Chapter Fifty-Seven: When Wine Meets a Kindred Spirit, a Thousand Cups Are Too Few

(Author’s note: I merely wrote “Wang the Thirteenth,” and you guessed so quickly that it was Wang Wei! The Wang clan’s ancestral seat should be Hedong, separated from the Taiyuan Wang family long ago, but in the Tang dynasty, anyone with the slightest connection would claim to be from either the Taiyuan or Langya Wang family, so Wang Wei’s self-identification is quite normal. “Everywhere the cornel is worn, but one is missing,” is a line Wang Wei wrote during his early years in the capital. Early morning, everyone, please support with recommendation votes!)

Although it was during the hours of curfew, when the main gate was pounded upon, the innkeeper—though cursing in his heart—immediately scrambled out of bed. The guests who had checked in today didn’t look particularly wealthy or noble, but no sooner had they arrived than an invitation was delivered from the Duke of Bi, Dou’s estate. Such people were not ones a simple innkeeper could afford to offend. Donning his robe and lighting a lamp, he personally went to open the courtyard gate. Outside stood an ox cart, at its head a servant holding a lantern emblazoned with the character for “Dou,” conspicuous in the dark. Behind were several attendants leading horses, but the young lord who had ventured out that evening, and his Kunlun slave, were nowhere to be seen.

As he stood puzzled, he suddenly saw a figure nimbly leap down from beside the driver’s seat. Though the street outside was pitch black, with the help of his oil lamp and the lantern’s glow, he could make out the boy’s dark face—was it not the Kunlun slave who had gone out earlier? The slave lifted the curtain high, and a page-boy stepped forward to set up the stool. A young man in white robes alighted first, and the innkeeper saw at a glance that this was not the guest who had set out with an invitation earlier that night, and he was momentarily stunned. The next moment, he saw the Kunlun slave lean into the carriage. Not long after, he and the young man in white together helped another person down—was this not the young guest himself?

“All right, he’s been delivered. You may return and report to Lord Dou,” the young man instructed. After his page had tipped the Dou family attendants, he turned to the dumbstruck innkeeper, smiled, and asked, “Innkeeper, where is Du Nineteenth’s room? He drank himself insensible at the Dou residence—he needs to be put to bed at once.”

The innkeeper, finally snapping out of his daze and about to reply, heard a lazy yawn behind him. In the next instant, someone silently slipped past his side, reached to steady the guest supported by the Kunlun slave, then turned to him.

“It’s the middle of the night and you were still roused to open the door. Truly, we’ve troubled you. My junior brother will be fine with me—I’ll see him to his room. You may close up and get some rest,” the man said, then turned to the young man in white. “Thank you for bringing my junior brother back. Since it’s curfew and returning may be inconvenient, why not stay here for the night?”

Recognizing this new arrival as being of the same party as the young guest, and seeing the Dou family servants depart, the innkeeper was only too happy to agree. After the Kunlun slave had settled the horses, he closed up and returned to bed, yawning all the way. At such an hour, Wang the Thirteenth had no reason to refuse Lu Wangzhi’s invitation; together, they helped Du Shiyi into the guesthouse in the western courtyard. Glancing at the apparently still-drunk Du Shiyi, Wang coughed as if about to speak, but before he could utter a word, Lu Wangzhi remarked coolly, “Junior brother, how long do you intend to keep up this act?”

“To deceive so many, and yet be seen through by you!” Du Shiyi had been sober all along, but to be so directly exposed by Lu Wangzhi still surprised him. Seeing Lu release his grip, he gave his head a slight shake, raised it from where he had feigned drunken slumber, and, noticing Wang’s astonished look at Lu, smiled, “Brother Wang, this is my senior brother.”

“An honor to meet the first disciple of Master Lu,” Wang said, bowing hastily. Seeing Lu return the courtesy, Wang added with a smile, “I am Wang the Thirteenth of Taiyuan, greetings to Elder Brother Lu.”

“Wang the Thirteenth of Taiyuan?” Lu Wangzhi regarded him thoughtfully, then suddenly laughed. “Are you not the one who, last year, wrote, ‘From afar I know my brothers are climbing high, everywhere the cornel is worn—one is missing’?”

At this, Du Shiyi could not help but exclaim in surprise, scrutinizing Wang up and down. No wonder, he thought: no wonder this man could memorize a new tune after hearing it just once, intending to perform it later; no wonder he volunteered to compose a poem in his stead when Liu Ximing had pressed him; no wonder he left such an impression of rare distinction—this was none other than Wang Wei, the prodigy who, before even coming of age, was already famed throughout Chang’an!

Seeing Wang’s fleeting melancholy when his old work was mentioned, Du Shiyi smiled, “It is senior brother’s remarkable memory. Your name has long been celebrated; today, I am fortunate to meet you at last.”

