Emperor Zhengyuan declared: “Princess Pingyang has defied the grain requisition edict. By law, she must be punished. Within three days, she will surrender an additional fifty thousand shi of grain!”
“Pingyang — return to your residence and reflect carefully on where you went wrong in this matter!”
Though these words were addressed to Li Shu, Emperor Zhengyuan’s gaze was fixed upon the Crown Prince.
The intent to kill the chicken to warn the monkey could not have been more transparent.
When he had finished, all the officials of the court fell silent and said nothing.
Emperor Zhengyuan rarely allowed emotion to show on his face. No one had ever seen him lose his temper so fiercely — and in that moment, they dimly recalled that this Emperor, in his days as an imperial prince, had ridden out on campaign in all directions, and was not a man to be trifled with.
More than thirty years of imperial rule had worn away the edges of his temper — but once someone dared to touch his bottom line… even an old tiger still had its fangs.
Emperor Zhengyuan’s eyes bore into the Crown Prince like a hawk’s — and the Crown Prince’s face went deathly pale on the spot, his body trembling in a way that was plainly visible to the naked eye.
Father Emperor had never lost his temper at him like this before.
He was the eldest son born of the Empress, and the Emperor and Empress had always been devoted to one another. People said the imperial family knew no human feeling — yet the Crown Prince, from his earliest years, had known nothing but a father’s love and a mother’s care.
Throughout all these years living in the Eastern Palace, he had almost forgotten — that the figure seated in the Taiji Palace was not merely his father, but the supreme sovereign of the realm.
The Crown Prince felt he was nearly losing control of himself, on the verge of kneeling before his father right there and then — when in the shadows, a hand reached out and gripped his arm firmly.
Cui Jinzhi’s expression was rigid as he looked at the Crown Prince. His face was grave, and he held the Crown Prince steady, refusing to let him buckle.
Feeling Cui Jinzhi’s grip on him, the Crown Prince steadied himself at once.
Right — he still had so many great clan allies around him. All these people formed a shield around him. As long as they remained at his side for another day, he would remain standing in the Eastern Palace for another day without falling.
*
Shen Xiao had seized the grain, and no one had expected the outcome to be what it was. Those who had arrived with such grandeur departed now with heads bowed and eyes downcast, filing out through the doors of the Hanyuan Hall.
Li Shu’s feet were in poor condition. She had only just risen from the round stool when she heard Emperor Zhengyuan say, “Old Second, stay a moment. Pingyang, wait outside for a while.”
He also instructed: “Shen Xiao, go change into a new official robe and then come see Us again.”
The Crown Prince had just stepped over the threshold of the Hanyuan Hall and nearly stumbled at this. Cui Jinzhi’s hands clamped around him like iron tongs and caught him.
The Crown Prince looked back — the Emperor had detained Old Second, yet conspicuously had not detained him. What did this mean…
Cui Jinzhi exerted a firm, hidden pressure and virtually lifted the Crown Prince out through the palace gate.
Li Shu limped her way out of the hall. The eunuchs who had been so deferential moments ago now hesitated, unwilling to come and support her.
Princess Pingyang had now fallen afoul of the Emperor’s displeasure. They feared that merely touching her would transfer that misfortune onto themselves.
Such was the calculating nature of people — it could hardly go further than this.
Li Shu emerged from the hall doors. The Crown Prince, whose face had only just been ashen, caught sight of her and was instantly ignited by rage, directing all the grievances he had suffered today upon her.
Pingyang — it was all Pingyang’s fault!
If Pingyang’s grain had not been seized, why would he have sent his people to impeach Shen Xiao? And if not for that, why would he have received such a dressing-down from his father?
The Crown Prince shot Li Shu a vicious glare.
Useless wretch!
Cui Jinzhi noticed that Li Shu had come out alone and was standing in the corridor, leaning against a column — her ankle still clearly paining her greatly.
He had not anticipated that the Emperor would take such a firm stance — even willing to stand against every great clan in court in order to protect Shen Xiao.
He had stumbled in this affair, and so had Little Sparrow.
Little Sparrow had been thoroughly humiliated today. Though the Emperor’s punishment had not been severe — merely the surrender of a few more tens of thousands of shi of grain — it nonetheless signaled a change in Emperor Zhengyuan’s attitude toward Princess Pingyang.
Having lost imperial favor, how far could a princess of illegitimate birth expect to go?
Li Shu had always been headstrong and proud. For something so shaming to have happened before the entire court — he did not know how badly she must be feeling inside at this moment.
Cui Jinzhi saw that her complexion was still pale, and his heart ached faintly. He released the Crown Prince’s arm and moved to go comfort her.
Li Shu, seeing him stir, raised her eyes and looked over.
But the Crown Prince suddenly seized Cui Jinzhi’s arm. “Come back to the Eastern Palace first. We suffered such a great blow today — you must quickly devise a countermeasure for me.”
