Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rejecting Auspicious Signs, An Appointment for the Cold Food Festival

The sacrificial ceremony continued, yet officials were immediately dispatched to improve the new plow. Though simple, Li Wei had sketched it based on the original, inevitably leaving some oversights. Fortunately, some officials specialized in machinery, and a rare few even oversaw agricultural implements. Sensing certain deficiencies, they promptly called upon experienced farmers and craftsmen to remedy and perfect the design. The flaws were minor, and soon, a flawless blueprint for the new plow emerged.

Dai Zhide whispered, “Report this to Luoyang at once, and send it throughout the realm via the official dispatches. We must get ahead of the spring sowing, so that more regions may benefit from the new plow.”

“Yes, sir!” Several minor officials withdrew.

The wisdom of our people is nearly unrivaled among the nations of the world, but since ancient times, craftsmen have been held in low esteem, and technological invention has received little attention. Thus, this flaw has, over time, grown like an ant’s nest in a riverbank, gradually becoming more pronounced.

Yet the appearance of this new plow was so unusual, and its connection with the Field Sacrifice so pronounced, that it drew particular attention. Some officials even proposed treating it as an auspicious omen and presenting it to Their Majesties in the Eastern Capital, Luoyang.

After Luoyang was mentioned several times, Li Wei finally came to his senses. He had made too much of a spectacle of this Field Sacrifice, and the notion of an auspicious omen was a particularly dangerous cup of poisoned wine. The so-called auspicious omens—of unicorns, phoenixes, tortoises, dragons—were considered the greatest, followed by various strange beasts, peculiar plants, and rare orchids, all ranked as greater or lesser omens. His “grandfather” Li Shimin had not believed in omens in his youth; once, when a white magpie built a nest in the sleeping chambers, he mocked Emperor Yang of Sui’s obsession with such signs, saying, “True omens are the acquisition of worthy men; what is there to celebrate in this?” and ordered the nest destroyed. Yet in his old age, Li Shimin gradually became fond of such things, and omens abounded, especially after Li Zhi was made Crown Prince: golden pheasants gathered at the Hall of Manifest Virtue, purple fungus sprouted in the sleeping chambers, and other omens were reported—wild silkworms spinning cocoons on every hill in Chuzhou, the Yellow River running clear for four days in Shanzhou, a twin-branched plum tree blooming at Jade Flower Palace, blue and white dragons sighted in Fenzhou, gold unearthed from the earth.

All these things. When Li Wei read these accounts, he surmised that, aside from some legitimate natural phenomena, most were fabricated—including the omens reported in the Eastern Palace, which likely had something to do with his maternal granduncle, Zhangsun Wuji. Thus, by the time these matters reached his father Li Zhi, who never believed them, the business of auspicious omens gradually faded away.

This new plow might be treated as an omen, or perhaps not. He had drawn too much attention this time, made a foolish mistake! But the die was cast; there was no remedy. Besides, if he knew a way to save the common people and kept silent, he would never rest easy in conscience. But talk of omens was absolutely forbidden.

He said, “My lords, the drought is severe, and who knows when it will ease? What omens could there be? Moreover, my father’s heart is set on reverence for Heaven, and he has repeatedly instructed us never to stir up talk of omens, lest it unsettle the realm.”

Just this one sentence, and the ministers fell silent. When the King of Chu praised slender waists, the women of the realm starved themselves. One must heed the sovereign’s inclinations. If the Emperor dislikes something, some will still try to flatter him, but who would risk kicking the horse’s hoof?

Yet the new plow spread rapidly, thanks to the urgent dispatches to every province, and was quickly adopted. It also brought a note of celebration to the Field Sacrifice.

As dusk approached, the retinue returned to the city. But the rituals were not yet over; the next day, there would be a banquet in the Taiji Palace. Since Li Wei was the Crown Prince, it would be held in the Hall of Manifested Virtue.

The palace kitchens of the Eastern Palace had already begun their preparations, and because there weren’t enough hands, workers were borrowed from both Daming Palace and Taiji Palace to help.

Li Wei, however, lay exhausted in his bath. His body, though not subjected to hard labor, felt weary from a day and a half with little rest. His mind was troubled: things were not going well; even escape would not be easy.

At this thought, his mood darkened.

At that moment, a palace attendant entered to report, “The Crown Prince’s Tutor requests an audience.”

Xu Jingzong? Li Wei immediately climbed out of the bath. “Ask him to wait a moment, I’ll receive him at once.”

