Chapter Thirty-Nine: Jealousy and Rivalry (Part One)

After the grand banquet of the New Year's Day, the princes and nobles took their leave from the palace to return to their fiefs. That very day, those implicated with Li Zhen, Prince of Yue—such as Li Rong, Duke of Dongguan, Li Yuanjia, Prince of Han, and Li Shangjin, Prince of Ze—were executed together on the outskirts of Luoyang. Blood stained the land for miles, the reeds and rushes turned crimson, and the stench of blood mingled with sandalwood, lingering over the Eastern Capital for weeks.

On this day as well, Quan Ce was granted leave from duty to bid farewell to his uncle Li Sujie. He deliberately avoided the crowds to discuss methods of contraception with him; this prolific uncle had fathered two more sons in just half a year, now totaling fifteen. If this continued, he would soon become a thorn in the authorities’ side.

Li Sujie was not embarrassed; his feelings were genuine, his eyes reddening as he handed over a scarlet cloth bundle. “My dear boy, being born into our family is no blessing. You have weathered storms since youth, and my heart aches for you. Take these coins and silks for your expenses, and do not trouble yourself with my affairs.”

Quan Ce accepted with both hands, bowed deeply, and rose to see the carriage and horses already departed.

On his way back, after several stops, he visited his subordinates wounded or killed for his sake, offered comfort, arranged their compensation, and allowed Quan Zhong, Juedi, and Shazhashu to continue recruiting and expanding their team. “Above all, safety and caution; do not act rashly. Better to have reliable mediocrity than clever but unreliable people.”

Quan Ce ordered that Wang Xu and Wang Hui, father and son, be placed under surveillance. In emergencies, action could precede reporting; the sole purpose was to instill fear, so they could neither succeed nor dare act. He had pondered this for some time. As for his uncle Li Sujie, he felt reassured: the man’s survival instinct was strong, he understood how to advance and retreat, and now that Empress Wu had made him a model figure, he should be safe.

“Master, our department now has many people and complicated affairs, much that cannot be spoken openly. Without a name, we cannot unite or command. Please grant us a title, so we might rally together and serve loyally,” Quan Zhong began, and the three knelt together to request a name.

Quan Ce pondered for a moment, realizing that he and his men had already done—or would soon do—things as ambiguous as Empress Wu herself, right and wrong hard to discern. “The Nameless Stele.”

Having received their title, Quan Zhong was elated, eager to spread the word. Shazhashu repeated it twice, finding it pleasing to the ear. Juedi closed his eyes and smiled lightly. The Unnamed Court, the Nameless Stele—how unfortunate their master was born into wealth; had he roamed the world, his courage and spirit would have made him a formidable leader.

Quan Ce returned to duty, attending Empress Wu. The first month brought little of note. Empress Wu renamed the Ziwei Palace to the Palace of Taichu and spent several days touring the palace grounds, showing no intention of returning to Chang’an. Fortunately, the palace’s bureaucracy was fully equipped, ensuring officials were not displaced. The administrative framework was quickly established, orderly and efficient. Yet, this upheaval naturally eliminated those officials who were prejudiced against Luoyang and reluctant to serve. Most notable was Lu Yuanfu, Assistant Minister of Luan Tai, who feigned illness and did not attend the grand banquet, his duties temporarily given to Cen Changqian, effectively sidelining him.

Today, Empress Wu was meeting with the people, accompanied by the Hanlin scholars, and led hundreds of officials and elders above sixty to the Nine Isles Pool. The pool, winding and abrupt, resembled the nine isles of the Eastern Sea, covering ten acres, over ten feet deep, teeming with birds and fish, adorned with flowers. In its midst was an island with the Palace of Yao Guang, and before it a pavilion of colored glass.

After the tour, a banquet was held in Tao Guang Garden. All praised the court’s benevolence and congratulated Empress Wu on her longevity. Quan Ce was seated to the side, feeling uneasy; the reason was Imperial Physician Shen Nanmiao, who accompanied the empress and sat beside him.

Shen Nanmiao’s skill at flattery was unsurpassed; though he never spoke, he was everywhere—holding the empress’s parasol, pouring tea, moving seats, presenting gifts. His actions were precise, seamless, quiet as rain. Yet, his diligent efforts to curry favor drew envy, stealing the limelight from the eunuchs, the Spring Bureau, and even Lady Shangguan Wan’er.