Dragged by the Crown Prince, Cui Jinzhi’s focus returned at once to the affairs of court.
He glanced once at Li Shu — hesitated briefly — and in the end turned away, following the Crown Prince back toward the Eastern Palace.
Li Shu watched him walk away, and her gaze shifted to indifference.
Which weighed heavier and which lighter — Cui Jinzhi understood perfectly well.
She would always be the lighter side of the scale.
*
After everyone had departed, the Hanyuan Hall grew very quiet. Li Yan stood there in silence, and heard Emperor Zhengyuan on the dais suddenly let out a long sigh.
A memorial was tossed down from above. “Old Second, have a look — this is the memorial Shen Xiao submitted to Us.”
Li Yan did not know what the Emperor intended, and could only woodenly bend down to pick it up.
His mind was still in turmoil — the upheavals of this day had been too great. He had only just kicked Shen Xiao out with his own foot, and immediately after, his father the Emperor was to promote him to high office.
Li Yan held the memorial and stared at it for a long while, yet his eyes could not focus.
Seeing him in this state, Emperor Zhengyuan did not press him. He simply said, “Shen Xiao wrote of three matters in his memorial. First: the impeachment of Princess Pingyang for hoarding grain and wealth while disregarding the welfare of the people. Second: a self-admission of guilt for the grain seizure, with a voluntary offer to resign from office. Third: he has absolved you of all connection to the affair, stating that the seizure of grain was entirely his own doing, having nothing to do with Your Highness the Second Prince, and imploring Us not to hold it against you.”
These words slowly filtered into Li Yan’s ears. He did not reply to Emperor Zhengyuan but instead recalled what Shen Xiao had said to him outside the Chengmen Gate earlier.
“This official has said he will not implicate Your Highness, and will not do so. The more people who impeach this official, the safer Your Highness will be.”
Shen Xiao had calculated the outcome in advance, and had made it plain to him.
Alas — he had not understood.
Emperor Zhengyuan let out another sigh, and Li Yan raised his eyes. In his father’s gaze he could see disappointment.
Li Yan was skilled in both archery and horsemanship, valorous and courageous, bearing a strong resemblance to Emperor Zhengyuan in his youth. Among the many imperial sons born of lesser consorts, Emperor Zhengyuan had many men he could cultivate — but he had chosen Old Second above the rest.
In his heart, he did hold some fondness for Old Second — though not the same father-and-son warmth as with the Crown Prince, it was far more than he had given any of the other princes.
What a pity. Old Second, it turned out, was also nothing more than a man of empty martial valor — when truly faced with the treacherous intrigues of the court, he too had to bow his head to the great clans.
He was not a worthy heir.
Emperor Zhengyuan arrived at this thought and spoke with what seemed like a lament: “Shen Xiao is a loyal subject. You, however, are not a worthy master. Old Second — you may go.”
The Second Prince stumbled out of the Hanyuan Hall, his spirit broken. Li Shu, standing in the corridor, heard the sound of his footsteps and raised her eyes to look at him.
Her gaze carried a faint trace of pity.
Li Yan, at that moment, could not endure even the weight of a single glance. He quickly averted his eyes and fled down the stone steps as though in escape.
Li Shu watched the great scarlet and carved palace doors standing wide open, paused for a moment, and then dragged her foot slowly inside.
For others, the affairs of the Hanyuan Hall were finished. But for her, the private audience with her father was the true difficult battle of this day.
She had promised her father she would release grain — but her father had not anticipated the method she would use to do it.
Through all of this, she had taken the reprimand, yes — yet not only had she emerged cleanly from the Crown Prince’s circle, she had dealt the Crown Prince a quiet and hidden blow in return.
This was a worthy trade.
Li Shu’s scheme had deceived everyone — save only her father. And from the very beginning, she had had no intention of concealing anything from him.
Emperor Zhengyuan sat behind his desk. Earlier he had been every inch the Son of Heaven — his posture commanding and august. But now, with everyone gone, when Li Shu looked at him again, she found that he was actually deeply weary.
Father Emperor was old.
When Li Shu entered, Emperor Zhengyuan said nothing — he only stared at her, his gaze holding steady until she slowly sank to her knees.
“Your daughter comes to beg forgiveness from Father Emperor.”
“What is your offense?”
“Your daughter’s offense lies in failing to understand the principle of ‘one must not startle the tiger while trying to catch the mouse.’ Your daughter wished to help Father Emperor elevate men of humble birth and suppress the great clans — yet in the course of striking at the mice, she inadvertently damaged the vase.”
Emperor Zhengyuan heard this and his gaze suddenly sharpened. After a long silence, he let out a low sigh.
Since suppressing the Cui family — why had he not made a move against any of the other great clans in these past five years? Was it not all for the sake of the Eastern Palace?
