Chapter Thirty-Seven: First Encounter with Luo Binwang (Part One)

The Hongyun Inn was not large, comprising only three courtyards. Among the countless inns in the capital, it could at best be considered medium-sized, yet, thanks to its proximity to the Ministry of Appointments, business was brisk. Especially during the triennial Imperial Examinations, the inn was filled to capacity, its guests mostly scholars from across the realm come to take the exams. The entire courtyard was suffused with an air of scholarly refinement; one might say it echoed with the laughter of erudite men, and there was nary an unlettered soul to be found. On the eve of the exams, the constant rise and fall of recited verses would intermingle, creating a delightful harmony. Now, however, with the examinations concluded and the results yet to be posted, nearly all the candidates had taken the opportunity to go out—visiting friends and relatives, currying favor with the powerful, or enjoying the pleasures of spring beyond the city walls. Few remained behind; perhaps the only exception was the elderly scholar lodging in Room Four of the C Courtyard.

This elderly scholar was indeed advanced in years, his temples flecked with gray, half his beard turned white, his complexion sallow and careworn—a man plainly dogged by misfortune. In truth, so it was: this was the famed poet Luo Binwang—styled Guanguang, a native of Yiwu in Wuzhou (modern-day Yiwu, Zhejiang, China). Renowned as a child prodigy, he had, at the age of twenty-two, taken part in the capital’s great examination as a provincial tribute scholar, only to fail. At twenty-five, he tried again, but once more his name was absent from the lists. In utter dejection, he caught the appreciative eye of Chancellor Zhangsun Wuji, who took him on as a subordinate. But not long after, Luo’s upright nature led him to offend a petty villain; he was framed and stripped of office. On his journey home, he was invited by Prince Dao, Li Yuanqing, to serve in the prince’s household for three years. Afterwards, resisting all entreaties to stay, he took his family to Yanzhou, hoping to emulate his grandfather’s rustic scholarly life. Alas, a scholar was not suited to farming, and after much hardship, not only did he find no joy, but he exhausted his meager savings, nearly to the point of destitution. His aged mother, often ill, required money for medicine, and left with no other recourse, Luo wrote to his old friend, the Grand Master of Ceremonies Liu Xiangdao, begging for an introduction that might allow him to sit for the examinations once more. Thanks to Liu’s loyalty, Luo was able to participate in this year’s Imperial Examinations as a “worthy scholar.”

Misfortune in career, misfortune in life—Luo Binwang’s hardships were more than most could bear, let alone a man of letters such as he. Yet, despite years of suffering, his upright nature remained unchanged. Even now, forced to humble himself and seek aid from a high-ranking friend to pay for his mother’s medicine, once he had secured the right to sit the exam, he would not stoop to currying favor with the powerful, nor even visit Liu Xiangdao to thank him. He preferred to await the results in silence—a matter of pride, yes, but more so of poverty. At this point, Luo could hardly afford even a carriage to take him out for a spring outing; all he could do was seclude himself in the inn, composing poetry to pass the time.

“Deeply I recall my sorrow in Chu, regretfully I have turned from Tai Pass. Like a stranded fish startled by warming wheels, or a fallen bird shying from the empty bow...”

Luo Binwang’s poetry was undeniably fine, though colored by melancholy, a reflection of his own state of mind. His quiet recitations carried a note of desolation, but he lost himself willingly in the mood, vaguely recalling the sorrowful day he left the capital in defeat.

“Is Master Luo within?”

As Luo lingered in reminiscence, a knock sounded at the door, followed by a voice he recognized well—none other than the hearty shout of the inn’s attendant.

“One moment, please.”

Hearing it was the attendant, Luo felt a pang of apprehension. He was not so much upset at the interruption as he was embarrassed—he had owed the inn several days’ rent already, and feared the call was to dun him for payment. Though the innkeeper had never pressed him, Luo was mortified by his own indebtedness.

“Master Luo, there you are! I knew you’d be here, hard at your studies as always.” The attendant burst in as soon as the door opened, chattering cheerfully.

“Brother Attendant, if you could grant me a few days’ grace on the room fee, I promise to pay in full when the results are posted,” Luo hastened to say, bowing apologetically lest the matter grow awkward.

“Oh, come now, Master Luo, don’t mention it! I’m not here to collect your rent—I got so carried away I nearly forgot my errand. There’s a young gentleman who wishes to see you.”

