024. Blessing

The celebration banquet at the Palace of Supreme Harmony began before noon and persisted well into the late afternoon, with no sign of ending. As more dancers and singers took the stage, the spectacle grew ever grander, the scenery more opulent, and the atmosphere of the feast soared to new heights. Those seated on the periphery—mostly low- to mid-ranking officers, few of whom were schooled in etiquette—were a rough and rowdy lot. After a few drinks, their mouths lost all restraint, their voices swelling so loudly that the tiles on the Hall of Virtue seemed to tremble.

With imperial instructions to be lenient, even the censorial officials turned a blind eye, indulging the rowdy behavior. It became common for guests to wander the hall in groups of three or five, seven or eight, approaching the imperial platform to toast the Emperor—not only were they not rebuked, but their audacity was met with encouragement.

The scene grew increasingly chaotic, so much so that Li Xi could hardly bear to watch. To make clear he would not join in the disorderly conduct of his colleagues, he summoned Old Li the Third, pushed aside the wandering drunkards, and made his way to the screen-covered area, where censors and imperial guards clustered in quiet.

Li Xi then carefully questioned Old Li the Third about the so-called “Blessing of Scattered Flowers.”

What was this “Blessing of Scattered Flowers”?

“Scattered” was a verb: to bestow, to grant, to reward. “Flowers” referred to beautiful maidens. The Emperor bestowing beauties upon you—was that not a blessing? “Blessing” was the grace and favor conferred by the Emperor. Put together, the phrase meant: the Emperor’s bestowed beauties dispatched to…

“In truth,” Old Li the Third said, “such things happen frequently among frontier and Hebei armies, though everyone calls it something different. The palace is more particular, so they have this fancy name. I remember, in Chengde they call it ‘flower pairing’; in Pinglu, ‘treasure guessing’; Fengzhou has a strange term, something like ‘kill the wife with rage’—imagine snatching a beauty home, wouldn’t that enrage the wife?”

He paused before continuing, “Sometimes it even leads to fatalities—what can you do? Too many monks, not enough gruel. If you want a beauty, you have to fight for her! Here in the palace, it’s unlikely to get deadly, but a brawl is inevitable. Just stick close to me—your brother’s got your back.”

Old Li the Third’s words sprayed like spit, but Li Xi felt a suffocating block in his chest. He glanced at the stage: twenty youthful, beautiful maidens, faces like painted silk, stunning enough to topple kingdoms—were they to be distributed just like that?

They were people, living, breathing beings of flesh and blood. How could they be treated like mobile phones, electric kettles, or tablets, handed out as lottery prizes? Was this truly the Tang Dynasty? How was it any different from colonists trading slaves?

Seeing Li Xi’s troubled face, Old Li the Third laughed and tried to console him:

“Feeling uneasy, right? Honestly, the first time I encountered this, I felt rotten too. Hey, you were once a lowly slave, I was a retainer myself. The ‘Blessing of Scattered Flowers’ isn’t just about beauties—sometimes it’s slaves being given away, common among frontier troops. If we hadn’t gotten lucky and made it out, perhaps we’d have been given away ourselves.”

Li Xi growled, “Look at you, gloating like a petty man who’s made good. But slaves are still people!”

He rebuked Old Li the Third, though his heart sighed in silence. In this era, the status of slaves was no better than cattle and horses; gifting them was nothing unusual. He himself had been a slave for two years—hadn’t he learned this lesson yet?

If the rules could not be changed, could he at least do something more for these women within the existing system? No sooner had Li Xi thought this than Old Li the Third nodded vigorously and said,

“You’re quite right—slaves are people, no matter how low, not beasts. That’s why we must keep our wits about us and help them escape their misery.”

“Oh? How so?”

Old Li the Third stroked his barren chin and grinned slyly. “Look at these songstresses—so young, so skilled in dance and song. They must be from prominent families. Their fathers and brothers committed crimes, so they were confiscated and made slaves. According to current law, unless there’s a major amnesty, no one under seventy and sound in body can be freed. If convicted of treason, not even an amnesty can release them—they’ll never see daylight again. Now, though they’re randomly paired off, look at us: at least we’re officials. Better than dying in the palace, right? As the saying goes, ‘When the flowers bloom, pluck them swiftly, lest the golden goblet gaze at the moon in vain.’”

He was quite pleased with himself for quoting poetry, swaying his head in delight. Li Xi inwardly scorned it—who taught him such nonsense? The lines were mismatched, a terrible mislead. But wait, Old Li the Third was illiterate—where would he have gotten a teacher? Upon careful recollection, Li Xi’s face suddenly flushed; it seemed he himself had drunkenly recited that very verse to him.

“If an official takes one as his wife, can she be freed?”

Old Li the Third replied, “If she’s taken as a proper wife, yes!”

“Oh?” Li Xi blinked. “What about as a concubine?”

