Chapter Twenty-Seven: Divergent Opinions

Tonight, the Upper Forest Garden was no longer as lively as in days past; the tumult of the day had yet to fully subside. If not for the intervention of a few level-headed generals within the garden, the restoration of its gates would never have proceeded so smoothly, nor would the attendants of the Shangguan family have been allowed to leave Chang’an Street unhindered.

The four who returned to the Celestial Strategy Manor each wore heavy thoughts. Li Fu and his companions were still ensnared by the tale told by the libationer, while Yang Ning’s curiosity over the day’s events gnawed at him. What exactly had occurred within the Ancestral Temple?

“Master, why did the libationer suddenly summon the three of you? What happened?” Yang Ning asked after a moment’s silence.

Li Fu regarded him solemnly. “Do you truly wish to know? It concerns the imperial family.”

Yang Ning gave a helpless, wry smile. “Is anything in the Eastern Capital untouched by the royal house? In the eight centuries since the Tang’s founding, what great event has not carried the shadow of the throne?”

Li Fu shook his head, about to refute Yang Ning, but then realized his words rang true. In the end, most of the upheavals in these eight hundred years traced back to the authority of the crown.

From Emperor Taizong to the Holy Empress, and now to the present sovereign—whose hands were not stained with blood? The throne, cold and unfeeling, seemed a bewitched fruit, exposing the darkest, most ruthless facets of human nature.

Had the tale not come from the libationer’s own lips, who could have imagined a man’s own son would turn poison against him? Who could have foreseen that the one lying each night at his side, his own consort, would be plotting her secret schemes in darkness? Even the ginseng broth brought to his lips was laced with her hand’s own powder.

Within an imperial house, warmth seemed a stranger.

Yang Ning listened quietly to the story retold by Li Fu, a chill settling within him.

A cold wind slipped through the unlatched window, setting the candle flames inside the room wavering. The four sat in a circle, none making any move to close the window.

“So, the events recorded in our histories are false? Taizong did not die of his old wound, and the Founding Emperor was not claimed by liver disease?” Yang Ning looked to Li Fu in shock.

Li Fu considered for a moment before answering, “Not entirely false. They merely concealed all the unspeakable methods.”

After a pause, Yang Ning asked, “Then why did the libationer speak of this to you today? Does the Crown Prince of old still have descendants living in the Eastern Capital?”

In the minds of the Tang aristocracy, there had only ever been one true Crown Prince: Li Chengqian, eldest son of Emperor Taizong.

The High Emperor and the Middle Emperor had both appointed crown princes, even the Holy Empress, when she ruled, had named more than one. Yet none met a good end. The crown prince’s diadem in the Tang was like a curse—whoever donned it was either executed or exiled.

Yang Zixu scratched his head, his eyes darting sideways as he asked Yang Ning, “Did it ever cross your mind that you might be that descendant?”

This time, Yang Ning refrained from thumping Yang Zixu on the head. Instead, he answered seriously, “Impossible. Royal offspring are registered at birth with a golden archive and jade tablet. Without the jade tablet issued by the Grand Ceremonial Office, one has no claim to royal blood. Even a lost scion must possess his ancestor’s tablet; otherwise, no amount of testimony from the Three Dukes, nor the libationer’s guarantee, would suffice for restoration. My adoptive father brought me back from Yanmen Pass. For as long as I can remember, I’ve never had such a thing. How could I be the one?”

Yang Zixu replied, “True enough. If you had anything of value, I’d have known long ago. It’s not as if we haven’t been together all these years.”

Jiang Moyuan, meanwhile, had been silent since entering the room, his gaze fixed steadily on Li Fu.

“What’s on your mind?” Li Fu finally noticed Jiang Moyuan’s look.

“Master, have you never considered that you might be that seed?” Jiang Moyuan’s voice was calm, soft, and distant, as if discussing something inconsequential.

None of the three, including Li Fu, understood his meaning.

“Sixteen years ago, the Grand Tutor withdrew from the Tang court. Yet on that night, he alone cut his way down Chang’an Street with sword in hand. No one knew why. After that night, three princes were forever erased from the Eastern Capital, and nearly half the court’s senior ministers were lost. And you, Master, had just turned sixteen, matching the Grand Tutor’s departure. Of course, that alone means little. But to be personally tutored by the Grand Tutor was always an honor reserved for the royal bloodline. Now, you hold the title of Young Master of the Celestial Strategy, heir to one of the realm’s most powerful commands. Within half a day, your name has spread through every noble house in the capital. The royal house has issued no word, as if tacitly accepting your status. Why is that? Have you ever wondered?”

“Jiang is right. But the appointment of every Celestial Strategy Master has always required a personal edict from His Majesty. This time, with such an uproar, the court cannot be ignorant of my appointment. If I were that seed, His Majesty would never allow me to ascend. So why is there no word at all from the palace? Is that not strange?” Li Fu shook his head. Jiang Moyuan’s argument simply did not hold. The Celestial Strategy Army was no private force of the Duke of Martial Valor; if he wished to pass command, it must be reported to the court and sanctioned by imperial decree. To privately command tens of thousands is treason—the Duke knows this well.

