Chapter Thirty-Three: Familial Bonds

This place—Li Linfu had visited it countless times, and even this very building had once been restored by his own hands.

Yet this time felt different. As he passed the two men with a relaxed air, his smile vanished instantly. Anxiety gnawed at him: what had those two discussed inside, and how much did it concern him?

Leading the way, half a step ahead, was a burly eunuch—his round, plump face always seemed adorned with a harmless smile. But who truly knew the depths of this man's power, which was not to be underestimated.

If Li Linfu’s two decades as chancellor were rare and remarkable, then this man, who had served by His Majesty’s side for forty years and was honored as the "Chamberlain of the Inner Court," was the emperor’s true confidant.

He was none other than Gao Lishi, Chamberlain of the Directorate of the Palace Attendants, Grand General of Cavalry, and Duke of Bohai.

As they approached the door, Li Linfu grew nervous, wishing for a hint from his companion, yet not daring to speak plainly. Gao Lishi led him to the entrance and softly reminded him, "His Majesty commands that Chancellor Li may enter without being announced." Seeing Li Linfu glance over, he added, "The threshold is rather high—mind your step, Chancellor."

Li Linfu understood at once. He nodded, straightened his attire, and strode into the tower with firm, steady steps. After covering about a third of the distance, he brought his thighs together, advancing only by crossing his calves in small, quick steps, body slightly bent, hands folded over his lower abdomen.

This was the formal court ritual known as "quickening the pace"—the proper way for a subject to appear before his sovereign.

Watching Li Linfu approach step by step, Emperor Li Longji’s eyes flickered with a complex emotion.

In his view, Li Linfu’s twenty years as chancellor had coincided with the Tang dynasty’s golden age, and had been his own most comfortable and carefree years. Deep down, he was reluctant to see anything change.

"Minister of Works and concurrently Chancellor of the Right, Li Linfu, pays his respects to Your Majesty." Li Linfu, donning a five-beam crown and dressed in a deep purple court robe, halted about three steps away, bowed with meticulous propriety, every gesture flawless—though age had slowed the entire movement considerably.

"Be at ease," Li Longji dismissed him with a wave, then instructed a nearby attendant, "Fetch a stool. Assist the venerable Chancellor to be seated."

"I dare not presume," Li Linfu protested, waving his hands repeatedly.

"At seventy, if not for merit, then at least for age, you deserve it." Li Longji would not take no for an answer and even joked, "Sit properly; it will spare your strength as you ponder things."

"My thanks, Your Majesty."

Li Linfu seemed unfazed by the undertone in those words. He had never fancied himself a ‘worthy minister’ anyway, and the seemingly sarcastic jest allowed him to settle onto the stool in peace.

"Some claim you conspired with Wang Hong. What is your reply?"

He had barely found his seat when the question startled him so much he leapt to his feet, ready to kneel.

"I told you, answer while seated."

"This concerns the grave crime of treason, Sire; I must answer standing." This time he did not persist, but bowed respectfully. "It is true I am on friendly terms with Wang Hong. His appointment as Chief Censor was due to my recommendation. But that was because he was skilled in finance and could relieve Your Majesty’s burdens. As chancellor, it is my duty to recommend the capable for the good of the realm; I cannot merely hold office and deceive Your Majesty."

Li Longji, though long acquainted with Li Linfu’s skill, was still impressed. Only this old fox could dress personal motives in such lofty rhetoric so flawlessly.

"Yet I did not expect him to become so depraved, to collude with lawbreakers for wicked designs. Your Majesty, in your mercy, simply ordered him to take his own life. I too bear guilt for failing to see through him, and beg Your Majesty to judge me accordingly, that the law may be upheld."

"The blame falls where it is due. If every chancellor were held accountable for every recommendation gone awry, who would dare put forth the talented? Someone brings a matter to my attention, I inquire—you need not blame yourself. Sit down."

Li Longji sighed. "Wang Hong’s lawlessness is real. His son dared to insult even my beloved daughter and imperial son-in-law, and your eldest son, Li Xiu—were you all planning to keep this from me if not for this incident?"

"Sire, I only just heard about it from my eldest. I took it for youthful folly, not to be taken seriously. But if my son truly offended the princess, he should be handed over to the Judicial Office for investigation. The dignity of the royal family must not be defiled." Li Linfu answered with unwavering composure, neither nervous nor evasive—surprising Li Longji a little.

"Enough. Banishment to Lingnan is punishment enough. Considering his father’s years of diligent service, let us draw a line under this." Li Linfu nodded in agreement; matters touching the royal face were best left unexaggerated. That was why he had chosen to endure earlier—Wang Hong’s ostentation would only hasten his downfall; there was no need for Li Linfu himself to act.

But unexpectedly, all the advantage went to Yang Guozhong in the end—a far trickier opponent.

The emperor’s "let it be" marked not only the end of this case, but perhaps the passing of today’s trial. Had he passed? Li Linfu felt uneasy. He had braced himself for a thunderous rage, and now that all had been resolved so lightly, he felt no solid ground beneath his feet. The emperor’s mind was unreadable.

No, he could not remain so passive. He lifted his eyes and fixed them on the object in the emperor’s hand.

"The little tube Your Majesty holds seems quite familiar."

The abrupt change of subject gave Li Longji pause. He picked up the jade flute in his hand.

"This tassel—I recall seeing it somewhere before. Could it be a relic from Huiling?"

Li Longji’s gaze turned more forlorn. He glanced out the window and said softly, "Elder brother has been gone ten years now."

Prince Ning, Li Xian, formerly known as Li Chengqi, who changed his name to avoid using the empress dowager’s given name, died in the twenty-ninth year of the Kaiyuan era—exactly ten years ago.

It was often said that the imperial family knew no true kinship. The emperor’s five brothers had all survived the brutal Wu Zhou dynasty, enduring unthinkable hardships at the hands of their iron-fisted, pitiless grandmother. After Li Tang was restored, further turmoil from the Wei and Princess Taiping only strengthened their brotherly bond.

All this culminated after the late emperor ascended the throne. No one had expected that the seemingly unshakable crown prince would be swept aside in so astonishing a turn.

The late emperor’s eldest son, Li Chengqi, had been made crown prince at age six during his father’s first enthronement, but later refused to be restored as heir. Instead, he recommended his third brother, Prince Ping—Li Longji—for the throne.

A most bizarre event. Since the founding of the Tang, the position of crown prince was fraught with peril: some had died in blood at palace gates, like at Xuanwu Gate; some had been made and deposed, like Li Chengqian in the Zhenguan era; some had been dismissed without cause, like the four successive crown princes under Emperor Gaozong.

There could only be one emperor; one step away, and one is either sovereign or subject—who would willingly surrender the throne and accept the fate of a subject?

Yet the outcome defied all expectation. The third son, Li Longji, who had played a key role in the enthronement, truly surpassed his two elder brothers to become the fifth emperor of the Tang.

Such public knowledge was not lost on Li Linfu. He brought it up deliberately, knowing well the emperor’s mood at this moment.

What the sovereign longed for was not a brother gone ten years, but that rare and precious fraternal love.

His Majesty was growing old.