Old Li the Third shook his head. “No, only as a legitimate wife.”

Seeing Li Xi’s odd expression, he hurriedly advised, “Don’t be foolish. You’re a viscount now, an imperial official with a bright future. You’ll need a match in status—these girls… well, they’re not worthy.”

Li Xi nodded, patting Old Li the Third’s shoulder. “What if we… try to help them escape their misery?”

“Let’s go.” Old Li the Third agreed without hesitation.

Thus, these two “fighters,” determined to do their modest part for the liberation of Tang women, used the excuse of toasting wine to slowly approach the stage.

The stage was surrounded by spectators—officials, but also many palace maids and eunuchs.

Yes, it did feel like the Tang Dynasty now. The Li emperors liked ostentatious displays, but at least they offered a measure of humane care. With everyone crowding closer for a glimpse of the beauties, even palace rules were relaxed; people pressed forward, the stage surrounded so tightly that not even wind or rain could penetrate. How to get in?

“Excuse me, excuse me, hot soup, hot soup, mind the heat!” Li Xi pushed Old Li the Third ahead, loudly making way through curses and shouts, shamelessly squeezing to the edge of the stage.

Li Xi pressed his hand against the thick carpet atop the wooden stage, confidence swelling within him. Only about a meter high—he could leap up with ease. Getting onto the stage wasn’t the problem; the key was which “lamb” to seize.

There were many wolves and few sheep—a fierce contest was inevitable. To claim the queen of flowers for himself, he would need to prepare.

First, he had to locate her.

Li Xi glanced at the stage—good, no queen of flowers, only goddesses.

So he would pick the best among them, eliminate those he liked least.

Good again—no inferior birds, only phoenixes, all to his liking.

He lifted his gaze toward the Hall of Virtue—the Emperor’s lady had just returned in new attire.

She was beautiful, dignified; the dress must have cost a fortune. Having just changed, she’d want to display herself a while longer. Best to conserve his strength for now.

Old Li the Third had snatched a small stool from a musician and was sitting with eyes closed, resting—clearly a veteran.

Li Xi tapped him, winked toward the stage, and Old Li the Third rose as if pulled by invisible strings, leaving his stool and walking toward the stage.

Li Xi seized the opportunity to grab the little stool and sit, coughing lightly.

Old Li the Third snapped awake, hurriedly stepped back from the stage, and asked, “Is it starting?”

“No,” Li Xi replied, eyes glued to the dancers’ legs—so white, dazzling.

“Then why did you wink at me? I almost jumped up there!”

“My eye’s sore,” Li Xi hastily rubbed his left eye, but kept his right one fixed on the stage.

Old Li the Third was furious, fists clenched, but thought better of it—without a patron, he’d still be at the back, foolishly drinking.

The scent of snow, jade-like skin, green hair ornaments, white necks—beauties were indeed beauties. Even ten yards away, their warmth seduced, stirring blood and heroic passion. Thinking of the delights under a mandarin duck quilt, Li Xi felt all shame and honor disappear, joy bursting forth; he scratched his head and leapt onto the stool.

Hundreds of disdainful looks immediately followed. Embarrassed, Li Xi stood up in silence.

Old Li the Third seized the moment to sit, but found the stool gone.

Li Xi had already snatched it.

Finding a spot with fewer people, Li Xi placed the stool and sat boldly.

Now less than ten yards from the red carpet, he could see every detail of the dancers’ hairpins, combs, and even their delicate eyebrows.

He grinned foolishly, his eyes reduced to narrow slits, and in his ecstasy, crossed his legs.

His fellow officers didn’t find it improper, but the distinguished guests atop the platform shot him many disapproving glances.

Li Xi paid them no heed, content as could be. In his delight, he put two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly, cheering.

Li Xi was not a man without virtue or decorum; he had his reasons. He intended to use this “Blessing of Scattered Flowers” as yet another protective talisman. A small man facing powerful, evil foes could best defend himself by staying in the spotlight, making his enemies hesitate.

With Chou Shiliang’s guidance, Li Xi was certain the Emperor’s blessing would include him. He would seize a beauty, then petition the Emperor for her release and take her as his wife. A noble marrying an official maid—what a curious event! The “Yang Zan of Pingshan” would become a celebrity in Chang’an.

The more notorious he became, the more consideration his enemies would give him, and the safer he would be.

Li Xi also wondered if he had misunderstood Liu Motong and the others; perhaps they never intended to betray him, and at worst would exile him to Shaozhou, leaving him to fend for himself.

The Liu family’s connections spanned court and countryside—it wouldn’t be difficult if they wished. If that were true, all his previous precautions seemed unnecessary, even laughable.

But then again, when life was at stake, could one afford not to be cautious? Better to imagine the worst, even if it meant exhaustion, than to lose one’s head carelessly.

If he had truly wronged them by suspecting their motives, he could apologize sincerely in the future. His efforts were only for self-preservation; if they refused to forgive him for that, such friendship was hardly worth keeping.

