Great Tang inherited the lingering spirit of Wei Jin and the unrestrained boldness of Hu Yi. It lacked the rigid antiquarianism of pedantic Confucians and avoided the overbearing dominance of great clans.
This was the best of times: ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains lay like a painting, and peace spread across the four seas like brocade. Yet it was also the cruelest of times. Imperial power made blood sacrifices of fathers and brothers; desire blinded kinship. From Taizong onward, sons usurped fathers, younger brothers slew elder brothers, fathers killed sons, sons betrayed their kin, wives plotted against husbands, and ministers rebelled against sovereigns. The realm of Li Tang seemed haunted by a nightmare, with slaughter never ceasing.
The succession of imperial power was even more like Ghost Mastiffs devouring their kin to survive! Nine dogs and one mastiff—regardless of whether this legend, passed down through later generations, about Tibetan people training mastiffs was true or false, it was vividly reflected in this flourishing age of Great Tang.
So how could a young pup, abandoned in swaddling clothes and wandering beyond the mastiff pack, endure a hundred tempers and become a mastiff, defying the age to be born anew?