Chapter Thirteen: Establishing Authority in the Palace, Guidance from the General

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The three chief physicians were aggrieved. One of the women spoke, “Your Highness, we have done nothing. Why must you strike your servants?”

“Why do you think I would strike you? Why have you not yet treated Bie’er? Are you enjoying the spectacle? Are you jealous of her too?”

Only then did the three realize the gravity of the situation, and hurriedly led the tearful Bie’er into the inner hall.

Li Wei turned to the chief scribe, who managed the seals of the inner palace, and ordered, “Go fetch the seal of the Chief Attendant.”

The chief scribe sensed trouble, hesitated, but had no choice but to bring forth the seal of Cao, the Chief Attendant. Li Wei declared, “From this moment, Bie’er will be the new Chief Attendant.”

The Chief Supervisor spoke haltingly, “Your Highness, though Cao made a mistake, such punishment seems rather harsh.”

Within the inner palace, Li Wei held authority to make decisions. By regulation, Cao indeed had the right to punish Bie’er, and Li Wei could likewise reassign personnel. Yet sentiment often outweighed the law, so while Cao erred, Li Wei could not easily replace a sixth-rank Chief Attendant.

Li Wei did not answer, coldly eyeing the Supervisor, whose very surname he did not know.

The longer he stayed in the Eastern Palace, the more he learned. Take the five hundred bolts of silk, for instance—not a heavy sum—but Supervisors and Chief Stewards repeatedly advised against it. Bie’er, afraid of angering Li Wei, concealed the truth. But the Steward’s actions carried a greater meaning; after all, Li Zhi himself lived modestly. But according to custom, what would Li Wei do with this silk? Repair his parents’ relationship? With their bond deteriorating, could the crown prince’s position survive?

Even five hundred bolts, or a thousand, should be produced at once.

Ultimately, because Li Hong was too detached, distant from these servants, his benevolence was taken for weakness, and the servants grew arrogant. Yet this bookish Li Hong, using his frail chest to block Old Wu’s cannon, had no cunning, not even the skill to bribe, nor did he strive to strengthen his health, causing envy toward Bie’er.

Upon learning the truth, Li Wei did not dwell on it; they were merely petty people. His main concern now was to please Wu Zetian. He had not expected these petty people to go so far as to harm Bie’er, which ignited his fury.

The Supervisor dared not utter a word.

Li Wei continued, “It so happens the inner palace lacks staff; by rule, there should be two Supervisors. What is your name?”

He pointed to the informant, the maid surnamed Liu. She stepped forward with delight, “Your Highness, your servant’s name is Liu Qun.”

These wretched servants had chilled his heart. He pressed on, “Very well, Liu Qun, from today you are the second Supervisor. Chief Steward, start auditing the accounts at once. I have little trust in these people.”

Everyone’s face turned pale, especially the women.

Li Wei glanced at the frightened servants, then at the wailing Chief Attendant on the floor. He thought, now that he was Crown Prince and his tuberculosis was improving, there was no need to sit and wait for death. He would begin by reforming the inner palace.

Liu Qun immediately knelt and cried out, “Thank you, Your Highness, for your kindness. I will serve you diligently.”

“Your loyalty is your due.” Loyalty was uncertain; her informant’s act was for personal gain, yet without it, Bie’er might not have survived. Sometimes, one must buy virtue dearly, setting an example for the others. Balancing kindness and severity is the best medicine for subordinates. As for the audit, regardless of how much was embezzled, Li Hong paid no mind, nor would Li Wei. The audit would provide a pretext for future personnel changes, a cover for parental inquiries. These servants were beyond control, let alone their petty thefts.

Just then, a eunuch hurried over, “Your Highness, Bie’er calls for you.”

He went over. Bie’er lay on the bed, her body bruised. The physicians had to undress her; seeing Li Wei approach, she flushed at her nakedness. Yet seeing her wounds—deep bloody gashes even across her tender chest, with two more trailing down to her private parts, blood beads clinging to her delicate skin—Li Wei felt no desire, only anguish.

She lay there like a wounded night bird, trembling in the biting northern wind of winter.

He walked over, heart aching. “I received the news too late.”

