Chapter 27: The Imperial Farmland in the Eastern Suburbs, Cries Along the Way

It was not that she wished to die; she was being forced.

At home, her parents, upon seeing Li Wei granted the authority of the Grand Sacrificial Priest, grew anxious and inevitably spoke words that were both harsh and careless. She herself had begun to awaken somewhat, already ashamed and regretful. Today, too, she had been coerced by her parents. The grand rite was upon them, particularly the ritual of the State Fields; though a mere formality, the Crown Prince was required to personally till the land—this detail could not be neglected. Despite the severe drought and warm weather, wasn’t the Crown Prince’s health rather frail? She had to pay heed to that.

She was not unintelligent, but Halin Minzhi had led her astray. Fearing that Li Wei might refuse to meet her, she hurriedly embroidered a short poem, hoping to dissolve the resentment in his heart. She did not expect that upon arrival, the humiliation she suffered would be even greater.

She was not lacking in beauty, her family was distinguished, she was well-read and courteous, and she possessed exquisite embroidery skills. Had it not been for this betrothal, many prominent families in the capital would have sought her hand. Her temperament was inevitably tinged with pride.

In this moment, she truly felt the urge to die.

Li Wei was startled, leaping up and grabbing the treasured sword. Even so, the tip of the blade pierced Yang Min’s body, and at the same time, Li Wei’s palm was cut. Fortunately, Li Wei’s intervention shifted the blow to her shoulder.

Bier quickly called out, “Summon the imperial physician!”

Watching Li Wei carry Yang Min to the bed, seeing the blood, Yang Min began to tremble, and Bier admonished, “Young Lady Yang, how you once treated the Crown Prince is not my place to question. But the Crown Prince is about to travel to the eastern suburbs for the ritual at the State Fields. If you come to harm, what will become of him?”

Li Wei no longer cared for her feelings. With a tearing sound, he ripped her skirt open, exposing her pale shoulder, and pressed a silk cloth to the wound. As he glanced at Bier, he thought to himself, this is what a good wife should be.

Yang Min simply shivered, saying nothing.

The imperial physician entered, examined their injuries, and his curiosity flared, though he knew better than to ask. Before he could speak, Li Wei instructed, “Today’s events must not be leaked.”

“I understand, Your Highness,” he replied, tending to their wounds. Yang Min’s action had been dangerous, but the wound was not deep thanks to swift intervention. By contrast, Li Wei’s hand was badly cut, as he had grabbed the blade in haste.

Once both were bandaged, the physician departed.

Li Wei sat down and said, “In ancient times, Yan Zi privately advised his wife and husband. Grandmother admonished Duke Zheng for the sake of righteousness. No one is flawless, not even sages. Even the wise err at times. Bier has often counseled me, but always for my own good. Yet, if a husband is indifferent when his wife is humiliated, how must she feel? If a wife is indifferent, or even joins others in belittling her husband, how must he feel?”

“I—I…”

“I always thought you were young and so I indulged you, but indulgence has its limits.” Though this statement was not entirely true, Li Hong—Li Wei—did genuinely like and tolerate Yang Min. He continued, meaningfully, “To gain something, one must give something; to win someone’s heart, one must offer one’s own. Words and poems are not enough. ‘The bright moon rises over the sea, and we share this moment from afar. Lovers lament the long night, yearning through the evening. Extinguishing the candle, cherishing the moonlight; donning robes, feeling the dew. Unable to offer it to you, I return to bed, dreaming of a joyful reunion. Is affection deep or shallow? Farewell at South Ford, autumn winds sigh. A glance breaks the heart—leave, and do not look back. Is devotion profound or fleeting? Passion seems absent, only laughter falters before the wine; the candle weeps for parting, shedding tears for you till dawn. Is it not poignant? To write it is not necessarily to feel it. True sentiment must be nurtured with the heart; if you do so, I will see it. Do you understand?”

He grew impatient, for he was about to depart and needed to prepare in the Hall of Virtue.

But Yang Min spoke, nearly causing him to stumble, “Your Highness, could you repeat those three poems? I did not hear them clearly.”

“Enough with poems! In short, treat me as you wish me to treat you. Let this never happen again. If Mother hears of it, she will not be pleased.”

