, her heart was filled with sorrow as memories surfaced. She looked up, and her gaze met a young man lying at ease against a mud wall with eyes closed—Li Xi. No duck leg for him, not even gruel; he played at leisure, conserving energy.
Hunger and thirst were bearable, but the torment at night by the brutes was not. In these times, the roles of male and female seemed reversed, and the simplest things were made complex. The thought of being forced like others chilled him. Would this dark, endless Tang life ever end?
With arms pillowed behind his head, one leg crossed, his ankles kept time to an odd little tune he hummed—a strange, enchanting melody. This was Jasmine’s first impression of Li Xi.
In that moment, her heart leapt wildly. Suddenly, she felt bewitched—wasn’t this what she’d been searching for?
In her haste, she nearly pulled Madam Hu off balance.
Madam Hu scolded, “What’s gotten into you today? Do you want a beating?”
“Godmother, that man is strange,” Jasmine said, pointing at Li Xi.
Madam Hu glanced at him, then jabbed Jasmine with a hard finger, mocking, “Taken a fancy to him? They’re all no good.”
“How do you know? Are you clairvoyant?” Jasmine teased.
“I know because I’ve eaten more salt than you’ve eaten rice.”
Jasmine replied lightly, “Then you must be salted pork by now.”
Madam Hu, annoyed and amused, pinched Jasmine’s arm. Jasmine, knowing her godmother’s temper, quickly tried to appease her. “Don’t pinch, don’t pinch—just listen, isn’t his tune unusual?”
Madam Hu perked up. Jasmine had a keen ear for music, and if she approved, it must be something special.
Spotted Tiger, hearing this, grew hopeful. First and second group slaves were easy to sell; third and fourth were harder. Fifth group? He prayed just to break even.
With that, he hurried over, surprisingly nimble for his size. “Miss Jasmine, pay him no mind. That one’s a bookworm—knows a few odd tunes, writes strange lyrics, thinks he’s above everyone. He’s been sold and returned several times; who wants a slave you have to treat like a master?”
Jasmine nodded thoughtfully, “Still, you shouldn’t sell him with the useless lot.”
Spotted Tiger forced a smile, “If he won’t sell, he’s useless, isn’t he?”
Madam Hu, savvy as ever, saw through Spotted Tiger’s act and dismissed Li Xi with a cool laugh, “If he’s useless, why bother? Jasmine, pay the bill.”
Spotted Tiger’s heart sank—his ploy had failed.
The clerk lined up the seventeen purchased slaves, numbers marked on their chests. Madam Hu reviewed them, paid, and was about to leave when she noticed Jasmine still gazing at Li Xi. She tugged her ear, “Still looking? Your eyes are about to fall out.”
Madam Hu’s grip was fierce; Jasmine hurried to help her godmother into the sedan, pulling down the curtain. As the bearers set off, Madam Hu suddenly stamped her foot, “Stop.”
The bearers halted. She jumped out and strode to the wall, pointing at Li Xi. “Sing that song you were humming, again.”
Li Xi rolled his eyes, glanced at her, and replied coolly, “Why should I sing just because you say so? Who are you?”
Madam Hu pulled a gold ingot from her sleeve and tossed it before him. “If you sing that tune well, I’ll buy your freedom.”
Years ago, Madam Hu had been renowned in Linzhou for her musical talent. When Jasmine praised Li Xi’s tune, her interest was piqued, though Li Xi’s voice was too soft for her to hear it clearly, and his state as a fifth-group slave made her wary.
But as she got into the sedan, Li Xi changed the tune and sang a bit louder. As soon as she heard it, she knew—it was a completely new melody. She’d heard thousands in her life, and this was unprecedented.
That’s why she hurried back, annoyed at Li Xi’s insolence. But perhaps that was why he never sold—bookish types had quirks, but better that than real defects. Once she’d drained him of his songs, he could scrub floors or clean stables—she had ways to handle men.
Jasmine, seeing the opportunity, anxiously urged, “Godmother is a good woman—if you sing well, she might hire you as a musician.”
Li Xi’s eyes grew hot. After thirteen hundred years, since the moment he’d driven his car into flight, this was the first time someone had smiled at him, earnestly encouraged him, and tried to help him. Oh, kind and beautiful girl, I won’t disappoint you. I’ll sing our bright future with my beautiful voice, and repay you with my life. You are my shining future; my world is beautiful because of you.
“I’ll sing, I’ll sing right now!” He pulled himself together, afraid Madam Hu would change her mind.
In his previous life he was called the “Karaoke Prince”—he knew hundreds of popular, classical, and folk songs. His voice was middling but decent—maybe not a superstar, but at least a strong contender in a talent contest.
Li Xi nearly laughed out loud—fate had finally given him a break.
“Go on, sing,” Madam Hu snapped, startling him.
“Damn!” Li Xi cursed inwardly. Her shout was like a thunderclap—his mind went blank. He couldn’t remember the lyrics, the melody, or even the song title. He couldn’t even remember his own name.
His anxiety grew, sweat pouring down his brow, lips parched, as Madam Hu’s expression turned from mockery to contempt.
His heart nearly broke; he wanted to scream.
His face changed color—black, white, yellow, green—his forehead sweating, then suddenly chills.
