Chapter 84 The undercurrent under the white flag
The funeral rites for an empress were second only to those for an emperor in terms of scale and honor.
The entire city of Chang'an was submerged in white. Along both sides of Zhuque Avenue, white banners fluttered like a forest in the early summer wind, making a mournful sound. From the imperial city to Zhaoling (the planned mausoleum of the empress, which was not yet fully completed at this time, but the site had been selected and construction of some above-ground buildings had begun), sacrifices were held along the way, and the people spontaneously wore white mourning clothes, their cries shaking the heavens.
Empress Zhangsun's reputation for virtue was deeply ingrained in the hearts of the people. Her sudden passing not only plunged the royal family into grief but also stirred up immense sorrow among the common populace. This sorrow temporarily overshadowed the various rumors circulating about the Crown Prince and the Protector of the Nation. People were more inclined to discuss the Empress's kindness, frugality, and her virtues in assisting the Emperor and raising the princes. The court also seized this opportunity to lavish praise on the Empress's virtues, posthumously bestowing upon her a title and publishing her posthumous works, attempting to wash away the unpleasant rumors with orthodox honors and remembrance.
However, beneath the calm surface, undercurrents never cease to surge.
During the period of national mourning, the emperor suspended court sessions, and state affairs were handled jointly by the heads of the three provinces and the Crown Prince. This was originally an opportunity for the Crown Prince to demonstrate his abilities and consolidate his position. However, Li Chengqian's condition was worrying. On the surface, he put on a brave face, handling the flurry of funeral regulations, the construction of the mausoleum, and the arrangements for condolences from all sides, and his actions were quite organized. But careful observers could see that His Highness the Crown Prince was emaciated, with sunken eyes and dark circles under his eyes, and he was taciturn to the point of being gloomy. He mechanically reviewed documents and issued instructions, but his eyes were often empty, as if his soul had been detached, leaving only a weary shell to perform his duties.
Only a very few of his close attendants knew that His Highness the Crown Prince often sat alone late at night, staring at the flickering candlelight for hours on end, neither sleeping nor speaking. Occasionally, he would take out an old sachet that his mother had embroidered for him before she passed away, clutching it tightly in his palm until his fingertips turned white.
Li Shimin was in equally poor condition. He suspended court for many days, confining himself to the Liangyi Hall or Ganlu Hall (now entirely a place of mourning), refusing to see any officials except for handling the most urgent military and state affairs (such as the war in the northwest). He aged rapidly, his temples turned gray, and his eyes were bloodshot and filled with a bottomless sorrow. Only Wang Yi, after Empress Zhangsun entrusted her son to him on her deathbed, was allowed to go to the side hall of the Liangyi Hall at fixed times (usually in the evening, during a break from government affairs) to briefly report on some relatively "safe" matters that she was still in charge of (such as the progress of agricultural and sericultural reforms, and the preparations for epidemic prevention by the Imperial Medical Bureau), and occasionally offer a few words of advice.
Their conversations were brief and restrained. Wang Yi would objectively present the facts, and Li Shimin would sometimes ask a key question or two before giving a brief instruction. Occasionally, after the report, Li Shimin would gaze at the twilight outside the window, remain silent for a long time, and then say something seemingly unrelated, such as, "Guanyinbi loves the crabapple blossoms most at this time of year," or "When Chengqian was little, he was very timid and afraid of the dark, so he always needed her to stay with him." Wang Yi simply listened quietly, occasionally responding with a "Yes" or "Your Majesty is kind," never saying much or attempting to offer deeper comfort. She knew that any deliberate words of advice would be futile at this moment; her purpose was perhaps simply to provide a safe listener who wouldn't trigger further emotional stress.
This silent companionship became a faint but real ray of light in Li Shimin's abyss of grief. At least, in this cold palace, there was someone who knew (part of) the inside story, yet remained absolutely calm and rational, and would not panic because of his vulnerability.
