Chapter 37 Li Yuan is critically ill
The Da'an Palace was filled with the strong smell of medicine and the decaying aura unique to an old man. Li Shimin dismissed all the eunuchs, palace maids, and even the imperial physicians, leaving only two trusted confidants to guard ten steps outside the sleeping quarters, forbidding them from entering.
The candlelight in the bedchamber was dim, illuminating Li Yuan's withered face on the bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing weak and intermittent, the rise and fall of his chest almost imperceptible, as if the flame of his life was flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment. Before leaving, the imperial physician whispered: "The Emperor Emeritus's fainting spell was caused by a sudden outburst of anger that triggered his old ailment (wind-related illness and possible failure of other organs). Coupled with his advanced age and depleted vitality, he is showing signs of exhaustion, like a lamp burning out. I'm afraid... he may be on his deathbed."
Li Shimin sat on the embroidered stool beside the couch, so close that he could see every deep wrinkle and age spot on his father's face. This father, who had once been tall and majestic, in charge of the world, and later became paranoid and resentful, now looked so fragile and insignificant, as if he could be shattered at the slightest touch.
There were no one else around, no more tense atmosphere in the court, and no more of the usual mutual stabs and curses when they met. There was only the unconscious father and the son who could finally shed some of his imperial armor.
Silence flowed through the hall, broken only by Li Yuan's soft breathing and the occasional crackling of the candlelight. After a long while, Li Shimin finally spoke, his voice low and even somewhat hoarse, no longer the spirited Khan he had been in court, but more like a weary and aggrieved child.
“Father…” he called out, the title now stripped of the coldness of power struggles, leaving only the bond of blood. “Can you hear me? Probably… you can’t. It’s good. There are some things I’ve kept in my heart for far too long… If you were awake, you certainly wouldn’t want to hear them, and I wouldn’t dare to say them, nor could I say them.”
He paused for a moment, his gaze falling on his father's ashen face, as if looking through time and seeing a scene from many years ago.
"From childhood, my eldest brother (Li Jiancheng) was the eldest son, his status established early on. Father, you devoted yourself to raising him, treating him as the heir apparent. My third brother (Li Yuanji)... is lively and knows how to please you. And what about me? What am I?" His voice carried a hint of barely concealed bitterness. "I am the son who is most capable in battle, the one most capable of pacifying the world for you. I am the sharpest sword in your hand, the tool for you to consolidate your empire. When you need me, you entrust me with the most difficult battles and leave me with the most dangerous enemies. From the uprising in Taiyuan, to sweeping away the warlords, defeating Xue Ju, Liu Wuzhou, Wang Shichong, Dou Jiande... which hard battle wasn't won by me and my soldiers, risking our lives?"
His tone gradually became agitated: "But the credit for our conquest belongs to the Li family, to the court, to you and my elder brother! What have I gained, besides an increasingly illustrious title of 'Prince of Qin,' and more and more suspicion and distrust? You know that my elder brother is reaping the benefits in Chang'an, cultivating relationships with court officials, consolidating his power, and targeting me at every turn! Yet you always try to smooth things over, always telling me to 'consider the bigger picture' and 'maintain harmony among brothers'! But when has my place ever truly been in that 'big picture'? And to what extent must I yield for 'harmony'?!"
"Liu Heita has risen again, Hebei is in grave danger, and no one can control him, so you have once again remembered your son, this 'sharp sword.' I fought to the death to quell the rebellion, but what awaits me upon my return? My elder brother and fourth brother's even more blatant exclusion, and your ever-deepening fear! The establishment of the Tiance Mansion was something you promised back then, but what happened afterward? You tacitly allowed my elder brother and his ilk to continuously clip my wings, transfer Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui, and press forward step by step! Do you really think I'm a fool, unable to feel the approaching blade?!"
Li Shimin's voice trembled slightly with excitement. He clenched his fist and then slowly relaxed it, as if trying to calm his turbulent emotions.
"Xuanwu Gate... Yes, I did act. But it was a desperate counterattack! If I hadn't acted, I would have been the one to die, along with so many soldiers and strategists who followed me, their lives and fortunes! You only see me 'killing my brothers,' but have you ever considered who raised the butcher's knife first? Who couldn't tolerate whom first?!" He took a deep breath, suppressing the sobs in his throat. "You hate me, resent me, and curse me for taking this position. But have you ever thought that if you had been more fair back then, if you had slightly curbed my elder brother's ambitions, if you had given me a way out, things wouldn't have come to this?! You've placed all the blame on me, turning your resentment at losing power and the pain of outliving your children into curses against me... Do you know that those words, like knives, are stabbing into my heart!"