Madam Hu’s smile vanished; as the silence dragged on, her face darkened. Finally, she said coldly, “Jasmine, let’s go.”
Jasmine, seeing Li Xi so desperate yet unable to respond, sighed. With a final sympathetic glance, she turned away with Madam Hu.
Suddenly, a raspy yet haunting song drifted from behind.
“…I want to fly higher, fly higher…”
The tune grew clearer, more soaring. Jasmine turned, delighted, to see the singer—it was the very Li Xi who’d just gone mute.
He sang with abandon, moving toward her and gently taking her hand. Words were unnecessary; everything was in the song.
He had been too nervous before, but Jasmine had always encouraged him. She was truly good—kind to a stranger in need.
Yet now, as Madam Hu left, he felt nothing—no joy, no sadness, still blank inside. Until—
The moment Jasmine turned back.
A buzzing filled his mind, as if something vanished, leaving him hollow. Still blank, but suddenly, a thread of music floated in—like a heavenly sound, filling his heart and soul.
The melody flowed through his emptiness—and miraculously, it came out of his mouth.
The “Karaoke Prince” was no empty title; his voice was first-rate, and his stage presence contagious. With one song, he captured Jasmine’s heart. To win over a young girl was nothing, but to make a woman who’d eaten more salt than rice feel a flutter—now, that was something.
When the song ended, without waiting for a word, Li Xi launched into another—an impassioned, haunting ballad.
He reached for Jasmine’s soft little hand, leading her into a ballroom dance. She had never danced such steps, but her intuition was remarkable; after a few moves, she caught the rhythm and followed gracefully.
Seeing the pair sing and dance, Madam Hu’s wrinkled face finally bloomed with a smile. She was sure, with some adaptation, these songs and dances would take Linzhou by storm—her springtime had come at last.
Now, when she looked at Li Xi, her gaze was different. The poor slave was no longer a mere dog to be bought and sold—he was, well, a golden dog.
But as a seasoned trader, she kept her composure, breaking off their performance with a cold huff.
She asked sharply, “Did you compose this song and choreograph this dance?”
Li Xi replied calmly, “Yes. In fact, I composed the music too.”
His heart swelled with confidence. I lied—what of it? Unless you can travel through time to expose me? If you can, I’d welcome the company—being alone is boring. Yes, I shamelessly plagiarized, cloned, and appropriated your creations; come sue me if you dare.
Hahaha…there was no one to expose his lie, so let them believe.
His confidence showed on his face—his cheeks flushed, his whole being seemed radiant. The unlucky, dying slave of the fifth group was gone; before them stood the future star of Tang’s entertainment world.
Madam Hu saw no flaw, so she gradually believed him. She felt as though she’d found a nugget of gold in the dung heap—secret joy filled her, though outwardly she sniffed, “Rustic ditties, too vulgar for refined halls.”
“But as side dishes, they’re not bad. After feasting on delicacies, tasting stinky tofu can be delightful,” Li Xi replied shamelessly.
Spotted Tiger, fearing the sale would fall through, hurried to support him, “I think the lad sings well—if the words are crude, you have experts who can rewrite them.”
Jasmine smiled, “Exactly. Dog meat may not be served at banquets, but plenty enjoy it in private.”
Spotted Tiger gave a thumbs-up, “Well said, Miss Jasmine. I love dog meat myself.”
Madam Hu, sensing it was time to close the deal, flicked Jasmine’s forehead, “Lucky you.”
Jasmine was overjoyed, thanking her profusely.
Madam Hu said sternly, “I’ll buy him for you. But if he doesn’t compose ten new songs in a month, I’ll sell him again.” She shot Spotted Tiger a look, “And at a twenty percent discount.”
“Agreed,” said Spotted Tiger.
Jasmine was worried—a musician creating a song a day for a month? She was about to plead for mercy when Li Xi declared, “No need to worry, Miss. Thirty new songs in a month is nothing for me, and I’ll even gift three to Madam as a meeting present.”
This both pleased and worried Jasmine—such confidence was good, but what if he couldn’t deliver? He didn’t know how tough Madam Hu could be.
But when she saw his confident eyes, she felt reassured.
“Thirty-three songs in a month is no problem, but I have one condition: I need two assistants. One must be Miss Jasmine, and she can pick the other. Whoever she chooses, Madam mustn’t refuse.”
Madam Hu found this amusing—“You have guts, boy, clearly some talent. Fine, I’ll let you show off for a while. Once I’ve squeezed you dry, I’ll deal with you at leisure.”
She smiled broadly, then asked Jasmine, “Daughter, should I agree?”
Jasmine, unable to contain her joy, encouraged her, “Why not? After you’ve gotten what you want, he’ll be at your mercy.”
Madam Hu grinned, “Fine, as you wish. But let’s be clear upfront—”
Before she could finish, Li Xi interjected, “If I don’t deliver thirty-three songs in a month, you can do as you please.”
“As long as you understand. Otherwise…” Madam Hu chuckled darkly, “I’ll have Jasmine dig a pit and bury you.”
Ah! Li Xi was dumbfounded—what kind of custom was this, burying people alive at the drop of a hat? Then he thought, well, not bad—it’s eco-friendly. No wonder the skies of Tang are so blue.