Chapter Thirty-Eight: First Encounter with Luo Binwang (Part Two)

"Please, Master Wang, have a seat. My humble abode offers no tea, only clear water. I beg your indulgence."

Luo Binwang ushered Li Xian into the room, personally poured a cup of cool water for him, and placed it on the table. He spoke calmly, his face composed and serene, yet a faint melancholy lingered in his eyes.

"Thank you, Master Luo. To hear your guidance is a rare blessing for someone like me. Clear water is as precious as nectar; I am ashamed to receive such honor."

Li Xian was a sensitive soul. Though the trace of melancholy in Luo Binwang’s eyes flickered only briefly, it did not escape his notice. He felt a surge of emotion, yet he did not let it show. Instead, he respectfully clasped his hands and bowed, expressing his gratitude. Not only that, he genuinely picked up the tea bowl and took a delicate sip.

"May I ask, young master, what is your family background?"

Seeing Li Xian’s respectful manners, Luo Binwang’s gaze grew even more appreciative. Smiling, he nodded and asked, probing gently about Li Xian’s origins.

"For your information, sir, my ancestors also served in official posts, but the family has since declined and now makes a living through trade. I have studied from a young age, especially fond of poetry and books, but lacking guidance, my progress remains limited. To encounter you today is my great fortune."

Li Xian had prepared his words well before visiting Luo Binwang. Hearing the question, he answered calmly, bowing politely as he spoke.

"I see. Commerce is but a minor path. For you to devote yourself to learning is commendable. I dare not claim to guide you, but if you have any previous works, I can offer my critique."

Merchants have always held little status, even in the open atmosphere of early Tang, their position was not high. Hearing Li Xian declare his merchant background, Luo Binwang, though not showing displeasure, did not hide his disdain for merchants in his words. His continued politeness was due to his favorable impression of Li Xian himself. Yet, even with goodwill, Luo Binwang clearly did not intend to converse at length, and asked straightforwardly for Li Xian’s poetry, intending to offer a cursory critique and thus send him on his way.

Li Xian had composed many poems in his previous life, though their quality was mostly suited for self-admiration under the covers. When he was emperor, every poem he produced drew lavish praise, and for a time, he fancied himself as accomplished as the Four Talents of Early Tang. But reflecting on his later experiences, he realized those works were hardly presentable—even ordinary scholars would frown upon them, perhaps even lose their appetite.

His own poetry was insufficient, but Li Xian, having lived half his life under the red banner, could resort to borrowing if necessary. He had memorized the Three Hundred Tang Poems, and if pressed, could produce a few, perhaps even pass as Li Bai. However, there was a dilemma: Li Xian’s true intent in visiting Luo Binwang was to win him over, so his identity would eventually be revealed. Should he become renowned for poetry, it would be counterproductive, for Li Xian had forsaken literature for military pursuits precisely to avoid attention. Thus, any borrowed poem must not be so mediocre as to invite disdain, nor so brilliant as to astonish. This made things difficult. Yet Li Xian was prepared. After bowing respectfully, he reached into his sleeve and produced a rolled-up paper, offering it with both hands to Luo Binwang.

"The wind sweeps cold clouds, evening snow clears,
River mist washed away, light willow spears.
Leaves fall before the eaves, none sweep them up,
Once more, at the window, night’s brightness appears."

"Hmm, your calligraphy is fine, and the poetic mood quite excellent, the structure correct. There are, however, a few places worth considering."

Luo Binwang unrolled the paper, glanced over it, then softly recited it. After a few comments of praise, he frowned slightly and pondered further, feeling the seven-character quatrain was not yet perfect.

The poem was originally written by Rong Yu, a realist poet of Middle Tang, titled "After Snow." Li Xian had altered a few words so it would not be too flawless. Hearing Luo Binwang’s criticism, Li Xian was well aware, and found it secretly amusing. Yet he kept a modest demeanor, bowing and replying, "Such a childish work to catch your eye is both a joy and a terror. I beg your guidance, sir."

