Chapter Forty: A Crisis Brewed by Drink!

Li Family Ancestral Home – beneath the Dragon Scale Cypress.

Li Zhao and Cui Zongzhi sat facing each other, eyes ablaze with competitive spirit. Beside them were dozens of wine jars, large and small, and two grand blue-and-white bowls. Such an array could only mean a drinking contest!

Cui Zongzhi was already acquainted with Li Zhao’s impressive drinking capacity—formidable enough that even three of himself combined would not be his match. Therefore, this time they devised a new game: rather than competing over who could drink more, they would test their knowledge of wine culture.

Each had prepared over a dozen fine wines, stripped of their labels. They would taste, guess the wine’s name and vintage, and recite a poem related to the wine they drank. This new challenge was not only entertaining, but far more difficult—only true wine devotees with extraordinary talent could hope to succeed!

The contest began.

Cui Zongzhi poured the first bowl. Its color was like jade, its fragrance intoxicating. He gestured for Li Zhao to taste.

“Lanling Wine—three years aged—‘Lanling fine wine, fragrant as saffron, poured in jade bowls, shining amber. As long as the host can intoxicate his guests, who cares where home is?’”

Li Zhao took a sip and instantly guessed the wine’s name, a rice-based brew with remarkable flavor—legend has it the immortal poet Li Bai favored this very wine.

Next, Li Zhao poured a bowl, its hue a bamboo green, with a light floral scent.

“Xinfeng Wine—eight years aged—‘Xinfeng’s fine wine sold by the bucket, how many years have the heroes of Xianyang wandered? Meeting in friendship, drinking for the sake of honor, tethering horses beneath willow-shaded towers!’” Cui Zongzhi took a sip and answered with equal confidence.

The first round ended in a draw.

Onward!

“Grape wine—freshly brewed—‘Grape wine in luminous cups, about to drink but the pipa urges me on horseback, don’t laugh if I sleep drunk on the battlefield, since ancient times, how many return from war?’”

“Dukang Wine—ten years aged—‘What can relieve sorrow? Only Dukang!’”

“Amber Wine—six years aged—‘Lu wine shines like amber, Wen fish with purple brocade scales!’”

…

In short, an hour passed, every wine jar tasted, yet neither man could best the other—a contest of equals, a meeting of brilliant minds.

“Your drinking prowess, taste, and talent are truly admirable, but I have one more wine. If you can identify it, you win this match… Bring the wine!” Cui Zongzhi called for a servant to fetch a wine not from a jar, but a leather wineskin.

Normally, only nomadic peoples use skins to store wine.

He poured it into the bowl—the liquid was pale yellow, with grains floating atop, neither rice, wheat, sorghum, buckwheat, nor millet. What could it be?

Li Zhao smelled its aroma, tasted two sips—sweet, sour, spicy, and bitter all at once, with a faint milky scent, yet he could not name it.

Still, the flavor felt eerily familiar… Li Zhao closed his eyes and pondered deeply.

“Zongzhi, if my guess is right, this wine comes from Tibet in the southwest?”

“How did you deduce that? Yes, several months ago, a caravan of Tibetan merchants brought this wine to Chang’an, selling it hotly in the western market… Do you know its name?”

“Yes, it’s called barley wine, brewed from a plant called barley—a hardy, short-growing, early-maturing variant of wheat, perfectly suited for the highlands. Mixed with sacred snow-mountain water, it yields a wine that doesn’t cloud the mind, doesn’t dry the mouth, and sobers quickly—perfect for both men and women!”

Before crossing over, Li Zhao had traveled to the Tibetan frontier and, in a herdsman’s tent, tasted barley wine brewed by hand. Though slightly different from what he drank now, its unique flavor was unmistakable.

He could identify the wine, but composing a poem was the challenge!

During the fifteenth year of the Tang dynasty’s reign, when Princess Wencheng married into Tibet, she brought Chinese brewing techniques, and only then did Tibetans begin making barley wine—less than a century had passed since. The wine had only recently flowed into Tang, so few poets had yet sung its praises, and there were no fitting verses. What to do?

If he could not recite a poem, the best he could claim was a draw.

Li Zhao racked his brains… Until inspiration struck. There were no poems in the Tang era, but there would be in later times—he would borrow one, just this once!

“Scenery comes from the western frontier, desolation speaks of distant lands;
Waters divide the Qiang tribes, mountains mark the Han’s border.
In several places, barley ripens, deeply fearing the white rains harm;
Who will guard the deserted city? Nine in ten households flee!”

…

“Excellent, excellent! Your talent astounds me—this time, I truly concede!” Cui Zongzhi raised both thumbs, eyes sparkling, nearly begging for Li Zhao’s signature.

In Chang’an, our young Duke Qi was a leading figure among the city’s elite—so to hear him admit defeat was no small feat.

“It’s only a matter of wine, hardly worth praise. But with unrest brewing in the southwestern frontier, who knows how many soldiers will die on the battlefield, shrouded in horse hides?”

