Chapter Fifteen: The Golden Feather Emperor vs. The Little Rascal!

The so-called Demonic Fire Phoenix was in fact the little mongrel chick from before.

While other chicks grew more beautiful as they matured, the mongrel only became uglier. Its feathers, in five colors—blue, red, purple, black, and white—covered its body in the most uneven and chaotic fashion, making it look like nothing more than a cheap, oversized feather duster.

Its unsightliness could perhaps be forgiven, but it was also exceptionally lazy. When Bai Mo brought it out, the creature was nestled deep, sleeping soundly, showing not a hint of a fighting spirit.

Seeing this, the old dandy and the others burst out laughing. “Yulang, are you intentionally conceding? To send such a scruffy bird into the ring—come now, choose a proper one from the others!”

“Do not mock it, gentlemen. Soon you’ll see how formidable it is... Little Mongrel, wake up, it’s time for work... Wake up, and there’ll be wine for you!”

Li Zhao patted the little mongrel, trying to rouse it for the match, but it refused to budge, burying its head even deeper.

As they say, you can never wake someone who’s only pretending to sleep—chickens are no exception!

Left with no choice, Li Zhao produced his wine gourd and poured some strong liquor into his palm. Catching the scent, the little mongrel immediately stretched out its head and lapped it up greedily.

Originally, Li Zhao had added a touch of white spirit to the chicken feed to kill parasites, but over time, this little mongrel developed quite the taste for it—indeed, it had turned into a true drunkard. Its craving only grew worse, and by now, it would not exert itself unless promised a drink.

“Go up, beat your opponent, and you’ll get two more taels of wine. Understood?”

“Cluck cluck!”

Once it had drunk, the little mongrel was instantly invigorated. Spreading its wings, it hopped into the arena, facing off against the Golden Feather Emperor... One was as beautiful as a phoenix descended to earth, the other a hideous mongrel fowl—a rare spectacle indeed.

“Cluck—cluck!” After a moment’s standoff, the Golden Feather Emperor launched the first attack. The little mongrel showed not the slightest fear, stretching its neck, tucking its wings, and crowing loudly before... spinning around and bolting away at breakneck speed!

Everyone was stunned.

You must know, fighting cocks are born fierce; no matter how strong the opponent, they’ll charge in and battle for a few rounds. Losing a fight is no shame—only fleeing without combat brings disgrace!

A chicken that runs before the fight—this must be a first.

What’s more, although the little mongrel ran, it didn’t leave the ring. According to the rules, only being knocked down and rendered unable to fight, or fleeing the arena, counts as defeat.

The mongrel ran frantically around the ring in circles, never crossing the boundary, so it couldn’t be declared the loser; the match had to continue.

The Golden Feather Emperor pursued relentlessly, crowing challenges all the while, but the mongrel was simply too swift—its long legs were fast as the wind, and its pursuer could never catch up.

To make matters worse, the mongrel was not merely running—it played little tricks: sometimes stopping abruptly to kick backwards, sometimes flinging dirt with its claws, sending the Golden Feather Emperor tumbling and dizzy with rage.

After dozens of laps, the emperor was both furious and exhausted, with several scratches on its body and its strength greatly depleted. Seizing the opportunity, the mongrel turned and launched a ferocious assault.

“Cluck—cluck!”

Only then did everyone realize the mongrel’s true might—its sharp beak was like a sword, its claws like knives, its movements ghostly quick, its attacks as fierce as wind and fire. Its five-colored feathers bristled as it pressed attack after attack.

Had it been fresh, the Golden Feather Emperor might have withstood this onslaught, but now, drained and wounded, it could only fall back again and again. Golden feathers scattered as it was battered completely onto the defensive.

After dozens of exchanges, the emperor was pinned firmly to the ground by the mongrel, struggling in vain to rise. Had Li Zhao not rushed forward to intervene, the emperor might have lost its life to those deadly claws.

“How could this be? How is this possible?”

On the other side, the old dandy and his companions were dumbstruck. The Golden Feather Emperor had been selected from thousands of fighting cocks in the imperial stables, undefeated in hundreds of matches—a veritable champion of champions.

The legendary Chicken Sage, Jia Chang, had once said: aside from the mythical supreme fighting cocks, nothing could match the Golden Feather Emperor.

But now, it had lost, and without dispute—defeated by the claws of a mongrel. Could this ugly fowl be the invincible legend itself?

Supreme fighting cocks were supposed to be the stuff of myth, the kings of all chickens, descended from the phoenix... But what kind of phoenix could have produced such an unsightly offspring?

Or perhaps, some phoenix, tipsy and careless, had visited the mortal realm and favored an old mongrel hen... The mind simply boggled.

Still, a loss was a loss, and a wager must be honored. The old dandy cheerfully removed the thumb ring from his finger. “Yulang, well played! I concede wholeheartedly. This tiger bone ring is yours.”

“Many thanks, elder!”

Li Zhao accepted the ring with both hands, so delighted he nearly leapt for joy. Such treasures were beyond price.

Though, truth be told, he felt a tad guilty about winning so underhandedly.

“Yulang, will you join me for tea?”

“It would be my honor.”

“Servants, prepare the tea!”

At the old dandy’s command, his attendants bustled into action, setting up a red clay stove, premium silver-charcoal, a little copper kettle... Tea trays, bowls, jars, grinders, sieves—dozens of utensils, all meticulously arranged. Then Lady Mei personally brewed the tea.

