Chapter Eleven: The Auspicious Incense of Shampa—Ancestors of the Xianbei (Part II)

"Your Highness, the Imperial Academy has summoned you for your studies," Bi'er reported as she entered.

The Crown Prince was the heir to the throne, and his education carried the weight of the nation's future. The Tang Dynasty placed great importance on the instruction of the Crown Prince. In addition to appointing distinguished ministers and renowned scholars as the Three Tutors and Three Assistants, as well as guests and aides to the Crown Prince, there were also officials of the Left and Right Spring Chambers to assist in his education. There were further roles such as lecturers and readers: the former taught before the Emperor or Crown Prince, while the latter engaged in scholarly debates, posing questions and discussing classics and history. The latter were the true teachers.

The most formidable part of Li Shimin's arrangement for Li Chengqian’s education was the array of scholars: Li Gang, Zhang Xuansu, Yu Zhining, Du Zhenglun, Kong Yingda, and Wei Zheng. Yet, the results... hmm.

As for his own educators, the illustrious Li Ji served as his Grand Tutor; Cui Dunli, Yu Zhining, and Xu Jingzong each held the position of Assistant Tutor; and the Prime Ministers Liu Rengui, Dai Zhizhi, Zhang Wenxuan, Hao Chujun, and Li Jingxuan served as his guests and aides. All were celebrated generals or eminent ministers of the era.

Naturally, his formal lessons were not always delivered by these figures, but rather by various renowned scholars of the Tang, such as today’s lecturer in the Book of Changes, Professor Zheng Ce.

Li Zhi oversaw Li Hong’s education with even greater strictness; even while governing as regent, he continued his studies. Having recently suffered a serious illness, he had paused his lessons. Now, not only had his cold cleared, but even his longstanding disease was improving, so it was time to return to his studies.

Li Wei, too, wished to join these lessons. He had been diligently studying for days, and Li Hong’s occasional marginal notes on his books had proved helpful. Yet there remained many points he did not understand, especially the three volumes on Rites, which were tedious, and the Book of Documents, obscure. There were still many passages he could not grasp, so he marked them, intending to ask the scholars during lessons.

He could not rush, however; first he needed to cram, lest he embarrass himself as a once-promising doctoral student now asking his mentor, “What’s one plus one?” How would the teacher react?

Led by Bi'er, he arrived at the Imperial Academy. Bi'er, aware of Li Wei’s amnesia, quietly introduced him to those present, as most did not recognize him anymore.

There were two readers, two debaters, and today’s main lecturer, the distinguished scholar Zheng Ce of Yingyang.

Li Wei stepped forward, respectfully bowed, and said, "Greetings, Master Zheng."

Zheng Ce’s expertise lay in the Book of Rites. These scholars were by nature rigid, and Li Hong enjoyed learning such formal etiquette. It was likely that those inexplicable events stemmed from reading these inflexible books on ritual. Perhaps with more study of the Spring and Autumn Annals, especially the Gongyang Commentary, Li Hong would become more adaptable and less likely to commit egregious acts—like wielding artillery against old Wu, thus stirring up the hornet’s nest between Princess Yiyang and Princess Xuancheng.

These bookish scholars were even pleased to see Li Hong become more rigid, unaware that their teaching was pushing him straight into disaster.

Li Wei understood the logic, but had no choice but to study, and these three books of Ritual must be mastered thoroughly. Otherwise, even with amnesia as an excuse, he could not deceive Wu Zetian’s discerning eye. With Wu Zetian and Li Zhi in Luoyang, it was unfortunate not to cultivate a close relationship, but fortunate to have time to patch these gaps.

"Your Highness, I heard you are suffering from...?" Zheng Ce began.

Amnesia existed in later times and in this era, sometimes mild, sometimes severe, with tragic effects. Some would forget what they had just done. Li Wei had not concealed his affliction, and even made sure the news spread.

Initially, some officials in the Eastern Palace were uneasy, but seeing Li Wei’s normal behavior, and with ministers like Liu Rengui and Dai Zhizhi praising him, their worries were eased.

"Master Zheng, I merely had a fever and forgot some things, but it’s no matter. I’m already recalling much and will soon recover fully."

"That is well. Let us begin today with the Summer Officer chapter of the Book of Rites," Zheng Ce began the lesson.

