Chapter 111: Struggle

When Li Heng was helped down from the carriage by Cheng Yuanzhen, he once again wore a demeanor of humility and gentleness, seemingly unaffected by the earlier scene.

For the sake of dozens of unarmed Tibetans, the Son of Heaven had boldly dispatched thousands of troops, causing a city-wide uproar and countless deaths. Was there some underlying dissatisfaction? It was impossible to speculate now.

“Your Highness, I have been ordered to escort you this far. I must now return to the palace to submit the report. This will be our parting,” General Gao Xianzhi said as he dismounted and stood respectfully at the foot of the steps, bowing with sincere regard.

“Thank you, General, for your escort,” Li Heng nodded, giving a grateful glance to this famed general, a favorite of Li Linfu.

This was the only response he could muster. What the Crown Prince feared most from the sovereign was interference in military command. Li Longji himself had launched two coups by wielding such power; how could he tolerate others doing the same, even if they were his own sons?

Traditionally, the Flying Dragon Imperial Guard, responsible for palace security, was commanded by the trusted eunuch Gao Lishi, whose loyalty was beyond doubt. Meanwhile, the perimeter security of any inner palace was managed by Grand General Chen Xuanli of the Dragon Martial troops, who likewise pledged allegiance solely to the Emperor.

Li Heng entered his residence with his attendants and was warmly welcomed by his sons, grandsons, and all the servants within. Though they formed a dense crowd, none could withstand the charge of the elite Feathered Forest cavalry outside.

This explained why he had remained silent at Xiliuyuan—not due to ignorance, but because every course of action would be fraught with peril. If he obeyed the Feathered Forest soldiers, suspicion would arise; if he disobeyed, his authority would vanish. It was better to do nothing.

His gaze lingered on his eldest son. He was uncertain if he would live to see the day of succession. At sixty-eight, his father appeared younger than himself. Perhaps this grandson was the Empire’s best heir. Even if it meant enduring longer for his sake, maybe the dawn of a new era was just moments away.

He did not know, but such thoughts filled his heart.

“Father, you’re startled,” Li Chu said carefully, stepping forward to accept the eunuch’s support. In front of this seemingly weak father, Li Chu was less lively than he was before his grandfather.

“It’s nothing. Let them all disperse,” Li Heng said wearily, waving his hand. The assembled crowd scattered like birds and beasts. The vast courtyard was suddenly empty. Just as Li Chu prepared to help him to the inner hall, he stopped beneath a great locust tree.

“This tree was planted by your father the year his household was established. Nearly forty years have passed,” he said.

Li Chu was silent. He had not been born then and knew little of the past. At that time, his father was not yet Crown Prince, and this was merely a princely residence. Later, as he grew up, he was familiar with the courtyard and had often climbed trees to snatch birds in mischief, never imagining this tree was his father’s own planting.

“Darling, as the old saying goes, ‘The ancestors planted trees under whose shade the descendants rest.’ Today, the Emperor may look down on me, the Crown Prince, once again. That’s fine. No matter what mistakes I make, others will only say your father is incompetent. One day, when you have grown tall like this towering tree, the affairs of this household will rest on your shoulders.”

“Father, why say such things?” Li Chu was alarmed; the words sounded more like despair.

“Do not overthink. It is but a spontaneous feeling. Have you visited Prince Qing’s residence today?”

“I have. The Emperor was also there. I stayed half an hour. Though I gained nothing, I overheard some news that may cheer you.”

Li Chu recounted everything in detail, including what he saw at Yuzhen Temple and Li Mi’s analysis afterward. He believed that at least two of the three reasons Li Mi gave were favorable to their family, so there was no need for undue worry.

“That female lay practitioner is indeed your youngest aunt, born in the 26th year of Kaiyuan, just turned fourteen. Her mother’s status is low, and she is of Sogdian descent, disliked by the Emperor. She was sent to the Daoist path early on and is under your aunt’s care, living freer than she would in the palace,” Li Heng said with a hint of envy. The father’s dislike for this peculiar youngest daughter was genuine, yet he had painstakingly arranged everything for her sake out of some blood relation. Still, that kinship was never truly felt; perhaps in his father’s eyes, he was less than a freak.

He continued, “Li Mi was right. Li Linfu is old and frail now, and death may come anytime. Once he is gone, Yang Guozhong will likely succeed him. While both were alive, their rivalry kept us safe. Once Li Linfu falls, who in court can oppose this new favorite?”

“‘Good fortune leans on misfortune.’ In the future, do not repeat today’s actions. Do not pry into matters; all is decreed by Heaven. Do you understand?”

