Chapter 34 Li Shimin's Favoritism
The sudden illness that swept through Qixia Garden was like a red-hot branding iron, searing through the thick callus of "concern" on Li Shimin's heart. Watching Wang Yi writhe and murmur in his delirium amidst the high fever, and finally, in that fragile moment, grasping his fingertips, something hard inside his chest shattered with a deafening roar.
It wasn't that Li Yuan's curse had lost its terror, nor that the historian's pen had suddenly become gentle. Rather, faced with the terror of "possibly losing her," those once heavy concerns suddenly felt light and airy, falling to the ground and becoming a pile of insignificant dust.
He sat alone in the darkness of the Liangyi Hall, without lighting a lamp, letting the deepening night engulf him. The eloquent pronouncements of the daytime court, the clamor and flattery of all nations paying tribute, all seemed to recede into the distance. His mind was filled with images of Wang Yi's pale face in her illness, the unconscious call of "Shimin" she uttered, and the forced calm yet undeniably dependent look in her eyes after she awoke.
"What am I afraid of?" he asked himself silently, staring into the void.
Was he afraid that future historians would add a "moral failing" to his record? But after the Xuanwu Gate Incident, the history books already vividly portrayed him as a "usurper" and a "patricide." What difference would adding an ambiguous "favoritism towards outsiders" make? It's like a battle robe already stained with blood; who would care if a single, insignificant drop of ink were splattered on it?
Fear that Li Yuan's curse would come true? Now that his father is trapped in Da'an Palace, what can he do besides cursing him with the most vicious words, wishing him no descendants and a terrible death? If the curse were truly effective, Li Shimin should have been pierced by a stray arrow on the battlefield and overthrown by his political enemies in the court long ago. Why would he be sitting on this vast empire, with Jieli Khan dancing at his feet? Those words are nothing but the desperate roar of a loser, like the mournful chirping of autumn insects, annoying to listen to, but unable to harm the true dragon in the slightest.
Afraid of criticism from the court and the public? Who dares now? Those old killers like Yuchi Jingde and Cheng Zhijie would only slap their thighs and say, "If Your Majesty likes it, keep it." Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui might frown, but they know better than anyone how "useful" she is. Changsun Wuji... his sister is the Empress, he knows better how to behave. As for those censors and officials? Let them write, let them criticize. As long as my sword is still sharp, the borders of the Tang Dynasty are still secure, and the harvest is still plentiful, their memorials are nothing more than waste paper I use to wipe the edge of my sword.
Fear of disrupting the established moral order? Li Shimin suddenly gave a mocking smile. Moral order? The established moral order? When he stepped over his brothers' corpses and forced his father to abdicate to ascend to the throne, he had already personally torn a huge gaping hole in the so-called "moral order." Now, beside this rift, for a woman whose "status is unclear," he was trembling as he tried to mend those already shattered pieces of glass? How ridiculous! She was not a concubine in the harem, not registered in the register, and not honored in the ancestral temple. Their relationship could forever remain in the ambiguous realm of "an emperor's courtesy to an extraordinary person" and "a friendship between confidants." Even if later generations speculated, it would be like looking at flowers through fog or trying to catch the moon's reflection in water—unreliable.
This realization, like a lightning bolt, cleaved through the last shadows in his heart.
Yes, he is the emperor now. He is no longer the Prince of Qin who needed to endure, yield, balance all sides, and be mindful of his father and brother's feelings. He rebelled, shed blood, and climbed to this supreme position over the corpses of his loved ones. Was it all to continue being the "greater good" Li Shimin? Was he going to continue to wrong himself and suppress his true feelings for the sake of those unseen and intangible "posthumous reputations" and "potentially unforeseen dangers" that may never occur?
What's the point of sitting on this throne?
When he was the King of Qin, the greater good he had to consider was the Li family's rule, his father Li Yuan's authority, and the position of Crown Prince Jiancheng. Now, he *is* the greater good! His will is the "greater good" that the world needs to consider! As long as he doesn't become so foolish as to neglect state affairs and levy exorbitant taxes for a woman (which he is confident is impossible), then what wrong is it to favor a woman who can connect with him on a spiritual level and provide him with great assistance? This is even his "private matter," a right he has as a "person," not merely as an "emperor."
