Chapter Forty-Two: Unwittingly Enchanted

In early February, Quan Ce’s health gradually improved. He entered the palace to offer thanks to Empress Wu, only to discover that the seat of the Palace Attendant was now occupied by Xie Yaohuan.

Empress Wu inquired of Quan Ce, “Do you still wish to resume your former post?”

Quan Ce quickly replied that he dared not. “An official position is a public trust. Having already resigned, I dare not covet it further. Should my actions invite imitation, leading to imprudent handling of official posts, the fault would be grievous indeed.”

Empress Wu smiled and asked again, “Whom do you deem suitable to succeed you as Palace Attendant?”

Quan Ce hesitated, not daring to answer.

“I ask, and you shall reply,” Empress Wu said with displeasure.

“I wish to recommend two men to Your Majesty,” Quan Ce replied with caution. “You may select the more suitable. The first is Censor Zhang Shuo; the second is Chen Zi’ang, Keeper of Records at Lintai.” Both Zhang Shuo and Chen Zi’ang had entered service through the merit examinations—Zhang Shuo was the top scholar, and Chen Zi’ang had also distinguished himself. Zhang Shuo, especially, had the praise of his superior, Wang Jiao, and had once been considered as Quan Ce’s own successor. In recommending these two, Quan Ce acted without the slightest self-interest.

Empress Wu’s smile grew more pronounced. She rose from her seat and approached him, asking casually, “I hear you have recently acquired a beloved concubine. Now that you’ve recovered, have you tasted the pleasures of the bedchamber?”

Quan Ce’s face flushed crimson; he shook his head vehemently. “I… I am still young and should not yet indulge in such matters.” Having lived two lifetimes as a virgin, Quan Ce was quite accustomed to abstinence. Besides, his current body was only sixteen—akin to a high school student’s age—far too young for romance.

Empress Wu laughed heartily. “A true scholar indeed, but utterly unfeeling. You are bound to break many young ladies’ hearts.”

“If Your Majesty finds fault, it is for my frivolous and rash conduct, lacking in gravity,” Quan Ce replied sincerely. “I have always intended to diligently practice martial arts and make my name on the battlefield. Yet I find the broadsword awkward to wield. I have heard there are Persian long swords in the palace armory. I boldly ask Your Majesty to bestow one upon me.”

Empress Wu’s expression turned cold. “Quan Ce, too much scheming will shorten your lifespan.”

Quan Ce immediately knelt, looking innocent. “I dare not, Your Majesty. I admit to private ambition, yet it is only because the scholars of the Hanlin treat me with such favor. In this prosperous age, the literary world flourishes. I am young and dare not act recklessly; I must bury myself in study, though the demands are endless.”

A gentle laugh escaped from the side, belonging only to Shangguan Wan’er, who dared such audacity. She covered her mouth as she laughed. Faced with the same predicament, she relished it, weighing the talents of men in an age that favored men over women—a woman’s greatest delight.

Empress Wu’s mood softened, turning half-mocking. “So, you seek to shirk your duties. As for the Persian sword you mentioned, go choose one from the armory yourself. A Hanlin scholar with a penchant for weapons and martial arts—you do have quite the imagination.”

“My deepest thanks, Your Majesty.” Quan Ce was overjoyed. It was true he cared little for others’ poetry and prose, and it was also true he deliberately concealed his own brilliance. He was resolved that, unless absolutely necessary, he would never resort to plagiarism.

With the imperial Persian sword in hand, Quan Ce returned home and practiced daily with his household guards, sweat pouring as they sparred. The results were immediate: the stream of aspiring scholars coming to present their writings dwindled away.

By mid-February, Empress Wu appointed Censor Zhang Shuo as Palace Attendant. He was to return immediately to Chang’an from the Eastern Capital, accompanied by civil and military officials. Quan Ce, still recovering from his injuries, was granted three extra days to travel.

Quan Yi, magistrate of Luoyang, was dismissed. Empress Wu made no mention of his return to Chang’an, and the court tacitly accepted the reality that the Princess of Yiyang’s household was settled in Luoyang. The Ministry of Rites made arrangements for the traveling party, but did not include the Princess of Yiyang’s residence.

