Chapter Twenty-Two: No One to See Him Off

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In front of the Myriad Phenomena Divine Palace, Ziwei City.

The civil and military officials of the Eastern Capital gathered to receive the imperial decree. The rituals of the Great Tang were relatively relaxed; when meeting the emperor and empress, one merely needed to bow, but upon receiving an edict, one had to kneel. Usually, only those addressed in the decree would kneel, but now a dense throng filled the plaza on their knees—this decree was addressed to all.

The official reading the decree was the Minister of Summer, standing north facing south at the palace gates. Wei Yuanzhong, Wu Youji, and Xue Huaiyi knelt at the forefront, separated from the herald by eighty-one stone steps. From his elevated position, the herald appeared majestic as he projected his voice over the winter wind, striving to make the imperial will of Chang’an ring clear through the chill.

“…The rebel king in Caizhou has stirred revolt, and the officials of the Eastern Capital have been complacent and negligent, muddled and incompetent, advancing none of the many urgent affairs. If one cannot govern oneself, how can one enlighten the masses? If one’s heart is not loyal, how can one serve the dynasty? All officials of the Eastern Capital are to have their stipends suspended for three months and submit memorials to plead their case. Wei Yuanzhong is demoted two ranks, Wu Youji is demoted two ranks, and Qu Chongyu, Grand General of the Left Imperial Guard, is demoted to General of the Left Imperial Guard…”

“Zhang Guangfu, Vice Minister of the Phoenix Pavilion, is appointed Commander of the Rear Army, Di Renjie, Prefect of Bianzhou, as Vice Commander, and Qu Chongyu as Marching Captain, to set out immediately to pacify the rebels and display the might of Heaven…

“Since his appointment, Deputy Magistrate Quan Yi of Luoyang has achieved nothing and only pursued selfish gain; he is hereby dismissed, confined at home to reflect on his errors. Quan Ce, Junior Colonel of the Imperial Guard, is promoted to General and will accompany the campaign as my personal guard. On the battlefield, he must exert himself and not disappoint me…”

“Let it be known: if you do not repent and serve with utmost loyalty and wisdom, the honors and wealth of office are mine to give—and to take away.”

The decree fell like a thunderstorm upon the officials of the Eastern Capital—demotions, suspended stipends. The great monk Xue Huaiyi became the only third-rank official left in all Luoyang. Qu Chongyu felt awkward; he was to lead the army but had been demoted to share rank with his subordinate, Zhao Liu. He cupped his hands toward Quan Ce. “General Quan, please join me at Jingfu Gate later to discuss deployments.” With that, he strode away in haste.

Quan Ce returned the gesture, still unsettled, a chill running down his spine. The decree made no mention of collusion, but rewards and punishments were clear. All were penalized, some more heavily than others, and among them, the Quan family stood out: Quan Yi was the only one dismissed and confined, while Quan Ce was the only one promoted. The contrast hinted at deeper meaning.

Quan Ce looked up at the sky. The clouds parted, and a sliver of winter sunlight poured down, like eyes that saw through all things. Was this the emperor’s art of striking at the heart?

He glanced at his father, standing alone, his robes billowing in the wind.

Xue Huaiyi made his way through the crowd, sighing. “Young man, transferring to the Left Imperial Guard may not be possible. There’s word from Chang’an—the Empress herself said that since the Imperial Guard serves as both ceremonial and combat troops, why must you transfer? If you wish, once you return from campaign, I’ll find a way to bring you into my Left Guard.”

“Thank you, Master Xue,” Quan Ce bowed in gratitude.

The officials of the Eastern Capital watched this display between master and disciple with varied expressions. Many suddenly understood—no wonder Quan Yi was dismissed while Quan Ce was promoted; he’d secured powerful support.

Quan Ce observed their looks—contempt, derision, aversion, disdain, mockery—all manner of emotions. His former colleague Zhao Liu, now General of the Left Guard, glanced at him with barely concealed anger.

Only Wei Yuanzhong and Wu Youji maintained composure. They offered congratulations, consoled Quan Yi, and left. As the leading figures of the capital, their actions set the tone; the rest followed suit, crowding around to offer loud congratulations and promises of banquets upon Quan Ce’s triumphant return. The scene grew boisterous.

“Thank you, all of you. It’s a promise,” Quan Ce replied sincerely.

“Hmph,” Quan Yi snorted, flung his sleeves, and departed.

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The crowd fell silent. Xue Huaiyi patted his shoulder and said, with the air of a teacher, “The Prince Consort has lost his office and feels aggrieved. You must try to comfort him.”

