After the post-wedding return visit, there were no more social obligations worth stepping out for. Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang closed their doors to guests and settled peacefully into their own life together.

Li Huazhang, as always, rose earlier than Ming Huashang. Often he had already finished his morning training while Ming Huashang was only just blinking awake in a daze. He would come back to accompany Ming Huashang through breakfast, and then the two of them would go to the study together.

The Guanglu Court was quiet and unhurried. Except on major ceremonial occasions, Li Huazhang rarely needed to appear in person — everything could be handled according to established procedure. He was content to remain in the residence. Sometimes he and his new wife read and discussed books together. Sometimes, when the mood struck Ming Huashang, she would have Li Huazhang teach her to play the qin or practice martial arts, and in return she would paint his portrait. More often the two of them would each do their own thing, sometimes not exchanging a single word the entire afternoon.

Just like in the days of their childhood schoolroom lessons — Li Huazhang sitting upright and proper, Ming Huashang sprawled across the table, sleeping soundly in the shelter of his shadow.

Ming Huashang was firmly opposed to overexertion. Once darkness fell, she would not allow Li Huazhang to keep working. The two of them would return to their rooms together for dinner. If the evening glow happened to be beautiful that day, they would take a stroll around the Prince Yong’s Residence after the meal, talking idly about this or that.

The Prince Yong — whose awe-inspiring reputation resounded throughout Chang’an — seemed to have lost all ambition. He no longer concerned himself with court affairs or military power, and had wholly devoted himself to the gentle pleasures of domestic life. Ming Huashang was just growing accustomed to this rhythm when news suddenly arrived from the Shanyang Palace: the Retired Emperor had fallen ill.

In truth, this was not surprising. The Retired Emperor was already eighty years of age — a number remarkable even for those blessed with long life. The Shenlong Coup had succeeded precisely by exploiting the months during which the Retired Emperor had been too ill to hold court and her grip on the government had weakened. After the coup, the Retired Emperor was forced to abdicate in favor of the Crown Prince and to relocate to the Shanyang Palace. For a woman who had devoted her entire life to the throne, this was a devastating blow.

The aging of a person is often a matter of a single moment. Once that animating spirit disperses — the fierce woman who had once read memorials through the night without losing her brilliance — she rapidly withered into an eighty-year-old woman.

Upon receiving the news, Li Huazhang entered the palace immediately. Ming Huashang had no desire to exchange hollow pleasantries with those princesses and imperial consorts, so she stayed behind in the residence to wait for him. By the time the golden sun had descended to the west and the faint outline of a crescent moon was already visible at the horizon, Ming Huashang was nearly convinced something had happened at the palace and was on the verge of going in to find him — when Li Huazhang finally returned.

Seeing Li Huazhang come back whole and unharmed, Ming Huashang let out a long breath of relief. She didn’t press him for why he had returned so late. As she would on any ordinary day, she asked simply: “Have you eaten? I had the kitchen make crucian carp, very fresh — they were still alive and leaping when they were brought to the residence. Would you like some?”

Li Huazhang suppressed the tangled thoughts in his heart and smiled: “Please, thank you, Huashang.”

Ming Huashang had the maidservants set up the meal tray. With only the two of them in the residence, there was no need to stand on ceremony by eating at separate tables. Ming Huashang sat at the edge of the tray and personally mixed the dipping sauce for Li Huazhang: “This is my secret formula — it brings out the freshness of the raw fish without overpowering it, and won’t become cloying no matter how much you eat. No one else knows the proportions but me. Care to try it?”

Li Huazhang couldn’t refuse the kindness and took a bite from Ming Huashang’s hand. The sauce truly set off the slivers of fish to perfection, the two complementing each other beautifully. Li Huazhang nodded and said sincerely: “Delicious.”

Ming Huashang immediately offered him another piece. Li Huazhang had thought he had no appetite, but in her company, he found that he had eaten a fair amount without even noticing.

Ming Huashang knew something was weighing on his mind and did not press him. Once he had eaten enough to take the edge off his hunger, she had the maidservants take the meal tray away. The attendants withdrew with practiced efficiency, leaving only the two of them in the room. Ming Huashang sat down beside Li Huazhang and took his hand: “What happened at the palace?”

