Chapter Fourteen: Pulling Up the Ladder, Small but Mighty

But what exactly did Liu Rengui mean by those eight characters? If he couldn’t even decipher this, not only would he lose a chance to resolve the problem at hand, but all of Liu Rengui’s so-called delight would be nothing but a passing cloud.

Bier awoke, and two palace maids immediately hurried over to her, asking after her with great care.

Whether what Li Wei had just done was more harm than good, or whether Bier was truly suited to her new post as Mistress of the Inner Chambers, remained to be seen. But this little girl’s status within the palace had soared; no one dared look down on her anymore.

Should Li Wei one day ascend to the throne, Bier would certainly have a place in the palace as well. The two maids looked at her, their hearts a swirl of envy and admiration.

Li Wei came over and asked, “Bier, are you feeling better?”

“Your servant is fine.” Though her whole body still ached, to be treated so by the Crown Prince made even tenfold pain worthwhile.

The two maids grew all the more jealous. One, a middle-aged woman, summoned her courage and said, “Your Highness, I have something to report.”

“What is it?”

“Steward Zhou once took some of the gifts His Majesty bestowed upon Your Highness and secretly conspired with the eunuchs sent out on errands, passing them on to the Duke of Zhou’s household.”

Li Wei frowned. He was no longer new to this era, blind to all that happened around him; he had seen and heard much. He knew the Duke of Zhou, Helan Minzhi, very well. His mother, Empress Wu Zetian, had changed his surname to Wu, making him the only surviving relative on the maternal side with imperial favor. Yet he was of poor character: barely months after his grandmother’s passing, he brought scores of courtesans into his home to revel, with the memorial tablet of Lady Rongguo still nearby. As for Steward Zhou, she did have some charm.

But to risk universal condemnation by conspiring with the women of his own inner palace?

“Very well, you may go for now. If anything else arises, continue to report it to me. I have noted your contribution.”

The two maids left, overjoyed.

Of course, after Li Wei’s thunderous measures today, the icy, unfeeling wall of the inner palace would begin to crack, growing wider, until he could finally take control of it.

Bier, lying in bed, spoke up, “Your Highness, this servant also has something to say.”

“Go ahead.” Only when speaking to Bier did Li Wei’s face reveal an unfeigned smile.

“Though Your Highness has stood up for me this time, and I am deeply grateful, a gentleman should be open and upright, while a petty man is always anxious and troubled. It is enough to address things to a point; if it goes too far, it loses its grace. Take Sister Jiangluo and Sister Dujuan, for instance—even if they serve Your Highness in the future, their service would be born of betrayal and self-interest. If this continues, they will only grow worse. I don’t understand great principles, but I feel Your Highness gains little by using people in this way.”

Li Wei was taken aback, then burst out laughing. “No, the inner palace has grown lawless. Some harsh measures are needed to stabilize things for now. Later, these servants will be taught what it means to be human. Don’t you know my character?”

“Yes.”

“Rest well and recover. When you’re better, I’ll take you out of the palace, and visit your family.”

“Your Highness…” Bier was so overwhelmed with happiness that her throat tightened; her heart floated as if upon clouds, and she was at a loss for words.

“Rest well, now. I must head to the Academy of Letters for my studies.”

“Yes.”

Arriving at the Academy of Letters, it was still Dr. Wang who lectured on the classics.

Li Wei saluted and said, “Dr. Wang, there have been some matters in my palace these past days. I apologize for being late.”

“I have heard some of it,” Dr. Wang replied. “You were not wrong, Your Highness. Ruling requires both benevolence and severity. In the past, you were compassionate, but perhaps too gentle—hardly the way to govern a state. Your recent decisive actions, I have heard of them, and I am pleased.”

But was this sincere? Li Wei looked closely at Dr. Wang, noting the clarity in his eyes; it was evident he was not merely currying favor.

Dr. Wang continued, “Here is my annotated copy of the ‘Spring and Autumn Annals, Gongyang Commentary.’ It was the favorite book of Emperor Wu of Han. I know you dislike the ‘Spring and Autumn Annals,’ but as the hope of the empire, you cannot avoid it—especially the ‘Gongyang Commentary,’ which is of greatest benefit to rulers.”

