After that day’s conversation, the relationship between Ming Huashang and the Retired Emperor seemed to soften somewhat. When it was Ming Huashang’s turn to keep watch in the side hall, the Retired Emperor would exchange a few idle words with her.
From Ming Huashang’s perspective, it was idle talk; from the Retired Emperor’s, it was more likely a calculated guiding or a testing of her. Ming Huashang smiled pleasantly on the outside, but kept her mind rigorously on guard at all times, not daring to put a single step wrong.
These days passed like water — neither salty nor bland, without waves, without ripples — and before she knew it, a long span of time had slipped by. She and Li Huazhang had spent not only the Mid-Autumn Festival in the Shanyang Palace but also the Double Ninth Festival and the Winter Solstice.
Ming Huashang did not truly believe the Retired Emperor would be content to remain deposed, and Li Huazhang obviously did not believe it either. A centipede dies but never falls — for her to accept defeat this peacefully was completely out of character. Throughout this time, Li Huazhang had outwardly appeared devoted to tending the sick, yet inwardly had been maintaining a firm grip on the Shanyang Palace’s defenses. He held his breath and waited for the female Emperor to make her final move. He knew that Han Jie was also lurking somewhere in the shadows, awaiting the Retired Emperor’s command.
Then unexpectedly, in the eleventh month — on a cold but brilliantly clear midday — the Retired Emperor’s condition suddenly deteriorated sharply. Li Huazhang hurriedly summoned every Imperial Physician in the Shanyang Palace. The bedchamber filled and emptied with hurrying people. As evening fell — the winter dark coming early — the last Imperial Physician emerged from within the hall and, facing Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang, shook his head.
Everything that needed to be said was conveyed without words. The Retired Emperor’s years were spent. It was time to prepare for her passing.
Ming Huashang had anticipated this day for some time, but when it truly arrived, she was still struck dumb, her head filled with a ringing hum. Li Huazhang stood motionless, drained of all color, as white as a blank page. Everyone else had been stunned into paralysis by the turn of events. He was the first to move — without a single word, he walked into the hall.
Ming Huashang came back to her senses and quickly followed him. The Retired Emperor lay on the couch, her complexion withered, her hair in disarray, bearing no resemblance to the magnificent empress she had been two years before. But her expression seemed relatively composed. She sensed someone enter, turned her head, and said plainly: “Come here.”
Li Huazhang walked past the folding screen and knelt silently at the bedside. Ming Huashang knew the weight of what Li Huazhang was carrying inside him, and quietly knelt down beside him.
The Retired Emperor seemed utterly serene in the face of her own death. She spoke slowly: “In my life I never believed in fate. From beginning to end I fought — fought with other people, fought with my lot, fought with heaven itself. Now, at last, I must admit that I have been defeated. I am old.”
Li Huazhang’s lips moved, but no words came. The Retired Emperor appeared to surprise even herself with her own composure. Her fingers felt for something, and a hidden compartment at the head of the bed clicked open. Both Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang showed expressions of astonishment, and the Retired Emperor gestured for them to take out what was inside.
Li Huazhang straightened and reached into the hidden compartment. The moment the object came into his hands, his pupils dilated in shock, and he looked toward the Retired Emperor.
The Retired Emperor rested against her pillow, eyes half-closed, as though simply resting as usual, and said: “When I first came to the Shanyang Palace, I was not resigned to it. Even in my death, I intended to teach those unworthy descendants of mine a lesson. But day after day the two of you attended the sickbed, obedient as lambs, and I did not have the heart for it — so I thought, perhaps that can be set aside.”
Ming Huashang’s eyes slowly widened as she realized what was inside the hidden compartment. The Retired Emperor let out a sigh: “This realm will eventually be returned to your Li family. The decision having already been made, to stir up further trouble now would only add another moment of ridicule to the history books, while ultimately bringing suffering only to the common people. Let it be. Take this dark iron tiger talisman — and take this realm along with it.”
Li Huazhang instinctively turned his head and met Ming Huashang’s eyes. With her beside him, the cold iron talisman in his palm did not feel quite so heavy. Li Huazhang steadied himself and asked: “By blood I am only a grandson in a younger generation. By loyalty I once betrayed you. This talisman — why would you not entrust it to Han Jie, or to Princess Imperial Taiping and Prince Xiang?”
Why? The Retired Emperor asked herself silently. Perhaps it was because of their sleepless, unceasing devotion in tending to her during this time, allowing her to depart this world with her dignity intact. Perhaps it was that in the face of death, good words came more easily, and having watched Li Huazhang practice such earnest virtue day after day, and Ming Huashang embrace life with such wholehearted passion, she did not have the heart to shatter their peace.
