Chapter Six: An Unexpected Encounter

For the next several days, Yang Xi did not see Yang Guozhong.

Yang Guozhong had not returned home at all, which left Yang Xi, who was determined to persuade him to change his mind, increasingly anxious. He knew that the longer things dragged on, the more dangerous it became: at any moment, the court might order all forces at Tongguan to march out, and then, upon the inevitable news of a disastrous defeat, tragedy would unfold one after another— the emperor would flee, Chang’an would fall, his family along with the Yang sisters would be slaughtered, and the great Tang would be plunged into chaos and collapse. It was a future he was desperate to avoid.

Yang Xi kept seeking ways to leave the residence, hoping to speak to Yang Guozhong again or appeal directly to Emperor Li Longji, laying out his reasoning in hopes of persuading them not to command Geshu Han to sally forth, thereby averting catastrophe for the Tang. He even considered going straight to Tongguan and fabricating an imperial edict to urge Geshu Han to stand firm and not venture out...

Yet he was unable to get out, as Yang Guozhong had issued strict orders to the servants to take good care of Yang Xi and not allow him to wander. It was the height of summer, sweltering everywhere, and he was only permitted to stay in a room cooled with blocks of ice, resting quietly.

Yang Guozhong’s authority in the household was absolute; not one servant dared go against his wishes. Any attempt by Yang Xi to leave was blocked; even threats, beatings, or waving a knife at them did not sway them. They would simply kneel on the ground and take his wrath, but not let him pass.

Unable to see Yang Guozhong and discuss the Tongguan matter, Yang Xi lost all appetite, and, unable to confide in anyone, grew increasingly depressed. Even the beautiful and buxom maid Ping’er, hovering around him all day, was barely noticed.

The mistress of the house, Pei Rou, also forbade Yang Xi from leaving. Like Yang Guozhong, she was worried her precious son, not yet fully recovered, might come to harm if he ventured out, and insisted he remain at home.

In the days since waking, Yang Xi would go daily to pay his respects to his mother, inquiring repeatedly after Yang Guozhong, hoping Pei Rou would send word for him to return, as he had urgent matters to discuss. Out of motherly concern, Pei Rou obliged, dispatching a message urging Yang Guozhong to come home if he found the time.

But Yang Guozhong replied via messenger that state affairs kept him busy day and night; he had no leisure to return. He promised, however, that he would come home as soon as he could.

Receiving only this answer, Yang Xi was left disappointed. He could only devise other ways to approach his worn-out father and state his case—whatever it took, even feigning madness or groveling on his knees, he would make Yang Guozhong change his mind so they could jointly advise the emperor against ordering Geshu Han to attack.

He would have to win his mother’s approval to leave—once out, he could find a way to speak to Yang Guozhong.

He also cursed his former self for his lack of influence at home; not even the servants listened to him—what a failure!

“Mother, I’m fully recovered now, nothing will happen to me. I’d like to go out for a walk and have a drink somewhere, may I?” Sitting by Pei Rou’s bedside, Yang Xi shook her arm, pleading in a wheedling tone, “I’ve been cooped up here for days, haven’t been anywhere, I’m bored to death. Please let me go out for a stroll and a cup of wine!”

He had made similar requests before, but always in a serious tone, which had never worked. Today, he tried a different tactic—playing the spoiled child.

This had some effect. Pei Rou hesitated, then finally relented, “Very well. You may go out for a drink, but only to Drunken Clouds Pavilion, the closest tavern. Once you’ve had your wine, come straight home. It’s too hot to linger outside. You must be back before noon!”

“Yes, Mother! I promise I’ll return quickly!” Yang Xi was overjoyed, immediately standing up and giving his word.

But Pei Rou’s subsequent instructions dampened his excitement.

“Yang Dong, you will accompany the young master. Keep a close watch—he is not to go anywhere but Drunken Clouds Pavilion. Once he’s finished, escort him home. Remember, you must be back before noon!” These orders, issued to Yang Dong, the head of the household guards, gave Yang Xi a bad feeling.

