Chang’an, the great capital city, had terrain that sloped from high in the south to low in the north. All waters originated from Zhongnan Mountain, flowing northward into the Wei River. The lakes and ponds near the palace and imperial gardens in the north of the city would become stagnant and polluted, making the summer humidity particularly unbearable.
Therefore, during peaceful times and festivals, from the third or fourth month onwards, the Emperor would lead his close imperial family members and attendants away from the capital to summer palaces’ built-in cooler, elevated locations. They would often stay until the autumn winds cleared the skies before returning to the capital.
After the fourth year of Zhenguan, with external threats pacified and internal stability achieved, the fields were bountiful, and displaced people returned to their homes. Both the Emperor and Empress suffered from respiratory ailments and dreaded the summer heat, so they made these annual imperial tours routine.
According to palace officials, before the imperial procession left the capital, both the Emperor and Empress had personally invited the Emperor Emeritus to join them at the Jiucheng Palace to escape the summer heat. However, the Emperor Emeritus firmly declined for three reasons: first, his advanced age made him reluctant to travel; second, he detested Jiucheng Palace as an “ill-fated residence”—thirty years ago, the last Sui Emperor Yang Guang had murdered his father, Emperor Wen Yang Jian, there; and third, his residence at Da’an Palace was already built on a hillside with strong winds, dense forests, and clear springs, making it reasonably cool and comfortable.
As filial children should not force their elderly parents, they let the matter rest. After this continued for several years, the upright ministers at the court began to criticize, arguing that the Emperor’s long absences from his elderly father violated the Confucian principles of filial devotion. Memorials of remonstrance piled up like snowflakes, filling several large document boxes and giving the Emperor quite a headache.
Since the Emperor Emeritus wouldn’t go to Jiucheng Palace, building another summer palace for the elderly man seemed the logical solution. However, after the Sui dynasty’s collapse, the people were impoverished and the national treasury was depleted, so the court had to be as economical as possible and minimize the burden on the people.
Renovating former Sui palaces would be more cost-effective. Additionally, the location couldn’t be too distant, or the Emperor Emeritus would still be unwilling to make the journey. After much consideration, the Ministry of Works and the Directorate of Construction identified the site of a former Sui detached palace called “Guande Hall” on Dragon Head Hill in the eastern imperial gardens. Though modest in scale and dilapidated, it had solid foundations that would save considerable labor and materials.
After submitting the proposal, the Emperor approved the renovation of this summer palace for the Emperor Emeritus, renaming it “Yong’an Palace.” Construction began after the autumn harvest last year, with laborers being recruited and materials prepared. Construction was difficult during the cold winter months, and shortly after work resumed in spring, the Emperor Emeritus passed away, leaving an edict to dismiss the workers. Thus, the construction of Yong’an Palace had barely begun—they had only removed unusable materials from the old Sui ruins before new construction could start—when work was halted.
Wei Shubin sat with Chai Yingluo in a long-roofed open carriage, traveling through the dense shade of the imperial gardens, listening to the clamorous cicadas while making casual conversation with the Daoist priestess in plain robes. After leaving Zixu Temple, they first headed north, then circled past the corner towers of the Western Inner Garden’s walls and continued east. Wei Shubin naturally asked “Where are we going?” to which Chai Yingluo replied “Yong’an Palace,” followed by a lengthy explanation of its history as described above.
The Zixu Temple abbess had been bedridden for nearly two weeks but had finally recovered about seventy or eighty percent of her energy, looking more like her usual self and less likely to frighten people at first sight. Her breath was still weak, becoming short of breath after speaking at length, so Wei Shubin didn’t dare let her talk too much at once, and asked carefully:
“Since Yong’an Palace’s construction has been halted and nothing has been built, why are we going there? Is His Majesty there? What would the Emperor be doing at a construction site full of building materials?”
“To be honest, I don’t know either,” Chai Yingluo smiled. “But acquaintances from Lizheng Hall told me that these days, besides keeping vigil at the funeral, His Majesty spends most of his time at Yong’an Palace. This isn’t just recent—he went there often last year too. At first, people thought His Majesty was showing his filial piety by personally supervising the construction, but later they realized that wasn’t quite it. His Majesty’s filial piety, well…”
The Daoist priestess covered her mouth and laughed, not needing to continue. Wei Shubin laughed along with her. Those in the know didn’t hold high expectations for the current Emperor’s filial piety.
