Chapter Sixteen: The Lantern Festival

The seven-day holiday for the New Year ended quickly, and the busy days at court resumed as before.

During the holiday, a huge pile of memorials and official documents had accumulated, leaving Wu Zetian with a pounding headache. Li Zhi, now severely nearsighted, could barely distinguish between man and woman five meters away, and couldn’t even tell people apart from animals at ten meters. Though he spent every day with Wu Zetian, in truth, he merely sat beside her, acting as company while she reviewed petitions. Even during court sessions, he listened rather than participated; all real decision-making was left to his wife.

Perhaps it was the difficulty of adjusting after the holiday, but Wu Zetian’s mood had clearly grown irritable these past few days.

Li Yuechen, however, was in excellent spirits, for she was looking forward to the next festival: the Lantern Festival.

In previous years, she had always celebrated the Lantern Festival inside the palace because she was too young. But this year, she planned to climb the ramparts of the Imperial City and gaze out over Chang’an during the festivities.

She’d seen directors’ imaginings of the Lantern Festival in various films and television series, but now she had the chance to witness it for herself.

After asking Steward Fu and Xiao He, she learned that tangyuan—sweet rice balls—already existed in this era. But instead of being boiled, they were deep-fried, much larger than their future counterparts, and not yet considered an essential part of the festival.

She would have liked to wander through the city and celebrate among the people, but she knew it was impossible. Even if her mother, Wu Zetian, allowed it, she would inevitably be surrounded by guards of the Imperial Guard, making her identity all too obvious.

So rather than be stared at in Chang’an, it was better to watch from the ramparts.

On the night of the Lantern Festival, there was no curfew. From morning, simple stages were already being constructed along the wide avenues. Carp streamers and variously shaped lanterns were prepared to shine brightly in the evening.

As Li Yuechen lowered the carriage curtain after leaving Lady Rongguo’s residence, she saw the carp streamers and suddenly craved fish.

In the Tang Dynasty, because the imperial family’s surname was Li, eating carp was forbidden. The law was strictly enforced in the reign of Emperor Gaozu, but much less so by Emperor Taizong’s time. By Li Zhi’s era, as long as one didn’t loudly proclaim a desire to eat carp, it was quite normal to enjoy it discreetly with a few friends.

Li Zhi was well aware of this, but he didn’t interfere. Li Yuechen found it reasonable; after all, the Sui Dynasty didn’t ban lamb, did they?

She’d once read online that a Ming emperor forbade pork because he was born in the year of the pig; to live in such times would be truly pitiful.

By the time she returned to the palace, the sun was nearly set. She hopped down from the carriage and headed straight for the Hall of Yan Ying.

Inside, her mother Wu Zetian sat at her desk, brush in hand, reviewing memorials. Li Zhi was beside her, idly playing with a pair of health balls. Opposite him sat Liu Shenwei, also turning a pair in his hands.

When Li Yuechen entered, Li Zhi smiled and beckoned her over, “Chen’er, come to your father.”

She trotted over. “Greetings to both elders.”

Then, turning sweetly, she smiled, “Greetings, Uncle Liu.”

“Greetings, Your Highness. Thanks to the princess, I am well!” Liu Shenwei replied with a smile.

Li Zhi reached out and lifted his daughter onto his lap. “According to Master Liu’s tests, this device you made truly alleviates illness!”

Liu Shenwei offered a gentle compliment, “The princess is innately intelligent—a blessing to our Great Tang!”

Li Yuechen blinked her bright eyes, “I only didn’t want Father and Mother to be overworked.”

“Good, good!” Li Zhi fondly patted her head. “Chen’er is thoughtful and proper! I am much comforted!”

Wu Zetian, watching her daughter, looked increasingly pleased. Hearing Li Zhi praise her, she, too, could not hide her gratified and proud smile.

After a few words with Liu Shenwei, he took his leave.

Li Zhi stroked his beard and asked, “Since you have rendered such service, what reward would you like?”

At the mention of a reward, Li Yuechen instinctively thought of an imperial pardon token. That way, if she ever made a fatal mistake, she might yet survive. But she quickly recalled her principle never to overreach, and stopped herself.

