Chapter Thirty-Seven: Prosper with Conformity, Perish with Defiance

On the night of the twenty-seventh day of the twelfth lunar month in the fourth year of the Chui Gong era, a thief carrying a letter slipped into Longmen Post Station, contacting several princes in a clandestine plot to rebel. Four princes—Li Shangjin, Prince of Ze; Li Lingkui, Prince of Lu; Li Yuan Gui, Prince of Huo; and Li Yuan Feng, Prince of Guo—were found conspiring and were apprehended by the authorities. Li Sujie, the Prince of Xu, in a display of loyalty and righteous indignation, slew the messenger on the spot and turned over the letter. The Empress praised him for this, ordering the chronicler Quan Ce to lead the princes’ honor guard and, together with Princess Gao’an and others, proceed to the Eastern Capital for a grand banquet at the Myriad Manifestations Divine Palace.

The history books mention these events only briefly, yet beneath these sparse lines surged countless hidden waves. For Quan Ce, it was the first time since assuming his position as chronicler that he had to work late into the night.

Chancellor Su Weidao, Cen Changqian, Minister of Rites Wu Chengsi, Minister of War Wu Sansi, Censor-in-Chief Zhou Xing and Lai Junchen, as well as Hou Sizhi, the official in charge of Lijing Gate, were all summoned to the palace late at night.

Zhou Xing seized the initiative, impeaching Hou Sizhi for murdering a suspect and covering up the Prince of Xu’s crimes. “Your Majesty, upon your discerning judgment, those who entered the Prince of Xu’s post station were not one but two: one was the steward of the fugitive Liu Tong, the other was Hu Chang, a Thousand-Ox Guard from the Eastern Capital and close confidant of Quan Ce. When Hu Chang was captured, the men of Lijing Gate shot him dead with a volley of arrows, causing the operation to fail. I believe Hou Sizhi must be in collusion with Quan Ce.”

Hou Sizhi resolutely denied the accusations and countered that the Censorate harbored ulterior motives, wantonly slaughtering the officials of Lijing Gate. “Your Majesty, I too have doubts. That night, while surveilling Longmen Post, the Censorate ignored everything else to focus solely on the Prince of Xu’s station. Even though there were unusual activities at the other four princes’ lodgings, they did not move an inch, as if certain trouble would only arise at Xu’s station. And after Hu Chang’s death, the entire Censorate acted as if possessed. Are they truly your eyes and ears, or someone else’s claws and fangs? It is most perplexing.”

Wu Chengsi, Minister of Rites, spoke up, “Your Majesty, I believe each bureau has its own methods regarding whom and how to monitor; there is nothing to criticize. The arrows that killed Hu Chang came from Lijing Gate—this is irrefutable proof.”

“I do not agree,” said Wu Sansi, rarely so grave. “Whatever methods the bureaus employ, they must all serve Your Majesty’s interests. The Censorate neglected their duty first, then slaughtered their colleagues. In each instance, they acted purely out of self-interest—where is there any loyalty to the ruler?”

Wu Sansi was a master at reading hearts. Seeing the Empress’ approving expression, he felt a surge of joy. The two old hounds of the Censorate were loyal to Wu Chengsi, his own rival. “I request that Zhou Xing and Lai Junchen be seized and interrogated.”

The Empress did not immediately assent, instead turning to Quan Ce. “Historian of the Left, what is your view?”

“I oppose,” Quan Ce replied without hesitation. The Empress half-closed her eyes. “Why?”

Quan Ce’s expression was solemn, detached, as though he were merely an onlooker. “I have heard, ‘Of all virtues, filial piety comes first and is judged by intention, not deed; of all vices, lust is the worst and is judged by deed, not intention.’ The two censors, whatever their methods, have loyal hearts; minor faults in conduct need not be investigated. Even if they bore ill will toward me, their efforts failed and thus neither merit nor fault can be assigned.”

“Hahaha! You all are not even the equal of a yellow-mouthed child,” the Empress laughed, her voice ringing clear as spring returning to the earth. She smiled, “Quan Ce, this matter concerns your very life and death—how is it you remain so calm?”

“I am calm because I know I neither wrote a letter nor dispatched a messenger,” Quan Ce replied steadily. His words were a subtle play on meaning—he hadn’t written the letter because he knew Wu Yanxiu, wishing to harm him, would forge one in his name. And the person he sent was not a messenger but an assassin, dispatched to kill. For the Prince of Xu to survive, he would have to kill the assassin and then plant the letter on Quan Ce to exonerate himself completely.

This plan tested both the vigilance of the Prince of Xu’s guards and the prince’s own cunning. Fortunately, both passed.

“Very well,” the Empress said, rising and sweeping her sleeve. “Hu Chang trespassed into a prince’s post station and his clan shall be exterminated. The fugitive Liu Tong’s shadow lingers; the Censorate is to scour the empire in pursuit. The four princes have betrayed their bonds; Lijing Gate is to interrogate them sternly and hunt down their accomplices. The Prince of Xu has shown commendable loyalty. Quan Ce, you are to go to Longmen Post on my behalf.”

