Chapter Six: Father and Mother

In the main study of the Princess Yiyang’s residence, father and son stood opposite each other, one standing, one sitting, both silent.

Quan Yi gazed at his son, a hint of bewilderment in his eyes. It had been years since he’d been close to his eldest, and the young man before him, spirited and steady, seemed a stranger compared to the timid, fretful youth of his memory—like a tiger in appearance, but a rabbit in spirit. Recalling the flattering words of Duke Li Rong of Dongguan, he allowed himself a slight smile. “Sit.”

Quan Ce gathered his robes and took his seat, heavy-hearted, oblivious to his father’s gaze.

“In the past, I entered the Tai Ji Palace as a guard, relying on family connections. The palace was solemn then, untroubled by so many entanglements. Even so, every now and then, colleagues would be dismissed or arrested, all for careless words or deeds.” Quan Yi stroked his beard, his tone earnest. “In the palace, fulfill your duties diligently; do not speak or act rashly.”

Only after hearing this did Quan Ce realize his father’s misunderstanding. Still, touched by his concern, he said, “Thank you for your guidance, Father. There is something I do not understand, no matter how I ponder it.”

“Speak,” Quan Yi straightened, his face turning stern.

“What is it that a true subject seeks?” Quan Ce asked solemnly.

“To support the dynasty, counsel the sovereign, comfort the people, and safeguard the family,” Quan Yi replied swiftly, his answer polished and precise—as if he had rehearsed it countless times.

Quan Ce’s breath caught. To hold onto youthful ideals at such an age—what a rare thing. He decided to be blunt, “Father, in your opinion, which of these have men like Prince Langya or Duke Dongguan achieved?”

Quan Yi’s eyes suddenly sharpened. He glanced out the window and rebuked in a low voice, “Foolish words! The will of the people and the principles of the world favor the Li dynasty’s mandate. How can you slander them?”

“If the hearts and principles of the people are so steadfast, why harbor such sinister designs?” Quan Ce no longer wished to debate theory. “All I see is pointless sacrifice—those who wield the blade are shameful enough, but those who draw the scabbard are no less guilty.”

A deep disappointment clouded Quan Yi’s eyes. He sighed. “If you have more to say, speak now.”

“Father, I have three questions that I must ask.” Quan Ce stood and knelt on both knees.

“Among all the old ministers at court, is there any more stubborn and unyielding than Pei Yan?”

“Among the generals’ sons, is there any who gathers desperate followers more than Xu Jingye?”

“Among the commanders, is there any who wins every battle like Cheng Muting?”

Quan Yi was struck speechless, his brow twitching.

“Father, the Empress has held power for over twenty years. Who can compare with her? The Wu clan is rampant only because they cater to her needs. Instead of futilely opposing the tide and destroying our own foundations, why not adapt to circumstances?” Quan Ce laid the forbidden topic of usurpation openly on the table, certain his father would not be so blindly loyal as to forsake his own kin. “The fate of the state and the family’s interests—which weighs heavier? As for His Majesty, does he dare seize power and commit matricide? If even he hesitates, what can men like Duke Dongguan hope to achieve?”

Quan Yi’s face flushed, then blanched, then flushed again. He closed his eyes, his chest heaving.

When his emotions finally settled, he opened his eyes and gave Quan Ce a single word of judgment: “Foolish.”

“Father, please calm yourself,” Quan Ce quickly conceded, offering tea. He had spoken so much for the sake of protecting his family—if he agitated his father into illness, he would never forgive himself.

Quan Yi took the tea, sipped, and his anger faded. His tone softened, “Such childish thinking. The matter of the imperial throne is no trivial thing. Do you suppose it’s like merchants borrowing and lending, with contracts and guarantees, and everything returned as it was? Which dynasty’s throne has not been won at the cost of blood?”

Quan Ce was left speechless. He knew the course of history—Empress Wu would eventually return power to the Li family—but his father couldn’t know, nor could those of the Li clan who fought and died for it. Without their sacrifice, who’s to say Empress Wu would have relinquished power at all? By comparison, his own desire merely to survive seemed shameful. “You are right, Father. I was ignorant.”

“Not so. For one so young to see so much of the court’s workings is rare indeed. My eldest has grown up.” Seeing his son bow in submission, Quan Yi’s expression gentled further. After a moment’s thought, he continued, “Since you have won the Empress’s favor, for now, do not meddle in these matters.”

