Chapter Thirty-One: The Trial (Part Two)

Luck was truly not on his side today. Running into someone like Helan Minzhi first thing in the morning was already enough to make anyone feel sick, but now, what should have been a straightforward, official visit had, for no apparent reason, devolved into a private audience. This left Li Xian so frustrated he could scarcely keep from spitting blood. In his mind, “pursuing martial prowess” was little more than a beautiful façade—a message to those with an eye for court intrigue that Li Xian harbored no ambitions for the throne. He had never intended to transform himself into a stalwart warrior, nor dared hope to become a legendary general. Of course, in the depths of his heart, there lingered a faint, almost imperceptible longing—but only just. In truth, his apprenticeship at the Left Flank Guards was largely a performance. The role might not have been weighty, but it absolutely could not be botched; the consequences would be far from amusing.

Since he had to pay his respects, so be it—Li Xian truly didn’t care under what pretense he made this trip. As long as he achieved his purpose, the rest was immaterial. Whether acting under imperial orders or coming on his own, it made little difference to him. After all, given Old Master Su’s reputation and prestige, Li Xian had no qualms about setting aside his princely airs. Even if he wasn’t trying to curry favor, he had to at least show respect for Su’s illustrious service to the Great Tang. These matters of face were trivial in his eyes. But to be left waiting endlessly like a fool was simply too much. Even with his generous temperament, Li Xian couldn’t help but feel a surge of irritation and the urge to storm into the camp. But that was a mere fantasy; not only could he not act on it, he couldn’t even voice such thoughts. Helpless, he could only grit his teeth and endure the wait.

“The General commands: Prince Zhou is invited to enter!” Just as Li Xian’s patience was wearing thin, the officer who had gone ahead to announce his arrival finally emerged from the camp gate. Ignoring Li Xian’s polite smile, the officer, face as stony as ever, delivered his message in a tone that sounded more like an order than an invitation.

“Thank you, General!” Li Xian was not one to quibble over such matters; as long as he could enter the camp, the officer’s attitude was irrelevant. Smiling, he cupped his hands in salute and, followed by Gao Miao and his personal guards, prepared to proceed through the gate.

“Hold it!” Before Li Xian could take a step, the officer stretched out a broad arm, blocking his path with a cold snort. “The General invites only His Highness inside. The rest must not trespass. Any who defy this order shall be executed without mercy!”

“Outrageous!”

“Impudent!”

“Insolent wretch! Are you courting death?”

The officer’s words had barely fallen before the Prince Zhou’s bodyguards erupted in fury. Each of them held official rank; the lowest among them was seventh grade, and their captain, Xiao Yan, held a full fourth-grade military post—far outstripping the officer before them in status. Accustomed to pride and privilege, they could not tolerate such open disrespect. Before Li Xian could intervene, they were already hurling angry rebukes, many with hands resting on their sword hilts, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.

“Enough! Stand down!”

Sensing chaos about to break out, Li Xian grew anxious. If things got out of hand, not only would his plan to become a disciple be ruined, but worse, the censors at the Court of Judicial Review would surely pounce, flooding the palace with impeachments. Regardless of who was in the right, a charge of “inciting disorder” would be pinned squarely on him, and the consequences would be dire. Watching the situation spiral, torn between fury and anxiety, Li Xian shouted with all his might, forcibly quelling his men’s aggression.

“General, the fault is mine for failing to restrain my men. Please, forgive their offense,” Li Xian said, mastering his anger and offering the officer a smile and a contrite salute.

“Hmph. Please, go ahead.” Though the officer was acting on Su Dingfang’s orders, he too could not risk the consequences of a confrontation. Seeing Li Xian concede, he dared not press further, but neither did he soften his stance. With a cold grunt, he gestured for Li Xian to proceed alone into the camp.

“My thanks.” Knowing full well this was all intentional obstruction, yet powerless to resist, Li Xian replied coolly, then strode alone through the gate. No sooner had he entered the training ground than he noticed, at the far end, a large pavilion had been erected at some point. He could not see what was inside, but the two rows of fierce-looking soldiers standing outside were enough to intimidate anyone. Even Li Xian, bold as he was, was taken aback by the martial display and unconsciously slowed his step, doubts creeping into his mind.

“Please, Your Highness.”

The officer leading the way didn’t turn, but he sensed Li Xian’s hesitation. Without breaking stride, he called out in a tone so flat that it carried a subtle note of mockery.

