Chapter Forty-Nine: Topple Helan—Di Yao's Visiting Card (Part Two)

Liu Rengui’s sharp eyes took in the scene, and cold sweat broke out across his forehead. Seeing that the bird’s head was about to be severed, he acted quickly, snatching the saber from Li Wei’s hand and whispering urgently into his ear, “Your Highness, you mustn’t. Think about it—how many descendants does Lady Rongguo have?”

A subtle remark, carefully avoiding mention of Wu Zetian’s father, Wu Shihuo, and instead referencing Lady Rongguo.

In truth, Liu Rengui placed perhaps too much hope in Li Wei. But the very mention of Wu Zetian was enough to make Li Wei instantly grasp the meaning behind Liu Rengui’s words. Wu Zetian’s maternal family was far from insignificant. Wu Shihuo had several brothers, and Wu Zetian had numerous paternal and half-brothers, though the relationships between Lady Rongguo and Wu Zetian were by no means close. Ultimately, the closest blood relative—excluding Li Wei’s own four brothers, who were her sons—was this peculiar Helan Minzhi.

If he destroyed this “treasure,” Wu Zetian’s maternal line would be cut off at the root.

Of course, if he provoked Wu Zetian to the point that she issued an imperial decree for his execution, that would be a different matter altogether. It was one thing for the Empress to act, quite another for Li Wei to do it himself.

Now, with several legitimate travel permits in hand, and having studied the map of the realm and committed even the pass routes to memory, he felt somewhat emboldened by the prospect of escape. Yet flight was no sure path to safety. If he could remain safely in his current position, it was not so bad. After all, who in this world has smooth sailing from beginning to end?

Thus, offending his mother was not an option.

At this thought, his grip slackened, and the blade fell away.

Helan Minzhi, who had been paralyzed with terror, was startled to see Li Wei lower the knife and immediately began to bluster with false bravado.

Lying on the ground, he complained bitterly, “Your Highness, as soon as Their Majesties leave the capital, you run amok as you please! I shall memorialize the Emperor and the Empress, reporting every detail of today’s events!”

Li Wei, though more hot-tempered than the former Crown Prince, was still somewhat restrained; now that the knife was set down, he hesitated. If he let Helan go, he would not be satisfied; if he did not, and cut him, the consequences could be dire. At Helan’s words, his anger flared.

Who wouldn’t be infuriated? To plot against his betrothed and send assassins after him—how perilous had that afternoon on Mount Zhongnan been? The sacrifices of so many brave Tang soldiers on the battlefield meant little to him, for he had not invested his heart in this society. But the heroism of Li Zhuofan and the four loyal guards who died for him—he had witnessed that with his own eyes.

His anger reignited; the knife rose again—but rather than mutilate Helan Minzhi, he drew it across his face, slashing from the brow to the chin. In a blink, a long, deep gash split Helan’s face, ghastly and bloody.

“Aah!” Helan Minzhi screamed and fainted on the spot.

Only then did Liu Rengui step in.

He had seen Li Wei’s stance and made no move to stop him. Had one of the literary scholars from the Chongwen Institute been present, they would have preached about repaying evil with virtue, pushing the Crown Prince further into the trap of timidity. But Liu Rengui was no such pedant. He had endured much to reach this point and, despite his exhaustion, had followed along out of fear that the Crown Prince would act without restraint—hence his intervention just moments before.

But he was not, as Zhang Bangyan believed, a sycophant whose reputation had already spread to Luoyang. His concern was public-minded: a good Crown Prince meant a better future sovereign, and at this moment, a good ruler would mean much to the country and the people.

He was acting from a sincere loyalty, not wanting the Crown Prince to get into trouble.

Seeing that Li Wei’s blow was a slash, not a chop nor a stab, he knew it would not be fatal. As long as there was no death, as long as Helan’s manhood was not severed—even if a leg were lost—Liu Rengui would turn a blind eye.

If the Crown Prince endured such humiliation without response, who knows how many would try to trip him up in the future? Besides, though the Emperor was ill, he was in his prime years. If the Crown Prince wanted to ascend safely, he would have to endure for many years yet.

Still, Li Wei’s counterattack carried many uncertainties and risks. Helan Minzhi’s madness had placed them both at the edge—one on the blade, one on the cresting wave. Were he younger and less tempered, Liu Rengui might have added another slash himself, turning Helan’s delicate face from a horizontal scar to a cross.

Holding Li Wei back now, he knew Helan’s looks were ruined. With the medicine of the time, even the legendary doctors Hua Tuo and Sun Simiao, if summoned from their mountains, could not restore his face.

He offered a few low-voiced consolations. By now, several officials from the capital had arrived, accompanied by constables. Li Wei’s supposed search for suspects was in truth a venting of anger, but for the officials, the arrests were genuine.

First, all the women in Helan Minzhi’s household were seized—wives, concubines, maids, palace musicians forcibly taken from the imperial music offices, and a host of foreign slave girls. The wives and concubines were married through proper channels, the foreign girls were sent to him, and as for the term “courtesan,” in this era, no one would speak up for a prostitute—such women were as migratory birds, of lowly status.

