Chapter Twenty-Three: Legacy
After a round of bargaining, “The Great Tang’s Famous Courtesans” was sold to He Chang’an for twelve taels and three qian of silver—on credit. The deal was done, and everyone was delighted.
He Chang’an opened the booklet, and his eyes lit up. This Li Yishan really had some substance—he had collected and organized the leading courtesans from all the major halls, pavilions, and institutes in Chang’an, no fewer than twelve in total...
Were these, then, the Capital’s Twelve Beauties?
As for the other courtesans, Old Li only recalled three or five by name, but those were likely the top picks as well.
“So that’s how it is—turns out, even arranging a meeting with a Second Battalion’s Italian wares is such a refined affair. The ancients truly knew how to enjoy themselves.” He Chang’an was full of admiration, convinced that the twelve taels and three qian had been well spent—no, more than worth their price.
He finally understood: these so-called halls, pavilions, and institutes were the high-class clubs of the brothel world, catering exclusively to dignitaries and celebrities. Ordinary folk had no chance of entering; wealth alone meant nothing, for it was all about social circles.
The most famous institution among them was the Music Bureau, under the jurisdiction and management of the Tang Ministry of Rites, often staffed by the families of disgraced officials...
As for the places frequented by commoners, they were mostly called X Tower, X Hall, or X House—collectively known as “kilns.”
Li Yishan barely touched on the latter.
...
He Chang’an quickly finished leafing through the booklet and finally figured out that in this Great Tang, the brothel was a cultural institution, a venue for social gatherings, and the other thing was not necessarily involved.
“Twelve taels and three qian, and all I got was a pile of useless knowledge—feels a bit like a loss.” He Chang’an stuffed “The Great Tang’s Famous Courtesans” into his coat, smiled, and said, “Master Yishan, you’re truly a remarkable man—far better than those scholars outside who do nothing but bluster. I like you very much.”
Li Yishan shot He Chang’an a look of disdain and quietly shuffled a little farther away.
“Good heavens, is this old man getting the wrong idea about me...?”
“By the way, Master Yishan, how is your injury?” He Chang’an suddenly asked.
Li Yishan was briefly startled, then grinned, “It’s nothing but a scratch, no trouble at all. Inspector He, have you considered that matter I raised?”
“What—what matter?” He Chang’an feigned ignorance, his tone playful.
This old man was still thinking about freeloading meals by his side? Now that the academy had reopened, wouldn’t staying here to study and cultivate suit him better?
“That matter,” Li Yishan said with a wink.
“Oh, that matter?” He Chang’an couldn’t keep up the act—the old man was obstinate. “But I don’t have the money to support you and that Abbess Dingding.”
As he spoke, He Chang’an fished out all the loose silver he had—two taels and three qian—and held it out to Li Yishan. “See, I had over twenty taels, but after paying you back, it’s almost all gone.”
“It’s just money, isn’t it? Don’t worry, leave it to me. Soon you’ll be counting so much silver you’ll cramp your hands.” Li Yishan smiled serenely, his wild white hair fluttering as if stirred by an invisible wind.
—
He Chang’an was puzzled. Why was this old man so insistent on clinging to him?
Could it be... because he was just too handsome?
He Chang’an glanced at Li Yishan. Feeling a sudden tension, he retreated two steps and forced a smile. “Master Yishan, what do you mean by that?”
“Relax. I can’t best you in a fight, Inspector He,” Li Yishan said, stroking his beard and smiling. His pale face bore a look of smug satisfaction. “When I was at the Astronomical Observatory, the courtesans who lined up with silver in hand, begging me to read their fortunes by bone, were no less than this number.”
The old man held out five fingers.
“Five, or fifty? The old fox certainly had his luck—feeling up courtesans under the guise of fortune reading...”
“Master Yishan, why not teach me that skill?” He Chang’an joked.
He always felt scholars spoke in riddles, their words true and false, profound and insincere, with a heavy dose of bravado.
