With a red headscarf wrapped around his forehead and black cloth binding his legs, Yang Xinzhi was dressed in the full attire of a Garrison Guard. Holding a Moon Staff in his right hand and leading a chestnut-red steed with his left, he slowly emerged from the right side of the field. As the man and his horse strode toward the center of the flat ground, the musicians and spectators along the edge erupted into wild cheers and the thunderous sounds of the Drum and Wind Ensemble.
From his vantage point on the third floor, Li Yuangui was too far away to clearly see Yang Xinzhi—or rather, Murong Nuohebo’s—expression. Yet he could discern the steady, composed demeanor in his stride. Tall and powerfully built, leading a glossy, well-fed, and vividly colored steed, Yang Xinzhi cut a striking figure—vigorous and unburdened, moving with the majesty of a dragon and the confidence of a tiger across the sandy field. He embodied the very image of the heroic Tang warrior that countless dreamed of.
Li Yuangui deliberately glanced toward the seating area reserved for foreign envoys on the right side of the field. The crowd there was equally jubilant, particularly one figure in the middle who waved a Dragon Horse Patterned Banner of Tuyuhun with the most fervor. Li Yuangui recognized him as Mi Nu, the Eunuch envoy sent by Murong Shun.
In stark contrast to Yang Xinzhi, Zun Wang, who emerged from the opposite side leading his horse, appeared utterly dejected and listless. Even before the match began, he had already lost in terms of presence.
Zun Wang’s head and face were wrapped in white bandages, evidence of prior medical treatment. He too had changed into a more practical outfit and carried an Ebony Moon Staff. While it might be understandable for him to appear somewhat drained due to his injuries and lack of proper rest and nourishment, why did the yellowish piebald horse he was leading seem even weaker than its rider?
The day before, Uncle Changsun had personally gone to the Red Chestnut Horse Stud within the imperial city to select two steeds of similar build and temperament, presenting them for Zun Wang to choose from. The chosen horse had remained by his side ever since, never leaving his care. Yet today, while the red horse still looked as spirited as ever, the white one swayed unsteadily, its head drooping as if unwilling to lift it.
The two uncles and nephews of the Murong clan met at the center of the polo field without exchanging greetings, turning together to face the imperial pavilion where the Son of Heaven sat. Yang Xinzhi instinctively knelt and kowtowed, but Zun Wang stubbornly remained standing, tilting his head back and shouting a lengthy tirade.
...Li Yuangui couldn’t understand a single word.
He instinctively turned to look at the Emperor, only to see his elder brother wearing a faint, self-satisfied smile. Could the divine Son of Heaven truly be omniscient, even comprehending the language of Tuyuhun?
Before he could finish the thought, a sudden wave of gasps and laughter erupted from below, followed by applause. Li Yuangui hurriedly looked down and, after a moment of squinting, realized that the white horse Zun Wang was leading had... relieved itself.
While such an occurrence was hardly unusual on a polo field, the yellowish piebald was clearly in distress—circling weakly before its hind legs buckled, threatening to collapse. Zun Wang tugged at the reins, but after several futile attempts, he finally threw them down in frustration, roaring skyward in a fit of rage.
From beside him on the upper floor came stifled snickers, and the Emperor turned away, shoulders shaking with laughter. In that instant, Li Yuangui understood the meaning behind the Crown Prince’s earlier remark: "With His Majesty personally overseeing the arrangements, how could we possibly lose?"
"Did Uncle Changsun feed the yellowish piebald croton seeds... or some other laxative before bringing the two horses outside Shuntian Gate?" Li Yuangui couldn’t help but voice his suspicion. "But that doesn’t make sense... How could they have ensured Zun Wang would pick the white horse?"
He glanced again at the red horse Yang Xinzhi was leading—full of energy, showing no signs of illness. How had they managed to bet on the right one?
