Chapter Forty-Five: Declining Once Again (Part Two)

Curiosity is a trait common to all, and Li Xian was no exception. Though he had his private suspicions regarding the true cause of Shangguan Yi’s death, he had never obtained proof. Naturally, he yearned to uncover the truth behind the matter. Yet, he was adamant about not learning it from the Crown Prince. Not for any other reason, but simply because he had no wish to share any secret with the Crown Prince. Clearly, this was the very intention behind the Crown Prince’s probing, and precisely what Li Xian was determined to avoid.

“When one dies, all is gone. What does it matter if they receive boundless honor after death? In the end, it is but a fleeting illusion.”

Since Li Hong had posed the question, it would not do to leave it unanswered. Nevertheless, Li Xian had no intention of falling into so obvious a trap. Thus, he sighed deeply, responding with a tone of heartfelt emotion.

“Seventh Brother, you are mistaken. Sima Qian, the ancient sage, once said: ‘Though death comes to all, it may be weightier than Mount Tai or lighter than a feather.’ I firmly believe this. In my view, to die for the state is weightier than Mount Tai; to die for personal gain is lighter than a feather. The two are as distinct as water and oil, and cannot be conflated.”

At Li Xian’s evasive reply, Li Hong’s brow furrowed with slight displeasure, and he admonished Li Xian accordingly.

“Your Highness, you are right to instruct me. I am but a fool, unable to grasp such profound principles. How shameful! Truly, as the saying goes, ‘one regrets not having studied enough when knowledge is needed.’ I am mortified, and should indeed seek guidance from you, my Crown Prince brother.”

Li Xian, not wishing to dwell on the cause of Shangguan Yi’s death, was only too glad to let Li Hong’s mild rebuke steer the conversation elsewhere. He gladly went along, shifting the topic.

“Seventh Brother, such understanding is commendable. Should you apply yourself, you will surely achieve much in time. Now, when the court faces troubled times, with your talent, you should become a pillar supporting the nation. I have high hopes for you.”

Li Hong, seeing that Li Xian refused to speak on the cause of Shangguan Yi’s death, did not press the matter further, but instead offered the enticing prospect of great future use.

“Crown Prince, you flatter me. Though I vow to forsake the pen for the sword, alas, I lack the prowess of Ban Chao. However strong my ambition to serve in arms, I am doomed to remain ineffective—a mere seeker of empty fame. Pardon my inadequacy.”

Li Xian was as slippery as an eel, never one to bite at the hooks Li Hong cast. With a bout of modesty, he belittled himself to the point of insignificance—the intent obvious: a gentle refusal of Li Hong’s overtures.

Though Li Hong was learned and capable, he was not skilled at discerning subtlety. After Li Xian’s evasive wrangling, he was left with a headache, unable to make headway. Seeing Li Xian’s unwillingness to comply, Li Hong’s expression soured. Biting his lip, he looked at Li Xian, steeled his resolve, and spoke plainly: “Seventh Brother, you need not be so modest. I know your capabilities well. You can see the state of court affairs as clearly as I do. Though I am not strong, I am not to be trifled with. I will not allow the tragedies of early Han to repeat in our great Tang. I hope you will lend me your aid.”

The tragedies of early Han? Good heavens, so direct! Damn it, he’s forcing me to take a stand. This is trouble! At these words, Li Xian’s hair stood on end, for they left him no room to maneuver. He could no longer rely on evasions, yet he found himself at a loss for how to reply—after all, he was not heartless. Though experienced, Li Xian was not cold or unfeeling. Faced with the earnest plea of a brother who had always treated him kindly, he could not remain unmoved. Yet this was not merely a matter of willingness, but of principle. No matter how much he sympathized, he could not bring himself to agree.

Should he offer empty words and play both sides? If this were possible, he would gladly do so, but it was out of the question. Neither Li Hong nor Li Xian was easily deceived. If he tried to play both sides, the result would be to please neither. Under attack from both, Li Xian would have no chance to build his own faction in secret; merely surviving their overt and covert attacks would be struggle enough, let alone advancing his own position. Clearly, he could only choose one side, and from a broader perspective, he could rely only on Li Xian and not the Crown Prince. This was his settled policy. However guilty he felt for disappointing the Crown Prince’s sincerity, there could be no change.

“The sages say: ‘Water can carry a boat, but may also overturn it. This water is the will of the people.’ If one governs in accordance with the people’s will and Heaven’s mandate, nothing is impossible. In my humble opinion, this is the great principle of government. Whoever achieves this is a wise ruler and need not fear treachery.” After a long silence, Li Xian still did not answer Li Hong’s invitation directly, but offered a quote from the sages—a lengthy speech that, in essence, was yet another gentle refusal.

