Chapter 2: The Eldest Brother Knows Too Much

Shen Ke woke up to the smell of millet porridge.

He opened his eyes to a fresh quilt, painfully bright white. Daylight filtered through the lattice window, accompanied by the rustle of a broom sweeping across the gray bricks in the courtyard. He sat up, his head still a bit heavy, yesterday's conversation rolling over and over in his mind.

There were three gentle raps on the door.

"Master Shen awake? The Second Young Master says the porridge must be drunk while it's hot."

A round-faced pageboy pushed the door open, carrying a lacquered tray holding steaming millet porridge, a dish of pickled radishes, and two Hu flatbreads. Shen Ke stared at the bowl of porridge for a long time before he managed to ask, "Where's your Second Young Master?"

"In the study. Told you to come right over after eating, don't be late."

Shen Ke picked up the bowl and took a sip. The porridge was boiled thick, the rice oil cooked right to the surface. He looked down at himself—he'd slept in his clothes last night, and they were all wrinkled, with ink stains still on the cuffs.

"Um..."

The pageboy jumped right in: "The Second Young Master said your change of clothes is in the east wing wardrobe, all brand new. Steward Liu had them cut last night."

Shen Ke's chopsticks paused. Good grief, they even had a change of clothes ready. This wasn't being a reading companion; this was inviting a living Buddha home to worship.

He wolfed down his meal, changed into a clean green cloth robe, and headed to the backyard study. Li Manor wasn't huge, just two courtyards deep; Li Shimin lived in the east wing of the back courtyard, and the study was right next to his bedroom. When Shen Ke pushed the door open, Li Shimin had already laid out the bamboo slips, sitting cross-legged on the mat, holding a piece of ink block as he added water to the inkstone.

"Sit." Li Shimin didn't even raise his head, pointing at the seat across from him with the ink block.

Shen Ke sat down and glanced at the characters on the bamboo slips—*Zuo Zhuan: Year 1 of Duke Yin*. His head gave a little buzz.

"We agreed last night: you recite, I listen." Li Shimin put the ink block down and raised his eyelids to look at him. "Start."

Shen Ke cleared his throat: "First year of spring, the King's royal first month. It does not record the ascension, for it was a regency."

Li Shimin gave a slight nod: "Go on."

"In the third month, the Duke and Zhu Yifu made a covenant at Mie, and Viscount Ke of Zhu was successful. There was no royal command, hence his title of viscount is not recorded. Calling him Yifu is to honor him."

"Stop." Li Shimin flipped the bamboo slip in his hand over. "This line—'There was no royal command, hence his title of viscount is not recorded'—explain that to me."

Shen Ke cursed inwardly. What did he know about this? Memorizing the *Zuo Zhuan* in his past life was purely to pass exams; he'd forgotten it the second he finished, and remembering the first two lines was already a mercy.

"This..." He weighed his phrasing. "It means the ruler of the State of Zhu hadn't received a formal enfeoffment from the Son of Heaven, so the *Spring and Autumn Annals* didn't write down his noble title."

"Just that?"

"Just that."

Li Shimin stared at him for two beats, then suddenly chuckled: "Shen Ke, you recite all stumbly, but you explain it pretty smoothly."

"...Many thanks for the Second Young Master's praise."

"Wasn't praising you." Li Shimin rolled up the bamboo slips and tossed them onto the table. "My father had me read the *Zuo Zhuan* to learn 'propriety' and 'righteousness'. Look at you—starting right in on official appointments and dismissals."

Shen Ke kept his mouth shut. He couldn't exactly say *because that's all I remember*.

Li Shimin stood up, walked to the window, and pushed the sash open halfway. Outside in the courtyard stood an old locust tree, its branches just sprouting fresh, tender green buds.

"Last night you said the eleventh year of Daye, Yanmen." Li Shimin had his back to him, his voice neither light nor heavy. "I turned it over in my head all night and couldn't figure out what you meant."

Shen Ke's back tightened.

"The eleventh year of Daye is my father's reign title, I know that much." Li Shimin turned around, leaning against the windowsill. "As for Yanmen—Yanmen Pass is up north, over a thousand miles from Chang'an. Why bring it up?"

Shen Ke opened his mouth.

"Don't tell me you just blurted it out." Li Shimin raised a hand and pressed it downward. "If you say you blurted it out, I'll go tell my father the reading companion's head isn't working right and we need a replacement."

"...Second Young Master, you're not playing fair."

"Then talk sense."

Shen Ke took a deep breath, calculating wildly in his heart. If he spilled the beans about the Siege of Yanmen now, nobody would believe him, and worst case, he'd be branded a spreader of heresy. But if he said nothing, he wasn't getting past Li Shimin.

