Chapter Eleven

I hadn’t expected him to say that. I stared at him dumbly, momentarily stunned by his courtesy.

Li Chengqi only shook his head and said to me, “This young man is a descendant of Zhang Liuhou from the Western Han. The Imperial Academy only accepts students over fourteen, yet he broke that rule with a single poem.”

He gave me a faint smile. I quickly lowered my gaze and said, “To plan strategies within a tent and win victories a thousand li away—who would have thought I’d meet a descendant of Zhang Liuhou here?” Zhang Zifang of the Western Han had helped Liu Bang unify the realm and earned eternal fame. This young man’s bearing and demeanor were indeed extraordinary.

Zhang Jiuling forced a smile. “Brother Li always brings up my ancestor from a thousand years ago—it’s made me reluctant to meet people. Sister-in-law, don’t be so quick to praise me. The lines that impressed the old gentleman were nothing special, just something I scribbled down without much thought.”

Hearing him repeatedly call me “sister-in-law” made me uneasy again. I hurriedly said, “Young Master Zhang, you can just call me by my name—I…” I stopped myself, sensing it would be inappropriate. He had called Li Chengqi “Brother Li” without any formality—could it be that Li Chengqi had not revealed his true identity?

Li Chengqi seemed to notice my hesitation and said, “This is Princess Yong’an.”

Zhang Jiuling let out a soft breath. “Then I must have addressed him incorrectly just now?”

Li Chengqi only smiled without answering.

Only then did Zhang Jiuling look at me properly. He bowed respectfully and said, “Princess, I was presumptuous.”

I finally let out the breath I had been holding. “If Young Master Zhang keeps bowing like this, the old gatekeeper might come out.”

It seemed he already knew Li Chengqi’s identity, yet he still addressed him as “Brother Li” rather than “Prince,” which meant they must be close. Watching him straighten up with a carefree smile, I found myself liking him more. Neither servile nor arrogant, casual yet principled—if he continued like this, he would surely become a capable court official in the future.

Zhang Jiuling nodded. “Then I won’t stand on ceremony.” As he spoke, he raised the half-open scroll in his hand, stepped closer, and said, “I was reading this before bed and got excited, but had no one to share it with. Who would have thought heaven would send Brother Li my way—perfect timing.”

He was not reserved at all. He immediately began discussing the text with Li Chengqi.

Li Chengqi merely gestured for me to wander as I pleased, then he and Zhang Jiuling moved to the brighter spot by the window and spoke in low voices. Zhang Jiuling was clearly obsessed with books; whenever he reached an exciting point, he spoke as though he had discovered a treasure, unable to hide his delight. Li Chengqi, on the other hand, maintained a faint smile, occasionally adding a remark—each one precise and insightful.

I strolled casually among the bookshelves, flipping through volumes, but my thoughts kept drifting back to their earlier conversation. Through the gaps between the scrolls, I watched the two of them standing by the window. Even the overcast sky outside seemed to warm slightly.

He still held the broken half of the jade hairpin. He had left it with me so calmly—what did it mean?

As I pondered this, I noticed the two of them suddenly stop speaking. Li Chengqi quietly gazed out at the pines and cypresses, while Zhang Jiuling glanced at me, smiled faintly, and said something. Though I couldn’t hear it from afar, I saw Li Chengqi turn toward me, smile, and give a slight nod.

On the way back, I asked what kind of verse could move a respected scholar of the Imperial Academy to make an exception.

Li Chengqi replied softly, “Plants and trees have an original heart; why ask a beauty to break them?”

I savored the line—it was simple, yet struck straight to the heart, truly a fine verse. I lifted my teacup and took a sip. “It’s a pity there’s only one line. If the rest were completed someday, it might be passed down through the ages.”

He inclined his head slightly. “A good line is easy to find, but a good poem requires careful refinement. Perhaps if he feels inclined in the future, he will complete it and resolve this regret.”

Li Longji listened to us, then turned and said, “You two met an interesting person as well?”

I smiled and nodded. “Indeed, quite an interesting person.”

He glanced at me. “Who is he?”