Marshal Xu, the god of loyal might, had already announced Li Fu’s position publicly on Chang’an Street. Without royal recognition, those words alone could destroy the Celestial Strategy. So why is the Daming Palace utterly silent?

The room fell into silence again. All four looked grim.

Li Fu ground his teeth and said coldly, “I am certainly not that seed. The ruthlessness of the imperial clan is not the work of a single generation. If the cost of one man’s ambition is endless bloodshed, perhaps it’s better that such seeds never sprout.”

Yang Ning understood, as did Jiang Moyuan, but Yang Zixu offered a different view.

“Don’t forget, that seed will sprout eventually, just as a lotus rises from the mud, no matter how long it’s buried—be it a hundred or a thousand years. When the soil and season are right, it will bloom. Besides, in his later years, Taizong did pass the throne to the late Crown Prince, only for it to be stolen.”

“And Taizong? Wasn’t his own throne taken by force?” Li Fu sighed, his tone calm and genuine.

Yang Zixu’s voice grew agitated, even mocking. “True, Taizong seized the throne, but the Founding Emperor left no edict naming his successor. Why shouldn’t Taizong take it? The late Crown Prince’s case is different—Taizong left a will.”

“Did he? That’s only what the libationer claims. None of us have seen it.” Li Fu lowered his head, his face unreadable.

“If the libationer says it exists, then it must. If it was found once, it may yet remain in this world. That’s right, it must! The Tang is not what it was when the Emperor first took the throne. The regional governors and stationed princes all command private armies. Of the five great protectorates, only four remain—hardly enough to defend the borders. The Emperor neglects state affairs; the Crown Prince governs, but he’s a fool. In a few short years, the empire is in chaos, and now there’s this system of military governorships! The Tang needs new blood—a full transfusion!” Yang Zixu’s voice sharpened with fury.

“Drastic medicine for a grave illness, stern law for disorder.” So read the Rites of Tang.

Yang Zixu’s meaning was precisely this.

In recent decades, the Tang had become moribund. The four remaining protectorates had not seen fresh troops in years, only old soldiers maintaining the posts. The garrison at Jade Gate had not rotated in ages. All the elite troops of the founding era were spent in the bitter wars for the throne. Even the elite Cangyun Xuanjia Cavalry was nearly disbanded.

All this because the Son of Heaven secluded himself in the palace, rarely attending to state. Every matter first passed through the Crown Prince before reaching the Emperor—if at all. It was said the Emperor did not even read some memorials, handing everything to the Prince. Even the matter of military governors passed without scrutiny, in full trust of the Crown Prince’s will.

Yang Ning patted Yang Zixu’s hand gently, signaling him to cease. To accuse someone of royal descent without proof could bring endless trouble.

“That’s enough. We’ll leave it for tomorrow. Zixu, don’t return home tonight. Stay here in the Celestial Strategy Manor,” Yang Ning said, standing and, after a thought, looking at Yang Zixu with seriousness.

Back in the room temporarily assigned to Li Fu at the academy, his eyelids grew heavy and sleep crept upon him.

…

In the Huaqing Palace, an antique table was laden with fruits, pastries, wine, and dishes.

The hall resounded with music, and countless graceful, fair-skinned, exquisite palace maids, clad in white robes, danced like celestial beings amid the clouds.

“Your Majesty—!”

As the palace dance continued at the center of the hall, a shrill, duck-like voice abruptly cut through the melody from outside.

A middle-aged eunuch entered, pale and beardless, hair gray, his features possessing an indefinable effeminacy. In his hands he bore a golden scroll, which he carried into the hall.

“What is it?” came a voice from above, so commanding that every soul within shivered to its core.

“It concerns the Celestial Strategy, Your Majesty…” The eunuch prostrated himself at the foot of the jade steps, offering the scroll with both hands, his manner full of fear and reverence.

“The Duke of Martial Valor has returned?” The Emperor glanced at him and waved the palace maids away, his tone measured.

“No, sire. There were two clashes today between the Celestial Strategy Manor and the Shangguan clan of the Divine Strategy on Chang’an Street, with heavy casualties—including the Marquis of Unswerving Loyalty. Moreover, the Marquis of Sacred Valor has returned to the capital. The libationer, after many years, has also sent word from the Ancestral Temple.”

The eunuch remained kneeling, trembling.

“Bring it here,” the Emperor said coldly.

“At once.”

Moments later, a colossal silhouette filled the hall—a presence without sound or movement, yet so overwhelming that the instant it appeared, it became the very center of heaven and earth. Sun, moon, mountains, rivers—all creation seemed to bow before its feet.

He stood like a deity at the heart of the palace, and in that moment, a profound solemnity descended. The silence was so complete, one could hear a pin drop.

“Send word to the Office of the Imperial Clan. Investigate the background of this Li Fu. Is he truly that man’s posthumous child? I want the truth. If he is, you need not return—you know what you must do. And… summon Wang Jiuling. I wish to see him.”

With a careless toss, the Emperor flung the golden scroll onto the table and spoke in a voice colder than ice.