Quan Ce’s guilt lasted only a moment; his resolve remained. Others may die, but he must survive. If he couldn’t change his father’s stance, he would at least try to keep him out of harm’s way. “Father, the capital is a place of constant peril, and our family is not well-liked. Rather than struggle here, why not relocate and avoid the brunt of it?”

Quan Yi shook his head with a bitter smile. “If we are already objects of suspicion, how could they allow us to leave so easily? There is even talk at court of recalling your uncle to the capital.”

Quan Ce had many uncles—even the emperor, Ruizong, who sat upon the dragon throne, was one. But Quan Yi referred to his true uncle, Prince Xu, Li Sutie, Princess Yiyang’s full brother. As the only son of Consort Xiao, he lived in hardship as governor of Shuzhou—worse off than either of his sisters, Princess Yiyang or Princess Gao’an. Not only because he was the only surviving son, but also because, at not yet forty, he had already sired thirteen sons.

A wrong birth was a wrong in everything. Quan Ce shook his head, dejected, but persisted in persuading his father. “Perhaps not elsewhere, but there is one place we could go.”

“You mean…” Quan Yi fell into thought, his gaze unfocused, fingers drumming on the desk. “Do not be hasty. We must consider carefully.”

Quan Ce returned to his unnamed courtyard. The entrance was crowded with servants and attendants. At his arrival, they bowed and dispersed. The steward, Quan Fu, already aged and unsteady on his feet, rarely appeared these days. “Congratulations, young master. The Empress’s reward is a great honor. The gold and silk have all been stored away. The matter is what to do with these gifted servants—how would you like to arrange them?”

Quan Ce glanced at the neat rows of hopeful servants. “No need for fuss. Steward, you decide. Choose a few young, clever ones for my brother and sister’s courtyards. As for mine—” He paused, reconsidered, then casually pointed to a delicate girl of about ten. “Keep her for the study.”

Whether or not these people harbored hidden designs, he had to show the proper attitude. If he refused them all, some would accuse him of resentment and spread filthy rumors.

“Well done, young master,” Quan Fu beamed, his face a map of wrinkles. He went on, “You have plenty of attendants, but no one to oversee them all. My second son, Quan Xiang, is not especially talented, but he’s honest. Raised in service here, he ought to work for you. I am getting old and can’t serve your parents as I once did. I was thinking of bringing in a few more from the country estate. The boy Quan Tu is a good choice.”

Quan Tu was Quan Zhong’s father, currently headman at the rural estate.

“You are thoughtful, Steward. Do as you see fit. No need for formalities.” Quan Ce nodded, then strode quickly into the courtyard. Politics required caution outside and subtlety within the household—no room for suffocation.

Quan Zhong and the others followed him in, all eyes fixed on him. He maintained his silence, and the standoff was finally broken by Daisy, who gently asked, “Young master, with so much gold and silk bestowed, should we set some aside for the household accounts?”

Quan Ce glanced at his attendants. Quan Li looked excited, eyes darting. Quan Zhong seemed indifferent, absentmindedly scratching his furry face. Chisu was confused but cheerful. Pomegranate kept her gaze on him, somewhat anxious. Satafu stood solemn, gripping his sword more tightly—his duty to protect was heavier with so much treasure in the house.

All was well—no one seemed greedy. With a glance, Quan Ce took note, but Pomegranate grew anxious. “Young master, these are imperial gifts. If you hand them all to the household, people will talk.”

Quan Li nodded in agreement.

Quan Ce chuckled. “Pomegranate is right. I will keep twenty thousand coins. How should it be managed—any suggestions?”

All eyes turned to Quan Li, whose father managed the accounts and was trusted with the family’s finances.

Quan Ce glanced at him, saw his anticipation, and shook his head. “The twenty thousand will go to Quan Zhong; Quan Li can advise. Daisy, bring the inventory of gifts, and last time’s gifts from Her Highness, and come with me to see Mother.”

“Yes, young master,” Daisy replied, her eyes smiling.

“My son, you are so filial and sensible,” Princess Yiyang said as he arrived, putting aside her beloved youngest daughter to receive the list, clearly pleased.

Quan Ce scooped his little sister up, making idle conversation. “Mother, I’ve heard that the Eastern Capital is a merchant’s paradise, a land paved with gold…”