Thinking of this, a long-lost, almost unrestrained sense of exhilaration surged from every part of his body. It was the ease of breaking free from invisible shackles, the joy of power being fully realized as freedom. To hell with looking back and forth! To hell with gains and losses! He, Li Shimin, had lived the first half of his life for his family, country, and the world, enduring for his father and brothers. In the second half of his life, he would live for himself, for what he truly wanted and cherished, and be willful once more.
Once your mindset changes, your actions will no longer be hindered.
He began to visit Qixia Garden more frequently, no longer counting the days or making excuses. Sometimes he would stroll there after court, just to drink a cup of herbal tea that she had personally prepared; sometimes he would come here when he was bored from reviewing memorials, and talk to her about the frontier military towns and waterways while looking at the huge map, even if she just listened quietly and occasionally chimed in with a word or two, it would calm his mind; sometimes he would do nothing at all, just sit in her study, watching her practice calligraphy and prepare incense, enjoying a quiet companionship like that of an ordinary couple.
The rewards became unrestrained. They were not the kind of formulaic, rationed rewards, but gifts with a strong personal touch: fresh lychees delivered by fast horse from Lingnan (simply because she had mentioned that "this fruit is found overseas, and it is sweet"); a copy of a painting by Gu Kaizhi from the previous dynasty, treasured in the imperial treasury (knowing that she loved painting); and even a batch of the finest Hetian jade newly presented as tribute was sent to Qixia Garden for her to use and carve at will.
He publicly ordered the Imperial Medical Bureau and the Imperial Household Department: "The needs of Master Wang are the same as those of the Emperor. Any negligence will be severely punished." This statement was tantamount to giving Qixia Garden an invisible, top-level protective shield.
Wang Yi's occasional seemingly "absurd" or "transcendent" insights (regarding management, human nature, and potential future technological directions) were no longer merely listened to. Instead, he would seriously consider them, even privately summoning relevant ministers to discuss or arrange trials under the guise of "I have some thoughts to share." In court, he remained the majestic and wise Heavenly Khan, but only he knew that behind some of his decisions, perhaps a gentle breeze from Qixia Garden had dispelled the fog before his eyes.
This change was clearly seen in the inner palace and felt in the court. But so what? The emperor did not indulge in pleasure, nor did he neglect state affairs; the nation's strength grew daily, and the surrounding barbarians submitted. He was merely showing special courtesy to a recluse who had "contributed to the country." Who could, and who dared, utter a word more?
Inside Qixia Garden, Wang Yi felt this favor, which was more solid and more "justified" than before, and she understood. She knew that the Li Shimin filled with inner contradictions and struggles was gone. Now, he was an emperor who had fully accepted his desires and emotions and was prepared to use his supreme power to defend this "selfishness." This was a better "cooperative environment" for her.
The spring sunshine outside the window was perfect. She smoothed out non-existent wrinkles on her sleeves, a calm, calculating look in her eyes. The obstacles were removed, the time was ripe. Now, it was time to reap the "fruits." The emperor, who had just broken free of his mental shackles and was ready to indulge in a little "whimsy," was unaware that he was stepping into a far more intricate game of chess, a game of life and inheritance played out with a sense of "willingness."
Li Shimin's favoritism extended beyond material things; he also shared imperial power with him.
One morning after court, he brought a controversial memorial about the new canal for grain transport to Qixia Garden, casually handing it to her and asking, as if unintentionally, "My dear minister, what do you think is the better or worse of the proposals put forward by the Cui and Zheng families?" His tone was as if he were merely discussing an amusing matter, rather than a national policy concerning the labor of hundreds of thousands of people and enormous sums of money. Wang Yi naturally couldn't really comment, politely declining with the excuse that she was "an outsider, unfamiliar with practical matters." However, the trust and closeness revealed by Li Shimin's actions already sent a chill down the spines of the close ministers who had overheard the matter.
This is more than just pampering; it's a form of sharing—sharing his power and vision, sharing all the wonders he can access. It's as if he's saying: Look, I possess the world, and I wish to share with you all the beauty and power over it.
Such blatant and even unconventional favoritism, if bestowed upon any fertile concubine, would undoubtedly cause an immediate upheaval in both the court and the harem. Officials would flood the palace with remonstrances, the empress's face would grow increasingly grim, and the resentment of other concubines would coalesce into poisonous arrows, potentially even implicating the empress's family and shaking the very foundations of the state.
