Chapter Thirty-Three

Grandmother the Empress Dowager did indeed grant Li Longji’s petition.

The Wild Goose Pagoda of Taichu Palace, originally used by the emperor for storing books and reciting scriptures, had now been emptied for Master Yijing’s use. They said it was for transcribing sutras, but since Master Yijing translated slowly and had to lead his disciples in consulting many classics, very few finished sutra scrolls reached me. Most of the time I had little to do.

I often sat alone on the third floor of the pagoda; only when I couldn’t understand some passage would I go up to the seventh floor to consult Master Yijing, and perhaps exchange a few idle words. The master had been ordained for twenty-five years and had traveled through more than thirty countries, so his experience was broad. He would only be reminded by a few disciples to leave in haste when a mood took him.

That day I carried the newly re-bound sutra up to the seventh floor again.

The wooden window was half open. On the desk by the window lay several Sanskrit sutras spread out, and a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The master had his eyes lowered and was resting. Realizing I had come at an inopportune time and about to leave quietly, he opened his eyes and said, “Please, Princess.”

I hurried over and hastily asked about the passages I didn’t understand. Just as I was about to take my leave, my gaze swept across the desk and fell on a line of scripture he had casually written. It contained a familiar phrase, and I could not help but examine it more closely — it was indeed the line “Not afraid of starting to chant, only fearing waking too late.” I hesitated a moment and then spoke softly, “Master, could you explain this line for Yong’an?”

Master Yijing smiled faintly at me and said, “The Princess has seen this line.” I nodded and waited quietly for him.

He lifted the cold tea, took a small sip, and said, “This ‘thought’ refers to deluded thoughts. To put it more simply, ordinary people easily give rise to deluded thoughts, but if they act according to those thoughts and never notice them, they’ll forever wander in samsara with no way out. I often warn people: it’s not the arising of a thought that’s the problem, but noticing and extinguishing it early—that is the right path.”

I thanked him, hurried out through the door, and walked down the wooden steps, that line repeating in my mind. He likened this feeling to a deluded thought, fully aware it was wishful thinking, a harmful thing, yet he left the latter half of the sentence unspoken. I entered the third-level room and, through the open wooden window, looked at the pavilions and towers of Taichu Palace. I was moved for a moment, then pained, and stood there dazed for a long while.

The wedding day was the first time I set foot in the Eastern Palace.

Several of the crown prince’s princes had left their houses years ago and each had their own mansions, but because they were now confined to the palace they lived in the Eastern Palace for long stretches. They only performed the outward ceremony outside Taichu Palace, ministers escorting the bride inside counted as her entering the door. Everything about the wedding followed royal protocol. That night, the whole Taichu Palace was filled with red candles, burning through the night, turning the sky as if draped in evening clouds—magnificent beyond words.

The pavilions and towers of the Eastern Palace were lit with long golden-red candles and joyous red lanterns, bright as daylight.

Inside the Liangyi Hall dozens of tables of guests sat; everyone had come in their finery. At my table was supposed to be the Martial House’s princess, but Wan’er had specially sat with me. Those beside us whispered among themselves and kept glancing my way; I could only pretend not to notice, holding my teacup and chatting idly with Wan’er.

Wan’er gently squeezed my hand and said, “You were the one granted the marriage first, but the concubine entered the household before you—what the people in the palace say about that isn’t pleasant.” I sighed, “No need to tell me, I can guess: the Prince of Linzi was displeased with the match to the Martial family, used the pretense of marrying Lady Wang first to bring her into the household, and favors her above the rest.” Wan’er shrugged slightly and gave a helpless smile.

I stared into my teacup, unable to tell if I felt happy or sad; somehow I felt detached from the joy around me.

Suddenly, everyone stood up and turned toward the central courtyard. My chest went hollow— I guessed who it was and, unwilling to rise, was grabbed by Wan’er’s hand and pulled to my feet: “If you don’t look, it will really give people something to talk about.”

Her words reached my ears, but my eyes couldn’t move away; I stared blankly at the two people in the courtyard wearing crimson ceremonial robes. They had never worn red before—one was as bright and striking as the moon, stealing all attention, the other so prettily androgynous that you couldn’t tell male from female, dazzling the eye. Amid the crowd’s congratulations, both wore faint smiles, nodding constantly in response.

People filled the space from the palace gate to the front hall, their laughter and chatter unending. I was wedged at the back of the crowd, occasionally replying to the warm greetings and curious glances from those beside me, yet I couldn’t bring myself to smile. In their eyes, however, there was a different flavor.

Before today, I never dared look at him in public for fear of giving people a handle. Today I still dared not meet his gaze. A red carpet of felt stretched from the palace gate to the hall doors. He personally walked to the wedding carriage and reached out to the person stepping down; that small, fair hand was lightly clasped in his palm as they walked along the carpet into the hall. The crimson ceremonial robes and the teal ones complemented each other perfectly.

I clenched my fist lightly, my mind flashing through the past few years—those pitifully few moments we spent together—my body alternately cold and hot, sweating anxiously. Wan’er grasped my wrist, looked at me several times, but didn’t say a single word.

The series of customary rites proceeded to the sounds of Tong Zan’s repeated words.

Crown Prince Li Dan nodded frequently, his face wearing a calm smile; Li Chengqi also smiled faintly, his eyes unfathomably deep.

