Chapter Eighty-Four: The Grief of Loss (Part Two)

Human beings are not made of grass or wood—who can truly be without feelings? Even someone as ruthless and decisive as Empress Wu had her soft spots, rare though they were. Helan Minzhi, undoubtedly, was one such attachment, occupying a place in her heart equal to, if not surpassing, that of her own sons. No matter how thoroughly Helan Minzhi squandered his life in debauchery and idleness, Empress Wu never uttered a word of reproach; instead, she would go out of her way to shield him or clean up his messes. Her care for him was meticulous in the extreme. At its root, this was not merely due to the deep bond she shared with her sister, Wu Shun; rather, it seemed that Helan Minzhi’s handsome countenance had come to embody for Empress Wu a certain unspoken longing of her own.

If she could, Empress Wu would not have seen Helan Minzhi come to harm. Yet affection is one thing, and matters of great consequence are another; she would never allow herself to be swayed by sentiment when decisive action was needed. When the time came to strike, she would not hesitate, nor soften her hand. Still, once all was done, guilt inevitably followed, faint though it might be. This was why, in recent days, she had turned a blind eye to Helan Minzhi’s reckless antics, while keeping herself out of sight. Today, however, she had no choice but to appear. The reason was simple: Emperor Gaozong, only recently recovered from illness, had decreed that a mourning hall be set up in the palace for Lady Han and her daughter, and he wished to see Helan Minzhi. Empress Wu, fearing Minzhi might cause a scene before the emperor, was compelled to come in person.

“Minzhi, come now, get up. Your aunt will see that justice is done for you.” The unusual gleam in Empress Wu’s eyes flashed only briefly before clarity returned. Bending down, she gently patted Minzhi’s trembling shoulder, speaking to him in a soft, coaxing tone.

“Aunt, my heart aches—my heart aches so much, Aunt…” Though Helan Minzhi obediently straightened up on his knees, tears continued to stream from his eyes like a spring, and he looked up at Empress Wu, his face the very image of heartbreak and despair.

“Don’t cry, Minzhi. My heart aches too. Ah, for my sister and for Yue to die so unjustly by the hands of scoundrels—” Here Empress Wu’s eyes reddened, tears welling up until she choked on her words, unable to go on. Aunt and nephew wailed together, throwing the court ladies and eunuchs around them into confusion, none daring to step forward to comfort them, but only looking on helplessly at one another.

“Aunt, my mother and sister were always so kind, never quarreling with anyone. How could they have come to such a tragic end? I don’t understand, Aunt—why did this happen?” The more Helan Minzhi wept, the more sorrowful he became, until by the end, his words carried an accusatory edge.

“Rest assured, Minzhi. The case has been solved, the ringleader punished, and all accomplices will be rooted out, to bring peace to your mother and sister’s spirits. Now, get up. His Majesty wishes to see you. You must not forget your manners, or even I won’t be able to protect you. Attend him! Help Minzhi bathe and change!” As Helan Minzhi’s laments grew increasingly bold, a sharp glint appeared in Empress Wu’s eyes. Yet she offered no rebuke, only gentle persuasion, before giving an order in a tone that brooked no argument. Immediately, the waiting eunuchs and maids closed in, whether Minzhi was willing or not, supporting him as they led him toward the rear hall.

Perhaps because Empress Wu was present, Minzhi made no further scene, only sobbing quietly as he allowed himself to be guided away. Yet as they turned into the shadowed corridor, the corner of Minzhi’s mouth twisted into a strange smile—part grimace, part resentment, part steely resolve. Why he smiled, only Heaven could know.

At some point, the sky had grown dark once more. The clouds pressed low, lightning flickered, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The first spring downpour was about to descend. The great hall was unlit, shrouded in gloom so heavy that one could barely see. Yet Li Xian seemed untroubled by the darkness, giving no order for the lamps to be lit. He sat alone before a low table, gazing pensively at a half-finished game of chess, a piece in his hand as if pondering his next move—though his mind was far from the board.

Time had flown by; in the blink of an eye, more than a year had passed since his rebirth. Much had happened, enough that it was time to take stock, especially now, as the tides of the court were on the verge of great change. Li Xian could not avoid contemplating his next steps with utmost caution. In truth, he had worked quietly behind the scenes this past year, subtly altering the course of history and even achieving some progress. But he was keenly aware that the larger situation remained fundamentally unchanged—the danger was as grave as ever.

How regrettable, truly regrettable, that he had failed to save Helan Minyue. It pained him deeply, but what was done was done; there was no use in dwelling on it, and Li Xian was clear-eyed enough to know it. The greater problem was that, with the deaths of Lady Han and her daughter, there was no one left in the harem to counterbalance Empress Wu. After such upheaval, Emperor Gaozong’s already frail health would surely deteriorate further, and with it Empress Wu’s power would once again surge to new heights. This trend seemed unstoppable, and how to respond to it was the first issue Li Xian had to consider.

