The nine strands of green pearls hanging before his eyes swayed slightly, barely obstructing his vision, while the green wool stuffed in his ears was merely decorative. Nine Tang princes wearing ceremonial robes, accompanied by over sixty escort riders and a musical band playing drums, made their conspicuous entrance through the Jinguang Gate, quickly drawing large crowds of onlookers along the streets.
Li Yuangu thoroughly enjoyed this scene.
He had experienced more solemn and dignified ceremonies than this. Wearing the same nine-Vol 2 – Chapter ceremonial green robe with crimson trim, a green sash with red lining and plain edges around his waist, topped with a leather belt holding a jade-decorated sword, mountain-black jade pendant, and four-colored vermillion tassels… standing among his he brothers performing ritual bows, surrounded by the tinkling of jade ornaments and the rising and falling of crimson-socked feet in red shoes. That was during the farewell ceremony when the princes were dispatched to their fiefdoms in the fifth year of Zhenguan. At that time, Li Yuangu had only felt nervous and exhausted, with no sense of enjoyment.
His luck had probably hit rock bottom and was now turning around. With the help of his honest Sixth Brother and his Seventh Brother who didn’t know the full situation, they managed to convince six more brothers in half a day and one night. Thus, in this morning’s long funeral procession leaving Da’an Palace, there were nine imperial princes: Prince Zhao Yuanjing, Prince Lu Yuanchang, Prince Zheng Yuanli, Prince Xu Yuanjia, Prince Jing Yuanze, Prince Teng Yuanyi, Prince Wu Yuangu, Prince Bin Feng, and Prince Chen Yuanqing.
It wasn’t really surprising when you thought about it. These teenage brothers of his were usually confined within the imperial gardens, rarely having chances to go out into the city. According to Li Yuangu’s wishes, it would have been best if they had all used their complete princely ceremonial processions from last time, each riding in a vermillion-wheeled, eight-belled four-horse carriage, with dragon banners on the left and halberds on the right, crimson-bodied canopies with nine strands of red tassels, forming a line of red fire down the main street. The Armed Guard and Yongzhou garrison troops would clear the way in front, while musicians and singers performed on horseback. Behind would be the princes’ formal procession—crimson-robed crossbow riders, wheel-bearing soldiers, great halberd squadrons, green-capped and green-robed weapon bearers, sword and shield bearers, bow and arrow carriers, horse spear bearers… Rising high among the ranks would be guide banners, stop banners, instruction banners, and signal banners tied to poles over eleven feet tall, their gold-painted and feather-decorated tops forming a forest that would blind the eyes of Chang’an’s commoners and those opportunistic sycophants, while gloriously earning face for Princess Pingyang’s household.
It was Sixth Brother Yuanjing who talked him out of it, saying those ceremonial carriages and processions were kept in various places like the Court of the Imperial Stud and would require imperial authorization to use, making too big a display. As a compromise, they could only use what was stored in the various mansions of the Seventeen Princes’ Compound.
So nine young princes wearing ceremonial robes and riding precious saddles with silver-decorated three-flowered horses proceeded according to their rank, surrounded by many escort riders and drum music in front, followed by pole-bearers carrying sacrificial offerings, making an impressive procession into Guangde Ward.
The seventh-day memorial service held by Princess Pingyang’s household for the deceased County Lady of Linfen was quite grand. From the ward gate to the crossroads, white paper banners were tied to the locust trees on both sides, stretching endlessly as far as the eye could see.
Paper money scattered on the dirt road gathered in piles, constantly spinning in the wind. Mourning tents were set up every few steps along the road for visitors to tie their horses, park their carriages, and leave their servants. It looked prosperous and bustling, except… there seemed to be more household servants managing affairs than actual mourners.
But when the princes’ mourning procession entered the ward in full regalia, the atmosphere immediately changed, as if the entire ward was filled with the clamor and music of nearly a hundred people.
Duke of Qiao, Imperial Son-in-law Chai Shao, upon receiving word, came out personally to welcome them, humbly declining formalities before Prince Zhao Yuanjing’s horse. All nine princes dismounted and conveyed their condolences to their Third Brother-in-law. After three rounds of mutual courtesy, Chai Shao led the way, inviting the nine princes to enter the mansion and pay their respects.
The entire Chai household, both inside and out, wore mourning clothes. Led by the deceased’s husband, the heir to the Duke of Qiao, Chai Zhewei, as chief mourner, they all stood weeping below the eastern steps, while the women stood weeping west of the coffin.
