Chapter 8 The Long River Reflects the Image
Changsun Linglong felt that her life was like a quiet yet resilient long river.
She wasn't the most turbulent of the initial surge, yet she possessed her own enduring strength. She hailed from the Changsun clan, a noble family from the Guanzhong Plain, a branch of a family steeped in military and political heritage. Even in her youth, she was as gentle and clear as water, yet as adaptable and insightful as water itself. Her family's upbringing endowed her with a foundation of knowledge, reason, and the ability to distinguish right from wrong; while the innate kindness and intelligence deep within her allowed her to see through the superficiality of life earlier than many of her peers.
When she married Li Shimin at the age of thirteen, he was not yet the Prince of Qin, much less the Emperor; he was merely the spirited and ambitious second son of Li Yuan, the Duke of Tang. Their marriage was a match made in heaven, and also the result of her clear-eyed choice. She saw the ambition and hidden brilliance in his eyes, a brilliance that attracted her, and also gave her a vague premonition that the river that was about to flow with her was destined to be anything but calm.
So she quietly adjusted her own course, running parallel to his. While he campaigned on all fronts, she stayed behind, comforting his family and stabilizing morale, using her meticulousness and gentleness to dispel anxieties at the front. She was not only his wife, but gradually became his most trusted advisor, comforting him when he was anxious, offering alternative perspectives in his decision-making, and mediating in her own way when his relationships with his father, brothers, and colleagues were delicate. Like water, she silently permeated everything around him, mending cracks and gathering strength.
That day at Xuanwu Gate was the darkest vortex of her long life. Blood gushed into the sky, brothers fought amongst themselves. Even in the Qin Prince's mansion, she could clearly feel the overwhelming stench of blood and violence, the immense pressure and resolve in her husband's heart, and the unspeakable heaviness that would inevitably follow. She didn't panic, nor did she ask too many questions. She simply offered him quieter companionship and more attentive care, reserving a haven where he could temporarily lay down his armor and catch his breath. She knew that from that moment on, the burden he carried would be a hundred times greater than before. And her river, too, needed to flow deeper to bear it all.
He became emperor, and she became empress. Their positions were supreme, yet the river they traversed seemed to have entered its widest and most treacherous stretch. Being the empress was not merely an honor, but also an endless responsibility and a constant, unwavering caution. She practiced frugality, disciplined the harem, personally raised and educated the princes and princesses, treated all concubines and their children equally, and strived to create a relatively peaceful atmosphere that valued virtue within the palace. She advised the emperor, but tactfully, often leading by example or subtly mentioning the advice in casual conversation, never embarrassing him in public. She deeply understood that the stability of imperial power required both the vigorous advancement of the court and the tranquility of the harem. Her river, she wanted to be a "living water" nourishing the harem and indirectly stabilizing the court, not a flood of "disaster."
She poured all her love and wisdom into her children. Chengqian, the eldest son and heir apparent, was someone she loved and held to the highest standards, hoping he would possess both the resolve of an emperor and the virtue of a benevolent heart. Qingque (Li Tai) was intelligent and literate; she admired his talent but also worried about the arrogance and overly sensitive nature it might foster, often reminding him to be respectful to his brothers and to be grounded in reality. Zhinu (Li Zhi), the youngest and most beloved, was someone she hoped would live a peaceful and joyful life, free from too many trials and tribulations.
How she wished that her motherly love, like a long river, could forever protect them, ensuring harmony and well-being for the brothers. She repeatedly admonished them of the importance of kinship and recounted the tragedies of previous royal families who had fought amongst themselves. She naively believed that love, reason, and her own example could dissolve the temptations and barriers inherent in power.
However, she was, after all, human, not a god. She could sense Chengqian's growing authority and occasional impatience; she could perceive the overly enthusiastic praise and ulterior motives surrounding Qingque; and she could see her brother Wuji's (Changsun Wuji) growing anxiety about the court and Chengqian's governance. She attempted to reconcile the situation, explaining Chengqian's position to the emperor, privately admonishing Qingque to remain virtuous, and having deep conversations with her brother, hoping he could assist the new emperor with a more tolerant attitude.
But the river flowed swiftly, and hidden reefs gradually appeared. She began to suffer from insomnia, and often felt a tightness in her chest. The imperial physician said it was due to excessive worry and stagnation of qi and blood. She knew the cause of her illness. She saw the vast chessboard quietly unfolding, with her sons as pawns, and she saw the various forces of aristocratic families, court officials, and imperial relatives stirring up trouble within it. And she, the empress known for her virtue, found herself increasingly powerless to stop it.
She fell ill. Lying on her sickbed, her body grew increasingly heavy, yet her thoughts remained unusually clear. She reflected on her life, like a reflection in a long river, each detail vivid in her mind. She had assisted her husband in creating a prosperous era, raised her children (at least she had tried her best), and served as the empress, seemingly without any regrets. Yet why did she feel such a profound sense of powerlessness and sorrow deep within her heart?
Was it because she ultimately couldn't fully control the most turbulent tributary—the corrupting influence of power and ambition on people's hearts? Was it because she foresaw the possible fratricidal conflict but was powerless to reverse it? Or was it because her once clear and steadfast river, which had tried to nourish all things, was ultimately destined to be swept away or even submerged by a grander and more cruel historical tide?
On her deathbed, her greatest concern was for her children. With her last breath, she made them swear not to harm each other. She left Chengqian alone, trying to awaken him to the potential danger of his complex feelings for Master Wang, feelings he himself might not have fully understood. She left Qingque alone, devising a twisted but potentially life-saving "path" for him in the most straightforward and helpless way—she knew it was wrong, it violated the virtues she had upheld throughout her life, but as a mother, as death approached, her first thought was for her son's survival.
She instructed the emperor to treat her brother Wuji and all those who followed him kindly. She held Zhinu's hand for a long time, her eyes filled with boundless love and worry. What storms would this child, who resembled her the most and whom she worried about the most, face in the future?
In her final moments, her gaze fell upon Wang Yi, who had been silently watching from the sidelines, his eyes as calm as an ancient well. This mysterious woman had seen through everything, yet seemed forever detached. A strange thought suddenly flashed through Changsun Linglong's mind: perhaps, like Master Wang, being a sober and complete "observer," or even an "outsider," was a kind of fortune? At least, she wouldn't have to be caught in the middle, repeatedly torn apart by family ties, responsibilities, love, and a sense of powerlessness, until her life was completely exhausted.
Rivers eventually flow into the sea, where they may either return to calm or be swept into even greater waves.
Changsun Linglong closed her eyes. Her long river, which had strived to flow wide and gentle, attempting to nourish everything, had finally come to an end. She took with her endless worries, unfulfilled expectations, and the last trace of anxiety deep in her heart about the game of chess she was no longer able to interfere with.
She didn't know how fiercely the game of chess would unfold behind her; she didn't know how miraculously her husband would "leave"; she didn't know what similar yet different paths her sons would ultimately take.
But the long river of her life, known as "Empress Zhangsun," with its clear reflection, gentle nourishment, profound maternal love, and helpless choices, has long been deeply imprinted on the sky and land of the Zhenguan era, becoming an unmissable backdrop of that glorious era, tinged with a faint sorrow and eternal warmth.
The long river reflects the image, leaving no trace, yet it has rippled gently and resiliently in the hearts of countless people.
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