The Emperor was not present in the Taiji Hall. The mourning descendants were led by Sixth Brother Prince Zhao Yuanjing, with Crown Prince Li Chengqian also present. All wore coarse hemp mourning garments and grief-cloth headbands. Along with the women’s faces visible behind the plain curtains in the western section, all eyes were fixed on Li Yuanji, who lay prostrate before the imperial bed without crying.
They were waiting, as were the officials from the Ministry of Rites and Court of Imperial Sacrifices standing at the sides and rear. They waited for the Prince of Wu to bang his head on the ground and wail countless times, so they could step forward according to ritual to console and help this left-behind son of the Retired Emperor join the ranks of princes. Thereafter, he would observe mourning according to ritual, without any special complications.
Of course, this would require the Emperor’s special edict allowing him to observe normal mourning, rather than being sent back to his cell to continue suffering after one bow… It didn’t matter anymore.
He would no longer return to the tower above Xuanwu Gate, confined in that narrow cell where dawn and dusk were indistinguishable, staring at the ceiling beams every day, his heart gnawed by countless ants as he repeatedly pondered the fate of himself and his loved ones. Nor would he join his brothers in routine wailing and mourning vigils – he simply couldn’t cry, his heart lacking the grief, longing, and pain that a filial son should feel. What was the point of such pretense?
If his own life could end here, closing his eyes alongside his nominal father, whether going to the Buddhist paradise or the Taoist hell, at least all earthly suffering could end this way. His parents would be waiting there, and his Seventeenth Sister would be safe and cared for. With his death as the instigator, the treason case troubling his imperial brother could be concluded, and Yang Xinzhi, Chai Yingge, and other accomplices would likely be spared. As for…
There was still one… After all, she was the daughter of a minister from a noble family, beautiful and dignified. Without his burden, perhaps she would have a better life…
Li Yuanji wasn’t even sure if he had kowtowed to his father’s remains, nor did he know whether he had walked out of the Taiji Hall in a daze or crawled out on all fours. There was clamorous noise before and behind him, with people seemingly saying something about “fainting from grief,” but it didn’t concern him. He only noticed on the offering table under the corridor, where the imperial kitchen officials were placing sacrificial meat – large pieces of beef still steaming hot, with… small knives stuck in the shoulder cuts for carving.
The knives must be quite sharp, as large pieces of meat often remained raw inside and were difficult to cut. The small-scale funeral rites for the deceased emperor, featuring grand sacrificial offerings, represented the highest ceremony in recent times, but if he remembered correctly, ancient times had even more revered “human sacrifices,” and northwestern barbarian tribes still maintained the custom of burying living people with the dead…
Emperor Li Yuan, Duke of Tang under the Sui Dynasty, founding monarch of the Great Tang, father of all directions, whose virtue matched heaven and earth – surely he deserved the sacrifice of one sinful young son?
Li Yuanji walked step by step toward the sacrificial offering table under the corridor, his gaze fixed on those small knives. The prison cell had no implements for self-harm, but a funeral site wouldn’t consider such precautions. Just one move – pull it out, turn the wrist, thrust it into the heart – and all worldly troubles and fears would leave him, suffering and torment dissipating into nothing. Let it end here, he was simply too tired.
Heaven and earth are the furnaces, creation is the craftsman; yin and yang are the coal, all things are bronze; life floats like a dream, death comes as rest…
Before the singing verses finished buzzing in his ears like floating silk, just as he had lightly pulled out the carving knife and before his wrist could turn, a great force surged from behind, directly knocking him flying toward a massive vermilion-lacquered pillar under the corridor.
Darkness fell before his eyes, and the last thing he saw before pain consumed all consciousness was Crown Prince Li Chengqian’s frowning, angry face.
When he awoke in darkness, the pain persisted. A spot on the back of his head sent waves of burning pain throughout his body, so intense he couldn’t even summon the strength to moan or cry out.
He didn’t know how long he endured before the pain finally began to subside slightly. Opening his eyes, he found himself lying flat behind several layers of curtains. Light filtered through the fabric from outside, making the world spin.
Someone had bound his head with hemp cloth, and the most painful area felt wet as if bleeding. Li Yuanji turned his neck with difficulty, consciousness gradually clearing, understanding that before he could kill himself, someone – presumably Crown Prince Chengqian – had seized the knife and pushed him away, causing him to hit his head on the pillar and faint from blood loss.
Afterward, someone had treated and bandaged him, carrying him here… Though he couldn’t see beyond the curtains, judging from the ornate ceiling corner visible above, this was some small hall near the Taiji Hall. He didn’t know what Li Chengqian and the others were busy with, having temporarily placed him here.