Since the third son of the Cui family had attached himself to the Crown Prince and preserved the Cui family’s standing, all the great clans had understood that the Crown Prince and the Emperor held different views — the Crown Prince was on the side of the great clans.
Like locusts, they had swarmed into the Eastern Palace, elevating the Crown Prince higher and higher, while at the same time driving him further and further from the Emperor.
The Emperor wished to suppress the great clans — but the Crown Prince depended on them. Now, if the Emperor so much as touched a single hair on any great clan’s head, it was tantamount to touching the Crown Prince.
“One must not startle the tiger while trying to catch the mouse” — for these past several years, Emperor Zhengyuan had been shackled by precisely those eight characters.
“Father Emperor — cutting to the bone to cure the ailment, excising the pus to save the life. The offense your daughter committed today was no more than bringing those festering, rotting wounds out into the open before you.”
Li Shu straightened her spine. “If you do not wish to treat the wound — if you would let it fester and rot until everything, to its very core and foundation, is corrupted beyond repair — then your daughter erred today, and you may punish her however you see fit, without a word of complaint from her.”
“But if you wish to cut to the bone, to excise the pus…” Li Shu’s gaze was unwavering as she looked directly at Emperor Zhengyuan. “Your daughter will be a fine blade in your hand.”
*
No one knew what Princess Pingyang had said to the Emperor within the hall. All Liu Cou knew was that when she came out through the palace doors, her expression was considerably lighter than before.
Liu Cou moved to support her, but Li Shu simply waved him off. She walked slowly — yet with steady resolve — descending the steps one by one.
By this time, Shen Xiao had already changed into a new official robe and was ascending the steps toward her.
A rank-five Supernumerary Official of the Chancellery — clad in a scarlet round-collared robe, a jade belt at his waist, and a silver fish pendant hanging from his ornamented belt.
It was as though uncut jade had at last revealed its brilliant luster. Shen Xiao had always been silent and steadfast — yet now he suddenly radiated a sharp, commanding authority.
Thin lips, a high nose, and eyes that seemed to carry the edge of a blade whenever he looked at someone.
Li Shu descended the steps slowly, while Shen Xiao climbed upward. In the instant they passed one another, a pair of sinewy, well-defined hands suddenly reached out from the side and steadied Li Shu.
Seeing Li Shu descending the steps with a limp, looking as though she might topple at any moment, Shen Xiao had reached out without quite knowing why.
When his hand brushed the sleeve of her robe, he sensed that something was improper and started to withdraw it — yet afraid that Li Shu might lose her footing and fall, he hesitated. Li Shu reacted first: she flicked her arm and stepped aside, avoiding his hand.
Li Shu turned her head and looked at Shen Xiao.
He stood considerably taller than her. From this vantage, he was looking down at her.
In past days it had always been she who stood above him. Yet today, it was he who looked down upon her. It turned out that the distance between them had never been so utterly uncrossable as it once seemed.
Shen Xiao drew back his now-empty hand, his eyes dark and deep. He inclined his head slightly and said in a low voice: “My gratitude to Your Highness…”
Gratitude to her for those years of humiliation — for forcing him through three years of bitter study at his desk, until one day he had passed the examinations in first place.
Gratitude to her for compelling him to stake everything on a single throw — to lead soldiers and seize grain, to wager his official robe and his entire future — and in so doing, to claw his way back from the brink of ruin and leap through the dragon gate.
Without Li Shu, there would be no Shen Xiao in a scarlet official robe today.
Li Shu understood what Shen Xiao meant. She raised her eyes and returned the words in kind: “My gratitude to Minister Shen…”
Gratitude to him for his extraordinary daring — for wagering his career and his very life in a single bet, and completing the entire scheme on her behalf. If not for his reckless gamble, she would still be trapped within the Eastern Palace’s orbit, unable to break free.
There was no need to say it all aloud. The two of them seemed to share a perfect understanding, each grasping the other’s meaning without further words.
*
After ascending the final step, Shen Xiao did not hurry into the Hanyuan Hall. He stood atop the high white marble stairs, watching Princess Pingyang grow smaller in the distance.
After a long while, his gaze lifted and fell upon the distant palace wall — glazed tiles and vermillion stone, as a lone goose drifted slowly in from the grey and overcast sky, passing over the roof of glazed tiles, and let out one clear and plaintive cry that echoed throughout the imperial city.
Shen Xiao’s gaze followed that goose for a long time. After a while, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they had sharpened to the edge of a blade that had been honed for ten years.
Li Shu had reached the end of the dragon tail road when she heard the cry of a goose. She stopped suddenly and looked back.
The distance was too great — she could only make out the scarlet official robe standing upon the white marble steps.
Above the yellow glazed tiles of the Hanyuan Hall stretched a grey and overcast sky. The weather had turned dark, as though a great storm was about to descend.
No need for the Bureau of Astronomy — Li Shu could see it plainly: the great drought in Guanzhong was nearing its end.
In Chang’an, the heavens were about to change.