Chapter 88: A Sudden Thunderclap on Level Ground (Part One)

Time passed swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, it was already mid-April of the first year of the Qianfeng reign. Suddenly, word spread from within the palace: His Majesty, the High Emperor, was finally going to hold court. This was the first grand audience since the emperor had arrived in Luoyang last February, and all the ministers eagerly awaited it. Even more intriguing was the news that Prince Lu, Li Xian, and Prince Zhou, Li Xian, would formally step into the court as well—an event laden with meaning that stirred much speculation among the officials.

Since the High Emperor’s return to the capital on the eighteenth of the third month, he had not attended morning court, but imperial edicts had flowed steadily. Not only had Yan Liben and Liu Xiangdao—previously banished—been summoned back to the capital, but they had also been promoted: Liu Xiangdao to Minister of Personnel, Yan Liben to Minister of Revenue. Other officials close to the Crown Prince also received promotions: Yue Yanwei, former Minister of Personnel, was elevated to Hanlin Scholar, participating in state affairs (as chancellor); Lu Chengqing, Minister of Justice, was promoted to Minister of Rites, also participating in state affairs (as chancellor). Those who had maintained a neutral stance in court, such as Xu Yushi and Li Anqi, were dismissed and retired. Meanwhile, the emperor issued a special edict for the Crown Prince to continue overseeing state affairs, thus setting a precedent for a prince to govern while the emperor still reigned. The Crown Prince Li Hong’s influence soared, and nearly all government business fell into his hands, inspiring the ministers to rally behind him. Yet, just when the Crown Prince’s power was at its peak, the emperor suddenly called for a morning audience and ordered Princes Lu and Zhou to participate, inevitably prompting the officials to speculate and conjecture.

Was there something suspicious? Perhaps others found the emperor’s actions perplexing, but Li Xian, who had once been emperor himself, saw through it all—it was nothing but a balancing act. Certainly, the emperor wished to bolster the Crown Prince to offset the Empress’s growing ambitions, but he was careful not to overcorrect. If the Crown Prince’s power continued unchecked and another “Xuanwu Gate Incident” ensued, the emperor would have no time even to weep. Clearly, precaution was necessary. By elevating Li Xian and his brother—who had never been on amicable terms with the Crown Prince—into the court, the emperor instituted the best safeguard. And undoubtedly, the Empress played her role in facilitating this.

The reason was simple: with her penchant for wielding power, the Empress would never sit idly by while the Crown Prince grew stronger. If he secured the throne, her stage for performance would vanish. No matter what, she would devise ways to complicate the Crown Prince’s path. Yet, the emperor harbored resentment for the tragic deaths of the Lady of Korea and her daughter, so the Empress could not act openly. Watching the three brothers battle in court was the perfect scenario for her. If the state descended into chaos due to their infighting, it would be her opportunity to seize total power—a classic strategy of casting a long line to catch a big fish, nothing remarkable.

As the old saying goes: “When strength is lacking, one must borrow power to succeed.” Clearly, Li Xian’s situation was just so. Regardless of the emperor’s or the Empress’s intentions, this entry into court was a golden opportunity for both Li Xian and Li Xian—a chance not to be missed. In truth, Li Xian had long prepared for this moment, waiting patiently for it to arrive. Now, all was ready; the east wind had risen, and it was time to ride the waves.

Morning court was never a leisurely affair for ruler and ministers alike. The audience was convened at the hour of the dragon, meaning one had to depart at the hour of the hare. Rising early was just the start; eating was an even greater nuisance. The reason was simply that a morning session could last two or three hours, and if a difficult matter arose, it might drag on until afternoon. There were no “breaks” in between; if someone suddenly needed to relieve himself, it might be disastrous. An unfortunate accident before the emperor would not just be embarrassing—it would be a grave offense. Thus, whenever morning court was held, the officials would avoid eating if they could, and if it was unavoidable, they would eat dry food. For Li Xian, who was accustomed to morning court in his previous life, this was no issue. So, rising at dawn, he practiced martial arts, quickly bathed and dressed, skipped the porridge, ate two plain pancakes to settle his stomach, and boarded his carriage for the imperial city.

