Chapter Eighteen: The Song of the Eight Immortals (Third Update—Please Vote)

The final candidate remained undecided.

Another ten days passed. Following Zhang Zhongjian’s request, Xue Ju sent ten Bopi Tianma horses to Luoyang. The so-called Bopi Tianma was actually a term used by the Tuyuhun people. They were not quite as splendid as Zheng Yanqing’s jade-hoofed steeds, but not far behind.

With this addition, the modest bamboo garden stable now housed over twenty fine horses, significantly increasing Zheng Yanqing’s expenses.

Yanqing inquired with Song Maren about Xue Rengao, but the answers were less than satisfactory.

It turned out that Xue Rengao had already left at the end of June, ordered to accompany a caravan from Jincheng Commandery to the Western Regions. He had been away from Jincheng for quite some time, and was not expected to return until after the Cold Day festival, which was around the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month. Even if he was willing, it would be impossible to travel from Jincheng to Luoyang within a day or two to join the others.

So, the option of Xue Rengao had to be abandoned.

The absence of one person did not hinder Zheng Yanqing and the others from training.

After thirty days of solo practice, Yanqing officially joined Ju’s team to familiarize himself with various jiju (a horseback ball game) tactics. Overall, the strategies were designed by Xue Wanche, Pei Xingyan, and Xu Shiji, with Xue Ju, Yao Yi, and Shen Guang refining them.

Since this jiju match was arranged between Zheng Yanqing and Mai Zizhong, Xu Shiji believed that Mai and his team would focus their attention on Yanqing. Thus, the plan was set for Yanqing’s cavalry to draw Mai’s attention, allowing Pei Xingyan and the others to coordinate and strike the wooden ball into the opponent’s goal.

To mask their true intentions, Xu Shiji also suggested playing several matches against the Hu merchants first.

Privately, they bribed the Hu merchants to play four-man jiju matches. Yanqing participated in every game, while Xu Shiji and the others practiced coordination. After several matches, Yanqing scored in each game, creating the illusion that the entire team’s offense centered on him. This misled Mai Zizhong’s spies.

Xu Shiji truly lived up to his later reputation as the military god of the early Tang dynasty; even in such a small jiju match, his brilliance shone through.

Yet, the lingering issue of the last candidate remained a persistent headache.

Outwardly, Yanqing appeared unhurried, but inside he was a tempest. What began as a mere misunderstanding between him and Mai Zizhong had, with the involvement of Pei Xingyan, Xue Shou, and others, quietly escalated into a contest between the established aristocratic families of Guandong and the rising new powers. This was far from what Zheng Yanqing wished for, yet he was powerless to resolve it. Both he and Mai had become pawns in the game between the old and new forces, as were Pei Xingyan and Xue Shou.

With the appointed day approaching rapidly, Pei Xingyan simply drew a young man from his clan to join the jiju team, filling the eighth spot.

During this time, both Xue Shou and Pei Xingyan were summoned by their elders, urged to secure victory.

Even Xue Shixiong, far away in Zhangye, sent messengers to encourage Xue Wanche.

Zheng Yanqing clearly sensed the growing tension among Pei Xingyan and the others during practice in the days that followed.

Many jiju moves became awkward, and once Xue Shou nearly fell off his horse during a simple side strike—this troubled Yanqing greatly. After all, these were all children; aside from Shen Guang, the eldest, Xue Shou, was only about fifteen or sixteen. Such enormous pressure was overwhelming.

“Young Master Zheng, perhaps we should stop for today,” Shen Guang urged softly as he rode up beside Yanqing. “The young masters seem fatigued. If we keep going like this, someone might get injured before the match. I suggest we rest for a day; what do you think?”

Yanqing nodded. “That seems the best course.”

He spurred his horse into the jiju field and halted Xue Wanche, Pei Xingyan, and the others. “Brothers, let’s call it a day. I’ve prepared some little treats at the bamboo garden. Let’s relax and resume practice tomorrow. A balance of tension and relaxation is the way of both civil and military arts. You’ve all worked hard these days; rest up, and we’ll continue tomorrow.”

Pei Xingyan twirled his jiju stick, reined in his horse, and made a slashing motion in the air.

He sighed. “Little brother, you’re right. Today, for some reason, everything feels quite off.”

“Me too!” Xue Shou grimaced. “Ever since my father sent that letter of warning, I’ve felt strange. What do you think this childish play has to do with those old men? It makes me very uneasy.”