Staying in the spotlight, always and everywhere—that was why Li Xi acted so conspicuously.

His plan succeeded: he was now famous, the “Yang Zan of Pingshan” and his notoriety were spreading rapidly. Li Xi was confident trouble would soon come knocking.

Sure enough, trouble arrived: two young censors in green robes began to encircle him.

Li Xi forced himself to remain calm, scanning for escape routes.

The burly officer behind him tapped his shoulder, reminding him, “Brother Yang, best retreat. Slip behind me—I’ll cover you.”

Li Xi looked up—the man was over nine feet tall, broad-shouldered and strong as a mountain. It was Wang Jian, the Chengde commander he had just drunk with. Li Xi thanked him, grabbed his stool, slipped behind the giant, and vanished into the crowd.

In fact, Old Li the Third had already been noticed by the two censors when he stole the musician’s stool, but since he sat quietly watching the dancers, they let it slide.

Li Xi’s behavior, however, irked them greatly. A mere ninth-rank official, showing off after entering the palace, darting through the crowd, snatching someone’s stool, crossing his legs, whistling—was he mocking them? Was he disrespecting the censors? Was he scorning the Emperor? What did he intend—usurping the throne, kidnapping the Empress?

Did he not know whose domain this was? Daring to cause trouble, they vowed to take him down.

But in the blink of an eye, he was gone, replaced by a towering giant. As they muttered about his whereabouts, they spotted him on the east side, legs crossed, shelling sunflower seeds!

The two censors conferred, deciding to flank him and encircle.

They thought only soldiers could fight—censors knew martial arts too!

Before they could complete their maneuver, the music on stage abruptly ceased.

Musicians at each corner swiftly packed up their instruments and withdrew; the dancers stood bewildered, uncertain. A team of young eunuchs jumped onto the stage, herding the dancers toward the center.

The two censors hesitated, but Li Xi leapt up, eyes blazing, breath quickening, his chest pounding as if drums beat within.

He shot a glance at Old Li the Third, who had already planted a foot on the stage, waiting for the exhilarating moment.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Suddenly, drums thundered. The eunuchs herding the dancers hurriedly retreated, and an elderly eunuch, face lined and smiling, carried an embroidered silk bag onto the stage.

At this point, even a fool could see what was about to happen.

Noticing hundreds of wild, bloodshot eyes upon him, the old eunuch knew trouble loomed; he acted lightning-fast, reaching into the silk bag and scattering handfuls of petals into the air.

Petals fluttered down like rain.

The old eunuch darted off the stage, and no sooner had he left than two men sprang up, clawing their way toward the trembling dancers.

Those two were Li Xi and Old Li the Third.

Ah! The dancers at the center finally understood what was happening; with heart-rending screams, they scattered in panic.

Though each was beautiful as a flower, Li Xi did not wish to grab just anyone—matters of the heart called for fate.

His fate was with the tallest of the twenty dancers, graceful as a lotus rising from a summer pond.

“Lotus, here I come!”

Li Xi shouted and lunged toward his “lotus,” tongue trailing, utterly lacking in decorum.

The screams continued; some dancers fainted on stage.

“Blessing of Scattered Flowers!”

They were flowers, they were blessings, gifts from the merciful Emperor to his deserving soldiers.

Because there were too many monks and too little gruel, because the scene risked chaos, because there were many like Chou Shiliang and Li Xi cheating the system, the grand finale—the “Blessing of Scattered Flowers”—had been deliberately concealed. Only when the music stopped and they were herded to the stage’s center, most remained bewildered, their vision confined by palace walls, knowing little of the outside world.

For most, the frontier custom of rewarding soldiers with beauties was as unthinkable as a fairy tale.

Yet a few, born to noble families and possessing broad knowledge, realized what was about to happen. Perhaps their fathers or brothers had played the same game before—bestowing other families’ daughters upon their subordinates. Now misfortune had come to them; the rules had not changed, only the players.

Foreknowledge brought suffering; knowing disaster loomed but being unable to escape was true torment.

Some trembled, some sweated, some wept, some went mad, some fainted.

Yet a precious few began to plot new destinies.

If they would inevitably be given away as gifts,

If they could choose who received them,

Who would not wish for a good match?

A heart in bloom seeks a place to rest,

In the blink of an eye, fate is decided,

So difficult—

They could only judge by appearance; whoever seemed pleasing would be their choice.

Li Xi might not be the most pleasing, but he was certainly the most conspicuous.

Of all the hundreds gathered around the stage, only he had brought a stool and sunflower seeds. While dancers performed, he scattered shells about, as if here to disrupt rather than admire. Such a shameless man could hardly be the elegant, refined, lifelong companion they dreamed of.

And his appearance—his eyes unseen, but his tongue visible.

Aside from hiding, what else could one do with such a man?

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