Chapter 73: A First Meeting Between the Young Ones; The Crown Prince Recovers

“Who are you?” Li Lingyue eyed Shangguan Wan’er warily.

Shangguan Wan’er had been brought back by Li Wei. Her duties were light; she merely tidied his study and did little else, with the rest of her time left to read. She was now hunched over by the bookshelf, engrossed in a book.

“Who are you, then?”

“I am the little princess.”

“I greet the little princess,” Shangguan Wan’er replied, bowing in submission. She had met few noble ladies in the Yeting Palace, but many harsh servants. She had no confidence to confront Li Lingyue.

“I ask you, why have you come to the Eastern Palace, and why to my brother’s bedchamber?”

“The Crown Prince summoned me. He called for a servant.”

“Then why aren’t you working? Why are you hiding here, reading?”

Li Wei stepped out, gently pulling Li Lingyue aside. “Little sister, don’t be rude. I permitted her to read.”

“Brother, I don’t like her,” Li Lingyue pouted, clinging to him.

It was clearly the mindset of a child. All the servants in the Eastern Palace were older than her, so she felt no threat. But this young girl, close to her own age and delicate in appearance, easily inspired affection and fear that she might share in Li Wei’s love.

“Why don’t you like her? She’s only a year older than you, and can recite at least eighty or ninety poems from the Book of Songs, and much of the Departure of Sorrow. You ought to learn from her.” Shangguan Wan’er’s brilliance, especially in literature, astonished Li Wei.

She had been taught by her mother, Lady Zheng, although married to the son of Shangguan Yi and hailing from the famous Zheng family of Xingyang in Henan, she was still a woman, and could only impart so much. Besides, she had to labor daily. Leisure time was scarce; even at night, with the oil lamp burning, she had to extinguish it punctually.

The books themselves were stolen. Yet, the knowledge this girl acquired far surpassed what the younger aristocratic students in the Hongwen Academy were learning.

There was only one word for it: genius.

Li Wei, moved by her talent, nearly exempted her from all duties. During his feigned illness, he would have brought Shangguan Wan’er to his side, even to the Chongwen Academy, so she could listen to lectures.

Li Lingyue was skeptical. She pulled the Book of Songs from the shelf. The current edition wasn’t like later books, but was copied in brush script and bound in several small volumes. Li Lingyue opened the section “The Airs,” and said, “Shangguan Wan’er, recite ‘The Millet’ for me.”

It was the first poem of “The King’s Airs,” and one Shangguan Wan’er knew well.

She was still somewhat afraid, but began reciting, “The millet grows lushly…”

Li Lingyue quizzed her on seven or eight poems; only two were not fully recited, and even then, she managed parts of them. Li Lingyue was at a loss. If she herself were to recite poems from “The Airs,” she might manage seven or eight at most, and now she was randomly picking for Wan’er to recite.

But among the fifteen poems in “The Airs,” their length was modest, and it was exactly these that Wan’er remembered best. When it came to “The Odes” and “The Hymns,” their verses grew longer and fewer could be recalled, at least not recited in full. Li Wei knew this, put the Book of Songs back, and looked at Li Lingyue’s pouting lips. “Do you believe now?”

“Brother…”

“Don’t worry, let me tell you something. In a few days, I will go to the Eastern Capital.”

“Brother, I don’t want you to go.” Li Lingyue protested.

Still shaken, she had stayed in the palace for days, now precocious enough to understand a few things. If Li Wei hadn’t called her over, she would have continued hiding.

Yet, hearing that Li Wei was leaving, she grew anxious. She hadn’t finished listening to Journey to the West. Besides, her brother was wonderful; when she was in danger, he was the first to come to her rescue. Palace talk said he’d been scolded by their father for doing so. She felt indignant—what was their father thinking? Saving her was wrong?

Her little mind turned over, and she said, “Brother, I want to go to the Eastern Capital too.”

“No, Father sent me to the Eastern Capital. He didn’t say you could go.” Still, Li Wei felt secretly pleased.

Li Lingyue’s importance had been discussed before any trouble arose; Liu Rengui had said, “Pull up the ladder after her, the little one is strong.” After the incident, Yao Yuanchong and others repeatedly urged to take the little princess to Luoyang.

“Brother, I want to see the peonies in Luoyang.”

Now was the best time to see them. But this was just an excuse; the peonies were famous in Luoyang, but not unique to it—there were some in Zhongnan Mountain, and even in Chang’an, a few in the Eastern Palace now blooming fiercely, though in small numbers.

“No.”

“Brother,” Li Lingyue clung to Li Wei, like a koala, shaking his elbow.

“All right, you win. If you wish to go, I’ll take you, but you must study diligently, and at least reach half of Wan’er’s abilities.”

“Yay!” Li Lingyue jumped with joy. As a lively girl, she was thrilled to travel, especially not with her parents, but with her kind big brother, promising much fun. She skipped over to Shangguan Wan’er and gestured, “You’re a year older than me. Why aren’t you taller?”

Unable to compete in poetry, she resorted to comparing height.