Zheng Yanqing chuckled quietly but didn’t engage further.

After all, being born into a noble family came with its own burdens. While they enjoyed privileges envied by commoners, they also paid a higher price. Every family has its own difficult chapter; it’s just that outsiders cannot see through it.

“Zheng, what have you been tinkering with now?”

“Heh, you’ll find out when you return.”

Yanqing finished speaking, gathered his things, and prepared to leave.

Suddenly, a young man blocked his path. Yanqing recognized him—a familiar face: Dou Xiaowen, a boy who had once fought with him at the Dou family’s academy. But since Li Ji’s departure, Yanqing hadn’t visited the academy, so he hadn’t seen Dou Xiaowen. He had only heard from Dou Fengjie that Xiaowen stayed another year at the academy before entering the General’s Hall as an attendant.

For someone of Dou Xiaowen’s background, securing a post in the General’s Hall was a notable achievement.

“Old Dou, what brings you here?”

Zheng Yanqing dismounted and greeted him warmly.

Dou Xiaowen appeared more robust than before, standing nearly seven feet tall—tall for his age group. His features had matured: a dark complexion, thick eyebrows, large eyes, a completely different aura from before.

“Young Master Zheng, I heard you’re looking for someone?”

“Ah, yes, that’s true.”

Although Pei Xingyan had found a substitute, his strength wasn’t remarkable. Yanqing looked at Dou Xiaowen, puzzled. Given his family background, it was unlikely he had any experience with jiju. Why was he asking about it?

“I’m willing to help,” Dou Xiaowen said, scratching his head, a bit shy. “I don’t know jiju, but I’ve been caring for horses at the General’s Hall these past few years. My horsemanship isn’t bad, and I’ve seen others play, so I roughly understand the game. If you think I’m suitable, count me in, okay?”

Yanqing was taken aback, appraising Dou Xiaowen carefully. “Old Dou, you must think it through. Jiju is dangerous. Without training, you might injure yourself. Tendon or bone damage is mild; you could even lose your life.”

Yanqing wasn’t making excuses; he spoke honestly.

After several matches, he understood the risks. Without any protective gear, jiju was essentially horseback combat mimicking real battle, with no rules. Players had to control the wooden ball while fighting fiercely. There was no mercy on the field. He had been struck and had struck others.

Though not with real weapons, the jiju sticks were made of hard wood; a solid blow could be fatal.

Yanqing had seen Pei Xingyan shatter a horse’s skull with a jiju stick once.

The rider, a Hu merchant, fell and was trampled by a charging horse, breaking his leg and writhing in agony on the field.

No one showed pity or carried him off; the game went on.

A famous saying came to Yanqing’s mind: “Football is not about life and death, but it surpasses life and death.” Applied to jiju, it could be: “Jiju concerns life and death, and transcends life and death.” On the field, dozens of riders galloping and fighting was like a battlefield—one mistake could cost a life.

Dou Xiaowen nodded. “I know, but I want to try my luck.”

Yanqing seemed to understand something.

Though Dou Xiaowen belonged to the Dou clan, rising above the thousands, even tens of thousands of clan members was no easy feat. Though sharing their surname, he might not even be blood-related. His situation was strikingly similar to Yanqing’s four years earlier: needing family attention and support, seeking to distinguish himself. Joining the jiju team was a tremendous opportunity.

Zheng Yanqing’s easy access to the Dou family’s jiju grounds and use of the General’s Hall horses indicated close ties with the Dou clan. Apart from the temporary recruit, the team members were all wealthy or noble, further attracting Dou Xiaowen.

Pei Xingyan stepped forward. “You don’t know jiju; what use would you be?”

“Master Pei, you and the others are enough for jiju. I don’t know the game, but I can protect you from interference.”

Dou Xiaowen’s eyes widened, full of hope.

He knew this was his chance to enter the inner circle of these privileged youths.

“Dou Xiaowen, why are you standing there? Hurry and tidy up the field.”

A Dou family steward shouted from afar. Dou Xiaowen’s body trembled; he lowered his head gloomily.

How similar he was to his former self.

If Zheng Yanqing had not transmigrated and been driven by his urgent poems and essays, he too might still be doing menial chores.

Zheng Yanqing mounted his horse and called to Dou Xiaowen’s retreating figure, “Old Dou, aren’t you joining us?”

Dou Xiaowen suddenly stopped and turned to look at Yanqing.

