Chapter Fourteen: The Rebellious Heir of the Prestigious Family (Part One)

The Five Surnames and Seven Great Houses stood at the pinnacle of the aristocracy, forming alliances for generations, their ties so close that even the imperial house of the Tang grew envious. The Li family forbade marriages among them by decree, yet these clans would rather break with tradition, refuse to hold weddings, and send their daughters directly to each other’s homes, never willing to lower themselves.

When Quan Ce entered the gates of the Zheng family of Xingyang, he found not only the Zheng scions but also many from the Cui, Lu, and Li families—these Li families referred to the Li clan of Longxi and the Li clan of Zhao Commandery, unrelated to the Li imperial family of Tang, whose customs had grown foreign. Strictly speaking, their claim to the Longxi Li lineage was forged.

At the banquet, Zheng Huairen, Lord of Xingyang, was warm and gracious, displaying the manner of a true patriarch. Music accompanied the meal, and the dances were poised and elegant, not boisterous, suiting Quan Ce’s tastes. Zheng Huairen introduced him to the close branches of his family, and Quan Ce was secretly startled. The family was vast: a great table, a grand house, sprawling fields, and the scale was immense. Among the adult and young members in their prime, there were nearly a thousand, and the younger generation was even more numerous. More terrifying, each bore the marks of a scholarly lineage and literacy. This number, transplanted to Lingnan, the southwest, or even Guanzhong, would equal ten or more prefectures. With their marriages, friendships, and teacher-student ties, they could be said to encompass all the scholars of the realm.

The Five Surnames and Seven Great Houses dared to stand apart, resisting imperial authority, their confidence rooted in this foundation. Though the Li imperial house oppressed them in countless ways, they could not prevent these clans’ sons from rising to the highest offices, their carriages crowding the streets.

“General Quan, descended from the Lanling Xiao family, we are kin by marriage,” Zheng Huairen’s temperament was frank, disdaining secrecy. In front of all, he asked directly, “Forgive my presumption—may I ask your purpose here?”

Pride—indomitable pride. Quan Ce did not mention his mother’s royal blood, but instead honored his grandmother, Lady Xiao. He clasped his hands in salute. “Forgive my rudeness for appearing unannounced. I have come to recruit for the Thousand Oxen Guard.”

Zheng Huairen’s white brows rose, a trace of mockery flickering across his face as he shook his head. “I am old. I no longer concern myself with young men’s affairs. However many you can take, so be it.”

He turned his face aside, and Zheng Jingsi, his eldest grandson, immediately stepped forward, inviting Quan Ce, “I’ve heard the general is learned and talented, with a unique style in painting. Tomorrow at the ancient cypress crossing, when the river is chilled by frost, the scenery is breathtaking. The talents of Xingyang will gather to capture its beauty in paint—would you honor us with your presence?”

Quan Ce smiled and nodded, feeling at ease. “Thank you, young master Zheng, for your invitation. I dare not claim to judge, but I am willing to make friends through painting and share in the enjoyment with you all.”

“General Quan, a leader belongs on horseback—painting is mere pastime,” a cold-faced youth at the end of the table spoke angrily. “Do you dare compete with me in martial arts?”

Quan Ce blushed, replying honestly, “My skills in arms are not refined, a regret to me. In the capital, I had no leisure to train, but I hoped to practice here in the eastern capital…”

“Spare me your excuses,” the youth interrupted coldly, “If you look down on me, you may send a subordinate to compete instead.”

“You misunderstand, brother—I have no intention of slighting you,” Quan Ce rose swiftly, striding through the hall to the youth and grasping his hand. “At fifteen, though my family is not distinguished, I was pampered. Save for riding, I know nothing of martial arts. But if you insist on a match, I am willing to risk myself for your sake.”

The youth took his hand casually, and Quan Ce’s knuckles cracked, pain shooting through him. His face twisted in agony, but he forced a smile. The youth sneered, his expression defiant, lowering his voice, “Those of rank cherish their lives—spare me your winning ways. If you call this an assassination attempt, I’ll gladly show my skill and test the mettle of your Thousand Oxen Guard.”

Quan Ce shook his head. Since he was intent on winning hearts, he could not retreat halfway.

The youth was momentarily surprised, released his grip, raised his voice, and rolled up his sleeves, assuming a stance with his eyes fixed intently on Quan Ce. “Are you truly willing to compete, General?”

“Only at your command.” Quan Ce wished he could avoid it, his heart sinking. Getting beaten was a small matter, but losing face would make leading troops difficult. He stepped back and adopted a horse stance—the only posture he knew related to martial arts.