The nine princes were led to the northwest of the courtyard, with Prince Zhao Yuanjing in the lead taking small steps to the east of the chief mourner, standing to deliver words of condolence about “such an untimely loss.” Chai Zhewei prostrated himself in response, and Li Yuanjing returned to his position in the north. The other princes followed in turn to express condolences, each weeping for more than ten counts before stopping.
Li Yuangu, positioned among his brothers, followed the ritual master’s directions while observing his nephew and friend Chai Zhewei. After seven days of maintaining a vigil for his yet-to-be-wedded wife, Chai Zhewei looked haggard and exhausted, with stubble growing on his lips and chin, appearing to have aged ten years.
Li Yuangu exchanged a bitter smile with him. He and Chai Zhewei were not only uncles and nephews but had also studied together from childhood at the Eastern Palace Academy, their temperaments were quite compatible. Chai Zhewei usually spoke little, preferring martial arts and hunting, and had never shown much interest in matters between men and women. Although betrothed since childhood to his First Sister, a cousin from his maternal uncle’s family, they had barely ever met, and he couldn’t even say whether his bride-to-be was beautiful or plain, so there naturally wasn’t much of a marital bond. During the recent preparations for the wedding, Li Yuangu had heard Chai’s eldest son speak most often of “honor”:
“When First Sister was betrothed to me in the eighth year of Wude, she was already entitled as a County Lady, being the Crown Prince’s eldest daughter, and would naturally become a princess in the future—it was our family marrying above our station. At that time, my mother had already passed, and we had no one moving in palace circles. Many said our family’s imperial favor would wane, but Uncle—the former Crown Prince Still King—still betrothed his daughter to me purely out of goodwill. Later, he brought about his downfall, which needs no further discussion, but First Sister was innocently implicated. In life, honor comes first, and our family will never kick someone when they’re down. With the engagement in place, we should properly welcome First Sister into our home with a full ceremony…”
After all that earnest effort, in the end, he only welcomed his bride’s spirit tablet and coffin into the home.
The cymbals and gongs rang out in the eastern hall as the monks began their ceremonies again. Chai Shao courteously led the nine princely brothers-in-law to a side hall to rest. This Imperial Son-in-law and Great General was clearly in very good spirits today. Although he still wore the coarse hemp mourning clothes with raw edges, and it wasn’t appropriate to laugh and joke loudly, every wrinkle on his face seemed to radiate excitement and pleasure.
Considering how few mourners had come to pay respects since the “Imperial Funeral Gifts” delivered by the Court of State Ceremonial were displayed before the coffin, this grand display by nine princes parading through the streets must have brought considerable face and prestige to the Chai household. Chai Shao naturally understood whom to thank for this, and his manner of greeting and thanking Li Yuangu carried an especially warm tone.
His only daughter was the same. Chai Yingluo had not appeared among the female mourners west of the coffin—she was a Daoist priestess who had long ago taken the tonsure with imperial permission, and in theory, had severed family ties. At formal ritual occasions like the seventh-day memorial service, it would have been inappropriate to openly “return to secular life” and act as a family member.
Li Yuangu met Chai Yingluo in a private room behind the side hall. After the nine princes had conversed for a while with their Third Brother-in-law Chai Shao and rose to take their leave, Chai Shao led the family members to see them off at the main gate. Only Prince Wu Yuangu and Yang Xinzhi were held back and invited to the rear quarters, where the Daoist priestess, wearing a lotus crown, yellow skirt, and purple cape over her arm, rose with a smile to welcome them, her Daoist robes somewhat eye-catching.
The lack of a proper mistress had long been an awkward situation for Princess Pingyang’s household. The Emperor Emeritus’s third daughter and current Emperor’s only full sister, Princess Pingyang, had died young in the sixth year of Wude, leaving behind one daughter and two sons for her husband Chai Shao. After that, Chai Shao surely had served women in his private quarters, but bearing the title of “Imperial Son-in-law,” and more importantly, with both sons set to inherit their mother’s legacy, it wouldn’t have been appropriate for him to openly take concubines according to his rank as Duke of Qiao, let alone remarry a principal wife.
In such circumstances, his eldest daughter should have handled major family affairs like weddings and funerals, or even a married daughter could temporarily return to help. But his only daughter had chosen to renounce worldly attachments and become a Daoist nun, only able to return to help manage miscellaneous affairs. If County Lady of Linfen Li Wanxi had successfully married into the Chai family as the principal wife of Chai Zhewei, the Duke’s eldest son, she could have then served as the household mistress handling social obligations, however…
So perhaps they could only hope for the principal wife of Chai Shao’s second son, Chai Lingwu? No, that wouldn’t work either, Li Yuangu remembered. Chai Lingwu had already been betrothed to the Emperor’s seventh daughter, Princess Baling, and would also become an Imperial Son-in-law, certainly moving out to establish his separate household with the princess. Even if they didn’t move out, expecting an imperial princess to manage household affairs for a duke’s family… that too was wishful thinking.