The Emperor didn’t answer his younger brother, merely sighing with amusement as if speaking to himself:"That spendthrift Wu-ji just had to pick two of my best horses for this! Even if a fine steed's diarrhea isn't serious, it still needs a good month or two of proper care to recover. Was it really necessary? Couldn't he just have picked two ordinary..."
Two horses?
Li Yuangui thought carefully and suddenly understood. Looking again at the chestnut horse beside Yang Xinzhi, from this distance he couldn't see any difference from the red horse Zhangsun Wu-ji had brought yesterday. Even up close, most people probably wouldn't be able to tell them apart.
But that should be the "third horse."
With hundreds of fine steeds in the Son of Heaven's Six Leisure Stables, finding a few with similar coats couldn't be difficult. Uncle Changsun had tampered with the two horses beforehand, presenting them for King Zun to choose. When King Zun picked the white horse, after they separated, Zhangsun Wu-ji had someone bring another chestnut horse for Yang Xinzhi, while the original red horse was taken away for recovery. Had King Zun chosen the red horse, the outcome would have been the same.
Watching the Emperor laugh like a spoiled young rogue whose scheme had succeeded, Li Yuangui couldn't help but clasp his hands and speak up:
"This subject dares to advise Your Majesty that a Sage Ruler nurturing all under heaven should uphold honesty, trustworthiness, benevolence and righteousness as fundamental..."
"Scram!" The Son of Heaven cut off his younger brother irritably. "Haven't even married the bride yet and you're already acting like one of the Wei School disciples from your father-in-law's family? The line of imperial advisors in our court stretches from the Supreme Polarity Hall all the way outside the Vermilion Bird Gate! If each spoke for an hour a day, it would take three years before your turn came!"
What kind of talk was this... Li Yuangui silently closed his mouth. The Emperor had no more attention for him now anyway—below, a Honglu Temple envoy was kneeling and loudly reporting that the former crown prince of Tuyuhun, prisoner Murong Zun Wang, was requesting a horse change for the ball game.
The white horse he'd chosen yesterday had been suffering diarrhea all night and now could barely stand on the field, with several people already carrying it away. Exclamations of surprise rose from the foreign envoys' seats, while the Emperor tossed out some cold remarks: "Murong Fu-yun and his son defied heaven's will and opposed us—this is divine retribution! What good would changing horses do? Does he still want to play? Then let him play Foot Ball!"
When the envoy relayed this to the field, cheers of "Long live the Emperor!" and drumming immediately drowned out King Zun's angry shouts. Watching from the third floor, Li Yuangui saw Yang Xinzhi spread his arms in a helpless Letter of Gratitude gesture before releasing his chestnut horse's reins for attendants to lead it away. The bear-like youth gripped his Moon Staff and swung it twice—a sign he was voluntarily giving up his mount to play Foot Ball alongside King Zun.
A gallant display indeed, Li Yuangui thought privately. To the uninformed, it might seem Crown Prince Nuozhebo was sacrificing a great advantage for a fair duel. Little did they know that if Yang Rou-ta played mounted, his staff might not even touch the ball...
With both horses led away, only two youths—one tall, one short—stood facing each other with staffs on the broad field, while an envoy placed the ball between them, waiting for the starting drumbeat. Li Yuangui felt there was no need to watch this game—it promised less suspense than the Tang army's crushing defeat of Tuyuhun forces at West Sea Road.
His imperial brother, having laughed his fill, finally composed himself and sighed, somewhat bored. This was like warfare—after stacking every advantage to utterly overwhelm the enemy before battle, the actual fighting became as easy as splitting melons or chopping vegetables, making the process rather uninteresting to watch.With the first beat of the drum, the entire field erupted in cheers. Yang Xinzhi, towering over King Zun in both height and reach, swung his mallet first, sending the ball flying like a shooting star toward the opposite goal.
"It wasn't Yang Xinzhi who defeated King Zun in this polo match—it was His Majesty the Heavenly Khan," Li Yuangui murmured softly, swallowing the last half of his thought: "—Yet there's no glory in resorting to such underhanded tricks."
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