Chapter Five: The Land of Right and Wrong

The imperial horses were kept in the Flying Dragon Stables, just outside the gate of Chongxuan Temple. The eastern side of the stables housed the horses, while the western side was lined with barracks, where a thousand elite cavalrymen under the Northern Guard were stationed. Combined with the stables’ own defense force, the total number of soldiers and horses reached nearly two thousand, making the security even tighter than within the Daming Palace itself—truly impregnable, a rather amusing example of royal humor.

The chief of the Flying Dragon Stables, known as the Flying Dragon Envoy, was a eunuch in the Inner Court by the name of Luan. Unlike most eunuchs, he was tall and broad-shouldered, carrying himself with pride. As he walked out from the stables, he moved with the vigor of a prowling tiger. His clothes were damp and stained, likely from personally tending to the imperial steeds. Shooting Quance a critical glance, he did not seem impressed and offered a perfunctory salute. “Congratulations, honored one. This way, please.”

The stables were dimly lit, the cries of horses echoing now and then. Some were still wild, ceaselessly ramming the rails with thunderous noise. Remarkably, there was no unpleasant smell. Quance, knowing little about horses, cast his eyes about aimlessly, already wondering how he might muddle through when asked to make a selection.

But to his surprise, Eunuch Luan led him swiftly onward without pause or offering any choice, so Quance simply followed in silence. At the deepest end of the stables, Luan finally stopped. There was only one horse here: green-maned, with turquoise eyes, its curly coat gleaming with red patterns, standing a full six feet tall.

“This horse is called Wanxu Xuan,” Luan said, stroking its mane, his face touched by reminiscence. “It was the late Emperor Gaozong’s dearest steed. He personally groomed it. The horse is gentle by nature—please, honored one, treasure it well.”

Quance was taken aback and quickly shook his head. “Thank you for your concern, Envoy Luan, but such a noble horse is beyond my station. I dare not accept. If you would assign me a common horse, I would be most grateful.”

Luan glanced back at him, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You worry too much. Bestowing a horse by the Empress’ decree is no trivial matter. There are orders to be followed, and I am only obeying them. I dare not act otherwise.”

The embarrassment flickered across Quance’s face and was gone, replaced by gratitude. “The Empress’ generosity overwhelms me. I accept with humility.” Inwardly, though, he was disheartened. He had just caused a stir with the thunderbolt incident, and now this new prominence could only do him harm.

After escorting man and horse a good distance from the Flying Dragon Stables, Eunuch Luan hesitated before speaking. “Forgive a few words of advice, honored one. Though Wanxu Xuan is not proud, it is discerning. You appear strong, but inside you lack substance. You will not win its true respect, and it may not serve you fully. Please keep this in mind.” Clearly, he feared Quance might react badly and take it out on the horse.

Quance was sincerely moved and nodded gravely. “Rest assured, Envoy Luan. I will act within my limits.”

Once clear of the stables, Quance chose not to retrace his steps. Instead, he took the longer route, turning left to follow the official road along the outer wall of Daming Palace. This meant circling half the palace, but the road was deserted and he would draw less attention.

“Quance! Stop!” A harsh shout rang out. Two riders quickly closed in, men he had seen before at the Golden Throne Hall.

“This horse of yours, I want it. Name your price—silver, silk, women—anything you want,” snarled Sanlang, still furious, his eyes fixed on Wanxu Xuan, then on Quance, his expression fierce.

“This is a gift from the Empress herself. Forgive me, I dare not give it away,” Quance replied coolly. Though he felt aged and weary in his heart, he came from a future age where all were equal. Sanlang’s unprovoked harassment was truly detestable.

“You—hmph! Fine, take care of it for a few days. If anything goes wrong, I’ll hold you responsible!” Sanlang sneered, “Soon I’ll ask my grandaunt for it myself. It will be mine in the end. Remember my name: Wu Yanxiu. My father is Wu Chengsi.”

A glimmer of amusement flashed in Quance’s eyes. For centuries, the words of spoiled scions had not changed. Sanlang was Wu Yanxiu; the second son, a Commandant at the Palace, was Wu Yanyi. Clearly, he was fated to cross paths with this Wu clan. “So long as I have the Empress’ command, I will obey.”

Wu Yanxiu snorted, yanking his reins. His black horse reared back, then wheeled sharply, galloping away.

“Sanlang, where are you going?” called the middle-aged man chasing after him.

“My temper’s not right! I’m going back to see that Luan fellow—maybe he needs a taste of my fists!” Wu Yanxiu shouted, lashing his horse as he sped off.

The older man shook his head and turned to Quance, giving a courteous salute. “General Quance, Sanlang has been spoiled from childhood. Thank you for your forbearance. I am Wu Youji. It is an honor.”