“I have noted it,” Li Chu replied solemnly, meeting his father’s eyes. The so-called ‘Heaven’s will’ was the Emperor’s intention; everything else was but illusions.

Though lacking his father’s political acumen and experience, Li Heng had learned much by observation. The rivalry between the Yang and Li clans allowed their family to remain neutral. Li Linfu’s downfall was no good news.

Even he understood this truth; Yang Guozhong surely did as well. To him, Li Linfu was still a towering mountain to be reckoned with. Without witnessing his fall, peace would not come.

A fierce tiger is weaker than a sick tiger, a sick tiger weaker than a wounded tiger, and a wounded tiger weaker than a dying tiger. Li Linfu was now at the last stage.

Who else could claim the glory of founding a nation? The Great Tang’s century of achievements were unmatched. The two LIs, like war gods, were first remembered for vanquishing the Turks and capturing their Khagan, then subduing Goguryeo—a stubborn kingdom no dynasty had conquered.

Other smaller states like Hou Junji’s conquest of Gaochang, Tuyuhun, or Su Dingfang’s pacification of Baekje were minor affairs. Now, looking around, only Tibet remained a formidable foe, far from a trivial place like Nanzhao.

Such great merits—who would not covet them?

Yang Guozhong was truly tempted, but the more tempted he was, the more wary he became of the Tibetans’ intentions. He was no fool.

“The army has already been deployed. Any negligence or delay is Li Linfu’s spiteful doing. Even I must leave the capital soon at worst, delaying only a few days. What difference would that make to you?”

Shang Jiesi seemed to have anticipated this and nodded without surprise. “Indeed. If the doctor had arrived earlier in Jiannan, Tibet would have even offered great gifts.”

“What gifts?”

“The surrender petition from Nanzhao—does that count as a great gift?” Shang Jiesi looked steadily into his eyes and answered calmly.

Yang Guozhong’s breath quickened. Nanzhao was his primary target. Last year’s battle was a disaster, partly due to Tibetan support. The region’s harsh climate, rugged terrain, and fierce people made it no easy prize.

The Tibetans’ meaning was clear: they would persuade the Nanzhao people to surrender voluntarily, perhaps even cede some occupied territories, thus giving the Emperor and court a satisfactory explanation. Whatever the outcome, he had gained the upper hand in this war.

Such a strategy allowed much room for maneuver. Done skillfully, the credit would ultimately go to himself. The Tibetans had indeed found his weak spot.

But there are no free feasts in the world. If they offered such grand gifts, their demands must be substantial. He suppressed his excitement and said nothing, merely glancing at Xianyu Xiang, who immediately understood.

“Without your support, Nanzhao’s surrender is only a matter of time. We will claim it ourselves. What gift could there be?” Xianyu Zhongtong feigned indifference.

“Perhaps so, but what you lack now is time. How much longer do you intend to stay in Shu?”

Shang Jiesi, well versed in the background, knew they were putting on a show.

“What do you want? Stopping is impossible. This is the Emperor’s explicit decree, announced to the world. Without a fitting outcome, no one can answer for it.”

“Nanzhao, Jiuqu, Qinghai, and Bolu—all belong to the Great Tang. Is that satisfactory?”

Before they could ponder, Shang Jiesi added a heavy weight: “When you ascend to the chancellorship, Tibet will fully submit its surrender petition and offer a prince as hostage to demonstrate eternal loyalty. Such a gift—will it suffice?”

Yang Guozhong’s eyes lit up. He looked at Xianyu Xiang, who was equally stirred. This was an offer impossible to refuse, precisely what Li Linfu had long coveted. To wrest it from the old fox’s hands, he was willing to pay any price.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Of course, we are not asking the Heavenly Khagan to cease fighting. As far as we know, Geshu Han has some ties with you,” Shang Jiesi revealed, growing tense himself.

Yang Guozhong gave a noncommittal hum. Geshu Han and the An clan were at odds, making him a natural ally. They had contact, though few knew.

At this stage, the Tibetans’ plan was obvious. Geshu Han’s 150,000 troops posed the greatest threat to them. Even delaying his advance by a moment would buy Tibet a moment more of life. As for the few lost territories, either already gone or not cared for, giving them up was no great loss.

Most importantly, Geshu Han was indifferent to such grand schemes. Unconsciously, Yang Guozhong was already plotting how to persuade him.

Perhaps the Tibetans had no choice but to feign cooperation, but that was nothing. Once Yang Guozhong held power, he could launch a full-scale siege and annihilate Tibet. A mere ant on the verge of being crushed—what harm in letting it live a little longer?

With this realization, Yang Guozhong and Shang Jiesi exchanged knowing smiles, like two cunning foxes that thought they had triumphed.