Chapter 1: The Companion at Yanmen Pass

"Shen Ke!"

The ruler slammed down on the lacquered desk, making the three hare-hair brushes in the rack jump all at once. Zhang Houyin’s beard twitched as he pressed his knuckles against the spread bamboo paper. "Recite what I just went over from the *Zuo Zhuan*, 'The First Year of Duke Yin'."

Shen Ke’s brain buzzed.

There were no fluorescent library lights, nor the *Tang Huiyao*, Volume 86, spread across a desk. There were paper windows, the shadow of that old locust tree outside, and the scent of aged ink mixed with charcoal fire. He looked down and saw a pair of youthful hands, ink wedged deep into the cracks of the knuckles.

—He had clearly been flipping through books just last night.

"Shen Ke." Zhang Houyin struck the desk again, harder this time.

Someone kicked his ankle with the tip of a boot. Shen Ke turned his head and ran straight into a pair of brilliantly bright eyes. The boy was sixteen or seventeen, dressed in a moon-white round-collared robe, his hair tied up, and actually wearing a short sabre at his waist. Bringing a sabre to study—who on earth was this?

The boy lowered his voice. "Are you out of your mind? The teacher's talking to you."

Shen Ke opened his mouth. Those characters surged up on their own; he had memorized the *Guwen Guanzhi* back in high school, and the very first piece was "The Duke of Zheng Defeats Duan at Yan".

"...The Duke of Wu of Zheng married a woman of Shen named Wu Jiang, who gave birth to Duke Zhuang and Gong Shu Duan." He heard himself speaking, his voice still carrying the hoarseness of just waking up. "Duke Zhuang was born breach, which frightened Jiang, so he was named Breach Birth, and she grew to detest him."

Zhang Houyin’s eyebrows twitched.

"She doted on Gong Shu Duan, wishing to set him up as heir. Time and again she petitioned Duke Wu, but the Duke would not permit it."

"You remember the text." Zhang Houyin set the ruler aside, though he didn't tell him to sit down. "Then tell me, what kind of man was this Duke Zhuang of Zheng?"

According to protocol, the answer should have been: *The Earl of Zheng was devoid of benevolence, scheming and plotting to kill his younger brother.* The commentaries in Shen Ke’s mind flipped past at lightning speed, but his mouth moved faster than his brain:

"Duke Zhuang of Zheng... was a ruthless man."

The whole room fell dead silent for a second. Even the cicadas on the locust tree outside stopped chirping.

"He knew his mother favored his younger brother, and he knew his brother meant to rebel. He didn't stop him, and even deliberately granted Jing to Gong Shu Duan, letting him build city walls over three hundred zhang high." Shen Ke licked his lips. "When Gong Shu Duan actually rebelled, he sent out his troops and settled it in a single battle, yet the whole world still said he was forced into it."

Zhang Houyin’s face darkened. "Audacious! The books of the sages—how dare you speak of them in such a—"

"Teacher." That line from the *Zuo Zhuan*, "He who commits much injustice is bound to self-destruct"—was that something Duke Zhuang of Zheng said, or was it something he was waiting to happen? Shen Ke didn't dare say the whole thing, leaving it at the first half.

Zhang Houyin didn't pick up the thread.

Shen Ke saw the old man’s grip on the ruler tighten, his knuckles turning white, before he finally spoke in a low voice: "Where did you hear this interpretation? In the old commentaries by Du Yu, there is only a single line: 'The ambition of Duke Zhuang was to let him foster his own evil'... You are merely a reading companion; where would you ever lay eyes on the *Chunqiu Zuo Shi Jing Zhuan Jijie*?"

Shen Ke’s heart skipped a beat. Du Yu was a man of the Jin dynasty; that line he had just spoken had been dug straight out of later generations' commentaries.

"I..." He swallowed hard. "I saw it in a dream."

"A dream?"

"There was an old man with a white beard in the dream who taught me for a whole night."

The ruler finally came down, *whack*, striking the palm of Shen Ke's hand.

It hurt. It really hurt. Shen Ke almost shed tears—this damn thing wasn't a dream.

"Glib-tongued." Zhang Houyin withdrew the ruler. "Copy the *Qu Li* three times and hand it in tomorrow."

"Understood." Shen Ke lowered his head, a burning red welt blazing across his palm.

