Chapter 75: The harmonious sounds of men plowing and women weaving, the balance of tones, the source of virtuous governance…

The soil was slightly moist, and the view stretched out in a vast expanse. The mountains were pristine and clear, and the green trees seemed to sway like eyebrows. Everything gave one the illusion of being far removed from the hustle and bustle of the world.

During a break from his fifth rest, Li Shimin saw an old friend lingering among the ridges of the field.

He couldn't tell whether the other person was surprised or didn't want to bother him, whether they were indifferent and confused or understanding and approving.

Li Shimin initially felt that it was beneath his dignity to meet his friend dressed as a farmer, but later he felt that having such thoughts would be an insult to his friend, so he decided to appear in this simple brown robe.

"Minxing! Changsun Minxing!" He put down the plow and ran excitedly towards his old friend from Chang'an, who had been strolling in the fields for a long time. He reached out to pat Minxing's shoulder, but then awkwardly withdrew his hand and wiped it on his clothes. "Anhe is alright."

Changsun Minxing remained as nonchalant as he had been in Chang'an, unfazed by the situation. His interest in farming was clearly greater than in the short, unfitting robes he wore.

"It's not as good as you think." After bowing and clasping his hands, Li Shimin laughed, "I felt like the sky above the Ziwei Palace was burning with the flames of the underworld, and your sister said the sky above Zhuque Street was oozing pus. We went there full of excitement, but returned disappointed. After seeing the lantern wheel, we stayed in the countryside..."

Changsun Minxing recalled the refugees and deserted villages he had seen along the way, and sighed, "You and Qingjing's thoughts are always different from ordinary people... Wuji is too."

"You too," Li Shimin couldn't help but chuckle. "Otherwise, how could the four of us become a family? How could you and Wuji tolerate Qingjing and me writing poems that defy the rules and acting out of line?"

The bells of Jingyin Temple rang out, mourning the departed souls and celebrating the new year. After a moment of silence amidst the lingering tolling, Changsun Minxing smiled and said, “It’s rare that you always have a way of making everyone happy. You don’t see the prosperity of the Eastern Capital, but instead see the fire and pus of the underworld; you must be one of my kindred spirits…”

Li Shimin nodded in acquiescence and understanding. The two gazed at Jingyin Temple, and amidst the faint, intermittent morning chanting, they prayed that the innocent souls who had perished would reach the other shore with the mournful, plaintive chanting.

Changsun Minxing was just an ordinary Confucian scholar from a humble background who was already beyond the fifth degree of kinship with his siblings.

It was rare that Gao Shilian, Lu Fayan, and others felt that this child was exceptionally gifted, and his ability to analyze sentences and distinguish tones was no less than that of Shen Yue's mastery of the four tones. So they simply invited him to their home to discuss art with him.

The Changsun siblings often consulted Changsun Minxing about the rhyme and meter of classical Chinese prose, parallel prose, and new poetry, and he always answered their questions and corrected their mistakes.

Gao Shilian often felt that the Changsun Minxing in his eyes was probably similar to the younger version of himself in the eyes of Xue Daoheng and Cui Zujun, so he was happy to see Wuji and Minxing address each other as brothers.

Others also mistakenly believed that Changsun Minxing was a close relative of Changsun Sheng. The three children tacitly agreed to continue the misunderstanding and never offered any explanation.

"Have you seen Qingjing? Are your parents in good health? How is Master Lu?" Li Shimin asked anxiously.

Li Shimin was stunned and speechless. He recalled that he had been busy with the wedding and funeral last year and had not made a point of inquiring about his situation. He only remembered that Changsun Minxing had also attended Lady Dou's funeral.

He said with deep remorse, "Please forgive me, my condolences. I was blind; I should have seen the mourning clothes on your body."

"When Xue Xuanqing was sentenced to death, his health was already poor; when Gao Zhili was demoted, he insisted on seeing him off, which further weakened his health, and he ultimately did not survive the winter. Before his death, the Master entrusted me with collating and annotating the five-volume *Qieyun*, so that the legacy of these nine virtuous men—Liu Zhen, Yan Zhitui, Lu Sidao, Li Ruo, Xiao Gai, Xin Deyuan, Xue Daoheng, Wei Yanyuan, and Lu Shuang—would not be lost to the world. When Wei Dan suggested that Master Lu take notes of their conversations and principles, the Master was only about our age, so there were bound to be omissions and oversights." (The Crown Prince) The Xi Ma family was later stripped of their titles for following the Prince of Fangling, and both father and son died in despair. Now these five volumes are in my hands, and the pronunciation of some characters needs to be recalibrated and marked with fanqie (a method of indicating pronunciation in traditional Chinese dictionaries). I will first contact scholars in various places in the Heluo region, or search for ancient pronunciations in the countryside. Changsun Minxing also knew that Li Shimin did not quite understand what kind of textual research Lu Fayan and his master and apprentice usually did, but out of respect for those who truly practiced the secret formula, his heartfelt respect gave him enough patience to listen to this long discourse.