It seemed they would have to wait until Chai Zhewei completed the mourning period for his principal wife before he could remarry… Such scattered thoughts were truly letting his mind wander too far.
Li Yuangu exchanged pleasantries with Chai Yingluo half-heartedly until the Daoist priestess’s words caught his full attention:
“…That day when I returned from Fifth Aunt’s home, I discussed the Eastern Palace poisoned wine case from ten years ago with Father. Father was present at the scene back then. According to my father, the person who instigated the poisoning of Second Uncle was probably not former Crown Prince Jiancheng—he was made a scapegoat.”
In the third month of the eighth year of Wude, at a banquet in the Eastern Palace celebrating the betrothal of the Grand County Lady, then-Prince of Qin Li Shimin left midway due to illness, later vomiting several pints of blood, supposedly from poisoning. More than a year later, after the Xuanwu Gate Incident and the Prince of Qin’s establishment as heir apparent, the case was reinvestigated. It was concluded that former Crown Prince Jiancheng had masterminded the plot, with the Eastern Palace’s Food Supervisor carrying it out by poisoning the Prince of Qin’s wine, attempting to eliminate a political rival by killing his brother.
“Third Brother-in-law says it was a false accusation?”
Ten years ago, Li Yuangu himself had only been five or six years old and remembered nothing. However, Chai Yingluo had been a girl of fourteen or fifteen, and her father Chai Shao was not only an important minister of state and royal in-law but had also grown up with those Li brothers, knowing them as well as anyone could. If the father and daughter said the poisoner was probably not Li Jiancheng, it must be true.
Chai Yingluo smiled at her young uncle:
“When Second Uncle was poisoned in the Eastern Palace ten years ago, the incident caused an enormous scandal that shocked the entire court. I still remember it clearly. Even then, Father said the Crown Prince—Uncle, the former Crown Prince—wasn’t the type of person who would coldheartedly poison someone…”
“You girl, spreading false rumors about your father again,” Chai Shao’s hearty laugh came from outside the door. “When did I ever say such things, hmm?”
He had returned after seeing off the young princes. Everyone in the room rose again to greet him and sat back down, while Chai Yingluo said to her father with a somewhat coquettish smile: “Didn’t Father say you didn’t believe Eldest Uncle would poison Second Uncle? Why are you denying it now?”
Chai Shao shook his head: “I never said the former Crown Prince didn’t want to poison his brother—he surely did. Later when His Majesty ascended the throne and investigated the poisoned wine case, blaming the former Crown Prince wasn’t wronging him. It’s just that… hehe… he probably had the criminal intent but lacked the nerve!”
The Third Imperial Son-in-law, Duke of Qiao Chai Shao, had been a champion of justice in Guanzhong in his youth, an unrestrained and forthright man who spoke boldly, quite different from the refined and cautious manner of the Fifth Imperial Son-in-law Yang Shidao. Li Yuangu and Yang Xinzhi couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“Fourteenth Brother was born late, so you probably don’t have much impression of your Fourth Brother,” Chai Shao smiled at Li Yuangu. “The former Crown Prince… ah, he had a good temperament, was generous to others, and had a talent for handling affairs. His only problem was being indecisive—he would hesitate and waver about everything, unable to make up his mind, always feeling that this person made sense and that person had a point, making us subordinates wait in agony. In the time he spent wavering, following the young Prince of Qin, we could have won many battles!”
“Father means that Eldest Uncle couldn’t even bring himself to decide to poison Second Uncle?” Chai Yingluo asked.
“Exactly. Do you know what a huge commotion this incident caused at the time? The Prince of Qin was Great Tang’s foremost founding hero, having conquered half the empire himself, with so many strategists, brave generals, and elite troops willing to die for him, he held the position of Grand Executive of several regions—everywhere outside Chang’an was his territory. In those years, the Turkic wolf cubs still launched major invasions southward into the Central Plains every year, and it was always the Prince of Qin who took the field to drive them back. If something had happened to him, wouldn’t the newly unified empire have immediately split apart and fallen back into war? Crown Prince Jiancheng was clear-minded about these things, he understood all this, but he didn’t have that kind of steel in his heart to bear such serious consequences…”
Chai Shao sighed as he spoke, and Chai Yingluo interjected: “Besides, at that time, Grandfather still loved Second Uncle dearly, didn’t he? At least wanting to protect all his sons’ lives? If Eldest Uncle had openly harmed Second Uncle, Grandfather wouldn’t have let it rest, would he?”
