While Li Huazhang stood in a daze, Prince Linzi asked him something again. Li Huazhang divided his attention to answer a few words, all the while keeping a quiet eye on Ming Huashang.

With the Li family assembled in one place, that pavilion quickly became the center of everyone’s attention. The ladies outside looked on with quiet envy at Ming Huashang and Ming Yuji — especially Ming Yuji, who had spent seventeen years in the countryside and, upon returning, was immediately mingling with princesses and consorts. It truly seemed like gifts falling from the sky.

Ming Yuji herself, however, found it rather tedious. She had felt this way the last time as well — the topics of conversation among these noblewomen seemed entirely without substance. Previously she had assumed it was because her own status was too low, and she could not fit into the world of these pampered daughters of privilege; but now, listening to Princess Taiping, Prince Xiang, and the others talk with Li Huazhang, she still found herself feeling exhausted on their behalf.

Each person held back seven parts out of ten, unwilling to speak from the heart, yet insisting on performing the appearance of perfect intimacy. Ming Yuji felt they were more like members of an alliance that shared a surname, rather than a family.

Ming Yuji was thoroughly bored but could not show it, and could only keep her smile fixed while counting the leaves on the nearby tree. When she had finished with one and was about to start on another, her peripheral vision caught a figure standing on the opposite side of the path.

He seemed to have been standing there for some time — but the moment Ming Yuji looked over, he turned and walked away.

Ming Yuji was startled. She was quite certain Su Xingzhi had seen her, but not only had he not greeted her, he had turned and walked away.

He walked away?

Ming Yuji felt inexplicably unsettled, with a faint trace of something that could almost be called grievance. She had been accustomed to the certainty that no matter what happened, she was Su Xingzhi’s first priority. During this period of time, as Ming Yuji was occupied with adjusting to a new environment, she had naturally devoted all her attention to Duke Zhenguo’s household, and had never given Su Xingzhi a thought.

In her heart, that relationship was as natural as stars attending the moon — requiring no maintenance, no effort. She need only look back, and he would always be there. This was the first time she had been ignored by Su Xingzhi.

He hadn’t even intended to speak with her. Even a passing acquaintance would say a few polite words — could it be that because she had changed her surname to Ming, she had become a stranger to him?

At this thought, Ming Yuji herself was startled. It seemed — that was indeed the case. She and Su Xingzhi had never had any actual relationship. By what right did she expect him to treat her like family?

Ming Yuji stood lost in thought and could no longer pay attention to the pleasantries around her. Fortunately, before long it was noon, and a maidservant came to ask when the meal should be served. Li Huazhang took the opportunity to propose returning to the banquet hall.

The maidservants of the Prince of Yong’s residence were mostly from the palace, uniformly trained and impeccably disciplined throughout; the moving-in banquet was as orderly and formal as a palace banquet. Knowing that among these people there might well be the Empress’s eyes and ears, the guests at the table dared not speak of anything substantial, and the entire meal passed in pleasantries about food, drink, and leisure — beautiful and entirely inconsequential.

When the banquet was finally over, Ming Huashang let out a quiet sigh of relief, thinking she could at last go home and rest — but the steward came over, bowing warmly to the ladies of Duke Zhenguo’s household: “Please remain a while, young ladies of the Ming family. This is your first visit to the Prince of Yong’s residence, and the Prince of Yong has specially arranged a painted pleasure boat for a lake excursion — he hopes you will honor him by attending.”

With the Prince of Yong extending a personal invitation, subjects had no grounds to decline. Ming Huashang could only go along with the crowd and accept with a smile.

Today was a grand occasion for Li Huazhang’s establishment of his residence, and Chang’an responded in full measure — nearly half the court ministers had come to attend the banquet. The few who could not appear in person had sent gifts through trusted representatives. After the banquet, the assorted guests departed in succession, leaving only the innermost circle to remain for the lake excursion.

After boarding the boat, Ming Huashang looked around and saw that those on board were either commandery princes and princesses of the Li family, or sons and daughters-in-law of the Wu family. Her household’s presence there was truly incongruous.

Scanning the boat, she gave a soft “hmm” of surprise. Earlier in the banquet hall, with so many people, she had not paid close attention — but now that the Li and Wu families were gathered on one vessel, Ming Huashang noticed that Prince Wei was absent.

She quietly asked Ming Yuji, “Why is Prince Wei not here?”

Ming Yuji shook her head. “I don’t know. Just now as I was walking past, I inadvertently overheard Prince Liang and Crown Princess Wei Shi speaking — it seems Prince Wei has fallen ill.”

Ming Huashang raised her brow. “Prince Wei is ill? Is it serious?”