“I accept your command.” Quan Ce knelt to the ground, bowing his head. The weight on his heart lifted, and for the first time his composure wavered—his limbs grew weak, trembling so that he could not stand despite several attempts.

The Empress saw all of this.

A delicate jade hand reached out; it was Shangguan Wan’er.

“Forgive my lack of grace,” Quan Ce said, embarrassed, steadying himself with her hand and standing at last. Shangguan Wan’er offered him a gentle smile, then led the palace maids away.

The chancellors and ministers departed first. Zhou Xing and Lai Junchen clasped their hands, their smiles cold and false. “Thank you, Historian of the Left.”

Quan Ce’s face remained impassive as he returned the bow. Had it not been for the need to avoid unnecessary trouble, he would not have spoken even those few words. His help was not given in earnest, nor was their thanks sincere—empty courtesies, nothing more.

“Thank you, Historian of the Left,” Hou Sizhi also said, bowing. The Empress had not declared who was right or wrong, but her assignments made the verdict clear. The Censorate’s order to pursue Liu Tong was a thankless, laborious task, while Lijing Gate’s charge to interrogate the four princes was an opportunity for merit.

Yet Hou Sizhi’s gratitude was equally hollow, tinged with anger. “I wonder what virtue or ability I possess to be so highly regarded by the Historian of the Left?”

Quan Ce knew he referred to the arrows planted as evidence against Lijing Gate—a move made in passing. Wu Yanxiu’s messenger had to die, but the means mattered little. He had not expected the Censorate’s men to respond with such violence, escalating the conflict. Thus, he feigned incomprehension. “What is most admirable about Inspector Hou is your command—your men are capable and efficient. Even with the Censorate tying your hands, you still managed to apprehend the traitors in one sweep.”

“Hmph, but the men under the Historian of the Left are not so praiseworthy,” Hou Sizhi sneered, exposing Quan Ce’s wound.

Quan Ce forced a bitter smile. Hu Chang had been a guard at Xuanren Gate in the Eastern Capital, known for punishing Quan Yi with twenty lashes—a fact that made him notorious. But to call him a close confidant was an exaggeration; he had threatened Hu Chang into a suicide mission by holding his family hostage, just as Wu Yanxiu had coerced Hu Chang into betraying him. In such a world, survival was never easy for anyone.

Hou Sizhi said no more, hastily leaving the palace.

At Longmen Post, the Ministry of Rites finally delivered the Empress’ decree: the Prince of Xu was to proceed to Luoyang and reside temporarily at Shangyang Palace. After the grand New Year’s banquet, further promotions and transfers would be announced, and all would return to their respective fiefs.

The princes received the decree with visible relief. They had weathered the storm and now saw the moon break through the clouds—this outcome was far better than they had hoped. They knelt in heartfelt gratitude, their emotions genuine and sincere.

Soon, another large procession arrived from Chang’an: one half comprised fierce, black-clad officers, the other half, the resplendent escort of the princes. The princes waited by the roadside, craning their necks in anticipation.

The black-clad officers charged in, arresting the entire households of Li Shangjin and the other three princes—family and servants alike—clapping shackles on them and cramming them into narrow prison carts. When there weren’t enough carts, they piled several people together, master and servant jumbled, bodies pressed tight, limbs twisted.

The officers were rough; any resistance was met with whips and shouts. The cries of women and children filled the air.

Amid the weeping, Quan Ce paused for a long while, his heart wrung with pain. The letters to the households of these four princes had been sent by his own men, meant to divert the attention of the ruthless investigators and to highlight Li Sujie’s loyalty.

They had had the chance to deal with those letters—either to burn them or turn them in. But they had chosen to conceal them. Could it be said they brought this upon themselves?

Even had he not intervened, the cruel officials would have destroyed them eventually. At least he had saved the Prince of Xu—was that not merit, not fault?

Quan Ce’s entire body ached as he struggled to convince himself: it was not me, I was not the cause of their ruin.

“Historian of the Left?” the Master of Ceremonies prompted softly. Quan Ce started, rubbed his cheek, and approached the Prince of Xu, Li Sujie, bowing low. “Nephew Quan Ce greets his uncle.”

“You have grown, young man, and come…” The Prince of Xu’s gaze fell on the ceremonial escort behind Quan Ce.

“By imperial decree, I have come to accompany you and your household to the Eastern Capital,” Quan Ce said, extending his hand in invitation.

The Prince of Xu asked no questions, speaking a single word—“Very well”—and boarded the carriage without looking back at his many wives, concubines, and children.

Quan Ce instructed the escort to invite each member of the household with due ceremony.

The procession set off, as did the prison carts—an inseparable pair.

With this, the Empress wrote her command upon the official road between the twin capitals: those who obey her thrive, those who defy her perish.