"I had a dream," he said.

Li Shimin raised an eyebrow.

"In the dream, the Türks surrounded Yanmen, the Son of Heaven was trapped inside the city, and he issued an imperial decree ordering the troops of the realm to勤王 [march to the rescue]."

The study fell silent for a fraction of a second.

Li Shimin tilted his head: "What Son of Heaven?"

"...The current one."

"My father?"

"Mm."

Li Shimin stared at him for a good long while, then suddenly burst out laughing: "Shen Ke, you sure dream big."

"Pretty big, yeah."

"So in your dream, did I go?"

Shen Ke thought about it: "Went."

"Did you lose?"

"Won."

Li Shimin's eyes lit up: "How'd you win?"

Shen Ke said, "You took a handful of guys, waved flags and beat drums everywhere, and the Türks thought the main army had arrived, so they pulled back."

He felt his own credibility tanking just saying it. The history books recorded that Li Shimin offered the strategy of creating a false show of force to Yun Dingxing, but the way he put it made it sound like Li Shimin led the men up there to do it himself. Li Shimin didn't press for details, though; he just paced back and forth by the window, his steps noticeably lighter than before.

"Fine." He stopped. "It's an interesting dream. Next time you have a new one, make sure to tell me."

Shen Ke breathed out a sigh of relief: "Will do."

"Also." Li Shimin walked back and reached out to spread the bamboo slips open again. "Keep reciting the *Zuo Zhuan*. You got that part wrong earlier, so let me explain it to you again—what 'not recording the ascension' actually means."

Shen Ke: "..."

"Duke Yin was the eldest son of Duke Hui by a secondary wife, so by rights he shouldn't have ascended. But Duke Hui's principal wife didn't have a son, and Duke Yin was the oldest, so the people of Lu installed him. That's why the *Spring and Autumn Annals* writes 'First year, spring, king's first month' and doesn't write 'The Duke ascended,' because he was a regent, not a formal successor." Li Shimin tapped the bamboo slips with his finger as he spoke. "Did you catch that?"

Shen Ke nodded like a woodpecker: "Caught it."

"Caught what?"

"...Duke Yin was just keeping shop for somebody else?"

Li Shimin laughed in exasperation: "Shen Ke, have you ever been to school?"

"Went. Didn't do well."

Li Shimin tapped him on the head with the bamboo slip—not hard, but it made a hollow knock.

"Starting today, I'm teaching you. Father told me to read the *Zuo Zhuan*, and then had you recite it to me, so the two of us will read it together. You read it once, I'll explain it, and then you explain it back to me. Whenever you can explain it without me finding a flaw, we're done."

Shen Ke rubbed the spot where he'd been hit: "Second Young Master, what if I can't explain it?"

"If you can't explain it, you keep reading." Li Shimin grinned, flashing a canine tooth. "I've got plenty of time."

Lunch was served in the front hall. When Shen Ke followed Li Shimin over, someone was already sitting at the table. A man in his early twenties, wearing an ash-gray robe, his brows and eyes sharing a three-tenths resemblance with Li Shimin, but looking much steadier as he sat there unhurriedly ladling soup.

"Eldest Brother," Li Shimin called out.

Li Jiancheng looked up, his gaze passing over Li Shimin to land on Shen Ke: "This is the new reading companion you took in?"

"Father picked him." Li Shimin pulled Shen Ke down to a seat. "Shen Ke, this is my eldest brother."

Shen Ke stood up to bow, but Li Jiancheng waved a hand: "Sit down. In our own home, no need for all these formalities."

Shen Ke sat, daring to let his backside touch only half the mat. Li Jiancheng ladled a bowl of soup and pushed it across: "Drink. Look how thin you are."

Shen Ke received it with both hands, feeling quite flattered. In neither this life nor his past life had he ever been personally served soup by a historical celebrity.

"Erlang says you told him quite a bit of stuff last night," Li Jiancheng said, taking a slow, leisurely sip from his own bowl. "Something about Yanmen... something about the Türks..."

Shen Ke nearly choked on a mouthful of soup. Li Shimin coughed off to the side: "Eldest Brother, I just mentioned it in passing."

"Mentioned it in passing is still mentioning it." Li Jiancheng put down his bowl and looked at Shen Ke. "How old are you anyway? Fifteen? Sixteen? Where'd you hear all that?"

Shen Ke's brain spun at lightning speed: "Replying to Eldest Young Master, I... my father used to serve in the frontier army, I heard him talk about northern affairs."

"Oh?" Li Jiancheng's interest was piqued. "What was your father's name? Which guard unit?"

"...Shen Jiu. Gone a long time."

