Imperial Advisor Wei Zheng sat motionless opposite him, holding his tablet in silence, his face showing no change in emotion. Actually, Wei’s opinion was fundamentally opposite to that of the Court of State Ceremonials—he supported sending a prince beyond the frontier but disagreed with the choice of the prince. As he listened to Li Yuangui’s argument with Gao Biaoren, Wei Zheng’s thoughts were unclear, probably felt inappropriate to speak up for either side, so he simply remained silent.
With the Court of State Ceremonials retreating after exhausting their arguments—though Gao Biaoren’s expression suggested he was still skeptical of Li Yuangui’s words, but couldn’t exactly accuse him of lying to his face—it was the Court of Judicial Review’s turn.
Just seeing the bland, flat face of Minister Sun Fuguo of the Court of Judicial Review made Li Yuangui lower his head sheepishly, preparing himself to be lectured. He couldn’t refute any of Minister Sun’s accusations about his crimes of disloyalty and treason, as they were all written in his confession at the Xuanwu Gate tower.
Originally, impeaching officials with ranks should have been the Censorate’s responsibility, but this case was particularly sensitive and complicated. Moreover, with the Emperor semi-publicly protecting his half-brother, the Chief Censor and others were happy to let the outspoken Sun Fuguo take the lead, content to simply echo his words. Li Yuangui had resigned himself to lying down and taking the beating, silently listening to the criticism, acknowledging his guilt during Sun’s pauses for breath, waiting for him to exhaust his repertoire of reproaches before steering the conversation toward “atoning for crimes through meritorious service.”
What he hadn’t expected was that reinforcements would come to his rescue.
These reinforcements came from Crown Prince Li Chengqian, who had always been at odds with him.
After Sun Fuguo finished listing how many articles of the “Unauthorized Military Action Law” Li Yuangui had violated, the Crown Prince interjected:
“Minister Sun, please wait. While the Prince of Wu has violated other laws, which I failed to notice, his involvement in investigating the conspiracy of Imperial Consort Yin and her siblings was actually under orders from the Eastern Palace. His being deceived by false words and falling into a trap—I cannot be without blame for that.”
What?
When did I ever receive the Crown Prince’s orders to investigate Imperial Consort Yin and her siblings… Li Yuangui stared at his eldest nephew, thankfully maintaining enough self-control not to blurt out his surprise. Sun Fuguo was also taken aback, pausing before asking in a deep voice:
“The Prince of Wu received orders from the Crown Prince? Why was this never mentioned before?”
“No one ever asked me,” Li Chengqian spread his hands innocently. “As for the Prince of Wu… Fourteenth Uncle, I know you meant well, not wanting to implicate me, but there’s no need to conceal such matters. I was acting under imperial authority to oversee the Daan Palace affairs, and when I learned of suspicious behavior from the Yin siblings, I ordered you to investigate. It was all above board—what’s there to hide? That’s the first point. Secondly, regarding those foreign rebels who conspired with the Prince of Wu, they claimed to be assassins sent by Tuyuhun, but according to my investigation, the evidence is quite insufficient, so we shouldn’t jump to conclusions about their identities.”
“???” Li Yuangui couldn’t keep up with the Crown Prince’s meaning and could only gape in bewilderment as Li Chengqian continued his eloquent discourse. It turned out that during that night’s upheaval at Daan Palace, the guards hadn’t captured a single assassin alive. Later examination of the black-clad corpses and several searches of Cuiyun Peak had failed to locate the fifteen or sixteen-year-old Tuyuhun prince, Sang Sai, mentioned in Li Yuangui’s confession—he had mysteriously disappeared. Thus, these people’s identities and backgrounds could only be determined by the testimonies of Li Yuangui, Yang Xinzhi, and others, but there was another witness whose testimony differed significantly from Li Yuangui’s.
“There was a foreign merchant surnamed An, who, along with his son, was deeply involved in this matter. His son perished, while An was captured by General Cheng Yaojin and remains in custody,” Li Chengqian said leisurely. “A personally revealed that the son of Tuyuhun’s Tianzhuwang never came to the capital, and the Prince of Wu was deceived by those assassins. As for other matters, they involve military and state secrets which I shouldn’t disclose at present.”
