Chapter Sixteen

“Yongan,” the Emperor raised his cup and inhaled the fragrance of the qiong flower, “your uncle transported these qiong flowers from a thousand miles away, and you came up with this elegant qiong flower tea — it’s a perfect match,” she said, nodding to indicate I should take a seat. “How is it that you’ve been sent all over the palace, but forgot Penglai Hall?”

I rose and smiled, “I originally intended to pick them and put them in a vase to admire, but we happened upon the various princes,” I glanced at Li Longji, who sat properly, “it was Prince Linzi’s suggestion to send the picked qiong flowers to the different palaces for tea — a small celebratory gift for a propitious year.

Only this tea ceremony is so strict, Yongan feared it might be scorned by Her Imperial Grand-Aunt.”

Her Imperial Grand-Aunt smiled, sipped the tea, and said, “The Imperial Medical Office also says this qiong flower can clear the lungs and detoxify — just right for spring.” When she finished, she gave Li Longji an approving look.

Li Longji quickly stood and said, “I’m glad Her Imperial Grand-Aunt likes it.”

The Emperor nodded, then went back to chatting idly with Di Renjie and Wu Chengsi who were seated to one side.

I took my seat, then caught Li Longji’s eye and gave him a little wink—consider it a favor.

Li Longji pursed his lips and smiled, buried his nose in the tea’s aroma, took a long sip, and immediately burned his mouth so badly he grimaced.

Li Chengqi sat quietly to one side; seeing this he couldn’t help but shake his head with a smile, but at that moment the Emperor called to him.

The Emperor looked on kindly and said offhandedly, “Chengqi, you’ve liked eating fish since you were a child.

There are no fish or shrimp at today’s banquet—does that unsettle you?” Li Chengqi shook his head and replied calmly, “Grand Empress has forbidden slaughtering livestock and catching fish and shrimp.

Members of the imperial family must naturally set an example; I stopped eating fish and meat months ago.” The Emperor nodded and said, “I’ve eaten vegetarian for many years and often feel my mind clearer, as if I’m in my twenties or thirties again.

You are still young; in time you will understand Grand Empress’s intentions.” Li Chengqi hastily rose to respond.

“Your Majesty,” Di Renjie suddenly spoke up, “regarding this decree, there is one matter I must report.”

The Emperor turned his head to look at him and smiled, “Speak.”

“There’s been drought and famine in Jianghuai; the people near the rivers can’t fish for fish and shrimp to fill their bellies, and many have starved to death,” Di Renjie said, composing himself. “I dare to petition Your Majesty to relax the ban in this area so the people can catch food to get through the winter.” He spoke calmly, but the Emperor’s expression grew grave and he did not answer immediately.

Today the banquet had been laid on by the Emperor for Qionghua’s pleasure, not the place to discuss state affairs. I held my teacup and felt it burn my hand, but I did not dare look at the faces around the table.

The Emperor believes in and reveres Buddhism, which is why he issued this ban; after only a little over a month of enforcement it has already produced many problems, yet no one dared to speak up or submit a memorial.

I suppose Di Renjie had endured many days before choosing this moment.

Normally it wouldn’t be a problem, but whenever I think of that line about the Lantern Festival, a chill runs through me.

“I know of this,” the Emperor set down his teacup and said, “I have ordered grain transported from everywhere; the situation in Jianghuai will ease before long.” Wan’er moved to refill his cup, but the Emperor waved her off.

Di Renjie hesitated for a moment, then said, “Jianghuai has always been a major grain-producing region. Now, with drought, the provinces have repeatedly petitioned that their winter stores are insufficient.

Measures like this can ease the famine for a time, but by winter there will be no surplus left to supply — the people will surely not survive the cold.” The Emperor gave him a cool glance and replied, “The edict was only issued a month ago; how can you so easily call for its repeal?”

Di Renjie frowned and was about to speak again, but Wu Chengsi cleared his throat and smiled, “Chancellor Di, today is the Qionghua tea banquet — don’t let matters concerning Jianghuai spoil the mood.

Leave that for tomorrow’s court.” Beside him, Wu Sansi raised an eyebrow in agreement, adding, “Exactly, exactly. The Emperor has countless affairs; it’s rare he can sit and have tea with nephews and grandsons like us.