But strangely, for Wang Yi, this almost overflowing imperial favor was mysteriously confined to a "safe" range.
The biggest reason is the diagnosis that the Imperial Medical Bureau had already confirmed and that had been "unintentionally" leaked through various channels—the Guardian of the Nation suffered severe damage to her uterus due to serious injuries and drug damage in her early years, making it impossible for her to conceive again for the rest of her life.
This "cannot have children" label acts like a highly effective firewall, dispelling most potential hostility and panic.
In the eyes of the former court officials, a woman unable to bear an heir, no matter how favored, was merely a "high-class playmate" or "special advisor" for the emperor in his leisure time. She would not threaten the position of the crown prince (Li Chengqian), would not trigger a succession struggle, and would not bring the risk of interference from the empress's relatives in politics. As long as she did not openly interfere in politics (which it seems not yet), it would be harmless for His Majesty to reward her with gifts, visit her more often, or even discuss "refined" or "mystical" matters with her. Fang Xuanling, Changsun Wuji, and others might frown privately, feeling that His Majesty was indulging too much, but they would never escalate it to the point of threatening the foundation of the state and strongly remonstrate against it. After all, compared with major events such as the northern expedition against the Turks, the reform of the bureaucracy, and the development of people's livelihood, the emperor's "personal hobby" was tolerable.
In the eyes of the concubines in the harem, Wang Yi was more like a "special existence." She had no official title (she was not a concubine), no children, and did not participate in the specific power distribution and daily management of the harem. Her favor was more like a spiritual monopoly, not a direct takeover of the other concubines' "real resources" (opportunities to serve the emperor, the possibility of bearing children, family connections). Jealousy was certainly present, especially when watching the endless stream of treasures being sent to Qixia Garden. But more than that, there was a complex, disdainful helplessness—what good was the favor? She was just a phoenix that couldn't lay eggs. What would she have left once the emperor's novelty wore off, or when she grew old and faded? Besides, there was the example of Consort Yang (now Consort Yang) being severely punished for offending the emperor. Who would dare to easily provoke this real person who was clearly cherished by the emperor, yet was "harmless"?
Empress Zhangsun was perhaps the most insightful and also the most helpless. She clearly felt her husband's emotional investment in Wang Yi, which surpassed that of ordinary concubines. It wasn't just affection, but a confidant-like dependence and spiritual sustenance. This filled her with unspeakable bitterness. On the other hand, Wang Yi's inability to bear children and his status as a recluse made it impossible for her to, and she lacked a strong enough reason, to object. Should she, as Empress, stop her husband from being kind to a "meritorious and harmless" recluse? That would only make her seem petty. She could only continue to maintain the dignity and magnanimity of an Empress, silently digesting this complex feeling, focusing more on raising her children and managing palace affairs, maintaining the superficial peace of the harem.
Wang Yi, at the eye of the storm, was fully aware of the delicate balance surrounding her. She was even somewhat grateful for the initial premise of "miscarriage and severe injury leading to infertility" (although it was false). This shield had protected her from too many open and covert attacks, allowing Li Shimin's fervent favor to continue under a relatively "safe" consensus.
She accepted all gifts with equanimity, without appearing greedy or smug. Treasures were stored away, paintings and calligraphy hung on the walls, and exotic flowers were offered—she handled them all with perfect discretion, showing appreciation without ostentation. When with Li Shimin, she maintained her unique aloofness and appropriate distance; the occasional glimpses of dependence and tenderness only made them more precious. She knew that her value lay not only in the security of being unable to bear children, but also in the continuous provision of that unique intellectual companionship and spiritual comfort. As long as this value existed, Li Shimin's favor would not fade.
At the same time, she was also calmly making use of this "safe" and favored environment. She was able to discuss various topics with Li Shimin more freely and exert influence in a subtle way; with the help of Li Shimin's complete trust, she was also using "assistive tools" from the modern era to accurately calculate her body's optimal state.
As spring deepens and the sun warms, a subtle fragrance wafts through Qixia Garden. To outsiders, it is a haven of tenderness favored by the emperor, a beautiful yet fruitless legend. Only Wang Yi herself knows that within this safe zone built on the consensus of "inability to bear children," a meticulously planned scheme for the continuation of life is quietly entering its most crucial execution phase, under the strictest protection and with the most abundant "resources." The emperor's true love is a raging fire, and she is the one prepared to extract true gold from that fire.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com