Li Huazhang let out a long, low sigh, closed his eyes, and leaned against her shoulder. His voice was thick with exhaustion: “The Retired Emperor is gravely ill. The court argued for an entire day over who should go to attend her at the sickbed.”

Li Huazhang recalled what had unfolded during the day. Even with his eyes closed, he found the memory painful to contemplate. Calling it an argument was being generous. The Emperor said time and again how deeply he worried for his mother’s illness and wished he could suffer in her place, but the realm could not go without its ruler for even a day, so he could not leave the Taiji Palace. And the Taiji Palace was damp and prone to chill, making it unsuitable to move the Retired Emperor there for her recuperation.

These were, of course, merely pretexts. Though the Empress Wu’s reign had been dismantled, she was still the Emperor’s mother. To leave an eighty-year-old mother abandoned in a distant palace without any attention would be a breach of filial duty beyond excuse; yet if she were brought back to the Taiji Palace to be cared for, the Emperor did not dare.

Including her years as Empress, the Empress Wu had dominated the inner palace for forty years. Her eyes and ears were everywhere within the court. Who would dare allow her to return to the center of power? When the late Empress Wang had sent Consort Wu to be a nun at the Ganye Temple, she too had been utterly certain there was no possibility of her making a comeback.

The Emperor had no intention of being dragged off the dragon throne a second time, as had happened fifteen years before.

If it was inconvenient for the Emperor to personally attend to his mother, it was natural for the Empress and the imperial sons and daughters to take on the duty in his stead. Yet Empress Wei was occupied with managing the inner palace and claimed she could not get away. Princess An’le had caught a slight cold the previous night and feared giving the Retired Emperor her illness if she went to the Shanyang Palace. As for sending the Crown Prince — the Emperor’s third son by a concubine, Li Zhongjun — to attend the sickbed, Empress Wei refused.

If the Emperor and Empress could not leave their duties, then surely having Prince Xiang and Princess Imperial Taiping go would be acceptable? Yet the Emperor was keenly aware that he had kept Prince Luling confined for many years and could not compare with his younger brother and sister, who had been at their mother’s side to enjoy her favor. The Retired Emperor had only abdicated — she had not died. Who knew how many cards she still held up her sleeve? If Prince Xiang and Taiping were allowed to make contact with the Retired Emperor, who could say they wouldn’t turn the method against him and launch another coup?

The Emperor was wary of his younger siblings, and Prince Xiang and Princess Imperial Taiping were equally unwilling to face the Empress Wu. The family bonds of the imperial house were entangled with far too many competing interests. They hated her, feared her, and had imitated her. They had borrowed her methods to defeat their mother for the first time — and in all likelihood, it would be the only time. Having tasted the sweetness of victory, who would willingly return to stand before their old adversary and relive the days of helplessness and submission?

The palace descended into uproar over this matter. Everyone said all the right things, and everyone had their unavoidable circumstances, but in sum, it boiled down to: not my concern.

Li Huazhang watched them push the responsibility back and forth, and could not help but feel a deep sadness.

For Emperor Gaozong. For the Empress Wu. And for the Tang dynasty itself.

Li Huazhang tightened his arms and wrapped them around Ming Huashang’s waist from behind, and said: “She began as nothing but an abandoned royal consort. Then she became the new Emperor’s Illustrious Concubine. Not content to merely reign supreme in the harem, she plotted step by step until she became the Empress who governed alongside the Emperor as the Two Holy Rulers. Even that power was not enough — she had to part the curtain, step forward herself, and transform from Empress Dowager into a female Emperor. And now, aged and ill, she lies bedridden, while her children push the duty of attending to her back and forth, unwilling to see her.”

“A ruler such as this does not deserve an ending like this.”

Ming Huashang already understood what Li Huazhang was thinking. She let him lean against her quietly, like a clear, gentle, all-encompassing pool of water: “What do you want to do?”

