Chapter 31 Wang Yi, who never succumbed to depravity
All the women Li Shimin encountered—whether it was the virtuous and upright Empress Zhangsun, the gentle and submissive concubines, or even those impersonators who mimicked Wang Yi's appearance and temperament—shared one thing in common: their inner world, emotional attachment, and even their future were all built around him. He was their heaven, the absolute master of their honor and disgrace. This complete dependence and belonging certainly satisfied the emperor's supreme desire for control, but over time, it inevitably became a "taken-for-granted" background noise, lacking continuous stimulation and challenge.
Wang Yi, however, was completely different.
In Li Shimin's increasingly clear perception, Wang Yi was like a beautiful and mysterious iceberg floating on the sea. He could see the captivating brilliance of her wisdom above the surface (her strategy to pacify the northern frontier), her pitiful vulnerability (her frailty and miscarriage), and the occasional emotional ripples she stirred because of him (her tender responses). He thought he was conquering her, getting closer. However, every time he thought he had reached her core and wanted to completely incorporate her into his world, he would always feel an unfathomable, icy distance at his fingertips.
This sense of distance was not a cold rejection, but an inner, unassimilable wholeness. Her joys and sorrows seemed not entirely dependent on him; her decision to stay or leave seemed to involve considerations he could not comprehend; deep within her soul, there remained a realm he could never enter, or even fully comprehend. There was no reverence for imperial power, no thirst for favor, only an almost detached calmness and autonomy.
From a psychological perspective, Li Shimin's obsession with Wang Yi far exceeded mere lust or ordinary affection; it was a heightened investment born from the frustration of a thwarted need for cognitive closure. Li Shimin was accustomed to controlling everything and obtaining clear answers (cognitive closure). Wang Yi's "incomplete conquest" became an unbridgeable gap in his cognitive landscape. To eliminate this discomfort (cognitive dissonance), he would invest even more attention, emotion, and resources in trying to "decipher" her, only to become increasingly entangled. Secondly, it was a projection of his ideal self: Wang Yi's wisdom, composure, and autonomy, transcending the constraints of her time, were, to some extent, a reflection of Li Shimin's inner "ideal self"—a being unbound by worldly ethics, capable of transcending the mundane through absolute wisdom and power. To love her was, in a sense, to love the image he longed to become (but was unable to due to his imperial responsibilities). Furthermore, Wang Yi herself was the ultimate embodiment of the scarcity principle: in the Tang Dynasty's harem and even throughout the entire era, Wang Yi's "type" was absolutely rare, even unique. This uniqueness greatly enhanced her value in Li Shimin's psychological account. Other women might be able to substitute for some of each other's functions (beauty, gentleness, fertility), but no one could replace the mixed experience of "intellectual resonance" and "unattainability" that Wang Yi provided. Having Wang Yi was a contradictory unity of challenge and security. Wang Yi brought him intellectual challenges (stimulation), while at the same time, her practical assistance to his career (such as the strategy for the Northern Expedition) provided a tremendous sense of security (she was "one of his own"). This quality of being "both challenging and reliable" formed an extremely strong emotional bond.
Therefore, the more Li Shimin distanced himself and the more he sought solace in his substitute, the more his subconscious made comparisons, which only reinforced Wang Yi's "irreplaceability." His reason told him that distancing himself from her would avoid trouble; but his emotions and deep psychological needs screamed day and night for her. This internal conflict transformed his "neglect" of Qixia Garden into a tense, reversed form of attention.
Wang Yi, residing in Qixia Garden, possessed a clear-headed, almost cruel, understanding of the imperial-level psychological storm she had instigated. Her reasons for staying were far more complex than simply seeking "superior genes" or "historical observation."
Deep within her modern soul lurks an indescribable, extreme sense of excitement and desire for control, unique to time travelers.
Imagine an independent woman from the 21st century who not only personally steps into the turbulent early Tang Dynasty but also transforms the historically renowned Emperor Taizong of Tang, the founder of the Zhenguan Era—Li Shimin—into the object of her emotional and psychological struggle. Watching him become obsessed, conflicted, and tormented by her, even to some extent altering certain decisions because of her (such as a more decisive northern expedition and the way he dealt with Jieli)... the feeling of personally manipulating the strings of history and controlling an emperor of all ages brings an exhilarating experience that no modern commercial achievement or ordinary romance can match.
