Chapter Sixteen: Li Zhao Is Going to Be an Official!

A new problem had arisen: Nanzhao, Fusang, and the Mohe were all outside the borders of the Great Tang. Even if they possessed abundant gold and silver mines, how could these treasures be acquired? This conundrum, once again, fell to Li Zhao to answer.

“In my humble opinion,” Li Zhao began, “each of these three places requires a different approach. The northeast is distant, and the climate harsh and frigid. We should station troops along the border and gradually relocate our people, advancing step by step to the northeast. Sooner or later, these lands will become part of the Tang domain.

“As for Fusang, it lies across the sea from us. We can send merchants by ship to trade our silks, tea, porcelain, and other goods from the Middle Kingdom for the gold and silver held by the people of Fusang, then transport those riches back by sea. At the same time, we should dispatch officials to accompany the merchants, to study the customs and ways of the Four Islands, and to spread the advanced civilization of the Tang. I am certain the rewards will be great—” Here, Li Zhao paused, a sly grin curling on his young face.

Over seven hundred years ago, Emperor Wu of Han dispatched Zhang Qian to the Western Regions to study their customs, foster commerce, and incidentally spread Han culture. And what was the outcome? Heh—once they absorbed our culture, it was only a matter of time before their lands became ours. The might of Han civilization can, at times, surpass even a million troops.

“As for Nanzhao, it was originally Han territory. In times of chaos in the Central Plains, local chieftains seized the chance to carve out their own power, thus forming what is now known as the Kingdom of Nanzhao. Since its founding, Nanzhao has wavered between the Great Tang and Tubo. Such a state is of little use to us. When the time is ripe, we need only send troops to extinguish it. Afterwards, we can relocate people there and develop the land, turning it into the treasury of the Tang—a hundred benefits to the nation, and not a single harm!”

After this lengthy discourse, Li Zhao stole a few glances at the distinguished elder. Who was this man, truly? A prince, a duke, or a high official from the Three Departments and Six Ministries? He was certainly no ordinary person.

All that Li Zhao had said today was with the hope that the elder would carry the ideas to the court, to inspire and invigorate the nation. For the Tang Empire had lost its spirit of ambition and enterprise—even the drive to expand its borders and civilize foreign peoples had faded. How could this be allowed to continue?

…

Afterwards, the two parties chatted idly for a while. As the sun rose high and lunchtime approached, Li Zhao and his companions took their leave and returned home to feast. The distinguished elder and his retinue also departed from Qujiang Pool, heading northward, passing through Dunhua Ward, Lizheng Ward, Xinchang Ward, and finally entering Xingqing Palace, where palace attendants hurried to receive them.

The riddle was now revealed: the distinguished elder was none other than the present Emperor—Li Longji. The pale, beardless old man was the Grand Chamberlain Gao Lishi. As for Lady Mei, she was the renowned Consort Mei, birth name Jiang Caiping, a native of Jiangnan. From childhood, she was extraordinarily gifted—speaking at one, reading at three, reciting the Book of Songs at five. By fourteen, she was famed throughout Jiangnan as a prodigy, skilled in music, dance, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

In the seventeenth year of the Kaiyuan era, Jiang Caiping, unmatched in beauty and talent, was selected for the palace. Li Longji treasured her, elevating her to First Rank Consort of the Eastern Palace and bestowing upon her the title Consort Mei, after her love for plum blossoms. For nearly a decade, Consort Mei and Consort Wu ranked side by side as Li Longji’s favored consorts.

Unlike the scheming and self-serving Consort Wu, who ultimately met her own downfall, Consort Mei shunned politics, never interfering in court affairs. She lived quietly in the palace, delighting in cultivating plum blossoms, and was known for her discipline, wisdom, and virtue—a consort respected by all within the palace.

…

The cockfighting at Qujiang Pool that day had been arranged by Li Longji through Cui Zongzhi specifically to meet Li Zhao and assess his talent, ability, and character—to see if he was worthy of cultivation into a future pillar of the state.

After their conversation, Li Longji was quite satisfied with Li Zhao’s performance—though he had not expected to lose at cockfighting, nor to part with his prized tiger bone thumb ring.

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It must be understood that this thumb ring was a treasure left by Emperor Taizong Li Shimin, passed down through generations of Tang emperors, and now it had ended up in Li Zhao’s hands. Still, at least it remained within the Li family, and not with an outsider.

As he pondered the events of the cockfight, Li Longji felt there was something odd about his loss—something amiss he could not quite place. Deep in thought, he was soon interrupted by Cui Zongzhi, who came hurrying into the palace.

“Your servant greets the Emperor—ten thousand years of life to Your Majesty! Greetings to Your Ladyship—endless blessings to the Empress!”

“Rise, Cat Slave. What brings you to the palace today?”

“I have come to deliver something to Your Majesty.”

With that, Cui Zongzhi produced the tiger bone thumb ring—the very one Li Longji had lost—as well as a set of illustrated manuals detailing each movement of the Taiji Fist, complete with textual explanations.