Li Huazhang’s fingers tensed. That sentence would not come out of his mouth. He wanted to go to the Shanyang Palace to attend the sick — it was what he should do, both as a subject and as a grandson. He believed that if Crown Prince Zhanghuai were still alive, he would have cast everything aside and been the first one at his mother’s bedside.

But Li Huazhang was no longer just himself. He was also someone’s husband. Ming Huashang was free-spirited and carefree, and hated nothing more than being constrained. If he went to the Shanyang Palace, what would become of her?

Ming Huashang felt the struggle and guilt within him, and took the initiative to say: “Have you forgotten? We made a pinky promise — whatever we do, we do it together. Do what you want. I’ll go with you.”

Li Huazhang felt a hundred things flood through him at once. How fortunate he was, to have found her after losing everyone else in his life. Words could no longer express what he felt. All Li Huazhang could do was hold Ming Huashang closer, and say in a hushed voice: “All right.”

·

The Retired Emperor’s illness was like a thorn — an irritant no one dared to mention aloud. Just as the palace was fretting over the matter, Prince Yong voluntarily offered to go to the Shanyang Palace to attend the Retired Emperor, with Princess Yong accompanying him.

The insincere voices in the palace fell silent at once. Prince Yong was Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s only child, the Retired Emperor’s eldest grandson in the truest sense. At the same time, Prince Yong had been raised in a minister’s household and had met the Retired Emperor only a handful of times. Their first face-to-face conversation had most likely been on the very night of the Shenlong Coup. Between the two of them, enmity outweighed kinship — there was no need to worry about the Retired Emperor using Prince Yong to stir up trouble. And yet Prince Yong held the most legitimate of all claims to the bloodline. With him attending the sickbed, there was no need to worry about the world criticizing them on grounds of filial piety.

The Emperor felt as though a stone had been lifted from his chest, his whole body lighter, and went to the inner palace in considerably better spirits. The Prince Xiang Residence and Princess Imperial Taiping’s Residence also quietly breathed sighs of relief. Both sides considered Li Huazhang to be on their own side of the fence — having him stand watch over the Empress Wu was far preferable to having any faction allied with Empress Wei.

Amid the self-serving praises from all quarters, Ming Huashang packed her belongings and moved into the Shanyang Palace before the Dragon Boat Festival had even arrived.

Once inside the Shanyang Palace, life could no longer be as leisurely as it had been in the Prince Yong’s Residence. Ming Huashang had to rise at dawn every day to pay her respects to the Retired Emperor. Unsurprisingly, the Retired Emperor gave them no good face to look at. Ming Huashang would stand outside the palace hall for a full hour without even being permitted to see the Retired Emperor. On a lucky day, before the sun climbed too high in the sky, a palace maid would emerge and say, without warmth: “The Retired Emperor is unwell and does not wish to receive visitors. Prince Yong and Princess Yong, please return.”

Ming Huashang had been pampered and indulged since childhood — if a needle pricked her fingertip, she would feel she was on the verge of fainting. She had never been subjected to this kind of cold indifference before. It was fortunate that Li Huazhang was there with her. No matter how long they stood outside the hall, he never left her side.

After many such rebuffs, one night the Retired Emperor was suddenly seized by an acute illness. Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang hurried to get dressed and rushed over. They called for Imperial Physicians and decocted medicines, and managed and fretted through the entire night. When dawn was barely beginning to grey the sky, the Retired Emperor’s condition finally stabilized. Under the effects of the medicine, she fell into a deep sleep.

Ming Huashang had kept her nerves tightly wound all night long, not daring to relax for even a moment. Now that she could finally let go a little, she felt dizzy and disoriented. Li Huazhang took one look at her complexion and was immediately filled with concern. He instructed the palace maids to keep close watch over the Retired Emperor and report to him the instant she woke, then sent Ming Huashang back to rest.

Li Huazhang kept all the palace attendants in the Retired Emperor’s bedchamber. The two of them walked toward their quarters alone, without servants, in silence.

The dawn light was faint and hazy. The Shanyang Palace was veiled in mist, as though it were a celestial palace. Li Huazhang was silent all the way. Ming Huashang could tell how much pain he was carrying inside, so she held his hand and offered comfort: “Stop worrying. The Retired Emperor is favored by fortune — she will surely pull through.”

