Chapter Thirty: The Powerful Chancellor

In the eighth century, the three great political centers of Earth were Baghdad of the Arabs, Constantinople of the Eastern Romans, and Chang’an of the Great Tang. Chang’an, nestled in the fertile heart of Guanzhong, gathered the wealth of the world and irresistibly attracted the aristocratic clans, who sought both fortune and fame, talent and grace—creating an air of effortless splendor. Thus, when the Son of Heaven proclaimed the new era as “Heavenly Treasure,” drawing from the phrase “Nature’s riches and Heaven’s jewels, outstanding people and blessed lands,” it was a fitting omen of prosperity.

The city's layout was meticulously planned: six grand avenues divided the inner imperial city and the 110 marketplaces and wards outside, neatly as if the stars themselves were scattered across the sky. Only the Daming Palace, jutting northward atop Longshou Plateau, broke this perfect symmetry with a dash of playfulness. Such grand orderliness was a testament to the rising strength of the Tang—just as the poem declares: “The palace gates open to the nine heavens, and emissaries from a myriad nations bow in their finery.” Nothing could be truer.

Yet, in the eleventh year of the Heavenly Treasure era, the political heart of the realm was not within the Taiji Palace of the inner city, nor in the Daming Palace atop Longshou, nor even in the Xingqing Palace—now called the ‘Southern Palace’—where the Emperor most delighted in his excursions. Instead, it lay not far from there, in a certain ward of the city…

It was early April, the prime of spring, when blossoms adorned every vista. The people of Chang’an, famed for their custom of “flower competitions,” shed their heavy winter robes for exquisite spring attire. Men and women alike strolled out to admire the blooms, to revel and vie in elegance, but nowhere was the spectacle more vibrant than in Pingkang Ward.

This ward, situated at the fifth precinct of the third street east of the city, was separated from Xingqing Palace by only the Eastern Market. Its renown came from the gathering of courtesans and entertainers within, making it the favored haunt of the city’s young gallants, as the saying went: “The sons of noble families vie to shower gifts, one melody played and no one counts the silks bestowed.”

But for Li Xiu, the anxious Supervisor of Imperial Works, neither the lively scenes of the street nor the beckoning of the red-clad courtesans could distract him. Spurring his horse relentlessly, he raced down the not-so-wide road, followed by a retinue of richly dressed servants. Chickens scattered and dogs fled as they passed, and those unfortunate enough to be caught in the dust could barely voice a curse before a companion, recognizing the livery, hushed them: “Hold your tongue—don’t you value your life? Those are the retainers of Chancellor Li’s household.”

Soon, the party arrived before a grand residence within the ward. A sharp-eyed servant hurried forward to take the reins. Li Xiu, not even dismounting, urgently asked, “Is he here?”

The servant nodded, and Li Xiu breathed a sigh of relief. If his search here had failed, he would have had to look outside the city.

This unassuming house was in fact a private estate of Li Linfu, the Grand Master for Special Affairs, concurrently Right Chancellor, Acting Left Minister, Minister of Works, Chief of Three Departments, Protector-General of Anxi, Military Commissioner of Shuofang, Deputy Protector-General of the Xiongnu, and Duke of Jin. Within Chang’an alone, he owned over a dozen such residences, not to mention extensive estates outside the city and a summer retreat at the foot of Mount Hua.

When Li Xiu entered the study, an old servant had already lifted the curtain for him. Inside, he heard a man’s voice—listening closely, he recognized his brother-in-law, Zhang Boji. Lifting his robes, Li Xiu stepped lightly inside, and sure enough, his father stood behind the desk, brush in hand.

“…The envoy is named Xiye Duozan, sent by their Dalun, seeking to negotiate the restitution of the Princess’s fief, which a border general has encroached upon, and citing the neglect of the royal tomb and the youth of the bloodline, requests a senior relative to look after them. If some relics from the homeland could be bestowed, it would show the motherland’s favor,” Zhang Boji, Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites, finished his report and, receiving no answer, stood respectfully. Only when his sleeve was tugged did he turn—seeing his elder brother-in-law, he quickly exchanged a silent glance, for now was not the time for conversation. At that moment, an aged voice sounded.