“Yes, Madam!” The burly Yang Dong was as docile as a lamb before the gentle Pei Rou.

However, Yang Dong was only this meek before Yang Guozhong and Pei Rou; to others, he was a leopard—unyielding and unreasonable. Yang Xi realized this soon after leaving the residence; his foreboding was justified.

No matter how he pleaded, reasoned, threatened with his status, lied, or even tried force, Yang Dong would not yield—only agreeing to accompany him to Drunken Clouds Pavilion, nowhere else. Yang Dong’s men, together with Yang Zheng and the rest of Yang Xi’s attendants, made a group of nearly twenty, all highly capable. Yang Xi quickly saw his own body was no match for them. He abandoned the idea of breaking away on the road and resigned himself to drinking at the tavern, hoping to find another opportunity.

Upon entering Drunken Clouds Pavilion, Yang Xi refused Yang Dong’s suggestion to use their usual private room upstairs, insisting on sitting in the main hall.

But the hall was crowded, with scarcely an empty seat. Despite the ongoing war at the front, crowds eager for news gathered here; the tavern was full of all sorts, many discussing the rebellion and the fighting, the air thick with rumor. Thus, business remained brisk.

Finding no free table, Yang Xi spotted a seat by the window occupied by a single man. After instructing his followers, he made his way over.

Seeing the packed tavern, Yang Xi sighed inwardly: it seemed no one suspected Tongguan might soon fall, let alone that Chang’an could be taken. The citizens of Chang’an remained lost in their revels.

He wondered how these people would react when news of disaster arrived.

“Excuse me, good sir, may I share your table? There are no other seats available,” Yang Xi said courteously to the middle-aged man, who sat alone, drinking in silence.

Drinking with a stranger offered a chance to escape his attendants’ close watch and perhaps slip away.

The man, surprised at being disturbed, looked up to see Yang Xi’s distinguished bearing and the retinue behind him—clearly not an ordinary youth. After a moment’s thought he smiled and gestured, “Please, young man, join me. I’ll be leaving soon anyway.”

“Thank you!” Yang Xi sat down without further ado, and the waiter quickly brought his order.

Yang Zheng and another attendant stood behind Yang Xi, ignoring his request to wait elsewhere, so Yang Xi let them be.

Pouring himself a full cup, Yang Xi prepared to toast his companion, only to see the man already lost in his own cups, drinking several rounds in silence. Puzzled, Yang Xi asked, “You seem troubled, drinking alone. Is something on your mind?”

The man set down his cup, met Yang Xi’s sincere gaze, sighed, and replied, “I came to Chang’an on business, but failed in my mission. I don’t know how to face those waiting for my report.” As he spoke, he glanced at a nearby table where several soldiers sat eating in silence.

“I see,” Yang Xi replied, tactfully refraining from probing further. He simply raised his cup, “There is no hurdle in this world that cannot be overcome—one must look ahead! Come, let me toast you; it’s a pleasure to share a table.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” the man replied with a bitter smile, draining his cup in one gulp.

Yang Xi was about to ask more when a loud voice from the neighboring table caught his attention: “I hear that the traitor An is worried his retreat to Fanyang will be cut off and is planning to withdraw from Luoyang. If only General Geshu would lead our army out of Tongguan, we could crush the rebels in one stroke and end this rebellion for good!”

This was a man, emboldened by drink, boasting to his companions.

“Well said, Brother Gao!” another at the table chimed in, “The way I see it, too—our northern armies are winning, the rebels’ morale is low. If we attack now, we’ll rout them and pacify the rebellion in no time! But Marshal Geshu is too timid to lead a sortie, content only to hold the pass!”

Hearing such open talk in a tavern, Yang Xi was struck. But he saw no reason to argue; such “village talk” was echoed by the majority at court—his own father, a high minister, was one of those urging the emperor to do just that. Turning back to his companion, he found the man gripping his cup, veins bulging with suppressed fury.