Ming Yuji kept her expression very contained and said, “Prince Liang mentioned that the weather had changed recently, and Prince Wei had caught a chill. It should not be serious.”

Without drawing attention to herself, Ming Huashang swept her gaze toward the other end of the boat. Prince Liang and Crown Princess Wei Shi were seated together, apparently playing a board game; Princess An’le was nestled beside Wei Shi, chatting and laughing; Wei Shi’s son-in-law Wu Chongxun was personally throwing the dice for Prince Liang and the Crown Princess — the whole group was lively and warm, more at ease in fact than they had been speaking with the Li family earlier.

Ming Huashang gave a quiet nod, touched the surface only lightly, and did not continue the topic.

The Empress was now showing a clear inclination to pass the throne to the Li family; Prince Wei had spent ten years scheming for the imperial throne, only to have it come to nothing in a single day. Added to that, his eldest legitimate son had died recently, and his daughter-in-law Commandery Princess Yongtai and the child she carried had also not survived. The accumulation of these blows — shattered ambition, the loss of son and grandson, the shock of the Flower Festival — would have been more than enough to fell even an iron constitution.

Whatever had caused Prince Wei to fall ill, whether he was truly too unwell to attend the banquet, one thing was certain: Prince Liang seemed entirely unaffected, and was drawing very close to the Crown Prince’s family.

And naturally so. After the deaths of Li Chongrui and Commandery Princess Yongtai, Crown Princess Wei Shi had only one child of her own — Princess An’le. Princess An’le had married Prince Liang’s eldest legitimate son Wu Chongxun; with the bond of their children’s marriage as a natural link, it was only to be expected that the Crown Princess would be close to Prince Liang’s household.

Ming Huashang could not help but sigh inwardly on Li Huazhang’s behalf. Once she had thought the Empress was the greatest obstacle facing Li Huazhang — but now, even with the Empress’s acknowledgment of him, the challenges he faced remained many. The Eastern Palace, Princess Taiping, Prince Xiang’s household, and the old supporters of Crown Prince Zhanghuai represented by Duke Zhenguo’s household — how Li Huazhang was to navigate among these several forces was enough to give one a headache just thinking about it.

The painted pleasure boat set off, parting the water and gliding slowly toward the center of the lake. Ming Huashang had no desire to remain near the Crown Princess and Prince Liang, and said to Ming Yuji, “Let’s go take a look at the front.”

Ming Yuji was equally eager to distance herself from this hotbed of intrigue, and nodded: “All right.”

·

Once the pleasure boat had moved away from the shore, there was nowhere for anyone on board to hide — who was on the vessel and where each person stood was fully visible. Beyond admiring the scenery, it was also the ideal place to ensure confidentiality.

The singing girls held their pipa instruments, dancing gracefully; the music of strings and woodwinds masked the sound of footsteps. Princess Taiping pushed open the door, assured herself no one was behind her, and quickly closed the door.

Inside the cabin, Li Huazhang was already waiting.

Princess Taiping knew their time was limited and skipped the pleasantries, asking him directly: “You arranged all this elaborate setup — what did you want to see me about?”

Li Huazhang’s proposal of the lake excursion had only a small part to do with fostering ties among the Li and Wu families; the larger purpose was to find a pretext for a private meeting with Princess Taiping.

The Prince of Yong’s residence was presently full of people of all sorts, and Li Huazhang could not be certain whose agents were stationed below — conversation there could hardly be kept from the Empress’s ears. Only on a boat at sea could he temporarily carve out a private space and ensure their conversation would not be monitored.

Li Huazhang’s expression showed no alarm. He unhurriedly poured tea for Princess Taiping, waited until she was seated, then said without haste, “Everything that you sought me out to discuss — the Holy One already knows all of it.”

Princess Taiping snapped her gaze upward, a cold gleam flashing through her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly the situation you feared most — and worse than you anticipated,” Li Huazhang said. “She knew long ago that Liao Yushan had defected and intended to carry out an assassination at the Hibiscus Garden. She left the palace a day early to observe the Flower Festival because she wanted to see how we would act. Even the smooth manner in which you obtained the Falconry Guard’s exit permit from the palace — that, too, was something she deliberately leaked to you.”

The pale green tea sat on the sandalwood table, wisps of steam rising from it, but Princess Taiping showed no inclination to drink for a long while. Her eyes narrowed, her expression grave, and she did not speak for some time.

Li Huazhang knew Princess Taiping’s heart was not calm, and looked down to drink his tea slowly, not disturbing her thoughts. After a period of reflection, Princess Taiping seemed finally to reach a decision; her gaze turned piercing and settled on Li Huazhang as she said in a nearly inaudible voice, “The matter I spoke with you about before — how have you considered it?”

