Chapter Three: Heir of a Renowned Family

Zhong Bai had no choice but to force himself to step forward and explain, blaming himself for forgetting to tell Li Zisheng about this matter on the way. He feared that in General Deng’s eyes, their party might appear as if they were making sport of him.

Yet just as Zhong Bai was about to speak, Li Zisheng, standing behind him, directly interrupted.

“General Deng, I admit I am not particularly gifted, but I do possess some genuine abilities. Aside from contests of martial prowess, I am open to any other challenges,” Li Zisheng declared with a smile, his words bold and brash.

But this was precisely what General Deng wished to hear. He had always despised those who were too modest to display their talents, who hid their brilliance for fear of standing out. In his view, anyone unwilling to showcase their strengths, content to blend into the crowd, was not worth employing.

So, when Li Zisheng finished, General Deng’s eyes lit up with interest.

“Oh? It’s not good for someone so young to boast so boldly.”

General Deng squinted at Li Zisheng, who met his gaze calmly and confidently, his eyes raised to meet the general’s. Their glances crossed in the air, and seeing the fierce, untamed look in Li Zisheng’s eyes, General Deng felt even more impressed, silently concluding that this youth was extraordinary.

“General, though Zisheng has made some achievements in scholarship, excels in strategy and medicine, his literary talents far outstrip his martial skills; wisdom prevails over strength,” Li Zisheng said, knowing when to advance and when to retreat. He could show his sharpness, but avoided overreaching, lest it become off-putting.

General Deng and Mr. Lin, upon hearing Li Zisheng’s words, raised their estimation of him yet again.

To know one’s strengths and weaknesses and to present them candidly was to place oneself in the other’s consideration. A master negotiator might know how to build rapport, but Li Zisheng, only eight years old, already understood human nature deeply. This alone meant he could serve directly as an advisor in the army, like Mr. Lin.

Li Zisheng was fully aware of his own shortcomings; there was no reason to hide them. If he wanted to gain recognition, it wasn’t enough to display his strengths—he had to let others see his weaknesses as well. Only then would the other side feel they had full control, and Li Zisheng could truly integrate into their ranks.

“Mr. Lin, please explain to Li Zisheng in detail the literary contest with the Turkic delegation. I wish to see whether Li Zisheng is as remarkable as Governor Zhang claims,” General Deng said, not mentioning Li Zisheng’s self-assessment, but only referring to Zhang’s words.

“Yes, General.”

“This contest is simple, yet extremely difficult. The Turkic delegation will send ten people; so will the Tang. Both sides will split into pairs, each team consisting of one scholar and one warrior. The teams will compete against each other.”

“If scholars and warriors are paired together, won’t they both complement and hinder each other?” Li Zisheng remarked.

“Precisely. Each team must participate in both literary and martial challenges. During the martial rounds, the warrior protects the scholar, while in the literary rounds, the scholar compensates for the warrior’s shortcomings. Although it is called complementary, it is more often mutual hindrance,” Mr. Lin explained.

“In the literary contest, the scholars will be tested using our imperial examination methods: first, an essay on the classics, then poetry, two rounds in all. In the martial contest, the format follows the previous Zhou dynasty’s military examinations: first, a test of physical combat, then tactical exercises in battlefield formations and military strategy. Warriors may excel here, but when scholars are required to compete, there will be shortcomings.”

“This exchange with the Turkic delegation is a major event for the Tang, for the Guannei Circuit, and especially for Lingzhou. Lingzhou has received imperial favor and is the site of this exchange. We must seize this opportunity to display the glory of the Tang.”

Mr. Lin spoke passionately, but Li Zisheng was no reckless youth. He noticed the risks Mr. Lin glossed over; most listeners would feel confident, even if they recognized the pitfalls.

Though the Hundred Schools of Thought had faded somewhat in the Tang, Li Zisheng was certain Mr. Lin belonged to one of the eminent schools. In just a few sentences, he pointed out the weaknesses yet dispelled any worries about them, brimming with confidence—a truly outstanding negotiator.

“Mr. Lin, your skill in negotiations is formidable. I hope to learn much from you in future discussions,” Li Zisheng said.

He spoke without intent, but if his words were heard with intent, they could be shocking.

Mr. Lin felt unsettled by Li Zisheng’s ambiguous praise. His talent in discourse was inherited from the famous school among the Hundred Schools, which specialized in negotiation.

Li Zisheng’s casual mention of wanting to learn negotiation from him—did it mean the boy had guessed his identity?

Although literary pursuits thrived in the Tang, the mainstream was Daoism and Confucianism, the two powers contending openly and covertly. Like the upcoming sacrificial ceremony, Daoist and Confucian officials had quarreled countless times, with fierce disputes beneath the surface.

The main point was that almost all power in the court was held by these two schools. If anyone from the other schools gained power, they would be jointly suppressed by Daoists and Confucians—a strict rule, tacitly accepted in the Tang.

Even the powerful military school, though commanding countless troops across the empire, was ultimately overseen by officials from the literary tradition—Confucians or Daoists.

They controlled all the soldiers in the realm.

Members of the other schools could only rely on Daoist or Confucian officials to gain importance. There was another path: study Confucian classics, excel in poetry and prose, pass the imperial exams, and become a top scholar. Without connections, one might wait years to gain even a minor post.

Take General Deng, for example. He benefited from ancestral merit; his forebear was a loyal general during the Wu Zhou era. Because of that, he received his position. If it were solely based on seniority, even with his talent, General Deng would not have been given much responsibility.

It was this ancestral merit that greatly improved his prospects, which was why Mr. Lin chose to align himself with him.