Chapter 30 Li Shimin's Dilemma
By day, Li Shimin was the all-powerful and decisive Khan, whose authority extended throughout the land.
At court, he listened to Li Jing and Li Ji's reports on the aftermath of the Northern Expedition, analyzing the situation meticulously and making decisive decisions. He received envoys from various Western Regions states, displaying both kindness and authority in his conversations, revealing the grandeur of a superior nation. He discussed the difficulties in implementing the equal-field system with Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui, his thinking clear and incisive. Every decree he issued, every glance he gave, was precise and powerful. The court officials saw a wise monarch with outstanding achievements, boundless energy, and seemingly having completely overcome the discord between father and son.
He could even deliberately, during breaks from governing, casually inquire, "Is the inner palace peaceful these days? How are the princes and princesses doing in their studies?" When he heard from the eunuchs that the prince born to Consort Yang was very healthy, and that a certain concubine had been diagnosed with pregnancy, he would appropriately show a pleased smile, and might even order extra rewards for her. All of this perfectly exemplified the demeanor of an emperor who valued offspring and maintained a balance within the inner palace.
Reason, like an impregnable fortress, firmly locked his longing for Qixia Garden deep within his heart. He told himself: Li Shimin, you are the emperor. You have a vast empire to govern, countless subjects to care for, and a glorious history to write. Romantic feelings, especially this one tinged with "original sin" and potentially giving others ammunition, must be restrained, shelved, and even… downplayed. Distancing himself from her is to protect her (reduce the focus of controversy), to protect himself (maintain a perfect imperial image), and, more importantly, to ensure the stability of the Li Tang dynasty (avoid potential disaster). This is the most correct, the most rational, and the most befitting choice of an emperor.
However, as the sun sets and the heavy political affairs come to a temporary end, leaving him alone in the Liangyi Hall, or when he finishes a perfunctory visit to a concubine and returns to his palace alone, the armor of reason that was so solid during the day begins to show subtle, uncontrollable cracks.
Sometimes, during breaks from reviewing memorials, my gaze would inadvertently sweep across a plum tree outside the window that resembled one in Qixia Garden (though it wasn't in bloom yet), and my hand holding the pen would pause slightly, my mind drifting away for a moment—what was she doing at that moment? Was she mixing calming incense, or deep in thought about a game of chess? Was her face, which always seemed a little pale, looking any better today?
Sometimes, during dinner, the exquisite delicacies meticulously prepared by the imperial kitchen would taste strangely bland. He would suddenly recall the seemingly simple medicinal fish soup in Wang Yi's small kitchen, its delicate and comforting flavor always whetting his appetite. And there was the pear syrup tea she poured herself, warm and slightly sweet, best relieving the dryness in his throat after reviewing memorials.
Even more tormenting were the nights. Lying on the large, cold imperial bed, memories began to awaken uncontrollably. His fingertips could still recall the smooth, flowing touch of her hair; his nose could still linger on the unique scent of her, a blend of medicinal fragrance and cold plum blossoms; the emptiness remaining in his arms contrasted sharply with the warmth and fullness of holding her as he slept. It was a feeling no other concubine could provide—not just physical pleasure, but a tranquil peace of complete mental relaxation and utter surrender of all defenses.
His body yearned for her. This yearning was so real and intense, like parched earth craving rain, howling in the silent night. He would involuntarily turn over, facing the general direction of Qixia Garden, as if that would bring him closer to her. Even in some hazy moments between sleep and wakefulness, he would subconsciously reach out to his side, only to be jolted awake by the touch of cold brocade, then swallowed by a profound sense of loss and emptiness.
A Torn Struggle: The Steps Towards Qixia Garden and the Forced Turnback
The most agonizing moment was the almost uncontrollable urge to see her.
This impulse can strike without warning. For example, when he sees a cluster of chrysanthemums blooming exceptionally well in the Imperial Garden, his first thought is, "She loves chrysanthemums; perhaps she likes this pale purple color," and his feet unconsciously begin to walk towards Qixia Garden. Or, for instance, when he is simulating a newly discovered, suspected Goguryeo border outpost in front of a military sand table, the thought flashes through his mind, "If I were to discuss this with her, I wonder what her opinion would be," and his body has already risen from his seat.