So, testing me, are you? Well, let’s see what tricks you’ve got up your sleeve! Though the officer’s sarcasm was faint, Li Xian’s senses were razor sharp and he immediately understood Su Dingfang’s intentions. Still, he wasn’t concerned. Curling his lip in disdain, he said nothing and followed the officer toward the pavilion.

“Raise blades!”

Just as Li Xian expected, as he drew near the twin lines of soldiers, a commander in central army attire suddenly barked an order. With a resounding clang, both ranks of soldiers stepped forward, raising their blades to form a tunnel of steel—sunlight glinting off the cold metal, a palpable aura of lethal intent filling the air, enough to make anyone’s blood run cold.

Hah, so this is your little stunt? As if you’d actually dare strike down a prince! Li Xian scoffed inwardly, utterly unimpressed by the knife formation. He made no move to enter, but stood calmly less than three feet from the blades, his face impassive as if he hadn’t noticed the display of force at all.

“Please, Your Highness!”

The officer at his side was surprised that Li Xian hadn’t been cowed, giving him a long, appraising look. After a moment’s thought, he gestured for Li Xian to proceed into the pavilion.

Enter? Why not! With a hearty laugh, Li Xian strode forward, utterly indifferent to the glimmering blades above his head. He walked with head held high, as if strolling leisurely through a garden, his composure making the soldiers—who had gone to such lengths—feel awkward and uneasy.

“Withdraw blades!”

Seeing that their intimidation had failed, the commander’s expression grew even more interesting. Gritting his teeth, he snapped another command. Instantly, a chorus of metallic clangs filled the air as countless blades flashed, some passing so close to Li Xian that the wind from their movement stung his face. Yet he did not so much as flinch; his steps remained steady as he marched toward the pavilion, his mountain-like composure drawing astonished, even admiring, glances from the assembled troops.

Not afraid? Hardly! Even with nerves of steel, anyone would feel their heart pounding in their throat with so many blades whirling around them. Li Xian wasn’t worried about being deliberately attacked—his real concern was that some soldier might slip, and if he died here by accident, it wasn’t as if he’d have a second chance at life. He relied on the composure honed during his previous life’s battles in the bureaucracy to keep his face blank, though sweat poured down his back unseen beneath his many layers of clothing.

Old Su, just you wait. If I don’t get my own back, this won’t be over! While Li Xian was not petty, he was no saint, either. To be toyed with again and again would try anyone’s patience. He silently swore to repay the favor, yet did not pause for a moment, striding straight into the pavilion. There, at the head of the assembly, sat an old man in full armor—none other than the awe-inspiring Su Dingfang, Grand General Su himself.

“General Su, I, Li Xian, pay my respects!”

With a swift glance, Li Xian took in the scene within the tent. Among the dozens of officers standing on either side, he spotted Li Boyao, the man of the hour, which brought a small measure of relief. Without delay, he strode forward, bowed deeply, and offered his greeting.

“Hm.”

Su Dingfang had not expected Li Xian to pass two such trials unscathed, and a flicker of admiration for the young prince’s composure stirred within him. Still, it was not enough to change his mind. When the imperial decree had first been announced, Su Dingfang had submitted a memorial in firm opposition to Li Xian joining the Left Flank Guards. In his view, the Left Flank’s officers were defenders of the state, not private royal retainers like the North Palace Guards—their duty was to lead troops in battle, not to humor a young prince’s whims. Yet the Emperor had refused his advice and, instead, tried to placate him with kind words and generous rewards, leaving Su Dingfang no choice but to acquiesce to Li Xian’s arrival. Secretly, he had arranged a series of tests to force Li Xian to give up. But since the first two had already failed, with Li Xian now standing before him, Su Dingfang had no choice but to face the situation head-on. He gave a noncommittal grunt through his nose in reply to Li Xian’s salute.

Tsk, what an act! Fine, I’ll see if I can’t win you over yet! Li Xian waited for a moment, but seeing that Su Dingfang offered nothing more than a grunt, his heart sank, though he did not panic. With a quick glint in his eye, he had already formulated a plan. Suddenly, he clapped his hands together and burst into uproarious laughter, filling the pavilion with the sound. The assembled officers stared, dumbfounded, glancing at one another in utter bewilderment, unable to make heads or tails of Li Xian’s antics…