Yet Bie’er smiled, radiant, “Your Highness, with your care, even if I died today I would be happy in the afterlife. But, Your Highness, these are troubled times. By law, before the Crown Prince is formally established, crimes in the palace, wards, temples, and offices are judged by the Supreme Court. You may cane the servants, but must not kill them.”

Li Wei gently stroked her cheek. The poor girl had suffered so much, yet still thought of him. His nose stung with emotion.

Bie’er’s actions finally gave direction and motivation to his formerly idle nature.

He heeded her words, spared the life of Chief Attendant Cao, though punished her severely.

Li Wei’s outburst poured cold water over the inner palace, awakening the eunuchs and maids to the truth: the Crown Prince, sickly or not, was a tiger not to be trifled with.

Yet this was only the beginning.

Soon, Liu Qun approached, troubled. “Your Highness, I am unable to audit the accounts.”

“Show me.”

They went to the storeroom, where shelves were piled high with ledgers. The Supervisor and several maids watched with mocking eyes, waiting for a spectacle.

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Li Wei sneered, “On the brink of disaster, yet you still don’t repent.”

He asked Liu Qun, “How do you calculate the accounts?”

He had spent many days in this era, absorbed in the classics, paying little mind to such matters.

“With counting rods,” Liu Qun replied, producing slender wooden sticks.

“Why not use an abacus?”

“Abacus?” Liu Qun was puzzled, then recalled, “Your Highness, do you mean counting beads?”

Who knew whether it was beads or an abacus at this time. Li Wei said, “Bring it here for me to see.”

“Wait here, Your Highness,” Liu Qun ran off and soon returned with a device resembling an abacus—upper and lower rows, though four beads below.

“Why not use this?”

“It’s inconvenient. Counting rods are better.”

“Have someone modify it: two beads above, five below. I’ll teach you a method—calculating with beads is much faster.”

Liu Qun, half convinced, left again. Craftsmen were available in the Eastern Palace; the modification was easy, and soon she brought back a finished abacus.

Li Wei had already written out the mnemonic for its use and handed it to her. “Try this.”

Liu Qun, though clumsy, could sense the improvement. It was far more convenient than counting rods. She exclaimed with joy, “Your Highness, this method is excellent.”

Li Wei had prepared the abacus to facilitate the audit, not realizing its future significance. Liu Qun, too, had no such foresight. Thus, the perfected abacus and its mnemonic appeared centuries ahead of their time.

Li Wei said, “Let me also teach you a method for auditing accounts.”

He drew a table and taught her the techniques of reconciliation and adjustment.

Liu Qun continued her awkward learning, but the sharp Supervisor’s expression changed at last.

Seeing her face, Li Wei understood, and called some guards to watch the storeroom until the accounts were clear.

This dashed the last hopes of certain people; the Supervisor’s face turned ashen.

………………………………

Yet the palace records were many, and with Liu Qun’s inexperience, results would take time.

But this audit left some in the inner palace anxious and fearful.

Li Wei himself was unconcerned. Though he was a figurehead prince, he was of a different order than these servants. If he could find a few dozen trusted aides, he would cease meddling.

A day passed. Bie’er slept, frightened and battered. After all, she was still a child.

He gently pulled up her spring quilt and stepped out. The crowd of eunuchs and maids fell silent upon seeing him, heads bowed, not daring to speak.

Li Wei snorted in disgust and made his way to the Hall of Literature. Suddenly, outside, Liu Ren Gui was announced.

“Invite him in,” Li Wei said, and went out to greet him. In this Tang dynasty, he knew little of Dai Zhi De or Yang Si Jian, but Liu Ren Gui’s name was thunderous. Yet, to avoid his parents’ suspicions, he had not sought friendship in the Hall of Prolonged Excellence.

They met, entered the inner hall, and sat.

Liu Ren Gui spoke aloud, “I heard the poem Your Highness wrote: ‘The sounds of the frontier rise with the bugle, in a thousand peaks, smoke and sunset close the lonely city. A cup of muddy wine, home ten thousand miles away; not yet engraved on Yanran, no way to return. The Qiang pipes linger, frost covers the earth, sleepless men, generals with white hair, soldiers in tears.’ Ha! Well written, capturing the hearts of the border soldiers.”

