Chapter 15: The Art of Imitation

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"It seems you all are deeply dissatisfied with me. You've been here for quite some time and haven't spoken a word," Cai Cong reclined on his couch, looking at them with an amused smile.

"We wouldn't dare, Your Excellency. We greet you respectfully," the crowd replied in unison, but there wasn't a trace of respect in their tone—listless and forced.

"Very well, I know you're not convinced. After a hundred battles, you remain obscure and unacknowledged, while I, neither of noble birth nor great merit, have suddenly risen above you. That must be hard to swallow, isn't it?"

"We wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't dare? But your tone is thick with resentment! I won’t bother preaching to you now. I can only tell you: this matter is of great importance. If any of you distinguish yourselves, I’ll see you promoted by three ranks. Money, for now, is out of the question; with the Turks invading, the court's expenditures are vast."

"Is Your Excellency serious?" someone asked.

"I do not speak idly. But what abilities do you possess? If I don’t know your skills, even if I want to help you earn merit, there may not be an opportunity."

Cai Cong smiled faintly. The men before him blushed with shame. For years, they had been kept on the payroll but, being from lowly backgrounds, had never had a chance for promotion. Now, hearing of a triple promotion, their eyes glowed red with longing. They would stop at nothing, even murder, if ordered.

"Your Excellency, we are all skilled in raising and commanding animals. Years ago, during the campaign against Wang Shichong, I used carrier hawks to send intelligence, and thus contributed greatly," the elder at the head said, stroking his beard with pride—this was one of his life’s rare achievements. To get word out from heavily-guarded Luoyang had been no small feat.

"I'm well aware of your order's animal-handling talents. Any other skills among you?"

"I... I’m skilled in mimicry. Does that count?" a young man asked hesitantly.

"Mimicry?" Cai Cong was genuinely surprised. In later times, this talent was often described, and even immortalized in Pu Songling’s Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, but he had never met someone who truly possessed such skills.

Seeing the young man's discomfort, Cai Cong smiled. "Of course it counts. Would you demonstrate for us? Let us witness the marvels of your craft."

In the capital, there were performers who, at grand banquets, would sit in the southeast corner of the hall and, tapping a ruler on the table, conjure the sounds of dogs barking in distant alleys. A woman would be startled awake, her husband mutter in his sleep, and their child cry loudly. The husband would wake, the wife soothe the child, and then someone would shout, "Fire!"—causing the whole household to rise in alarm. Soon, hundreds shouted, children wept, dogs howled, and amidst this came the sounds of collapsing beams, explosions, rushing wind, pleas for help, scraping timbers, looting, and water being thrown. Every conceivable sound was there, overwhelming in its realism—no matter how many hands or tongues a person had, he could not mimic so much at once.

Then, with a final rap, all fell silent. Draw back the screen, and it was but one man, one table, one chair, one fan, and one tapping stick.

Though later generations marveled at this art, Cai Cong had never seen it with his own eyes—until today. He couldn’t help but recite the classic prose, and the crowd was amazed at how aptly it described what they had just witnessed.

The young man, never before so praised in writing, was both pleased and bashful, standing silently to one side.

"What is your name? If you don't mind humbling yourself, stay by my side as an advisor," Cai Cong said with a gentle smile. "Every talent has its use, especially one as rare as yours."

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"My name is Pei Dong, and I am willing to serve, Your Excellency." Pei Dong cupped his hands in salute. In these times, there was no shame in pledging loyalty young; official rank and authority were what commanded respect.

The others, though they looked down on Pei Dong for his eagerness, could not hide their envy—this lad had stumbled into fortune. Their young master, not yet eight, already held fifth rank; even if he never advanced, that was a height most could only dream of.

"Don’t be jealous. As long as you carry out my orders well, rank and fortune are within reach. Meng Baolai, pass down the order: no one is to approach within thirty meters of this room. Anyone who does will be dealt with as a spy."

Cai Cong suddenly called out in a loud voice, and soon the surroundings were so quiet that only birds and insects could be heard. Lowering his voice, he began to issue detailed instructions. The crafty men of the animal-handling order grew more animated with each word, some trembling with excitement.

"My deepest thanks, Your Excellency. If we succeed, our order will surely reclaim its former glory," the elder said, about to kneel in gratitude. Cai Cong quickly helped him up. Even Li Shimin himself would not permit a man of seventy to kneel before him.

"No need for such ceremony. This is for the good of the nation and the people. The Emperor has mobilized the army, General Yuchi has slain a thousand Turks, and negotiations are inevitable. Our scheming is just the finishing touch. But this matter must succeed. I leave everything in your hands!"

Cai Cong bowed solemnly to them. The men hurriedly dodged his salute. A moment ago, they might have accepted it with a jest, but now, to do so would be to shorten their own lives.