Afterward, Li Wei asked, "Master Zheng, the text says: 'A thousand li square is the imperial domain; beyond, five hundred li square is the marquis domain; another five hundred li is the frontier domain; another five hundred li is the baron domain; another five hundred li is the fief domain; another five hundred li is the guard domain; another five hundred li is the southern domain; another five hundred li is the eastern domain; another five hundred li is the garrison domain; another five hundred li is the outer domain.' What does this passage mean?"

This passage left Li Wei dizzy. Zheng Ce had lectured quickly, using classical language; though simpler than the original, Li Wei still could not grasp it, so he asked.

"This means..." Zheng Ce began, nodding and explaining at length.

Although most of these men were pedantic, those who lectured in the Eastern Palace indeed possessed significant learning.

Li Wei put aside his airs and studied earnestly, asking questions whenever he was confused, adding his own views. Gradually, many of the obscure points in the Book of Rites became clear.

Of course, he was still far from mastery—not merely understanding the general sense, but the subtle meaning of every word.

Li Wei had a solid foundation, was an adult, with matured mind; whether as himself or as Li Hong, his talents were considerable, and once he truly applied himself, he learned quickly.

With a diligent student and enthusiastic teachers, the day passed without notice. Though Li Wei felt he had acquired a heap of useless knowledge, he had gained much.

As dusk approached, a eunuch arrived quietly: "An imperial decree from Luoyang."

Oh? Was Li Zhi summoning him to Luoyang?

Li Wei returned to his chambers. There, an older eunuch—nearly sixty—awaited. Li Wei bowed.

"Please, Your Highness, receive the decree," the eunuch said.

Li Wei knelt to accept it.

The eunuch opened the decree and read: "From your youth, I engaged learned scholars to instruct you in the great principles, so that you might be worthy of the nation’s expectation. You have held the Eastern Palace in confusion for many years, yet scholars and I have taught you. By fortune and caution, with slight virtue, I entrusted you to govern. To govern is to observe the ministers managing affairs."

Clearly, this was either written by Li Zhi himself, or dictated to Wu Zetian as his scribe. The opening was narrative, not harsh—but the tone soon shifted.

"To neglect obedience—what is filial piety? For commoners, filial piety is for their parents. For a ruler, filial piety is to govern the nation well. What do your words mean? You trouble my heart. Chang’an is the heart of the nation, yet you neglect it for the Eastern Capital. You disappoint me!"

Li Wei was bewildered. Was it not merely flattering Wu Zetian? He had also praised Li Zhi, so why put such a heavy charge on him? Chang’an was the heart of the country—he knew that. Why go to Luoyang, then? Even when there was no drought, Li Zhi often went to Luoyang.

"From your youth, I taught you, then hundreds of scholars instructed you. What is learning? What poetry have you composed? You are but a rustic!"

Li Wei stuck out his tongue. In these eleven or twelve years, hundreds of scholars had taught Li Hong—truly the privilege of a Crown Prince! Still, Feng Yuxiang was not exactly a rustic. He felt frustrated; he had tried to repair relations with flattery, but had only kicked the hoof instead of the horse.

This was a warning: never compose or present poems that are too plain. Early Tang poets like Wang Fanzhi wrote simple, satirical verses that were widely circulated, yet their plainness led the orthodox to dismiss them as plebeian. At this time, speech already approached the vernacular of later ages, but whether composing poetry, essays, or memorials, one must not attempt reform with plain language. No one would appreciate it; instead, they would promptly cast you out.

Yet this was not the harshest rebuke—what came next was fiercer.

"...You discuss state affairs with ministers, which pleases me. Yet when I questioned you, you said: 'Those not of our kind, their hearts are surely different.' What kind are you? I was shocked, and would punish you with a hundred lashes to relieve my anger..."

The admonishment grew even more severe.

Li Wei broke into a cold sweat. That day, he had spoken freely—indeed, "Those not of our kind, their hearts are surely different." If not for Tang’s early support and Princess Wencheng’s marriage, bringing thousands of artisans, Tibet would not have prospered. Yet how did Tibet treat Tang? The Song dynasty backed the Jin and Mongols, enabling their rise—what was the result? Tang trained Japanese talents, rapidly advancing them from slavery to feudal society—what happened then?