“Meet me? What is there to meet? For all the fame, I’m a man without roots,” Wang Wei replied with a wry smile. The sorrow stirred earlier by Jiang Du was now compounded by Lu Wangzhi’s mention of his Double Ninth poem and the considerable wine he had drunk tonight; a wave of homesickness washed over him. He changed his mind about staying the night at the inn and determined to find a tavern and drink his fill. Lifting his head, he said, “Elder Brother Lu, Du Nineteenth, you two have traveled long and Du Nineteenth was further delayed by the Dou family’s feast. It’s best I take my leave now.”

“How can that be?”

“That won’t do!” both Du Shiyi and Lu Wangzhi protested at once. Exchanging a glance, Lu Wangzhi smiled apologetically, “It was my fault for stirring up your homesickness. As an apology, why not come to my room for a few cups? While my junior brother attended the feast at the Dou residence, I couldn’t sleep and wandered the neighborhood—found a fine wine shop and had a whole jug sent over. Tonight, let us drink without restraint!”

“More drinking?” Du Shiyi groaned. Though he had only pretended to be drunk earlier, his stomach was truly sloshing with liquor, not to mention that last cup of amber wine in the onyx horn was potent indeed. Now, with the night air, he was feeling dizzy. Yet, seeing Wang Wei being ushered into the room by Lu Wangzhi, he could only resign himself to accompany them. When he saw the jug’s formidable size, he was certain that getting up intact the next morning would be a Herculean feat.

How much they drank and when they finally fell, Du Shiyi could not recall at all. When he opened his eyes the next day, he found himself lying in bed, his outer robe and other garments neatly folded on the bedside table. Rubbing his brow, he realized his mind was blank. Fortunately, he had always been a good drunk—once asleep, never prone to saying things he shouldn’t. As for whether Wang Wei or Lu Wangzhi had spoken any drunken truths, he had no memory. Sitting up, he felt a throbbing headache—the telltale aftermath of a hangover.

He sat with his head in his hands for a while, then called out, “Is anyone outside?”

The one who answered was a young girl with twin buns, Bamboo Shadow. Seeing Du Shiyi sitting confused on the bed, she turned without a word, soon returning with a basin of water. Placing it on the stand, she briskly unfolded the clothes and helped him dress, chattering all the while, “I met Master Lu early this morning, and had Tian Mo carry you back to your room. Master Wang is sleeping in Master Lu’s room. The wine jar under the table, big enough to hold an entire jug, was emptied—Master, Master Lu, and Master Wang, you all can really drink! If not for Tian Mo’s strength, we couldn’t have moved you! Mistress has gone to the kitchen to ask the innkeeper to make congee and has herself prepared a soup to sober you up—she says something light is best after a night of drink. It’s almost midday…”

Chattering thus, she suddenly remembered herself, patted her forehead, fastened his belt, and stood upright. “But Master Lu truly has a lion’s share of strength—he was up at dawn, went to see Master Lu, and by morning had already accompanied him to the Ministry of Rites!”

“Ah!” Only now did Du Shiyi realize Lu Wangzhi had taken Lu Hong to the Ministry of Rites, and blamed himself for letting drink get in the way. But now, he felt unsteady even walking, and in the bronze mirror, his eyes seemed faintly bruised—hardly fit for an official meeting. So, he composed himself, washed up, and when Du Thirteenth Lady herself brought a breakfast that was nearly lunch, she was all mock annoyance. He had to put his hands together in sincere apology, eating a large bowl of millet porridge and finishing the restorative soup.

It was not until afternoon that Lu Hong and Lu Wangzhi returned—the Ministry of Rites had received them with due ceremony and held a luncheon. Now, they need only await the emperor’s summons at the inn. Du Shiyi was relieved, but recalling that Wang Wei was still not up, he asked Lu Wangzhi, “How much did Wang the Thirteenth drink to still be abed?”

“You fell asleep after a short while. Most of the rest, he drank alone, with me merely keeping him company—what do you think?” Lu Wangzhi said with a laugh, seeing Du Shiyi gape in astonishment. “Had he been drinking elsewhere, he’d have merely drowned his sorrows in solitude, perhaps growing more forlorn. But after last night, I think he’ll feel better. My room isn’t needed for now, so let him sleep it off. As for you, junior brother, you’ll likely have no rest tonight.”

Seeing Du Shiyi’s confusion, Lu Wangzhi smiled, “I never jest. If you have energy to worry about Wang the Thirteenth, best save it for tonight.”

Though reluctant to believe Lu Wangzhi’s almost oracular tone, after recalling the fiasco at the Duke of Bi’s estate last night, Du Shiyi simply slept another afternoon away. When he awoke, he found a card on his pillow, smoothly polished from bamboo. On the front was the character “Cui,” and on the back, it read in bold script: “On the night of the first of the second month, the honored guest is invited to a banquet at the Zhao Duke Cui’s mansion in Yongfeng Lane.”