Chapter Fifty-Three: A Necessary Lesson (Part Three)

On the third day of the fifth month in the second year of Linde, just as the Dragon Boat Festival approached, torrents of rain fell throughout the night. Only as dawn neared did the downpour relent, yet the sky remained oppressively overcast, with heavy clouds hanging so low one could scarcely breathe. Traveling in such weather was far from pleasant; even with a carriage to shield from the lingering drizzle, the stifling humidity was inescapable. They had barely set out before the fresh clothes donned that morning became clammy, sticking uncomfortably to the skin. Li Xian found himself most ill at ease, his mood further agitated by the matters awaiting him at the coming court assembly. He could only rely on his cultivated composure to endure. When the carriage finally halted, Li Xian all but fled from within, eager to escape. Barely had he raised his head than he found countless eyes fixed intently upon him, leaving him quite taken aback.

What on earth—did I wear something wrong today? Being suddenly thrust into the center of the ministers’ attention, even Li Xian, usually composed, could not help but feel a little uneasy. He hesitated beside the carriage before finally making his way toward the assembled officials, adjusting his demeanor as he went; by the time he stood before them, his face bore a genial, spring-like smile.

“Greetings, Your Highness.”

Though Li Xian was but a leisurely prince without a shred of real power, his royal title still commanded the highest respect among those present. As soon as he approached, the officials all bowed deeply, not daring the least bit of neglect.

“There’s no need for such formality, honored elders,” Li Xian replied, returning their salute with a smile.

“May I ask what brings Your Highness here today?” Before Li Xian could finish enacting his gracious host routine, the old Chancellor Dai Zhizhi abruptly spoke up. His tone was calm, but the displeasure and confusion within were unmistakable. Of the five chief ministers, Xu Jingzong and Xu Yushi had accompanied the court to the Eastern Capital, Luoyang, leaving Dai Zhizhi as the head of those remaining. Known for his uprightness and distaste for the clandestine rivalry among royal princes, Dai viewed Li Xian’s presence at the court assembly with obvious disapproval. Others might fear the prince’s title, but Dai paid it little mind and spared him no courtesy in his words.

This old fellow is blunt as ever! Though well aware of Dai Zhizhi’s forthright nature, Li Xian still found himself taken aback. He grumbled inwardly, but outwardly maintained a humble, smiling face. “Chancellor Dai, you may not know: yesterday, I received an order from my elder brother, the Crown Prince, to attend in the Eastern Palace this morning. I do not know the reason myself.”

“Hm…” Dai Zhizhi, a seasoned statesman, immediately sensed the evasion in Li Xian’s reply. His long, white brows twitched as he prepared to press further, but just then Wang Dequan came hurrying out from the palace gates, calling, “By order of His Highness the Crown Prince, all ministers are summoned to Xian De Hall for council!”

Time to enter the palace—best to slip away! Li Xian had no wish to be interrogated by Dai Zhizhi in public. As soon as the call to court sounded, he laughed and bowed to the assembly, saying, “Gentlemen, let us not keep the Crown Prince waiting.” Without waiting for their response, he made his escape.

“Xingzhi,” said Hao Chujun, sidling up to the disgruntled Dai Zhizhi, “why trouble yourself so? Best let it be. When deities clash, mortals best stay out of the way.” Hao was both colleague and friend to Dai, and though he did not entirely agree, he had no wish to argue in public. He sighed, then strode into the palace, the rest of the ministers following in his wake…

Li Hong was clearly anxious about the day’s deliberations. He had arrived early at Xian De Hall and paced restlessly within. At last, when the appointed hour arrived, he hastily sent Wang Dequan to summon the ministers, seating himself on the throne at the front of the hall. Just as his mind began to drift, Li Xian slipped in first. Li Hong’s heart lifted—he was about to greet him when Dai Zhizhi and the rest of the ministers entered. Swallowing his words, he quickly signaled Li Xian with a glance, then straightened his posture, his usually pale face tinged with a faint, excited flush.

