Chapter Sixty: The Xu Family Stalemate, The Crown Prince Falls Unconscious (Part One)

The sky rarely darkened over the imperial capital, and today the clouds had grown pale and dim, ushering in a drizzle that gently began to fall. The rain wasn’t heavy; it drew layer upon layer of lines, twisting with the wind, and though it persisted for a while, the ground remained dry. Instead, the rain wove itself into ribbons of mist and smoke, shrouding the distant palaces of the Eastern Palace, the Imperial City, and the Tai Chi Palace, which appeared and vanished in the haze like visions of a fairyland.

After days of rain, everyone yearned for clear weather; after long stretches of sun, they craved a shower to wash away the dryness. The heavens had been parched for so long—yet the rain was still too gentle. All of Chang’an, and especially the Eastern Palace, was abuzz with talk about this rare rainy day.

Outside the sleeping quarters, several young palace maids, unafraid of the light rain, were enthusiastically skipping rope. Rope skipping was different from later generations; as the main pastime, it boasted many variations: forward swing, backward swing, crossing in front, crossing behind, double shake, multiple fly, figure-eight braiding... The myriad tricks dazzled the onlookers, leaving them little more than to cheer and applaud.

Li Wei watched with interest for quite some time, his mood brightening. The maids’ lively joy reminded him of a melody, “Moonlight on the Spring River.” He said, “Bi’er, bring the jade zither here.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Bi’er fetched the instrument, wiped the table clean for him, and Li Wei sat upright, beginning to play the famous tune. As a lecturer in the humanities, he had a fondness for poetry and ancient culture. He’d listened countless times to many classical Chinese melodies, such as “Moonlight on the Spring River” and “The Song of Guangling,” and was quite familiar with them.

But listening was one thing—playing was quite another. “The Song of Mo Chou” paled in comparison to “Moonlight on the Spring River,” but under Li Wei’s clumsy hands, the latter sounded more like “Night of Screaming Ghosts.”

Bi’er could hardly bear it, wiping sweat from her brow. “Your Highness, you, you…” She didn’t finish her plea for him to stop.

Li Wei was self-aware enough to cease, though his thoughts churned: this skill was truly lacking. The guqin was crucial here, elevated to the status of a gentleman’s cultivation. He recalled the film “Red Cliff”—he had been startled by much, but the depiction of Zhou Yu playing the zither was accurate, and Zhou Yu was famed for his skill throughout the Three Kingdoms.

He didn’t know how the former Crown Prince’s technique compared, but the room had a fine jade zither hanging on the wall, and as a typical homebody, his predecessor’s skills probably weren’t poor. If he wanted to avoid his mother noticing anything amiss, he’d have to learn. Which meant even more to study…

As he was pondering this, a eunuch entered and reported, “Scholars Wang and Pei from the Academy of Literary Studies, along with Yao Chong and Ximen Chong, request an audience.”

“Let them in.”

He couldn’t remain secluded in the sleeping quarters forever. He might soon be summoned to Luoyang; his studies were lacking and he needed to catch up. This time he was more earnest than he’d been preparing for the college entrance exam in his previous life. He had to be—back then, his future was at stake; now, his very life depended on it. If Wu Zetian discovered that Li Wei was not the Crown Prince she remembered…

Yet, self-study alone wouldn’t suffice. Now that he was “gravely ill,” he couldn’t attend the Academy; he had to study in his quarters, which was against protocol. After some thought, he summoned only these four scholars to help resolve his difficulties. Scholar Wang brought him a copy of the “Gongyang Commentary,” while Pei, more playful, gave him “The Art of War” and “The Military Methods of Wu,” with eight characters inscribed on the title page: “The Way of War is the Way of Humanity, both are one principle.” Both were clever men. As for Yao and Ximen, they needed no introduction.

Of course, he was not yet married; if he were, the Eastern Palace’s inner court would be fully staffed with a Princess Consort and ladies-in-waiting. Even with just these four, there were scruples, and they would not come at his summons.

The group sat down.

Yao and Ximen had visited before, but for Wang and Pei, it was their first time entering the Crown Prince’s quarters. They looked around; the room was simple. The columns and beams were original, and while there were some decorative items like coral, nothing was ostentatious. The books, however, were abundant—every shelf was crammed, the desk piled high with volumes marked by bookmarks, clearly being perused by the Crown Prince.

Though they knew he was studious, the two scholars grew more respectful.

They began the lesson with “Jade Tassels,” Pei leading: “The emperor’s jade tassels, twelve in number, hang before and behind; dragons coil in sacrifice. He wears black robes for morning court outside the east gate, listens to the new moon outside the south gate; in leap months, he closes the left door and stands within. He dons the leather cap for morning court, then eats; at noon he feasts, and after the meal, he retires in black robes. All actions are recorded by the left scribe, words by the right scribe; the blind musician records the rise and fall of the music; when the year is ill-fated, the emperor wears plain attire, rides in a plain carriage, and dines without music.”

“The emperor is noble, and thus all sacrifices, court sessions, and meals follow strict rituals. Yet in times of disaster, when Heaven warns, music cannot accompany meals.” He glanced sideways at Li Wei.

It was a warning, prompted by hearing Li Wei play the zither earlier. Regardless of skill, with spring plowing imminent and the drought not eased, even if he wasn’t emperor but Crown Prince, playing music for pleasure in the Eastern Palace was inappropriate—at least, it would harm his reputation if word spread.

So he began with the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Rites, “Jade Tassels.”