During the Empress's mourning period, Prince Wei, Li Tai, displayed unusual "grief" and "respect." He entered the palace almost daily to keep vigil, weeping more bitterly than anyone else. He also showed unprecedented "submission" and "concern" towards his elder brother, Li Chengqian, frequently advising the Crown Prince to moderate his grief and take care of his health. On one public occasion, Li Tai, addressing the assembled imperial ministers, tearfully declared, "Our mother valued harmony among brothers above all else. Now that she has passed away, my brother and I, the Crown Prince, should be of one heart and one mind to comfort her spirit in heaven!" His earnest words moved all who heard them.
This act might fool some outsiders, but it couldn't fool Li Shimin and the key ministers who truly understood the situation. Watching Li Tai's performance, Li Shimin felt only deeper annoyance and vigilance. How could he forget the secret letters and rumors pointing to Li Tai before the Empress fell seriously ill? The more brotherly and respectful Li Tai appeared at this moment, the more hypocritical and dangerous he seemed. But during the national mourning period, he couldn't show his anger; he could only observe coldly, his resentment deepening ever more.
The court officials carefully maintained a balance amidst this eerie atmosphere. Changsun Wuji, as the Empress's brother and the Crown Prince's maternal uncle, was naturally devastated, but this also solidified his support for the Crown Prince. He used the funeral rites and subsequent posthumous honors to continuously consolidate and enhance the Crown Prince's position and authority. Senior officials like Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui did their utmost to maintain the stability of the court, preventing the collapse of government affairs due to the successive grief of the Emperor and Empress. They were well aware of the increasingly obvious rift between the Crown Prince and the Prince of Wei, but could only try their best to reconcile within their respective duties, or at least prevent the conflict from escalating openly.
As for Wang Yi, she completely transformed herself into an "invisible person." Aside from necessary, limited official contact with the emperor, she almost entirely severed all ties with the court. The Qixia Garden was deserted; she lived a secluded life, devoting all her energy to studying the modern materials sent by Zhou Wei, especially those concerning agricultural technology improvement, the construction of basic medical and epidemic prevention systems, and… some books on psychology and emotional guidance. The latter was her silent preparation to fulfill her promise to Empress Zhangsun.
She knew that Li Shimin's grief at this moment was real, and also dangerous. An emperor shrouded in immense sorrow and potential anger (against Li Yuan, against the rumor-mongers, and perhaps even against fate) could make his decisions extreme and unstable. She needed to provide some rational anchors for him on the verge of emotional breakdown, or at least, a corner where he could temporarily remove his imperial mask when needed.
That evening, as usual, Wang Yi came to the side hall of the Liangyi Hall to report on the Imperial Medical Bureau's preventative measures against the potential epidemic caused by the upcoming summer heat. After the report, Li Shimin did not immediately dismiss her as usual, but instead stared at a Northwest military report spread out on the table, remaining silent for a long time.
Only a few lamps were lit inside the hall, making the room dimly lit. Li Shimin's figure appeared particularly lonely behind the huge desk.
"Li Jing reports that the main force of Tuyuhun has retreated to the west of Qinghai Lake, but small groups of cavalry still harass the border from time to time. The army's food and supplies are difficult to transport, and it may be difficult to achieve victory in one battle." Li Shimin suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse. "In the court... someone submitted a memorial saying that during the period of national mourning, it is not advisable to wage a large-scale war, but to focus on pacification, and ordered Li Jing to choose an opportunity to withdraw his troops."
Wang Yi listened quietly without responding. She knew the emperor wasn't really asking for her opinion, but rather venting his inner frustration.
"Appeasement? That old wolf Fuyun, would he submit so easily?" Li Shimin sneered, his fingers unconsciously tapping the military report. "He's just taking advantage of my recent loss of the empress and the instability of the country! And those people..." A cold glint flashed in his eyes, "I'm afraid their real intentions are not what they seem. They want to use the pretext of peace talks to hold back the front lines and see clearly... what the next move will be in Chang'an!"