Perhaps it was the responsibility of a ruler, always reminding her of her duty. She had been the Empress of the Tang, the Emperor of the Great Zhou, and was now the Retired Emperor of the Tang — but no matter how the dynasty’s name changed, the people living on this land had never changed. As a ruler, she bore responsibility to the common people of the realm, and could not simply instigate war and upend the people’s peace for the sake of her own private desires.
Perhaps it was simply that this deposed Emperor wanted, in the end, to do one last thing for the people of the Great Zhou.
The Xuan Xiaowei was the shadow network she had built with her own hands — a system that combined surveillance, monitoring, and assassination. It was for precisely this reason that she understood better than anyone how terrifying this force would be if it went out of control. While she was alive, she could keep the officials below in check. But once she was gone, there was no guarantee that Han Jie would not develop ambitions of his own.
As for Taiping and Prince Xiang — there was even less to be said. Taiping’s ambitions had long since been fed until they were voracious. If the Xuan Xiaowei were placed in Taiping’s hands, she would be overjoyed, and thereafter she would stir up trouble both within the court and without, making it impossible for whoever sat on the throne to feel secure — while Taiping herself did not possess the ability to rule as Emperor.
Prince Xiang was the one likely to inherit the throne. Given Li Xian’s character, the throne could not sit long with him, and the Tang dynasty would still need to rely on Prince Xiang for its continuation. For a man about to become Emperor, it was not good for the succession to go too smoothly — yet he could not simply be left unattended. Therefore, this instrument of killing, the Xuan Xiaowei, needed to be entrusted to someone whose capabilities were sufficient to serve as the Emperor’s shield, yet whose moral character was high enough that he would not harbor ambitions toward the throne.
She had weighed every candidate she could think of, and the most suitable by far was Li Huazhang. If the worst came to worst and Li Huazhang harbored thoughts of contending for the throne, the outcome would still not be the most catastrophic one. At minimum, she would have helped the realm find a capable emperor.
As for why she did this in Ming Huashang’s presence — one might understand it as the talisman being entrusted to both of them equally. Li Huazhang was too unyielding. One should know that what reaches its extreme will meet with disgrace, and what is too hard will readily break. Being an ordinary person was one thing, but dwelling at the very center of the whirlpool with such a character made self-destruction all too easy.
A person should be like water — able to become as hard as ten thousand layers of ice, and equally able to become as yielding as a murmuring stream, enduring all that cannot be endured. Li Huazhang was not yielding enough, and not ruthless enough either. He was like a sharpened sword — when the steel was too pure, it was actually more prone to shattering.
He needed a sheath to protect him, remind him, or if necessary, to contain him. Ming Huashang could be the other half that protected him, or she could be the killing blow that ended him.
The Retired Emperor did not answer. She said plainly: “Whether it is the Tang or the Great Zhou, this realm belongs to the people and not to the Li family. I hope you will honor your oath, and for the rest of your life stand guard over the Tang in the shadows, neither seeking recognition nor fearing death.”
Both Li Huazhang and Ming Huashang fell quiet. The Retired Emperor turned aside and coughed for a moment, then lay back against her pillow in exhaustion, her fingers gradually loosening their grip: “After my death — remove my imperial title, and let me be called the Great Sage Empress Tian and be buried beside Emperor Gaozong. Pardon Empress Wang and Consort Xiao, and pardon the families of the condemned in Li Xian’s treason case. In my life I could not bear to be judged by others. After my death, there is no need to write an epitaph either. Leave only a wordless stone tablet. As for whether my legacy was meritorious or blameworthy — let posterity decide.”
“Take the talisman and go immediately to Yizhou to find Han Jie. Before I fell seriously ill, I had already issued a secret command to him. This illness came on too suddenly — I have had no opportunity to send him an order to cancel the operation. When he hears of my death, he will take action. Go immediately to Yizhou, and convey my verbal command to him: cease all current operations. Henceforth, he is to follow the orders of the tiger talisman.”
The Retired Emperor’s hand slipped slowly from the bed and lay still against the mattress. She spent what little strength remained to finish those last words, and as though utterly exhausted, her head sank deeply down. Li Huazhang’s palm closed tightly around the talisman. The dark iron from which it was forged was so hard it nearly cut into his hand. Ming Huashang quietly covered the back of Li Huazhang’s hand with her own. Li Huazhang closed his eyes at last, helplessly, and bent deeply forward to pay his respects to the person on the couch.
Ming Huashang also let out a silent sigh, raised her hand, and bowed low — offering this ruler her final farewell.