“Your grandfather… the Emperor Emeritus never intended to sacrifice any of his sons,” Chai Shao smiled at his daughter. “Until the sixth month of the ninth year, His Majesty was confident he could mediate the disputes among his three sons, letting each live and work in peace. The former Crown Prince relied on his father’s protection all his life and certainly wouldn’t have risked angering the Emperor Emeritus. So when the poisoned wine incident came up, we all discussed how it didn’t seem like something Crown Prince Jiancheng would have the resolve to do. The Emperor Emeritus probably understood this too, which is why the investigation was cursory, merely saying the Prince of Qin had stomach problems and shouldn’t have been drinking, blaming the Crown Prince for not taking better care of his brother.”
“Then… the wine that First Sister offered to the Prince of Qin, was it poisoned or not?” Li Yuangu asked, secretly wondering if Second Brother had staged it to frame someone.
Chai Shao tapped his knee lightly with his finger, pondering before answering:
“I was present at that Eastern Palace banquet, and because it was celebrating Zhewei and First Sister’s betrothal, the Prince of Qin even urged me to be the first to drink First Sister’s offered wine. Later when the incident occurred, investigators repeatedly questioned me about the circumstances, and I remember clearly—a eunuch and a maid accompanied First Sister into the hall, the eunuch holding the wine pot, pouring into cups on the tray held by the maid, who was instructing First Sister on whom to offer wine to and how to address them. I remember there were four or five golden curved cups on the tray, all rather small. I drank the first cup completely, followed by two elderly princes, and our uncles, and nothing seemed amiss. The Prince of Qin was the fourth to drink, and shortly after, he excused himself…”
“Brother-in-law and the Prince of Qin drank wine poured from the same pot, but not from the same cup?” Li Yuangu asked. If so, the Eastern Palace could have applied poison to a specific cup before serving it to the Prince of Qin.
“Correct,” Chai Shao confirmed, then added: “Actually, I’m not even certain if it was poured from the same wine pot—I was only watching First Sister at the time, wondering to myself how this young lady would become a Grand Princess, and whether that boy Zhewei could manage her when she married into our family—the lighting behind her was dim, and those of us seated couldn’t see the wine-pouring clearly…”
“The lighting behind First Sister was dim?” Chai Yingluo asked. “At a Crown Prince’s banquet, in the main hall no less, why weren’t there more lamps and candles? How depressing to be in such darkness.”
“Oh, there was a reason for that,” Chai Shao replied. “Earlier, the Prince of Qi had just gone out to refresh himself and accidentally knocked over a lamp tree near the hall entrance, spilling oil and candles everywhere. The lamp tree was quite large, and the servants couldn’t relight it quickly, so that area was somewhat dark… It was normal really, after drinking too much…”
Li Yuangu and Chai Yingluo exchanged glances, both seeing alertness in each other’s expressions. Chai Yingluo asked:
“Father, was it also Prince of Qi who first suggested having First Sister offer wine to the uncles?”
“Yes,” Chai Shao looked at his daughter and brother-in-law, sighing. “You’ve thought of it too, haven’t you?”
Prince of Qi Li Yuanji, the fourth brother of the Crown Prince and Prince of Qin was a prince who openly supported the Crown Prince while secretly harboring ulterior motives during the succession struggle at the end of Wude. He was the first to suggest having First Sister offer wine to the Prince of Qin, and before she entered the hall, he knocked over the illuminating lamps, making it easier to tamper with the wine that the Prince of Qin couldn’t refuse…
“At that time… did you and others suspect that the real culprit was Prince of Qi?” Li Yuangu asked.
Chai Shao nodded: “Back then, several close friends discussed privately that if the Prince of Qin had indeed drunk poisoned wine, the Prince of Qi was far more likely to have orchestrated it than the Crown Prince. It would have been killing two birds with one stone—eliminating the Prince of Qin while framing the Eastern Palace for fratricidal crime… However, in the eighth year, the case was hastily concluded without mentioning poisoning. After the sixth month of the ninth year, when the investigation was reopened, I was commanding troops outside the capital, so I’m not clear about how they determined it was poisoning.”
It seemed that to understand this matter and whether it had any connection to First Sister’s death, they would need to question those who led the reinvestigation of the poisoned wine case after the Xuanwu Gate Incident… As Li Yuangu pondered this, Chai Yingluo smiled at her father:
“I can believe Fourth Uncle was behind the poisoning. This elaborate, high-risk attempt to poison someone that ultimately failed, letting Second Uncle survive—that’s exactly the kind of bungled job Fourth Uncle would do.”
