Chapter 97: The Sage's Spring Outing and Imperial Poem Contest

In the third month, the early days of spring, as flowers bloomed and warmth embraced the land, Emperor Li Longji took Yang Yuhuan to stroll outside the Huaqing Palace at Mount Li. With such a peerless beauty by his side, how could he not be joyous? Moreover, General Gao Xianzhi had recently achieved a great victory against the formidable forces of the Abbasid Caliphate and Tibet. To celebrate, a grand banquet was held, inviting all officials. At the same time, the emperor decreed that poets and scholars in Chang’an compose verses praising the emperor’s triumphs and virtues. Those who submitted an exquisite poem would be rewarded with a thousand gold coins; those who passed a second review would be granted minor official posts.

The task of overseeing this was entrusted to the two chancellors whom the emperor greatly relied upon: Li Linfu and Li Shizhi.

This became a channel for wealthy young men to curry favor and submit their poems upward. Not only Li Linfu and the eunuch Gao Lishi, but even Li Shizhi’s household threshold was trampled upon by eager petitioners.

To pave the way for their juniors, elders left no stone unturned. Civil officials sought out the chancellors, military officers approached General Chen Xuanli, all aiming merely to have their descendants’ poems reach the emperor’s eyes. If favored by him, promotions and riches would surely follow.

Upon hearing this news, Cen Shen saw his opportunity. He approached Elder He, hoping he could help deliver a spring poem he had composed to the emperor.

However, Elder He was merely the Chief Scholar of the Imperial Academy—a respected but powerless figure despite his purple robe. Since the chancellors managed the matter, Elder He could only seek out Li Shizhi, asking the half-aged, ruddy-nosed man to assist. The poem Cen Shen submitted was bold and vigorous, extolling the emperor’s great achievements and the flourishing era he had founded, while also expressing Cen Shen’s own ambition to serve the nation.

Li Shizhi, half-drunk, read the poem and found it commendable—majestic in opening, flowing and spirited throughout—and agreed without hesitation.

Yet when it reached Li Linfu’s hands, he found no gift accompanying the poem and no memory of the young man named Cen Shen. The poem was shelved, then later copied under the name of Li Jiulang and resent to the emperor. Sure enough, Li Jiulang received the emperor’s reward, though he failed the second review.

Thus, through Li Linfu’s interference, the original spring poem was consigned to flames and reduced to ashes.

Under the spring sun, at He Gong Pavilion.

The venerable He Zhizhang, his white hair and aged form stooped, held a fishing rod beside a tall, upright youth.

“Elder He, after all this time, it seems hopeless,” said Cen Shen, his stubbled cheeks gaunt. Having lived over twenty years, arriving in Chang’an at twenty, a decade ago a mere commoner, and still a commoner now—armed only with a spear and eight night-glowing cups, possessing nothing else, utterly alone.

“That’s not necessarily so. Perhaps the emperor, accompanied by the Daoist priest Taizhen, has been too busy to peruse it. It may have been forgotten on his desk, but the opportunity to read it will come...” He Zhizhang’s eyes, clouded with age, sought to comfort the ambitious youth before him. Yet he stopped mid-sentence, knowing words were futile. Cen Shen was indeed ambitious, but too many demons and devils worked at the emperor’s side!

“Elder He, there’s no need to console me. I know the path I must take,” Cen Shen said, gripping his fishing rod with a deep, resolute gaze. Though his face bore bitterness, he smiled faintly. Chang’an did not suit him, nor was he suited to Chang’an.

“Elder He, I plan to head to the frontier, enlist in the army, even as a lowly soldier. I want to defend the borders and serve my country! There may be no Chang’an there, but the military life is the best choice for me.”

He Zhizhang looked at him with a bittersweet smile, feeling the youth’s frustration and melancholy. The court lacked such men—what a pity, truly a pity.

To comfort him, Elder He gazed silently at the rippling waters of Qujiang Pool. Old age had softened his tongue; he found himself unable to speak much.

Suddenly, a spark of inspiration struck. He recalled that Master Song had reported a newly arrived princess at the Imperial Academy—a headstrong and wilful princess from the wild villages. But what was her name? He could not quite recall; old age blurred many details.

Thinking of the princess, a faint smile crept across his wrinkled face as he patted Cen Shen’s shoulder. “The Protectorate Princess.”

“Hm? The Protectorate Princess?” Cen Shen was puzzled. What was so special about a woman? Then, recalling carefully, an image of a tavern surfaced in his mind.

“Journey to the West!”

“Exactly! Journey to the West. What do you think of that tale?” Elder He asked, seeing a gleam of delight on Cen Shen’s face.

“Of course it’s good! Elder He, the image of Sun Wukong in that story is truly formidable! I just don’t understand how the Protectorate Princess could have been written like that! Sometimes I dream I am that Monkey King, haha! Soaring through the heavens, carefree and unrestrained!”

Talking about the monkey, Cen Shen grew animated, slapping his knee and shaking off his former gloom.

“Ha! I like her too. This Protectorate Princess is no ordinary woman. I suggest you pledge your service to her!”

Curious, Cen Shen recalled the many rumors about her when he first arrived in Chang’an: that she was seeking fame and fortune, of rustic origins—her reputation hardly good.

“Pledge my service? But recently, there are rumors at the Imperial Academy that she insulted the scholars and fainted them with her temper. Chang’an’s teahouses and taverns are abuzz with her stories, saying she seeks only vanity and fame!”

Hearing this, Elder He frowned. As the Academy’s chief, he took offense.

“Vanity and insults? From the wilds? Those are baseless rumors! There was some youth named Wang Ba or something who wrote a ridiculous and insulting poem about her. You don’t know—this Protectorate Princess is not only beautiful!” Elder He raised his eyebrows and cast a meaningful glance at the youth holding the rod. “Her talent is peerless. The poem ‘River Snow’ is proof, even Li Bai attested to it!”

“Elder He, you’re not suggesting I marry the Protectorate Princess, are you? She is a princess after all, noble and exalted. My family has fallen; we are mismatched. She probably wouldn’t look upon me favorably.”

Elder He’s words were trustworthy. If his mentor spoke so highly, the Protectorate Princess must be extraordinary. Pledging service to her might be a good path—yet for what purpose? To be a mere guard? That seemed unacceptable.

“Ah,” Elder He tapped Cen Shen’s head firmly, his face darkening with mild displeasure. “You don’t understand. Matters of men and women need not be arranged by matchmakers. I know Little Yue Ling’s character well—once she’s decided, she won’t waver. The Protectorate Princess is the emperor’s adopted daughter. If you become the princess’s consort, would you still feel so stifled and frustrated? Besides, I hear the princess’s household is training militia. Your martial skills won’t be wasted! Joining her household is a way forward!”

Cen Shen stroked his chin, finding Elder He’s words quite reasonable. Elder He was wise in human affairs, seeing through to the heart of matters. He immediately clasped his fists. “Thank you, Elder He, for your guidance. I see clearly now.”

He Zhizhang laughed heartily and stood, reeling in his fishing rod—he had caught a fish!