First, the tea bricks were roasted over the fire, then ground to powder and boiled in water, with salt, ginger, dates, orange peel, dogwood berries, and mint added for flavor.

Soon, the bright yellow brew was ready. Lady Mei poured three cups, serving the old dandy, Cui Zongzhi, and Li Zhao in turn.

As they sipped the fragrant tea, the conversation flowed. Li Zhao discovered that the old dandy was not only erudite but a consummate connoisseur: poetry, cockfighting, dog racing, gardening, insect collecting—he excelled in all.

Li Zhao himself was a lover of amusements, and meeting a kindred spirit was a rare delight. Their chat grew ever more congenial.

A pity their ages were so disparate. Otherwise, Li Zhao would surely have insisted on swearing brotherhood with the old dandy, sacrificing a chicken and burning yellow paper together!

But to return to the main thread.

As they talked, they happened, intentionally or not, to discuss the recent Ministry of Appointments selection exam and the policy question posed: how to resolve the shortage of coin?

“Hmph,” Cui Zongzhi spoke first, his tone edged with menace. “In my view, it’s not difficult—His Majesty need only act decisively, as did Emperor Taiwu of Northern Wei and Emperor Wu of Northern Zhou. Those bald-headed monks do no productive work, serve no military duty, pay no taxes, and only mooch off Buddha while hoarding vast temple estates. They’ve become parasites and are long overdue for a reckoning.”

Two words were implicit in his speech—eradicate Buddhism!

Over a hundred years since the founding of the Great Tang, as the population and national strength grew, so too did the Buddhist faith. In the capital and its environs alone there were hundreds of temples and convents—Great Mercy Temple, Ximing Temple, Jixiang Temple, and so on—with thousands of monks and nuns.

Within these temples, innumerable statues and implements were cast in gold, silver, and bronze.

Cui Zongzhi’s proposal was that the Emperor emulate Emperor Taiwu—Tuoba Tao—of Northern Wei and Emperor Wu—Yuwen Yong—of Northern Zhou, using force to suppress Buddhism: demolish temples, confiscate their wealth, force monks and nuns to return to secular life, and melt down all religious icons to mint coins.

In this way, not only would the shortage of coin be solved, but the state’s power would be greatly augmented—just as it had been in those dynasties.

“Cat-slave, have some tea!”

As Li Zhao offered tea, he discreetly kicked Cui Zongzhi under the table, warning him to be cautious in his words.

It’s undeniable that suppressing Buddhism would yield vast amounts of precious metals for coinage and resolve the shortage, but it carried immense risks as well.

First, the Buddhist faithful were numerous and included many nobles and powerful families. An edict to persecute Buddhism could easily provoke rebellion.

The power of faith is not to be underestimated!

Second, whether one believes or not, such actions invite karmic retribution. Emperor Taiwu lived only forty-four years, slain by a eunuch; Emperor Wu died at thirty-six, falling ill on campaign.

Both died young, by any standard.

Therefore, unless absolutely necessary, such measures must be avoided. If undertaken at all, they require the utmost caution.

“Yulang, you are known for your wit and breadth of knowledge. Do you have any solution to the shortage of coin?”

“Heh, to truly solve the problem, the empire needs enough money in circulation, which requires vast amounts of gold, silver, and copper. Yet these resources are scarce within Tang territory. However, I know of three places rich in such minerals.”

Li Zhao glanced at Cui Zongzhi and the old dandy, both of whom listened intently.

“First is Nanzhao. Among its vast mountains lie abundant silver lodes—easily mined, of high quality, and with great yield. Sadly, the locals lack the skill to exploit them, so the treasures go largely untapped.

“Second is Fusang, a small island nation, but rich in gold and silver. In particular, the Iwami Silver Mountain, Ikuno Silver Mountain, Kurokawa Gold Mountain, and Nakayama Gold Mountain have enormous reserves, enough for centuries of extraction.

“Third is the northeast, along the Heilong River, in the lands of the Mohe and Shiwei tribes, where gold deposits are widespread on both banks.

“Any one of these three would secure the Tang’s money supply for decades and allow the minting of gold and silver coins to replace cumbersome copper, spurring commerce. Should all three come under our control, our descendants need never worry about money again!”

With that, Li Zhao sipped his tea, grimacing—he still wasn’t used to the taste of boiled tea with condiments. He resolved to introduce the art of steeped tea someday—that, indeed, was the true delight!

Meanwhile, the old dandy and Cui Zongzhi exchanged glances, both visibly moved and full of questions.

“Yulang, your talent is astonishing. Yet I must ask—Nanzhao, Fusang, and the Mohe lands lie beyond our borders, rarely visited by our people. How do you know so much about their mineral wealth?”

“Well, my teacher told me. He traveled the world and knows all the affairs under heaven.”

“Oh? And who, may I ask, is your esteemed teacher?”

“The Sage of Seven Slaughters!”

With no other choice, Li Zhao fabricated a story, claiming that as a child, he had by chance met this Sage, from whom he had learned all his skills.

He portrayed the Sage as a landbound immortal, master of all knowledge—heavenly and earthly, ancient and modern, nothing beyond his grasp.

“And where might your master be found?”

“He delights in wandering—perhaps atop Mount Emei, perhaps journeying to overseas islands, perhaps searching for immortal abodes. To trace his steps would be harder than reaching the heavens!”

“A man of such greatness in the world, and yet I have no fate to meet him—what a pity.”

The old dandy sighed with regret, yet he believed most of Li Zhao’s tale. Only such a sage could have trained such a remarkable disciple.