"We will not fail you, Your Excellency!" With those words, they scattered and vanished in an instant. Cai Cong secretly admired their skills—no wonder they were an ancient order; aside from Meng Baolai standing watch in the yard, none of the other guards even noticed their departure.

"Your Excellency, what would you have me do?" Now that the others were gone, Pei Dong stood awkwardly in place. Among his order's lessons was how to curry favor with the powerful, but how to please a master so young? Buy him sugar figurines?

"Go watch how the great men in the various offices speak and handle affairs. You have three days—learn how they posture, how they show anger, how they threaten. Meng Baolai, go with him. If necessary, stir up a quarrel among the officials."

Cai Cong spoke calmly, his gaze on the dirt at his feet, his thoughts unreadable.

Meng Baolai dared not ask further, and led the bewildered Pei Dong away in haste. Cai Cong crouched on the stone steps of the courtyard. Soon, his mother brought him a bowl of meat porridge and said with concern, "Why are you sitting on the cold ground? Come inside, quickly!"

He took the porridge with a cheerful smile. "It's nothing, Mother. Go on with your work. Tell our neighbors to stay away from this courtyard—I'm expecting a guest."

"Alright, finish your porridge, and I'll be off," she replied, sitting nearby to watch him eat. Her son was her dearest treasure; being apart these days had felt worse than death, and now she couldn't get enough of looking at him.

After a while, she took the bowl and strode away—no country woman ever minced steps.

Cai Cong gazed quietly at the drifting clouds, his thoughts wandering. He recalled his first mission, when he had to trick a professor out of his research results—his palms had been slick with sweat from nerves. His memories scattered further, even to the humiliating days of fighting with dogs for scraps as a child.

Just then, footsteps startled him. A stern, clean-shaven man, surrounded by attendants, approached with a smile.

Cai Cong stood, dusted off his hands, stretched, and grinned, "Grand Eunuch, you’re early. I thought you’d arrive in the afternoon."

At his words, Yan Dong's smile faded and a cold gleam flashed in his eyes. Had someone in the palace leaked news? But then he realized it couldn't be—he had come directly from receiving the imperial edict; no one had the chance to send word ahead.

Laughing, he said, "So, the young lord of the Cai family was expecting me. How did you know I was coming?"

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"The Emperor is wise. For matters of such gravity, even if he trusts the Duke, he must send someone close to test me. He didn't come yesterday, out of kindness since I'd just returned home. So today, someone had to come—just a bit earlier than I'd expected."

Yan Dong's eyes narrowed sharply. If not for seeing the boy in person, he would have suspected these words came from a seasoned old fox of the bureaucracy.

"Please, come inside! It's our first meeting; we shouldn't talk standing here." As Yan Dong was still reeling from surprise, Cai Cong invited him into the main hall with a smile.

"After you," Yan Dong replied politely. He was not one to humble himself easily—few lords and ministers ever received such courtesy from him. Today, however, he found himself awed by this child.

Once seated, Yan Dong regained his composure. Years following Li Shimin on campaign, and his part in the Xuanwu Gate coup, had steeled him—this was but a moment’s astonishment.

He sipped his sweet tea, then said coolly, "Though you have the Duke's guarantee, the court is abuzz with criticism. Ministers have petitioned His Majesty, urging him not to entrust state affairs to a mere child. Lord Zhangsun even pursued the matter into the imperial study after court yesterday. His Majesty has sent me to ask: are you truly confident you can sow discord among the Turks? If not, speak now. His Majesty assures you, as a child, you’ll not be held accountable."

Cai Cong could not help but admire the Emperor—a sovereign for the ages, willing, even in crisis, to take such risks on a subject's recommendation.

He thought a moment, then bowed. "If I were not confident, I would not have donned the official robe yesterday."

"So, you are sure you can do it. Would you dare sign a military pledge? If you fail to divide the Turks, your head will be forfeit before the army marches," Yan Dong's gaze was as sharp as a blade, murderous intent clear. Cai Cong felt a chill. This was a man well-versed in killing.

But Cai Cong had lived a previous life with a mind twisted to the extreme—he was not one to fear death threats. Smiling slightly, he said, "Why not? If I fail, take my head. But I ask the grand eunuch to inquire of His Majesty—what is the desired outcome? If it's merely to make the Turks withdraw, that can be done with gold and jewels. But if he wants the army to retreat and to save the tens of thousands of captives, I will need greater trust and five hundred elite troops."

"How could that be possible?" Yan Dong cried out in shock. The Turks were notorious for plunder; once people were captured, they became spoils of war, never to be returned. The men were worked to death in winter, the women kept for breeding—subjected to endless suffering.

"Why is it impossible? Tell His Majesty: if he trusts me, I will make Jieli release the captives. In the end, the Turks are not ruled by him alone. But know this: there is a fifty percent chance this move will provoke war between them and our Great Tang. To save them or not—it all depends on His Majesty’s will."