His mother was unyieldingly strong; she had always fought for what she wanted, never resorting to such acts.

“And I detest melodrama—crying, screaming, and threatening suicide.” With that, he prepared to leave.

He was not wrong, though Yang Min had never resorted to such theatrics; if only he could be gentler in tone, perhaps he would have met her sooner.

Yet this lesson proved effective.

Yang Min whispered, “Henceforth, I will treat Your Highness sincerely. Whatever you command, I will obey.”

Li Wei wiped the sweat from his brow, lightheaded. That was not his intention; he wanted her to act from the heart, not to turn her into a docile servant. Still, if she truly managed it, perhaps… someday…

But thinking of Xu Yanbo, doubts crept into his mind once more.

His voice softened anew. “You are wounded; rest before returning. I have business to attend.”

“Mm,” she nodded obediently.

…

He led the civil and military officials out of the Eastern Palace, proceeded to the Hall of Supreme Polarity, and boarded the ceremonial plowing carriage.

At last, the procession left the palace.

The streets were crowded with people, but Li Wei was inside the imperial coach, unseen by the masses.

Upon seeing the yellow sand laid on the road, Li Wei suddenly said, “Stop.”

The coachman immediately reined in the horses. Li Wei stepped down and touched the thickness of the sand.

Dai Zhizhi came forward to explain, “Though the sand is thin, Your Highness knows the state of the treasury.”

Li Wei shook his head, gazing at the dense crowds flanking the street. Most wore ragged clothes; many were refugees. Originally, they were to be driven away, but Li Wei forbade it. He said, “Minister Dai, Father said the ritual must be conducted with sincerity. If rulers like the tyrants of Shang and Xia were to offer lavish sacrifices, Heaven would not accept them.”

“You speak truly, Your Highness.”

“Frankly, I wish all this sand could be spared, the savings used to help more refugees.” These words came from the heart. Whether gods existed, he did not know. In the vast universe, the lives on earth were but a drop in the ocean—humans even less so. Who would care about a minor ritual in Chang’an? Yet he dared not say more; certain rites had to be observed.

Someone in the crowd asked, “What did the Crown Prince just say?”

Chang’an’s main street was wide, the crowd thick, but separated by soldiers, so the distance from Li Wei was considerable. His voice was not loud, so even those nearby might not hear clearly. Still, some sharp ears caught his words.

They spread quickly.

Dai Zhizhi said, “The Crown Prince speaks wisely. Heaven’s great virtue will surely see the Crown Prince’s benevolence.”

Li Wei made no comment, returned to the coach. Suddenly, cheers erupted from the crowd: “The Crown Prince is benevolent! Heaven blesses the Great Tang!”

The sound surged like ocean waves, growing louder as the procession moved on.

Li Wei thought, this was not a cheer, but another step toward the abyss. Yet his eyes grew moist, and he stood for a long while before returning to the coach.

The carriages traveled east.

Leaving the eastern city gate, passing Daxing Garden, they soon reached the outskirts.

He had been struck by the sights in the city, but outside the walls, it was even more shocking: crowds of peasants huddled everywhere, faces yellow and gaunt. Occasionally, clusters of fresh graves dotted the dry spring earth, starkly glaring. Fortunately, Li Zhi had not concealed the crisis for the sake of merit, nor driven the refugees away, but had set up porridge stalls outside the city.

Yet the outcome was clear from the new graves.

The ministers remained silent, the procession moved somberly.

Suddenly, cries rang out nearby. Li Wei leaned out and saw three or four children and a woman weeping on the ground—pitiful in the extreme. He knew their plight, but seeing it firsthand, his heart could not bear it. “Stop,” he commanded.

The procession halted again. Li Wei approached and saw a robust middle-aged man’s corpse on the ground, but like the others, he was only skin and bones—likely starved to death. Many refugees stood nearby, numb from seeing death daily. The orphaned children and widow sobbed, but no one reacted.

He asked a nearby elder, “Sir, how did the eldest of this family die?”

“Your servant greets the Crown Prince,” the old man replied, bowing. “He was from our village. When the drought became unbearable, he brought his family to the capital to beg for food. He was tall and strong, with a large appetite, but he could not bear to see his children go hungry. He gave them his share of porridge every day, and so collapsed. He was a good man, but Heaven is blind.”

