humility) that he was more inclined to certain ways of thinking, and perhaps to an appreciation of beauty that went deeper in him than in most of his fellow soldiers--and then fellow officers--as he rose (somewhat) through the ranks from humble beginnings.
He enjoyed, among other things, civilized conversation so much. Sipping wine alone in his chamber late at night, Lin Fong acknowledged that a disturbing measure of what had to be called excitement was keeping him awake.
Shen Tai, the son of the late General Shen, was the sort of person Lin Fong would have wished to keep at Iron Gate for days or even weeks, such was the spark of the man's thinking and the unusual pattern of his life.
Their conversation over dinner had forced him to acknowledge, ruefully, how impoverished his daily routines and company were here.
He'd asked the man an obvious (to him) question. "You have now gone twice beyond the borders for extended periods. The ancient masters teach that danger to the soul lies in doing that." He had offered a smile, to take any sting or offence from the words.
"Some teach that. Not all."
"That is so," Lin Fong had murmured, gesturing to a servant to pour more wine. He was a little out of his depth when it came to variant teachings of the ancient masters. A soldier did not have time to learn these things.
Shen Tai had looked thoughtful, however, the oddly deep-set eyes revealing a mind working on the question. Courteously, he'd said, "The first time, commander, I was a very young officer. I went north among the Bogu because I was ordered there, that's all. I doubt, respectfully, you would have chosen to come to Iron Gate, had your wishes been considered."
So he had noticed! Fong had laughed a little self-consciously. "It is an honourable posting," he'd protested.
"Of course it is."
After a short silence, Fong had said, "I take your point, of course. Still, having been beyond the empire once without any choice of your own, the second time ...?"
Unhurried, unruffled, a man of obvious breeding: "The second time I was honouring my father. That is why I went to Kuala Nor."
"There were no other ways to honour him?"
"I'm sure there were," was all Shen Tai said.
Fong had cleared his throat, embarrassed. He was too hungry for such exchanges, he'd realized, too starved for intelligent talk. It could make you cross social boundaries. He'd bowed.
This Shen Tai was a complex man, but he was leaving in the morning to pursue a life that was unlikely ever to bring the two of them into contact again. With reluctance, but an awareness of what was proper, the commander had turned the conversation to the matter of the Tagurans and their fortress north of the lake, what Shen Tai could tell him of that.
The Tagurans, after all, were within his present sphere of responsibility, and would be until he was posted elsewhere.
Some men seemed able to slide in and out of society. This man appeared to be one of them. Lin Fong knew that he himself was not, and never would be; he had too great a need for security, routines, for such uncertainty. But Shen Tai did make him aware that there were, or might be, alternative ways to live. It probably did help, he thought, to have had a Left Side Commander for a father.
Alone in his chamber later that night, he sipped his wine. He wondered if the other man had even noticed that they'd been drinking tea earlier, how unusual that was out here. It was a new luxury, just beginning to be taken up in Xinan, imported from the far southwest: yet another consequence of peace and trade under Emperor Taizu.
He had heard about the drink from correspondents and asked for some to be sent. He very much doubted the new custom had been adopted by many other commanders in their fortresses. He'd even ordered special cups and trays, paid for them himself.
He wasn't sure he liked the taste of the drink, even sweetened with mountain honey, but he did enjoy the idea of himself as a man in tune with court and city culture, even here on a
He enjoyed, among other things, civilized conversation so much. Sipping wine alone in his chamber late at night, Lin Fong acknowledged that a disturbing measure of what had to be called excitement was keeping him awake.
Shen Tai, the son of the late General Shen, was the sort of person Lin Fong would have wished to keep at Iron Gate for days or even weeks, such was the spark of the man's thinking and the unusual pattern of his life.
Their conversation over dinner had forced him to acknowledge, ruefully, how impoverished his daily routines and company were here.
He'd asked the man an obvious (to him) question. "You have now gone twice beyond the borders for extended periods. The ancient masters teach that danger to the soul lies in doing that." He had offered a smile, to take any sting or offence from the words.
"Some teach that. Not all."
"That is so," Lin Fong had murmured, gesturing to a servant to pour more wine. He was a little out of his depth when it came to variant teachings of the ancient masters. A soldier did not have time to learn these things.
Shen Tai had looked thoughtful, however, the oddly deep-set eyes revealing a mind working on the question. Courteously, he'd said, "The first time, commander, I was a very young officer. I went north among the Bogu because I was ordered there, that's all. I doubt, respectfully, you would have chosen to come to Iron Gate, had your wishes been considered."
So he had noticed! Fong had laughed a little self-consciously. "It is an honourable posting," he'd protested.
"Of course it is."
After a short silence, Fong had said, "I take your point, of course. Still, having been beyond the empire once without any choice of your own, the second time ...?"
Unhurried, unruffled, a man of obvious breeding: "The second time I was honouring my father. That is why I went to Kuala Nor."
"There were no other ways to honour him?"
"I'm sure there were," was all Shen Tai said.
Fong had cleared his throat, embarrassed. He was too hungry for such exchanges, he'd realized, too starved for intelligent talk. It could make you cross social boundaries. He'd bowed.
This Shen Tai was a complex man, but he was leaving in the morning to pursue a life that was unlikely ever to bring the two of them into contact again. With reluctance, but an awareness of what was proper, the commander had turned the conversation to the matter of the Tagurans and their fortress north of the lake, what Shen Tai could tell him of that.
The Tagurans, after all, were within his present sphere of responsibility, and would be until he was posted elsewhere.
Some men seemed able to slide in and out of society. This man appeared to be one of them. Lin Fong knew that he himself was not, and never would be; he had too great a need for security, routines, for such uncertainty. But Shen Tai did make him aware that there were, or might be, alternative ways to live. It probably did help, he thought, to have had a Left Side Commander for a father.
Alone in his chamber later that night, he sipped his wine. He wondered if the other man had even noticed that they'd been drinking tea earlier, how unusual that was out here. It was a new luxury, just beginning to be taken up in Xinan, imported from the far southwest: yet another consequence of peace and trade under Emperor Taizu.
He had heard about the drink from correspondents and asked for some to be sent. He very much doubted the new custom had been adopted by many other commanders in their fortresses. He'd even ordered special cups and trays, paid for them himself.
He wasn't sure he liked the taste of the drink, even sweetened with mountain honey, but he did enjoy the idea of himself as a man in tune with court and city culture, even here on a
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