He touched his white-streaked hair.

“General Liu, you flatter me. Poetry is a lesser art; the true sacrifice is made by border soldiers, who fight for the Tang dynasty and the people’s peace. Like you, General Liu, traversing East and West, a lifetime over thousands of miles. That is what I most admire.”

Yet he wondered, how had the poem reached his ears?

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His words struck Liu Ren Gui’s heart, who grew more fond of Li Wei.

After a moment, Liu Ren Gui said, “The Crown Prince is the one who understands us warriors best.”

“As it should be.”

The more humble Li Wei appeared, the more Liu Ren Gui liked him. “Does Your Highness enjoy Go?”

“I can’t say I’m fond, but I play from time to time.”

“Shall we play a game?”

“I dare not refuse.”

“Your Highness is modest,” Liu Ren Gui said, stroking his beard with admiration.

A eunuch brought a jade Go set. Liu Ren Gui took the white stones and started first.

Li Wei, in his previous life, played often and was reasonably skilled, though far from the level of great masters. But Tang dynasty players were weaker (as a Go master once told me while writing “Playing Tang”). Liu Ren Gui’s skill was decent, but not at national master level.

At this time, etiquette was prized in Go, but after a few dozen moves, Li Wei’s fierce style left Liu Ren Gui at a loss. Frustrated, he cried, “Your Highness, this is supposed to be civil! Your moves are utterly shameless!”

Seeing the renowned general bested, Li Wei laughed and paused, saying, “General Liu, let me ask—isn’t Go much like military strategy?”

In the Han dynasty, Go was once scorned for its competitiveness, but later, Cao Cao saw its resemblance to warfare, and it became widespread. Li Wei’s question left Liu Ren Gui momentarily puzzled.

Li Wei continued, “In warfare, orthodox and unorthodox tactics complement each other, with orthodoxy as the main, unorthodoxy as the auxiliary. Only then does strategy have depth. If one relies solely on orthodoxy, the army becomes rigid and vulnerable. Compared to General Liu’s victorious campaigns, would you call my Go style shameless?”

Liu Ren Gui laughed again, pushing aside the stones, unable to continue. Any further and he risked collapse in the middle game. But Li Wei’s repeated praise delighted him.

“Your Highness, I am soon leaving Chang’an for Longzhou.”

“Oh, then let me wish you a fair wind in advance, General Liu.”

“Your Highness, don’t be so formal; after all, I still serve as a Left Assistant. But I did not come merely to play Go,” Liu Ren Gui glanced around, ensuring the eunuchs stood at a distance, and whispered, “I’ve heard of some events in the Eastern Palace.”

Li Wei straightened, knowing Liu Ren Gui referred not to the palace reform, for the inner palace was but a small institution, even if its staff were all replaced, it would matter little to him. That left only...

Liu Ren Gui continued, “Removing the ladder from the roof, small hands wield great strength.”

Li Wei recognized the story—a reference to Liu Cong, who feared his stepmother and sought advice from Zhuge Liang. But “small hands wield great strength”—that he did not understand. Yet Liu Ren Gui was a wise man, victorious in countless battles, and a senior minister far more experienced than Li Wei. He dared not ask, for this was a test; if he could not grasp the meaning, he was not worthy of Liu Ren Gui’s guidance.

Liu Ren Gui said, “Your Highness is wise; I am pleased.”

As a minister, such a statement was tantamount to tacit support for Li Wei—like Qin Qiong and Cheng Zhijie for Li Shimin, or Hou Junji for Li Chengqian. It brought both advantages and risks, but at this time, with Li Zhi and Wu Zetian in their prime, supporting Li Hong was far riskier.

Of course, it was only a word; true support was far off. But how many Liu Ren Gui are in the court?

Li Wei’s face showed excitement.

Liu Ren Gui gestured for discretion, “Your Highness, this matter is known only to you and me, heaven and earth.”

“Indeed.”

Then Liu Ren Gui spoke loudly, “Your Highness, I take my leave.”

Seeing Liu Ren Gui out, Li Wei felt the heavy clouds on his heart disperse. Quietly, he clenched his fist in resolve.