I looked at Li Chengqi before answering, “A friend of the Prince of Yong’an,” then after a brief pause added, “a descendant of Zhang Liuhou.”

Interest deepened in his eyes. “Hearing you call him my brother’s friend, I already knew he must be extraordinary—and it seems I was right.” Then he turned to Li Chengqi. “Brother, when did you meet such a person and not tell me?”

Li Chengqi smiled. “We met at the Zui Xian Pavilion in Chang’an.”

Li Longji’s expression immediately shifted several times. “Brother… the Zui Xian Pavilion…” He cast me a strange glance, then fell silent.

I returned his puzzled look, then turned to Li Chengqi. Just hearing the name made it obvious it was a place of indulgence. Li Longji’s reaction confirmed as much. Could it be…?

Li Chengqi took a sip of tea, cast me a teasing glance, then said to Li Longji, “Places of entertainment are also places where talent gathers. Since ancient times, many scholars have enjoyed the refined pleasures of music and companionship. That day, he went there to steal books, while I went to seek talent. We met by chance—one could call it fate.”

He spoke openly, making Li Longji somewhat embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “Brother, I was mistaken. I have always kept myself pure—”

Li Chengqi gently interrupted him. “This person is indeed extraordinary. In the future, he will certainly have a place in court.”

Li Longji nodded, his dark eyes turning thoughtful—no longer like those of a child.

Li Chengqi picked up a handscroll and flipped through it, saying nothing further.

I held my teacup to warm my hands. The red clay brazier at my feet radiated heat, making me feel slightly drowsy. I didn’t dare look at him again.

Because Grandmother Huang had been unwell yesterday, everyone had taken the opportunity to rest, and the banquet had been moved to today. By the time we arrived at the Changsheng Hall, the lanterns had just been lit. Palace maids bustled about with preparations, while the honored guests were already seated, drinking tea with the Emperor.

I bowed with the two of them, then walked to my place behind a low table. Yongtai winked at me and whispered, “Sister, did you enjoy today’s outing?”

I smiled. “You didn’t even tell me—why didn’t you come with us?”

Yongtai pouted. “Brother Longji came to ask me, but I caught a chill by the water yesterday. I still have a headache.”

I studied her face closely; there was indeed a faint flush. “Then why are you here serving at the banquet? You could have had a palace maid report it—it’s not an important feast.”

Yongtai lowered her voice sadly. “That’s what I thought too, but before the evening banquet, the Emperor’s grandmother specifically ordered that no one be absent tonight.”

I paused, puzzled. Seeing she was still young and likely didn’t understand much either, I didn’t press further, though a sense of unease lingered.

Everyone had arrived today. Behind the Emperor stood Wan’er and Wei Tuan’er. To the right were several of my uncles; to the left stood the Crown Prince and the imperial grandchildren. Princess Taiping was not present.

My gaze met Wan’er’s. She frowned slightly and shook her head at me, making my heart sink.

Wu Chengsi had just finished speaking. The Emperor glanced at him, then suddenly addressed Li Longji. “Longji, you went to the Guozijian today. Did you encounter anything interesting? Tell your Grandmother.”

Wan’er had already lowered her head. Wei Tuan’er, however, stared coldly at Li Longji, as if anticipating a spectacle.

At that moment, I suddenly recalled what Wan’er had said—Wei Tuan’er had once wanted to marry the Crown Prince but was rejected. She must be waiting for an opportunity to retaliate. Could it be related to today’s visit?

Li Longji rose respectfully. “Your grandson visited the Guozijian today and happened to meet Du Shenyan, a scholar of Chongwen Hall. Later, I accompanied him to visit Cui Rong. The three of us talked for over an hour, and I gained much from it.”

The Emperor nodded. “You were fortunate to meet two of the well-known group ‘Cui, Li, Su, Du.’ Cui Rong once served as a reader for your Third Imperial Uncle, the Prince of Luling. His writing is excellent—I remember him.”

Only then did I recall—when Li Xian had been Crown Prince, he had relied heavily on Cui Rong. Many memorials had been written by him. But that was all in the past.

Li Longji replied, “When I was young, I had already heard of their reputations. Today, it seems fate brought us together.”

