Chapter Twenty-One: The Final Curtain

The voice of the Master of Wine was not loud, but within the grand Tai Chi Hall, not a single soul dared to utter a word; a deathly silence hung over the assembly.

In that particular year, the Grand Preceptor, the Marquis of Martial Valor, and another had claimed the top three honors. Yet now, only the Marquis of Martial Valor remained active at court, his prestige at its peak.

“Master of Wine, what brings you here today?” The Emperor of Great Tang, having returned to his throne, was puzzled. The Master of Wine had long abstained from meddling in state affairs, so why had he suddenly decided to set foot in the Tai Chi Hall this night?

“Your Majesty, according to custom, it should be this old servant who announces the three top scholars of the Lantern Festival Examinations. However, I am advanced in years, my legs and feet no longer nimble, so in recent times, the Three Dukes have performed this duty. Yet tonight, I felt an urge to visit the Hall of Lingyan to see my old friends, and before I knew it, I had wandered here,” the Master of Wine said, bowing to the Emperor.

“Since Master of Wine is here, then let the announcement of this year’s top three scholars be made by you. It has been many years since you have chosen pillars for our realm,” the Emperor replied with a smile, though a cold glint flickered in his eyes.

With trembling hands, the Master of Wine received the imperial roll from the Grand Steward and slowly unfurled it.

The eyes of several scholars in the hall fixed upon that modest scroll.

With the golden scroll opened, the Master of Wine began to read. All named upon the imperial roll were those whose performance shone brightly today.

“Wang Wei—ninth in the martial examination.”

...

“Gong Ao—seventh in the martial examination.”

“Yang Zixu—sixth in the martial examination.”

At last, it was time to announce the top three...

“Li Siye—third in the martial examination.”

“Yang Ning—second in the literary, second in the martial examination.”

“Li Fu—”

The Master of Wine paused, glancing at Li Fu. In his gaze, Li Fu seemed to see the shadow of his old teacher.

“Champion in both civil and martial arts!”

Then the old Master continued, “According to the rites of Great Tang, if a double champion is under fifteen years of age, the Three Dukes are to perform the coming-of-age hair-binding ceremony. Li Fu, come here.”

The Master of Wine beckoned to Li Fu, and the hall watched in astonishment as he proceeded.

“However... this year, let me perform the ceremony myself.” The Master of Wine naturally took the jade comb from the Grand Steward’s hands.

“Master, this...”

“Master of Wine, how can the champion of a single Lantern Festival examination be worthy of your personal hand in this rite!”

“Master of Wine, this does not accord with proper custom...”

“Even the royal heirs do not receive such an honor, much less a commoner. If this is allowed, the rites and music of Great Tang will be thrown into chaos! Master of Wine, reconsider!”

His words stirred an uproar—never in centuries had anyone heard of the Master of Wine conducting the ceremony himself. In bygone days, it was only when Emperor Taizong established his crown prince that the Master of Wine performed the rite at the coming-of-age ceremony; in eight hundred years of Tang, only that single time!

“Master of Wine, even royal descendants are denied this. Is it appropriate?” Even the Grand Steward was clearly troubled.

Sitting upon the dragon throne, the Emperor’s face remained impassive, his features unreadable beneath the weight of his own flesh.

“I am old now, nearing the end. From Emperor Gaozong onward, no crown prince has been named before the age of fifteen. Let this year’s Lantern Festival fulfill a wish of mine.” The Master of Wine turned and bowed to the Emperor.

The grand hall was silent. The Emperor sat quietly on the dragon throne, as if fused with its gilded frame and the hall itself.

He closed his eyes, motionless, as if lost in deep thought.

“It is granted,” he declared, opening his eyes. The folds of his neck spilled briefly over his collar as his head nodded ever so slightly.

The Grand Steward nodded in acknowledgment. A palace maid presented a tray with a wine cup. The Master of Wine seized the cup and announced in a solemn voice, “A toast!”

Within the Tai Chi Hall, two rows of palace maids moved silently, trays in hand, to the assembled ministers.

“To the wealth and strength of Great Tang, and the prosperity of its people!”

“To Great Tang sweeping across the universe, with all nations coming to pay homage!”

“To Great Tang’s eternal legacy, its mountains and rivers enduring!”

...

With the toasts complete, the Grand Steward masked his face with his sleeve and drained his cup. The assembly followed suit, and then countless brilliant fireworks soared into the night, bathing the entire Daming Palace in radiant splendor.

It was nearly midnight.

“Li Fu, come and sit,” the Master of Wine summoned again.

Li Fu remained dazed—the news that the Master of Wine would personally bind his hair still thundered through his mind like a storm, leaving him unable to recover.

Suddenly, Li Fu cried out, his features contorted as he clutched Yang Zixu’s shoulder with one hand and vigorously rubbed his right foot with the other.

Yang Zixu turned his head aside, shoulders shaking as he muffled his laughter with a tightly pressed hand.

Yang Ning, standing to Li Fu’s right, appeared as if nothing had happened at all.

Collecting himself, Li Fu approached and knelt before the Master of Wine.

With the jade comb, the Master of Wine slowly smoothed Li Fu’s long hair, carefully ordering every strand. Though the process was simple, it was painstakingly meticulous. His hand was steady, his motions unhurried, and the ceremony lasted nearly half an hour.

