Chapter Forty: Taiyi Zhongnan – Clouds Stir in All Directions (Part Three)
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PS: Here comes the third explosive chapter, begging for your support.
“Master Di, sorry to disturb you,” Wei Yuanzhong said apologetically, watching Di Renjie emerge from the post station, half-dressed as he walked.
“No need for apologies. Since Master Wei has come in person so late, you must surely bring me some good news.”
“Indeed, your mind is sharper than most.”
With these words, the two men exchanged a smile, linked arms, and entered together.
“Sit,” Di Renjie said, lighting a small wood stove as he prepared to brew tea for Wei Yuanzhong. But Wei raised a hand to stop him, saying, “No need for trouble. I've just come to say a few words and will soon leave.”
“Very well, please proceed.” Di Renjie, not one for formalities, ceased his preparations. They sat down, and Wei Yuanzhong spoke, “I have heard some news.”
Di Renjie grew excited; he had already guessed Wei Yuanzhong’s intent. Wei, proud of his talents, refused to associate with the corrupt, preferring to stand apart, which had kept him from being appointed for so long. Yet he was not one to disregard rituals and propriety. Coming so late, he must indeed have urgent matters to discuss.
What matters could there be between them?
It was all about meeting the Crown Prince. There were only two ways to do so. The first, the proper route: submit a name card and request an audience. But one was a legal officer, and the other a scholar at the Imperial Academy—not at the Academy of Literature or the Institute of Culture, which would have made things easier. The Imperial Academy was an entirely different educational institution. For commoners, it was a respectable official post, even of higher rank than a county magistrate. Yet for the Crown Prince, what did their positions mean?
If a mere scholar and a legal officer submitted a request for an audience, and the Crown Prince met them every time, he would never get any work done. One could even doubt whether their request would reach his hands.
The second route was less formal: an introduction through someone close to the Crown Prince. But that wasn’t easy either. The Crown Prince, though afflicted with tuberculosis, still had acquaintances—attendants, palace maids, or scholars of the Academy of Literature. Or perhaps officials like Dai Zhizhi and others, but those high-ranking officials would never agree—what could two young fellows want with the Crown Prince? If one answered truthfully: “We wish to align ourselves with him,” even that wouldn’t work. A kind-hearted person might ask, “Who are you, and what qualifications do you have to advise the Crown Prince?” Most officials in the capital wouldn’t even know their backgrounds. If they met someone malicious, the question would be, “What are these two up to? Trying to steal our positions?” A memorial would be written to Luoyang, harming both themselves and the Crown Prince. Thus, only the middle path remained, though even that was difficult. To meet a palace maid close to the Crown Prince was to be close enough to meet him directly.
Day by day, the weather grew warmer, and time slipped by. In two or three days, all officials would resume their duties; once the documents were dispatched, Di Renjie would have to return to Taiyuan, making him inexplicably anxious.
Wei Yuanzhong continued, “You know the palace maid Jiang Biyu, right?”
“How could I not? It was because of her that the Crown Prince lost his temper at the Institute of Culture that day.”
“I’ve been pondering for days, but found no path. Tonight, chatting with someone, I heard a rumor. Jiang Biyu’s mother is unwell, ill for a long time. Their family, already in decline, was dragged down further by illness. The Crown Prince heard of this and gave them some money, resolving their crisis. It’s a strange fate—seeing Jiang Biyu’s pitiable state, he kept her by his side as an attendant. Though young, this palace maid repays kindness, serving the Crown Prince with utmost devotion.”
“The Crown Prince’s illness is beginning to heal, and his reputation is immense. If he can pass the hurdle with His Majesty and the Empress, the Jiang family will prosper.” Di Renjie sighed, adding, “He wipes tears for merchants, let alone those who serve him day and night.”
“True, but that hurdle won’t be easy.” Wei Yuanzhong said, “The Crown Prince’s health improved, but some in the inner palace grew jealous of Biyu. The former chief attendant set a trap, nearly beating Jiang Biyu to death. Fortunately, another palace maid named Liu Qun secretly ran to the Academy of Literature to inform someone. Thus, the Crown Prince promoted Liu Qun to a female official within the palace. That should have remained an internal matter, but someone in the palace happened to invent a new treat—milk candy. Its flavor was extraordinary.”
