Chapter Thirty-One: The Ancestral Temple

If one were to gaze from the Pavilion of Lingyan along the Vermilion Bird Avenue, passing through Chengtian Street and across the Grand Justice Hall, they would see rows of official residences lining either side of the grand avenue. The Six Ministries, the Secretariat, the Censorate, the Imperial Academy, the Heavenly Strategy, the Divine Strategy...

Yet behind the Office of Ceremonies, approaching the very bounds of the Daming Palace, there stood an ancient, even somewhat dilapidated palace, jarringly out of place amidst the surrounding architecture, discordant in both style and spirit.

This was the Imperial Ancestral Temple. Within, not only were the memorial tablets of the emperors of the Great Tang enshrined, but also those of the imperial princes throughout the ages.

It was a forbidden ground, a place so sacred that even members of the imperial family dared not enter lightly. The taboo was not merely for the ancestral spirits worshipped there, but for another presence that lingered within the temple—the Libationer of the Great Tang.

As for the Libationer’s true age, perhaps not even he himself could recall it. It was known only that, as early as the era of Emperor Taizong, the Libationer already resided in this temple. Even then, he was regarded as a pillar and a leader among the gentry, scholars, and Confucian literati of the realm.

Some whispered he was the blood brother of the founding emperor; others claimed he was the last young prince of the fallen Sui dynasty. Yet another rumor held that he was the Prince of Qi, sole survivor of the Xuanwu Gate Incident.

Many tales abounded, but none knew his true identity or the span of his life. The only certainty among the scholars of the Tang was this: though the Libationer never interfered in the affairs of state, whenever the throne was contested, a single word from him outweighed a million soldiers. Whenever the capital ran red with blood, he would appear before the Hall of Supreme Harmony, standing amidst the carnage.

Through the reigns of the Sacred Empress, the Middle Emperor, and up to the present day, the Libationer had saved the imperial princes of the House of Li no less than four times. Once proud and upright, his silhouette had, over the years from black hair to white, grown stooped and frail.

...

Li Fu and his two companions stood before the stone steps of the ancestral temple. The great doors were shut tight, their faded bronze rings mottled green with age—a testament to how long it had been since anyone dared knock or even attempt to replace them.

“Let us go,” said the Grand Guardian, stepping forward. He looked upon the three youths before him, lifted the door ring himself, and spoke.

“Grand Guardian, perhaps the two of us need not enter? Shouldn’t only...” Yang Zixu’s heart grew faint as he gazed at the slightly opened door. Li Fu had mentioned before the Lantern Festival examination that he would return the half-volume of the 'State Stratagems,' and the place to do so was none other than the ancestral temple. Yang Zixu had not believed Li Fu could gain entry, and had told him as much—without the Libationer’s summons, no one in the empire could enter this forbidden ground. Now, he believed.

Yet, standing before these stone steps, Yang Zixu hesitated to take another step. Nor was he alone; Chu Ge’s heart was equally troubled.

“The Libationer wishes to see all three of you. Come in,” the Grand Guardian said with a gentle smile. Seeing their unease, he was reminded of his own anxious, bewildered youth at this very threshold.

“Let’s go. Just think of it as accompanying the Crown Prince to his studies, or as playing a supporting role, following Li Fu inside,” Chu Ge said, taking a deep breath. He grasped Yang Zixu’s hand, and together they stepped across the threshold.

The noon sun, though not as fierce as in midsummer, was bright and clear. Yet, for reasons unknown, no sunlight touched the hall within the ancestral temple; only rows of candles shed their dim, feeble glow, casting the chamber into twilight.

An elder in plain robes moved quietly within, his withered hands gently polishing the heavy offering table with a cloth. His presence was faint, almost blended into the very air of the hall, dreamlike and unreal.

...

The old man polished the altar slowly, his movements unhurried, as if he had been at this task for countless years. Time seemed to pass unnoticed, until at last he set aside the cloth, trembling as he lit three sticks of incense, then stepped forward and placed them in the burner atop the table.

The Grand Guardian and the three youths watched in silence, not daring to speak.