After binding the hair into a topknot, the Master of Wine replaced the comb upon the tray, then took up a silken ribbon to tie the knot.

The final step was the presentation of jade—a hallmark of Tang’s reverence for both martial prowess and civil virtue, a nation grounded in ritual. The Confucian classics say, “A gentleman is gentle and pure, like jade.” Thus, the last act of the hair-binding rite is the donning of jade.

According to the “Record of Rites, Jade Adornments,” the Son of Heaven wears white jade with black cords, dukes and marquises wear mountain jade with red cords, ministers wear blue jade with pure cords, heirs wear yu-jade with grey cords, and scholars wear simple jade with plain cords.

Ordinary scholars like Li Fu could only wear a beautiful jade with a yellow-red ribbon.

The rite concluded as the Director of Rites finished reciting the ceremonial text.

Finally came the Emperor’s bestowal of gifts to the top three of the Lantern Festival Examinations.

Fireworks lit the Daming Palace, bringing warmth and light to the night without harshness.

“So that’s the champion in both civil and martial arts this year?”

“They say he’s the Grand Preceptor’s protégé?”

“Could there be some mistake?”

“Even Yang Ning was pushed to second place by him—I don’t see anything extraordinary in that youth.”

“Nonsense! Yang Ning forfeited, otherwise who knows who would have won.”

Outside the Daming Palace, the crowd watched the scholars emerging from the Vermilion Bird Path, murmuring in disbelief. Most eyes were on Li Fu at the head of the group.

Every year, the Lantern Festival Examinations stirred the city; without them, the festival was like any other day for the people of the Eastern Capital—hardly worth celebrating.

But this year’s top scholar was not Yang Ning, not any of the Five Talents of Celestial Strategy, not one of the Six Prodigies of Divine Strategy, not a noble scion, nor a student of the Imperial Academy.

It was Li Fu.

A fifteen-year-old youth from Liangzhou, with no backing in the capital, possibly the protégé of the Grand Preceptor.

No one wanted to believe it, but it was the undeniable truth. Though the facts could not be denied, acceptance was hard to come by. Details of the examination had already spread; the Grand Preceptor’s name was mentioned repeatedly that night, and even the royal family showed no reaction—as if the Grand Preceptor had never left.

Then, another rumor swept through the crowd.

The avenues and the city fell silent before erupting in a roar.

The final hair-binding ceremony for Li Fu had been performed personally by the old Master of Wine! Even the Emperor had not objected!

The Master of Wine conducting the rite—did people understand what that implied?

This was nearly more earth-shattering than Li Fu’s unprecedented victory.

Was he, perhaps, the crown prince?

Impossible! In eight hundred years since the founding of Tang, only the Founder, Taizong, and Gaozu had named a crown prince. Neither the Sacred Empress nor the current Emperor had ever bestowed such a title.

And now the Master of Wine had disregarded all custom to bind Li Fu’s hair? Unimaginable—and the Emperor had consented!

The slanting moon shone down upon the avenue, casting Li Fu’s shadow long and thin. On his back, he carried a black, elongated case—his reward for this year’s Lantern Festival Examination.

After the ceremony, the Emperor did not personally bestow the prizes upon the top three, but departed the Tai Chi Hall, leaving the final proceedings and the selection of rewards to the Master of Wine. Even Li Fu himself did not know what his prize contained.

“I got a book?” Yang Zixu could not restrain himself. Opening his brocade box, he found half of an ancient, tattered text, without even a title, and was markedly dissatisfied.

“I did rather better. Hmm… it’s a sword.” Yang Ning, too, unlatched his box, though his tone was tinged with disappointment.

At the mention of a sword, Li Fu’s eyes instinctively fell upon the box in Yang Ning’s hands and could not look away.

The sword was plain, its age etched in the blade. The scabbard was simple leather, the hilt unadorned—nothing about it stood out, neither dust nor bloodstains marred its surface. For all its ordinariness, Li Fu felt an urge to draw closer.

He reached to grasp the hilt.

But Yang Zixu beat him to it, snatching up the sword first. He swung it experimentally, studying the blade carefully.

“Why does this sword look so familiar?” Turning it in his hands, Yang Zixu drew in a sharp breath as he recognized the two archaic seal characters on the pommel. Quickly, he sheathed the sword, snatched the brocade box from Yang Ning, and hugged it tightly to his chest.

“It’s mine,” Yang Ning protested.

Clutching the box, excitement shone on Yang Zixu’s handsome face. “Yang Ning, let’s trade, shall we?”

“Well...” Yang Ning glanced at Li Fu, who also seemed fascinated by the sword and had tried to pick it up before Yang Zixu intercepted him. Yet, swords were not to his own liking, and he hesitated. “You should give it back to me, you don’t even like swords.”

“How do you know I don’t like swords?” Yang Zixu was still unwilling to let the weapon go.

“Li Fu, what did you get? Such a long box,” Yang Zixu asked, turning his gaze to the case on Li Fu’s back.

Inside the brocade case, a long, black metal spear, split into two sections, lay quietly. Coiling dragon patterns adorned its length, and a chilling aura of killing intent radiated from it.

“This...”