He produced a piece of milk candy from his bosom and handed it to Di Renjie.
Di Renjie tasted it: “Indeed, a wonderful flavor—rich and fragrant, yet so soft.”
“Exactly. That’s why the workshop selling this candy in the East Market always has queues.”
But how did milk candy end up outside the palace? Di Renjie listened as Wei Yuanzhong continued.
“The Crown Prince saw this candy and made a batch, sending it to Luoyang.”
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“Excellent!”
“Indeed, this act is better than writing ten ornate essays for the suburbs. Later, he gave the candy to several younger siblings to taste. Some days ago, while visiting the East Market, he saw Jiang Biyu’s family’s situation. Unable to bear it, he passed the secret recipe to the Jiang family and had Liu Qun’s brother come to assist. Liu Qun also handled some palace duties, needing to go out daily to procure supplies, and thus provided guidance to this workshop.”
He didn’t mind the workshop. The Crown Prince, not yet inheriting the throne, still had to consider his parents’ feelings and dared not grant the Jiang family an official post, so he helped them in other ways—a common enough gesture. Di Renjie was not a rigid, dogmatic man, but his eyes brightened, “You mean…”
“Precisely. Within the Crown Prince’s heart, Jiang Biyu is a confidante, and Liu Qun also earns his trust. Moreover, Liu Qun leaves the palace daily…”
As they spoke, Di Renjie realized that just submitting his name card—if Li Wei saw the name “Di Renjie”—hmm…
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The eunuch who had escorted the two maidens watched them enter the alley through a side gate, breathing a long sigh of relief. He returned.
March’s spring dew was heavy. Entering the Eastern Palace, passing countless side gates, they trod countless golden and silver stars.
Everywhere, there were palace walls, halls, towers. By lantern and candlelight, one saw endless swathes of dignified red and yellow—grand, solemn colors, cleaving the night sky. Occasionally, armored guards passed by, weapons in hand, bringing a chill to the air. Both maidens were worldly, yet felt uneasy, and Xiaoxue’s attendant, Xiaoyue, could barely walk.
After winding through the palace, even Xiangxue lost sense of direction. At last, they reached Li Wei’s sleeping quarters.
Li Wei sat casually on a crescent stool, with several palace maids standing nearby. Xiangxue recognized one, young and closest to the Crown Prince—perhaps the rumored Jiang Biyu. Yet all the maids looked odd. To open so many gates in the dead of night—was it just to let two courtesans in?
The two girls were no fools; today’s events might bring trouble for the Crown Prince. Bowing low, they said, “Thank you, Your Highness, for saving us.”
“Xiangxue, Hualiu, rise. And Xiangxue, we’ve met before, so no need for thanks,” Li Wei said, gazing at the famed maidens.
Trouble was indeed brewing, and he was troubled by it.
Yet he felt no aversion. Two courtesans, humble by birth, were not so different from modern celebrities. Though their work was to entertain, they had kept themselves pure for years—better than many celebrities nowadays.
That day, Xiangxue wore a gauze curtain, obscuring her face. This time, she wore none. Her complexion was fair, dressed in a white gown, with an air of coolness, yet her bright eyes and delicate nose, oval face, and light makeup gave her a pure and cold beauty—a resemblance to a certain modern star. Hualiu’s face was longer, dressed in red silk, with a pointed chin and similarly light makeup—a true beauty.
Palace maids were generally attractive, but these two girls outshone them all.
Behind them stood a maid—the girl who had served millet rice that day—nervous and trembling.
The two girls rose, and Li Wei let them sit, asking, “What happened?”
Hualiu, unfamiliar with Li Wei, sat silently, weeping. Xiangxue, sobbing, recounted the events and Guiyan’s fate.
“I understand. Leave it to me. Biyu, arrange for them to rest.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Biyu led them away, and Li Wei gazed at the candle in contemplation.
The girls had proud natures, but with their status as courtesans, what good fate awaited them? It reminded him of a story—Du Shiniang, though perhaps legend, and Huo Xiaoyu, whose fame was real. Li Yi had not yet risen then, but they swore eternal love—what was the end? Even without Helan Minzhi’s interference, could they have had a happy ending? Best not to dwell on it.