The ox cart moved slowly, but fortunately, the imperial gardens were filled with towering trees, tall grass, and streams, with most paths shaded from the sun. Even in midsummer, it wasn’t unbearably hot. After circling another corner tower, Wei Shubin gradually felt the terrain and path becoming familiar. After pondering for a while, she asked:
“Aren’t we getting close to the peach grove cottage where Ouyang Lügeng lived in seclusion?”
“Ah, yes!” Chai Yingluo slapped her knee. “I’d forgotten, that place is indeed very close to Yong’an Palace.”
Wei Shubin turned her neck to look around, finally spotting the peach grove. The flowering season had long passed, and its splendor faded, leaving only a sea of oily green mist to meet the eye.
Like a pink sea of clouds enveloping heaven and earth, petals fell like snow. The slender youth turned to look at her, dark eyes smiling, filled with bright joy and love…
Startled by the sudden vision that flashed before her eyes, the daughter of Minister Wei shook her head vigorously to dispel the fantasy, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her palms. She had important matters to attend to now, with no time to spare for youthful romantic melancholy.
Chai Yingluo seemed to see through her thoughts again and reached over to pat her arm. Just as she was about to offer words of comfort, a sudden explosive sound burst through the air ahead of them.
The sound came suddenly, somewhat like firecrackers thrown into a bonfire during New Year’s celebrations, but thousands of times louder, and it came from mid-air. Their entire group—people, ox, and following servants—were all startled. The ox was especially frightened, charging and bucking wildly, catching the eunuch driver off guard and nearly trampling him after pulling him to the ground, while the carriage rocked dangerously. Fortunately, both women were fairly agile, and Wei Shubin managed to help Chai Yingluo roll off the open carriage before disaster struck.
Amidst the shouting of people and bellowing of the ox, the explosive sounds in the sky continued unabated, one after another, rivaling the power of thunder and lightning. Wei Shubin steadied herself, stood up, and dusted off her clothes, suddenly remembering that she had heard similar explosive sounds at Ouyang Xun’s peach grove cottage before, though they had been less frightening from a greater distance.
Chai Yingluo reacted faster than her, already saying “So what we heard at Old Monkey Ouyang’s cottage was—” but couldn’t finish her sentence. The commotion they caused had almost immediately drawn footsteps and challenging shouts, as a small squad of guards carrying spears came running to investigate.
The six or seven men wore red headbands and the uniform of the Garrison Guards. The squad leader exchanged a few words with Chai Yingluo, and upon hearing she was a Daoist priestess from the Inner Temple, became quite polite. He confirmed “His Majesty is present” and promised to announce them. The two women waited in the shade, and before long, the Emperor granted them an audience.
Wei Shubin still wore the palace maid’s plain clothes she had changed into at the Eastern Palace that day, her hair in double buns to pose as a minor serving maid, supporting Chai Yingluo as they slowly followed the guard captain. After turning a mountain corner and passing through several layers of barriers, the view suddenly opened up before them.
They saw an enormous tent set up on a gently sloping platform, with multiple high eaves that at first glance could be mistaken for a tiled great hall. Due to the hot weather, several curtains had been raised and propped up with wooden poles to form shade canopies, with additional awnings connected. A group of people either sat or stood in that large shaded area, pointing and gesturing at something in the distance.
Another loud bang rang out, but this time both women were somewhat prepared and weren’t startled. After a brief moment of quiet, the sound came again, even closer than before, making Wei Shubin’s heart pound in her chest.
Looking up, several enormous wooden frames resembling well sweeps stood several hundred paces in front of the high platform, their scale terrifying—even from such a distance, they appeared towering and majestic.
Just moments ago, through some unknown mechanism, one of the wooden frames’ long arms was slowly descending, while the area dozens of yards in front of it was shrouded in dust and smoke as if some heavy object had fallen there. Wei Shubin could only stare in amazement, murmuring:
“What is this…”