Flattering Others

Li Zhan took Qiu Shiliang by the hand and led him in and out of the room. All the while, Li the Third kept his distance, watching from afar. With his unremarkable appearance and ordinary demeanor, he blended easily into the crowd, attracting not the slightest attention.

Once Li Zhan had left, Li Xi let out a quiet sigh of relief, only to find his back drenched in cold sweat. Encountering such a little tyrant was like treading the edge of life and death—fortunately, the danger had passed without incident.

Who was Li Xi? A moment ago, no one cared, but now things had changed. Seeing this young man in his ninth-rank official attire invited by Prince E Li Zhan to his own mansion, and noting his manner of serving tea and offering water, it was clear he was one of their own.

Thus, the crowd’s gaze upon Li Xi subtly shifted; where before he was met with indifference or condescension, now he was regarded with admiration. The power of a higher rank is absolute, provided you have the right backer. With such a little tyrant in support, to press him would be to court death without knowing how it came.

Li the Third put on a broad smile and sidled over. Noticing the sheen of sweat on Li Xi’s brow, he emptied the basket of almonds and melon seeds from the table and began fanning Li Xi with it solicitously.

Almond skins and melon seed husks soon flew all over Li Xi’s head and face. Embarrassed, Li the Third let out a sheepish laugh and hastened to brush him off.

Li Xi pushed his hand away, cleared his throat, and asked, “That little prince just now—who is he?”

Li the Third stammered, “Ah…”

Li Xi shot him a disdainful glance, full of arrogance. “You’ll come with me to his mansion later.”

Li the Third meekly replied, “Alright,” bowing his head like an obedient servant. Just then, a commanding cough echoed from the entrance.

“Ah-hem.” The sound was not particularly loud, yet it carried an undeniable authority. Instantly, the rowdy annex courtyard fell silent. Li Xi turned to look and saw, standing at the gate, a man in his early thirties, tall and imposing, dressed in a crimson official robe with a silver fish pouch at his waist—a civil official. One hand was clasped behind his back, the other stroked the three elegant strands of his beard beneath his chin; his tiger-like eyes blazed with intensity. His dignified bearing demanded respect.

“May I ask which among you is Yang Zan, staff officer of Shaozhou in the Lingnan Circuit?”

The crowd fell into a hush, dozens of eyes turning sharply to Li Xi. Who was this man, to have just been sought out by a prince, and now by a fifth-rank imperial censor, who spoke with such deference? How peculiar.

In the blink of an eye, the crowd’s gaze toward Li Xi shifted again, from respect to universal awe.

Yet in Li Xi’s heart, anxiety thudded. Had he committed some offense? Had he provoked trouble simply by rubbing his nose? Was that enough to draw the attention of a censor? He tried to form a more elaborate sentence, but found himself unequal to the task and abandoned the effort.

He quietly bowed his head and gave his nose a sharp rub. When he looked up again, his face was wreathed in smiles.

“Censor, I’m here,” he said cheerfully, hurrying over and making an obsequious salute.

The censor at the door saw a young man greeting him—clearly the Yang Zan he sought—yet wondered to himself: Why is he smiling so brightly? Are we old acquaintances?

“…Ah. You are Staff Officer Yang?”

“Indeed I am, sir. And you are?” Li Xi’s face was all flattery, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Hmm, I am Li Deyu.”

“Li… De… Yu…” Li Xi stammered as if scalded by hot soup, his words stumbling. He scrutinized the man before him, and when he spoke again, his tone was entirely different: “Wenrao, brother! Is it truly you?!”

Li Deyu stared at Li Xi’s astonished expression, feeling yet more perplexed. Could they really be old friends?

But no, he thought—impossible. For the past ten years, he had served in Zhang Gong’s administrative office, seldom in the capital. As the chief secretary of a bureau, what renown could he have? Unless, perhaps, this was an acquaintance from his days as a scribe—a possibility, given the many odd friends he’d made in those brash, youthful years.

Li Deyu was suddenly struck by a wave of nostalgia; ten years had flashed by in the blink of an eye. How many still remembered the name Li Deyu?

“…Ah, forgive my poor memory. And you are…?”

“Yang Zan, Yang the Invincible,” Li Xi replied, beaming.

History records that Li Deyu was renowned from a young age. As a scribe in the capital, he befriended everyone from ministers and nobles to traders and laborers, welcoming all comers with open arms—a youthful magnanimity befitting a future grand chancellor.

On hearing that this crimson-robed censor was the illustrious Li Deyu, Li Xi felt an immediate kinship. He played along, and to his surprise, Li Deyu accepted it. Good—having now claimed an old friendship, any lapses in decorum could surely be overlooked.

As for Yang Zan’s courtesy name, Liu Motong and the others had not told him, nor could he know. The youth had likely not yet chosen one, having neither entered officialdom nor the academies. In that case, Li Xi would choose for him.

