Chapter Twenty-Six: Tutelage in the Eastern Palace — "Shang Ye" Pleads for Mercy

After several bricks rained down, a small gash opened on Helan Minzhi’s brow, and a crimson cut appeared across his eyebrow. Red blood and white powder mingled with beads of sweat and tears, painting a scene like a fabric shop displaying its wares. In his ears, the clamor of bells, cymbals, gongs, and drums roared together, livelier than any ritual procession.

Helan Minzhi was so dazed by the blows that he lost all sense of direction. Enraged, he clenched his fists and lunged at Li Wei.

This was a grave matter.

If Bie’er had still been a mere servant, the beating would have been inconsequential. Their statuses were worlds apart. But Li Wei had appointed her as the Palace’s Mistress of the Inner Chambers, a sixth-rank court lady and the prince’s closest attendant. Even Helan Minzhi, Duke of Zhou, could not strike her at will—let alone a prince. Besides, Bie’er had simply smiled; she had committed no grave offense.

Li Wei, in his pain for Bie’er, had gone too far in beating Helan Minzhi. Yet, though he was thrashing him, he wielded the weight of justice, and with the prince’s status, his actions could be seen as understandable.

At most, Helan Minzhi could seize Li Wei’s hand and appeal to the emperor and empress for judgment. He could not strike back!

No matter how much favor he enjoyed, as Li Wei had said, one was a prince, one a duke; the line between ruler and subject was clear. If Helan Minzhi threw a punch, he would hold no justification—and this might even escalate into a major scandal…

In terms of brute strength, even though Li Wei had trained for some time, his constitution was still weaker than the pampered Helan Minzhi. But fighting was a matter of skill, not just strength. Li Wei was no less capable. His mind raced, and instead of dodging, he allowed Helan Minzhi’s fist to land on his chest.

However, as the blow came, Li Wei shifted slightly, so it barely glanced off his chest, and he drew back a bit, lessening the force. Still, he deliberately staggered back three steps before regaining his footing.

Helan Minzhi lunged again, but having taken a punch and achieved his goal, Li Wei did not let him succeed this time.

He reached out, seized Helan Minzhi’s fist, and with a deft movement drawn from tai chi, used the momentum of his charge to pull his body outward. At the same time, he hooked his foot around Helan Minzhi’s unsteady stance.

Helan Minzhi flew through the air and crashed down, left in a dizzy heap.

Li Wei stepped on him and shook his head, saying, “You disgraceful scoundrel, unworthy of Mother’s high regard. You can’t even complete your mourning period before wine and women have sapped your strength—so much so that even I, a sickly invalid, can defeat you. If Mother hears of this, how disappointed she will be.”

Not content with having bested him, Li Wei drove the humiliation home with words, leaving Helan Minzhi unable to lift his head. In a haze of anger, Helan Minzhi cried, “You dare hit me—are you plotting treason?”

Who, indeed, was plotting treason? The gathered scholars were left speechless.

Xu Yanbo stepped forward and said, “Your Highness, this dispute is trivial. You are merciful by nature; you should not resort to violence.”

After all, Helan Minzhi had come to the Academy to seek justice on Xu’s behalf, so he could not but intervene.

But seeing the paperweight in Li Wei’s hand, he was wary. He was not physically stronger than Helan Minzhi, so he kept his distance.

Li Wei stared at Xu Yanbo and said, “Your grandfather was my tutor. He was valued by my parents for his vast learning. I’ve heard he taught you the classics and Confucian principles from childhood. Yet I hear you defy the Hanlin Academy. In Confucianism, what is a teacher? Of the five virtues—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trust—what is propriety? The Duke of Zhou relies on Mother’s favor and dares to bully even me. And you, emboldened by his side—who gave you such courage? Ban Gu says the ruler, minister, father, son, husband, and wife are the three great bonds—what is the bond between ruler and subject? Confucianism speaks of loyalty, forbearance, filial piety, integrity, honor—what is loyalty?”

Xu Yanbo could not answer.

He was helpless. Even if the emperor were to depose the crown prince tomorrow, today he was still the heir, and Xu’s grandfather, for all his power, was still a subject—as was Xu himself.

He regretted having gone too far in currying favor with Helan Minzhi today, and had not expected the prince’s words to be so sharp.

But compared to Helan Minzhi’s wildness, Xu was more rational. Realizing there was no winning today, he surrendered, saying, “Your Highness, I was only making an inquiry, nothing more.”

He glanced at the mud-stained Helan Minzhi on the ground and added, “Let’s leave it at that—too much is as bad as too little.”

His tone was still firm.

This made Li Wei wonder. Unlike Helan Minzhi, Xu Jingzong, though of lower rank, wielded real power. Even in retirement, the court still consulted him at times. If his parents faced a dilemma, they’d seek his advice.

Xu Jingzong knew many things.

Was Xu Yanbo’s firmness because Xu Jingzong had caught wind of something?

Just then, the imperial guards burst in. Li Wei asked a general, “Tell me—what is the punishment for insulting the crown prince and attempting to strike him?”

Though he had taken a punch, it was Helan Minzhi who had been battered and bloodied. The general looked at Li Wei, hesitant.

Seeing the reactions of the imperial guards, Li Wei sighed inwardly. He held only nominal power; these men would not take the hint and drag Helan Minzhi off to prison to curry favor with him. It was not possible.

He gave Helan Minzhi a kick and said, “Get out! And remember your place as a subject next time!”

………………………………

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Bie’er said softly, bowing gracefully.

“Silly girl, there’s no need for thanks between us.”

