Chapter 5
4016words
However, the surface harmony could never conceal the undercurrents of power. I soon discovered that Prince Edward's movements beneath the court proceedings were far quicker and deeper than I had imagined. He was no longer satisfied with the small domain of the Eastern Palace; his tentacles had begun to silently extend into the deep tissues of the imperial court. Lord Benjamin, Minister William... these names started to appear frequently in the intelligence I collected. They were all capable ministers with clean reputations in court, with unyielding bones and temperaments, never easily affiliated with any faction. In the past, I had extended olive branches to them several times, only to receive lukewarm responses. I thought they were loyal only to the emperor, not to any powerful ministers, but now, these people had become regular guests at my dear nephew's Eastern Palace. Often after court sessions, instead of returning to their ministries or private residences, they would change into casual clothes and quietly take inconspicuous blue cloth carriages directly to the Eastern Palace, where they would stay for several hours.
"What are they discussing?" I caressed a newly sharpened purple-bristled brush that emitted the fragrance of pine ink, my voice revealing neither pleasure nor anger.
Kneeling before me was one of the Jingzhao Prefect's capable subordinates, also my most secretive pawn planted near Prince Edward. He lowered his head even further, his voice tinged with fear: "Your Highness, the Eastern Palace is heavily guarded, making it extremely difficult for outsiders to approach. Your servant only discovered that the Crown Prince and the two ministers, Yao and Song, mostly discussed matters of state and people's livelihood, such as... controlling the Yellow River floods, the locust plague in Hebei province, and also... the implementation of the equal-field system in the Guanzhong region."
The brush in my hand left a heavy ink dot on the fine, smooth rice paper. Here we go again with these grandiose talks of "national affairs and people's livelihood." My dear nephew certainly knows how to create a perfect disguise for himself. He is using this approach to announce to the court and officials, especially to those self-proclaimed upright civil servants—that he, Prince Edward, is the true Heir Apparent who cares about the country and the common people. While I, Princess Grace, and the Grand Chancellors behind me, are merely parasites who only know how to fight for power and use state affairs as bargaining chips. This is a more sophisticated political tactic, far more powerful than direct recruitment or bribery. What he's competing for isn't just power, but people's hearts—the moral high ground.
I felt an increasing sense of urgency, a suffocating feeling of being cornered step by step. The Eastern Palace, once merely a palace garden where the Heir Apparent studied and rested, was rapidly evolving into another power center, a political fortress capable of standing as an equal to my Princess Mansion. I absolutely cannot sit by and watch it grow stronger. Power is something that cannot be shared; once there are two suns, one side will inevitably be swallowed by darkness. I must clip his talons before his wings are fully grown, or at least, drive my own wedges into his territory.
The opportunity came soon. The position of Chamberlain of the Eastern Palace became vacant. This was a key role that assisted the Crown Prince and oversaw all affairs of the Eastern Palace, with self-evident importance. By convention, candidates for this position needed to be nominated by the Crown Prince and then submitted to the Emperor for approval. But I decided to break this convention. I wanted everyone to see clearly that even within the Eastern Palace, Princess Grace still had the final say.
On a fine and sunny afternoon, I deliberately visited my elder brother's Ganlu Palace. He was engrossed in arranging a newly tributed orchid. Upon seeing me, his face immediately broke into a smile. "My imperial sister has arrived. Come quickly and tell me what you think of this 'Beauty Under the Moon' blossom?"
I perfunctorily offered a few words of praise before steering the conversation to the matter at hand. "Imperial Brother, your humble sister has come today out of concern for the Crown Prince's affairs. The position of Chamberlain in the Eastern Palace cannot remain vacant for long. After much consideration, I believe that Wang Ju, the Secretariat Drafter, is steady in character and possesses sufficient talent for this role. May I know Your Majesty's thoughts on this?"
Wang Ju was my confidant whom I had personally promoted. Appointing him as Chamberlain of the Eastern Palace was equivalent to placing a pair of the sharpest eyes by Prince Edward's side. My elder brother had never shown much interest in such mundane court affairs. Upon hearing my suggestion, he nodded repeatedly: "Anyone my imperial sister approves of must be good. Let it be decided then. I shall issue the edict shortly."
"Brother, wait a moment," I smiled as I stopped him. "This is a significant matter concerning the Crown Prince. We should first inform the Crown Prince and hear his thoughts. It would also show that we, as elders, are considerate of the younger generation." I wanted Li Longji to personally swallow this bitter fruit and realize that resistance was completely futile.