The boy beside him, however, laughed—laughing without a shred of concealment, his eyes curving up to reveal a single canine tooth. "Teacher, he recited the text well and explained it well too. Why punish him for that as well?"

"Er-lang." Zhang Houyin turned back to look at him, his tone softening somewhat, yet turning heavier. "Since you speak up for him, you can copy it for him."

"Copy it, then," the boy replied readily.

Zhang Houyin flicked his sleeves and left.

After the lesson let out, the sun leaned west. Two wooden tubs sat in the corridor, filled with brushes soaking in water, waiting to be washed. Shen Ke squatted there scrubbing the brush tips, sorting out the contents of his mind while he scrubbed.

His memories were fragmented, but once the pieces were put together, it all became clear: the owner of this body was named Shen Ke, and his father had been an old subordinate at the Hall of the Duke of Tang who had died early in battle. His widowed mother had brought him to seek refuge with the Li family, and Li Yuan, remembering old ties, let him stay in the manor as a reading companion to the second young master. The second young master—Li Shimin.

Shen Ke’s hand, scrubbing the brush, paused.

Li Shimin.

"Hey."

A boot stepped onto the stone step beside him. Shen Ke looked up; Li Shimin was looking down at him from above, twirling that hare-hair brush in his hand.

"What you said just now—did you really hear it in a dream?"

"I really did."

"What did that old man with the white beard look like?"

"..." Shen Ke thought about it. "He looked a bit like Du Yu."

Li Shimin was stunned, then burst out laughing. Once he finished laughing, he squatted down, face-to-face with him. "Fine, if you won't say, I won't force you. But I noticed you rattled that off just now without even blinking; it didn't sound like you made it up. In the past, you could misread three characters just reciting the *Shang Shu*; how did you get so fluent today?"

Shen Ke’s heart tightened. The original owner had been a dullard.

"Once the dream ended, my mind cleared up." He lowered his head and went back to scrubbing brushes. "If the Second Young Master doesn't believe it, then so be it."

"I believe it," Li Shimin said.

Shen Ke looked up.

"My father said that there are times when a scholar has a sudden flash of enlightenment." Li Shimin thrust the brush back into his hand and stood up. "But if you're lying to me, I'll make you copy the *Qu Li* ten times."

Footsteps sounded from the other end of the corridor. A young man in his early twenties walked over, dressed in a grey-blue round-collared robe. He walked slowly, his back straight, his brows and eyes gentle.

"Er-lang, you're horsing around here again." Li Jiancheng walked closer, casting a glance at Shen Ke first. "Shen Ke, stretch out your hand and let me see."

Shen Ke blinked in surprise and opened his palm. The red seal was already swelling up.

Li Jiancheng frowned, pulled a small porcelain box from his sleeve, and shoved it at him. "This is the ointment Father brought back from Luoyang last time. Rub it on so it doesn't leave a scar." He then turned to Li Shimin. "Father sets off for Hedong tomorrow, and you and I will be moving out before long. Yet here you are, teasing your reading companion out in the corridor."

"Hedong?" Li Shimin's eyes lit up. "I'm going too?"

"Father said so," Li Jiancheng paused. "Though you aren't allowed to bring a sabre on the road."

"What on earth—"

"By Father's orders, that's what."

The brothers chatted as they walked toward the main courtyard. Shen Ke squatted where he was, clutching the porcelain box in his hand, the word "Hedong" spinning in circles inside his head.

Hedong.

The page he had been reading last night happened to be the eleventh year of Daye.

"Shen Ke." Li Shimin walked a few paces ahead, then looked back over his shoulder. "Keep up. Father wants to see you."

Shen Ke stood up, his knees feeling a bit unsteady.

The eleventh year of Daye. The Hedong Pacification Commissioner. He remembered it clearly—in August of that year, the Son of Heaven went on a northern inspection tour, and Khagan Shibi of the Türks mobilized an army of one hundred thousand, trapping Emperor Yang of Sui at Yanmen. Out of Yanmen's forty-one walled cities, the Türks had already breached thirty-nine.

And the one who broke the siege was a seventeen-year-old youth named Li Shimin. Serving under Garrison General Yun Dingxing, he had proposed a feigned army stratagem: displaying numerous banners and lighting fires at night to trick the Türks into believing massive reinforcements had arrived.