Sensing an opportunity, Yang Xi asked quietly, “May I ask, sir, if you disagree with their views?”

“Frogs in a well!” the man spat, eyes aflame. “If even the common folk think this way, no wonder disaster looms. Alas, calamity is upon us!”

Seeing Yang Xi’s strange expression, the man grew cautious. “So, young sir, do you have a different opinion?”

“Indeed, I do—mine is the opposite of what those men just said.” Yang Xi had already discerned that his companion was no ordinary man—in bearing, likely an official, and one at odds with his father’s policies; otherwise, he would not have reacted so vehemently to the earlier conversation.

And from his final sigh, Yang Xi felt a certain kinship.

“I’d like to hear more,” the man said, suddenly interested.

“Very well, I’ll speak plainly,” Yang Xi said, glancing at the two still debating, then raising his voice: “In my view, the court’s top priority should be to concentrate all strength on defending Tongguan, not on sallying out! If Tongguan holds, Chang’an is safe. If the court forces Marshal Geshu to fight outside the walls, and the army suffers a setback, the pass will fall. And if Tongguan is lost, Chang’an cannot be defended!”

Seeing he had captured his companion’s attention, and that many others were now listening, Yang Xi spoke even louder: “The court has already summoned loyalist forces to suppress the rebellion—these armies are gathering in the capital, with ample supplies for a long defense, putting the rebels at a disadvantage. The rebels are desperate to take Chang’an before more royal troops arrive—they want a decisive battle with the government army. In my opinion, our forces should not leave the pass, but hold the terrain and exhaust the enemy. If we throw all our strength into a sortie, we play right into the rebels’ hands. The ground outside Tongguan is too narrow for large-scale maneuvers—Marshal Geshu’s 200,000 men could field only forty or fifty thousand at most, with no real advantage over the enemy!”

Yang Xi’s speech stunned both his companion and the men who had just been boasting, as well as all the eavesdropping diners. Every eye in the tavern turned their way.

“Young sir, your insight surpasses any court official—even the prime minister is not your equal!” the man exclaimed, rising and bowing respectfully. “This is the wisest counsel I have heard in Chang’an these days—yet, alas...”

He stopped, noticing the attention they were drawing, and glanced at the nearby table of soldiers, as if about to say more but holding back. At last, in Yang Xi’s puzzled silence, he said, “It is my privilege to have met you and heard such uncommon wisdom. I would dearly love to drink and talk the night away, but urgent business calls—I must take my leave.”

With that, the man stood to go.

“Please, sir, may I know your esteemed name?” Yang Xi quickly called after him, bowing. “I am Yang Xi, styled Ziliang. May I ask for your illustrious name?”

Yang Xi was convinced this was no ordinary man.

The man paused and returned the bow. “I am Gao Shi, styled Dafu. It is my great fortune to have met you today, Young Master Yang, but I must hurry—before night falls I must be back at Tongguan. Farewell!” With a final bow, he strode from the tavern and mounted his horse, galloping away, followed by several soldiers at another table.

“Gao Shi? Could it really be—the famed frontier poet of the histories?” Yang Xi muttered as he hurried outside, hoping to call after him, but was too late. “He’s returning to Tongguan—why?”

“Young master, it’s almost noon. The sun is fierce. Let’s return home quickly or the mistress will be angry,” Yang Dong said, oblivious to Yang Xi’s thoughts.

“I have important business—do not hinder me!” Yang Xi tried to assert his authority as the fourth son of the Yangs.

But to no avail. Yang Zheng, citing the orders of Yang Guozhong and Pei Rou, commanded the others to escort Yang Xi home.

With no other recourse, Yang Xi could only curse his attendants for ruining his plans, so furious he could kill.

In the end, however, he could do nothing but return, full of indignation, under their guard, to the Duke of Wei’s residence once more.

Again, he lamented his former self’s failure—even the servants would not obey him. What a waste, to be the son of a powerful minister!