Chapter Thirty-two

Wan’er pursed her lips and smiled for a moment before continuing, “As for the princess of Yong’an’s handwriting, this servant doesn’t really know how to judge it.” The emperor waved it off, saying, “Feel free to speak.”

Wan’er nodded, glanced at me, then went on, “The princess’s hand carries the spirit of Ouyang Xun, yet it more closely resembles the poise of another—one might say it combines the strengths of both. However, this servant thinks that if she were to improve further, it would be better to choose one path and pursue it fully; only then might she surpass her teachers.”

The creak of the waterwheel, mingled with the summer cicadas’ song, sounded to my ears only like a muddled noise.

Wan’er tried to hide Li Chengqi’s name, but how could the Imperial Grandmother not see through it?

The Imperial Grandmother smiled faintly and said to me, “Wan’er is right. Yong’an, when did you start studying Chengqi’s calligraphy?” I hurriedly replied, “When I was a child learning the Taizong Emperor’s brushwork, my teacher once praised the Yongping Prince as having the truest transmission. A few years ago when I met the Yongping Prince I asked for a few sheets to copy.” I cast a respectful glance at Li Chengqi and smiled, “But it’s only surface skill—nowhere near the spirit and character Miss Shangguan spoke of.”

The Imperial Grandmother took the paper from Wan’er’s hand and said to Li Chengqi, “Chengqi, I’ve found you a good student. Would you be willing to teach with all you have?” She handed the paper to Li Chengqi. He bowed to take it, glanced at it twice, then smiled slightly and said, “I’m afraid if I teach a disciple, the master will starve.”

The Imperial Grandmother said, “Yong’an, since you are a daughter-in-law of the Li family, you should not be learning the Ouyang family’s script.” With that she turned to look at me and said, “Yong’an, why aren’t you quickly formally apprenticing?”

I was taken aback for a moment, then hurried forward two steps and bowed to Li Chengqi, saying, “Please do not think Yong’an foolish.” Li Chengqi smiled at me and said, “You flatter me, Princess; I will gladly teach you everything.” He reached out to help me up; I looked at him, then quickly looked away.

Afterwards everyone chatted idly with the Imperial Aunt for a while longer. Shen Nanliao came in to pay respects and, as usual, took my pulse. Wan’er then led us out of the pavilion, laughing and chatting as she escorted me back to the palace.

As the day of the Fengshan ceremony drew near, Imperial Aunt’s spirit became increasingly clear and serene.

Whenever I accompanied the carriage, I was always asked whether I had gone to consult the Prince of Yongping. After making several excuses, I eventually had no more responses left and chose one afternoon to go to Li Chengqi’s study. Since Imperial Aunt had raised the matter, it was only proper to provide an explanation.

When I entered, Li Chengyi was discussing matters inside. Upon seeing me his expression grew obscure; he muttered a few words and then left the study in a hurry.

Li Chengqi gave me a faint look, then actually rolled up his sleeves and ground ink himself. He said, “If you don’t come soon, I’ll have to send someone to fetch you.” I heard him say that and felt oddly composed—he really spoke like he held the master’s position. For a moment I didn’t know how to reply, so I forced an awkward smile and walked to the table. He selected a brush from the rack, dipped it into thick ink, then dabbed it dry a bit before handing it to me: “Write a few characters so I can see.”

I took the brush; just as I was about to write, I stopped, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed.

That day, out of consideration for others, I didn’t dare use my usual hand to write. Today, with only the two of us, I could no longer hide it behind Ouyang Xun’s style, but if I actually put pen to paper… I watched him smile leisurely, pour himself a cup of tea and hold it in his hand, looking a little uncomfortable. He could only casually write a line on the paper.

He held the cup, looked down at my characters, was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed: “The brushwork is practiced, the strokes rounded, the composition tidy—truly good writing.” I was embarrassed by the compliment; when I heard the teasing tone in his voice I couldn’t help but narrow my eyes at him and say, “Prince, are you praising yourself?” I wouldn’t claim the line to be ninety percent identical, but it was certainly seven or eight parts like his.

He set the teacup down, came behind me, took the hand with the brush, his left hand resting on the edge of the table, and drew me into his chest.

I didn’t dare move at all, only feeling his right hand apply a little pressure as he guided my hand to write a character on the paper: “If one day I, the prince, am no longer here, I’m afraid only you will be able to forge my handwriting and command the troops.”

His breathing was right by my ear, a tingle of warmth that dissolved all pretense. I stared at the characters on the paper and, recalling Wan’er’s words from yesterday, murmured, “Lady Yuan’s handwriting has earned praise from the Empress Dowager. Congratulations, Your Highness.” He gave a faint hmph and said, “She truly inherited the technique of the Northern Wei Yuan clan, and with Prince Zhanghuai’s guidance in her youth, her brushwork is indeed superior to ordinary people.”

A chill spread through me, and I said nothing. He guided my hand and had me write a few more characters.

Summer was nearly over, but the autumn heat still pressed down. The hand he held for me was slightly sweaty, while the palm of his own hand remained consistently cool.

Although my mind wandered, I still noticed something odd and, after a moment’s thought, asked, “That night kneeling in the snow for hours—did the chill Your Highness suffered all clear out?” He didn’t pause in his writing; as he continued, he said, “Although that night the cold penetrated the meridians, it did not cause any serious harm.”

I clutched my pen, forced myself to stop, and turned to look at him. I said, “Then why are your hands still so cold in the height of summer?” The smile in his eyes didn’t fade as he looked at me and said, “That year I stayed in the imperial prison for a few days and was punished; some old ailments were bound to remain.” Hearing him mention that year made my chest ache. I lowered my voice and asked, “I never dared to ask — what exactly did Lai Juncheng use as punishment?”