Li Jiancheng fell silent for a moment, then nodded: "An orphan of a martyr. No wonder." He said that "no wonder" with a lingering, meaningful tone that Shen Ke didn't dare probe.

Li Shimin ran interference from the side: "Eldest Brother, stop treating this like a household census check. Shen Ke's timid; if you ask another two questions, he'll crawl right under the table."

"What's wrong with me asking?" Li Jiancheng glared at him. "You pick someone up off the street, aren't I supposed to vet them? What if he's a spy?"

"Can a spy recite the *Zuo Zhuan*?" Li Shimin scoffed. "He doesn't even recite it as smoothly as I do."

Shen Ke: "..." Thanks a lot, Second Young Master.

Amused by the two of them, Li Jiancheng waved a hand: "Fine, fine, eat. Shen Ke, eat up, don't be a stranger. Erlang here doesn't have a filter on his mouth, bear with him."

Shen Ke lowered his head to shovel down rice, a warmth blooming in his chest. These Li brothers—one was loud and brassy, the other checked your family registry while handing you soup—their vibes were completely different, but neither was hard to get along with.

Halfway through the meal, Li Jiancheng seemed to remember something and put down his chopsticks: "Right, Erlang, did you read Father's letter?"

"Read it."

"What'd it say?"

Li Shimin swallowed the Hu flatbread in his mouth: "He told me to come along."

Shen Ke's ears pricked up.

Li Jiancheng frowned: "Really telling you to go? You're only seventeen."

"So what if I'm seventeen? When Father was seventeen, he was already a commandery governor."

"That's Father." Li Jiancheng's voice deepened. "This is going to the frontier, not taking a spring outing. The Türks have been getting more and more restless these past two years; what if you actually run into them—"

"Isn't that perfect?" Li Shimin interrupted him. "I've been wanting to see what a Turk looks like anyway."

Li Jiancheng looked at him for a long time, then sighed: "Fine, you're all grown up, I can't manage you. Shen Ke—"

Shen Ke jolted: "Here."

"You're going along, help me keep an eye on him. Don't let him get hot-headed and charge straight in."

Shen Ke looked at Li Shimin, then at Li Jiancheng, and nodded with great difficulty: "...I'll do my best."

Li Shimin laughed: "Eldest Brother, you're entrusting him to *me*? He's even younger than I am."

"What does age have to do with it? I reckon Shen Ke is steadier than you." Li Jiancheng picked up his bowl. "Eat, eat, the dishes are getting cold."

Shen Ke kept his head down, shoving rice into his mouth while his mind churned like a stormy sea. A letter? What letter? Going to the frontier? The eleventh year of Daye—he suddenly remembered, he'd only brought up Yanmen last night, and today this happens. The timeline was lining up way too accurately.

Toward evening, Shen Ke was called to the front courtyard. Li Shimin was standing under the veranda, holding an opened letter with a blank expression. Standing beside him was Li Jiancheng, whose complexion didn't look too good either.

"Shen Ke, come here." Li Shimin beckoned to him.

Shen Ke walked over, a vague sense of dread settling in his gut.

"My father wrote a letter." Li Shimin handed him the letter. "Read it yourself."

Shen Ke took it and scanned it by the waning daylight. The letter wasn't long; the gist of it was that the Son of Heaven was on a border inspection tour, mobilizing troops from the various commanderies in Hedong to escort him, and Li Yuan had been specifically named to take a portion of his household and sons along.

"Border inspection tour." Li Shimin chewed heavily on those words. "Touring the north."

Shen Ke's hand paused slightly.

"Father said I should go too." Li Shimin looked at him, his eyes shining with a somewhat frightening intensity. "He said I'm not that young anymore, it's time to go see the world at the frontier."

Shen Ke handed the letter back, his throat feeling a bit dry: "When do we set out?"

"Half a month from now." Li Shimin folded the letter and tucked it into his breast pocket. "Father told me to bring two attendants. I thought about it—"

He patted Shen Ke's shoulder.

"You're coming with me."

Shen Ke's vision went dark. The eleventh year of Daye, Yanmen. The place he'd just brought up last night, and today he was being sent to walk right into it.

"Second Young Master," he began with difficulty, "can I—"

"No." Li Shimin didn't even let him finish the sentence. "Whatever you were talking about last night, you can tell me all about it slowly on the road. The Türks surrounding the city, the false show of force—I want the whole story."

Shen Ke opened his mouth, only to find he couldn't squeeze out a single syllable. Off to the side, Li Jiancheng sighed: "Erlang, you're dragging a fifteen or sixteen-year-old kid off to the frontier, and Father's just going to agree?"