Quan Ce smiled and nodded, though his heart ached. His father suffered not only the pain of losing his post but the shame of his son apprenticing himself to a traitor. Father and son, alienated—the imperial edict had torn open the wound. Things had come to this, and he had no choice but to swallow it all.

In the study of the Princess Yiyang’s residence at Shanglin Ward, father and son sat opposite in silence for a long time.

“What do you seek?” Quan Yi asked, elbows propped on the desk, trembling slightly, his sleeves slipping to reveal gaunt arms.

Without hesitation, Quan Ce bowed his head and answered, “To live.”

Quan Yi was silent, lips pressed tight, a glimmer in his eye. “Is it because of me…”

Qu Chongyu’s demotion to lead troops was a humiliation. Even a dull man could see as much.

Quan Ce spoke softly, “Xiao Song is a traitor.”

Quan Yi’s arms shook harder; he slumped onto the desk and waved a hand feebly. “Go.”

“Father, I depart on campaign tomorrow. Will you see me off?” Quan Ce raised his head, looking hopeful. It was not mere sentimentality; a farewell would signal his father’s stance on suppressing the rebellion.

Quan Yi hung his head, pondering, his voice weary. “Go.”

Quan Ce rose, saluted, and retreated to the threshold. He paused and said, “Father, circumstances are beyond human control. The times are perilous—think always of the women and children at home. Take care.”

Quan Yi suddenly looked up, his back straight, eyes sharp. “I know my limits. If you can spare a few lives on this campaign, you will have my gratitude.”

Quan Ce fell silent, slipped quietly into the night. He did not despair; his words had been only a test. Though he had failed to change his father’s mind, he believed that after this heavy blow, his father would be more cautious.

At the Shangdong Gate, at the official pavilion, twelve thousand troops of the Left Imperial Guard and a hundred of the Imperial Guard assembled to march, gathering forty thousand more from the Henan and Hedong Circuits to encircle Caizhou.

Quan Ce called for volunteers among the Imperial Guard. Only Lai Chong and Zheng Zhong stepped forward from his immediate retinue of four, but all one hundred guardsmen chose to join, sparing Quan Ce the embarrassment of commanding a skeleton force.

His bodyguard Shazha Fu accompanied him; Shazha Shu had already gone ahead to Caizhou.

Beneath the crimson Tang banners, the carriages rumbled, horses neighed, and archers marched with bows at their waists. In the center, Qu Chongyu was surrounded by his staff, while the rest of the troops followed in a long column. The Imperial Guard, being few, all stood at the center, unmoved as a mountain.

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Xue Huaiyi arrived, followed by Wei Yuanzhong and Wu Youji; all the officials of the Eastern Capital had come to see them off. Quan Ce took his leave of each in turn.

The hour had arrived. Mounting his white stallion, he glanced back at the city walls of Luoyang. In the distance, a cloud of dust rose. His face lit with joy, but as the figure approached, his joy vanished. Clad in white—man and horse—his cloak also white, with a retinue in black, the newcomer was a stranger.

As he arrived, all conversation ceased.

Qu Chongyu recognized him and bowed, “Thank you for coming, Censor Hou. I am honored…”

Hou Sizhi ignored him and walked straight up to Quan Ce. “General Quan, I wish you victory and glory on the battlefield.”

Quan Ce dismounted to return the greeting, feeling perplexed. Seeing his embarrassment, Zhao Liu, unable to bear it, whispered an explanation, and Quan Ce’s expression shifted. This was the White Impermanence, Hou Sizhi, warden of Lijingmen Prison. It was thanks to him that Quan Ce had been forced to campaign and to become Xue Huaiyi’s disciple. “Thank you, Censor Hou.”

“If your courage is lacking, stay with the main force; your wit is your true strength, as your name suggests,” Hou Sizhi said with a knowing smile.

Quan Ce laughed softly, mocking himself. His so-called cunning was but a hollow skill. “You flatter me, Censor. Your own name is admirable as well.”

Hou Sizhi paused, his smile fading. Sizhi—‘think and stop.’

Those who should come did not; those who should not, did. Quan Ce felt a chill in his heart and spurred his horse forward.

Bringing his men for a drill had its benefits; his white stallion galloped with renewed vigor.

Inside the Shangdong Gate, the officials waited until the generals had departed before rounding the corner and meeting the returning officers.

“You’re late, Prince Consort. Your son is already gone,” Wei Yuanzhong said with a subtle expression.

Coughing, Quan Yi hunched as he stepped from his carriage. “Thank you all for sending off my unworthy son. I caught a cold and was delayed, missing the army’s grand departure—what a pity.”

“Heh, what a pity indeed,” Wei Yuanzhong laughed, unable to hide his amusement. This Quan Yi had learned a measure of cunning himself.