Don’t ruin the fun.”

Seeing this, Di Renjie said no more, only sighed and slowly sipped his tea.

The Emperor’s grandaunt worshipped Buddhism, so she issued an edict forbidding killing — yet it caused countless commoners on both banks of the Jianghuai to starve to death, which is also a form of killing.

What Di Renjie said wasn’t wrong; his care for the people was plainly sincere. It’s just a pity… I stared at the jade-white Qionghua in my cup and listened to the others join the Emperor in grand talk of Buddhism.

The earlier dispute had long since been softened, but it still hovered in the hall, impossible to dispel.

The Emperor had begun the day in high spirits, but because of this matter the tea banquet ended early.

I said two sentences to Wan’er and left the Penglai Hall. Only after descending the stone steps did I see Li Chengqi standing alone.

I was about to lower my head and avoid him when I heard him call out, “Princess Yong’an.” I froze for a moment and looked at the palace attendants moving about, puzzled why he would address me.

His gaze was calm but carried a hint of confirmation. I hesitated, stepped forward, and bowed, saying, “My lord.”

He smiled faintly and said, “Thank you, Princess, for the qionghua.” I hurriedly replied, “You flatter me, my lord.

The Prince of Linzi picked them; I merely selected a few before presenting them to the Buddha.” His tone was distant; I responded politely in return, though my heart was whirling with questions about his intent.

He then asked, “The Princess seems well versed in qionghua—would you be willing to explain a thing or two to me?” I composed myself and began to speak of their medicinal properties.

After only a couple of sentences, Di Renjie emerged from the hall. Seeing the three of us, he raised his sleeve in greeting: “My lord, Princess.”

Li Chengqi inclined his head and said, “Chancellor Di.” Di Renjie stepped forward a couple of paces and stood at our side, smiling, “Why are you two not returning to the palace yet?” Li Chengqi returned the smile, “I found the Princess’s knowledge of qionghua so striking that I stayed to ask her a few more questions.” Di Renjie nodded and looked at me.

“I must say, I owe the Princess thanks for allowing me to drink qionghua tea.”

I hastened to demur, but Li Chengqi smiled gently and then, quietly, asked, “Chancellor Di, have you noticed Lai Junchen’s irregularities?” Di Renjie’s smile stiffened; he glanced at me.

At that, Li Chengqi softened his tone: “The Princess only explained the qionghua to me, Chancellor, you needn’t worry.” Di Renjie looked at me again with some surprise and replied briefly and softly, “Even if one day a harsh official tortures me, I would not fear.” Li Chengqi nodded and said, “If you are tortured, immediately confessing would spare you death; preserving your life is the only way to later prove your innocence.” Di Renjie smiled, “Thank you, my lord.”

Both men still wore the same polite smiles; if you hadn’t heard their words, you would never have guessed they were speaking of life and death.

Hearing those lines, I immediately understood why Li Chengqi had called me over. He was under house arrest in the palace and was naturally watched at all times; even if he met Di Renjie, he would have no chance to speak.

If the matter weren’t urgent, he wouldn’t have used me as a pretext, pretending to happen upon Di Renjie for a casual chat…

I stole a glance at the eunuchs and palace maids nearby and felt my mind go in a dozen directions; a cold sweat rose along my back.

Li Chengqi smiled at me and said, “Princess, please continue.”

I gave a slight nod and launched into another long spiel, deliberately animated, trading remarks now and then with Di Renjie and Li Chengqi to seem natural, though I couldn’t help feeling flustered.

In the end I finished and added, “Actually these pharmacological methods all come from the Imperial Medical Bureau. If the Commandery Prince is interested, he can ask the Imperial Physician to explain them in detail.”

Li Chengqi inclined his head and said, “Thank you, Princess.” He turned his head to Di Renjie and said, “Chancellor Di, I take my leave.” Di Renjie inclined his head and said, “Take care, Your Highness.”

Li Chengqi nodded to the two of us and turned to leave, as if he were simply following whatever whim had come to him.

I walked with Di Renjie for several dozen steps more.

He looked at me, smiling, and said, “Princess, you have good taste.” I was momentarily stunned before I understood what he meant, and couldn’t help remembering the teasing at his banquet when he became chancellor; my face immediately burned.