That day, even through his clothes I could feel the depths and fades of the scars; there wasn’t a single unmarked place. But I couldn’t let myself think too deeply. The prison’s instruments of torture were countless, the punishments unimaginably cruel. Though he was an imperial grandson, he was imprisoned for treason; it was fortunate enough that his face remained clean. Who would care how many punishments he suffered in hidden places?

He watched me for a moment, his expression calm. “It was only the standard punishments,” he said. “They didn’t dare use the heavy torments on me.” I was about to ask more when he continued, “Three days ago, Wu Chengsi and Aunt jointly submitted a memorial listing dozens of Lai Juncheng’s crimes. The Wu family’s princes all agreed. In less than two months, Lai Juncheng will be demoted to serve as a deputy military officer in Tongzhou.”

I thought for a moment and said, “Uncle has stayed at home for years and doesn’t concern himself with court affairs—why did he suddenly make a move this time?” Li Chengqi pulled the brush from my hand and set it aside. “Because someone told him that the one Lai Juncheng is accusing of plotting rebellion is him.”

I stared at him, hesitating whether to press further. The secret memorials from the Wu princes would hardly be revealed to the Li household so easily; besides, though Princess Taiping is involved, she’s in Luoyang while he has remained in Sanyang Palace—how could he know the events of three days ago in such detail? Much less the hidden parts? Unless this whole scheme was arranged by him.

Seeing me look at him like that, Li Chengqi couldn’t help but smile faintly and said gently, “That man is mine.” Warmth spread in my chest, and I voiced another question: “If the princes of the Wu family and Princess Taiping had secret memorials, why was he only demoted to a deputy commander in Tongzhou?” My uncles have always been ruthless toward the useless; such softness is surprising.

“It’s because Lai Juncheng’s wife is Lady Wang of Taiyuan.” The reply came from someone outside the door.

Li Longji had somehow arrived without my noticing, arms folded as he leaned against the doorframe, smiling at me: “If you count it like that, I’ve actually become related to Lai Junchen.” As he spoke he stepped inside and added, “I only learned a few days ago that the Empress Dowager arranged the Wang match partly to pacify things.”

His words startled me, but they also snapped me awake. Seeing his mock-helpless expression, I couldn’t help but laugh and tease, “True enough — you may not be a princess used for a peace marriage, but you could at least be the son-in-law who calms people’s hearts.”

Li Longji snorted, “At most a year. I’ll have Lai Junchen torn limb from limb in Luoyang, trampled under the feet of the common people.” He paused, then added, “Those punishments he inflicted on my eldest brother in the imperial prison — I’ll make him pay for each of them, twice over.”

I had been laughing, but at those words I glanced at Li Chengqi. Whatever could still make Li Longji hold a grudge after all these years must have been the sight of the torture back then; yet Chengqi still spoke of it lightly, refusing to say another word… Li Longji seemed to rekindle his hatred at the mention. He crossed to the table, poured a cup of tea, and clenched it in his hand.

Li Chengqi looked at him and said, “What brings you here today? Chengyi said you’ve been keeping Lady Wang company these past few days.”

Li Longji glanced at the characters on the table and said casually, “I’ve kept her company for two days. She keeps praising Yong’an’s brushwork and asked me to invite Yong’an to teach her calligraphy. I found it annoying, so I made an excuse and came here to ask you for a cup of tea.” As he spoke, he picked up the sheet of paper, studied it for a moment, and sighed, “Perfect timing — take this to show her.”

My face warmed. Remembering the few characters we had written together made me even more restless. I picked up the book on the table and flipped through it, though only as a pretense; not a single character registered with me.

He drank the tea in his hand, then added, “Yongan, since you’ve given me your calligraphy, I’ll return the favor with a gift.” I watched him, watched his dark eyes, unsure what he was up to.

He stared at me for a moment, then suddenly smiled and said, “Today I heard something while by the Grandmother Empress’s side: Master Yijing has already arrived in Luoyang, bringing back over four hundred sutras from overseas.” He spoke without preamble, which only confused me further, so I could only say, “Master Yijing set out before you and I were born; it’s indeed fortunate he returned safely, but what does that have to do with me?”

He sighed, half-smiling, half-not, “Listen and you’ll understand.” I tapped the table with my book, signaling him to continue.

He deliberately slowed his voice, enunciating each word: “I took the chance to tell the Grandmother Empress that Princess Yongan has always loved reading. Now that Master Yijing has brought back these four hundred-plus sutras, they surely need people to translate them. It would be better to have Yongan give it a try. First, it would satisfy Grandmother Empress’s reverence for Buddhism; second, it would gratify Princess Yongan’s inclinations; third, it would add some face for me in the future. After all, as the future Princess of Linzi, if she could spend a year or half a year at Master Yijing’s side, it would be sincere and honorable.”

I looked at him, weighing his words, and gradually understood what he meant.

He intended to use this matter to delay the wedding. Grand-Aunt of the imperial clan has always been devoutly Buddhist, spending lavishly to build shrines and temples across the land; if I could translate scriptures in the name of the royal family, it would count as honoring her devotion. Ordinarily, this should be handled by the Li family’s royal branch, but of course such a public-facing task would never be entrusted to them.

As a member of the Wu household and the future daughter-in-law of the Li family, I was indeed the most suitable candidate.

I glanced at Li Chengqi again; he seemed to be considering the matter too, but said nothing. Li Longji looked at me, then at him, and finally fixed his gaze on the paper in his hand: “Besides, your calligraphy is inherited from the Li family—copying scriptures for Master Yijing can be considered a royal favor.”