Chapter 41: I Am Ashamed to Call You a Friend

Yan Zhenqing smacked his lips and brushed the sesame cake crumbs from the corner of his mouth. Compared to He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu, his life was much more leisurely, for he was still awaiting appointment and was thus idle in the capital. Ever since he had seen the words “Showing Off Before the Master” at Ye Chang’s place the day before, he had been somewhat distracted: though Zhang Xu remarked that those characters bore traces of Yan’s own style, Yan himself felt that their forms struck straight at his heart. He did not know that this was none other than the famed “Yan Style” of later generations, a script he himself would perfect. Yet he sensed that, while Ye Chang’s four characters possessed the form of this script, they lacked its true spirit—a spirit leaping within his own chest, ready at any moment to burst forth.

But it was not enough; four characters were far from sufficient. Today, he must find a way to persuade Ye Chang to write more.

With this in mind, Yan Zhenqing gave orders: “Go and buy incense and paper money; I have a person to pay respects to.”

“Yan Qingchen, where are you off to?” he had only just stepped outside when a small crowd approached. At their head was a man with an indigo face, his age indeterminable; upon seeing Yan, he saluted from afar in greeting.

Yan recognized him: it was Lu Qi. Following Lu Qi, he saw another standing just behind, whose status was even higher.

Lu Qi, still quite young and rather impetuous at this time, greeted Yan and then turned, saying, “Elder Brother, this is Yan Qingchen.”

The man addressed as “Elder Brother” was already middle-aged, his expression somewhat haughty; he nodded coolly and said to Yan, “So you are Yan Qingchen… Today I am hosting a banquet at the Western Market. Might you care to join me?”

Yan did not directly answer but saluted, “I am engaged in business today and truly cannot spare the time.”

“Do you know who this is? This is the son of His Excellency Li, the Left Chancellor of the Court—Li Zha, now serving as Court Gentleman for Consultation and Vice Minister of the Court of Sacrificial Worship!”

The Left Chancellor referred to Li Shizhi, and this man was his son, Li Zha. Yan was somewhat surprised; he had heard that Li Zha was quite sociable, and because Li Shizhi’s position was so exalted, many sought his favor. However, Yan had little acquaintance with him and had not called upon him since arriving in Chang’an.

Li Shizhi and He Zhizhang were close friends, both fond of wine and often drinking companions. Zhang Xu was He Zhizhang’s in-law, and Yan was Zhang’s pupil in calligraphy. Thus, from the perspective of court factions, Yan should have been on good terms with Li Zha.

Therefore, Yan saluted Li Zha, saying, “Forgive my poor eyesight. Meeting you today is truly a long-cherished delight. Since you have invited me, I would not wish to appear ungracious, but I am already committed to visiting a guest, and so must beg your pardon.”

“What guest could be so important that you would decline Elder Brother’s invitation?” Lu Qi interjected, displeased.

Yan glanced at Lu Qi with a certain measure of contempt.

Lu Qi’s grandfather had served as prime minister, and his father, Lu Yi, was now magistrate of Hu County. Because Hu was near Chang’an, Lu Qi often lingered in the capital rather than following his father. Barely sixteen or seventeen, he was already eager to ingratiate himself with the powerful.

Moreover, his narrow temperament and the large birthmark on his face made him a target of ridicule, which only spurred his urgency to prove himself. Yan, now over thirty and in the midst of his life, saw through such youthful ambitions at a glance.

It was nothing more than an attempt to curry favor with Li Zha, and thus advance his own prospects. So young, yet uninterested in learning and bent only on scheming—Yan found this a disgrace to both father and grandfather.

“It is a friend from out of town, a most intriguing man—surname Ye, given name Chang, the eleventh son,” Yan replied. “Yesterday I met him with Master He and Master Zhang.”

“Ha! You should have said so sooner—Elder Brother’s guest today is none other than him!” Lu Qi clapped his hands and laughed. “Master He praised him to the Left Chancellor as much like Li Mi, and the Chancellor spoke of him to Elder Brother, who now wishes to meet this talented youth.”