At the final kowtow, he faced my direction, watching Yuan Shi bow gracefully to him, her wide sleeves brushing the ground and observing all formalities. He unexpectedly stood still for a moment, then raised his hands and returned the bow.

My heart pounded violently; I instinctively took a deep breath and looked away.

After the ceremony they left, and only then did I feel a bit drained. I murmured to Wan’er, “I’m going out for some fresh air.” Wan’er didn’t let go; she lowered her voice and said, “Finish watching Li Longji’s rites first; it’s not urgent right now.” I knew what she meant, so I absentmindedly watched once more before hurrying out the palace gate.

Just as I stepped out the gate, I saw him returning from a distance, still in that scarlet ceremonial robe, a glaring crimson.

Servants bringing wine and dishes hurried past on either side; when they saw me they bowed and either hurried inside or left the hall. I stared at him, wanting to leave but unable to move my feet. I stood amid the stream of eunuchs and maids, watching him come from beside the brilliant red mat, bowing as he said, “Congratulations, Princess.”

He looked at me intently and nodded, “Thank you, Junzhu.” I straightened and forced a smile, “Why did the Prince hurry back to eat so soon?” The attendants beside him bowed; after he inclined his head he answered, “The hall was full of ministers and prominent families; there could be no slightest neglect.” Seeing I no longer spoke, he paused for a moment before asking, “Are you heading back?”

I nodded, my chest tight with struggle. After a moment of restraint, I whispered, “If it’s a selfish obsession that harms others and myself, shouldn’t the right path be to let it go completely?” His smile faded bit by bit; he stared at me without moving. His gaze made my heart ache unbearably, so I hurried down two stone steps, only to have him grab my left wrist.

“Your Highness, let go.” I glanced around, hurriedly looked back, and whispered a warning. The hall was full of court ministers, and outside were palace maids and eunuchs—if anyone saw, it would bring hidden danger.

He didn’t answer and didn’t release me. I reached out with my right hand and strained to free myself. Just as I couldn’t break free, Li Chengyi wrapped an arm around his shoulder and joked, “Princess, watch your step. Good thing your brother steadied you—otherwise, on such an auspicious day, you’d have tumbled and gotten hurt.” As he spoke, Li Chengqi slowly loosened his grip.

The pain in his eyes gradually dissolved into a smile, but there wasn’t a trace of warmth left.

I stood still, daring not to look at him again, and smiled at Li Chengyi, saying, “Second Prince is the best man for the two grooms tonight — go in and keep the guests company, Yong’an has returned to the palace.” Li Chengyi looked at me thoughtfully, nodded and smiled, “What the commandery princess says is right. The hall was already clamoring to drink with the grooms, so I came out to fetch you.”

I said nothing more. After bowing, I turned and left the Two-Forms Hall. I walked along the lantern-decorated corridor, out of the Eastern Palace; in the Taichu Palace’s endless-night hall, red celebratory candles were everywhere, lighting my path.

Tears kept welling up, unstoppable.

I walked forward slowly, alternating between crying and laughing — crying at myself for having said words that weren’t true to my heart, and laughing at my overestimation of myself. I thought at least I could respond with a smile; for months I had been telling myself to accept it, thinking that my daily recitations had at least calmed me somewhat. But when I saw him return the bow and perform the kowtow, all those assumptions collapsed.

So it turned out I had so much unwillingness bottled up. I, too, grew up hearing stories about him and sketched his image in my mind countless times. I never had the chance to grow up beside him, yet I had long since placed him in my heart. I thought it was only a childhood dream, but over these years of getting to know one another, he stepped closer to me bit by bit. I couldn’t escape it, though I never really wanted to.

At first I knew exactly what he took me to be, but later on, who can say clearly what either of us was to the other?

Following a path lit by red candles, I did not return to the palace; instead I went to the Wild Goose Pagoda. The place felt all the more quiet because of two princes’ wedding festivities. On the sixth and seventh tiers lights still burned—these worldly-weary men who had renounced the world were busy translating sutras and copying scriptures. At this moment it was utterly at odds with the gaiety of the palace.

I wiped my cheeks clean and walked up to the pagoda. The gate guards were slightly taken aback; when they recovered, they bowed and stepped aside to let me pass.

When I reached the room on the third floor, one of the eunuchs lit candles at my side. Seeing my expression, he dared not say anything and withdrew. I sat behind the writing desk, staring at the sutras; after a while I rubbed the brush and continued copying scriptures.

What I said tonight came out on the spur of the moment, but it was not mere hotheadedness. The situation in the palace is more complicated than before: my uncle Wu Sansi covets the throne; someone at court has even petitioned to make the imperial princess the heir. Princess Taiping has always held herself in high regard, and at this delicate moment she presented her imperial aunt with the new favorite Zhang Changzong—her intentions are plain. With the fall of Jinchen and the Li family’s old retainers stirring up trouble again, the once-retiring crown prince has been thrust into controversy. These layers upon layers—who knows when it will end—and he must worry about so much; how far can youthful affection really carry him?

I kept thinking, explaining all this to myself, but the sutras I was copying grew more and more jumbled.

Suddenly, someone knocked softly on the door behind me and whispered, “Yong’an.”