He poured out his pent-up emotions, including years of forbearance, grievances, resentment, and anger. There were no roars, no interrogations, just a straightforward account, yet every word carried weight. He spoke of the difficulties of governing the country over the years, the perils of waging war against the Turks, his yearning to create a prosperous era, and also of the loneliness and pressure he felt.
“You always say that I will suffer retribution, that my descendants will kill each other… But look at Chengqian, Tai’er, and Zhi’er, they are all doing well now. I am doing my best to teach them, to prevent them from repeating our mistakes. I don’t want… I don’t want your curse to come true.” His voice lowered, filled with deep weariness. “Sometimes, I really wish you could be like an ordinary father, even just a little bit understanding, a little bit acknowledging me… instead of always looking at me with that resentment, disappointment, and even contempt.”
By the end, his tone was almost a murmur, no longer an accusation, but more like a release and sorrow after being suppressed for too long. He looked at his unconscious father, his eyes filled with complex emotions, including lingering resentment, unspeakable pain, and perhaps, deepest in his heart, a last yearning for fatherly love that even he himself was unwilling to admit.
As he was lost in his own emotions and unaware of what was happening, Li Yuan's withered fingers on the bed twitched almost imperceptibly. Even more subtly, in the dim, flickering candlelight, a tiny, almost invisible dampness seeped from the edge of his tightly closed eyelids, slowly sliding down the deep wrinkles and disappearing into the gray hair at his temples.
That single, glistening tear, so fleeting it was almost an illusion, was caught by the flickering candlelight, reflecting a glimmer that vanished in an instant. Was it a physiological tear? Or was it a faint, inexpressible reaction from some deep corner of the subconscious, a response to the son's long-overdue, tearful outpouring of grief?
Nobody knows.
Li Shimin ultimately did not see it. Having said what he wanted to say, the pent-up resentment that had filled his chest for years seemed to dissipate somewhat, only to be replaced by a deeper emptiness and the impending final farewell. He sat there quietly, watching life slowly slip away from his father. The iceberg between father and son seemed not to have melted, but beneath that ice, in this silent moment, did the surging undercurrents have, at this very moment, in such a poignant way, have they ever briefly and sorrowfully converged?
Outside the hall, the night was as dark as ink; inside, the candlelight was dying down. A twisted feud between father and son, a shocking power shift, ultimately culminated in this somber monologue by the son on his deathbed, and the father's fleeting, unnoticed tears. History, here, left a silent and complex footnote.
Li Shimin poured out his grievances, resentment, and even anger that had been suppressed for many years, like a flood bursting its banks, finally finding a seemingly safe outlet. However, beneath this surging torrent of emotions, there always flowed another, more ancient, more profound, and even more underlying emotion that he deliberately concealed with resentment and the hard shell of an emperor—his filial piety towards his father, Li Yuan, which had never truly been extinguished.
This filial piety was not something he openly displayed. It was hidden in the softest corner of his memory: the sense of security and admiration he felt when he looked up at his father's tall back as a child; the joy and pride that instantly ignited in his heart when he received a simple affirmation from his father while studying literature and martial arts as a teenager; and the heavy warmth mixed with trust and expectation when his father patted him on the shoulder on the eve of the Taiyuan uprising, entrusting him with the heavy responsibility of the family and the future.
“Father…” His voice lowered unconsciously, carrying a hint of childlike grievance and longing that he himself was unaware of. “Do you remember? The first time I hunted a deer, I excitedly dragged it to you. You touched my head and smiled, saying, ‘My son is a unicorn.’ At that time, I felt that the most powerful person in the world was Father. To receive praise from Father was more joyful than anything else.”
His gaze became distant, as if piercing through the smoke of power struggles and the pain of father-son estrangement, returning to the simplest of times.
"Later, in every battle, I fought with all my might, not only for the sake of the country, but also... to let you see that your son has not disgraced you and can be your pride." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Every time a victory report came back, what I wanted to know most was not what reward the court had given me, but... what your expression would be when you read the battle report, Father? Would you... praise me again, just like when I was a child?"
This yearning for his father's recognition and praise, distorted by the power struggles, gradually transformed into an obsession and pain stemming from unfulfilled desire. Li Yuan's obvious favoritism towards Li Jiancheng, and his manipulation and fear of Li Shimin, acted like a dull knife, repeatedly sawing at this yearning. It did not disappear, but was deeply suppressed, buried, and even alienated into a driving force for anger and resistance.