My elder brother immediately sent someone to the Eastern Palace to summon Prince Edward for a discussion. Before long, Prince Edward arrived. He was still wearing his regular purple Crown Prince attire, standing tall with a calm demeanor. As he entered the hall, his steps were steady and his gaze composed. He first bowed to my brother, then turned to me and respectfully bowed, saying: "Prince Edward pays respects to Aunt. May I ask why Father Emperor and Aunt have summoned me?"
I picked up my teacup, leisurely blew at the tea leaves floating on the surface, and looked at him with composure, waiting to see how he would respond next. My brother relayed my intentions and finally asked, "Edward, what do you think... about Wang Ju, whom your aunt has recommended?"
I noticed that when he heard the name "Wang Ju," Prince Edward's eyelashes trembled almost imperceptibly. Yet his facial expression remained as calm as before, without revealing the slightest ripple of emotion. He didn't answer immediately, but pondered for a moment, as if seriously considering the question.
"In response to Father Emperor and Aunt," he finally spoke, his voice neither submissive nor arrogant, clear and steady, "Aunt has recommended a talented person to me, showing her deep care, for which I am extremely grateful. Mr. Wang's abilities are known throughout the court, and I also admire him greatly." He first adopted a posture of accepting this favor, which made me feel somewhat smug. It seemed he knew how to recognize the situation.
However, his subsequent words made the smile freeze on my face.
"However," his tone shifted as he turned his gaze toward his elder brother, his expression becoming solemn and serious, "According to the Tang Liudian, the Crown Prince has the right to recommend appointments and dismissals of Eastern Palace officials, with the final decision made by Your Majesty. This is the ancestral institution established by Emperor Gaozu and Emperor Taizong. As the Heir Apparent, I should strictly observe these regulations and dare not overstep them in the slightest. If the Princess Mansion directly appoints Eastern Palace officials, it may contradict ancestral traditions and cause discussion among officials and subjects throughout the realm, suggesting that our Tang Dynasty's laws are unclear. This matter is not about whether Official Wang is worthy or unworthy, but concerns the very foundation of our state. Your son boldly requests Father Emperor to reconsider."
What a "ancestral decree"! What a "foundation of the state"! He cleverly avoided direct conflict with me, and instead brought out the two mountains of Emperor Gaozu and Emperor Taizong, elevating a simple personnel appointment to the level of maintaining the national system. His words were impeccable, expressing his "respect" for me while firmly defending his bottom line, and also incidentally crafting for himself a glorious image of one who adheres to the law and prioritizes state affairs.
I could feel my cheeks growing warm. This was the first time in a direct confrontation with him that I had been so decisively refuted, and with reasons I could not counter. If I insisted further, I would become the one disrupting governance by disregarding ancestral decrees and attempting to undermine the state system. I glanced at my elder brother, only to see that his previously relaxed expression had become solemn, showing hesitation and difficulty. Though weak, he still held some reverence for the rules left by our ancestors.
"This..." My elder brother looked toward me, his eyes filled with inquiry and a plea for help.
What else could I say? I could only suppress the anger in my heart and force out a smile uglier than crying. "The Crown Prince makes a valid point. It was I who only thought of easing the Crown Prince's burden, yet almost forgot this rule. It is my fault." My voice was somewhat dry, each word seemed to be squeezed out from between my teeth.
"Aunt, you're being too hard on yourself," Prince Edward immediately bowed, his humble posture impeccable, "Aunt has the country and me in her heart, and I understand this clearly. In this matter, it was I who was too rigid about the rules, and I hope Aunt won't blame me for it."
The more he spoke like that, the more the fire of anger burned in my heart. He had won, won beautifully, and had given me all the face. Looking at his young yet composed face, for the first time I truly felt an unprecedented threat. He was no longer the nephew who needed my support to stand firmly. He had grown into a formidable opponent, a politician who knew how to use rules and righteousness as weapons.
This clash over the Eastern Palace appointment appeared like a clear crack between us, aunt and nephew, and quickly spread to every corner of the court. My Grand Chancellor faction and those Prince Edward relied upon—Lord Benjamin, Minister William, and others—began to engage in fierce confrontations on almost all governmental affairs. Court sessions were no longer occasions where my elder brother would doze off while my word was final, but had transformed into a battlefield shrouded in gunpowder smoke.
Lord Marcus proposed that to replenish the treasury, the government should strengthen the salt and iron monopoly, with all profits from minting coins and selling salt returning to the court. This was actually a good method to enrich the inner treasury and facilitate my control over financial resources. However, Minister William immediately stood up in opposition. Citing classics and historical precedents, he passionately argued that monopoly policies competed with the people for profit, which would inevitably lead to impoverished livelihoods and, in the long run, damage the foundation of the nation. His impassioned speech resonated throughout the court, earning agreement from a group of upright officials. Prince Edward quietly listened from the side, and finally remarked calmly, "What Minister William has said is truly a long-term strategy for the country and its people. The Emperor, in his wisdom, will surely make a proper judgment." With just one sentence, he positioned himself on the moral high ground of "advocating for the people."