“Oh? What leads you to say this?” Cui Zongzhi was puzzled—how did the conversation shift from barley wine to war?

Since the current emperor ascended the throne, Tang and Tibet had enjoyed friendly relations, and the southwest frontier had seen no smoke of war for years. Why would conflict suddenly arise?

“It’s simple. Since Tibetans took the snowy plateau, they’ve coveted the Hexi Corridor and the Four Garrisons of Anxi, aiming to sever Tang’s ties to the Western Regions and dominate the southwest.

The only reason they haven’t succeeded is, first, Tang’s military strength—heavy troops garrison the frontier, its defenses ironclad; second, Tibet’s harsh environment and backward agriculture prevent them from amassing power and launching major campaigns.

Now, consider barley wine—it once was rare, reserved for the Tibetan king and nobility. Yet now Tibetan merchants sell it in bulk in Tang. What does this mean?

It means Tibetans have recently prioritized agriculture, enjoyed bumper harvests, and, after feeding their people and soldiers, have surplus grain to make wine for export. The Tibetans are fierce warriors, well-armed, and now, with plenty of grain, do you think they’ll remain content?

Mark my words: slowly, two or three years; quickly, within a year or so, Tibet will mobilize for war, and their target will be here—the Hexi Corridor!”

Li Zhao picked up a small forked stick and drew a map of the Tang Empire on the ground, small but accurate, then tapped twice on the Hexi Corridor.

“This region lies west of the Yellow River, hemmed by the Qilian, Helie, and Longshou Mountains, stretching over a thousand li east to west, and several to over a hundred li north to south. It’s shaped like a corridor—hence ‘Hexi Corridor.’

Geographically, it’s like a balance pole: the southeast bearing the heartland, the northwest bearing the Western Regions. Its military value is immense—if Tibet seizes it, they break the pole, and can devour the Western Regions and unite with the Turks to the northwest, or strike at the heartland and threaten Chang’an itself…”

Fueled by wine, Li Zhao spoke at length, while Cui Zongzhi listened, sweat beading on his brow, his expression darkening.

Since the founding of Tang, the empire had fought Tibet many times over western lands—rarely gaining advantage, and often suffering serious losses.

For example, in the first year of Emperor Gaozong’s Xianheng era, the Battle of Dafei River: the famed general Xue Rengui led a hundred thousand Tang troops, only to fall into a Tibetan ambush—nearly annihilated.

In the third year of Gaozong’s Yifeng era, the Battle of Qinghai Lake: eighteen thousand Tang troops wiped out, their commander Liu Shenli captured and killed.

In the first year of Empress Wu’s Wansui Tongtian era, the Battle of Taozhou: Tang troops suffered a disastrous defeat at Mount Su Luohan, over a hundred thousand slain, their corpses piled as high as the heavens.

…

Repeated defeats, staggering casualties—so much so that Tang officials shuddered at mention of Tibet, their sleep troubled.

To be fair, Tang’s losses weren’t due to incompetence or cowardice, but to harsh realities: first, Tibetans held the high ground, forcing Tang troops to attack uphill, severely disadvantaged, with supply lines stretched over treacherous terrain.

No matter how elite the army, without provisions and equipment, defeat was inevitable.

Second, the thin air and unpredictable weather of the plateau—wind, rain, hail in rapid succession—posed no problem for Tibetans, but Tang troops often fell ill before battle, their combat strength crippled.

And, crucially, the Tibetans then had a war god—Lun Qinling.

He was the son of the illustrious minister Ludongzan: exceptionally clever, masterful in both civil and military arts, a brilliant commander. For thirty years, he led Tibetan forces undefeated, Tang’s most formidable adversary, repeatedly breaking their cities—almost seizing the Four Garrisons of Anxi.

Fortunately, Empress Wu’s cunning sowed discord, leading to the war god’s demise at the hands of his own people—otherwise, Tang would have suffered even more.

Now, if Tibet rises again, whether Tang’s frontier troops can hold the corridor is uncertain; even if they do, the cost will be mountains of corpses and rivers of blood.

When Tang and Tibet clash, the Turks, Tuyuhun, Dangxiang, Nanzhao, Khitan… all the tribes might seize the chance to invade together—it would be perilous indeed.

At this thought, Cui Zongzhi’s brows furrowed with worry, even losing his desire for wine.

Seeing this, Li Zhao quickly comforted his friend: “Zongzhi, don’t fret. Tibet may be strong, but they have three major weaknesses. If we grasp them, we can sow discord, dissolve their threat without a fight!”

“Oh? Please enlighten me! What are these weaknesses, and how do we exploit them? If you truly have a way to make Tibet fall into chaos and avert war, your merit will be boundless—I’ll petition the emperor for you, reward you heavily with rank, wealth, jewels, and beauties—anything you wish!”

Cui Zongzhi leaned in, eager to hear how Li Zhao might bring a powerful nation to ruin from within.