Chapter Thirty-Two: Framing

The Flower Calyx Pavilion was a famed sight in the eastern part of Chang’an, a landmark that would be known in later generations. Rising to more than one hundred and twenty feet, the building was divided into three stories: a lower hall and upper pavilions, serving both as a place for council and for leisure. It was one of the Emperor’s favorite retreats.

At the summit, the Hall of Shared Delight rivaled the size of a palace chamber. From this height—equal to a ten-story building of future times—the entire cityscape of Chang’an unfolded at one’s feet. The grand and orderly layout provided an overwhelming visual impact, as if all the people of the realm were beneath one's gaze, looking up in reverence to the master of the most powerful empire in history, the father of his people, the sovereign revered by foreign lands as the “Heavenly Khagan.”

Li Longji, now well past seventy, had reigned for forty years. Whether it was due to love’s lingering effect, his skin remained ruddy and luminous beneath his dark red robe patterned with dragons and clouds, his head crowned with a black official cap. Apart from a few faint age spots, his carefully groomed beard showed not a trace of white, and his eyes were clear and bright, though tinged now with sorrow.

A small jade flute was clutched tightly in his hand, but he made no move to play it. His gaze wandered through the open windows, lingering over the nearby courtyards, while a measured, rhythmic voice reached his ears.

“…the accused Wang has confessed that he was acquainted with so-and-so for over a decade, often relying on his support. Each festival and birthday, he would call on him without fail, regardless of heat or cold. In the month prior to the incident, the accused visited his residence several times, each time holding secret discussions of no less than an hour. Though he claims all were official business, there are no witnesses to corroborate this. Therefore, I believe the authorities may summon an inquiry. Yet as his rank is higher than most, to ensure fairness, it would be better…”

The speaker was tall and dignified, with an aura of uprightness at first glance. Yet his shifting eyes betrayed hidden ambitions. Pausing here, he hoped to catch the Emperor’s attention. But after a long silence, he looked up in surprise.

“And what would be better?” Li Longji, without shifting his gaze, seemed to know his thoughts.

Such a blunt scheme could only have come from this man, once a commoner. But now that Wang was finished, who among the ministers could balance Li Linfu? Considering this, Li Longji turned to observe him: not especially learned, but not unpleasant either. And more importantly, his surname was Yang.

“It would be best if Your Majesty conducted the inquiry yourself, to show the court’s impartiality.”

Yang Guozhong, Vice Censor-in-Chief and Military Commissioner of Jian’nan, held his government tablet and bowed.

“What do you think, Minister Chen?”

Li Longji neither approved nor rejected, but turned instead to another companion—Chen Xilie, the Left Chancellor, a man reputed to follow Li Linfu in all things, as if a mere clay figurine. Startled by the Emperor’s words, he seemed to awaken suddenly.

“I believe there is some reason in Lord Yang’s suggestion. Chancellor Li has held the reins of government for twenty years and recommended many officials. Though Wang was promoted to Censor-in-Chief by his advice, whether it was for public good or personal favor can only be determined if the Chancellor attends in person. However, I trust Chancellor Li is not one to form cliques or factions.”

Li Longji’s gaze narrowed sharply. He had not expected this wooden figure to display such incisive skill, far outstripping Yang Guozhong. In truth, it was never a question whether Li Linfu had plotted rebellion—nor even Wang himself. Yet the investigation had uncovered many crimes, and to answer the court, Wang had been forced to commit suicide: that alone was telling.

If Wang’s case ended thus, how much less likely was it that Li Linfu—who had no connection—should fall. If the matter were pressed, half the court would be implicated. After all, was not Yang Guozhong himself first promoted through Li Linfu’s favor?

Chen Xilie was clever, sidestepping the issue and instead pointing, obliquely, to the root: factionalism.

Ministerial factions meant either the pursuit of private gain or the division of imperial power—the one thing a ruler must most fear. Even though Li Longji understood his meaning, he could not help but imagine such a possibility.

After all, nearly all the frontier generals were his appointees. If they rebelled, the empire would be thrown into chaos and ruin.

As Li Longji pondered his reply, a man dressed as a court eunuch hurried in. Without ceremony, he approached and whispered a few words at the Emperor’s ear.

“Oh?” Unconsciously, the corner of Li Longji’s mouth lifted. Just as they spoke, so it came to pass.

“See that he is brought up—go yourself,” he ordered. Then, turning to the two ministers, “Since he has arrived, will you stay to hear what transpires, or…”

“So soon?” Yang Guozhong’s eyelid twitched. He glanced at Chen Xilie, and both men straightened their robes and bowed deeply.

“We would not presume to witness Your Majesty’s affairs.”

“Then withdraw. Now that Wang has been executed, his responsibilities fall to you, Lord Yang. Serve well—do not disappoint me.”

At this, Yang Guozhong was overjoyed. He bowed without hesitation. “Your servant will devote himself heart and soul, repaying Your Majesty’s grace.”

Even after leaving the chamber, his heart pounded as though it would leap from his chest. Before his fall, Wang had held the posts of Vice Minister of Revenue, Censor-in-Chief, and Prefect of the Capital—all coveted positions, not to mention more than twenty additional titles. This favor had once inspired bitter envy. And now, with a single imperial command, it was all his? It felt almost unreal.

“Congratulations, Lord Yang. Ah, forgive my memory—now I should call you Minister Yang.”

Hearing the congratulatory voice, Yang Guozhong instinctively assumed it was Chen Xilie, and hurriedly bowed in response.

“I dare not accept such praise. Without your support, I would not stand here today.”

But as soon as he finished, he realized something was amiss. The voice was markedly older. Looking up, he saw a familiar figure, face wreathed in a genial smile, escorted up from below. That kindly appearance, like a friendly elder, struck Yang Guozhong as if a sword had pierced straight through his gut.

It was none other than Li Linfu, whom he had just plotted against and who had come to hear the verdict.

As the other drew nearer, Yang Guozhong involuntarily stepped back to make way, his earlier composure before the Emperor vanishing entirely.

“Lord Yang, you are too modest. Your achievements are due to your own diligence and the Emperor’s favor. How could I claim credit?”

Li Linfu’s smile did not waver as he passed by, paying no heed at all to Chen Xilie standing nearby.