Li Wei hesitated for a moment, but finally accepted it.

Dr. Wang’s smile grew all the more approving.

…

Few knew what had transpired in the Eastern Palace.

But another matter soon caused a stir in Chang’an. The Crown Prince’s future uncle-in-law and the grandson of Chancellor Yan had vied for favor at the Xiangxiang Courtyard, a scandal in itself. Soon after, three strange new ci poems penned by the Crown Prince began circulating, especially the one titled “Immortal at the Magpie Bridge,” whose beautiful imagery and singable verses quickly spread through the brothels and pleasure quarters of the capital. The last poem was less suited for singing—too rough and unrestrained—but its grand vision was nearly unprecedented.

That these works came from the well-respected Crown Prince only fueled gossip among the people.

At this time, bold, grand works were not widely accepted, even those by figures like Wang Bo, whose works blended grandeur with grace and were nonetheless unappreciated in their day—let alone something as sweeping as “The River Flows East,” a piece almost too vast to be contained within the form of ci. But coming from the Crown Prince, its significance was entirely different.

Meanwhile, the instigator was being punished by his father, made to kneel in the side room. Not even his wife’s pleas could help him; he knelt for two full hours, counting sheep—one sheep, two sheep, three sheep—until he reached over three thousand before his father finally came over and asked, “Do you admit your fault?”

“I do. That day, seeing my sister in good spirits with the Crown Prince, I was overjoyed and drank with friends to celebrate. I drank too much, and so things turned out that way.”

“That’s not all. The Emperor has six sons; the Empress bore four of them. Though the Crown Prince holds his position, that does not guarantee he will prevail in the end. To do so, his character, learning, talents, virtue, and diligence are but one aspect. Even his offspring’s worthiness and whether the maternal relatives bring trouble are crucial. The Han dynasty’s ill-fated Crown Prince was by no means lacking in virtue or restraint, but because his maternal relative, Gongsun He, was arrogant and reckless, and was falsely accused in the witchcraft case by Zhu Shian, the prince could not defend himself and was forced to rebel, ultimately dying by his own hand. The Empress’s relatives, the descendants of Wei Qing, the Princesses of Zhuyi and Yangshi, Empress Wei Zifu, the prince’s consorts—all were unjustly executed by Emperor Wu, with only the infant Emperor Xuan surviving by chance. Maternal relatives may bask in glory, but must remain ever cautious. Now the Crown Prince is still only the Crown Prince, and even Min’er has not formally married into the Eastern Palace. All the more reason for our family to keep a low profile and avoid giving others ammunition.”

Yang Chengyou was stunned.

Yet the rumors had already spread throughout Chang’an, and not even the thousand-armed Guanyin could silence the tongues of the masses.

…

On the way back, both sides of the bluestone path were lined with lush grass and scattered clusters of vibrant wildflowers—a delightful sight.

But every palace maid and eunuch he passed bowed deeply, likely having heard of his measures to rectify the inner palace; now, fear had taken root in their hearts.

Li Wei did not mind. He patted the “Gongyang Commentary” tucked in his robe. He had read all three commentaries on the “Spring and Autumn Annals,” and understood more than half. The “Zuo Commentary” emphasized ritual, the “Guliang Commentary” stressed moral governance, but the “Gongyang Commentary” dealt most directly with politics. The Tang dynasty did not have the Four Books and Five Classics, but the Nine Classics: “Record of Rites” and “Zuo Commentary” as the Great Classics, “Book of Poetry,” “Rites of Zhou,” and “Etiquette and Rites” as the Middle Classics, and “Book of Changes,” “Book of Documents,” “Gongyang Commentary,” and “Guliang Commentary” as the Lesser Classics. All three commentaries on the “Spring and Autumn Annals” were among them.

Even Li Hong’s bedchamber contained all three, though they looked untouched, as if never opened.

Why had Dr. Wang given him his own annotated copy of the “Gongyang Commentary”?

Then he recalled Liu Rengui’s recent overtures, and suddenly a flash of insight came to him—yet anxiety followed. Would his little schemes really fool that formidable mother of his?