At this moment, facing her father whose life was about to end, all the barriers, resentment, and defensiveness seemed to temporarily lose their meaning. A crack quietly appeared in that hard, imperial shell, revealing the shadow of the child inside who had never grown up and always longed for his father's love.
"Your son knows that later... everything changed." His voice choked with emotion, filled with deep helplessness and sorrow. "Your son became a threat in your eyes, a hidden danger that you had to eliminate. Between us, there was only scheming and wariness. But sometimes, in the dead of night, your son still thinks of his childhood... of you teaching him to ride a horse, teaching him to draw a bow... In those times, you were just your father."
He reached out, as if to touch his father's withered hand, but stopped in mid-air and slowly withdrew it. This simple gesture was filled with the contradiction of wanting to get close yet fearing, longing for family affection yet fearing rejection.
“Father, I do not regret the choices I made to protect myself and for this country. But in my heart… here,” he pointed to his chest, his voice trembling, “there has always been a place that is empty and aching. That place should have held your trust, your pride, your unreserved love… but later, it became empty and cold.”
He closed his eyes, and two lines of clear tears finally slid silently down his face, dripping onto his bright yellow robe and quickly spreading. These tears were not only for the impending eternal farewell, but also for the father-son bond that had never been fulfilled and had even been utterly destroyed.
“Your son has hated you, resented you, and feared you… but in the end, your son is still your son.” He opened his eyes, his gaze, filled with tears, fixed on his father’s lifeless face. “This bloodline, this life and teachings I received from you, cannot be severed. Your son now reigns supreme over the world and is called ‘Heavenly Khan,’ but the child in my heart who longs for your father’s approval… he has always been there.”
His outpouring gradually transformed from a fierce accusation into a sorrowful monologue, finally settling into a deep, poignant silence filled with the pain of unrequited love for his son. He stopped speaking, simply sitting there quietly, as if trying to use this final moment of companionship to make up for the countless days of estrangement and even hostility between father and son, and to offer a silent, final tribute to the unfulfilled longing for his son that had never truly been satisfied.
Li Yuan remained unconscious on the bed, his breathing weak. The fleeting tear in the corner of his eye might have been merely a physiological phenomenon, or it might have concealed a deeper, unspoken response. But in any case, the complex and tangled emotions Li Shimin felt for his father, in this final moment, finally allowed his deepest filial piety to break through layers of ice, revealing its original, wounded, and yearning nature. This emotion was unrelated to power, right or wrong; it was simply a son's most primal and profound longing and need for his father. It may have come too late, and been expressed too subtly and indirectly, but its very existence is the most poignant and real stroke in the story of this legendary father-son relationship.
Beneath the resentment and grievances towards Li Yuan, a mystery that Li Shimin was never able to truly unravel remained: Father, why do you treat me this way?
In his youth, he thought he wasn't good enough, so he fought desperately, striving for every victory, hoping to earn a glance of approval from his father with his outstanding achievements. But the more victories he achieved, the more his father seemed to frown. He didn't understand.
Later, he thought that his own sharp edge had threatened his elder brother's position as heir apparent. So he tried to tone it down, tried to back down, and even when Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji pressed him further, he still held onto the hope that his father would uphold justice. But his father's attempts to smooth things over and his subtle favoritism chilled him to the bone. He was even more confused.
Until the blood of Xuanwu Gate stained the palace steps, until he was forced to step over the corpses of his brothers to reach the pinnacle of power, until he was cursed by his father with the most venomous words... He sat on the cold throne, looking down over the vast land, but the question in his heart became more and more acute: Why?
He even tried to put himself in the father's shoes. If he were Li Yuan, with a son so accomplished in battle, exceptionally talented, and powerful, what would he do? Fear would be inevitable, but was there no other way besides suppression, checks and balances, or even tacitly allowing his other sons to clip his wings? Couldn't he offer trust? Couldn't he try to guide him? Couldn't he… even just feign a little fatherly affection to ease this fatal conflict?
"If Father Emperor only had me as his son..." This thought quietly surfaced in countless late nights, carrying an almost cruel assumption. If Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji didn't exist, would his father have no choice but to rely on him, even if he harbored resentment in his heart, he would still have to maintain a facade of affection? This thought gave him a twisted sense of pleasure, which was quickly followed by a deeper sorrow. It turned out that what he longed for deep down was a kind of forced, "no other choice" fatherly love.