At the mention of “talented youth,” Lu Qi’s tone was tinged with sarcasm. Li Mi, once famed as a child prodigy, had ended up as nothing more than a Daoist priest until recently becoming a companion to the Crown Prince. Though He Zhizhang had lavished praise on Ye Chang before Li Shizhi, He’s reputation for encouraging the young was well known, and Lu Qi inwardly resented such accolades.

“In that case, let me call on him and bring him to you,” Yan replied.

“We’ll go together!” Lu Qi insisted.

Everyone deferred to Li Zha, who nodded with reserved approval, accepting Lu Qi’s suggestion. Li Zha himself had little expectation for Ye Chang; he was only lowering himself to meet him because his father sought to recruit talent for the court.

Yan realized, seeing their attitudes, that any hope for quiet study today was lost. He had no choice but to join them.

When they reached Baoning Ward, they found Ye Chang absent—he had gone to Xinchang Ward. By the time they arrived there, dusk had already fallen.

At Qinglong Monastery, Ye Chang was again nowhere to be found. A monk told them he had gone with a group of street youths to the back of the monastery.

Yan was puzzled. Why was Ye Chang not keeping vigil over his brother’s coffin, but instead running off to the back of the monastery?

He himself had brothers, and they were very close; thus, he greatly admired Ye Chang’s efforts to clear his brother’s name. His reason for coming to pay respects was partly the script, but also the brotherly bond.

“Ha! Yan Qingchen, whose coffin is that—your friend Ye the Eleventh’s, isn’t it? Why isn’t he keeping vigil, but running off to have fun instead?” Lu Qi’s tone was sly and mocking.

Yan did not answer; after all, he barely knew Ye Chang—his interest was in calligraphy, nothing more.

Just then, another man chimed in, “Most people are all smiles to your face, but a different story behind your back—hypocrisy is everywhere. Master He is getting old; perhaps his eyes are failing, plastering dung upon a wall and calling it art.”

His words were thick with sarcasm. Yan remembered he had introduced himself earlier: Yuan, given name Zai, courtesy Gongfu, a man who had repeatedly failed the exams and studied the works of the Daoist masters. He had come to Chang’an after hearing the emperor might open examinations on Daoist texts, and now sought to curry favor with the powerful.

Yan said nothing more, but his suspicion toward Ye Chang deepened.

“Could it be that Ye Chang only talks a good game, but has no real brotherly affection?” Exiting the rear gate of the monastery, Yan heard shouts and laughter, and his brow furrowed, his doubts at their height.

According to ritual, in mourning for his brother, Ye Chang ought to avoid revelry. But if the monk had not lied, Ye Chang must be among this group!

Yan’s gaze swept over the crowd—over twenty burly men, most bare-chested, chasing after a ball on the open ground behind Qinglong Monastery. The ball was larger than those used for polo or cuju, and everyone was using their feet to kick it. Occasionally, someone would head the ball, but not with the elaborate flourishes of cuju.

“What is this?” Yan wondered, briefly stunned. He himself was a fan of ball games and could tell at once that this was a new game, though not so new as to be unfamiliar. In fact, after watching a few moments, he understood its basic rules.

“Ha! So it’s football, but played in a different way?” he remarked.

Ball games were beloved in the Tang, and many present were experts. Li Zha, in particular, was known for regularly organizing polo matches. After watching for a while, they discerned some patterns.

First, no hands allowed—except for the two standing within the wooden frames at either end. The contest was limited to the area marked out in lime.

Yan’s interest was only fleeting; what he wanted most was to know what Ye Chang was doing. Begging pardon, he hurried forward to the edge of the field and immediately spotted Ye Chang.

Clad in black, Ye Chang held a bamboo whistle in his mouth, blowing it from time to time and making gestures. As Yan watched, Ye Chang’s attention remained on the field—these men, gathered by Xiao Bailang, were new to football’s rules and often committed fouls, so Ye Chang had to stop play frequently. But to their credit, all respected the rules; they accepted Ye Chang’s authority as referee.

“Three sticks of incense have burned!” a brawny man suddenly called out.

Ye Chang blew three blasts on his whistle, halting the training. Amid the crowd, he left the field and caught sight of the stern-faced Yan Zhenqing.