At this name, Quance immediately dismounted and saluted with a hand to his chest. “Greetings to Commandant Wu.” Wu Youji was currently Commandant of the Right Guard.

“No, no, you flatter me,” Wu Youji replied, blushing faintly. “I know my own worth—just a frivolous fellow with no merit or virtue to my name. I serve only by the Empress’ grace. This is no place for idle talk. Another day, let us share a drink together—do not refuse me.”

“I would not dare decline such kindness, elder,” Quance replied, addressing him as elder. In a family of vipers, Wu Youji was a rare exception—easy-going and self-sufficient, living out his days in peace, and thus met a good end.

Wu Youji smiled warmly, his demeanor clear and composed. “Very well. I must look after Sanlang, lest he cause more trouble. Farewell, eldest son of the Quans.”

After they parted, Quance glanced northward in concern. With Wu Yanxiu’s temper, Envoy Luan would surely suffer.

He brought the imperial horse back and had it stabled in the Princess’s mansion, determined that this supposedly intelligent horse would never see daylight again. To ride a horse once used by Emperor Gaozong might be a supreme honor to some, but to his mind, it was hardly auspicious.

After serving in the palace for some time and witnessing many court secrets, Quance felt ever more ill at ease. He even found himself envying his counterparts in the Qing dynasty, where emperors strictly protected their own privacy and forbade guards from entering the inner palace. Here, things were less restrictive: not only could guards and officials come and go on duty, but favored princes and nobles could wander freely, with no division between the sexes.

Lost in such thoughts, he saw a florid-faced monk riding into the palace through the Xuanwu Gate, swaggering arrogantly.

At the Nine Immortals Gate, Quance had no choice but to bar his way. “Master, please wait. The Empress is busy with affairs of state. She asks that you return another day.”

“Affairs of state? Hmph!” the monk’s desires were plain upon his face, his anger rising, whip clenched tight.

Quance’s heart skipped a beat and he quickly stepped forward. “Master, please hear me out. You are not like others—you have great responsibilities. I hear that under your supervision, the Hall of Enlightenment is progressing rapidly. When it is complete, your audience with the Empress will be all the more honorable, will it not?”

The veins on the monk’s hand bulged, but in the end, he restrained himself. He tapped Quance’s helmet with his whip. “You’re clever. You understand things. I’ll remember you.” With that, he wheeled his horse and galloped away.

Quance exhaled in relief, spared a beating for now. Zhao Liu was still lying in bed, after all. The Empress had repeatedly refused to see the monk, Xue Huaiyi, forcing the Thousand Bull Guards to stand in his way. Xue, in a rage, had left Zhao Liu with several whip scars across his face, marring his handsome features. Zhao was already drafting his resignation, a clear sign that the Thousand Bull Guards were little more than embroidered cushions.

Returning to his post, Quance was greeted by raucous laughter from inside. He barely suppressed a sneer. Was that business really so amusing? It wasn’t something he cared to hear. The space before the Hall of Favor was cramped—after a few steps one reached the Nine Immortals Gate, and beyond that, leaving one’s post was a serious offense. The guards pressed their faces to the wall, but the sounds from within still drifted out.

Inside was an imperial physician named Shen Nanmiao, a man in his forties, not at all like the burly Xue Huaiyi. Rumor had it that Shen pleased the Empress not by strength, but by his mastery of medicine and certain unrivaled bedroom skills.

At the end of his shift, the sun had set. After bidding farewell to his increasingly familiar colleagues and subordinates, Quance rode home at speed. He wanted to bring palace cakes for his younger siblings. These pastries, called Crab Roe Biluo, were exquisite—thin-skinned, the filling visible through the dough, soft, glutinous, and slightly salty, perfect for young children. He had brought them home once before; Quanzhu loved them, and even his baby sister, Quanluo, not yet a year old, could eat a little. Whenever the Empress bestowed Crab Roe Biluo, he always set some aside to take home. Some subordinates, having learned of this, would even quietly give him a few of their share.

For a member of the imperial clan to be reduced to this—what a lamentable state.

As he arrived, a splendid carriage was just pulling away from his gate. He called out to Quan Zhong, the loyal attendant waiting there. “Who was that?”

“That was the carriage of the Lord of Dongguan,” Quan Zhong replied, his face brimming with pride, as if to say, Our master came to visit you, and you shut the door in his face—now he has to come and call on you.

But Quance felt no joy, clutching the small bundle of Crab Roe Biluo as he hurried home, his heart cold as ice. If, because he had shown his face, this group of ambitious nobles took his father Quan Yi into their circle, it would be like wrapping himself in a cocoon.

The afterglow of sunset filled the sky. In the distance, the silhouette of Daming Palace loomed, faint and indistinct. Chang’an—a place of endless troubles.