Li Wei did not feel the great benevolence the people attributed to him. He could not even guarantee his own survival—how could he speak of the nation? As for his ethnicity, perhaps a third of his blood was Xianbei, though his soul was pure Han. But could future generations of Han truly claim pure Huaxia blood?

Still, he was not callous. Such misery stirred his tender heart.

After standing for a time, he said, “Someone, bury the deceased and arrange for the widow and children to live in the Imperial Estate.”

The man was dead; a woman, alone with three or four children—how could they survive?

The Imperial Estate was royal land. In Tang times, aside from the land held by great landlords, some was awarded to meritorious officials. The remainder was perpetual land, nominally for the peasants, but in reality, the state’s. The Imperial Estate belonged to the royal family, found not only in Chang’an, but also in Luoyang, Taiyuan, and elsewhere. The Official Estate was even more widespread, owned by the court.

Life in the Imperial Estate was not necessarily easy, but better than waiting for death outside the city.

Dai Zhizhi whispered, “One family is manageable, but there are too many outside the city.”

“I know, but to see and do nothing—how can sincerity be claimed?”

The remark left Dai Zhizhi speechless.

It was not an onerous request; arrangements were quickly made. The woman thanked him profusely, and the nearby peasants prostrated themselves, murmuring, “The benevolent Crown Prince.”

Li Wei shook his head, saying, “Rise, all of you. I cannot bear it; do not call me benevolent. You drink thin porridge, barely surviving, while I in the Eastern Palace enjoy fish and meat daily, attended by countless servants—how can I claim virtue?”

“Your Highness, how could commoners compare themselves to the Crown Prince?”

“You are human, so am I. Seeing your plight, I am ashamed. Do not call me benevolent.” With that, he turned and immediately boarded the carriage. The peasants were simple-hearted, but their simplicity only made him more uneasy.

The procession reached the State Fields altar. The ministers arranged themselves, set the tools and positions. The ritual cups and symbolic vessels were placed to honor the God of Agriculture; offerings were set upon the altar. The ceremonial attendants took cups, stands, washing vessels, baskets, and veils, ascending the altar. The master of ceremonies guided the Grand Steward to inspect the kitchen, the usher led the Inspector to examine the sacrificial meat, the Chief Steward wielded the imperial blade to cut the offering, the priest collected the blood and hair.

The ceremony was lengthy. From Li Wei’s arrival, the ritual commenced; after a brief rest at the palace, the main rites began. Before dawn, yet another, even more complex ceremony unfolded.

Music played, the Chief Ritualist bowed, Li Wei followed, like a wooden figure, bowing again. Then the officials bowed, leading Li Wei to the burial site. The central burial site—the focal point of the ritual—was empty, for the Emperor himself was absent; Li Wei sat to the side. Another round of rites ensued, before the actual plowing ceremony began.

The State Fields ritual was both a sacrifice and a gesture of authority. Naturally, veteran officials and commoners were invited to witness. This time, too, the crowd included elders, peasants, and refugees. As Li Wei walked to the fields, another wave of cheers erupted.

In truth, the ceremonial plowing was but a formality. Ancient custom required the Emperor to turn the soil nine times, but for fear of mishap, the Ritual Officer had reduced it to three—just three pushes of the plow, and the Emperor had fulfilled his duty.

Yet, hearing the cheers near and far, Li Wei felt a pang in his heart.

After three turns, the plowman and attendants came to take over the plow and horse.

But Li Wei suddenly swung the whip and said, “Father once said, ‘I lead by example and must do more. Regretfully, I cannot finish a thousand acres.’ Today, in this drought, the court spends heavily; this money could save hundreds or thousands of lives. If I merely go through the motions, where is the sincerity? Do not stop me!”

The ritual officers were stunned—usually, the Crown Prince was composed. Why this change?

Li Wei gripped the plow, swung the whip again. The plow horse, sensing something unusual, strained forward, dragging the plow.

As Li Wei’s thin figure moved awkwardly through the furrows in the morning light, the field fell silent. Many eyes glistened with tears.