Was he excited? A little, though not overly so, but it was there. After all, this was Li Xian’s first time participating in state affairs in this life—it would be impossible not to feel some excitement. Moreover, this audience was the first step in his grand plan, and failure was not an option. A touch of anxiety was only natural. For this reason, his thoughts were somewhat scattered on the journey, but once the carriage stopped, Li Xian steadied himself completely, stepped down calmly, and looked out across the small square in front of Cheng Tian Gate, smiling slightly.

Old Six really was a performer—no need for makeup on this stage, he could play the young noble effortlessly! The moment Li Xian stepped from his carriage, he saw Prince Lu, Li Xian, warmly mingling among the ministers, his exaggerated humility bordering on theatricality. Li Xian found it quietly amusing, but despite his amusement, he did not neglect the proper courtesies and quickly strode toward the center of the square.

“Your Highness, good morning.”

“Greetings to Prince Zhou!”

…

As Li Xian arrived, the officials ceased their discussions and hurried to greet him, exchanging pleasantries and bows, filling the square with a clamor of voices.

“Gentlemen, please, forgive my tardiness,” Li Xian responded to their greetings with a respectful bow, returning half the courtesy, but did not stop moving until he reached Li Xian’s side. There, he paused and bowed, saying, “Sixth Brother, good morning.”

“Ah, Seventh Brother, you’re here! Looking spirited today. Come, stand by me; court will begin soon,” Li Xian replied with a reserved nod, returning the courtesy and casually praising Li Xian, fully playing the elder brother.

Ah, this fellow does love to show off! Li Xian understood perfectly why Li Xian acted this way—simply to assert himself as the leader of the two-prince alliance. It mattered little to Li Xian what impression others formed, as long as Li Xian didn’t act impulsively; who led mattered not at all, and he wouldn’t bother to compete. So he smiled amiably, standing by Li Xian’s side, deliberately half a step behind to emphasize Li Xian’s leadership.

“Court is convening! Court is convening!”

Li Xian had timed his arrival precisely; just after exchanging greetings with Li Xian, the call to court echoed from the palace. The ministers promptly arranged themselves by rank, with Li Xian and Li Xian at the head, the chancellors following, and then filed through Cheng Tian Gate, along the palace avenue, hurrying toward the Tai Chi Hall. Once inside, everyone stood solemnly, awaiting the arrival of the emperor and crown prince.

“His Majesty arrives!”

In less than a quarter of an hour, the sharp, resonant voice of High Heshen, the chief eunuch, rang out from the rear hall. Soon, the High Emperor appeared, his steps faltering, followed by the crown prince flanked by several junior eunuchs.

“We respectfully welcome Your Majesty and the Crown Prince!”

The ministers knelt and bowed deeply, paying their respects.

“Rise, my beloved ministers.”

The emperor’s condition was poor—his face pale and haggard. Though not yet forty, he appeared closer to fifty. Even the simple act of sitting on the throne left him slightly breathless, his voice weak and lacking vigor.

“Long live the Emperor! Long live, long live!”

The ministers echoed the ritual threefold, then rose, arranging themselves by rank and in two columns, civil and military, standing like statues, breath held.

“Beloved ministers, since last February I have not attended morning court; all affairs have been handled by the Crown Prince, whose efforts have greatly pleased me. Now that I am here in person, let any who have memorials present them freely.”

Once the ministers were in place, the emperor surveyed them, stroked his beard, first praised Crown Prince Li Hong, then shifted his tone, hinting at resuming governance himself. This cast doubt on his earlier praise, and for a moment no one stepped forward—all stood, uncertain, silently probing the emperor’s intentions. The hall fell into an eerie silence.

Poor Crown Prince, how can you not see the emperor’s heart is inscrutable? The more capable you are, the more uneasy the old man becomes. If only you’d occasionally make minor mistakes, giving him an opportunity to correct you, it would be nothing. But now, trouble is brewing, isn’t it? Li Xian, though standing respectfully like the others, watched the crown prince’s expression out of the corner of his eye. As expected, the emperor’s words cast a shadow over Li Hong’s face, stirring Li Xian’s own thoughts.

“Father Emperor, your son has a memorial to present!”

Amidst the silence, Li Xian strode forward, bowed deeply, and spoke loudly, drawing all eyes to him.

Damn, why could this fool not restrain himself! Li Xian had been lost in thought and hadn’t noticed Li Xian’s move until it was too late to stop him. His heart sank, and he cursed inwardly. Yet, there was nothing to be done now but suppress his displeasure and watch Li Xian in the hall, his mind racing…