Yet after speaking, Li Wei kept wondering: why had Xu Yanbo helped Helan Minzhi? Had Xu Jingzong heard some ill tidings?

He whispered, “From now on, be sure to check the food carefully.”

“Would the Duke of Zhou really dare such a thing?” Bie’er was stunned.

Li Wei sighed, “I used to think not. But now?” In his heart he thought, I’m not afraid of Helan Minzhi—I’m afraid of my own parents.

“Your Highness, you should submit a memorial to the emperor about this.”

“Even if I don’t, do you think Father isn’t already aware?”

He wondered, if his mother truly wished him harm, what could he do? Flee? But where to? Even as a fugitive, he’d have no standing, and the court would surely find him. Fleeing abroad? The Tang dynasty forbade citizens from leaving China; even the monk Jianzhen had been caught several times before finally reaching Japan. Escaping the country was no easy feat. Even traveling between counties, checkpoints abounded.

The thought left his mind in turmoil. Most troubling was not knowing what mistake he’d made.

Just then, someone came to report that Yang Min requested an audience.

She’d been quiet for days—had she recovered from her illness? He was already beset with enough troubles; even if Yang Min were as beautiful as Xi Shi, he was in no state to enjoy her company. Irritated, he said, “Bie’er, go tell her I won’t see her.”

Bie’er hesitated but went out.

She soon returned. “I told Lady Yang, but she begged me to deliver a handkerchief to Your Highness.” She unfolded it, revealing no pattern, only a line of verse embroidered in red: “O Heaven! I wish to be one with you, for all eternity, unbroken by time. When the mountains crumble, when rivers run dry, when thunder rolls in winter, when snow falls in summer, when heaven and earth unite—only then would I part from you.”

What is this? Was she really like the mule that refuses to move without a beating, as in the Decameron? Was Yang Min hoping to be some long-suffering wife?

“Let her in.”

She entered after a moment, her hair in a cloud-like chignon adorned with a white jade and silver hairpin, clad in a six-panel violet skirt and a spring-green blouse over her snowy skin. Her white stockings peeped from water-pink shoes. After an illness, her complexion was pallid; her brows knitted in distress, her eyes brimming with tears. Her pale face was lowered, the very image of a wronged young wife.

Her appearance left Li Wei both amused and exasperated. “Sit,” he said.

She sat, barely, and wept quietly.

Li Wei raised the scented handkerchief. “Why did you embroider this poem? I recall you once despised me.”

“I was young and foolish then, led astray by the Duke of Zhou.”

“Whom do you seek as your husband—me, or the Duke of Zhou?” Li Wei hadn’t meant to be angry, but at these words his temper flared again.

Yang Min, shamed and distraught, said nothing.

Li Wei shook the handkerchief and continued, “Do you know the origin of this poem? In the Western Han, King Wu Rui of Changsha and his beloved wife Mao Ping celebrated her fortieth birthday by boating on the Xiang River. Lady Mao composed this poem, which so grieved Wu Rui that he spoke of dying together on Heavenly Terrace. That year, the couple passed away peacefully, together and untroubled.”

“Is that true?” Bie’er asked loudly.

Wu Rui was known as the only non-Liu king in the Western Han to die peacefully, but that was because he kept a low profile and surrendered his lands to Liu Bang. As for the poem’s origin, she was unsure.

“It’s not just a story—I speak the truth,” Li Wei replied.

Yet he brought up the poem’s origin with a sense of foreboding. Yang Min, sobbing, said, “I didn’t mean it that way, nor would I curse Your Highness.”

“Even if it’s just an ill omen, let me ask you: we are only betrothed, not yet married, and have not even shared the nuptial cup. What right have you to write such a poem for me?”

“Your Highness…” Bie’er tugged at Li Wei’s sleeve. Whatever Yang Min’s past faults, Li Wei’s words were growing harsher and harsher—too harsh.

Li Wei shook his head. He spoke so sternly to resolve the matter once and for all. Helan Minzhi had repeatedly provoked him, not merely as rivalry, but to push him into the fire. Yang Min’s ambiguous relationship with Helan Minzhi had always unsettled him.

Besides, having taken over Li Hong’s body, he felt some obligation to stand up for Li Hong.

If this wasn’t addressed now, even if they did marry, even if she was beautiful, he would never feel affection for her—it would be a tragic marriage.

“The crown prince is kind—why can’t you forgive me just this once? Besides, we barely met before; I was young. Only recently did I come to know your true character.” Yang Min’s face flushed as she spoke, her sobs growing louder at Li Wei’s cold tone.

“Was I not kind before? Now that my health is improving, more people are scheming against me. What is a marriage but sharing hardship and fortune? That’s why Song Hong said, ‘A wife of humble origins should not be cast aside.’ Or was he wrong, and the saying should be, ‘Husband and wife are birds of a common fate, but in disaster, each flies their own way’?”

If his earlier words were harsh, this one was not without cause. Yang Min’s newfound affection was partly due to his wit—he was not as wooden as Li Hong had been—and his poetry. But his improving health played a part too.

This was the truth: if Li Wei were a beggar, how could he expect Yang Min’s love to shake the heavens? Such talk was pointless. Like wearing clothes in summer—for most, it’s just to cover oneself. Morality and love are much the same.

This line hit even harder.

Yang Min, mortified, suddenly stood, seized a jeweled sword hanging on the wall—Li Wei’s tai chi practice sword—and declared, “Your Highness, since you refuse to believe me, I have no choice but to cut out my own heart to prove it to you.”

With that, she raised the sword, aiming it at her chest.