His inspiration came from old tales he’d heard in his youth—stories of the Yang and Hu households, with names like Huyan Zan and Yang the Invincible. Yang Zan, Invincible—perfect.

“So it is you, my Invincible Brother. Time flies—ten years have passed in a blink, and you remain as dashing as ever,” Li Deyu replied, a saintly smile upon his face, his words tinged with emotion.

This left Li Xi momentarily flustered. Could Yang Zan and the illustrious Li Deyu truly have been acquainted? It seemed unlikely—Yang Zan was only sixteen, while the future chancellor before him must be in his thirties at least. An age-gap friendship was not impossible, but could a dashing young scribe have spent his days leading a child around? Hardly.

No, it was impossible. Li Xi’s cheeks flushed as he said, “Wenrao, you jest. When you were composing poetry and discussing the world over cups of wine, I was still in open-crotch trousers.”

He lowered his head in embarrassment—not from shame, but because his nose was acting up again.

Li Deyu, at last, was relieved. So that was it. In his days as a scribe, famed for his “four unmatched talents—poetry, wine, chivalry, and swordsmanship”—he was often drunk and unruly. In those years, who in Chang’an hadn’t heard of his wild reputation? Clearly, this “Invincible Brother” must have witnessed one of those banquets, admired his brilliance, and never forgotten it. Touching, really—after ten years, he still remembered.

Ah, how many decades does one live? How many true friends remain after all those fleeting years?

After a brief sigh, Li Deyu recalled his purpose and produced a red lacquered box from his sleeve, presenting it to Li Xi. “I heard, brother, that you’ve been suffering from a cold and nasal discomfort. I sought out this pair of medicinal pills and hope they might bring you relief.”

Inside the box were two dark red pills, each the size of a pigeon’s egg, exuding a rich, aromatic scent.

This time, Li Xi was truly moved to tears. The future pillar of the empire, the leader of the “Li Faction,” a statesman to be ranked with Shang Yang, Li Si, Wang Anshi, and Zhang Juzheng, had come to offer him medicine in person.

…Ah, so satisfying indeed.

Li Deyu’s medicine was truly marvelous—after taking just one pill, it wasn’t long before the troublesome dragons in his nose retreated in defeat and vanished without a trace.

They say happiness brings clarity of mind, and clarity brings good fortune.

The clerks of the Ministry of Personnel, seeing that Li Xi could converse with Prince Li Zhan and, moreover, call the promising Censor Li Deyu “brother,” found themselves reconsidering all former prejudices.

While Li Xi and Li Deyu conversed, two clerks set about arranging his robes and belt, fixing his hair with such deftness that even the two eunuch hairdressers were shamed by comparison.

In truth, these clerks had been assigned to assist the rough soldiers returning from the northwest front with their attire. Yet, proud of their ministry’s senior status, they had initially regarded these men with disdain. When two eunuch hairdressers arrived from the Palace Service, their arrogance grew, and they stood about idly, chatting among themselves.

But now, seeing Li Xi’s connections, they performed their duties with the utmost care.

Dressed properly, Li Xi excused himself to Li Deyu and hurried to the bronze mirror hanging on the wall, examining his reflection and making careful adjustments until satisfied. He then went to the water bucket in the corner, splashed cold water into a basin, washed his face and nose thoroughly, and dried off with a towel. Instantly, he looked refreshed—almost dashing, with a touch of otherworldly grace.

Bearing the virtue of reclusion, yet clad in the trappings of society—was this not the very image of a learned gentleman?

Li Xi knew that Li Deyu, born of a noble house, valued such things, so he played the part.

Sure enough, Li Deyu’s eyes brightened, and a desire to take him under his wing was born.

Li Deyu, a scion of the ministerial clans, was naturally imbued with the airs of the aristocracy. Accustomed to a life of bells and fine dining, he found the habits of commoners quite distasteful. In matters of dress and deportment, the common folk were content with adequacy; busy with survival, they had no leisure for such concerns. A youth from a humble family who fussed over his face, hair, attire, and every gesture—a mere oddity at best, if not outright condemned as frivolous or idle.

But in a great clan of ministers, it was entirely otherwise. Every detail of dress, hat, manner, and speech followed strict conventions. Every move was regulated, every gesture taught from youth—neither too much, nor too little, and never a misstep.

What is a “clan of robes and caps”? In Li Xi’s understanding, it is a family that treats every small matter of attire as a matter of great importance.

Li Deyu, raised in such a household, had always valued appearance and decorum, and had never tolerated the uncouth—even more so now. Years spent among the military in the provinces had only heightened his distaste for their boorish ways. With age and experience, he had learned restraint, but his feelings had only grown stronger.

This time, charged with overseeing the return of the Northern Suppression Army to the capital, he was rigorous in punishing not only the lawless, but also those officers whose attire and conduct were unbefitting their station.

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