“We pay respects to Your Highness the Crown Prince!” The ministers filed in, took their places according to rank, and bowed deeply.

“Please rise, gentlemen.” Though eager to begin, Li Hong could not forgo the necessary formalities. Forcing down his impatience, he lifted a hand and spoke the customary words.

“Thank you, Your Highness!” The ministers, all seasoned officials, performed the rituals flawlessly, then moved to stand at either side of the hall—save for Li Xian, who, never having attended court in earnest, found himself awkwardly unsure where to stand.

“Attendants, bring a seat for Prince Zhou,” Li Hong commanded. From his vantage, he had noticed Li Xian’s discomfort. On any other day, he might have let his brother fumble for amusement, but today was different—he needed Li Xian to help manage the ministers; if Li Xian took offense and left, his plans would be ruined. Thus, he quickly intervened.

“My thanks for your kindness, Crown Prince.” Li Xian was more than happy to sit. Smiling, he took his seat on a brocade cushion brought by young palace attendants, making himself comfortable as he looked amiably upon the assembled ministers.

“My honored ministers, I have summoned you today to discuss but one matter. A month ago, Lord Shangguan Yi met with disaster en route to his post in Ai Prefecture—his entire household perished in the Li River, and their remains have yet to be recovered. The loss is grievous. Remembering Lord Shangguan’s virtue, I feel it incumbent upon me to request a posthumous title in his honor. The matter remains unresolved, and my heart is impatient. I ask you all to deliberate carefully and settle it with due prudence.” As soon as the ministers were in place, Li Hong spoke with barely restrained urgency, setting the tone with an air that brooked no dissent.

“Your Highness’s intent is most fitting. I am ashamed. Though I hold the office of Grand Minister of Rites, I have failed to ease Your Highness’s concerns; after days of debate, we remain undecided. I beg Your Highness’s pardon and request punishment.” Before Li Hong’s words had faded, Minister of Rites Liu Xiangdao stepped forth in tacit accord, repeatedly confessing his fault with a look of deep contrition, all but weeping on the spot.

What a performance! Old Liu really knows his craft, Li Xian thought, amused not just by the show but by the memory it evoked—when Li Yifu fell from power, Liu Xiangdao had been a chief examiner, earning Empress Wu’s enmity. In his previous life, after Shangguan Yi's death, Empress Wu immediately exiled Liu Xiangdao to the frontier, forbidding even a request to retire, and he had died far from home. But now, Liu remained safe in his post, proof that Li Xian’s efforts in recent days had not been in vain—a cause for quiet satisfaction.

“Minister Liu, there is no need for such remorse. I know you have given your utmost. This matter concerns a man's legacy and cannot be treated lightly; disputes are natural. Still, I believe debate must yield a result in the end. Has the Ministry of Rites drafted any proposal?” Liu’s performance was met by Li Hong’s equally practiced response, giving no one else a chance to speak—a duet so well rehearsed that the once-contentious matter seemed nearly resolved.

“Your Highness, after days of discussion, we have a draft. We propose the posthumous title ‘Mu’ to honor Lord Shangguan’s lifelong achievements.” Clearly, Liu and Li Hong had rehearsed; their back-and-forth unfolded seamlessly, and with a few exchanges, the issue seemed settled.

“‘Mu’, is it? I find the title apt. Does anyone object?” Li Hong, thoroughly versed in the art of performance, played his part to the end—having already signaled approval, his subsequent inquiry was little more than a tacit command. As acting regent, his authority was weighty; though the crown prince is not yet emperor, the ministers all knew how precarious the position could be. Outward reverence did not always reflect private sentiment, but with Li Hong wielding real power, none dared provoke him. The hall thus fell into an uneasy silence.

“Your Highness, I believe the title ‘Mu’ requires further consideration.” Yet there are always those unmoved by authority. After a stifling pause, a resonant voice rang out, shattering the silence in the hall…