General Richard submitted a memorial, arguing that the military system in the border regions was in disarray, with commanders wielding too much independent power. He suggested reducing the military authority of regional governors and strengthening the central Palace Guards. Anyone with clear sight could see that this was paving the way for me to take control of the military. Lord Benjamin immediately stepped forward to refute this, providing a detailed analysis of the military threats from Tibet and the Turks, emphasizing the necessity of strengthening border defenses and trusting the commanders. He warned that stripping military power without cause would easily provoke mutiny and shake the foundations of the state. His words made those military leaders who held command power nod in agreement repeatedly. In the end, my elder brother once again played the mediator, putting the matter aside "for later discussion."
Every court meeting felt like an arduous tug-of-war. My Grand Chancellors and I engaged in verbal sparring with Prince Edward and his so-called "worthy ministers" in the court hall, thrust and parry. There was no longer any pretense between us, only naked power struggles. I began to feel overwhelmed. What I relied upon was my brother's trust and my deeply entrenched connections throughout the court. Yet what Prince Edward relied upon were those intangible yet immensely powerful concepts like "public opinion" and "foundation of the state." My power stemmed from transactions and the balance of favor and fear, while his authority was built upon ideals and moral principles. In the short term, I might still be able to confront him with my numerical advantage, but over time, the hearts and minds of the people would clearly show who stood higher and who lower.
The anxiety in my heart grew wildly like weeds. I realized that I must shake his position from the roots. And those roots were the trust my elder brother Prince Robert had in him. As long as my elder brother still considered him a qualified Heir Apparent, no matter how much I suppressed him in court, I could never truly defeat him. I had to make my elder brother believe that Prince Edward was unfit to be emperor.
I began to use every opportunity to be alone with my elder brother to subtly influence him. I no longer criticized Prince Edward directly as I had before, but instead adopted a more indirect and insidious approach.
"Royal Brother, you don't look well today. Are you troubled by court affairs again?" I would sigh as if unintentionally while brewing tea for him.
"It's all about the salt and iron monopoly," my elder brother rubbed his temples with a weary expression, "Lord Marcus and his faction make reasonable points—the treasury is empty, and we truly need new sources of revenue. But Minister William and his supporters insist with equal conviction that such policies would harm the common people. Ah, I find myself truly caught between two difficult choices."
"What does the Crown Prince think about this?" I asked, feigning casualness.
"Prince Edward... naturally, he supports Minister William and his faction. He says that a ruler should govern the world with benevolence and should not compete with the people for profit."
After listening, I merely smiled faintly, handed him a freshly brewed cup of hot tea, and said softly: "The Crown Prince has a kind and benevolent heart, which is certainly good. However... the way of rulership requires both benevolence and authority; neither can be lacking. Too much kindness leads to weakness. Too much rigidity risks becoming harsh. Young Prince Edward is good in every way, except his temperament is too hasty and too unyielding. You've seen him in court, supporting Lord Benjamin and Minister William, refusing to yield an inch, with that sharp spirit so reminiscent of the late emperor. But as you know, brother, water too clear has no fish; a ruler who is too rigid, who leaves no room for flexibility in his actions, may not necessarily bring blessings to the state."
I never directly criticized Prince Edward, but rather embedded a small thorn in his character through seemingly fair judgments and a tone of "concern" for him. When I said he was "excessively forceful," I was implying that he lacked a ruler's capacity for tolerance; when I said he "does not resemble a sovereign," I was suggesting that his style of action was more like that of a decisive general than an emperor who needs to balance various interests. And my elder brother happens to be exactly the indecisive type who fears "forceful" people the most.
I said such things once, twice, three times... As the frequency increased, like water dripping on stone, my elder brother's gaze toward Prince Edward gradually underwent subtle changes. He began to complain to me privately after court sessions, saying that the Crown Prince was too domineering, not allowing him to get a word in during court meetings. He started to grow wary of Lord Benjamin, Minister William and others, feeling that these people were "forming cliques for personal gain" and only concerned with upholding the Crown Prince's authority.
I knew my words had taken effect. That thorn had already begun to sprout in my elder brother's heart.
And what ultimately tore apart that cicada-wing-thin façade of "deep affection between aunt and nephew" between us was a family banquet. That day was my elder brother's birthday, with a feast set in Xingqing Palace, inviting only our closest relatives. No court officials, no outsiders—it should have been a scene of perfect harmony. But the poison of power had already seeped into our bloodlines, and even on such an occasion, hidden tensions remained.