The servants tidying the field also stared at Dou Xiaowen in surprise.

Zheng Yanqing laughed. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid?”

“I’m not...” Dou Xiaowen started.

“Then mount your horse and follow us!” Yanqing shouted. “But I must warn you, once you join, it’s hard to quit. Tell your parents, then come to the bamboo garden.”

“Thank you, Young Master Zheng!”

Dou Xiaowen’s eyes suddenly welled with tears.

Zheng Yanqing spurred his horse and rode off. Pei Xingyan and Xue Wanche appraised Dou Xiaowen before smiling. “Kid, you’ve got guts!”

Shen Guang, walking last, tossed twenty copper coins to Dou Xiaowen.

“Kid, think carefully. This money might just be your life’s price... If you’re resolved, come to the bamboo garden. If not... well, take care of yourself.”

Jiju was risky; joining required caution.

You might die on the field, but if afraid, don’t even think of joining.

“Ah Wen, are you really going to play jiju?” The servants swarmed, chattering.

“Yes, I heard it’s dangerous. A few days ago, they played against the Hu merchants, and two horses died. One Hu merchant was beaten so badly his bones were broken; he may never recover. They’re to face a team from Chang’an next, and those players are even fiercer. Ten days ago, someone died in the southern garden.”

Dou Xiaowen took a deep breath, then bent down and grabbed the copper coins.

Fortune favors the brave!

Was he to spend his life cleaning jiju fields like these people? No, he wanted to rise. This was his best chance.

Dou Xiaowen knew he lacked literary talent and was no great fighter.

What he had was his life. Today, he would risk it all for a promising future.

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Deep within the bamboo garden, at the foot of Longmen Mountain, lay a small mountain valley.

In the valley stood a modest wooden hut, in front of which bubbled a hot spring, surrounded by a dozen ancient pines standing tall.

Mist rose and lingered in the air.

Zheng Yanqing and the others soaked in the hot spring, savoring a rare moment of quiet relaxation.

Hot springs weren’t rare in these times, but most were controlled by noble clans and powerful families. Commoners rarely enjoyed such leisure, and even among the elite, few found a suitable spring. This bamboo garden spring had been discovered years earlier by Du Ruhui and Zheng Yanqing during an excursion to Longmen Mountain. Hidden by the bamboo and nestled in a remote part of the mountain, it remained undiscovered.

Zheng Yanqing had built a wooden house here and refurbished the spring’s surroundings with cobblestones.

It was a means of relaxation.

Several gentlemen soaked in the hot water, relishing the soothing warmth. As the saying goes, to be truly open is to be bare—now these men were completely naked, embodying that openness. Pei Xingyan moaned with pleasure in the water.

“Brother, this is really good. A soak like this makes the whole body feel at ease.”

Xue Wanche added, “If only we had a cup of wine, we wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

Zheng Yanqing laughed heartily.

He stood up from the water and stepped ashore. Four years of studying health cultivation had matured his body beyond others his age. He was nearly the same height as Xu Shiji, with no excess fat.

He wasn’t particularly muscular, at least compared to a man like Xue Wanche, who was built like a bodybuilder. Yanqing was lean but carried a wild, explosive power beneath his slender frame. As Xue Wanche said, Yanqing might lack raw strength, but in a fight, he could deliver a blow that even Xue couldn’t easily endure.

Especially after mastering the changes in internal force, his explosive power grew even stronger.

Zheng Yanqing walked to the valley entrance, dug out a black jar from a pile of snow, and staggered over.

“Top-grade Sanle Jiang. Brother Zhang San sent it some time ago.

Chilled in the snow for nearly half a day, drinking Sanle Jiang in the hot spring—fire and ice combined—what could be more delightful?”

Sanle Jiang was a sweet alcoholic beverage popular during the Sui and Tang periods.

Many later claimed it was a strong spirit reserved for northern barbarians, but in this era, it was more like champagne, brewed with a special recipe. Sweet on the tongue but with a lingering kick, it easily intoxicated.

After chilling long in the snow, the jar steamed in the hot spring’s warmth, beads of crystal-clear water forming on its surface.

—————————————————

Shen Guang brought out a stack of ceramic bowls from the wooden house and poured the slightly reddened wine.

Xue Wanche lifted a bowl and drank it down, then exclaimed joyfully and quickly poured himself another.

Xue Shou smiled. “Yanqing truly has refined taste...