His limbs and body could move, but his head hurt too severely – it felt three times its normal size. When he tried to sit up supporting himself on the mat, stars immediately danced before his eyes and nausea struck, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest, making him afraid to move further.
Hugging his knees against the wall with a lowered head, silently regulating his breathing for a long time, Li Yuanji didn’t know when someone would come for him, or if anyone would come at all… It didn’t matter, he just needed to rest a bit more, then he could move on his own…
But before he could stand, the sound of hurried footsteps came from beyond the curtains. First came the palace servants’ announcement “His Majesty arrives,” which both surprised and slightly frightened Li Yuanji. Before he could decide whether to make his presence known and pay respects to the Emperor, he heard the voices of several officials entering the room while discussing and sighing – if he wasn’t mistaken, the one talking incessantly to the Emperor was Wei Zheng, Wei Shubin’s father.
I… better stay quiet and hide for now…
Li Yuanji squeezed himself further into the corner, closed his eyes, and endured the dizzying headache while quietly listening to the sounds beyond the curtains. After the formal greetings, the Emperor first spoke some formulaic phrases about “wailing in grief, intestines torn asunder,” the officials urged him to control his grief, and after this performance and the Emperor granting them seats, several ruler and ministers settled into their positions and finally got to the main topic:
“The Mandate of Heaven has its return. Since ancient times, after ascending to the throne, rulers would select burial grounds and begin construction, planning for thousands of years to come. The Retired Emperor was our Great Tang’s founding monarch, who spent his reign pacifying the realm through military campaigns, without the opportunity to determine his mausoleum’s regulations, circumstances you gentlemen know well. Now time flies swiftly, approaching the initial encoffining, and I must rely on you all to advise on how to manage the imperial tomb.”
Li Yuanji could understand the Emperor’s implicit meaning. Their father, Retired Emperor Li Yuan, had ascended the throne past fifty and ruled less than ten years before being forced to abdicate by his son, everything rushed. He hadn’t had time to begin building an imperial tomb during his reign, and after his abdication, successor Emperor Li Shimin could hardly bring up the matter with his father, as it would seem like hastening his death… resulting in the current situation – the old man had passed away with no preparation for funeral rites, mausoleum location, or tomb regulations, leaving everyone at a loss for even where to bury the body.
The ritual aspects were manageable, with the former Sui Dynasty’s state funeral as reference, details to be slowly deliberated later. The urgent matter was building the tomb – it was midsummer, and despite using large quantities of ice, the Retired Emperor’s remains couldn’t be preserved for long. The final encoffining and burial needed to happen quickly.
But such hasty construction meant the founding emperor’s tomb could never be majestic and ceremonially proper. Rush work would inevitably result in something humble and crude, neither befitting the Retired Emperor’s status and achievements nor showing proper filial piety from the succeeding emperor – actually, Li Yuanji thought silently, Your Majesty needn’t worry about this so much, your reputation for being unfilial and disrespectful can never be cleansed anyway.
But clearly, the Emperor didn’t think so; his tone revealed anxiety about being unable to achieve both goals. The assembled ministers, officials from the Ministry of Rites, and construction supervisors discussed for a while, most believing that following Emperor Gaozu of Han’s Changling tomb with its ninety-foot earthen mound or tunneling into mountains like the tombs of Emperors Wen of Han and Wei, would take too much time. They could only follow Emperor Guangwu of Eastern Han’s Yuanling model, with a sixty-foot dome-shaped mound, making it as grand and beautiful as possible.
As for the location, the Astronomical Bureau and Ministry of Rites offered three sites for the ruler and ministers to choose from, finally selecting Xumuyu in Sanyuan, naming it “Xianling.” The Chief Astronomer was praising the site’s excellent feng shui, its thick earth and concentrated energy, dragon veins, and jade patterns, when Minister Wei Zheng’s voice interrupted:
“Now that the tomb is decided, I beg Your Majesty to have the Secretariat issue edicts promptly, which the Chancellery will process without delay. Your subject has another urgent matter requiring Your Majesty’s sage decision.”
“What matter?” The Emperor’s voice carried a note of wariness. For some reason, Li Yuanji’s heart also tensed behind the curtains.
“The Retired Emperor has abandoned us, and all directions grieve, the nine provinces united in tears,” Wei Zheng inquired slowly. “In times of state mourning and great sorrow, ritual forbids military action. May I ask when Your Majesty will issue an edict recalling the Duke of Dai, the Chief Commander, and others from the battlefield, to cease fighting and end the war?”