In Renhe Ward, Quan Ce sat on the second-story gallery of a teahouse, sipping tea. The view was broad, overlooking the entire street below.

Behind him stood Quan Li, owner of the teahouse. He did not know why he had purchased the establishment—it was by Quan Zhong’s order, and he merely followed instructions. Now that he was again at Quan Ce’s side, he remembered his proper place.

“Master, this teahouse is in a prime location, yet profits are modest. I intend to bring in storytellers and hire some pastry chefs from Lingnan so that customers will linger longer and spend more. What do you think?” In business matters, Quan Li was sharp-minded. The only difference between him and Quan Zhong was the word ‘loyalty’—but his loyalty was to Quan Ce personally, not to the family as a whole. Useful, but not entirely trustworthy.

“You may decide as you see fit,” Quan Ce replied, uninterested. His gaze kept drifting to the gate of a residence across the street.

Seeing this, Quan Li quietly withdrew.

With a creak, the black-painted gates opened. First came a carriage, then a middle-aged man, and finally a noblewoman leading a child. A servant set the step; the lady gently helped the man into the carriage. As it departed, she followed a few steps, her manner full of tender attachment. When the carriage had gone, the lady bent to wipe the child’s mouth and murmured a few words. Mother and son returned hand-in-hand, remaining behind closed doors.

Quan Ce drained his cup in one swallow and descended the stairs. Several tea patrons put down their cups, eyes glinting. On the street outside, thugs loitered, some squatting, some standing. At a mere gesture from Quan Ce, that residence could be set ablaze and looted in moments, and mother and child might vanish without a trace.

Quan Ce mounted his horse and was closely followed by Juedi and Shazha Fu. The sound of hooves faded into the distance. Shortly after, Shazha Fu returned to deliver a four-word command: “Protect them well.”

Rather than returning home, Quan Ce made his way to the banks of the Yi River. The river was broad and deep, with six ferry crossings, and the neighboring wards of Renhe and Xuanhe were home to officials and merchants. Fuqu wished to launch a pleasure barge on these waters.

“My lord, I have made up my mind—I will follow you to Chang’an,” Fuqu murmured, nestled by Quan Ce’s side. She seemed far more at ease now. After his recovery, Quan Ce had taken her to meet his parents. Quan Yi had said little, scolding Quan Ce only a few times. The Princess of Yiyang, however, remained cold, displeased both by Fuqu’s background as a courtesan and by the injuries Quan Ce had suffered as a result. “I am of humble birth and not favored by your parents. In the future, I shall live apart in a separate residence, serving you devotedly as my heart’s sole wish.”

“Fuqu, though my family bears the title of imperial kin, our position is precarious, with many unspoken difficulties,” Quan Ce said, not wishing to elaborate. “As for my parents, don’t worry—time reveals true hearts. In the end, they will accept you.”

“I know that too,” Fuqu replied, her cheeks rosy. “The best way would be to bear you a son or daughter, but my lord…” Quan Ce had told her that, as a child, a monk half-buddhist, half-taoist, wearing a Confucian cap, had read his fortune and prophesied that before his eighteenth birthday he must not lose his virginity. His birthday fell on the fifteenth day of the third month—he was only sixteen now, with two years to wait.

Quan Ce coughed and changed the subject. “This pleasure barge is beautifully outfitted. If you were to hang some red lanterns around the deck, it would surely draw even more attention…”

Fuqu rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, her arms wrapped around his, resting her head on his shoulder, letting him gesture and direct as he pleased, offering no answer.

At dusk, Quan Ce returned home to find his younger brother, Quan Zhu, in the Unnamed Courtyard, holding the hands of two-year-old Zhu Ping’an from the Zhu family, stepping back with each stride, teaching the child to walk. He coaxed in a babyish tone, “Ping’an, be brave now, take a bigger step.” No sooner had he finished speaking than he himself toppled backward with a thud, and Zhu Ping’an fell over as well, servants rushing to their aid.

His little sister Quan Luo sat quietly on a brocade cushion, surrounded by nursemaids and maids, her large eyes dark and clear, darting about with an air of disdain. She waved her hands and babbled, as if mocking the two fools before her.

Quan Ce stood with hands clasped behind his back, watching the scene, lost in quiet contentment.