How was it that the lost items had been returned?

“Cat Slave, did you reveal my true identity to him?”

“Without Your Majesty’s consent, how would I dare leak such a secret? These are from Li Zhao. He said he won the cockfight by unfair means and wished to return them, offering his apologies to Your Majesty.”

“Oh? Unfair means? What do you mean by that?”

“Permit me to explain, Your Majesty…”

Cui Zongzhi then recounted the entire tale of Li Zhao’s trickery during the cockfight, apologizing repeatedly on Li Zhao’s behalf, a look of unease on his face. For this affair, trivial though it might be, could be disastrous if taken seriously—at best, it was cheating at cockfighting and poor character, deserving a thousand reproaches; at worst, it was a crime against the sovereign, punishable by death. Cui Zongzhi was prepared to risk his own rank, title, even his life to protect Li Zhao should the Emperor take offense.

To his surprise, upon hearing the truth, Li Longji merely burst out laughing. “No wonder my Cavalry General was so easily defeated today—it was all thanks to a trick! Li Zhao is a mischievous boy. However, his willingness to return the items and apologize shows his character is not fundamentally bad, merely a bit impish.”

With that, his estimation of Li Zhao rose even higher.

The court, after all, was a far more perilous battlefield than any war. Honest men could not survive, let alone thrive. Only the exceptionally talented, those with sharp minds and deft hands, could stand firm and become true pillars of the state. Clearly, Li Zhao possessed this potential.

Moreover, by returning the items, he proved that his mischief had limits—such a person would never become a traitor. He could be trusted.

“I will accept the Taiji Fist manual, but as for the tiger bone thumb ring, you may return it to Li Zhao. A loss is a loss, no matter how it came about—I will not go back on my word. And for now, do not reveal my identity to Li Zhao. When I have more free time, I wish to wager with him again—if my identity is known, it will spoil the fun!”

“As Your Majesty commands!”

Having observed all he needed, Li Longji was now convinced: Li Zhao was a rare talent. The next matter was how best to employ him.

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In simple terms, what post should he be granted?

“Your servant submits: Li Zhao, though young, is gifted. He could be sent to the Prince’s Household to serve as Chief Historian or Military Advisor—assisting the Crown Prince, and surely up to the task,” Cui Zongzhi proposed, suggesting an appointment in the Prince’s establishment.

The Crown Prince, as heir apparent, had his own staff: one commander and two vice-commanders of the Left and Right Guards, a Chief Historian, and a Military Advisor. Though not high in formal rank, these officers were the Prince’s confidants. Once the Prince ascended the throne, his retainers would rise with him—becoming ministers or generals with ease. Such posts offered great promise.

“No,” Li Longji replied. “As Mencius said: ‘When Heaven is about to bestow great responsibilities upon a person, it first tests their resolve, exhausts their body, starves them, deprives them, and frustrates their ambitions, so as to strengthen their character and increase their abilities.’ If Li Zhao were appointed to the Prince’s staff while still so young, he might soar too high too fast, grow arrogant, and act rashly—like Xiang Tuo and Gan Luo. I will assign him a minor post for now, to temper and train him. When he has matured, greater responsibilities can follow.”

Li Longji rejected Cui Zongzhi’s suggestion, citing sound reasons and providing two poignant examples.

Xiang Tuo, a prodigy of the Spring and Autumn period, was so gifted that even Confucius sought him as a teacher when he was just seven, earning the title “Sage Duke”—but acclaim brought him only misfortune, and he died at twelve. Gan Luo, a prodigy of the Warring States, became Prime Minister of Qin at twelve, but, his mind yet unformed, was executed at thirteen.

The lesson is clear: for the young, forcing growth does only harm.

Yet there was another, unspoken reason—one no other dared voice. Since the founding of the Tang, the court had been plagued by coups: fathers and sons, brothers, aunts and nephews, all had turned on one another. Li Longji himself had come to power through such tumult, even coercing his own father to resign the throne. The past is a warning for the future.

Thus, ever since his ascension, Li Longji had kept a wary eye on the Crown Prince, fearing he might one day be overthrown in his turn—a caution that contributed to the tragedy of the twenty-fifth year of the Kaiyuan era, when three princes died in a single day.

The current Crown Prince, Li Heng, was indecisive and weak, yet Li Longji still took no chances, always on guard. If a talent like Li Zhao were sent to the Prince’s service, the Prince’s power would only grow, and who could say what ambitions might follow? For now, at least, such a talent could not be given to the Prince.

So what post would be suitable? After a moment’s thought, Li Longji made his decision: “Issue an edict to the Ministry of Personnel. Appoint Li Zhao as Chief of the Constabulary, commanding all constables within Chang’an, responsible for arresting thieves and maintaining order.”

“As Your Majesty commands!”

“As for Cui Zongzhi, for his merit in recommending talent, he is hereby promoted to Director in the Ministry of Revenue, with an additional taxable estate of two hundred households.”

“Your servant thanks Your Majesty for his boundless grace!”