She knew the course of history, understood the weaknesses of human nature (especially the art of rulership), and possessed cognitive tools ahead of her time (psychology, management, etc.). In this "game," Li Shimin seemed to hold absolute power over life and death, but in reality, the asymmetry of information, the reduction in cognitive dimensions, and the ultimate confidence of "being able to withdraw from the game at any time" meant that the real, implicit dominance was firmly in Wang Yi's hands.
She meticulously calculated every move: when to display wisdom, when to reveal vulnerability, when to maintain distance, and when to offer a reward. Like a master psychologist and chess player, she guided Li Shimin's emotions and decisions while ensuring that she remained in a safe position where she could either advance (deepen the bond and gain more) or retreat (exit gracefully).
This sense of superiority—"I know what you don't know I know"—and the feeling of control—"I can influence you, but you can't truly control me"—created a kind of fascination within her for the era and for Li Shimin. This was more irresistible than simple love or ambition. The sense of accomplishment and excitement of watching a powerful ruler toss and turn for her was perhaps one of the deepest psychological driving forces that kept her in the treacherous Tang Dynasty palace.
Therefore, Wang Yi was absolutely certain. As long as she remained the same Wang Yi with a modern soul, exceptional wisdom, an independent core, and the ability to provide Li Shimin with a unique and valuable experience, and as long as no other woman in this time and space could replicate this complex attraction (which was almost impossible), then Li Shimin would return sooner or later.
He may need time to reconcile with himself and navigate the pressures of social norms, but ultimately, he couldn't resist the powerful pull that drew her back to him. For him, Wang Yi was more than just a woman; she was a crucial missing piece in his cognitive puzzle, a mirror image of his ideal self, a rare and unique solution, and a perfect blend of challenge and security.
The autumn leaves of Qixia Garden fall and grow again, yet its owner remains composed. She waits not for the emperor's favor, but for the inevitable fulfillment of a psychological law, for the next climax of a drama of conquest and counter-conquest that she has long anticipated and revels in. And the male protagonist of this drama, no matter how much he struggles, will ultimately return to the psychological prison she has laid, a prison called "uniqueness and unattainability." This has nothing to do with the purity of love, but rather the inescapable trajectory of human nature and the psychology of power under certain conditions. Wang Yi is the one who set this trajectory.
Li Shimin's deliberately maintained aloofness and "equal distribution of favors" initially carried a complex sense of psychological superiority—look, I'm not indispensable to you; I'm still the emperor who can control emotions and balance the harem. My neglect of you is a rational consideration, or even…a form of punishment? Punishing you for putting me in such a wretched situation with my father, punishing you for causing me such inner turmoil and pain. Subconsciously, he might have hoped for some "unusual" news from Qixia Garden: such as Wang Yi's recurring illness, her melancholy and drastically reduced appetite, or even just her sending a letter filled with sorrow or inquiry through some channel.
However, day after day, the secret reports always read "as usual." She got up on time, ate regularly, read books, blended incense, and played chess with her mute maid, as if he, his coming and going, his favor or disfavor, were nothing more than an insignificant breeze blowing through the window, brushing across the water's surface, leaving no trace.
This extreme calm, like a fine needle, quietly pierced Li Shimin's psychological defenses built by reason and imperial dignity. Her initial relief (which didn't make her worse) was quickly replaced by a deeper unease and...loss.
Why? How could she be so calm?
Li Shimin began to fall into an almost compulsive rumination. In the dead of night, in the intervals between reviewing memorials, and when he was with the concubines who resembled her, he would involuntarily recall every little thing about his time with Wang Yi.
He recalled that day at Xuanwu Gate, when she tearfully yet resolutely uttered the words "Let's go to the Yellow Springs together," her eyes filled with an unmistakable fervor and determination. At that moment, he believed her love was genuine, more precious than life itself.
He recalled the night before the Northern Expedition, when she nestled in his arms and whispered, "I believe in His Majesty, and I believe in the people His Majesty has chosen," a gesture of unwavering trust and support.