Quan Xiang waited outside the door, anxious as a cat on hot bricks, pacing but careful not to act without his elder brother’s summons. Within the hall, Lai Chong, Han Zhai, and others rose from their seats. The common-born youths personally recruited by Quan Ce reacted most fiercely, surging forward and encircling Quan Ce and the youth.

The youth was unafraid, sneering, “Your men are loyal, General.”

Quan Ce pressed his lips together, inexperienced in being beaten, only wishing to end the embarrassment swiftly. He replied curtly, “Brother, there’s no need to worry. Without my command, they won’t trouble you.”

Tension hung in the air, and Zheng Huairen watched in silence, not intervening.

Suddenly the youth dropped his stance. “You cannot beat me.”

Quan Ce breathed a sigh of relief and waved the Thousand Oxen Guard back. “Indeed. Since this is a contest, there should be a wager. If I lose, you may claim whatever you wish, so long as I possess it.”

“No need for silver—since you’re said to be skilled at painting, give me a picture,” the youth said, direct and clean in his manner. “My name is Zheng Zhong, nineteen years old. Would you accept me into your Thousand Oxen Guard?”

“Of course—I would be delighted!” Quan Ce was overjoyed, not forgetting the host. “Does the Lord of Xingyang consent?”

Zheng Huairen said nothing, but an elder beside him replied, “Zheng Zhong is a collateral son from the seventh branch, often punished for breaking family rules, a troublemaker who prefers the spear to the brush, unversed in either letters or manners. General, be cautious.”

Zheng Zhong listened to the elder’s words with a mocking expression, offering no defense. He turned to ask, “General, do you dare take me in?”

Quan Ce threw his head back and laughed. “Zheng Zhong is both scholar and warrior, though little known in his clan, he is fit to serve alongside me in the Thousand Oxen Guard. The Zheng family is full of talent—Lord of Xingyang, it is a joy and an honor!”

Zheng Huairen smiled faintly and waved for the music and dance to continue.

Zheng Zhong was impatient—he would not let matters linger overnight. After the banquet, nearing midnight, he followed Quan Ce to the guest quarters to claim his prize.

Quan Ce brought out a stack of his idle paintings, letting Zheng Zhong choose freely.

Only after offering them did he begin to regret it—among them were scenes of family life, rather private, and worse still, one that was even more sensitive. Quan Ce watched Zheng Zhong leaf through them anxiously, his large hands flipping quickly from start to finish, pausing only at the portrait of Quan Luo and remarking that the child was adorable, then continuing to the final painting, where he lingered, his voice hoarse. “This painting—what does it mean?”

It depicted Quan Ce kneeling before the bed of Princess Yiyang, mother and son weeping together.

Quan Ce hesitated slightly, then spoke truthfully. “My mother, though a royal, suffered much because of her birth. The other day, two cousins from my aunt’s family were honored by the Empress, but my brother and I received nothing, which grieved her.”

Upon hearing this, Zheng Zhong’s shoulders trembled, and great tears rolled down his cheeks as he choked out, “Cherish your blessings, younger brother. I am but a distant collateral son of the Zheng family, with a weak father and an unkind stepmother. I have endured much hardship. My mother struggled for twenty years to raise me, yet… I wished to care for her, but she did not live to see it.”

“Brother, my condolences.” Quan Ce crouched, gently patting Zheng Zhong’s back, his eyes reddening. Though Zheng Zhong was born into an aristocratic family, he had forsaken scholarship for martial pursuits—in an age where filial piety was paramount, this was his only act of defiance.

Zheng Zhong wiped his face with his sleeves. “Younger brother, you must think me laughable.”

“Not so. Men do not shed tears easily, unless their hearts are truly sorrowful,” Quan Ce helped him to his feet. “We are both men who have suffered. If you cry, how could I laugh?”

His words brought Zheng Zhong to fresh tears, soaking his robe. “Would you give me this painting, younger brother?”

Quan Ce naturally agreed.

Zheng Zhong turned to leave, then quickly returned, dropping to his knees with a thunderous thud. Quan Ce hurried to help him, but could not lift him.

“From this night forth, our brotherhood begins and ends. Hereafter, you are the general, and I your guard, faithful to the end.”

Having spoken, Zheng Zhong bowed deeply and left in haste.

Quan Ce’s face grew somber, and he sat in silence for a long while—not only because Zheng Zhong had stirred his sorrow, but also because of those paintings.

They had accompanied him since leaving Chang’an, drawn along the journey.

Now, one was missing.