The officials below the steps exchanged glances while Li Yuangui’s head buzzed for quite a while before he could think clearly.
If—if Li Yuangui had indeed first received orders from the Crown Prince before conspiring with a group of unknown individuals who weren’t enemy assassins, that would significantly reduce his crimes, shifting the narrative toward “being deceived and careless in investigation” rather than the previous charge of actively and intentionally plotting high treason. However, Li Chengqian’s sudden lie to exculpate Li Yuangui meant taking on some responsibility himself, such as “poor judgment in choosing people.” Why had His Highness the Crown Prince suddenly changed his stance?
Li Yuangui stared steadily at Li Chengqian, and suddenly a scene flashed before his eyes—imagined, yet as vivid and real as if he had witnessed it personally. He seemed to see His Majesty the Emperor instructing his eldest son:
“This matter of sending your Fourteenth Uncle beyond the frontier for marriage alliance—I’m leaving it to you to handle. The troubles he’s in partly stem from your failings, so deal with it yourself. How to convince him to volunteer, how to persuade the court officials to support this marriage—that depends on your ability…”
Ability and talent—these Li Chengqian had never lacked… What he lacked was something else…
The Crown Prince’s surprise attack threw the Court of Judicial Review into disarray. Li Yuangui collected his thoughts and struck while the iron was hot, speaking at length about admitting his guilt, repenting, and reforming himself. He cited historical examples of Duke Mu of Qin using Meng Ming, the Later Han’s Suo Lu replacing the Governor of Dai who had died for his duty, and how the late Emperor Emeritus had told Li Jing, Duke of Dai Guo, that “using someone who has made mistakes is better than using someone who has achieved merit.” Li Chengqian also provided supporting fire, discussing the “Eight Considerations” and redemption clauses, arguing that banishment for three thousand li was already a severe punishment, and sending the Prince of Wu to the Western Regions to serve the country couldn’t be considered showing favoritism or bending the law.
Working together, my uncle and nephew achieved unexpected results. After a quiet discussion between Sun Fuguo and the officials from the Censorate and the Court of Judicial Review, they declared “We need to review the case files in detail,” temporarily abandoning this battle.
Thus, only Wei Zheng remained as Li Yuangui’s opponent.
Only.
Imperial Advisor Wei was no ordinary minister. Rather than waiting for Li Yuangui to attack, he took the initiative, targeting the flank—bowing to Li Chengqian and saying:
“I must first congratulate the Crown Prince. Several days ago, His Majesty summoned us to attend him and showed us a letter of gratitude from the Eastern Palace, praising its sincere reasoning and excellent composition. We respectfully read it, and naturally, I need not mention how its discussion of serving one’s parents and practicing filial piety aligned perfectly with the works of ancient sages and modern worthies. What particularly impressed me was Your Highness’s deep understanding of your royal father’s intention to govern with benevolence and love for the people, your humility in showing proper respect, your praise of benevolent governance, and your strong advocacy for maintaining peace and allowing the people to rest. This is the way to ensure the nation’s lasting prosperity and enduring peace. Please accept my congratulations, Your Highness.”
With Wei taking the lead in this ceremony, the court officials in the hall all left their seats to bow in congratulation, and Li Yuangui had no choice but to follow suit. After rising, he saw Li Chengqian’s slightly embarrassed expression—Wei had first set up a high platform to elevate him, explicitly stating that “His Highness the Crown Prince strongly advocates maintaining peace and allowing the people to rest,” making it difficult for him to then voice support for provoking conflict with Gaochang.
Li Yuangui’s attention was elsewhere. He wondered what kind of gratitude letter Li Chengqian had submitted to his father that had so impressed the Emperor that he couldn’t resist showing it to his close ministers… The Eastern Palace had plenty of famous scholars and great Confucians as tutors, and composing an elegant parallel prose piece with quoted passages would not have been difficult, but if it were merely beautifully worded, the Emperor had seen plenty of those and wouldn’t have been particularly pleased, especially since he had been angry with the Crown Prince until recently.