Li Huazhang’s hand on the teacup stilled for an instant, and he lifted his gaze to look at her sharply.

The moment Princess Taiping spoke those words, her entire expression eased — as though she had finally acknowledged the thing she most wanted to do. Her gaze was sharp and intense, a barely concealed excitement burning within it, her whole person at once composed and reckless.

Li Huazhang held her gaze for a long moment, then his lips parted slightly: “Are you tired of living?”

Princess Taiping gave a short, sharp laugh and said, “Before, I thought she only distrusted Third Brother and Fourth Brother, and that at least she trusted me — but the secret I believed to be impenetrable turned out to be merely the bait she had set for me. This time we were fortunate, and we passed her test. But what about next time? And the time after that? No one can remain on the defensive indefinitely without ever making a mistake. Better to take the initiative than to wait for her judgment.”

The news Li Huazhang had brought was like a thunderclap, instantly crushing Princess Taiping’s confidence. She had assumed the Empress had accepted Li Huazhang so calmly because he had earned it by rescuing the heir; after that, Li Huazhang had voluntarily confessed, the Empress had been moved, and had therefore magnanimously pardoned the matter. It had never crossed her mind that every act she believed to be absolutely secret had from the start been a piece on the Empress’s chessboard.

While she had been monitoring others on the Empress’s behalf, she had not known that she herself was also being watched.

There was an old saying: a thief may go undetected for a thousand days, but no one can guard against a thief for a thousand days. Attack is the best defense. As long as the Empress remained on the throne for a single day, the Li family would forever be at the mercy of others. She would rather stake her life on forcing the Empress to abdicate than place her hopes any longer on the Empress’s clemency.

Princess Taiping’s proposal was nothing short of reckless. An ordinary person hearing these words would either be frightened into a cold sweat or be driven mad by dreams of the throne — but Li Huazhang felt neither excitement nor fear. He remained calm and asked, “She is the Emperor. She has controlled the court for twenty years and holds deep-rooted influence throughout it. Beyond that, she has the Northern Garrison guarding the capital within, and the府 armies of the entire realm at her disposal without, along with an unknown number of secret agents lurking beneath the surface. What do we have with which to oppose her?”

“Had it been ten years earlier — even five years earlier — I would not have dared to oppose Mother,” Princess Taiping said, her gaze seizing on Li Huazhang, the fervor within it seeming almost alive, recklessly luring others to join her in sharing a boundless realm — or plunging together into the depths of hell. “But she is old now. She is deep in illness, and has long been unable to attend court. Prince Wei has fallen ill, the two Zhang brothers are the objects of widespread resentment at court, and her grip on the government has greatly weakened. On our side, you hold the actual authority of the Capital Prefecture and can at any time command intelligence about movements within the city. I have planted a large number of informants within the palace, and Shangguan Wan’er can be used by us. The Marquis Jiang’an holds military command, and his son has just become a fourth-tier general in the Imperial Guards — his rank is not high, but in the critical moment, so long as he can open the palace gates for us, it is enough. Military authority, civil authority, and palace control — we now hold all three. Why not join forces, you and I, and launch a coup? Force Mother to abdicate, and return the throne to the Li family ahead of schedule.”

Li Huazhang said nothing; Princess Taiping continued, “The heavens, the earth, and the men are all aligned as one — an opportunity like this comes once in a thousand years. We cannot spend our whole lives in hiding. If we do not act now, will the future truly be any easier than the present?”

Princess Taiping offered so many weighty arguments, and Li Huazhang was unmoved by all of them — until the final reason at last convinced him.

Indeed. The mind of an emperor was the most unreliable thing in the world. To place one’s hopes on a smooth and peaceful transfer of power was far too much to ask for. If in the end they were still going to have to rely on forcing an abdication to seize power, then sooner was better than later. By planning the coup themselves, at least they could choose a moment favorable to the Li family.

Li Huazhang finally spoke, without mercy: “When the Empress first ascended the throne, the princes of the Li family rose in arms throughout the realm and jointly campaigned against Zhou Wu — within fewer than three months, she had divided and isolated them, picking each off in turn, followed by a sweeping purge of the entire Li and Tang imperial family. If we act now, how can you dare be certain that our own ranks will remain united and resolute, putting everything on a single throw, rather than unraveling as the forces of Prince Langye did — sold out by a traitor from within?”

Li Huazhang’s words were as sharp as needles — never pleasant — but they always struck precisely where they hurt. Princess Taiping was silent for a moment, then said one word at a time, “Because the Li family of today is no longer the Li family of the Yonghui era. I, the Crown Prince, Prince Xiang — and including you — each of us has come back from the edge of death, each of us has personally witnessed the deaths of those close to us and been powerless to prevent it. Hatred is the strongest bond there is.”