With Longmen water and Sanle Jiang in hand, heh, this is pure bliss. I feel much lighter inside after soaking and drinking. We feel uneasy; I bet Mai Fei feels even more so.”

Indeed, the pressure on Pei Xingyan and the others was palpable, and Mai Zizhong was likely under similar strain.

At that moment, Dang Shijie arrived with Dou Xiaowen into the valley.

“Old Dou, have you decided?”

“Gentlemen, Xiaowen has made up his mind!”

“Since you’re resolved, come on down.”

Fortunately, Pei Xingyan, Xue Wanche, and the others were all spirited and straightforward men; Xue Shou and Yao Yi had a strong independent streak. Otherwise, neither Dou Xiaowen nor even Xu Shiji and Shen Guang would have qualified to soak in this hot spring.

Dou Xiaowen hesitated, then gritted his teeth, shed his clothes, and jumped naked into the spring.

The water was scalding; he bit his lip as he entered. Shen Guang approached, holding a bowl of Sanle Jiang.

“Such pleasure today. With this scenery, why doesn’t Yanqing compose a poem?”

By now, Zheng Yanqing had downed three bowls of Sanle Jiang, the wine’s warmth stirring his spirits.

He had long forgotten the need for concealment or self-denigration.

His eyes bleary with drink, he glanced at his companions, picked up a wooden stick from the shore, and lightly tapped a ceramic bowl.

“Yao Yi rides horses like a boat on waves, eyes blurred, falling into the well’s water sleep.

Shen Guang drinks three dou before dawn, drooling when passing the Qu carriage.

Not moving the seal to Jiuquan, Shiji spends ten thousand coins daily.

Drinking like a whale swallowing rivers, holding the cup, the sage is called a recluse.

Yuanqing, a graceful young man, raises his cup and eyes the blue sky.

Jiao like a jade tree before the wind...”

Xue Shou, caught up in the moment, hadn’t expected Yanqing to compose a poem fitting the group. Starting with Dou Xiaowen, then Shen Guang, then Xu Shiji, and finally Pei Xingyan, who laughed heartily.

“It’s my turn, it’s my turn!” Xue Wanche pointed at his nose, shouting.

Yanqing filled another bowl and drank it before staring at Xue Wanche, making his heart pound. Just when he thought Yanqing would compose a poem about him, Yanqing turned his gaze to Yao Yi.

“Yao Yi fasts before the Buddha’s altar, often escaping meditation in drunkenness.”

Yao Yi was a devout Buddhist but did not avoid meat. At this moment, he lay face down on the shore, sound asleep in his drunken stupor.

“What about me? What about me?” Xue Wanche shouted.

Yanqing, now somewhat sober, realized he faced a great dilemma.

How to handle the Li Bai stanza “A jug of wine, a hundred poems” next?

Xue Wanche’s impatience pushed him to skip ahead, singing:

“Bo Bao drinks three cups, the sage’s legacy,

Removing his hat before elders, brush strokes fall like clouds.”

Bo Bao was Xue Shou’s courtesy name.

Xue Shou smiled lightly, nodding.

As for Li Bai... Yanqing thought: since I’ve shamelessly come this far, I may as well be even more so.

“Yanqing drinks a jug of poetry, sleeping outside Luoyang in the valley.

If the emperor calls and he won’t attend court, he calls himself the immortal of wine.”

Xue Shou and the others clapped in approval.

Yanqing’s words seemed to embody his early spirit of “a scholar willing to burn to death rather than accept injustice,” disregarding fame.

Xue Wanche grew furious.

“Yanqing, what about me? What about me?” he roared.

Having teased enough, Yanqing sang:

“Xue San, five dou, outstanding,

Eyes wide, who dares to speak?”

“Oh...” Xue Wanche’s mouth dropped open.

This drunken fool seemed prone to reckless outbursts; he had once injured Yuwen Chengji in Chang’an while drunk. After five dou, he was tipsy but now wide-eyed, his eyes almost splitting, silencing the crowd.

Xue Shou and the others were stunned, then burst into laughter.

An Eight Immortals song had lifted the heavy mood.

Xue Wanche blushed and sat down. After a moment, he asked, “Do I really act like this when I drink?”

His question sparked another round of laughter.

Zheng Yanqing plunged into the water, suddenly surfacing and shaking his wet hair, sending droplets flying.

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A late-night burst: 13,000 words. Please vote!

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