Once, twice… He often found himself having traversed most of the palace grounds without realizing it, the familiar eaves of Qixia Garden appearing and disappearing behind the shadows of the trees not far away. The night breeze carried the faint sound of the water clock and the dim, yellowish light of the lamps that seemed not yet extinguished in the garden. That light, like a gentle hand, drew him in and called to him.
My heart pounded uncontrollably in my chest, the rush of blood clamoring in my ears. Every cell in my body screamed: Go in! See her! Embrace her! Kiss her! Cling her to your very bones, banish this damned longing and emptiness!
Just as his foot was about to step onto the last step leading to the moon gate of Qixia Garden, the alarm bells of reason would pour down on him like ice water.
Li Yuan's face, twisted with resentment, and his hoarse curses would suddenly flash into my mind—"Coveting your stepmother! You will be punished!" The meaningful glances that might appear from the court officials; the few words that might be recorded by the historians, damaging to the emperor's virtue; even... the vague yet chilling gaze that a future prince might cast towards Qixia Garden...
Her feet were frozen in place. One step forward meant an abyss of emotion, potentially bringing endless trouble and unknown risks; one step back meant an island of reason, maintaining a facade of calm and "correctness," but also meaning continuing to endure this heart-wrenching longing and the body's protests.
He stood frozen in the night, like a struggling sculpture. The night wind ruffled the hem of his robe, bringing the chill of late autumn, but it couldn't dispel the conflicting emotions of heat and cold within him. He could clearly feel the yearning to see her surging through his veins like molten lava; while the suppression of reason, like the hardest ice, tried to freeze it. These two forces battled fiercely within him, tearing at his nerves.
Ultimately, the latter often wins by a narrow margin. He would suddenly turn around, almost using all his strength, forcing himself to stride away in the opposite direction from Qixia Garden. His steps were fast and hurried, as if he were fleeing some raging flood or ferocious beast. But no matter how far he went, the forcibly suppressed impulse and the immense sense of loss that followed remained with him, casting a long and lonely shadow of his back under the palace lanterns.
Back in the Liangyi Hall or his bedchamber, he would often dismiss everyone and sit alone for a long time, or pace restlessly back and forth. He would open the sandalwood box again, take out the latest secret report, and read it repeatedly, as if trying to draw a little illusory comfort from those cold words, or searching for evidence that she also missed him (though he was always disappointed). He would pick up his pen, intending to write something as usual, but apart from that dry phrase "cherish yourself," he could write nothing else.
“Li Shimin, Li Shimin,” he would sometimes say to himself in the bronze mirror, looking at the man with sunken eyes and a weary expression, “you conquered the vast grasslands and made the Khan of the Eight Tribes dance for you, but you couldn’t conquer your own desires, and you didn’t even have the courage to see the woman you wanted to see?”
However, after the self-deprecation came a deeper sense of powerlessness. He knew this wasn't a matter of courage, but rather the shackles of identity and responsibility, the tempering and sacrifice that an emperor's heart must undergo. But the fire of this tempering burned him so badly that his very core ached; the knife of this sacrifice felt like it was slowly torturing his soul.
An emperor by day, a prisoner by night. Reason and emotion, status and desire, wage an endless tug-of-war within him. His longing for Wang Yi and his physical cravings grow wildly in the cracks of this tug-of-war, becoming the most hidden and painful wound behind his glorious imperial achievements. This painful transformation—from an ambitious prince to an emperor forced to constantly weigh and suppress his true feelings—is vividly displayed at this moment. He loves his kingdom and he loves his beloved, but when both become incompatible under the magnifying glass of worldly ethics, even the Heavenly Khan can only taste the bitter torment of this separation alone in the dead of night.
Li Shimin began to subconsciously search for Wang Yi's shadow among the many women in the harem. This was not a deliberate command, but an instinct driven by longing, which he himself was not entirely aware of.
At first, it might be a newly promoted talented person whose profile resembled Wang Yi's slender figure; or a palace maid whose quiet demeanor, with lowered eyes, stirred his heart. He would take a second look, ask a few questions, and if he discovered that the person knew a few characters and had read some poetry and books, his interest would grow. The rewards would be more generous, and the number of times he stayed overnight might increase.
