When the bell sounds faintly echoed from beyond the gate, Li Yuangui was dozing off at his desk.

Startled awake by the deep, resonating tones in his ears, he raised his head and straightened his back, rubbing his sore eyes. His palm then touched the sparse beard on his face—he had no idea how thick it had grown or what he looked like now.

There was no bronze mirror in his cell, nor anyone to help groom him. Besides the servants who delivered meals and changed the chamber pot daily, no one came to see him anymore. Since that day when the Emperor slapped him and stormed off in fury, he seemed to have been forgotten in this tall tower, with only birds for company.

He didn’t bother keeping track of days anymore. Though paper and ink were always supplied, he had long since carefully composed his confession regarding the Great Peace Palace incident, naturally taking all responsibility upon himself. Out of boredom, he began writing passages from the Classic of Filial Piety on paper:

“The Master said: Among the three thousand offenses against which the five punishments are directed, there is none greater than being unfilial. Those who would handle a state without a principle of authority, who would establish laws without following the ways of the sages, who would gain influence without relying on filial devotion—these are the ways of chaos.”

The classic itself wasn’t particularly long; after copying it over twenty times, he had practically memorized it. The sentences flowing from his brush first addressed the crime of being unfilial, naturally relating to matters weighing on his mind these days… Li Yuangui smiled bitterly at himself, feeling somewhat defiant, and wrote again:

“The Master said: In ancient times, when the sage kings ruled the world through filial piety, they dared not neglect the ministers of small states, much less the dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, and barons. Thus they gained the happy cooperation of all the states. In ruling their states, they dared not neglect the widows and widowers, much less the common people. Thus they gained the loyalty of all their people. In ruling their families, they dared not neglect their servants and concubines, much less their wives and children.”

“How thoroughly and the sage spoke!” he sighed, imagining himself holding up these words and throwing them in the Emperor’s face while shouting: “Your Majesty if rulers practiced filial governance without neglecting minor officials or oppressing the widowed, how would we subjects dare to rebel?”

Ultimately, it was the Supreme Emperor’s lack of fatherly kindness and the Emperor’s failure in brotherly affection and enlightened rule that led to disaster within the palace walls. Li Yuangui grew increasingly angry as he wrote with vigorous strokes:

“In ancient times, the Son of Heaven had seven ministers who would remonstrate with him, and thus even if he had no principles, he would not lose his empire. The feudal lords had five such ministers, and thus even if they had no principles, they would not lose their states. The high officials had three such ministers, and thus even if they had no principles, they would not lose their family positions. If a gentleman has friends who will remonstrate with him, he will not lose his good name. If a father has a son who will remonstrate with him, he will not fall into unrighteousness. Therefore, when faced with what is not right, a son cannot help but remonstrate with his father, and a minister cannot help but remonstrate with his ruler. Thus, when faced with what is not right, one must remonstrate. How can obeying the father’s commands be considered filial piety?”

At this point, he suddenly remembered last year in the peach blossom courtyard of the imperial garden, when he had brought his copied text of the Classic of Filial Piety to seek guidance on calligraphy from Ouyang Xun, as commanded. At that time, his request to go to the frontlines had been rejected, and he was full of resentment. While copying this Vol 3 – Chapter under Ouyang’s instruction, his mind wandered, and he put down his brush to pour out his grievances to the monkey-like old man.

Ouyang Xun wasn’t impatient at all, smiling and stroking his beard as he listened to the complaints. In the end, he only said, “Young Master, you were born in peaceful times, which is fortunate. It’s good for young people to have ambition, but you should also be more understanding of your father and elder brother.”

“The sage also said that merely obeying father’s commands isn’t filial piety, and when faced with unrighteousness, ministers must remonstrate!” Li Yuangui retorted heatedly. The elderly man’s smile lines deepened as he tapped his inkstone and spoke deliberately:

“Remonstrating ministers, remonstrating sons, remonstrating friends—these are all good things, and their goodness lies in the word ‘remonstrate.’ When encountering unrighteousness, speaking up in remonstrance is proper. But after remonstrating? Whether they listen or accept, that’s the ruler’s or father’s business—they have their judgments and considerations. If you disagree, you can only continue to remonstrate…”

“Endless remonstration?” Li Yuangui asked with furrowed brows. “Can we do nothing else but circle the ruler and father with constant advice?”