………………………………

By late February, the pear, peach, and crabapple blossoms were vying to open first. As night fell, a faint fragrance spread through the air of Chang’an.

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In truth, the long spell of clear weather was welcomed by the noblewomen. Were it not for the two grand sacrificial ceremonies engrossing the capital’s attention, and the presence of pitiable refugees everywhere, the bright spring and dry air would have brought much delight.

“Good rain knows its season; it comes in spring,” as the Crown Prince himself had observed. Spring rain, fine and misty, always carried a slight chill and left the roads muddy, making travel somewhat inconvenient. Even the Crown Prince, had he not said, “Silently, the rain slips in by night”—it’s best if rain falls at night, so that the day remains fair. Even the benevolent Crown Prince did not like it otherwise.

The Yang residence was not situated in a bustling part of Chang’an; in fact, it was rather remote. But remoteness had its advantages—land was less scarce, and space more generous. Besides the three courtyards and a small building, there was a modest garden, not extravagant, but filled with flowers, grass, some trees, a few ornamental rocks, and a brook running through it.

With the windows open, the night breeze wafted in, carrying the faint fragrance of flowers and the fresh scent of trees, subtle and refreshing.

Lady Yang and her daughter Yang Min sat on reclining couches by the window. Lady Yang looked at her daughter and said, “The Crown Prince has returned to the palace.”

“Yes, Mother,” Yang Min replied softly.

“You should go see him. I heard he plowed for a long time this morning, and he’s not strong. I worry about him.”

“Mother, I’ve visited him many times in the past twenty days. If I go too often, it seems inappropriate.”

“Silly child, in a few months, when the Crown Prince comes of age, you’ll be wed. Visiting your future husband is only right, what’s inappropriate about it?”

“The Crown Prince has said that what matters is sincerity, more than anything else.”

“Oh, you’re being foolish again. Why did the Crown Prince beat the Duke of Zhou so soundly over a palace maid? It was because she served constantly at his side. People are not made of wood; affection grows with time. Only by visiting often will the Crown Prince come to rely on you.”

Her mother’s words were not without reason, but was it truly so?

Yang Min could not help but think back on their recent interactions. Since his grave illness, the Crown Prince seemed to have changed in many ways. Most notably, he had become resolute and decisive, though still frail in body; he exuded a strength that captivated her, much like the poems he wrote. This feeling drew her in, yet also filled her with unease and anxiety.

She nervously twisted her sleeve. “Mother, the Crown Prince has been busy all day; even Father went to rest as soon as he returned. If I go now, I’d only disturb him. Besides, there’s a banquet for the officials tomorrow. I think it’s better to go the day after.”

Lady Yang considered this and agreed. Just as she was about to leave, a maid approached and reported, “Madam, young mistress, Lady Xu from the Secretariat, Lady Pei from the Left Guard, and Lady Yang from the Imperial Guard’s family are here to visit.”

These three girls were: Xu Li, daughter of Xu Qidan, the famous Xu family known for both talent and beauty, aged fourteen—her features were striking, perhaps inherited, and she was gifted as well; Pei Yuhé, daughter of Pei Judao of the Pei clan of Jiangzhou, thirteen, charming though not quite as lovely as Xu Li or Yang Min, yet equally talented and virtuous. Both were celebrated heiresses in the capital, with many suitors, though perhaps due to their youth or high standards, they had not yet chosen. The last was Yang Qian, daughter of Yang Zhirou—a distant relation of Yang Min’s, though two generations younger, but about the same age and already betrothed. In fact, Yang Min and Yang Qian were close, while their acquaintance with Pei Yuhé and Xu Li was more occasional.

Such were the affairs of young ladies; Lady Yang withdrew to leave them be.

Before long, the three girls entered, giggling. They greeted Yang Min and sat down. Xu Li, sitting near the bed, noticed an unfinished square handkerchief with a line of verse embroidered upon it, and picked it up.

The embroidery had just begun: a golden full moon over the sea, waves rolling to the shore, a few clusters of strange rocks, a hut with a figure inside. The artistry aside, what caught her eye was the poem in the upper right corner.

“A bright moon rises over the sea, shared by all at the ends of the earth. Lovers lament the long night, their longing growing through the hours. Candles extinguished, I cherish the full moon’s glow; donning my robe, I feel the dew’s chill. I wish I could send you all this light, but must return to bed and dream of our next meeting.”