Li Wei understood, clasped his hands, and said, “Thank you for your guidance.”

The lesson continued.

After a while, Li Wei said, “Mr. Pei, could you explain in more detail?”

He could grasp the general meaning, but he needed deeper insights, not just broad strokes. Pei was speaking too quickly and roughly; it wasn’t much help.

Pei replied, “If the Crown Prince wishes for more detail, you should study ‘The Book of Rites,’ ‘The Rituals,’ and ‘The Rites of Zhou,’ and invite Scholars Guo Yu and Zheng, who specialize in them. Scholar Wang and I are not experts.”

This was true.

But Guo Yu and the other scholars proficient in the Three Rites were upright Confucians. Upright was a compliment; in reality, they were inflexible and would never enter the sleeping quarters for a lesson. After some thought, he let it go, and instead raised difficulties from the texts for group discussion.

While the five were engaged in discourse, Liu Qun entered and announced, “Your Highness, there’s trouble.”

“What happened? No need to panic, speak calmly.”

“Duke Zhou has led his servants to attack the residence of Captain Xu Yue. Several members of the Xu family have been injured by Duke Zhou’s men.”

So quickly? With Scholars Wang and Pei present, Li Wei feigned ignorance, asking, “What is this about?”

Liu Qun recounted what she knew. Some details were clear, others not.

The events at Zhongnan Mountain had stirred no official response; the common people were dissatisfied, the palace guards frustrated. Xu Yue and others kindled the spark in a tavern, which could have erupted dangerously, but Xu Yue and the guards steered things in another direction.

They didn’t fight or curse—yet while walking, servants from Helan Minzhi’s mansion broke a precious medicine vial from the Western Regions in Xu’s hand. Compensation was demanded; when none was offered, fists followed, and an IOU was signed.

Or a group would drag someone to a gambling house—refusing to gamble was an insult, and once they did, another IOU was signed.

So many tricks, so many methods. The guards had devised countless clever schemes, exchanging ideas and exclaiming at their ingenuity—not only for dealing with Helan’s men, but useful for themselves in future.

They put their methods into practice, and nearly a fifth of Helan Minzhi’s household fell into debt.

They weren’t looking for trouble, but debts must be paid. Some owed astronomical sums—over a thousand strings of coins. How could a mere servant repay? If not, then beatings ensued. Thus, Helan Minzhi’s mansion was surrounded day and night by dozens of guards, demanding payment or meting out punishment.

The authorities heard of it. They understood these tricks, but without clear evidence, there was no way to intervene—especially with palace guards involved.

Even if word reached Luoyang, it couldn’t be resolved; it wasn’t extortion, but a matter of venting anger—for the Crown Prince. Loyal guards of the imperial city were expected to protect the Emperor and Crown Prince, not Helan Minzhi.

So they turned a blind eye. The Emperor and Empress themselves were dissatisfied. However it was handled, the unrest in Chang’an required a response from the elders; otherwise, even officials felt at a loss.

At first, Helan Minzhi realized the gravity of the situation and kept petitioning Luoyang, claiming injustice—but his staff had all been arrested, leaving him with no advisors. Helan was furious and lost his composure.

For several days, he kept quiet.

But the guards grew more unruly, their tempers flaring again.

He organized his household, gathered his servants, and confronted the “ringleader” Xu Yue. Xu wasn’t at home—his father had died in battle in Goguryeo, earning merit and a viscountcy, which Xu Yue inherited, joining the Imperial Guards. The court had also rewarded his family with a modest estate: a mother, a wife, two concubines, and two children.

Seeing Helan Minzhi storm in with a crowd, Xu’s servants shielded his mother, wife, and children, helping them escape. But many servants remained, and Helan’s men forced their way in, smashing and destroying everything—worse than when Li Wei had led men into Helan’s mansion. Some servants resisted and were beaten down.

Xu Yue and a group of Eastern Palace guards were outraged. If debts must be paid, so be it; but why invade their home, destroy property, and injure their people? Incensed, the guards armed themselves and rushed to Xu’s residence.

Now both sides faced off, with even the authorities unable to intervene. Servants from Helan’s mansion and other guards arrived, the crowd grew, and the situation escalated.

After Liu Qun finished her tangled account, Li Wei understood. This was exactly the outcome Di Renjie had intended with his plan.

He understood, and so did Scholars Wang and Pei. Studying the matter, they began to see the Crown Prince’s role in these events, his “illness,” and everything connected to it.

But Pei and Wang not only refrained from admonishing him—they were delighted. This was the Crown Prince they wanted.

Pei said, “Your Highness, though you are ill, you must intervene. Let the matter end here; excess is as bad as deficiency.”

“Indeed.”

“And one more thing—the more arrogant Duke Zhou becomes, the more compassionate you must be. The benevolent are invincible. Ultimately, we must await an imperial decree from Luoyang.”

“Understood.”

Li Wei smiled, preparing to depart. Pei glanced at him, dissatisfied with something, then saw Li Wei’s half-smile and suddenly realized, “Your Highness, surely there are many commoners gathered outside Xu Yue’s house. Yet you, being gravely ill, look far too healthy for it—not very convincing.”

He was being tactful.

Yao Chong, Ximen Chong, and Scholar Wang all couldn’t help but laugh.

“That was careless,” Li Wei laughed as well. Indeed, the world held more clever men than just Di Renjie—Pei was one, too.

PS: Seeing Maoku Daxian’s twelve update tickets worth twelve thousand, I feel conflicted—should I accept them?

End of page three.