“That’s right!” Ouyang Xun smiled like an old monkey who had just picked a handful of large peaches. “With remonstration, you either speak until the ruler and father are tired of listening, are afraid of listening, and finally comply with you, or you speak until your voice is hoarse and your throat breaks. This is the way of being a minister and son. Beyond this, any rash action is a deviation from the proper way.”

Ouyang Xun’s accent carried a heavy southern tone. This was no surprise—he was originally from Linxiang in Tanzhou. His father and ancestors had all been generals of the Southern Dynasties. When he was thirteen, his father led a rebellion, and the entire family was executed, with only him surviving by chance. He was later adopted by Jiang Zong, the last prime minister of Southern Chen, and lived in Jiankang for over twenty years. After Sui destroyed Chen, he came north to serve as a Sui official, and during the Sui chaos, he passed through the hands of Yu Wenhuaji, Dou Jiande, and others. Finally, due to his old connection with Supreme Emperor Li Yuan, he joined Tang and was granted a title. Through eighty years of countless dynastic changes, this ugly-faced old man remained known for his literature and calligraphy, never involving himself in military or political affairs, never forming factions, staying within his bounds, and adorning the prosperous reign.

At that time, Li Yuangui had privately scorned Ouyang Xun’s doctrine of “only remonstrate, never act,” feeling this old man fell far short of ministers like Wei Zheng and Wang Gui, no wonder he could only serve the ruler with his calligraphy like an entertainer… Now, imprisoned in the Xuanwu Gate tower, suddenly recalling those words, he discovered a different flavor in them.

For those in lower positions, when encountering injustice and unrighteousness, it is proper to remonstrate with those above, and those in higher positions should be open-minded and listen to various voices of discontent. If they find merit in the arguments, they should issue edicts for correction; if they find no merit, they still shouldn’t punish the speaker or block the path of communication. However, this confrontation must be limited to “remonstration”—each side can only speak, not act.

Ouyang Xun’s father, Ouyang He, believed Emperor Xuan of Chen’s demotion of him was unjust and unrighteous, so he raised an army in rebellion. The court sent troops to suppress it, and his entire family was executed. Emperor Wen of Sui, Yang Jian, believed Southern Chen’s division of the empire at the Yangtze was unjust and unrighteous, so he sent troops south to conquer Jiankang, captured the last Chen emperor and his ministers, and unified the realm. Emperor Yang of Sui, Yang Guang, believed Goguryeo’s resistance to imperial envoys and refusal to acknowledge proper ceremonial order was unjust and unrighteous, so he conscripted a million soldiers for three campaigns against Liaodong, ultimately leading to chaos throughout the realm and his death in the fall of his dynasty. In the late Sui period, hundreds of military governors and bandits rose to carve out territories, each with their reasons for believing they faced injustice and unrighteousness, each feeling forced to rise in rebellion, resulting in corpses covering the fields, rivers of blood, thousands of cities empty, and fires extinguished across thousands of miles.

Li Yuangui sighed silently, poured water to grind ink, dipped his brush again, and slowly blacked out the lines he had written.

After covering just a line or two, he suddenly realized something was wrong.

The bells outside were still ringing.

He didn’t know what time it was outside, but whether it was the evening drum or morning bell, it shouldn’t ring for this long.

He suddenly stood up from his desk, stretching his stiff body, and stumbled to the south window. Looking through the holes in the window paper, his eyes immediately widened.

On the four walls of the plaza he could see, the red and yellow banners that had been displayed on the tower corners and battlements were being taken down one by one, replaced with long white hemp banners. The flying eaves of the Zhongxuan Gate tower were also draped with raw hemp cloth, covering the inscribed plaque.

The bell tolls grew increasingly long and mournful, spreading across the land. The six palaces lost their color, the capital fell silent, and the entire nation mourned together.

Li Yuan, the founding emperor of the Great Tang and Supreme Emperor, had passed away.

End of Volume Three