“Master Yan!” Ye Chang called out in greeting from afar.

But Yan did not return the greeting; when Ye Chang approached, he rebuked him coldly, “Your brother’s coffin lies in the monastery, yet you make merry outside—do you not fear disturbing his peace?”

“Who is this, so full of himself? Does he think he’s the prefect of the capital, to speak so to our Master Ye?” the street youths cried, one after another rushing to defend Ye Chang, as if they’d been friends for years. This was not surprising—after a half-day of football, they had grown fond of the game and recognized Ye Chang’s mastery of its rules; at least until they’d learned everything from him, they would heed his every word.

Even holding a minor post in the capital was not a big deal to these ruffians; after all, there had even been incidents in Chang’an where porters argued with princesses over the right of way.

Their words only made Yan’s face cloud darker; shaking his sleeves, he turned to leave. But Ye Chang caught up in two strides and grabbed his arm. “Master Yan, please hear me out.”

Yan paused slightly. Ye Chang turned to the ruffians and said, “All of you, go rest—practice resumes after one stick of incense.”

Then, dragging Yan beneath an elm tree, he sat down by its roots. “Master Yan, do you think sitting by my brother’s coffin will clear his name?”

“At least it’s better than making merry behind it.”

“To clear my brother’s name, I have no choice.” Ye Chang sighed. “Master Yan, the adversary is Princess Xianyi. Even men like Master He and Master Zhang are powerless to help me. I must gather allies, create momentum, and secretly investigate how my brother came into conflict with the princess’s residence—only when I find the root cause can I act!”

“Be that as it may, I have not seen you inquire into the truth, only make merry here.”

“I have neither money nor influence, and am a stranger here—how can I investigate and build support? These street folk are my only resource. They can serve as my eyes and ears.”

Yan was astonished. Staring at Ye Chang, he said incredulously, “You would pit commoners against a princess? They might sell you out to her in a heartbeat!”

“They have nothing to gain by doing so. I only ask them to gather information—there’s no danger to them. Betraying me would profit them nothing, and only hurt their own reputations. Who would do such a thing?”

Ye Chang was about to explain further, when a crowd approached. Yan, knowing it was unwise to discuss his investigation of Princess Xianyi in public, said no more, but introduced the newcomers: “These are all young gentlemen of Chang’an, having heard of you from Master He and wishing to make your acquaintance.”

Ye Chang’s gaze first fell on Lu Qi, whose conspicuous birthmark made him easy to spot, but courtesy dictated he not stare. He merely glanced and looked to the man at the center.

“This is Li Zha, Vice Minister of the Court of Sacrificial Worship,” Yan introduced, starting with the only official present, though he did not mention he was the Left Chancellor’s son. Then he introduced the others one by one. When Ye Chang heard Yuan Zai’s name, he was surprised; learning the indigo-faced man was Lu Qi, he inwardly grumbled.

Was his luck good or bad? Teaching football here, he had encountered two of the most notorious future prime ministers of mid-Tang!

He then noticed that both Yuan Zai and Lu Qi were eyeing him with hostility.

After the pleasantries, Yuan Zai was first to strike: “I heard from the monks that your brother’s coffin lies in the monastery, and that you journeyed to Chang’an from your hometown to take it home. At first I thought you a paragon of filial piety, truly worthy of Master He’s repeated recommendations to Chancellor Li…”

Hearing that He Zhizhang had recommended him to Li Shizhi, Ye Chang was ashamed. When he realized yesterday who He Zhizhang had been, he had schemed to use him, and, finding He had shown little reaction, even resented him as timid. Only now did he realize that, though He had said nothing, he had been exerting himself on Ye’s behalf all along.

If Li Shizhi truly favored him, then with the Chancellor’s authority, the obstacles to investigating his brother’s wrongful death would vanish. The princess’s household might even hand over Yang Fu directly, saving Ye from further peril.

Yuan Zai went on, “But to my surprise, though Master He is famed for recognizing talent, this time he has misjudged. Your brother is not yet buried, and here you are playing games—I am ashamed, and can no longer call you friend!”