Shen Ke looked at the moon-white figure ahead of him, and a chill crawled up the back of his neck.

That night, Shen Ke slipped over to the west wing.

Li Shimin wasn't asleep; he was sitting by the light of an oil lamp, whetting his short sabre. Seeing Shen Ke walk in, he tipped his chin up. "What did Father say?"

"He's letting me come along." Shen Ke stood near the door. "To carry the Second Young Master's book satchel on the road."

"Just that?"

"Just that."

Li Shimin chuckled, sliding the sabre back into its scabbard. "Then what are you sneaking over here in the middle of the night for? To thank me for speaking up for you today?"

"Second Young Master," Shen Ke took two steps forward, lowering his voice. "I have something to say, and I hope you won't be angry."

"Speak."

"This August, when the Son of Heaven goes on his northern inspection tour, something bad is going to happen."

Li Shimin's hand stopped sharpening the blade.

The room grew so quiet that the popping of the lamp wick could be heard.

"Say that again."

"The Türks," Shen Ke said. "Khagan Qimin died back in the tenth year of Daye, and now the one calling the shots is his son, Shibi. Pei Ju lured and murdered Shibi's favorite minister at Zhangye, and the Türks from top to bottom hate the Sui to their very bones. Yet the Son of Heaven has to choose this exact moment to go on a northern inspection tour—"

"How do you know the Son of Heaven is going on a northern inspection tour?"

"I don't know," Shen Ke said. "I'm guessing. But if my guess is right, Yanmen is bound to face disaster this August."

Li Shimin stood up, pacing half a circle around him. "You even know what year Khagan Qimin died."

"My father fought in the border wars and told me about it when he came back," Shen Ke tossed out the excuse he had prepared well in advance.

"Then did your father also tell you which route the Son of Heaven's northern inspection will take?"

"Crossing the frontier means taking the Yanmen route," Shen Ke said. "Once Yanmen falls, Taiyuan is completely exposed."

Li Shimin stared at him for a long time, then suddenly slammed his palm down on the desk. "Shen Ke, you're fifteen this year."

"Yes."

"A fifteen-year-old shouldn't know these things."

Shen Ke's heart sank.

"But you're right." Li Shimin sat back down, pressing both hands against the edges of the desk. "My father is heading to Hedong precisely to guard against the Türks. He's even taking me with him." He raised his eyes. "Do you know what that means?"

Shen Ke shook his head.

"It means my father is scared too." Li Shimin's voice dropped lower. "My father has fought wars half his life. If *he* is scared, then something real is coming."

The lamp flower popped again.

"Shen Ke," Li Shimin asked abruptly, "can you repeat what you just told me to anyone else?"

"No," Shen Ke answered instantly. "If I told them, I'd die."

Li Shimin looked at him and slowly nodded. "Fine. Then you'll only tell me."

Early the next morning, Shen Ke went to find the Hall of the Duke of Tang's chief steward to resign his post.

"Uncle Liu, my mother's health isn't good, so I'd like to return home to tend to her illness."

The steward flipped through a ledger and looked up at him. "Your mother? She passed away three years ago."

"..."

"The Second Young Master already gave instructions last night," the steward closed the ledger. "He said if you came to resign, I should let you know—the west wing has already been tidied up for you, and the bedding has been freshly stuffed with cotton."

Shen Ke looked back and saw Li Shimin leaning against the moon-gate, arms crossed, smiling so wide a canine tooth showed.

"Shen Ke," Li Shimin said. "Father called out your name personally, telling you to recite the *Zuo Zhuan* for me along the road. You can't quit."

"Second Young Master, I—"

"Besides," Li Shimin walked over, grabbed his sleeve, and gripped it with a strength unlike any seventeen-year-old. "Not a single word of what you said last night has been proven yet. If you run off, where am I supposed to find someone to ask?"

Shen Ke looked at his own imprisoned sleeve, and only one thought spun round and round in his head:

The eleventh year of Daye, Yanmen, followed by the Jinyang Uprising in the thirteenth year of Daye, and then the Xuanwu Gate incident in the ninth year of Wude.

He had transmigrated into Li Shimin's childhood reading companion.

—A reading companion. That was a job meant to last a lifetime.