Chapter Seventy-Four: Reviving Tang in the Wilderness, Nurturing All in Silence (Part One)

The two princesses finally married, and the ceremony was grand and dignified. The voices of reproach among the people of Chang’an grew quieter; after all, the emperor and empress could not truly neglect their daughters. Yet the crown prince’s benevolence, his reputation among the people, made Li Wei helplessly aware that his standing had risen even higher.

But soon after, the imperial decree was issued. Princess Yiyang was ordered to accompany her husband to assume office in Qichuan Prefecture at once; Princess Xuancheng, likewise, was to follow her husband to Yingzhou. There was no consideration that the princely residences were not yet familiar with their new households. That is, upon Li Zhi’s return to Chang’an, the two princesses suffered grievances: having married at such an advanced age, they could not even see their family one last time.

The severity of this decree chilled many ministers, adding a layer of unease to the crown prince’s journey east.

Li Wei, however, felt differently.

He believed he had already done much to remedy things. In history, that crown prince had not made any such efforts, and yet he survived for years. In any case, when the lice are many, one ceases to itch; it was like a fire—extinguish one spot, and another flares up. There was no need to rush, so he resolved to douse each blaze in turn, patiently.

Thus, his placid temperament was not entirely without merit. Had it been any other person, they would either have staged a stern, futile resistance or simply fled. The Eastern Palace had a number of trusted aides; even escaping would not be so desolate, for funds could be diverted to aid their flight.

But Li Wei was unhurried. He kept those forged travel permits close at hand and watched the situation unfold.

The allegiance of Di Renjie and Wei Yuanzhong, among others, gave him further confidence. Yet if Old Di and Old Wei knew that he was willing to risk his entire fortune to support them, while still entertaining thoughts of escape, they might well be driven mad with rage…

After a morning run, he returned to his bedchamber.

His younger brothers Li Xian and Li Dan had come, along with Li Lingyue and Yang Min.

Li Xian was deeply engaged in conversation with Shangguan Wan’er, but when Li Wei entered, each greeted him with proper courtesy.

“No need for formality,” Li Wei said, “Sit.”

“Brother, I have something to say—though I’m not sure if I should.”

“Speak, we’re family. There’s nothing you can’t say.”

“Brother, you shouldn’t bring Shangguan Wan’er to the Eastern Capital.”

When Li Wei had announced his intent to travel to Luoyang, one evening Shangguan Wan’er merely stared at him. Puzzled, he asked, “Wan’er, do you have something to say? Or do you wish to visit your mother in the Yeting Palace?”

“My mother is well in Yeting Palace. But since the crown prince is going to the Eastern Capital, might I… might I accompany you?”

She understood little, only that the crown prince treated her with exceptional kindness, instilling a sense of dependence and safety. Seeing him each day was like seeing an elder brother, or even a father before her.

Yet she was not entirely ignorant. The open and covert struggles within Yeting Palace and the bullying of palace servants had bred a certain cunning in her. For instance, Li Lingyue’s hostility toward her prompted Wan’er to greet her with elaborate courtesy, addressing her as “Princess,” and diligently pouring tea and water, leaving Lingyue with no room for complaint.

It was fire meeting water: Lingyue’s fierce temperament was effectively subdued by Wan’er’s gentle demeanor.

Sometimes, watching these two little girls maneuver, Li Wei found it quite amusing.

Li Wei had not considered much at the time; he intended to bring a retinue anyway—not only palace attendants, but a host of guards. Though there was no peasant uprising, some destitute people committed desperate acts, and the journey from Chang’an to Luoyang traversed hilly regions where bandits lurked. Often, the scale was small, with mountain folk turning to banditry as easily as they turned their farming tools into weapons. Officials, moved by pity, sometimes turned a blind eye as long as no lives were lost.

So he readily agreed.

Shangguan Wan’er was delighted, uttering a startling phrase and bowing with precise manners. At that moment, if not for her childish body and face, one might have mistaken her for a miniature adult. She said, “Your Highness, I am endlessly grateful. I have no other way to repay you; henceforth, I shall serve you all my life, as Sister Bi does.”

“Enough, enough,” Li Wei was unsettled, helping her up and wiping his brow. “You’re still young, don’t think about such things. Wait until you’re grown.”

He cursed inwardly: how devilish! Must this age force me to emulate Helan Minzhi?

Such wicked thoughts disturbed him for some time, until he had practiced the Eight Pieces of Brocade five times and his mind settled again.

At Li Xian’s words, Shangguan Wan’er widened her eyes in annoyance, glancing at Li Xian, then pleadingly at Li Wei.

I haven’t deliberately taught or guided her, Li Wei thought. He said, “They must meet eventually. Going to the Eastern Capital is good for her, not bad.”

Only his two brothers understood what he meant.