“You couldn’t learn it,” Li Yishan replied, twirling his beard. “You’re a coarse man of arms; your future will be prosperous and full of romantic luck, but the art of bone reading and qi gazing is beyond you.”
“...”
He Chang’an looked at the old man’s smug expression, at a loss for words.
Still, who doesn’t like a good fortune? He was no exception.
“Master Yishan, please, recommend me some basic Confucian cultivation classics. I’ve made up my mind—I’ll pursue both the martial and scholarly paths.” He Chang’an wanted nothing more than to stop this pointless banter and get his hands on some powerful techniques for the crises ahead.
“Inspector He, be careful what you say.” Li Yishan’s expression turned grave. “A phrase like that, if it reached the Demon-Slaying Office in Chang’an, could cost you dearly...
It could even cost you your life.”
Seeing the seriousness on Li Yishan’s face, He Chang’an broke out in a cold sweat, muttering to himself, “I really ought to read more history.”
“Master Yishan, I’m a rough man, ignorant of these matters; I beg you to enlighten me.” With that, he bowed deeply.
Li Yishan glanced at He Chang’an, hesitated, and after a long pause, let out a sigh and spoke words that made He Chang’an’s heart pound with anxiety...
...
Half an hour later, He Chang’an left the library with a large bundle—bulging with books.
“This Great Tang truly isn’t the Tang of history, and yet it is, and isn’t...
The nation is founded on martial strength, suppressing and marginalizing all cultivators outside the warrior class, silencing the once-glorious Confucian, Daoist, Buddhist, and other schools.
Only the martial path still has some heritage remaining, but even that is incomplete, with the highest level reaching only the second rank;
Other sects’ legacies are almost entirely severed, leaving only some talisman-drawing, ghost-catching, meditation, and breath-nurturing techniques...
Northern ghost tribes, western demon clans, southern barbarians, eastern sea clans and pirates;
The greatest stronghold of humanity lies in Chang’an, said to be protected by a mysterious grand array...
The Demon-Slaying Office...”
—
He Chang’an slowly digested Li Yishan’s words, and without realizing it, found himself by the lecture hall’s pond.
The scholars no longer wrote poetry.
Some played chess, some drank alone, others read, but most gathered in groups, debating which courtesan from the Music Bureau in Chang’an was the freshest and most delicate...
The scholars seemed somewhat lackluster.
He Chang’an saw neither the county constable nor the new headmaster, Mr. Ma Dai, and, finding it dull, returned to the guest room assigned to him by the academy.
He shut the doors and windows, placed the heavy bundle of books on the desk, brewed himself a pot of tea, and finally sat down to “study.”
Though Li Yishan might not have been strong in battle, his eye for books was superb; every volume he picked for He Chang’an was a masterpiece.
“Annotations on the Classic of Lianshan,” “The Great Meaning of Guicang,” “Critical Studies on the Book of Changes,” “Essentials of the Four Books,” “Geographical Records of the Great Tang”...
All told, seventy or eighty volumes—every one a Confucian classic.
He opened one—couldn’t understand it.
He opened another—still unclear.
A third—utterly bewildered...
Every book was filled with words he recognized, each sentence readable aloud, but he could not make sense of their meaning as a whole.
It was as if, reading, he forgot as he went...
Each book he opened was like a misty night, with faint starlight far off, unattainable and ethereal...
He could neither grasp nor touch it.
“Damn it, the old man’s playing me again; he knows I’m illiterate and still gives me these tomes to confuse me...”
He Chang’an had enthusiastically hauled back a load of Confucian classics, only to find himself like a seeing blind man, unable to comprehend a single line, and suddenly felt exhausted.
“But that can’t be; these books have been preserved in the academy’s library for hundreds, perhaps a thousand years, weathered all manner of storms, and in an atmosphere thick with ghostly energy, remain perfectly intact...
How could they be fakes?
Judging by the pain on Old Li’s face, they’re surely genuine.
And within these books there is...
Is this the righteous, awe-inspiring qi?”
He Chang’an sipped his tea, resting his hand on one of the volumes, pondering and reflecting, as his eyes gradually began to shine...