Gradually, this "search" became more specific. He ordered the Shanggong Bureau to keep an eye out for women from the south who possessed the refined elegance of the water towns (Wang Yi claimed to be from overseas, but his temperament was rather aloof and refined); for concubines who had some knowledge of medicine or a slight interest in astrology and geography (even if it was just a superficial understanding); and even for women who were aloof, not good at flattery, but had their own unique insights.
Suddenly, the winds of change shifted subtly in the harem. The women might not have understood why, but the astute ones could sense that His Majesty seemed to have a particular fondness for certain types of women. Thus, a trend of imitation quietly arose. Some deliberately wore simple, elegant Taoist-style robes, some diligently studied medical books and miscellaneous notes, some learned to prepare simple face powders, and others tried to imitate that "cool and aloof" demeanor, though they often ended up with clumsy imitations.
Li Shimin was not unaware of the deliberate intent behind it. But at certain moments, when the candlelight was dim, and the silhouette of the woman whispering before him, or a moment of deep thought, overlapped with a scene from his memory, he did find a fleeting, dreamlike solace. He would be exceptionally gentle, his gaze lingering on those somewhat similar outlines, as if through them he could touch that unattainable figure.
His most secret, even sinful thought was this: if he were to have children with these women who bore some resemblance to her… would those children bear her shadow in their features? Would it make up for the regret of the child he had forever lost, the child bound to her flesh and blood? This thought, like a ghostly fire in the dark night, tempted him and burned him. He did indeed show special favor to several concubines who caught his eye and bore some resemblance to Wang Yi, hoping for the arrival of offspring.
However, a substitute is ultimately just a substitute. After a brief moment of comfort, there is often an even greater sense of loss and the sharp pain of clarity.
When those women try to discuss poetry with him, but their words are merely flowery and lack genuine insight; when they feign indifference, yet inadvertently reveal their desire for his favor and their calculations; when they are completely obedient to him, their eyes filled with admiration and awe, yet unable to calmly point out details he might have overlooked in a decision, or engage in a truly worthy debate with him, like Wang Yi... then a tremendous sense of disparity will surge forth.
Their obedience bored him, their deliberate imitations seemed laughable, even pathetic. He didn't need docile pets, nor clumsy imitations. He longed for a woman who could stand beside him before a map, her fingers tracing the vast landscape, calmly analyzing the pros and cons; a woman who could pinpoint his inner turmoil when he was enraged and in pain due to conflicts with his father, or simply offer quiet companionship that brought him peace; a woman with a powerful, calm, and rational mind, bordering on cold-blooded, yet who would occasionally reveal a unique tenderness and dependence towards him.
Li Yuan's accusation—"coveting her beauty"—was, to Li Shimin, a colossal joke and the most superficial insult to Wang Yi. He acknowledged Wang Yi's beauty; her ethereal, otherworldly beauty was indeed rare. But if that were all, what essential difference was there between her and the other stunning beauties in Li Yuan's harem? Hadn't Li Yuan amassed a multitude of beauties? From plump to slender, each possessing their own charm, yet he had never felt any genuine interest in them. In his eyes, they were less captivating than a magnificent landscape painting or a magnificent steed.
Deep down, he was a complete "intellectual lover." He admired talent, wisdom, and minds that matched his grand ambitions and even inspired him. His initial attraction to Wang Yi might have been due to her appearance and mystique, but what truly captivated him and made him unable to extricate himself was her seemingly prescient wisdom, her forward-thinking insight, and her calm yet powerful core. Her beauty, imbued with this wisdom, gained a soul, a depth that captivated him.
He even considered that even if Wang Yi didn't have such beauty, even if she were just plain-looking, as long as she possessed that kind of intellect, that kind of insight, that kind of calmness and strength, he was certain he would still be attracted to her, and might even love her more purely and deeply. Because that was what he truly craved—a soulmate who could have an equal dialogue and resonate with him on a spiritual level, and even guide him to see a wider world.