“Your Majesty, Duke of Liang requests an audience outside the hall.”

Empress Wu set down her cup and paused. “Quan Ce, go tell him I am entertaining the elders here and will not attend to state affairs.”

Quan Ce went out and found the great monk Xue Huaiyi peering in on tiptoe. “Master Xue, Her Majesty is entertaining the elders today. If it is state business, perhaps you could return another day.”

“Come, come,” Xue Huaiyi pulled Quan Ce to the wall. “My boy, I have no state matters. That sycophant Shen is inside; I must go in, toast the elders, bow and scrape, whatever it takes. You must help me.”

Quan Ce nodded slightly and smiled.

“Your Majesty, Duke of Liang brings no state business. Hearing of the grand gathering, he comes to offer poems to enhance the festivities.”

Empress Wu was slightly displeased. “Let him in, but the scholars are present; he must not disgrace himself.”

Her attendants all exchanged amused glances, clearly familiar with Xue Huaiyi’s repeated attempts, which had always yielded poor results.

Shen Nanmiao at the same table openly scoffed.

Xue Huaiyi entered, greeted the empress, and bowed to the white-haired elders. “I am but a humble man, long resident in Luoyang, regretting my shallow ties with the elders here. Today, thanks to the empress’s favor, I witness this grand event and offer a poem to entertain you.”

Xue Huaiyi was confident and poised, quite unlike his usual sly manner. Empress Wu glanced at Quan Ce, resting her hand on her chin, showing some interest.

“Rolling east the Yangtze flows, its waves wash heroes away,
Right and wrong, success and failure, turn empty in a blink...
On riverbanks, old fishermen and woodcutters,
Have watched autumn moons and spring winds...
With a jug of cloudy wine, we joyfully meet,
How many affairs of old and new,
All dissolve in laughter and talk.”

A poem of “Immortal by the River” silenced the hall. The first to react was a Hanlin scholar, who sprang from his seat so abruptly he triggered a stroke, collapsing with foam at the mouth, unconscious. His colleagues ignored him, grabbing pens and rushing to the empress, surrounding Xue Huaiyi. “Duke, your work is majestic and open-hearted, penetrating worldly chaos; a true classic. Please recite it again so we may record it.”

Xue Huaiyi, never so closely surrounded by scholars, was startled. In his panic, he forgot the words. “Ah, please, I already have a written draft. I’ll gift it to you all.”

He pulled a sheet from his chest; not only was the poem written there, but also his opening remarks.

The scholars cared little for such details, holding the paper as they praised and examined it. “This work is marvelous, shining within its musical form. The famous ‘Immortal by the River’ from the music bureau shall never be surpassed.”

After their excitement, some gradually noticed something odd—not just the opening remarks, but the handwriting itself was too familiar. The elders recognized and avoided comment; the younger ones cared less. “Wait, the handwriting is both bold and elegant—isn’t this the script of Quan the Historian?”

Once spoken aloud, silence fell again. Shangguan Wan’er glanced sidelong at Quan Ce, saw his expression unchanged though he quietly bit his lip, and couldn’t help but smile. With graceful steps, she took the sheet and presented it to Empress Wu.

“Your Majesty, perhaps Quan the Historian acted unintentionally…”

“Your Majesty, it was out of filial piety from Quan the Historian—no harm in that.”

Empress Wu had not spoken, but the Hanlin scholars quickly pleaded for leniency. If a notorious figure like Xue Huaiyi could produce such a masterpiece and be lauded, how much more fitting for a refined young attendant whose talent suited the work.

Empress Wu reviewed the paper, half smiling. “Quan Ce, have you any explanation?”

“I do, Your Majesty. As you govern the realm, the country prospers and the people are at peace. Your fame and authority grow daily. The Duke often seeks to hear your teachings, yet always approaches with humility and fear. To avoid any missteps in speech, he dictated his intent, and I polished it into prose. The Duke’s sincerity is genuine. I beg Your Majesty to discern.”

Empress Wu laughed. “A fine, eloquent historian.” She waved her hand. “Someone, bring a seat for the Duke.”

Xue Huaiyi wiped the sweat from his brow and hastily sat, somewhat discomposed, exactly as Quan Ce had described—humble and anxious. In Empress Wu’s eyes, a trace of sympathy appeared.

Shangguan Wan’er, ever quick-witted, immediately used the scholar’s sudden illness as an excuse to send Shen Nanmiao away.