"Not so. The poem’s atmosphere is quite good—only someone with sufficient experience could have written it. For one of your age, it is rare. I never exaggerate; if you persevere, you will achieve much. There are two places that could use refinement: the word ‘leaves’ is too plain, though it rhymes, it wounds the mood. Changing it to ‘a few’ or ‘scattered’ would be better. Also, in the line ‘Once more, at the window, night’s brightness appears,’ the word ‘at’ stands out awkwardly. To echo the previous line, replacing it with ‘one’ would be more fitting. With these changes, the poem could be widely admired!"

Luo Binwang spoke with authority, hitting the mark with every critique. Hearing this, Li Xian was genuinely stunned, for Luo Binwang’s suggested changes were precisely where Li Xian had altered the original, and his corrections matched the original wording exactly.

"Master, your wisdom is admirable! I am truly convinced!"

If Li Xian’s earlier words were mostly theatrical, these now came from the heart. He was utterly impressed by Luo Binwang’s poetic skill. Yet, this outcome was expected, for fame seldom rests on the undeserving.

"Let’s dispense with ‘master.’ With your talent, you are certainly one of us, and your future achievements will be high. I dare not claim such a title. If you do not mind, just call me elder brother."

Clearly, Luo Binwang was greatly impressed by the "poetic talent" Li Xian had displayed. Stroking his beard, he smiled warmly as he spoke.

"If elder brother insists, I dare not refuse. But please, do not call me ‘young master.’ ‘Friend’ or simply ‘Sanlang’ will suffice."

Hearing Luo Binwang’s words, Li Xian responded with a cheerful smile. As soon as the words fell, the old and the young burst into hearty laughter, their mirth echoing through the humble room.

"With your great talent, elder brother, your success in the imperial examination is certain. Forgive me for being forward, but I am curious—what post are you aiming for? Will you serve in the provinces, or seek a position at court?"

After their laughter and a pleasant discussion of poetry, despite the generational difference, their exchange was lively and congenial. Yet, poetry was not Li Xian’s purpose in coming today. Seeing the atmosphere so amiable, he turned the conversation to the real matter at hand.

"It matters not. I have never shied from public affairs. If fortune favors me, I shall serve at court; provincial offices are not my desire!"

Luo Binwang stroked his beard and replied straightforwardly, his words full of confidence.

Just as expected! Li Xian knew well the encounters Luo Binwang had after passing the imperial exam in his previous life—refusing to bribe officials, he was dispatched to the Ministry of Rites as a mere ninth-rank ceremonial officer. Later, thanks to Liu Xiangdao’s influence, he was promoted to Scholar of the Eastern Terrace—a post dedicated to composing ceremonial poetry for the royal family, akin to the later Hanlin Academy, reserved for erudite scholars. But he did not hold the position long; disgusted by the corruption at court, he used poetry to satirize those in power, resulting in his dismissal and being tricked into three years of military service on the frontier, suffering greatly. Upon returning to the capital, he was made Supervising Censor, but his repeated denunciations of Empress Wu’s clique led to false charges of bribery and imprisonment, nearly dying wrongfully.

Li Xian had always lamented Luo Binwang’s fate—such talent, as upright as the famed Chancellor Wei Zheng, yet doomed by inept rulers and the unscrupulous Empress Wu, ultimately ending his life by drowning. His tragic end moved later generations to sorrow. Li Xian’s visit was partly to see if he could recruit Luo Binwang, and partly to offer advice to spare him such a grievous life.

"Elder brother’s spirit is admirable, yet the current court is not as it once was. Since Chancellor Zhangsun’s fall, peace is rare. Rather than struggle at court, it may be wiser to first establish a foundation in the provinces; once your position is secure, you might then remedy the maladies..."

Li Xian paused, carefully choosing his words to be as tactful as possible. But before he finished, Luo Binwang’s expression darkened, and he waved his hand to interrupt.

"Stubborn ailments require strong medicine. If everyone retreats, who will step forward? Though I am downcast, I dare not shrink from duty. Friend, say no more—I have made up my mind!"

When it came to governance, Luo Binwang shed all previous gentleness, his demeanor proud and resolute, embodying the spirit of one who would face ten thousand foes unflinchingly.

Enough—this old man truly won’t turn back until he hits the wall! Hearing this, Li Xian knew he would never persuade him, nor did he wish to press further lest he provoke annoyance. He thought, with time, he would find a way to keep him safe. So, after apologizing, he shifted the conversation back to poetry, finding pleasure in literary critique, and their discussion continued spiritedly...