The Emperor nodded again. “Scholars often have a certain arrogance. Did you reveal your identity to gain their attention?”

Li Longji shook his head with a smile. “From beginning to end, I did not reveal who I was. I debated with some students and said a few things that drew Du Shenyan’s interest.”

The Emperor laughed. “As expected of my grandson—at eight years old, already debating at the Imperial Academy. What did you discuss?”

My heart skipped a beat. Li Longji stiffened as well, only then realizing the danger of his earlier words.

Since the Emperor had established Luoyang as the Divine Capital, every policy he enacted elevated its status. From building the ancestral temples of the Wu clan there, to relocating households, to moving the imperial examinations—everything strengthened Luoyang’s position. Now, he was even summoning scholars from across the realm to promote its importance.

And yet today, Li Longji had spoken those words at the Guozijian.

The uncles seemed to already know; they watched silently. Li Longji’s expression gradually changed. I glanced at Li Chengqi—he still wore a faint smile, but his eyes were utterly cold.

The Emperor asked again.

Li Longji’s face turned pale. He slowly knelt, remaining silent.

Only then did everyone sense something was wrong. The Crown Prince’s smile faded, replaced by concern.

The Emperor did not press him further. Instead, she swept her gaze across the hall—and unexpectedly fixed it on me.

“Yong’an, what did Longji say today? Do you remember?”

I was so startled I nearly knocked over the table. After a moment of paralysis, I stepped forward and knelt.

If I didn’t speak, it would seem like deliberate concealment. If I did, the consequences would be just as dire.

I clenched my hands, unable to say a word.

The hall fell completely silent.

After a moment, the Emperor said, “Yong’an, just tell the truth.”

I kept my head lowered, biting my lip as Li Longji’s words echoed in my mind—each one forceful, each one dangerous.

“Great Grandmother.”

Li Chengqi suddenly stood and bowed. “Princess Yong’an is still young and may not remember clearly. May your grandson report instead?”

My heart raced, but I didn’t dare look up.

After a pause, the Emperor said, “Very well. Chengqi, speak.”

Li Chengqi stepped forward. “What Longji said was extensive, but there are a few key lines…” He then repeated them word for word.

When I heard the final sentence, my palms turned cold. Not a single word differed.

The Emperor fell silent for a moment, then said, “Well said… Yong’an, is that correct?”

I bit my lip and replied, “Not a word is incorrect.”

The Emperor’s expression grew colder. No one else dared to speak. Even Father froze, gripping his teacup.

“Chengqi,” the Emperor said, “what do you think of your brother’s words?”

Li Chengqi lifted his robe and knelt. “Your grandson begs the Empress Dowager for punishment.”

The Emperor said, “The words were not yours. Why ask for punishment?”

Li Chengqi replied, “Longji is still young. He only remembered something I once said and repeated it today. Though he spoke the words, I was the one who first taught him.”

The Emperor stared at him. “And what did you say back then?”

Li Chengqi answered, “A few years ago, I once said in passing: ‘Chang’an, the realm’s long-lasting peace and stability.’ It was merely casual, yet it drew agreement from many students. Today, I meant to tell it as a story, but Longji took it as a challenge. The origin lies with me, not him.”

The Emperor said, “That is indeed a fine statement.”

Hearing this, my back was already drenched in cold sweat.

“Though the words are fine, they disregard the sacred intent of the Empress Grandmother. As members of the imperial family, we must act with caution. Only when the imperial house is stable can the realm be stable. The position of the Divine Capital must not be shaken lightly.”

Li Chengqi kowtowed. “I beg the Empress Grandmother to punish me, to serve as a warning.”

Li Longji’s face was deathly pale. He tried to rise, but Li Chengyi pressed him down.

The Emperor watched silently for a moment before saying, “What you said years ago, I might have overlooked. But recently, I have summoned scholars to discuss Luoyang’s importance. Today, you spoke those words at the Guozijian as an imperial grandson—I cannot ignore it.”

She handed her teacup to Wan’er, sighed, and said:

“Go kneel outside the Hall of Perpetual Life for twelve hours to reflect.”