Chapter Nine: The City of Wuan County

At dusk, Aunt Qing sat weaving cloth in the bedroom, Bai Mo chopped firewood in the courtyard, while Li Zhao paced back and forth in the small study, hands clasped behind his back. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with some three or four thousand volumes—a complete collection of classics, histories, philosophies, and literature.

Part of this collection had been passed down from the Li family ancestors; the rest was part of Lady Bai’s dowry. Yet Lady Bai had died young, and for years it was Aunt Qing who taught Li Zhao to read. Her erudition was impressive, rivaling or even surpassing that of seasoned scholars.

Moreover, Aunt Qing was a devoted admirer of the great contemporary poet Li Bai. She often recited his verses, seeking to grasp their deeper meanings, her admiration brimming in every word.

If even a maid who came as part of a dowry was so accomplished, how learned must Lady Bai herself have been? Li Zhao could not help but wonder what his mother’s family truly did. He searched his memories, but found nothing—not even the location of his maternal grandparents’ home or the names of any relatives.

When he was younger, little Li Zhao had asked Aunt Qing about this, but she only said the time was not right and promised to tell him later. Clearly, there were many untold stories behind his parents’ marriage.

But Li Zhao had little interest in uncovering his parents’ romantic history. His mind was preoccupied with one thing—making money!

Previously, all the family’s meager savings had been spent on his illness. Anything of value had gone to the pawnshop, and the three of them were on the verge of not having enough to eat.

Later, by hunting in the mountains, they managed to stave off hunger. But running a household required money for tea, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and more. Catching a few wild chickens or rabbits was far from enough.

Besides, after over three months of dedicated practice, Li Zhao had just begun to master the Iron Sand Palm technique. He had already switched from fine to coarse sand, and the required medicinal herbs—both in variety and quantity—had increased dramatically. Some could be gathered in the mountains, but the more precious ones had to be bought at the apothecary.

With nothing left at home, what could he do? The only answer was to find a way to earn money.

Li Zhao was a top student from the Wudaokou Vocational and Technical College. Drawing on his scientific knowledge and combining it with the state of development in the Great Tang, he quickly thought of several possibilities: movable type printing, black powder, glassmaking, soap, the steam engine… Any one of these inventions would be enough to astonish the world and bring him unimaginable wealth.

But after careful consideration, he abandoned these ideas—not for lack of knowledge, but because the external conditions were not right. To put it simply: “A commoner is not guilty, but carrying a treasure will bring him harm.”

If he held high office and great power, there would be no problem in introducing such inventions—he could have both fame and fortune. But as things stood, powerless and without influence, inventing such things would only attract countless greedy eyes. Instead of gaining fame and wealth, he would likely invite disaster.

For the sake of his own life, then, technological inventions would have to wait, and great wealth was out of reach for now.

Since he could not make a fortune, he would settle for earning a little. But even that posed a question—how to go about it?

Li Zhao had studied mechanical engineering and was skilled at designing and making all sorts of machinery. Yet in the Great Tang, there were no factories, only small, backward workshops. Even assembly lines had not appeared, let alone complex machines.

He had the skills of a dragon-slayer, but nowhere to use them. It was frustrating.

Farming? He knew nothing about it.

Business? He had no capital.

He considered working for hire, but as a member of the imperial clan, even if he could humble himself, who would dare employ him?

After much thought, Li Zhao gloomily realized that, for all his education, he was as useless as a waste. Had he known, he would have studied traditional medicine or architecture—either would have ensured him a living, no matter what era he found himself in.

He resolved to go into the city the next day to look for any opportunity to earn money.

The following morning, Li Zhao and Bai Mo rose early. After breakfast, they took the thirty copper coins Aunt Qing had given them and caught a cattle cart transporting mountain goods straight to the county seat of Wu’an.

“Young master, you’re looking better every day—like a different person! You have a spirited look about you, much like the old master in his prime!” said the driver, an elderly man with graying hair named Cai Fu.

“Oh, Uncle Cai, what was Grandfather like in his prime?”

“He was talented in both civil and martial arts—a true hero among men! Had he lived in better times, with his abilities he could have been a general or a prime minister in the blink of an eye!”

Cai Fu had once been the steward of the Li family’s ancestral home, serving three generations with unwavering loyalty. When Li De seized the family estate, Cai Fu’s presence became a hindrance—he would not be bribed and opposed the usurper at every turn. Failing to buy him off, Li De used underhanded means to drive him out.

