Chapter Twenty-Five: Storm on the Horizon

A single dance of the sword stirs all four directions, the dragon soars and the phoenix sweeps, its force unstoppable. Three thousand drunken guests fill the hall with blossoms, yet one sword, cold as frost, chills countless provinces. The drums and horns pierce the heavens, auspicious air grows cold; wind and waves shake the earth, and mountains meet the autumn sea. How could one not long to witness the lady’s dance? Who would envy the lords of ten thousand households of old?

A poem lay on the desk of the middle-aged man. Just moments before, Zhang Shufeng had given a brief introduction to Li Zisheng. Without hesitation, the man issued a covert order to investigate this person. The response came swiftly; before long, a detailed dossier was placed right on his desk.

Had Li Zisheng been present, he would have realized with astonishment that the document covered information on every member of his family for three generations. Such speed was truly shocking.

The record meticulously chronicled Li Zisheng’s extraordinary experiences, beginning with the ancestral rites banquet where he acknowledged Cheng Zhongliang as his mentor. At the family’s ancestral feast, he grasped the essence of Cheng’s scholarship through the sacrificial text. After the banquet, he was accepted as Cheng’s disciple and thereafter secluded himself, devoting his days to studying the ancient texts Cheng taught.

He dealt with the shamaness Wang: a blue dragon’s manifestation frightened her into submission. He cured a child’s severe convulsions, earning renown throughout the county for his medical skills. Even rare and difficult ailments such as pediatric convulsions were healed by his remarkable touch. Moreover, he shared his remedy for the illness without reservation; the prescription spread widely among the county’s physicians and was highly esteemed.

From then on, he seldom left home, immersing himself in study. Later, he encountered the sisters Zhang Shufeng and Zhang Shuling, leaving behind the very poem now on the desk.

The middle-aged man had asked Zhang Shufeng why the poem was written. His niece had grown up in the army, her sword dance fierce and powerful. The poem was composed for her.

He read and reread the poem, marveling at its diction, structure, and maturity. Were it not for his own certainty that he had never seen such lines before, and for Zhang Shufeng’s testimony, he would never believe that such a poem could come from the hand of an eight-year-old child.

Especially remarkable was that his daughter had ordered a rubbing to be taken of the poem. The handwriting itself was bold and flowing, the characters lively and distinctive—remarkably so for something inscribed in snow. Even in the strokes and sweeps, one could see the budding of an original calligraphic style. This was astonishing, given that the formation of a unique script usually required years of experience and practice. What could an eight-year-old child know of such things? Li Zisheng’s talent was not merely extraordinary—it was uncanny, genius bordering on the supernatural.

The later episode in Huilue County, where Li Zisheng cleverly solved the earring case, brought the man even greater delight. Here was a child of eight, not only accomplished in scholarship, but also displaying sharp insight into human affairs and governance—a true prodigy. No wonder Cheng Zhongliang accepted him as a disciple, and Kong Zhichong wished to cultivate him. Such a figure indeed deserved such attention.

The Tang realm did not lack for talent; poetry and literature flourished and culture thrived. But what it truly lacked were capable officials to govern its vast lands—men who could be put to good use.

Now, in Li Zisheng, he saw the shadow of such a one.

“No wonder my daughter has such a keen eye for talent. Such an unpolished gem—it’s little surprise she took notice,” he mused.

The guard standing nearby looked faintly exasperated. Just moments ago, the general had been calling Li Zisheng a brat, but now he was singing his praises. Still, the guard dared not speak his mind—he knew his master’s temper well enough to avoid any unnecessary suffering.

“Very well. Since Kong Zhichong wishes to test Li Zisheng, on the day of the examination I shall attend and see for myself if the rumors are true,” the man ordered, postponing all his affairs for two days.

“Yes, General.” The guard found it remarkable that his master would pay such heed to this child.

Li Zisheng himself was entirely unaware that he had attracted the attention of an influential figure, who was already considering his cultivation.

“Father, your daughter begs an audience,” came Zhang Shuling’s voice from outside the command tent.

“My dear girl, what brings you here?” the man quickly rose from his seat.

“Father, what happened to the poem I made a rubbing of? Did you take it?” Zhang Shuling had already seen the poem on the desk, but still she asked, her meaning clear—she was chiding her father for touching her things without permission.

“All right, all right, my dear. Weren’t you curious about Li Zisheng’s background? I have gathered everything. So don’t be cross with me. I heard that in two days, Master Kong Zhichong will be testing Li Zisheng. I want to see for myself what talent this boy possesses to make my precious daughter lose her appetite and sleep,” the man said, his expression both delighted and worried, an oddly comic sight.

“Father, don’t say such things. I am interested in Li Zisheng only because of his extraordinary talent—he may one day be your right-hand man, perhaps even surpass you and become a pillar of the state. By then, you might have to bow to him,” Zhang Shuling retorted, rolling her eyes.

Her father was not offended, only amused.

“To surpass me—he must do so! If he can’t even manage that, it would be absurd for him to court my daughter.”

“Father, you’re talking nonsense again. I told you, I admire Li Zisheng solely for his talent and bright future.” Zhang Shuling was unwilling to say more; her cheeks flushed as she glared at her father.

“All right, all right, it’s my fault. I’ll say no more. But if Li Zisheng fails this examination, you must promise not to associate with him. Deal? That is my greatest concession. Otherwise, I will have to intervene.”

Zhang Shuling nodded reluctantly, grumbling inwardly. Li Zisheng was only eight; Yan Ziqing was nearly twenty. How shameless! She wondered what Master Kong was thinking.

She had already learned the whole story from Zhang Ziyang and thus felt great sympathy for Li Zisheng. But Master Kong was never known for favoritism; even if she begged, it would be useless. She had come to her father hoping for help, only to find that path blocked. Now, all she could do was rely on Li Zisheng’s own scholarship.

Li Zisheng himself had no idea that his impending examination had become the talk of the academy and set the entire county abuzz. Some even placed wagers, for graduates of the Genius Hall never fell below the eighth rank in officialdom, and the county’s prominent families always kept a close eye on its candidates.

Yet Li Zisheng remained undisturbed, quietly poring over the few books he had brought with him, wholly absorbed in his studies.