…

When he returned to his chambers, Bier had already come running out. Li Wei complained, “Didn’t I tell you to rest? Why are you up and about?”

But Bier’s heart was full of warmth as she replied, “Three of the young lords and the little princess have come to visit you. Especially the little princess—though she is your sister, she is much favored by the Emperor and Empress. Your relationship with her is not the best, but for the sake of their happiness, Your Highness, you must endure.”

The little princess was none other than the future Princess Taiping, though she had yet to receive a title.

“Oh? Why have they come?” In truth, Li Wei was curious to see his three younger brothers and little sister, but for fear of revealing his unfamiliarity, had not yet made the move.

In fact, the four of them had little to do with Li Hong. Li Wei could guess part of the reason: perhaps they feared Li Hong’s chronic illness. But there were two other causes. Since childhood, Li Hong had been kept in the Eastern Palace by his father, Emperor Gaozong, with little contact between them; they were all but strangers. The second reason was Li Hong himself: after reading through several books on ritual, he had become something of a bookworm, to the point even his mother found him insufferable. Though kind-hearted, he was upright and reticent.

Today, they came most likely because of the rumor about Li Wei’s new “poems.” It was hard to say—Li Hong was so upright and unbending that he never sought novelty, let alone writing such unorthodox, grand works in the form of ci for mere effect.

They chatted a bit about what they’d heard concerning Li Hong. The third brother, Li Xian, was forthright by nature and had taken the lead in suggesting the visit, feeling that as brothers, they should check in, since no one had visited during Li Hong’s recent illness. Once Li Xian spoke up, Li Xian had no reason to object. As for Princess Taiping, Li Lingyue, she was most reluctant and had to be dragged along by Li Xian.

“I understand,” Li Wei replied in a deep voice.

He entered to find four young people seated together. The eldest, nearly eighteen, looked refined and was the most handsome among them—this was surely Li Xian. Then came sixteen-year-old Li Xian, with a round face, thick brows, and bright eyes—a spirited youth. The youngest boy, about ten, also had a round face—Li Xulun. Lastly, there was a little girl, seven years old, with a lovely cherubic face, fidgeting in her seat—a true little sprite.

Li Xian must have been telling some joke, for the other three were laughing heartily.

Li Wei didn’t know any of them, but, judging by their ages, he quickly deduced their identities.

He walked over and said, “Second brother, third brother, fourth brother, little sister—what’s so funny?”

They all rose to greet him, but Li Wei waved his hand and said, “We’re all family—no need for such formality.”

Li Xian looked at him with suspicion. Was it true, as the rumors claimed, that a recent fever had left the eldest brother somewhat absent-minded but with a markedly altered personality?

“What was the amusing story you were telling? Let’s hear it.”

“I was telling them a joke,” Li Xian replied. “During the Spring and Autumn period, a man of Song named Cao Shang was sent by the King of Song as an envoy to Qin. The King of Song gave him a few carriages and horses. When he arrived in Qin, the King of Qin gave him a hundred more. When Cao Shang returned, he boasted to Zhuangzi, ‘Back when I lived in poverty, I made shoes to get by, with a sallow face and thin body—my shortcoming. Now, thanks to my eloquence, I moved a king and was rewarded with a hundred carriages—my strength.’ Zhuangzi replied, ‘I’ve heard that when the King of Qin falls ill, doctors are called in, and rewards are given according to their service: those who suck out pus from boils are given one carriage; those who lick hemorrhoids are given five. The filthier the cure, the greater the reward. You must have licked the King of Qin’s hemorrhoids, then—how else could you receive so many carriages?’”

This brought another round of laughter.

It wasn’t all that funny, but Li Wei joined in politely and glanced at Li Lingyue. She happened to be staring at him, and when their eyes met, she pursed her lips in disdain.

Li Wei bristled. Though Li Hong had been weak in health, by all accounts he was kind-hearted—and in any case, he was her elder brother. Wu Zetian and Emperor Gaozong had certainly spoiled her too much!

Just as he was about to show his displeasure, his eyes lit up—suddenly, he understood the meaning behind Liu Rengui’s cryptic words about “removing the ladder after climbing the roof” and “small but mighty.”