Shangguan Wan’er merely bowed her head in silence.

………………………………………………

Xu Yue and others were transferred from the capital, bidding the Crown Prince farewell one by one.

Aware of his father’s caution, Li Wei used his illness as an excuse to decline their visits. Sometimes, meeting them was not merely courtesy, but could jeopardize their future. Of course, Xu Yue and the rest didn’t know this.

Once most were gone, another imperial edict arrived.

It concerned the Grand Yü Sacrifice. The edict stated that, due to the Crown Prince’s illness, the Western Capital’s Grand Yü Sacrifice was canceled and moved to the Eastern Capital, to be presided over by Emperor Li Zhi and Empress Wu Zetian. It was a normal decree, but issued only after Xu Yue and others departed, making it intriguing.

Yao Chong said that Li Wei’s association with Di Renjie and Liu Rengui was not enough to anger the emperor. But the imperial guards stationed in the capital were a source of concern.

The emperor judged that the guards’ discontent was military in nature; otherwise, more would have been transferred.

Li Wei could only smile wryly. He had thought his father’s anger made him forget the Grand Yü Sacrifice, but in truth, he was afraid that its cancellation might spark misunderstanding, especially with Xu Yue and his trusted guards still in the city. So the edict was delayed until they left.

Who says the emperor is weak?

Ancient texts claim royal affection is the thinnest—it is true…

This journey to Luoyang will not be simple.

Yet, the Grand Yü Sacrifice was also a weight on Li Wei’s heart. With its cancellation, his recovery was imminent.

He invited Master Kuiji once more. Not only him, but the abbot of Daci’en Temple as well. This time, Kuiji saw it as both a charitable act and an opportunity for the Faxiang School, inviting many eminent monks.

There were many high monks, but few could debate the scriptures with Kuiji. Tang Monk had bested all in India, and few in Tang could match him. Thus, most were from the Faxiang School. Others, from Tiantai, Faxiang, or Chan, either too far to come or, after consideration, saw no point and stayed away.

In the folk realm, the two major disciples of Chan Master Hongren, Shenxiu and Huineng, were already making their mark, north and south.

Entering the bedchamber, Kuiji asked directly, “Will you not attend the ceremony, Your Highness?”

He knew the Crown Prince had been summoned to the Eastern Capital, and that his illness was feigned for fear of disaster. Now, they would conduct rites for his recovery, and soon he would depart.

This was an imperial affair, but the ceremony lacked the Crown Prince, and thus was incomplete.

Even if I don’t go to the Eastern Capital, I wouldn’t attend your ceremony. Still, as this venerable monk had made himself a shield, voluntarily, Li Wei felt guilty. He picked up his brush and wrote a verse:

“The Buddha dwells within; seek him not in vain. Spirit Mountain lies within your heart. Everyone has a Spirit Tower; cultivate beneath its shade.”

This verse carried a strong Chan flavor, emphasizing self-cultivation, yet did not contradict the Faxiang School’s teachings. Seeds, after all, lie within everyone’s heart. He also wrote, “Do not neglect good because it is small, nor commit evil because it is slight. Begin with the smallest acts.”

Seeking to cultivate Buddhism, it is not merely a matter of chanting, but of holding it in your heart every moment, always striving for goodness.

These lines would greatly enhance the ceremony, and were a token of gratitude to the compassionate monk.

Kuiji pondered, then said, “Your Highness, this is great virtue. Indeed, you possess wisdom.”

He sighed deeply. Even with wisdom, it mattered little. Should he report to Li Zhi that the Crown Prince has wisdom and ought not to be Crown Prince, but a little monk instead?

Kuiji alone was weak, but many monks together were powerful. With so many monks chanting for soul and spirit, the next day the Crown Prince could run in the Eastern Palace.

……………………………………

Hearing this, Dai Zhide, handling affairs in the Daming Palace, was taken aback. “Recovered so quickly?” He pondered, then turned to Zhang Wenguan. “Master Zhang, the Crown Prince is coming of age.”

“Indeed,” Zhang Wenguan replied.

“For the nation and the dynasty, this is a good thing. Yet, in future, we may find ourselves caught in the middle, harder to act.”

“Master Dai, don’t worry. The Crown Prince is benevolent and will understand our difficulties, and grasp the bigger picture. The incident at Helan Minzhi’s mansion was but a moment’s anger. It cannot be taken seriously.”

“Master Zhang, the traveler never intends to get wet, but spring rain soaks his clothes nonetheless. The older the Crown Prince grows, the wiser and more assertive he becomes… Soon, it will not be up to you, not to me, not even to the emperor or empress. Who knows how the future will unfold…”

PS: I spoke at length with the editor, even planned to postpone the launch until next month. The boss, Luo Da, agreed, but in the end, the site pushed ahead strongly. I misspoke and feel quite ashamed, so I’ll try to update the public version more. Also, I’ll see if there’s some way to repay everyone, such as rewarding good reviews, or after launching, posting some free chapters, or dragging out the endings a bit. Two more updates to go, but it’s getting late.