Chapter Forty-Two: The Princess of Pingyang’s Worries

“What, we have to return his gift?” Liang Zan grumbled. “Why should we give him anything back?”

Chen Ying couldn’t help but laugh at this. “To receive without giving is discourteous,” he said, meaning that if someone shows you goodwill and you do not reciprocate, it violates the codes of propriety. Courtesy demands mutual exchange; the ancient meaning and the modern interpretation have grown worlds apart.

Patiently, Chen Ying explained, “Since old Su Hu has treated me this way, if I don’t respond in kind, I’d be letting him off too easily.” Liang Zan, hearing this, finally agreed with a huff, “You’re right, we should come up with something to deal with him.”

Chen Ying at last understood. Some things cannot be avoided just by wishing them away. Li Xiaoguang had no personal grievance against him, yet, simply because he coveted the two women, Green Pearl and Red Sleeve, from his household, he schemed to take his life.

Three hundred years ago, there was another beautiful maiden named Green Pearl. When a powerful official took a fancy to her, her master told Green Pearl, “I am in trouble because of you.” Upon hearing this, Green Pearl, unwilling to implicate her master, leapt from a tower to her death.

Chen Ying had always thought of this tale as nothing more than a tragic romance, never imagining the same story would play out in his own life. ‘A man is doomed for the treasures he possesses’—to sit and await destruction is not in Chen Ying’s nature. Not to mention Su Hu; even if Li Yuan himself wished to see him dead, Chen Ying would fight back.

“To become powerful, quickly!”

That was the only thought left in Chen Ying’s mind. He must grow strong enough to command respect, so he need not fear hidden arrows and lurking plots. With this resolve, he decided to prepare in advance and lay his plans early.

In this era, every noble family maintained a corps of highly skilled, well-armed loyal warriors—so that even if fortune failed and their house was destroyed, they could drag their enemies down with them.

Yet, training such warriors required loyal men, and demanded much time and money—neither of which Chen Ying currently possessed. Though his treasury held three thousand strings of coins, which sounded substantial, the truth was it would not last.

Raising a force of loyal warriors was not something that could be accomplished overnight; it required opportunity and luck. This ordeal made Chen Ying realize that he was like a blind man in Chang’an, deaf to all happenings, ignorant of the winds of change and the power struggles of the city. The sensation unsettled him deeply.

“No, I must establish my own intelligence network!” With this thought, Chen Ying paced back and forth in the front hall, hands clasped behind him. After some time, a glimmer of inspiration struck.

Since he had neither time nor energy to train loyal warriors, why not emulate Song Jiang of the Song dynasty? In fact, among the 108 heroes of Liangshan, Song Jiang was neither the most learned nor the most skilled in arms—yet he was the chief of Liangshan. This was because Song Jiang possessed a reputation and influence in the martial world that none of the others had.

Song Jiang was known as ‘Timely Rain,’ always ready to help others in their hour of need, amassing a vast network of connections. Perhaps Chen Ying could learn from him. Turning to Liang Zan, he said, “Go to Xu’s Inn and invite Manager Xu here!”

“Now?” Liang Zan replied. “But the city gates are already closed. Chang’an is under curfew, and anyone found on the streets after dark will be killed by the city guards.”

“In that case, leave it. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go to Xu’s Inn myself.” Chen Ying nodded, “It’s late now; everyone, go and rest.”

…

In the bedchamber of the Princess of Pingyang’s residence, a dozen or more thick tallow candles burned brightly, crackling and casting the room into daylight.

Li Xiuning gazed at the flickering candlelight, her heart in turmoil.

She recalled Li Jiancheng’s fury at the Chen mansion and felt a chill deep within. When Li Yuan was preparing to rise against the Sui, it was an open secret among the Li family—except for her. She was kept in the dark, treated as a pawn and sent to Chang’an to marry, to lull the Sui court into complacency. Even her husband, Chai Shao, learned of Li Yuan’s rebellion before she did. Yet, the first time she was abandoned, Li Xiuning bore no resentment; risking her life on the battlefield, she fought with all her might, coming close to death several times, ultimately conquering most of Guanzhong and capturing Chang’an. If not for her, the Li Tang would never have broken into Guanzhong.

However, once Li Yuan entered Guanzhong and ascended the throne, his first act was not to reward her—the greatest founder of Tang—but to dismantle her army of seventy or eighty thousand female soldiers, scattering them thoroughly.

Li Xiuning harbored no ambitions to rule; she never complained.

But this time, she was truly hurt. She and Chen Ying had hardly any contact; to speak of love would be an exaggeration. It was merely that Chen Ying’s nearly flawless face evoked an inexplicable closeness in her. At most, she liked Chen Ying a little, but Li Jiancheng was furious beyond measure.

Li Xiuning had grown up under Li Jiancheng’s watchful eye. She knew his temperament as well as he knew hers. As the saying goes, the river may change its course but a man's nature does not. Li Jiancheng might never harm her, but he would certainly not spare Chen Ying.

Thinking of this, Li Xiuning felt a deep sadness.

At that moment, Cui’er nervously said, “Princess, please don’t frighten your servant. It’s the middle of the night, and you haven’t eaten or drunk anything. What are you planning?”

Li Xiuning turned and said, “Who said I haven’t eaten or drunk? Go and request a meal. Remember, I want beggar’s chicken.”

“Ah…” Cui’er’s brows arched like crescent moons as she smiled. “Right away!”

After Cui’er departed, the kitchen of the Princess of Pingyang’s residence bustled with activity. In about three quarters of an hour, Cui’er returned with a steaming beggar’s chicken and set it before Li Xiuning.

Li Xiuning peeled away the outer layer of clay, tore off a strip of chicken, and placed it in her mouth.

Immediately, her brows furrowed, creasing ever more tightly.

Cui’er asked, “Princess, what’s wrong?”

“How could it taste so awful?” Li Xiuning had no idea that a person’s palate is tied to their state of mind. When one’s mood is good, everything tastes delicious; when unhappy, even the finest delicacies are hard to swallow.

Li Xiuning summoned the cook, who was a former imperial chef, skilled in all manner of dishes.

She questioned the chef closely, and found his method was exactly as Chen Ying had taught her.

Li Xiuning grew suspicious. “Did Chen Ying hold something back?”

Cui’er hurriedly chased the chef away and whispered, “Princess, you seem preoccupied. Are you worried the Crown Prince will make things difficult for Master Chen?”