The more similar-looking women surrounded him, the more forcefully they imitated him, the more they resembled rough mirrors, reflecting Wang Yi's uniqueness and highlighting the absurdity and helplessness of his current longing. Each time he awoke beside his substitute, facing that somewhat similar yet empty and dull face, the emptiness in his heart was not filled, but rather torn wider. His longing, like aged wine, fermented with each clumsy imitation and comparison, becoming increasingly intense and bitter.
News from Da'an Palace was not completely cut off despite Li Shimin's deliberate efforts to block it. Although Li Yuan was under house arrest, the network of informants he had built up over his years as emperor, as well as the information passed on by some people who were still loyal to his former master or had ulterior motives, always kept him informed of what was happening outside, especially about Li Shimin and Wang Yi.
When Li Yuan learned that Li Shimin had indeed, as he had "cursed," begun to distance himself from Wang Yi and even sought a substitute in the harem, he was ecstatic. The feeling was like that of someone stuck in a quagmire who finally saw their enemy tainted, even if that taint wasn't as deep as their own, it was enough to bring a twisted pleasure.
"Hahaha! Retribution! This is retribution!" Li Yuan slammed his fist on the table and laughed wildly in the empty halls of Da'an Palace. His laughter was hoarse and mad, ignoring the splitting headache he was experiencing. "Wasn't Li Shimin capable? Wasn't he deeply affectionate? What? Now he's afraid too? He finds that woman a nuisance too? He's starting to seek solace in other women too? Too bad, a fake is always a fake!"
He seemed to have found a new spiritual sustenance. Whenever his headache subsided or he felt depressed, he would order the palace servants to set up a simple banquet (the scale of which was far inferior to before). He would then begin his "banquet" and "speech" in front of a few old palace servants who still served him, or the old officials who occasionally came and had to listen to his complaints.
The banquet offered little in the way of fine food and wine, only his incessant torrent of insults and curses. He meticulously "analyzed" why Li Shimin had distanced himself from Wang Yi—it must be out of fear of the scathing gaze of history, the power of public opinion, and the fulfillment of his father's curse! He mocked Li Shimin's act of finding a substitute as "drawing a cake to satisfy hunger," "self-deception," and asserted that Li Shimin must be suffering immensely inside. He even more viciously speculated that those women resembling Wang Yi were merely tools for Li Shimin to vent his twisted desires and compensate for his regrets, and that their fates were destined to be tragic.
These malicious words, along with Li Yuan's morbidly manic state, would inevitably reach Li Shimin's ears to some extent through certain channels. Each time he learned of them, it was like a dull knife dipped in salt, repeatedly sawing and cutting into his heart.
His heart ached. Not for Li Yuan's insults themselves; he had long since become numb to those vile words. What pained him was that his father was actually taking pleasure in his suffering, deriving gratification from this twisted method. This completely extinguished any remaining glimmer of hope for father-son affection that might have remained deep within him. What pained him even more was that Li Yuan's words, like the most vicious annotation, precisely pierced through the wretchedness and self-deception beneath his search for a substitute, casting a shadow over even that pitiful solace.
"Stop these messages! Don't let me hear any more foul language coming from Da'an Palace!" Li Shimin ordered his trusted confidant, his face grim, his voice filled with suppressed rage and deep exhaustion. He was powerless to change Li Yuan, so he could only choose to isolate him.
However, while news could be kept out of reach, the heartache could not be erased. Each of Li Yuan's "celebrations" served as a reminder that what stood between him and Wang Yi was not only an ethical dilemma and his own internal struggle, but also his father's unending resentment and curse. This malice from his closest relative was like an unmelting block of ice, freezing every path he took to approach Wang Yi, and making the warmth he sought from those substitutes seem exceptionally illusory and cold.
On one side, Li Shimin is tormented by the ever-deepening longing for his son, surrounded by substitutes; on the other, Li Yuan feeds on his son's suffering, deriving twisted pleasure from cursing him; and Wang Yi, seemingly detached from the eye of the storm, continues her "quietly normal" life in Qixia Garden. This emotional and ethical storm, sparked by her, is pushing everyone involved into the abyss of their own destinies. Li Shimin's intellectualistic nature dictates that he cannot find satisfaction in counterfeits, and what choices will his thirst for true wisdom drive him to make? Will Li Yuan's malice be the final straw that breaks the camel's back? Everything is still brewing in the unknown.
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