But he had forgotten one thing: the Li family’s ancestors had far more Xianbei than Han blood. Li Yuan was half Han; his wife was Xianbei, so Li Shimin was only one-quarter Han. Empress Zhangsun was mostly Xianbei. Thus, Li Zhi himself retained three-fourths Xianbei lineage. Even Li Wei was forty percent Xianbei.

Thus Li Shimin allowed the nomads to call him "Heavenly Khan." Yet the Li family, ruling the heartland, regarded themselves as Han, and settled the nomads at the borders, using barbarians to counter barbarians.

But this could not be publicly acknowledged, especially by Li Wei.

No wonder Li Zhi was furious.

After the eunuch finished reading the decree, Li Wei said, "Your son understands his error."

He dismissed the eunuch, and with a gloomy face, pondered deeply. He understood little of the arts of power, but had read some history and analyzed a few cases—though superficially. Yet he possessed resolve, and the more he considered the matter, the more uneasy he felt.

He had merely copied a vernacular poem. Setting aside its plainness, the poem itself was heartfelt; at most, a mild rebuke was warranted, and his parents might even secretly enjoy it. As for his remarks about Tibet, they were for the good of Tang.

He had simply made a few suggestions, not set policy, nor used the opportunity to curry favor with powerful ministers like Liu Rengui.

Was his father suspicious of ambition?

He was bewildered. Should he self-deprecate? That would never do. Having grown up, his father’s suspicion was inevitable. Yet overall, his father hoped he would achieve something, and would not let him fall as Li Chengqian had. Otherwise, he would not have appointed him as regent. If he were to self-deprecate, his father might truly strike him down.

...

"Your Majesty, shall I accompany you to Shangyang Palace today? I hear the flowers are in full bloom, and the scenery is enchanting," said Wu Zetian.

"My head aches today, and I have no mind for it," Li Zhi replied.

Wu Zetian said nothing more; her husband’s headaches and worsening vision worried her greatly.

After a moment of silence, Li Zhi said again, "I worry, was the decree I sent to Hong’er too harsh?"

"I don’t think so," she replied.

"Actually, Hong’er is benevolent and filial—of all my sons, he most resembles me. And the reports from Chang’an say Hong’er’s illness is much improved. That pleases me greatly. Look at this memorial," Li Zhi handed over the lengthy petition written jointly by Jiang Ke, Liu Rengui, and others. Not only did it not diminish Li Hong’s contributions, it praised him highly.

"For precisely this reason, he must be taught strictly, lest he become complacent and arrogant—which would not serve the state. If we compare intelligence, is Hong’er as clever as the Sui Emperor Yang?"

"No," she answered.

"Exactly. Modesty brings benefit, arrogance brings downfall. I sent him an edict, and he rewarded my attendants with five hundred bolts of silk. The Crown Prince—how can he practice such odd ways?"

Li Zhi had learned of this, though some parts of the edict Wu Zetian omitted. He did not know the true reason his son bribed the eunuch sent by Wu Zetian, thinking it was to buy favor and secure a summons to Luoyang. "He is merely being filial," he said.

Wu Zetian was silent for a while, then said, "Filial, indeed. He recently suffered a severe illness and mild amnesia, forgetting some things. Though not a major issue, his mind seems more open than before. Yet this worries me, so I had Your Majesty issue a stern decree, to warn him against pride and impatience."

Upon hearing of Li Hong’s amnesia, Li Zhi was also concerned, but reports kept coming that the Crown Prince’s condition was not serious, merely that he enjoyed daily exercise and practiced strange martial arts for his health. This was no cause for alarm, even a good sign. Li Zhi was thus reassured. Unfortunately, Li Wei had few confidants and remained unaware of much.

Yet Wu Zetian’s reasoning was sound. Li Zhi said, "Empress, you are right; a blade unsharpened will grow dull. Let us leave it at that."

They glossed over the matter lightly, unaware that, eight hundred li away in Chang’an, Li Wei was terrified by their decree.

Parental methods of education are many; issuing such a decree was meant to guide Li Hong to do better—it was simply family business. Yet in the imperial household, there is no private affair, and not everyone could grasp Li Zhi and Wu Zetian’s intentions. Thus this decree stirred up a great commotion...

As for their true thoughts behind the decree, even they had not fully understood...