Later, he became a father himself. With Chengqian, Qingque (Li Tai), Zhinu (Li Zhi)... he tried to be a father different from Li Yuan. He personally oversaw the princes' studies, paid attention to their growth, and strived for clear distinctions between rewards and punishments. He was vigilant against any signs of fratricide recurring and attempted to find a balance between strictness and love.
The more he tried, the more confused he became. What he gave his sons was what he considered "good" and "fair," but did the children truly feel his fatherly love? Chengqian's growing eccentricity, Qingque's hidden ambition, Zhinu's dependence and timidity... all of these made him feel powerless. He began to vaguely grasp the complexity and difficulty of being a father, with expectations, disappointments, and a feeling of not knowing where to begin.
However, this did not help him understand Li Yuan; instead, it deepened his confusion: If being a father is so difficult, why did his father refuse to grant even the most basic "fairness" and "protection"? Was it simply because he was not the eldest son? Or was it that, in his father's heart, the stability of power far outweighed the feelings and lives of any of his sons?
This unsolvable question, like a thorn, was forever stuck in his heart. How he longed to ask Li Yuan face to face, not as an emperor questioning the retired emperor, but as a bewildered son making his final plea to his father: Father, in your heart, what am I? Have you ever, even for a moment, regarded me merely as your son, and not as a sharp sword to be used when needed and then carefully shelved when not?
He placed Li Yuan in the Da'an Palace, bestowing upon him a prestigious title while effectively placing him under house arrest. This was not merely a political precaution; deep down, wasn't it also a childish and awkward form of waiting?
He was waiting for Li Yuan to back down.
It wasn't about submitting to power—that was meaningless now. What he was waiting for was a softening of his father's attitude, a word no longer filled with resentment, even just a look of vulnerability, a peaceful meeting without sharp confrontation. He longed to break the frozen father-son relationship, even if it was just a crack, so that the child in his heart who always yearned for his father's love could receive a sliver of solace.
He believed that time, the glorious reign he had built, and perhaps even his deliberate neglect (like a child throwing a tantrum) would eventually soften the proud father. He offered him a way out and left him room to maneuver.
But he forgot, or rather, deep down he knew very well—he and his son were too alike.
Both shared the same pride, the same stubbornness, and the same unwavering commitment to dignity and will. Li Yuan would rather die alone in the Da'an Palace, cursing day and night, than show the slightest compromise or tenderness to his "usurper" son. And Li Shimin would never again beg for a fatherly love that had long since deteriorated, adopting the humble posture of a son.
Thus, the Da'an Palace became the coldest stalemate between this most noble father and son in the land. One was waiting for the other to give in first, while the other would rather die than bow down. Though only inches apart, a chasm lay between them, deeper and more insurmountable than the bloodbath at Xuanwu Gate.
Now, Li Yuan lay dying, unconscious. Li Shimin sat before him, finally uttering the words that had been bottled up in his heart for years. His monologue, a mixture of filial piety and resentment, was perhaps the closest he could come to "bowing his head." However, Li Yuan was no longer able to respond.
Was that fleeting tear in the corner of her eye regret? Pain? Did she finally understand her son's heart? Or was it merely a physiological reflection? It will forever remain a mystery.
As Li Shimin gazed at his father's dying embers, the eternal bewilderment in his heart remained unresolved, instead transforming into a deeper and more enduring regret and sorrow.
He finally understood completely that some questions will never have answers. Some knots in one's heart can never be untied, even until death.
This father and son, one a founding emperor who ruled the world, the other a great emperor who ushered in a golden age, met, clashed, and ultimately broke apart at the pinnacle of power. They both tried to understand and control each other in their own way, but ultimately failed to truly enter each other's hearts.
Li Yuan never understood Li Shimin's ambitions, grievances, and deep longing for paternal love until his death; Li Shimin, too, never truly understood Li Yuan's complex feelings and difficult choices as a father and as the founding emperor.
The father does not know the son, and the son does not know the father.
This is perhaps the most accurate and tragic footnote to the legendary father-son relationship. All the love, hate, power struggles, and even this final bedside monologue and silent tears have sunk into the dust of history, leaving only an eternally unanswerable question mark and a father-son feud that has been endlessly discussed by later generations but can never be truly understood by anyone else. And the child in Li Shimin's heart, yearning for his father's approval, will carry this eternal confusion and unfulfilled filial longing with him throughout the rest of his imperial life.
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