“The fief of the princess? These Tubo people truly know no shame. It seems Geshu Han has won another victory—has the Ministry of War reported any good news?” Though well into his seventies, Li Linfu’s mind was sharp as ever, his tone edged with sarcasm.

“I have not heard of any,” came the reply.

Li Linfu immediately realized his error. His son-in-law, after all, was only a vice minister—how could he know military secrets? If there had truly been a great victory, word would have reached him at once. Since it had not, it was likely a minor success, unworthy of an official report.

In recent years, so many victories had come from the frontiers that only the most significant could catch the Emperor’s eye. The border generals all strove for total triumph, though many failed, yet this competitive spirit had not been curbed—for the Tang now cared little about defeat.

“What does the Elder wish us to do about this matter?”

“Settle them in the official guesthouse—do not neglect the proper courtesies. The Emperor least wishes to see the Tubo now. If they have found their way to you, it must be a hint. Do you know what their true purpose is?” Li Linfu did not even raise his head, his brush flowing unimpeded.

“I cannot conceal my thoughts from you, Father-in-law. They did bring some gifts to the residence, but as vice minister, it is my duty and I could hardly refuse. Judging from the envoy’s words, they wish His Majesty to grant a princess in marriage…”

“Foolishness!” Li Linfu cut him off bluntly. “This is not the reign of Zhenguan, nor of Jinglong. The north is at peace, the west holds no promise—our only exercise is with the Tubo. Even if the Emperor agreed, would the border generals, desperate for glory, permit it?”

“It has been over a decade since Princess Jincheng passed, has her son come of age?” Such a simple matter, the Tubo could not be ignorant of it. Since they still made the request, the matter must be more complicated. Li Linfu pondered as he asked.

“Thirteen years. The prince is, reportedly, thirteen as well.”

“Then he is a posthumous child?” Li Linfu mused, then continued, “Could he be seeking support from our court? Prince Bin has been dead ten years—who else could he turn to? The twenty-fifth son?”

Zhang Boji was taken aback, wondering if his father-in-law was confused. Although Prince Bin, Li Shouli, was the princess’s natural father, he had early on been adopted by Emperor Zhongzong. Afterward, the late emperor took the princess as his own foster daughter, so there was no real connection to the Prince Bin line.

“There may be a deeper meaning,” Zhang Boji replied tactfully, not daring to speak too directly. Sure enough, Li Linfu immediately understood. Strictly speaking, Princess Jincheng was the current Emperor’s sister, and the so-called “elder” referred to the imperial family. What these visitors sought was an audience with the Emperor.

“Do as we agreed earlier—keep them waiting. When news of victory from the west arrives, they will understand. If they still feign ignorance, throw the report in their faces.” He knew well that the Emperor cared little for this adopted princess, and the Tubo had so often used her to seek favor that the Emperor was thoroughly exasperated. On learning of her death, not even a single envoy of condolence had been dispatched.

And now, to seek another princess in marriage—was this not a fool’s dream?

“I shall see to it at once,” Zhang Boji replied, bowing deeply before taking his leave. As the eldest legitimate son of the chancellor’s household, Li Xiu was not as restrained as he. Though Li Linfu was famed as a cunning statesman, a “honey-tongued viper,” he was indulgent—even doting—toward his children. This was evident in one fact alone: Zhang Boji, the son-in-law who had just departed, was not chosen by Li Linfu’s will, but had been selected by his daughter herself—Li Linfu merely officiated.

Naturally, his son’s hurried steps did not escape his notice. Finishing the last stroke of his calligraphy, Li Linfu looked up and considered him.

“So you rushed back—has Wang Hong been dealt with?”