Her voice caught for a moment — and with rare emotion, a note of grief entered it: “When Second Brother died, when Xue Shao died, I burned with a desperate fury and could do nothing. I spent ten years working in secret, believing I had finally ceased to be that naive and helpless Li Lingyue of old — yet on the day Chongrui was beaten to death, I found I still could do nothing. I finally understood: waiting for fate’s grace is futile. Only by taking the initiative can one earn the right to negotiate. In what imperial house besides ours has the Crown Prince’s eldest legitimate son and eldest legitimate daughter been beaten to death simply for saying a few words of complaint about a male favorite? How is such an imperial house any different from a dynasty ruined and extinguished? I would rather the Li family go down in a blaze of glory than go on living in such wretchedness.”

Before Li Huazhang’s eyes, there arose once again the image of the evening the day Li Chongrui and Commandery Princess Yongtai had died — a sunset that ran red as blood across mountains and sky. He closed his eyes tightly, and when he opened them again they held firm resolve and decision, without a trace of hesitation.

He was by nature calm and careful, verifying every piece of information repeatedly, making contingency plans for contingency plans. But once he had decided on something, he never turned back.

Yet a coup could not succeed on stirring words alone — what mattered most was execution. Within Li Huazhang’s mind, plans, contingencies, and alternatives flashed by in rapid succession, until they all came to rest on the most critical step.

Li Huazhang asked, “The most important element of a coup is secrecy — if word leaks out, it means complete ruin. Yet what she excels at most is precisely the gathering of intelligence. How are we to plan a coup right under the eyes of the Xuan Xiaowei’s Grand Commander, without his noticing?”

Princess Taiping fell silent as well. A coup was nothing like an ordinary meeting: personnel from the military, the palace, and the government all had to be coordinated. With so many people coming and going, how could the Xuan Xiaowei possibly fail to take notice? Moreover, a coup depended critically on timing — missing the moment by even a fraction meant losing everything — which required that key figures remain in constant communication, with someone to pass messages between them in time.

Every single one of these requirements fell squarely within the Xuan Xiaowei’s areas of surveillance. Princess Taiping had herself built several intelligence lines; she understood better than anyone how all-pervasive the night hawks were. Now, the stone she had lifted had come crashing down on her own foot — the greatest obstacle standing in her way had turned out to be herself.

No complete solution presented itself for the moment. Li Huazhang said, “Although I selected those on the boat, there may still be those who slipped through. If we disappear for too long, it is likely to arouse the suspicions of those with watchful eyes. Better for us to go out first — we can plan this matter further at length.”

Princess Taiping gave a quiet sigh — that was all that could be done for now. She left through the side door. Li Huazhang lingered inside, finished a cup of tea at his leisure, then departed through the front door without any hurry.

In the cabin, the drums beat with joyful energy, bursts of cheering sounding from time to time. Officials and nobility immersed themselves in revelry, unaware that moments before, a conversation had taken place on this very vessel — one capable of altering the entire dynasty.

Li Huazhang rested one hand on the railing, gazing in silence at the gentle expanse of the lake, its surface shimmering with ripples of light.

He remembered that when they had gone to study on Mount Zhongnan, it had also been a beautiful spring day like this. Time had gone like a white steed flashing past a crack in the wall; Han Jie’s teachings of how to gather intelligence and conceal one’s movements seemed as though they had happened only yesterday — and in the blink of an eye, he was about to become the enemy of his former teacher.

And this time, the cost of failure was especially great. If he lost to Han Jie, all the lives of the Li family — including those of Duke Zhenguo’s household, the Xie family, and the other old subjects of the Li and Tang dynasty — would be destroyed in the collapse of the nest.

Li Huazhang’s mind was unsettled. Not wishing to face others while his emotions were unstable, he turned to meet the wind and forcibly composed himself. As he steadied his heart, a fragment of conversation drifted to him on the wind, broken and intermittent.

“Please, the two young ladies, a moment. I had no opportunity to speak with you in the pavilion just now — truly unpardonable. I have long heard that the Ming sisters are peerless beauties; seeing you today, the reputation is wholly deserved.”

Ming? Was there a second family in Chang’an with that surname and daughters?

Ming Huashang was being approached by someone — that realization was more effective than any psychological effort. Li Huazhang was immediately composed.

And he had also recognized the other voice: it belonged to Prince Linzi of Prince Xiang’s household — well known in Chang’an for his romantic ways and his weakness for beautiful women.

The tangled thoughts in Li Huazhang’s mind gathered themselves in an instant. He walked quickly toward the source of the conversation, and said as though by chance, “Huashang, Third Brother — how are you here?”