The palace musicians, too, though technically belonging to the royal household, were daughters of disgraced officials or other criminals, of even lower status. Only the fortunate, like Shangguan Wan’er, might be made a humble palace maid—she was spared only because she was so young, or she too would have been sent to the music offices.

But the origins of his concubines and maidservants were questionable. While Lady Rongguo lived, she ruled the Duke of Zhou’s household, and Helan Minzhi was somewhat restrained. After Lady Rongguo’s death the previous autumn, only Helan was in charge, but even then, with Emperor Gaozong and Empress Wu in Chang’an, he dared not act too freely. Only when their Majesties moved to Luoyang in recent months did Helan Minzhi act without restraint—if he could sprout wings, he would have flown to the moon.

Many women from respectable families had been forcibly seized and violated by his men.

Besides the women, all Helan Minzhi’s staff and suspiciously strong servants were detained as well. Whether they would be interrogated or not depended on Luoyang’s will—if imperial wrath fell, everyone would take advantage to kick him when he was down, and with the testimony of these people, Helan Minzhi would be doomed. But perhaps not; since the death of Princess Weiguo, the Emperor had felt guilty toward Helan, and though the Empress might not be pleased, he was, after all, her only close nephew. In that case, the punishment might be light, and his retainers could be made scapegoats.

The investigation was handled by senior officials from the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, or the Office of the Imperial Clan. All at this level understood the situation without needing words; the line was clear. The suspects were gathered for identification.

But the sight that greeted them in Helan Minzhi’s household left everyone stunned. There were three or four hundred young women, each more beautiful than the last, a sight that made the constables drool with desire.

Li Wei was speechless. In terms of both beauty and numbers, these girls far surpassed the palace maids of his own inner court.

Who was the true Crown Prince here—him or Helan Minzhi?

One group made arrests, the other pretended to “search” for suspects. As night fell, everyone got what they wanted and left satisfied.

Helan Minzhi’s mansion was thoroughly ransacked, with only the rooms housing Lady Rongguo’s spirit tablet left untouched—the rest, as clean as if washed by water.

When Helan Minzhi regained consciousness and heard his servants’ report, he nearly coughed up blood. “Bring pen and ink! I must memorialize the Eastern Capital, I must report this!”

The servant’s mouth twitched. He thought, Better think of a way to clear your name instead of appealing for justice. And perhaps it was time to leave the Duke’s mansion—staying seemed dangerous.

...

“Your Highness, I’m so frightened. Please don’t go out again, will you?” Bie’er said as they walked back to the Eastern Palace along the flagstone path.

Li Wei was moved. Back in the thatched tavern of the hero Li Zhuofan, Bie’er had shielded him with her small body—though it would have been useless if the guards had fallen, the intention meant more than anything. How many people could be so devoted?

He drew her petite form into his arms, but she wriggled free. She was only a palace maid and, in truth, not yet conscious of her new status as Mistress of the Chambers—she no longer belonged to the ranks of maids! Thus, she felt unworthy of such favor from Li Wei in public.

Li Wei shook his head; times had changed, and so had ideas.

He said, “Not necessarily. How many in the world are as crazed and powerful as Wu Minzhi?”

“But Your Highness, you must be careful...”

“Of course,” Li Wei replied insincerely. But being forbidden to leave the palace was impossible—was he to be a caged bird like the poor palace maids?

As they walked, everyone in the Eastern Palace came out to greet them, asking after his well-being. The trusted maids like Jiang Luo and Liu Qun were alternately crying and laughing with joy. Even Xiangxue and the other two, who had been hiding in the palace, watched from afar, though etiquette prevented them from approaching.

When he reached his chambers, Liu Qun glanced around. Li Wei took the hint and dismissed the others.

Liu Qun said, “Your Highness, today I went to the Eastern Market and met some strange officials.”

“What was strange about them?” he asked.

“One was a judicial officer from Bingzhou, one was a student of the Imperial Academy, and two were traveling scholars,” Liu Qun replied. Though Bingzhou was no ordinary region, a mere judicial officer or academy student was of low rank in the capital, let alone in the Eastern Palace. Even Liu Qun, having been promoted by Li Wei, now outranked them.

She continued, “They presented calling cards and brought an important message for Your Highness: ‘I shall ascend to the summit and see all mountains at a glance.’ Such ambition! Such grand designs!”

Indeed, that line alone is what made the poem stand above countless Tang verses, immortal in history. But Li Wei’s expression suddenly changed; cold sweat broke out as he realized something was wrong. “Who are they? Give me the calling cards.”

He had been using “I” instead of the imperial “孤.” In truth, protocol was not yet so rigid; even Emperor Gaozong, in private, sometimes used “I.” Li Wei did not know this and always used the royal pronoun, but no one objected.

Liu Qun handed over the cards. The four names: Di Renjie, Wei Yuanzhong, Yao Yuanchong, and Ximen Chong.

He did not recognize Ximen Chong’s character, though it was well chosen. But the other three...

Li Wei cried out, “Do I still need to run? I’m not running anymore!”

Liu Qun was baffled. “What do you mean, ‘run’? Your Highness, it’s almost the second watch. Running off now would surely cause gossip.”

She was utterly confused—was the Crown Prince so frightened by today’s ordeal that he’d lost his wits? What “running” could he possibly mean at this hour?