Li Huazhang nodded. He seemed to want to say something, but let it go at the last moment.

What was there left to say? The first time he had met the Retired Emperor, though she was already of advanced years, her hair and beard had still been jet-black, her eyes sharp and clear, her bearing radiant and full of life, and every movement carried the confidence of an emperor. But after the Shenlong Coup, in just a few short months, she had aged. White frost crept into her temples, the flesh of her face had sagged all at once, the smell particular to old age had settled on her body, and most significantly, the light in her eyes had gone out.

Destroying a person’s will destroys the person. How else could she have been so easily laid low by illness?

And yet all of this — he had planned himself. He had pushed her off the throne, and now he was here expressing concern for her illness. He found the hypocrisy of it distasteful even in his own eyes.

Ming Huashang could see that Li Huazhang had fallen into a spiral of dark thoughts. She was about to say something to pull him out of it when her gaze suddenly sharpened: “What is that over there?”

Alerted by Ming Huashang’s words, Li Huazhang noticed for the first time that there was a person among the trees ahead, creeping furtively and peering through a window. He immediately stepped in front of Ming Huashang to shield her. The figure in the mist heard the sound from their direction and quickly crouched down and fled.

Ming Huashang quietly surveyed the surroundings and asked in a low voice: “Shall we give chase?”

Li Huazhang gazed into the mist ahead, then after a long while said: “No need.”

He knew who had sent the person.

After the two of them returned to their quarters, both of them tacitly said nothing more about what had just happened, and each went to wash and change. When Ming Huashang came out after her bath, Li Huazhang had already changed into clean clothes and was sitting on the couch reading. He saw her emerge, set down his book, got up, and came to take the cloth from her.

He drew her to sit at the edge of the bed and with practiced ease began to dry her hair: “If you’re tired, sleep for a while. I’ll dry your hair for you.”

Ming Huashang yawned and leaned against him with complete composure: “All right. Call me when you’re done.”

Li Huazhang tended to her hair without complaint, more patient than Ming Huashang herself would have been. Ming Huashang shamelessly relied on him. After a moment, she said, almost inaudibly: “Is it worth it?”

The hands behind her paused almost imperceptibly, then continued moving gently through her hair, as though they had heard nothing. Ming Huashang continued: “You give everything and in return are marginalized, sidelined, guarded against. And now you are even being watched. Given all of that, why do you still devote so much effort to protecting Li Xian’s throne, even to the point of putting yourself at risk by moving to live beside the Retired Emperor — just to draw out Han Jie?”

Ever since the Shenlong Coup, Han Jie and the remaining Xuan Xiaowei had vanished, as though they had never existed. But they both knew the undercurrent would not simply fade away — it would only submerge itself deeper, brewing the next great surge. Even though Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang had been fortunate enough to render several meritorious services and had risen to relatively higher positions within the Xuan Xiaowei, in truth they only knew the members along their own particular chain of command and were entirely ignorant of all other operatives. Now that they had stepped into the open, Han Jie and the others had retreated into the shadows. Both sides knew a reckoning was inevitable, yet no one could know when the blade would fall — only that it would, when the moment finally came.

These people were hidden among the populace and could not be rooted out by searching. The only approach was to guard against them at the source. Li Huazhang had simply moved to live right under the Retired Emperor’s eye, making his presence impossible for anyone to ignore.

It was both a declaration of war and a way to draw the fire toward himself. If they wanted vengeance, he would be the first one they came for. Only in this way could everyone else remain safe.

This time, Li Huazhang had no way to pretend he hadn’t heard. He paused for a moment, his hands still moving with steady gentleness: “This is what I should do. I ought not to expect any reward in return.”

“Even if no one thanks you — even if no one ever knows what you’ve sacrificed?”

Li Huazhang’s voice was low and calm: “Many things are not done because they are useful, but become useful because they are done. The ailments of both the Tang and the Zhou dynasties must eventually be resolved. I happen to be surnamed Li, to be Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s son, to be your older brother, and to be their commander. Someone has to do these things. So let it be me.”