Chapter 101: Cuju

“All the essays are good, but they lack the classical standards of ancient prose. You should study the works of Sima Zichang and Han Yu more carefully…” Zhao Ji held up an article and explained to Li Sanjian.

Since becoming a “honored” advisor to the prince’s mansion, Li Sanjian had done little else but read and practice calligraphy every day.

Though Li Sanjian had long known that the Crown Prince’s mansion housed many books, he was still astounded by the sheer volume of its collection.

Books on astronomy, geography, arithmetic, hydraulics, medicine, military strategy, and more were all there—covering every conceivable subject.

In addition to that, there were official court bulletins from various periods.

What interested Li Sanjian most were the military treatises and the court bulletins.

Once a military enthusiast, Li Sanjian found himself suddenly fascinated by the military texts, his curiosity piqued.

Song dynasty military literature mainly included hundreds of works such as the “Seven Military Classics,” “Essentials of the Military Classics,” “Biographies of Generals in the Seventeen Histories,” “Essentials of Military Calculations,” “Records of City Defense,” and others, as well as the “Tiger Seal Classic” by Xu Dong and “The Treatise on Authority” by Su Xun, father of Su Shi.

The “Seven Military Classics” referred to seven books: “The Art of War” by Sun Tzu, “The Wuzi,” “The Sima Fa,” “The Six Secret Teachings,” “The Three Strategies of Huang Shigong,” “The Weighing of Military Affairs” by Wei Liaozi, and “The Questions and Answers with Li Wei Gong.” Since Emperor Shenzong’s reign, these had been established as compulsory military studies and were also tested in the military imperial examinations.

If Li Sanjian were not so physically weak, he might have considered taking the military imperial examination. Surely, the military essays would be easier than the literary ones, he thought.

Li Sanjian had no desire to become a battlefield commander; his interest was purely academic. After all, merely reading a few military treatises could never make one a fierce warrior on the field. These texts were static, whereas people and battles were dynamic. Without the ability to apply and adapt these teachings in real-time on the battlefield, one would be nothing more than a paper warrior—a figure like Zhao Kuo—and Li Sanjian understood this all too well.

Besides military books, Li Sanjian had also developed a strong interest in the official court bulletins.

Though the government strictly controlled the content published in these bulletins—banning the disclosure of confidential matters, unauthorized memorials by ministers, major frontier military news without approval, and reports on natural disasters or supernatural events—Li Sanjian could still glean insights into recent major court affairs and policy directions by reading between the lines of the praises and eulogies.

Through these bulletins, Li Sanjian learned about the current emperor’s achievements and found himself genuinely impressed with Zhao Xu.

Zhao Xu ascended the throne at the age of nine, determined to uphold the legacy of his father and brothers. After assuming power, he enacted policies of “continuation and innovation,” ruling with caution and humility, encouraging frank advice, attending to the people’s concerns, caring for orphans, supporting the elderly, alleviating poverty, and striving for good governance—showing signs of earnest dedication.

Though the results were not entirely satisfactory, Zhao Xu made the effort.

Particularly in military affairs, Zhao Xu had notable accomplishments. During his reign, two campaigns were launched to pacify Xiàchéng and decisively engage the Western Rong and Tangut peoples. The first campaign had concluded, and the second was underway, with bulletins reporting the defeat of hundreds of thousands of Western Xia troops and the recovery of much of the Song’s former territory.

Li Sanjian believed that despite the bulletins’ tendency for exaggeration, the Song army must have achieved some respectable results in the Western Xia conflicts.

“Li Hanren, what are you thinking about?” At that moment, Zhao Ji tapped the desk with a ruler, interrupting Li Sanjian’s train of thought.

Zhao Ji had been only two years old when his father, Emperor Shenzong Zhao Xu, passed away, and his birth mother soon after. Raised within the inner palace, Zhao Ji was confined until his early teens, when he was finally allowed to leave and establish his own household outside the palace walls.

From then on, Zhao Ji was like a young tiger released from a cage, or a fish swimming freely in the vast ocean.

He loved calligraphy and painting, collected antiques, called on friends, raised hunting hawks and dogs—he did everything except one thing: he never acted as a teacher to others.

Though Li Sanjian had once been a top scholar in Gui Prefecture and possessed some literary talent, he was no match for Zhao Ji in any respect. So when Li Sanjian was “delivered” to him, Zhao Ji unwittingly became Li Sanjian’s “master.” They never formally established a teacher-student relationship, but whenever Zhao Ji was bored, he would teach Li Sanjian poetry, prose, and classical texts.

After prolonged contact, Li Sanjian developed great admiration for Zhao Ji’s abilities.

Royal education truly differed from that of common folk, Li Sanjian often thought to himself.

In Li Sanjian’s eyes, if Zhao Ji participated in the imperial examinations, he would surely achieve outstanding results.