The opening line possessed a vast and majestic vision, yet as the poem progressed, it turned inward, growing ever more nuanced until the final line, where emotion and scene blended into lingering, poignant beauty.

“Min, what a lovely poem! Did the Crown Prince write it?”

“Yes.”

“His Highness truly lives up to his reputation—so gifted,” Pei Yuhé remarked, moving closer to admire it.

“Min, you’re so fortunate—I’m positively jealous!” Xu Li teased, tickling Yang Min’s side.

Yang Min felt a pang of bitterness. She’d heard that many noble girls in the capital now admired the Crown Prince, yet she herself had always regarded him as no more than a withered stalk. Without the seeds sown in the past, how could she expect a harvest now? No wonder, in his heart, she ranked below even a palace maid.

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The three girls were unaware of these changes. Pei Yuhé asked, “Min, does the Crown Prince have any other poems? Show us—we’d love to see.”

There were only a few circulating poems—three lyric pieces, and five improvised verses at the Eastern Market, the last of which was only half-finished. But all were masterpieces.

“I only have three more,” Yang Min replied, and recited them.

Though these three could not match the moonlit verse, they were fine poems nonetheless.

Pei Yuhé sighed, “Min, you must have accumulated great fortune in a previous life. If it were me, I’d be content just grinding ink and washing brushes for the Crown Prince every day.”

Of the four girls, she and Xu Li were the most talented, and knew the worth of these poems; Yang Min followed, while Yang Qian lagged behind. Yang Qian laughed and said, “How about this—ask your fathers to arrange for you to become concubines in the Crown Prince’s household?”

“We’d love to, but would Min agree?” Xu Li giggled. Of course, even if the Crown Prince wished to take more companions, it wasn’t so easily arranged.

Pei Yuhé said, “It’s a joke, but I really did see the Crown Prince at the Eastern Suburbs with my brother. When he was plowing, he was so moved by the people’s suffering that he neglected the rites. Even I was moved to tears.”

The tale of the Crown Prince’s compassion, and his invention of a new plow, had already spread swiftly through Chang’an. The other three girls looked on with admiration.

“I wanted to go that day, but my mother kept me home,” Xu Li said regretfully. “I also heard that to deal with Tibet, the Crown Prince conceived a clever plan that impressed both General Liu Rengui and Minister Jiang.”

The more she spoke, the greater the ache and urgency in Yang Min’s heart.

Yang Qian said, “Enough, or Min will be upset.”

Xu Li laughed and said, “Let’s talk about something else—Cold Food Festival is coming up. Shall we go on an outing?”

“No,” Yang Min replied without hesitation. It was precisely because of a planned trip to Qujiang Pool with Helan Min and others that an accident had occurred before—how could she dare go out now?

“Come on, little grandaunt,” Yang Qian coaxed, half in jest. Given the family hierarchy, the title was not out of place.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but the Crown Prince has read the Book of Rites and dislikes such outings.”

“Are the rumors true, then?” Xu Li asked in surprise.

“Of course not. Haven’t you heard what happened between the Crown Prince and the Duke of Zhou at the Institute of Letters? That was all a rumor spread by the Duke,” Yang Qian explained at once.

“Min is right. The Crown Princess is the future Mother of the Nation; her conduct must be proper and dignified.” The Pei family was strict in their upbringing, and Pei Yuhé herself was always proper; she spoke in earnest support.

“Yuhé, aren’t you taking it a bit too seriously?” Yang Qian stuck out her tongue. Still, Pei Yuhé’s words were not without reason; as the Crown Princess, one had to be circumspect. This thought dampened the mood.

Xu Li’s eyes brightened. “How about just the four of us going for a spring outing on Mount Zhongnan?”

Yang Min, lively by nature, could never emulate Pei Yuhé’s restraint; if it were just the four of them, with no male companions, the Crown Prince would not mind. She was tempted, glancing at Pei Yuhé and Yang Qian.

“That would be nice,” Pei Yuhé agreed. The Cold Food Festival came but once a year; it would be dull to sit at home.

With Pei Yuhé’s approval, Yang Min finally agreed.

After seeing her friends off, the night deepened, and the stars above watched silently over the joys and sorrows of the world. Yang Min picked up the handkerchief, recalling Pei Yuhé and Xu Li’s earlier words. Though spoken in jest, she could sense their admiration for the Crown Prince—and her heart was filled with both joy and unease…