During the feast, my brother suddenly became animated and, pointing at a plate of freshly peeled lychees on the table, smiled and said to Prince Edward: "Edward, do you remember? You loved these the most when you were little, and always wanted your aunt to peel them for you."
Prince Edward also smiled, his smile carrying a rare touch of genuine warmth. "I certainly remember. Aunt always doted on me the most." As he spoke, he rose and personally peeled a lychee for me, presenting it on a silver plate with great respect, "Aunt, please enjoy."
In the past, this would have been a perfect picture of an aunt's kindness and a nephew's filial piety. But at this moment, in my eyes, it was merely another one of his political performances. I laughed coldly in my heart, but maintained a composed expression as I accepted it, placed it in my mouth, and said lightly: "How thoughtful of you."
The atmosphere became slightly strained following this plain response. My elder brother seemed to sense it too and hastily smoothed things over: "Speaking of which, I recently acquired a painting of 'Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River' by Gu Kaizhi from the previous dynasty. After the banquet, you should all come to my study to see it."
At the mention of paintings, my elder brother became animated, talking endlessly about the painting's origins and exquisite details. I listened absent-mindedly, but my gaze unexpectedly met Prince Edward's. His eyes were deep and calm, while mine, I'm sure, were cold and sharp.
Just at this moment, a palace maid carrying a bowl of soup accidentally tripped, causing the bowl to tilt and a few drops of scalding soup to splash onto Prince Edward's purple robe sleeve. The maid turned pale with fright and immediately knelt down, begging for forgiveness: "Your Highness the Crown Prince, please forgive me! This servant deserves to die! This servant deserves to die!"
Prince Edward merely frowned slightly, waved his hand, and said gently: "It's nothing, rise. Just be more careful next time." He didn't even spare the palace maid another glance before attendants came forward to escort him to the side hall to change his clothes.
This was merely a trivial incident, one that even showcased the magnanimity of the Heir Apparent. However, just as he turned to leave, I suddenly spoke up. My voice wasn't loud, yet it was clear enough for everyone present to hear distinctly.
"The Crown Prince truly has great composure. However, it seems the palace rules are becoming increasingly lax. A palace maid dared to behave inappropriately in the royal presence, disturbing His Majesty and the Crown Prince. If she isn't punished, others might follow suit in the future. Would there be any discipline left in this palace?"
My words fell like a stone into still water. Everyone froze. My elder brother's smile stiffened on his face, and those royal princes all put down their chopsticks, carefully looking at me, then at Prince Edward who had just reached the doorway.
Prince Edward's footsteps halted. He slowly turned around to look at me. The gentleness on his face had faded away, replaced by an icy calmness I had never seen before. He didn't look at the palace maid trembling on her knees; instead, his gaze cut straight through the splendor of the great hall, firmly fixed on my face.
"What punishment does Aunt suggest?" his voice was flat, as flat as a frozen river.
"According to palace rules, improper conduct in the presence of the emperor is punishable by at least twenty strokes of the cane and expulsion from the palace. In more serious cases..." I deliberately dragged out my words, looking at him with a cold smile, "there have been precedents of beheading."
The air in the grand hall seemed to freeze in that moment. Everyone held their breath. It was clear to all that I wasn't actually targeting that palace maid—I was using this as an opportunity, publicly challenging his authority and forcing him to take a stance. If he showed mercy, he would be seen as indulging subordinates and allowing lawlessness; if he punished her, he would appear to be following my orders, losing all face.
Prince Edward stood there silently, not saying a word. The few soup stains on his purple robe sleeves appeared particularly eye-catching. The two of us, separated by a distance of more than ten steps, gazed at each other from afar. It was no longer the gaze between an aunt and nephew, but a silent confrontation between two mortal enemies. In that moment, all the pretenses, all the false courtesies, all the secret power struggles of these years were completely torn to shreds.
"Enough!" My elder brother finally reacted, slamming his hand on the table with unprecedented anger and fatigue in his voice. "Is such a small matter worth such a great commotion? Do you think I don't have enough troubles already? Both of you be quiet!"
Prince Edward gave me one final deep look, a look that contained too many complex emotions - anger, disappointment, determination, and even a trace of something I couldn't quite understand... sadness. Then, he bowed sharply to his elder brother, and without saying a word, turned and strode out of the great hall. His straight silhouette, illuminated by the palace lanterns, appeared infinitely solitary and resolute.
I watched the direction of his departure, picked up the wine cup before me, and drained it in one gulp. The spicy liquid slid down my throat, yet did nothing to dispel the chill in my heart. I knew that from tonight onwards, there would be no room for reconciliation between us. Beneath that purple robe stained with soup, the crack had deepened to the marrow, beyond repair. All that remained was a life-or-death struggle.