Chai Shao burst into hearty laughter, and Li Yuangu couldn’t help laughing too. Though he had no personal impression of that Fourth Brother, he had heard many say that the former Prince of Qi Li Yuanji was hot-tempered and fierce, physically brave but lacking administrative talent, “having the Prince of Qin’s boldness but not his meticulousness.” Whenever he tried to handle something slightly complex, it would always start with great fanfare, develop multiple problems midway, and end messily, often requiring his elder brothers to help clean up the mess.
If it was indeed the former Prince of Qi Yuanji who schemed behind his eldest brother’s back in the Eastern Palace to poison Second Brother, then naturally he would have been the one to procure the poison. The poison proved ineffective, and the Prince of Qin recovered after receiving medical treatment at his residence… Yes, that matched Li Yuanji’s style.
“If there was such speculation then when the poisoned wine case was reopened, didn’t the investigators consider Prince of Qi as the real culprit?” Li Yuangu asked Chai Shao. “After the sixth month of the ninth year, who led the investigation, Brother-in-law, do you know?”
Chai Shao scratched his head in thought: “I was leading troops defending against nomads in the northwest then, so I didn’t pay much attention… Oh, right, I heard someone mention it once—I believe Old Minister Pei Ju led the investigation.”
Pei Ju… The person who led the reinvestigation of the Eastern Palace poisoned wine case after the Xuanwu Gate Incident was him.
Li Yuangu sat up straighter. This Pei Ju had been close to Emperor Emeritus Li Yuan even before the Taiyuan uprising, becoming Great Tang’s first non-imperial founding minister and the most trusted prime minister during the entire Wude era. During the succession struggle among the princes at the end of Wude, Pei Ju appeared neutral but most in court knew he secretly supported former Crown Prince Li Jiancheng. After the current Emperor seized power through the palace coup, to stabilize public sentiment, he initially treated Pei Ju with great respect and honor.
Specifically appointing Pei Ju to reinvestigate the Eastern Palace poisoned wine case at that time couldn’t have been just to “uncover the truth and find the poisoner,” could it? It seemed that someone who had just killed his brothers and placed his father under house arrest urgently needed to justify himself—if he could prove that his eldest brother, the former Crown Prince, had attempted to poison him first, it would be more favorable for public opinion… Pei Ju, that old fox who had weathered many storms, naturally understood the implications, and to “atone” and protect himself, would surely do whatever it took to produce conclusions that satisfied those in power.
“I was in the capital then and heard some talk,” Chai Yingluo said. “Old Minister Pei received some secret guidance from someone while thoroughly investigating the case in the Eastern Palace, ultimately obtaining evidence proving there was poisoning, thus overturning the original conclusion.”
“Whose secret guidance? What evidence did they obtain?” Li Yuangu pressed.
Chai Yingluo shook her head: “That’s all I remember. Everyone was afraid for their safety then, no one dared to move about or spread rumors. Father was commanding troops away from the capital, and I stayed at home, hardly daring to go out. Fourteenth Uncle, if you want to clarify this matter, you probably need to…”
The “need to…” trailed off as the Daoist priestess fell silent. Those in the room exchanged bitter smiles.
In theory, with his investigation warrant, Li Yuangu could directly question Pei Ju about the case. However, after the political situation stabilized in early Zhenguan, the current Emperor found various faults with Pei Ju, convicted and confiscated the property of this powerful minister who had accumulated deep grievances with him during the Wude years, and expelled him from the capital into exile. Three years ago, Pei Ju had died in exile, and his family had transported his remains back to their ancestral home in Hedong for burial. The once-prominent Pei clan had now vanished from the capital—forget about questioning Pei Ju himself, they probably couldn’t even find any of his close relatives or old associates.
As Li Yuangu pondered this, footsteps approached from the doorway, and a servant announced:
“The Supervisor from Da’an Palace has come to deliver funeral gifts and pay respects to County Lady of Linfen!”
This was someone from the Emperor Emeritus coming to participate in First Sister’s seventh-day memorial service. Everyone in the room stood up, and the father and daughter Chai prepared to go out and receive them.
Li Yuangu followed them out, thinking that the visitor must have been sent by Consort Yin De, and suddenly felt a heavy sense of foreboding.
[Author’s Note: At the beginning of this chapter, the attire and ceremonial procession of the nine young princes visiting the Chai mansion for condolences were written based on relevant historical records. It’s worth emphasizing that the “ceremonial robes” weren’t exclusively for the emperor’s use, at least in early Tang—they were formal wear for high-ranking officials, used only on formal occasions. In later generations, even grooms of less noble status could borrow them for weddings, as seen in Dunhuang murals of wedding scenes.]