Chapter 4 The Caged Sparrow
Li Tai felt that he was probably the person in Chang'an who understood the taste of being a "prisoner" better than anyone else.
It wasn't the high walls and deep courtyards of the Imperial Clan Court, the prison of deaf and mute servants. That was merely a physical cage, a more ornate but deathly silence. His true prison was his own heart, which had once been vibrant but was now growing cold and rotting, and the one who had confined him here, giving him this "decent" deathly silence—his elder brother, Crown Prince Li Chengqian.
Sometimes, in the deepest courtyard of his villa, gazing blankly at the neatly divided sky, Li Tai would recall many years past. Back then, he was the Prince of Wei, the beloved second son of his father and mother, a wise and virtuous prince admired by the court and the public. He established a literary academy, recruited scholars, and discussed poetry and prose with talented men from all over the land, debating the past and present. His mansion was always bustling with carriages and horses, and his collection of poems and essays sold out in Luoyang. Everyone said that the Prince of Wei was "exceptionally talented in literature and courteous to scholars," a model for the imperial family.
How vast the sky seemed back then! He believed that with his talent, prestige, and his mother's affection, that supreme position was not out of reach. He even felt that his elder brother, Chengqian, aside from holding the title of "eldest son," was in no way comparable to him. His brother was impatient, ruthless, and overly harsh on the aristocratic families; how could he, with his understanding of "benevolence" and "respect for literature," compare?
It was the powerful families, those who surrounded him, who fed his ambition with the most eloquent words, the richest resources, and the most secretive promises, that gradually convinced him of his "destiny." They said he was the best candidate to be a "ruler who maintains the status quo," that the crown prince was "stubborn and immoral," and that if he raised his arm, the world would follow. He was so smug and complacent, he forgot to look at the cold calculations hidden deep in the eyes of those powerful families, and forgot to listen to his father's occasional expressions of deep expectation for harmony among his brothers.
When his mother was seriously ill, he was extremely anxious, but amidst the immense grief and panic, a dark thought, which he himself was unwilling to admit, also crept in—if his mother were gone, who else would protect the Crown Prince like that? Would his chances be even greater?
Then, the Empress Dowager truly passed away, leaving behind endless sorrow and concern for her brothers. And he, driven by the increasingly blatant encouragement of the powerful families and the inextinguishable fire within his own heart, strayed further and further astray.
Until... he touched something he shouldn't have.
The "trap" that the retired Emperor Li Yuan secretly entrusted to him before his death was like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows. He hadn't originally intended to use it, or rather, he hadn't intended to use it on his own nephew. That would be too despicable, too ruthless. However, when he saw the Crown Prince and a noblewoman give birth to princes one after another, when he saw his brother's position as heir apparent becoming increasingly secure, and when he saw his supporters gradually dispersing, a mixture of despair, jealousy, and a mad thought repeatedly stirred up by the noble families—"I must deliver a fatal blow to the Crown Prince"—seized him.
"As long as something happens to the Crown Prince's most cherished eldest son, he will be thrown into chaos and turn against those powerful families... Our opportunity will come!" the strategists said, their eyes gleaming.
He believed it. Or rather, he chose to believe it. He used the most insidious and secretive methods inherited from his grandfather to harm his nephew Li Xiang, who had once called him "Uncle Wang" and whose eyes were bright and sparkling.
The truth came out faster than he had imagined. The Crown Prince's fury, his father's coldness, the aristocratic families' swift disassociation and counterattack... everything came crashing down like an avalanche. He suddenly realized that he had never been a player in the game, but merely a tool used by the aristocratic families to test and attack the Crown Prince, a tool that could be discarded at any time after it was used, or even used to "hand the knife" to the Crown Prince.
His elder brother didn't kill him. He fulfilled his vow to their mother. But what his brother gave him was a "living" crueler than death. This secluded villa, where even birds hesitated to fly, was his magnificent prison. And the regret, fear, and endless imaginings of his wife and children's fate that gnawed at his heart and lungs day and night were the real torture.
He once fantasized that if he hadn't listened to those slanders and hadn't harbored any improper thoughts, and had instead lived a peaceful and wealthy life as a wise and virtuous prince, would he still be able to enjoy wine with his elder brother, watch his nephews grow up, and be able to enjoy the company of his father?
Unfortunately, there are no "what ifs".
His elder brother would come occasionally. Each visit made him see more clearly his own pathetic state and his brother's... complex relationship. His brother's gaze held hatred, pain, and a cold scrutiny, but occasionally, deep down, there seemed to be a faint trace of pity, something even his brother himself might not have noticed? Or perhaps, an unsolvable bewilderment at "how did our brother come to this?"
During their last meeting, his elder brother spoke at length about the past, about their mother, and even… about Li Xiang, whom he almost dared not think of again. His brother's tone was no longer intense, only weary and with an almost resigned calm. At that moment, Li Tai suddenly realized that his brother was also tired, carrying burdens perhaps no lighter than his own.
The elder brother concluded by saying, "If I live... I might see my children again one day."
These words, like a faint candlelight, briefly illuminated the darkness and despair in his heart. But it was only a fleeting glimmer. He knew it was merely a sliver of illusory comfort from his brother, a final, cruel act of mercy—allowing him to continue enduring this boundless imprisonment with only a sliver of hope.
After his brother left, he sat alone in the cold courtyard until late at night. The dim candlelight could not illuminate the darkness ahead; instead, it made his hands, covered in blood and sins, appear even clearer. Li Xiang's innocent smile, the princess's calm yet sorrowful eyes before drinking poison, the children exiled to Lingnan, their fate unknown... these images tormented him in turn.
He suddenly understood. He had long since grown accustomed to the prison of this villa. But the prison within his heart, built of ambition, folly, betrayal, and sin, he could never escape. His brother's "not killing" and his father's possible "clean servitude" could not save him. To live was to continuously desecrate the dead and to endlessly torture his own soul.
“Zhi Nu…” He thought of his gentle younger brother, and of his mother’s most beloved youngest son. He suddenly felt a sense of relief that Zhi Nu hadn’t been dragged into this mess, hadn’t ended up like him, a creature neither human nor ghost. He hoped that Zhi Nu would never understand the taste of this “prisonment.”
He stood up and went into the inner room. There lay everything his brother had "bestowed" upon him to maintain his princely dignity, including... the option to end it all.
He left not a single word. What else is there to say? Repentance? His brother wouldn't believe him, and his father probably wouldn't want to hear it anymore. Explanation? That would be even more ridiculous.
He chose white silk. Clean and neat, like the illusory "decency" he had once longed for.
As the cold silk was placed around his neck, he glanced out the window one last time. A sliver of light seemed to appear on the horizon, but it was too far away, never to shine into his prison.
That's fine, he thought.
This caged bird can finally... no longer sing, nor need it listen to that endless lament from the depths of its soul.
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