The attendant was a jovial fellow, and laughed heartily at Luo’s response, slapping his own thigh and quickly clarifying the purpose of his visit.

“Oh?” Luo had been in the capital for some days, and a few old acquaintances had indeed tried to call on him. Yet, unwilling to appear before them in his current straits, he had declined all invitations, citing his need to study for the exam and promising to visit them after the results were announced. As none of his friends would trouble him now, he was perplexed to hear of a youthful caller—he could think of no such acquaintance.

“Young master, this is the famous Master Luo. If he’s willing to instruct you, you’ll surely achieve great things. Well, I’ll leave you two to talk—I’ll be off to my work.” The attendant, ever eager, stepped aside to introduce the pair before bustling away.

“Student Wang Sanlang greets Master Luo.” As the attendant departed, a youth in blue stepped forward and bowed respectfully.

“Please, there’s no need for such formality. May I ask, young master, what brings you here?” Luo Binwang was not adept at dealing with strangers. The boy before him looked unfamiliar and barely ten years old, yet he carried himself with remarkable composure. Luo dared not slight him, but had no wish to engage in idle conversation. He hesitated, not even inviting the youth inside.

“I have long admired your writing, sir, and hearing you were here, I could not resist the urge to visit, though I fear I am imposing.” In truth, this was no Wang Sanlang, but Prince Zhou, Li Xian, incognito. He had come to the Hongyun Inn specifically to visit Luo Binwang. In a previous life, Li Xian had known Luo, though not intimately, and deeply admired both his talent and integrity. When Luo was later imprisoned, Li Xian had done what he could to help him, and upon becoming Crown Prince, had even petitioned the Emperor for his release—not merely for Luo’s poetic gifts, but for his fearless character. Li Xian was well aware of Luo’s life of misfortune; unable to help in the past, he now hoped, having been reborn, to recruit Luo to his cause and perhaps save him from his wasted fate.

“You are too kind; my reputation is undeserved and not worth mentioning,” Luo replied with a faint smile, brushing off the compliment. He remained standing at the door, clearly intent on sending his visitor away.

Such coldness might have worked on anyone else, but not on Li Xian. In the bureaucracy of the later age, he had developed a hide as thick as a wall; a few indifferent words were nothing to him. Even a pointed jab would hardly leave a mark.

“Not at all, sir. Your poetry is celebrated throughout the realm, and your name is sure to endure in history. I have admired you since childhood, and each new verse of yours I have committed to memory and pondered deeply, always gaining new insight. To meet you in person today is a joy beyond words.”

Li Xian’s oratory was second to none; he could charm anyone, and perhaps only Li Yifu among the Tang officials could compete with him. Now, he lavished praise upon Luo Binwang, one compliment after another. Even one as proud as Luo could not remain unmoved by such earnest admiration from a precocious youth; his stern expression softened.

“You flatter me, young master. I am unworthy,” Luo replied, his features relaxing somewhat, though he still did not invite Li Xian inside.

There’s hope yet, thought Li Xian, inwardly delighted at this small victory. Seizing the moment, he pressed on: “I speak only the truth, sir. You composed ‘Ode to the Goose’ at seven, ‘Seeking Chrysanthemums in the Rain’ at eighteen, and many other renowned works—‘Longing on the Road,’ ‘Seeing Fei Liu Off to Shu,’ ‘Autumn Farewell to Hou Si,’ and so forth. I know them all by heart and study them as models, though my own learning is shallow and can never approach yours. If you would but correct my work, it would be my greatest honor. I beg your guidance, sir.”

It is said that one cannot rebuff a smiling face, much less such sincere words, and Li Xian’s every phrase struck at Luo’s deepest pride. Thus, Luo could not refuse him any longer. Though he had wished to avoid guests in his poverty, he could no longer find a reason to turn Li Xian away. After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped aside and gestured invitingly: “Your words are too generous, young master. I dare not presume to instruct, but to converse would be no hardship. Please, come in.”

Success! Li Xian concealed his delight behind a look of respectful humility, bowing once more. “After you, sir.”

“Very well.” This time, Luo dispensed with further courtesies, turning to enter the room. Li Xian murmured a few words to Gao Miao, his attendant, then followed Luo Binwang into his quarters.