It was at this moment that the palace attendants began to realize something was wrong, and the Immortal Residence descended into chaos. Within moments, imperial couriers departed from the Shanyang Palace and rode at a gallop toward Chang’an.
“Urgent report — the Retired Emperor has passed!”
·
As the courier braved the bitter cold wind and raced along the official road, at this moment within the Taiji Palace, the air was warm as spring and sweet with fragrance. The Emperor was reading letters of seasonal greetings from provincial governors when suddenly a pair of hands came from behind and covered his eyes. A coquettish voice asked: “Holy One — guess who I am?”
The Emperor burst out laughing: “An’le, stop this mischief.”
Princess An’le had been found out. She stuck out her lower lip, but still did not remove her hands, and said playfully: “I don’t care — in any case I won, and you owe me a gift.”
The Emperor never spared rewards for his most spoiled and cherished little daughter. He said generously: “Of course — whatever you want, just name it.”
Princess An’le showed the expression of one who had gotten her way. Still feigning innocence, she coaxed him: “I haven’t decided yet. Why don’t you first press your jade imperial seal on this blank sheet of paper — then I can think it over at leisure.”
Involving the imperial seal, the Emperor’s expression turned solemn. He was no longer playing along with his daughter. A single, gentle push was enough to brush aside Princess An’le’s hands. He lowered his head and looked at what was spread before him.
It was not, as Princess An’le had claimed, a blank sheet of paper. There was writing on it — and moreover, it bore the words “depose the Crown Prince and establish Princess An’le as Crown Princess,” a document that could be called nothing short of outrageous treason.
Princess An’le, having failed to trick the Emperor into pressing the imperial seal onto her memorial, dropped the pretense and clung to the Emperor’s arm: “Father, I want to be Crown Princess. Why should Li Zhongjun — that son of a concubine — be Crown Prince when I cannot? Depose him and let me be Crown Princess instead. I’ll certainly take good care of you and Mother in the years to come.”
The Emperor sighed. Against his most beloved daughter there was truly nothing he could do: “Wrapped up, let’s choose a different reward. Except for this — whatever else you want, I can grant it.”
Princess An’le, seeing she could not get this from him, could only say with unwilling resignation: “Very well. Then I want to appoint my own household guests as chief ministers.”
The Emperor hesitated upon hearing Princess An’le casually demand to interfere with the appointment of officials of the third rank and above. But he had just denied her request, and at Princess An’le’s first sign of sulking, the Emperor couldn’t bear it, and hastily said: “Fine, fine, fine — you may have it. If you want to recommend household guests for office, cultivate talented people properly, and stop mixing with that disreputable lot.”
The “disreputable lot” the Emperor referred to were, naturally, Princess An’le’s male favorites. Princess An’le pursed her lips and paid it no mind, giving a perfunctory response: “I know.”
The Emperor and Princess An’le chatted for some time when a eunuch rushed in from outside the hall, his face deeply alarmed: “Holy One — an urgent report.”
The Emperor sent Princess An’le away at the sight of this. Princess An’le was greatly indignant at being dismissed. She was the future Crown Princess — what urgent matter could there be that she was not fit to hear? She left the main hall and, the more she thought about it, the angrier she became. She changed direction and walked toward Empress Wei’s palace.
Outside, the cold wind howled. The candlelight flickered violently back and forth. Li Zhongjun listened to the eunuch’s report, his fingers digging hard into the armrest of his seat.
After the messenger eunuch had gone, a counselor straightened his expression and bowed with clasped hands toward Li Zhongjun: “Crown Prince, Empress Wei and Princess An’le already harbor the intention of deposing you. Today they failed to trick the Holy One — but they will certainly devise another scheme before long. In these turbulent times, the Empress and Prince Liang are very close, and now the Retired Emperor has passed at this critical juncture. The entire force of the Wu family will fall entirely into Prince Liang’s hands. If you do not act, Your Highness, when the Empress and Prince Liang join forces, you will be the next Crown Prince Zhanghuai.”
How could Li Zhongjun not understand all of this? He stood up and paced back and forth in the hall, his anxiety impossible to conceal: “But Father and I are not close. He is utterly besotted with An’le. The Empress has been busy winning over Prince Liang. Half the court are Prince Liang’s people. With only my own strength, how am I to contend with them?”
The counselor leaned close and made a chopping gesture with his hand, lowering his voice: “Your Highness — strike first, before they can act. The Retired Emperor is gone. Prince Liang no longer has anyone to rely on. If you kill the two of them — father and son — the forces of Prince Liang’s Residence and Princess An’le will scatter like monkeys from a fallen tree. And then — who else will remain who can threaten your position as Crown Prince?”