Both willing—one to teach, the other to learn—they quickly formed a bond neither quite friend nor master and disciple.

Especially Zhao Ji, who showed an unusual eagerness and care in instructing Li Sanjian, to the bewilderment of the mansion’s staff.

No one had ever seen Zhao Ji so dedicated to any other person.

“My mind was wandering far away; please forgive me, Your Highness,” Li Sanjian hastily replied after being startled.

“Wandering far away, your spirit scattered to the nine heavens?” Zhao Ji laughed. “You really aren’t focused.”

Here stood a prince himself, humbling himself to teach you reading and writing, yet you are distracted.

“Yes, yes… Your Highness’s admonition is well taken,” Li Sanjian respectfully responded. “I… I just thought the spring day is so beautiful, why not go out for a stroll?”

Books were the dullest things in the world. Though determined to study, Li Sanjian found the long hours of reading rather tedious.

“Yes, yes, I feel the same way—so stifling,” Zhao Ji exclaimed joyfully.

“Li Hanren, come with me,” Zhao Ji said with a mysterious smile, then grabbed Li Sanjian and headed out.

“Your Highness, please wait, let me change my clothes first,” Li Sanjian said, still wearing his long robe, which was inconvenient for outdoor activities.

“What clothes? Come on, fetch new clothes for me and the third gentleman. Hurry, hurry, change as we go,” Zhao Ji said impatiently.

Zhao Ji’s enthusiasm was contagious, and he was suddenly filled with excitement.

“All right… Your Highness, please slow down,” Li Sanjian nearly tripped as Zhao Ji dragged him along.

Li Sanjian had only intended a casual walk, never expecting Zhao Ji to become so flustered.

What was he up to? Li Sanjian wondered silently.

…

“Cai, Your Highness’s cuju skills are superb.”

“Yes, yes, since birth I have never seen anyone so skilled at cuju.”

“Get lost, you thief! Do you even know what cuju is?”

“How could I not? From my point of view, Your Highness is invincible in the capital.”

Zhao Ji, brimming with enthusiasm, dragged Li Sanjian to the mansion’s cuju field and called for a game.

As soon as Zhao Ji touched the leather ball, the servants on the field erupted into cheers.

Cuju, also called “kick ball,” was a sport greatly loved by the Song people. There were even specialized cuju clubs among the common folk.

Before the Song era, the leather ball was solid and cumbersome, but during this time, it was inflated—called “dahuan,” meaning “inflated ball.” Made by inflating cow or pig bladders and wrapping them in cowhide, the ball bounced well and was perfect for cuju.

Song people loved cuju, and members of the inner palace, especially princes and princesses, were no exception. Zhao Ji was also captivated by it.

Though Zhao Ji’s skills were good, they were not so extraordinary as to provoke wild cheers. Li Sanjian, amid the raucous shouts of the mansion’s servants, watched with interest.

Cuju required great skill. Apart from kicking with the feet, the ball could be struck with the head, shoulders, hips, chest, abdomen, and knees.

Lifting the ball high and dropping it was called “flying play,” bouncing and rolling it over the body was called “rolling play.” The moves were varied and dazzling: spinning branches, shooting stars chasing the moon, small and large sharp kicks, falling flowers flowing water, the Eight Immortals crossing the sea, kicking the flower heart—the repertoire was endless.

There were two main types of play: with goals and without goals. The goal usually consisted of a single goalpost.

“Ha!” Zhao Ji yipped as he flicked the ball, then with a mighty flying kick sent the ball hurtling like a meteor towards the goal.

In the center of the cuju field stood two goalposts, each about nine feet tall, with a narrow goal called the “wind’s eye” about a foot wide. Scoring required sending the ball through this “wind’s eye.”

The prince’s mansion had only one goalpost.

Zhao Ji wore a tall headdress and a red silk short jacket with black leg bindings, leaping gracefully.

The ball flew like a comet toward the goal, and the household staff cheered wildly, shouting and clapping, some even nearly fainting from excitement.

In an instant, a subtle “thump” was heard—the ball struck the side of the wind’s eye, missing by half an inch, just shy of scoring.

Alas! Li Sanjian inwardly lamented.

The mansion’s staff exchanged glances, falling silent, only a few slow-witted or dazed ones continued cheering loudly.

Zhao Ji’s face immediately turned dark—a deep scowl of embarrassment.

It was humiliating to the extreme. What made it worse was those few foolish servants still cheering, which only fueled Zhao Ji’s anger.

“Hahaha… ha… tsk tsk,” a sudden laugh came from the side of the field, breaking the silence. Everyone turned toward the sound.

What? Was it him? Li Sanjian also turned his head, only to find that the laughter came from none other than that person.

If he was not Gao Er, then who else could it be?