He recalled even earlier, during those secret rendezvous, the occasional hints of dependence and responsiveness she displayed…
Were all those fleeting emotions just a facade? Were they all acts she put on to achieve some goal (like surrogacy? or seeking refuge?)? If so, then her acting skills are simply too astonishing, and her heart is simply too cold-blooded.
But if those feelings were even remotely genuine, why can she let go so easily now? As if she's detached herself completely, without a trace clinging to her? Could it be that in her heart, he, Li Shimin, the mighty Heavenly Khan, is no different in essence from those past events and objects she can so easily discard?
This realization sent a sharp pang of pain and an indescribable anger through Li Shimin. His anger wasn't directed at Wang Yi's potential "deception," but rather at a sense of loss of control—he realized he wasn't the composed giver or weigher in this relationship, but rather a passive recipient waiting for a response, even fearing complete oblivion.
The scales have tipped subtly. Before, he was agonizing over "whether or not to see her," but now he's troubled by "why doesn't she miss me?" and "what am I to her?"
On top of the ethical pressure brought about by Li Yuan's curse, the frustration of being "ignored" and the emotional unease were compounded, making Li Shimin even more anxious. A kind of childish, masculine (rather than imperial) resentment quietly began to grow.
"Very well, since you can be so indifferent as if you don't care at all, then I'd like to see how long you can remain indifferent!" Once this thought arose, it quickly took root.
He was no longer merely passively distancing himself, but began to intentionally or unintentionally convey some "stimulating" information to Qixia Garden through various channels.
He would deliberately favor a concubine who bore a resemblance to Wang Yi, and then have the Shanggong Bureau raise the level of the reward to an exceptionally high standard, even "inadvertently" letting the news reach Qixia Garden.
When discussing matters with important officials, he would occasionally mention that "a certain talented person has made great progress in his studies recently, and although his insights are immature, they are refreshing," and give him praise, thus allowing this statement to spread intentionally or unintentionally.
He would even ask the eunuch in charge of the Qixia Garden's expenses, "Has Master Wang been preparing calming incense lately? If he's missing any spices, just take them from my private treasury." His tone was caring, but given his long absence, this care seemed more like a deliberate reminder and... a subtle demonstration: Look, I remember you, but I can also choose not to come see you.
He was waiting. Waiting for Wang Yi's reaction. Even the slightest hint of displeasure, a subtle inquiry from someone else, or even a minor anomaly in a secret report like "The Immortal accidentally knocked over the incense box while blending incense today." He needed evidence to prove she wasn't truly indifferent, to prove that he, Li Shimin, held weight in her heart and could stir her emotions.
This behavior itself revealed his inner panic and uncertainty. How ironic that an emperor who had just pacified the Turks and whose power shook the world needed to test the heart of a woman in the inner palace in such a way, and how true it reflected his "psychological disadvantage" in front of Wang Yi at this moment.
He was playing a dangerous game, viewing Wang Yi's "composure" as a challenge and escalating his own "coldness" into a gamble, betting that she would eventually care and be the first to yield. He failed to consider that this gamble, from the very beginning, might have been set with rules that made it difficult for him to win—because Wang Yi's confidence didn't stem from the power struggles within the harem. Her calmness originated from a deeper strength and a more detached perspective.
Meanwhile, in Qixia Garden, Wang Yi listened as the mute maid relayed the turbulent news from outside using simple gestures and glances. A knowing smile deepened on her lips. She knew that Yu'er's heart was completely in turmoil. This psychological game was steadily progressing in the direction she had anticipated. Li Shimin's "sulking" was precisely a manifestation of his deeper emotional investment and greater psychological dependence. The more he tried to prove that she cared for him, the more it proved that he cared to the point of needing constant reassurance.
Should we continue to ignore him and let his anxiety fester even more? Or... should we give him a subtle, imperceptible response at the right time, so that he doesn't feel utterly hopeless and might go to extremes (even an emperor's love and hate can be extreme), while still keeping him interested and guiding him to "come back" at the pace we've set?
Wang Yi gently stroked a cool jade paperweight on the table, his eyes flashing with calm calculation and a hint of mischievous interest befitting a time traveler. This emotional and psychological tug-of-war with the First Emperor of All Time was becoming increasingly interesting.
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