Though he left the Li household, Cai Fu did not leave Qianlong Hill. He built a few thatched huts in a mountain valley, supporting his wife and two sons by farming and gathering wild goods. Life was always tight.

Even so, Cai Fu never forgot his old masters, often visiting the small ancestral hall to check on young Li Zhao and secretly bringing food and vegetables. Without his help, Aunt Qing would not have managed to keep the household running.

Now, seeing Li Zhao transformed from a timid boy into a spirited young man, the old steward was overjoyed. He looked forward to the day his young master would grow up and reclaim his family’s inheritance.

The ox cart trundled on, and after about an hour, a broad river came into view—the Laoshui.

Laoshui originated in the depths of the Qinling Mountains, flowing north past Xianyang to join the Wei River, stretching more than 180 li. Its wide, gentle waters irrigated the fields on both banks, making it one of the key rivers in Guanzhong.

Wu’an County sat on the east bank of the Laoshui, a typical square city with a circumference of about twelve li. Gates opened on all four sides, and a large wharf was situated on the western edge. From there, one could take a boat down the Laoshui and Wei River all the way to the imperial capital, Chang’an.

If you wondered why it was called Wu’an, it was because in the Warring States period, the famous Lord Wu’an—Bai Qi—had built a fortress here, stockpiling provisions and training troops as a base for attacking Chu. Thus it gained its name.

Unlike other dynasties, the Great Tang collected no commercial or entry taxes.

The three of them entered the city without trouble. Uncle Cai went off to the market to sell his mountain goods, but not before reminding Li Zhao to steer clear of trouble and be mindful of safety, handing him another thirty copper coins.

Li Zhao accepted the money and, with Bai Mo, began exploring Wu’an, keeping an eye out for ways to earn money.

“Top-grade hemp cloth, four hundred coins per bolt!”

“Take a look, genuine five-colored brocade from Bashu, only one thousand eight hundred eighty coins per bolt!”

“Purebred Persian camels for sale! Fifteen strings of coins for a male, buy two, get a young one free!”

The streets bustled with shops and vendors hawking their wares. Merchants from all directions thronged the avenues—not only Tang citizens, but also burly, stocky Turks, Tibetans with gold rings in their ears, and even blond, blue-eyed Persian traders.

Wu’an was prosperous, but how to make money here?

A blacksmith’s shop was hiring apprentices for four hundred coins a month, but required the strength to lift a one-hundred-twenty-jin stone lock—far beyond Li Zhao’s slight frame. The pay was meager besides.

A restaurant was hiring waiters for the same wage, with room and board included and the perk of bringing leftovers home.

The magistrate’s office was recruiting people to carry “night soil”—in other words, to haul human waste. That was out of the question.

After wandering the city for half a day without finding any prospects, Li Zhao, feeling dejected, suddenly noticed a peculiar building by the roadside. It was large, yet did not resemble an inn or restaurant, nor did it bear any sign. Instead, above the entrance stood a brass rooster, proud and majestic.

The doors stood wide open, with people coming and going. Some carried cages of chickens, their faces flushed with excitement.

“Bai Mo, what is this place?”

“That, young master, is a cockfighting arena. People set up matches and gamble on the fights!”

Unlike Li Zhao, who rarely left home, Bai Mo was lively, outgoing, and well acquainted with all the happenings of Wu’an.

As far back as the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, the nobility had been fond of cockfighting, a tradition carried through successive dynasties and now even more popular in the Kaiyuan era of the Tang, since the current emperor, Li Longji, was himself an avid enthusiast.

The imperial gardens had a special “cockfighting court,” home to over a thousand fighting cocks. Five hundred boys were chosen from the army to feed and train them.

It was said that after court each day, Li Longji would change out of his dragon robes and, no longer the solemn emperor, would lead his royal brothers in cockfights, laughing and shouting, never tiring of the game.

In the thirteenth year of Kaiyuan, Li Longji ascended Mount Tai to perform the great Fengshan ritual. Even for such a solemn occasion, he brought along three hundred fighting cocks, pausing during the journey to stage matches. The official road from Chang’an to Tai Mountain was strewn with chicken feathers.

As the emperor delighted in it, so did his subjects, from princes and officials to commoners and petty clerks—all were swept up in the cockfighting craze. Arenas sprang up everywhere. Wu’an alone boasted more than ten, with impromptu rings set up on street corners wherever a few ropes could be tied.

“Ha, heaven never bars one’s way! Come on, Bai Mo, let’s go in and have a look!”

“What for, young master?”

“To make money, of course!”

In other matters, perhaps Li Zhao would not boast, but when it came to games—he was an undisputed expert.