Had the Eastern Palace acquired new strategists? Their recent moves seemed to show some changes…
“Regarding the Prince of Wu’s mission to Gaochang to seek marriage with the Qu family’s daughter,” Li Yuangui noticed that Wei Zheng avoided terms like “marriage alliance,” “becoming a son-in-law,” or even “princess,” “may I ask the Prince of Wu, what do you truly seek by volunteering to go to such remote western regions? I know the Prince has had great ambitions since his youth and is also skilled in archery, horsemanship, and martial arts. In going beyond the Jade Gate, surely you have vowed to establish your might in the desert, following the example of Han Dynasty’s Fu Jiezi, determined not to return until you’ve conquered Loulan?”
Fu Jiezi was a great general during Emperor Zhao of Han’s reign. When Kucha and Loulan in the Western Regions allied with the Xiongnu, killed Han envoys, and plundered wealth, he was dispatched by Grand General Huo Guang. Carrying gold and fine silk to Loulan, he beheaded the King of Loulan at a banquet, installed a new king who had been a hostage in Han and was enfeoffed as Marquis of Yiyang for his achievement. By drawing this historical parallel, Wei Zheng was not only questioning Li Yuangui’s intentions but also satirizing both the Emperor and Crown Prince.
Fortunately, Li Yuangui was prepared for this. The first step: respectfully placing his hands on his forehead and bowing to the ground—a thought suddenly flashed through his mind, “How nice it would be if this were a wedding ceremony bow to my father-in-law,” bringing inexplicable sadness—using this grand gesture to deflate Imperial Advisor Wei’s imposing manner. Second step: expressing deep remorse, repenting his past rash and arrogant behavior, readily drawing parallels with the tragic ends of various rebellious imperial brothers like the King of Huainan, King Xiao of Liang, and King of Guangling of the Former Han, King Ying of Chu and King of Linchuan of Liang of the Later Han, expressing tremendous fear and self-warning, trembling with shame.
He was learning and applying on the spot, naturally following his elder brother the Emperor’s example. Anticipating that the old masters would quote classics and historical examples to admonish him, he preemptively recited them himself, saying what they would have said, saving them the effort and, more importantly, catching them off guard to break their momentum. After having their words stolen, even great scholars and ministers often became tongue-tied, at most adding a few words of encouragement like “since you already know this, you must learn from these lessons and reflect carefully,” before letting the matter pass.
However, Imperial Advisor Wei, who constantly attended the Emperor and was battle-hardened, was no ordinary remonstrating official. After Li Yuangui finished speaking and repeatedly bowed, Wei Zheng calmly returned the bow and seized upon a point to ask:
“The Prince of Wu’s classical learning and cultural refinement are admirable to Wei. However, in your earlier response to Minister Gao, you said you wouldn’t remain long in Gaochang as a hostage, nor would you meekly endure depending on others, but would use your methods to bring your wife back. Given the Gaochang King’s deep love for his daughter, if this leads to war with our Great Tang, does the Prince not care? Or perhaps the Prince fears there won’t be border conflicts and thus no opportunity to achieve merit on the battlefield?”
Though this question was sharp and pointed, it still fell within the range of classical texts Li Yuangui had memorized. He just needed to deliver another set of grand principles, such as “born in the deep palace with limited understanding, thinking of farmers’ hardships with every meal, remembering the toil of weaving with every garment,” or “the state is founded on its people, and people live by food. If crops fail, the multitudes will not belong to the state,” or “if weapons are frequently wielded and construction never ceases, how can we avoid disrupting farming seasons?” In short, promising to prioritize the people’s peaceful livelihood and not rashly engage in warfare.
But when the words “deep love for his daughter” reached his ears, he suddenly lost interest in reciting texts. A retort naturally escaped his lips:
“Are there truly fathers in this world who love their daughters so? Who would rather keep their daughters at home, not letting them go to their husbands, even at the cost of war with a great nation? What kind of fatherly love and kindness would that be? I am young and ignorant, and hope Lord Wei can enlighten me.”