At these words, Li Hong’s hopeful gaze dimmed. His lips twitched, as if he wished to press further, but in the end, he merely fell silent. After a long pause, he sighed deeply and said: “Enough. Since you have your own plans, I will not force you. I am weary. You may go.”

“Your Highness, I beg your forgiveness. I take my leave.”

At this point, though Li Xian felt deeply that he had wronged Li Hong, there was nothing to be done—it was an impossible dilemma. Seeing Li Hong’s dismissal, Li Xian did not linger, but rose, bowed, and turned to leave the pavilion.

“The entire Shangguan clan perished at the hands of bandits!”

Just as Li Xian stepped out of the pavilion, Li Hong’s low voice came from behind. The words made Li Xian’s back stiffen; he hesitated, stood still for a moment, then turned, bowed deeply to Li Hong once more, and left in silence, head lowered as he walked out of the palace.

“Your Highness.”

Not long after Li Xian’s departure, a shadow flickered in the pavilion—Wang Dequan appeared silently behind Li Xian, bowed, and called softly.

“Mm.” Li Xian did not turn, but made a faint sound. Rising slowly, he looked up at the already westering sun, exhaled, and said, “Each has his own ambitions; one cannot force others. Enough, I am weary—let us return.” With these words, he paid no heed to Wang Dequan’s expression, but dragged his feet out of the pavilion, walking slowly toward the Hall of Eminent Virtue. Wang Dequan, seeing this, shook his head slightly and dared not linger, hurrying after him.

So, the break has finally come—sooner than expected. The days ahead will surely be difficult; I’ll have to take things one step at a time! Though he had long known he and the Crown Prince would not walk the same path—that a rupture was inevitable—now that the moment had arrived, Li Xian could not help but feel melancholy. After mounting his carriage, his spirit was dimmed; eyes half closed, he leaned askew against the cushions, his mind in turmoil, needing a long while to regain composure.

The Crown Prince will retaliate! Once recovered, Li Xian mentally reviewed his conversation with the Crown Prince, considering it alongside recent court developments. He quickly arrived at a nearly certain conclusion. Though he had seldom left his residence in recent months, he had never neglected gathering intelligence from court. With news from Li Xian’s side as confirmation, he knew full well that Empress Wu, far away in Luoyang, was busy assembling idle literati to compile works such as “Biographies of Virtuous Women,” “Principles of Ministers,” “New Precepts for Officials,” and the “Book of Music.” She sought to proclaim that women, too, could govern, attempting to reshape public opinion and lay the groundwork for her ascent. Clearly, this had seriously infringed upon Li Hong’s interests. As the heir apparent, his countermove was natural—Li Xian had long foreseen this. The only uncertainty was what form the Crown Prince’s counterattack would take. After today’s meeting, however, Li Xian had a general idea: the posthumous title of Shangguan Yi.

The truth behind Shangguan Yi’s death might be a mystery known to few, but his demotion’s reason was common knowledge. Should the Crown Prince use the matter of Shangguan Yi’s posthumous title to make a statement, he could deal a fierce blow to Empress Wu’s prestige, perhaps forcing her to slow her interference in government—a clever stratagem. Yet, in Li Xian’s view, it was unlikely to succeed. The Crown Prince, though regent in name and wielding court authority, was still only regent—not emperor. Many things could not be accomplished by his will alone. What’s more, the emperor was firmly under Empress Wu’s control; no matter how loudly the Crown Prince protested, a single imperial edict from the emperor would nullify everything. Barring unforeseen events, the Crown Prince’s counterattack would likely come to nothing. At least, Li Xian himself did not expect much. Nevertheless, his skepticism did not prevent him from planning to profit from the situation.

To benefit, the flames must be fanned higher—the struggle between Crown Prince and Empress Wu must be prolonged. Otherwise, all was empty talk. This would not be easy; even with Li Xian’s abundant experience in political strife, devising a perfect plan on the spot proved impossible. As he pondered along the way, his head began to ache, with no solution in sight. Irritated, he furrowed his brow into a deep crease.

“Your Highness, Your Highness!”

As Li Xian was lost in thought, Gao Miao’s voice suddenly sounded from outside the carriage.

“Hm?”

Li Xian started, suddenly realizing the carriage had stopped at some point. Lifting the curtain, he glanced outside and saw they had arrived at his own residence. He gave a self-mocking smile, said nothing, and allowed Gao Miao to assist him down from the carriage. Yet he did not immediately enter; instead, he stood beside the carriage, staring blankly at the stone lions guarding the gate. Seeing their master lost in thought, Gao Miao and the others dared not move. Thus, a large group stood there, gazing at Li Xian in confusion, none guessing what he was up to.

“Ha, I’ve got it!”

Just as the guards were making wild conjectures, Li Xian suddenly broke into a broad smile, clapped his hands, and strode briskly into the residence. So quick were his steps that everyone was left dumbfounded.