In Li Xian’s view, Empress Wu maintained her hold on the government by relying on three pillars. The first was her control over the emperor within the palace. Li Xian had no way to challenge this—indeed, not even the emperor himself could do anything about Empress Wu’s ambitions, other than to support the crown prince in hopes of checking her growing power. Yet history had already proven this path futile: the crown prince, though virtuous, lacked ruthlessness, and ultimately could not escape being poisoned by Empress Wu. The second pillar was the group of corrupt officials in the Court of Judicial Review. Here, Li Xian thought he might make use of the crown prince to gradually destroy Empress Wu’s faction within that institution. Of course, even without his direct involvement, the crown prince would never allow such a crucial body to remain in Empress Wu’s hands. A bitter struggle was inevitable; though the outcome was uncertain, Li Xian was not overly concerned. He was more than capable of framing and entrapping these officials—besides, they were far from spotless, and it would not be hard to find grounds for their removal.

What truly troubled Li Xian were the North Gate Scholars, a group newly ascendant but not yet a dominant force. Headed by Liu Yizhi, Zhou Simiao, Fan Lübing, and Wei Jingye, these scholars had only begun to make a name for themselves. Though Empress Wu had promoted them vigorously during the Mount Tai sacrifices, their foundations were still shallow; at present, they were little more than a group of mid-level bureaucrats, not yet significant enough to attract the attention of the court’s grandees. But Li Xian understood all too well how dangerous they could become. As early as his days in Luoyang, he had been considering ways to undermine or even eliminate this malignant growth. To Li Xian, the North Gate Scholars were far more important than Empress Wu’s favorites in the inner palace or the corrupt judiciary officials. The reason was simple: these shameless literati, for all their lack of character, wielded formidable pens and could sway public opinion with earth-shaking force. They were not to be underestimated.

Li Xian himself was only a mediocre writer, but having been tempered by the bureaucracy of a later age, he was well-versed in manipulating public opinion and setting the tone. With countless masterpieces from the future stored in his mind, he had no reason to fear these shameless literati. The problem was, he had already taken a clear stance of abandoning scholarship for the military, and so could not make any dramatic moves in literary matters. Moreover, as a prince, it would be unseemly for him to engage directly in public disputes with low-ranking scholars. Thus, suppressing the North Gate Scholars had become a particularly thorny problem.

Talent—ultimately, it all came down to a lack of talent! Li Xian knew well where his shortcomings lay, but there was no easy way to resolve the issue for now. Of course, if he could bring about a successful reform of the imperial examination system, this problem would be greatly alleviated. Yet passing such a measure in court would be no simple matter. Though he had once confidently persuaded Li Xian the crown prince to cooperate with him at Hangu Pass, that had merely been an effort to boost the prince’s morale. When it came to the actual debate in court, a fierce struggle was inevitable, and whether they would prevail remained very much in doubt.

“Seventh Brother, why are you sitting here in the dark?”

Just as Li Xian’s thoughts whirled in confusion, footsteps sounded. King Lu, Li Xian, entered with several trusted eunuchs, his face beaming. Upon seeing Li Xian sitting alone in the darkness, he burst into laughter and called out.

“Sixth Brother, judging by your complexion, things must be going smoothly for you.”

Li Xian glanced at Li Xian, noting his healthy appearance, and smiled.

“Light the lamps!”

Laughing heartily, Li Xian did not answer at once but casually waved his hand, ordering the eunuchs to light the oil lamps and candles. He then strode over to the table and sat down, stretching comfortably. “Earlier, when I went to see Father, I ran into someone. Seventh Brother, can you guess who it was?”

What sort of question was that? There were any number of people one might meet in the palace. There was no way to guess! Li Xian grumbled inwardly, but kept up a pleasant smile. He shrugged. “Sixth Brother, you jest. I’m no immortal—how could I possibly know? Why not just tell me?”

“Heh, well, let me tell you: when I was speaking with Father, Mother herself came in, bringing Helan Minzhi with her. Can you guess what post he has been given?” Li Xian grinned slyly, dropping the name of Helan Minzhi and pausing for effect, clearly in high spirits.

Helan Minzhi? Ah, so it’s that rascal. It seems the Empress means to compensate him somehow. Li Xian was well aware of how favored Helan Minzhi was by Empress Wu; hearing Li Xian’s tone, he quickly guessed the truth. Still, he did not say so, but feigned confusion, glancing at Li Xian and asking hesitantly, “Could it be that Mother has requested a title for him?”

“Not at all, Seventh Brother, you’re thinking too small. Mother has proposed that Helan Minzhi serve as executioner, putting every male of the Wu family’s branch to the sword, and awarding all the women and children to Helan Minzhi as slaves. Father agreed, and I expect the decree has already been drafted.” Li Xian laughed, finally revealing the answer.

So that was it—how very interesting! Helan Minzhi? Intriguing, most intriguing. Remembering the misdeeds Helan Minzhi had committed in his previous life, Li Xian’s mind began to turn; he already had some ideas, but said nothing, choosing instead to laugh along with Li Xian…