This marriage had displeased Wu Zetian, his mother. Now her son kept the granddaughter of Shangguan Yi by his side, which she might not approve. Li Wei, possessing only a borrowed body, lacked the insight of his brother. Their mother’s path to power was drenched in blood; if she wished, killing Wan’er would be as easy as crushing an ant.

It seemed even his second brother held some resentment toward their mother.

Politically, she was a success; as a parent, a failure.

Li Xian’s words reflected pity for Wan’er’s intelligence, but Li Wei disagreed. His mother’s heart was not so narrow; history showed she later entrusted Wan’er with great responsibilities. Besides, the “ugly daughter-in-law must eventually meet her parents-in-law.” His parents would soon return to Chang’an. If he hid Wan’er, it would only breed suspicion and discontent. Better to bring her to Luoyang, even if his promise to her had been given without much thought.

“Since you say so, brother, take her. But be cautious…”

Li Wei nodded and turned to Yang Min.

With Helan Minzhi exiled, Yang Min’s anxiety had eased somewhat, though rumors of injustice persisted in the capital. Her complexion improved, but she remained thin. In contrast, Li Wei was increasingly vigorous; his once gaunt face was filling out, the pallor replaced by a healthy flush. He was still slim, but rarely coughed more than ten times in a day.

If he were still as sickly as before, no matter how many tales from Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Journey to the West, or Andersen’s Fairy Tales he told, or even if he saved Li Lingyue, she would not rely on him as she did now.

Lin Daiyu was pitiable, yes—but that was acceptable for a woman, not a man…

With so many present, Yang Min felt shy. “I heard the crown prince is departing for the Eastern Capital, so I came to offer my congratulations.”

As she spoke, Shangguan Wan’er brewed tea for everyone, her movements precise.

Li Xian, still a youth and forthright, asked, “Wan’er, where did you learn to brew tea like that?”

“I grew up in Yeting Palace, accustomed to serving others, so I learned.”

“My little sister tells me you can recite many poems.”

“Not many, just some. I can recite a few short poems from the Book of Songs, and some others.”

Li Xian was impressed. Among the five siblings, excluding the eccentric Li Xian, the other four—Li Lingyue being still young, Li Wei not to be counted, and Li Xian and Li Dan—had respectable scholarly abilities. Li Xian’s directness notwithstanding, he ranked among the top students at the Hongwen Academy, likely a result of the combined heritage of Li Zhi and Wu Zetian.

Yet reading and reciting were different skills. Understanding and interpreting was one thing; memorizing was another. At Li Xian’s age, reciting a few poems was natural, but Wan’er was much younger and raised in Yeting Palace.

Li Xian asked, “Where did you learn them?”

“My mother taught me,” she replied, omitting the details of her study.

Li Wei found it all the more fascinating. No wonder she would later rise to prominence—she had always been precocious.

“Can you recite any prose poems?”

“I know only a few—those by Sima Xiangru, Zuo Si, Geng Liang, Cao Zhi, and the like.”

“Oh? Can you recite The Three Capitals?”

“That is Zuo Si’s famous work; I am fortunate to know it. Poetry has six elements, of which one is prose. Yang Xiong said… I can also recite his White Hair Prose: ‘White hairs, like stars, grow at the temples. Though not blue flies, they tarnish my visage…’”

She recited both pieces flawlessly, word for word.

Li Wei wiped his brow. Heaven help him—he could barely recite The Three Capitals without making mistakes. As for White Hair Prose, he had heard it, but could at most recall a line or two.

When this little girl grew up, even his second brother might not match her.

Indeed, Li Xian and the others were astonished.

Yang Min furrowed her brows anxiously. The devotion of Bi’er in the Eastern Palace, Wan’er’s perceptiveness at only eight years old, her remarkable talent—why was her marriage so delayed, still months off?

Li Xian said, “Brother, treat her well.”

“His Highness is always good to me,” Wan’er immediately defended Li Wei.

Li Xian was speechless, stunned. “Brother, you are truly fortunate.”

“Second brother, you’re still young; focus on your studies. There are plenty of flowers in the world,” Li Wei said, patting Li Xian’s shoulder with pride. In truth, eighteen was not so young in these times. Then he added, “Since you’re all here, let’s go out together today—I’ll show you two remarkable things.”

“Certainly!” the group responded with delight.

He intended to show them the fermentation of bamboo and the growth of sorghum seedlings in the southern part of the city. Compared to the current obsession with poetry and prose, Li Wei cared little for such things. In his view, even The Three Capitals was less meaningful than the Jiangdong plough, and even Peach Blossom Spring paled in comparison to successful bamboo paper.

Of course, if he could invent a locomotive or firearms, the Tang dynasty might instantly unify the world—surely more significant than the Songs of the South. The question was whether he had the ability…

And so, they set off.