“No need. I’ll focus on proofreading the meanings of characters these next few days, comparing them with the Erya, Shuowen, and Yupian to distinguish the true from the false. Are there any centenarian scholars near your estate who speak clearly? I’d like to go and learn from their pronunciation back then.”

“I really know nothing about phonetics. I don’t quite understand what you’re saying or what you’re about to do,” Li Shimin said self-deprecatingly. “Wuji must think that your practice of seeking phonetics and phonetics in the countryside is just as strange as my asking for books, so he sent you here to keep me company.”

Changsun Minxing instinctively hugged the leather satchel slung over his shoulder: "Does your villa have any hidden rooms?"

"Yes, go ahead and store the books. I'll take care of it."

"That's good." Changsun Minxing's pale face, which had just arrived in Mangbei, had improved considerably after being blown by the wind. "You and Wuji have been so sincere to me, so I can only shamelessly say that I cannot repay your kindness."

"What are you saying?" Li Shimin put his arm around his neck and walked hand in hand. "I'll take you to see Master Zhang first. Tell him about Master Lu's book, and he'll definitely understand..."

Do you still use strange oblique rhymes when you write poetry?

“I can’t change it,” Li Shimin said as he walked. “Why do you follow Shen Xiuwen’s words so readily? He even laughed at your ancestors for being barbarians.”

"Because my ancestors did indeed live among the barbarians, and the four tones and eight faults are indeed the guiding principles of prosody. On his deathbed, Master Lu told me that the balance of level and oblique tones is like the performance of music and the cultivation of rituals, and the harmony of musical scales is like the tension and relaxation of politics and education; the principles of good governance are all contained within them. I want to continue along this great path..."

“I don’t quite understand.” Li Shimin suddenly withdrew his warm arm from Changsun Minxing’s shoulder and brushed the dust off his short robe. “But since it is the righteousness upheld by Lu Shuang, Xue Daoheng, and the unfortunate Master Lu, it is indeed worth following.”

People who are stubborn and inflexible often have a touch of naivety and obstinacy, and this naivety is what Li Shimin liked about them.

Changsun Minxing gazed at the distant mountains and plateaus, and said thoughtfully, "Your Lishan will not let you down..."

As the two chatted, the child who had been knocking on clods of earth suddenly stood up, ran up to Li Shimin, and grabbed his sleeve: "Young master, we can't rest any longer. This round, will you be holding the plow or leading the ox?"

Li Shimin turned around and asked, "Did your father allow me to learn how to lead oxen?"

The child nodded vigorously: "Young master, you mustn't be lazy! I made a bet with my brother that you're different from others, and you'll definitely make it through the millet planting season. Whoever loses has to gather firewood for the other for a day."

"Ah, that's a huge basket of firewood! You can't let the child down." Changsun Minxing fully understood why Li Shimin was out in the fields, plowing and gathering inspiration. He didn't hold back his praise, "His compassion for the needy is admirable. You can't let the child down..."

Li Shimin loudly beckoned the farm officials, who were holding bows and measuring tapes to measure the fields, to come and meet Changsun Minxing.

He then bowed to the eager child who was following closely behind and urging him on, saying, "Little farmer, I am grateful for your kind opinion. I will certainly not let you down. Wait a quarter of an hour, and I will go back with you."

The child said no more, but waited earnestly to the side, afraid that Li Shimin would slip away halfway.

Li Shimin ordered the village officials to suspend the land survey and to make proper arrangements for his wife's brother-in-law.

He gazed at the vast farmland, his nostrils filled with the harsh, earthy smell of icy shards. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He said to the farm official who was about to lead Changsun Minxing away, "Since it's inconvenient for me to be present, I'll hold a feast in your name and invite all the tenants, men, women, and children. Each household can contribute a few coins as a token, and the rest will be on my tab!"

After saying that, he patted the child who was scrutinizing him and said, "Come on. Let's get to work."

"Young master, are you saying you're treating our whole family to a free meal?" the child asked, puzzled.

“Your parents and siblings work hard all day long, how can they eat for free?” Li Shimin said with a smile. “Remember to eat more, and take the leftovers home in a bamboo basket.”

Deep in the plateau, women and girls closed the doors of their silkworm rearing rooms, chattering about the future harvest, the weather, the quality of the silkworm eggs, and their hopes for the safety of their families.

They bypassed the mulberry grove, preparing to visit their fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons as usual. Changsun Qingjing felt that the peasant women and village girls didn't ask for much; they simply wanted abundant harvests, plentiful looms, and a life of comfort and joy for their entire families.

At least he wasn't as greedy as her.

In the brief midday sun, everything that had been stunted stretched out a little. Accompanied by the farmers' shouts of "Heave-ho!", the earth loosened its jaws, and cracks deep within the frozen ground spread outwards. Although the warmth was fleeting, in the gullies and forests touched by the sun, the seeds had already been secretly sown, a prophecy of spring's emergence.

The author says: I have ambitiously incorporated Tang poetry culture into this fictional story of "Lishan" in its early stages.

Shen Yue never dreamed that his theories on prosody would eventually be promoted by two Xianbei scholars to the entire area covered by Chinese culture.

History is a giant boomerang that slaps people in the face [eye roll]