Chapter Seventy-Five: A Great Loss

In the residence of Chai Shao, Captain of Imperial Sons-in-law in Chang’an, the dining table was laden with delicacies: steamed fattened chicken, glutinous rice duck, pan-fried venison, and roasted lamb ribs. Despite the feast before him, Chai Shao’s face was as dark as stormy waters. Beside him, a young maidservant tried to force a smile, but her powder-dabbed face still bore faint traces of tears.

Chai Shao’s mood grew gloomier still; he could not stand the sight of others’ laughter. This little maid had merely stifled a giggle after one of her companions nearly slipped on the snowy ground, but Chai Shao caught her and ordered her to be punished—her trousers removed, and caned without mercy.

Seated across from Chai Shao was his brother-in-law Dou Dan. In name, Dou Dan was his elder sister’s husband, but in truth, he was thirteen years Chai Shao’s junior. Now, not yet fifteen, Dou Dan’s expression was as sullen as Chai Shao’s, and scratch marks, bloodied and raw, marred his face.

In the Tang Dynasty, being an imperial son-in-law was hardly a coveted position, for the empire boasted the formidable Empress Dowager Taemu, whose children inherited her imperious nature.

Thus, Dou Dan, this mere fifteen-year-old consort, had found himself in a tragic situation. He was wed to Princess Xiangyang, Li Xiu’an—a fictitious name, as no historical record exists—second sister to Li Xiuning. Xiangyang’s temperament was even more violent and unreasonable than her sister’s.

Dou Dan had only exchanged a few words with a maid in the princely manor when Princess Xiangyang caught them. Without a second thought, she ordered her attendants to strip the unfortunate girl and tie her in the snow. By midnight, the girl grew silent, and by morning, she was found frozen stiff.

When Dou Dan voiced his outrage, he only provoked the princess’s wrath further. She unleashed her fury, scratching and clawing his face until it was a mass of wounds. Though Dou Dan looked frail, he could have defended himself, but he dared not.

Against such exalted blood, there was little to be done but endure in silence—no retort, no resistance. Even Guo Ziyi’s son, Guo Nuan, struck his noble wife only under the excuse of drunkenness.

Furious, Dou Dan stormed out of the manor and went to Wangjiang Tower to drown his sorrows, where he happened upon Chai Shao. These two wretched souls, bound by shared misery, returned together to Chai Shao’s estate to seek consolation.

In truth, Chai Shao harbored some envy for Dou Dan. At least, for all her domineering ways, Princess Xiangyang and Dou Dan could still share a marital bed, whereas he seldom saw Princess Pingyang, Li Xiuning. Indeed, Chai Shao was starting to forget what she even looked like.

“Guangda, you must endure,” Chai Shao counseled Dou Dan, though his words belied his own feelings. “If we make a fuss over trifles, we’ll not only ruin our appetites, but might even endanger our families.”

Though Dou Dan was bitterly dissatisfied, could he petition Li Yuan for a divorce? Regardless of his father’s reaction, Princess Xiangyang would never let him go. Should she storm into the Dou household, causing an uproar, what would become of the family’s reputation?

Endure? What other choice was there? That lustful woman was insatiable—five times a night and still not content. At the mere sight of her, Dou Dan’s legs turned to jelly. His own life was a lost cause, he thought, so long as his elder brothers, Dou Yan and Dou Jing, might have smooth careers.

“What good is endurance?” Dou Dan choked out, voice trembling. “This is no life for a man!”

A fleeting look of disdain flickered in Chai Shao’s eyes—though he too was estranged from Li Xiuning, at least she never meddled in his private affairs. Even if there were something between him and a maid, Li Xiuning would never react with such ruthlessness.

Though the dishes on the table remained largely untouched, the wine flowed freely. As the evening wore on, Dou Dan’s tongue grew loose, and the conversation turned to the most talked-about topic at court.

“Sichang, with the Xue clan destroyed, Li Gui offering submission, and even Li Mi sending Wei Zheng to negotiate surrender, the Tang realm grows ever more secure. What days are left for us brothers? Should we so much as anger those ancestral tyrants, we might lose our heads and our fortunes—then truly, there would be no help in heaven or earth…”

“Indeed,” Chai Shao replied. “We must tread carefully—lest we land ourselves in disaster.”

Dou Dan’s words, spoken without intent, struck a chord in Chai Shao. A mere titular son-in-law counted for nothing. The dynasty had been established less than half a year, yet good news from the palace had come in succession: more than a dozen consorts were with child. When a new wave of princes and princesses was born, the imperial sons-in-law would be even more devalued.

At that moment, Chai Shao’s steward hurried in, leaned close, and whispered in his ear.

“What? Is this true?” Chai Shao’s face flushed scarlet, whether from wine or rage, it was hard to say.

“Sir, the imperial edict has been issued. The official gazette will announce it soon. Chen Ying has been granted the title of Baron of Xiuwu, with a fief of seven hundred households.”

With a crash, Chai Shao kicked the table in fury, sending dishes flying. Then he let out a heart-rending cry.

“Ah!”

…

Clutching the imperial yellow scroll, Chen Ying’s mind was still reeling, unable to regain his composure for a long while.

Attendant Chen Qi from Ganlu Hall beamed with delight. “Congratulations, my lord! Sixteen and already a baron—soon you’ll be a marquis, a noble among nobles!”

Chen Ying noted Chen Qi’s ingratiating manner, knowing full well the man was addicted to the tea served at the Chen estate.

“Attendant Chen, you must be weary from your travels. Please, have some tea inside.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare trouble you, my lord!” Yet Chen Qi promptly strode into the house.

To say Chen Ying was unimpressed by his new barony would be sheer hypocrisy. Of course, a Tang Dynasty baron was not the same as those of the Spring and Autumn era, when feudal lords ruled territories and paid tribute to the Zhou king twice a year. In Tang times, barons and marquises held only nominal lands; the state dispatched its own officials to govern. Taxes from the fief went to the state, while levies were sent to the titleholder.

In other words, Chen Ying would now receive the levies from seven hundred households.

In ancient times, taxes and levies were distinct: taxes were for state needs—disaster relief, roads, military pay, officials’ salaries, and city maintenance. Levies, however, funded the royal household directly. When Emperor Kangxi famously decreed “never to increase the levy,” lauded as a sage for the ages, he was merely playing with words—he could endlessly raise taxes, and draw freely from the treasury.

Though Chen Ying had gained a barony, his annual income would be only seven hundred households at two hundred coins apiece—some one hundred forty strings of cash. Yet Li Yuan had taken from Chen Ying the golden goose that laid the eggs; had Chen Ying been allowed to continue his monopoly on down garments, he could have earned at least one hundred, even a thousand times that sum in a year.

All things considered, Chen Ying had lost more than he’d gained.

Holding the imperial decree, Chen Ying could only force a bitter smile. “A loss—a heavy loss, indeed!”