"Father's the one who named him to go." Li Shimin grinned, flashing that canine tooth. "It's written right in the letter, telling Shen Ke to come along to attend to the ink and brushes."

Shen Ke snapped his head up: "Where in the letter does it say that?"

Li Shimin fished the letter back out, flipped it to the back, and pointed to a line of tiny fly-script at the very bottom: "Look—"

Shen Ke leaned in to look. That line of characters read: *The Shen household boy may accompany the party.*

"..."

Shen Ke raised his head, meeting Li Shimin's eyes, which were curved into smiling crescents.

"Shen Ke." Li Shimin put the letter away and patted his shoulder again, hard enough to practically drive him straight into the dirt. "You can't run from this."

Shen Ke stood in the courtyard, watching the last sliver of twilight sink below the horizon. Half a month from now, he was heading to Yanmen. August of the eleventh year of Daye, when the Türkic Khagan Shibi led one hundred thousand cavalry south, trapping the Son of Heaven inside Yanmen City. When he read this passage in his history textbooks in his past life, he'd been sitting in his dorm cracking sunflower seeds; now he was going to the scene in person.

"Second Young Master," he suddenly spoke up.

"Hm?"

"About that false show of force strategy—I suggest you think it over really carefully on the road."

Li Shimin blinked: "What false show of force?"

Shen Ke looked at him with an utterly earnest expression: "You'll find out when we get there."

Li Shimin frowned: "Speak clearly."

Shen Ke turned and headed toward the west wing, tossing back a single sentence: "I'm hungry, going to eat."

"Shen Ke!" Li Shimin shouted from behind. "Get back here! You make yourself clear!"

Shen Ke didn't look back, picking up his pace a fraction. He needed to figure out the ins and outs of the Siege of Yanmen within half a month—and more importantly, he needed to find a way to make Li Shimin believe that certain details in his "dream" were as real as life itself.

Just as he reached the doorway of the west wing, that round-faced pageboy trotted up to meet him again, holding a wooden box: "Master Shen, the Second Young Master told me to bring this over to you."

Shen Ke opened it—it was a brand-new inkstone, paired with two cakes of fine ink, with a stack of cut paper pressed beneath them.

"The Second Young Master said," the pageboy parroted Li Shimin's tone, "since we're reading the *Zuo Zhuan* together, the writing gear can't be too shabby. Told you to copy out Year 1 of Duke Yin three times tonight, and he'll check it tomorrow morning."

Shen Ke stood in the doorway holding the wooden box, unmoving for a long time.

Copy it three times. Check it tomorrow morning. He looked down at his right hand—he'd spent twenty years writing in his past life, and now he had to practice calligraphy all over again from scratch.

"Master Shen?" the pageboy asked cautiously. "Are you alright?"

Shen Ke took a deep breath, tucked the box into his arms: "I'm fine. Thank your Second Young Master for me."

He pushed the door open and entered his room, spread the paper out, ground the ink, picked up the brush, and his hand shook. From outside the window came Li Shimin's voice, drifting over the courtyard wall: "Shen Ke—copy well—no food until you finish—"

Shen Ke's brush tip paused, and a drop of ink bloomed into a smudge on the paper.

He stared at that smudge of ink, and suddenly remembered something—Li Jiancheng had said "martyr's orphan" today, but the steward had clearly said yesterday that his mother passed away three years ago. How exactly did his father, Shen Jiu, die? Had Li Shimin checked into it? What did Li Jiancheng's "no wonder" actually mean?

The ink droplet spread wider and wider.

On the other side of the courtyard wall, Li Shimin was still shouting: "Shen Ke—you hear me—"

"Heard you—" Shen Ke yelled back at the top of his lungs, crumpling the ink-smeared paper into a ball and tossing it into the corner. "Calm down, Second Young Master, aren't I copying right now?"

The other side of the wall went quiet for a fraction of a second, followed by Li Shimin's loud laugh: "Alright, copy away, I won't bother you."

Shen Ke smoothed out a fresh sheet of paper, picked up the brush, dipped it in ink, writing while his mind raced: Half a month from now, he was off to Yanmen. On the road, he had to keep Li Shimin happy, feed him the false show of force strategy, and figure out what the hell was going on with his current body's dad.

He wrote a line of characters, crooked and crawling like earthworms.

He wrote another line, slightly straighter.

By the third line, he abruptly stopped his brush. There were footsteps in the corridor outside, very light, but not hiding—Li Jiancheng's. The footsteps paused outside his door, didn't knock, and then moved on.

Shen Ke put down his brush and stared at the door panel for a long time.

The Eldest Young Master of the Li family seemed to know a whole lot more than he was letting on.