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Even if he sheltered them temporarily, keeping them in the palace a few days, could he keep them forever? Once released, Helan Minzhi would pounce even harder. He could hardly lead troops to attack Helan Minzhi’s residence for two courtesans. No sooner would he strike than a decree of dismissal would arrive in Chang’an.
Moreover, in two days, when the civil and military officials met at court, he could expect a flood of memorials.
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Why did it come to this? Helan Minzhi’s lips twitched.
His father was Helan Yueshi, a Xianbei noble, whose family, though declining, still held a county barony (the lowest rank). Later, he married a beautiful wife, bearing Helan Minzhi and a sister. Helan Minzhi was sensible from childhood and studied diligently.
His calligraphy and essays were excellent—not a matter of talent, but of hard work. Then his father died, and the family became even more destitute, relying on his mother and sister for support. Life was hard, but the family was happy.
Then, unexpectedly, fortune smiled. His aunt, Wu Zetian, not only became Empress but toppled Shangguan and Changsun, becoming one of the Two Sovereigns. The family’s rise was tied to hers. His mother and sister entered the deep palace—a seeming string of blessings.
But even more unexpected, the Emperor, disregarding kinship, took a fancy to his mother and sister, summoning them as companions. He saw the Emperor’s affection for them and felt uneasy. Still, his own status improved, and he kept silent. For wealth, he courted his maternal grandmother, Lady Rongguo, even neglecting his young wife to attend the Emperor nightly.
Yet soon after, his teenage sister entered the palace in the morning, only to be reported dead by noon—sudden illness. Sudden illness? Even the Crown Prince’s tuberculosis dragged on for years; his sister, young and healthy, could hardly have died suddenly.
Afterward, his mother grew suspicious and unhappy, and two years later, though in her prime, she inexplicably died as well, the imperial physicians claiming illness. Could such coincidences exist?
Thinking of this, he said in displeasure, “Is it right for the Crown Prince to randomly elevate a great master, a descendant of meritorious officials?”
Such words should not be spoken. The Crown Prince had explained clearly at the Institute of Culture: he knew it was fabricated, but praised virtue and concealed vice, which benefited Buddhism itself. This made Li Shan, a Confucian scholar, somewhat unhappy.
Helan Minzhi’s blunt criticism might be justified, but the key was his deliberate provocation. As he was about to speak, a servant entered and whispered in his ear.
Helan Minzhi turned to say, “Li Scholar, you speak of the Crown Prince’s virtues, but let me ask, is it right for the Crown Prince to summon Xiangxue and Hualiu to the deep palace in the middle of the night?”
If one ignores the girls’ attempt to escape Helan Minzhi and seek help from the Eastern Palace, summoning them at midnight would certainly provoke speculation. Though Helan Minzhi was a duke and held many posts, they were mostly idle positions. For example, the Imperial Attire Steward, managing the Emperor’s clothing and ornaments, was responsible for preparing and storing items as needed. The Left Senior Cavalier was a critic and advisor—a high rank, but idle. As a Crown Prince’s guest, he had no official rank, nominally one of the Crown Prince’s teachers, overseeing etiquette. The Grand Historian of the Imperial Library managed the state’s books. Even if he was reckless, it mattered little to the state—but for the Crown Prince, any reckless act was a big deal.
Li Shan, stern by nature, would not have been so bold without Helan Minzhi’s favor. Hearing this, he immediately said, “How could the Crown Prince do such a thing?”
Summoning courtesans to the Eastern Palace at midnight—Helan Minzhi would not lie about such a thing, nor would he lie to Li Shan. After thinking, Li Shan grew uneasy, “No, I cannot stand by. I must return and write a memorial to report this to His Majesty and the Empress.”
With that, he took Liu Yizhi and departed.
Helan Minzhi finally laughed aloud. Although Li Wei had once again interfered with his affairs, greatly annoying him, he still had no interest in the two courtesans. Mainly, last time Guiyan’s antics had put him off—clearly a courtesan, yet suicidal. Better to seek a respectable girl.
But the Crown Prince, by accident, let the two courtesans into the Eastern Palace at midnight—this was ripe for exploitation.
Let the turmoil continue. After a few days of chaos, he could always return to his former barony—but as for his aunt and uncle, hmph!
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