The "those people" he referred to were vague, but Wang Yi understood that they might include those forces that sympathized with or secretly supported the Prince of Wei, or they might include certain upright officials who were dissatisfied with the Crown Prince or simply wanted to gain fame through this.
"Your Majesty," Wang Yi began carefully, her voice steady, "war is a matter of vital importance to the state, a matter of life and death. Whether to fight or make peace must be determined by a comprehensive assessment of national strength, military morale, public sentiment, and... long-term benefits. Li Jing (Li Weigong) is a prudent military strategist, and he understands the situation on the front lines best. Your Majesty can secretly instruct him to grant him the authority to make decisions on the spot, whether to fight or appease, with the primary goal of thoroughly pacifying the Northwest and ensuring border peace for at least the next few years. As for the discussions in court," she paused, "the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue can be ordered to provide detailed accounts of the costs and risks of continuing military operations, as well as the potential consequences of appeasement, and to present the advantages and disadvantages to the court for discussion among the officials. In this way, those who advocate war and those who advocate peace will have to provide concrete evidence, and those who only speak of righteousness will have nowhere to hide. Moreover, this process itself can also divert some attention from... the private discussions in the palace."
Instead of directly supporting war or peace, she offered a procedural suggestion: to steer decision-making back to a pragmatic analysis of national strength and military intelligence, and to divert some of the excessive attention from internal royal family issues through open court discussions. This was consistent with her rational style and cleverly avoided directly involving herself in the emperor's suspicions of "certain individuals."
Li Shimin glanced at her, and the irritation in his eyes seemed to subside slightly. Wang Yi's suggestions were always so... steady and methodical, yet always to the point. She wouldn't blindly agree like some close advisors, nor would she engage in empty talk about morality like those censors; she simply offered a more efficient and less controversial approach to problem-solving.
"As you say," Li Shimin finally said, wearily rubbing his temples. "Order the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue to submit their reports within three days. As for Li Jing... I will give him a secret decree."
"Your Majesty is wise." Wang Yi bowed slightly.
Another silence fell. The faint sound of an evening bell drifted from outside the palace—a bell tolled daily to pray for the Empress's well-being.
Li Shimin's gaze became vacant again as he stared at the completely dark sky outside the window, muttering, "Guanyinbi... dislikes me worrying about war the most... She said that with every battle, countless mothers lose their sons, and countless wives lose their husbands... But this empire... sometimes, without fighting, how can we hold on to it..."
Wang Yi remained silent. At this moment, listening was the best response.
After an unknown amount of time, Li Shimin waved his hand, his voice restoring the emperor's composure, yet unable to conceal the deep weariness within: "You may leave."
"Yes, Your Majesty, I take my leave." Wang Yi bowed and quietly withdrew from the side hall.
Walking along the long, silent palace path illuminated by palace lanterns, the early summer night breeze carried a slight chill. Wang Yi raised his head, gazing at the sparse stars in the night sky. The Empress's funeral continued, the white banners still fluttered, but the game of power, the scheming of hearts, never truly ceased with death. Li Chengqian's silence, Li Tai's performance, Li Shimin's grief and suspicion, the courtiers' observation and siding... all were gathering strength in the undercurrents.
And she, this "observer" caught in the vortex and given a special position due to the Empress's dying entrustment, must be even more careful in navigating each step from now on. She must fulfill her promise to look after the emotionally vulnerable Emperor, while absolutely avoiding becoming the target of any rumors or attacks again.
More importantly, she needed to consider what kind of seed Empress Zhangsun's shocking whispers to Li Chengqian would plant in the heart of this potential future emperor. And how should she herself deal with the worst possible outcome?
The road ahead is uncertain, and the night is deep. White banners flutter in the wind over Chang'an, as if singing a silent elegy for this era and for the unknown fate of many.
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