At length, the old man turned, his gaze settling upon the three young faces before him. He smiled gently, saying, “So full of youthful vigor—how wonderful. It has been long indeed since young people have come to this ancestral temple.”

The three did not answer, but knelt solemnly and bowed deeply with utmost respect.

“Be seated, there’s no need for such formality,” the Libationer said, settling himself on a nearby mat, his hands tucked into his sleeves.

The three exchanged glances with each other, then with the Grand Guardian. After a brief hesitation, they sat across from the Libationer on three neatly arranged mats.

“What is that you’re holding?” the Libationer’s eyes fell upon the small jar in Li Fu’s hands.

“Master Libationer, my teacher asked me to bring this to you... wine,” Li Fu replied, carefully presenting the jar. When he had left for the Eastern Capital, his teacher had entrusted him with two jars of wine. Li Fu had thought they were for himself, but later learned from his teacher’s letter that one was meant for the Libationer.

“That little tippler—he insisted on leaving the capital then. And now, fifteen years gone without a word, not a drop of wine to be had. Only now, after fifteen years, does he send me a jar. Next time you write, tell him I am most displeased,” the Libationer said with a wry smile, shaking his head.

In that moment, he seemed less a legend and more a kindly elder chiding a beloved grandchild.

“You call him 'teacher'?” the Libationer asked, his gaze settling on Li Fu.

“Yes, sir,” Li Fu answered truthfully.

“Do you know his name?” the Libationer inquired.

“I do not. He never told me, not even after I learned that he was the Grand Tutor,” Li Fu replied.

“That child—what is there to hide about a name?” the Libationer grumbled softly. “Remember this: he is your teacher. Two hundred years ago, he was first in both lists at the Lantern Festival examinations. He is one of the Three Excellencies of the Tang, the founder of the Shanglin Garden, and known as the Hermit of Azure Lotus, Li Bai.”

At this, a faint smile played on the Libationer’s lips as the memory of that white-robed figure from two centuries past flickered in his mind. A rare glimmer of contentment shone in his eyes as he spoke in a low voice,

“Li Bai—untainted by the mire, blooming in purest white.”

“As one grows old, one comes to cherish lively company. Today, I have called you here, you young ones, to keep this old man company and ease my weariness. I wonder, would you mind listening to my ramblings?” the Libationer said, closing his eyes.

The three were momentarily stunned, but dared not refuse. To hear the teachings of the Libationer was a lifelong wish for countless scholars of the Tang.

“My lord Libationer, do you mean to instruct the three of us?” Yang Zixu summoned his courage to ask, for such an honor was beyond his wildest dreams.

“You must be the grandson of Yang Bingtian. That little rascal’s grandson has already grown so tall,” the Libationer said, opening his eyes to study Yang Zixu with approval.

“Yes, that is my grandfather,” Yang Zixu replied, his usual mischievous manner replaced by utter seriousness.

“Not bad—you have the makings of a great general, not unworthy of your grandfather’s old reputation. But you should visit those pleasure quarters less; youthful pursuits are one thing, but once you enter military service, your duty is to the state,” the Libationer admonished with a slight nod.

Yang Zixu flushed crimson, dismayed that even his escapades had reached the ears of the Libationer in this sacred temple.

“I hear that in the recent northern campaign, you slew three enemy generals. At Giant Spirit Pass, you brought glory to the Tang army. Soon, the Ministry of War’s decree will arrive, but do not let it make you arrogant. The future of the Heavenly Strategy rests with you young men,” the Libationer said, turning to Chu Ge with solemnity.

“I will remember your teachings, my lord,” Chu Ge replied, deeply moved. Though he had performed admirably in the recent campaign, he never imagined it would earn him a commission from the Ministry of War. Yet the Libationer’s words left no doubt—a general’s seal awaited him, and the hand behind it was the Libationer’s own.

“When one grows old, one becomes prone to chatter. If you three do not mind, let this old man tell you a story.”

The Libationer paused, sighing softly, his tone calm and steady.

Before the three could respond, the Libationer began to speak...