“Yong’an stops here. Farewell,” I said, and without waiting for his reply I hurried off.

Strolling alone beside the Taiye Pond, a sudden chill of fear came over me.

Li Chengqi had called me over casually, but that didn’t guarantee no one would see and draw other conclusions, especially after I had chatted with Di Renjie for a while.

Still, weighing the options, this was the best opportunity: using the Qionghua tea banquet as a pretext to consult me—even if someone reported it to the Imperial Imperial Grandmother, it wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

By the time the maple leaves began to redden, Di Renjie was still forceful and decisive at court, but my uncle Wu Chengsi had been dismissed from the chancellor post.

For months I remained uneasy, yet that news somehow sparked a sliver of hope. If my uncle could be removed at the height of his power, perhaps the emperor was truly turning his attention to the Li family.

That single perhaps added a little more color to the autumn at Daming Palace.

On the ninth day of the ninth month, the palace was full of laughter and gaiety everywhere as everyone prepared for the banquet at Qujiang.

In the three years since I entered the palace, the Imperial Grand-Aunt had always been at Taichu Palace in Luoyang on this Ninth Day of the Ninth Month, but this year she remained in Chang’an.

According to old custom, she was to lead the imperial descendants and court officials to drink at the Zi Yun Tower by the banks of Qujiang.

On the way, Wan’er and I kept each other company in the carriage, both smiling: “In the past, there were Qujiang banquets for every one of the three festivals, and especially this Chongyang Festival in the ninth month is the liveliest.

The streets of Chang’an empty of people as everyone heads there — on this side of the river inside the imperial gardens are the emperor and the royal heirs and ministers, and across the river are the common people.

They look across at one another; countless scholars and townsfolk celebrate the festival together — that’s true prosperity and splendor.”

Hearing her say that, I felt excited inside: “Finally I’ll have a chance to see Qujiang.”

Wan’er made an “ah” sound, then shook her head and said, “I forgot—you’ve never been to Furong Garden before. You must really enjoy yourself this trip.

The Double Ninth Festival doesn’t follow the formal protocol of the crown prince’s court; it’s not as wild as the Lantern Festival, but people still don’t go home sober.” I blinked and said sullenly, “No chrysanthemum wine for me, then.

I’ll have to content myself with a couple bites of Double Ninth cake.”

We were still talking merrily when the carriage came to a stop.

I stepped down and saw the princesses and princes talking together to one side, their faces unusually relaxed and content.

Not far off, many court ministers were also stepping down from their carriages—some young and talented, others seasoned and steady—constantly bowing and exchanging wishes of prosperity and good fortune.

In a daze, those clear, moist eyes cut through the bustling crowd and quietly fixed on me.

I was also looking back at him, and suddenly remembered that a year ago, when the chrysanthemums bloomed, it was at Di Renjie’s banquet that he and I truly became acquainted.

Just as I was startled, the imperial carriage had arrived. I withdrew my gaze and, with the others, knelt to greet the arrival.

The imperial grandaunt wore a bright yellow dragon robe; she stepped down from the dragon carriage with an unusually joyous expression and laughed, “Rise. Come up the tower with me.”

Everyone rose to thank her grace; Wan’er hurried ahead and followed her up first.

When the banquet began, the emperor suddenly proclaimed in a clear voice, “This morning I discovered that I have grown new teeth.

As it coincides with the Double Ninth Festival, I shall change the era name today to Changshou (Longevity).” Everyone quickly rose to offer congratulations, kneeling together and calling out long live the emperor.

Because of this matter, today’s celebration was even more joyous; after three rounds of wine, lord and ministers were already reciting poetry together, harmonious and merry.

I saw Wan’er laughing drunkenly as she chatted with a few uncles, so I slipped out along the pavilion and down the stairs, choosing a quiet spot to lean on the railing and gaze across the Qu River.

Just as Wan’er had said, the crowd was thick and lively; a sea of yellow could be seen in the distance, and many sat by the riverbank, all raising cups to each other.

“It’s the first year of Changshou now,” the person behind me said in a calm voice. “The Ruyi years are over.” I didn’t turn around and kept my eyes on the opposite shore; at this moment the singing and dancing were at their peak, laughter everywhere, and my guard had eased considerably.

The speaker stepped forward two paces, placed his hand on the railing, and gently took my hand.