Her wide, innocent eyes darted. Then, with a hint of uncertainty, she looked up, “Any reward at all?”

Li Zhi waved his hand grandly, “Any reward you wish!”

“Then, since today is the Lantern Festival, may I ask Father to take us to the city ramparts tonight to watch the lanterns? Both elders, my four brothers, and two sisters—the whole family together.”

As she spoke, she silently apologized to her two sisters: Sorry! I didn’t mean to use you—it’s just necessary to keep up appearances.

Li Yuechen knew well that Li Zhi treated his illegitimate children with cold indifference, as if they were promotional add-ons. Her two sisters were also reluctant to face him, always feeling awkward and ill at ease.

But she had no choice. Her aim was to maintain her image as kind and dutiful, and to awaken, as much as possible, the emperor’s sense of familial affection—for her own sake.

Coming from a civilized society, Li Yuechen was deeply averse to kin slaying kin.

One had to admit, emperors who survived bloody storms were generally capable men, more likely to create an era of prosperity—like Comrade Li Er of Taizong’s time, or the Ming’s Yongle Emperor and the Qing’s Yongzheng Emperor, names still lingering in memory. But to forge a competent emperor at such a price was too cruel.

Though she retained memories of her past life, here she was still bound by blood to her brothers and sisters. If possible, she wished to avoid such tragedies.

Li Zhi was surprised, though not shocked, by her request. “Is that all?”

She nodded. “That’s all.”

“Very well! Granted!” Li Zhi agreed at once.

Li Yuechen nodded, then started to play around with him.

That was enough. As for the pardon token, that could wait.

...

After sunset, Chang’an grew unusually lively.

Crowds walked between the city wards, chatting about the various paper lanterns on display. At this time, lantern riddles and poetry pasted on lanterns were not yet in vogue. Most people wandered from ward to ward, admiring the lanterns and buying snacks.

Many Hu people wore masks and flamboyant, strange costumes, leaping and dancing in the streets like shamanic performers.

Those with a little money would arrange for a beauty from the Pingkang Ward to accompany them for a stroll, a drink, and perhaps more, depending on the night.

Many scholars gathered at the taverns, occupying tables by the windows, drinking and composing poetry. There were many such groups, filling the upper floors of the city’s drinking houses. Not only men, but also women formed literary societies, coming out to play together on such nights.

Normally, Chang’an was quiet after dusk, but tonight the city buzzed with noise.

When Li Zhi arrived at the ramparts with his wife and children, the sounds of the city below drifted up: cries of vendors, laughter, and cheers all mingled together. Though the words were unclear, the atmosphere was relaxed and jubilant.

Among the children, only Li Yuechen was held in Li Zhi’s arms, so her small stature could take in the brilliant view of Chang’an.

Her black, luminous eyes reflected a city illuminated by countless candles. She seemed astonished.

So this was the glorious Tang—the stories had always been imagination until now.

Seeing it with her own eyes, she had to admire the spirit and wisdom of the ancients. Even if tonight’s Chang’an was modest compared to the lantern-flooded cities of a thousand years hence, the unique festival atmosphere moved her to smile.

It was a genuine sense of awe and pride—her first feeling that perhaps coming to this era was not such a bad thing after all.

...

Li Zhi had brought his family to watch the Lantern Festival without prior announcement or fanfare. There was no public commotion; they simply strolled along the ramparts, taking in the lively scene below.

The Imperial Guard watched the surroundings with vigilant eyes, as if dreading a sudden arrow from the dark.

Though it was now deep in the night, Chang’an only grew more boisterous. Drums and gongs sounded, men and women danced in the streets, their movements spontaneous but their faces radiant with joy.

Held in Li Zhi’s arms, Li Yuechen laughed aloud. In this era, the distance between strangers seemed so much less than in the future.

Suddenly, she caught sight of a lone white snowflake drifting down.

Startled, she looked up at the night sky. “It seems to be snowing.”

The others followed her gaze. Against the black sky, white snowflakes began to fall.

People in the city noticed too—a woman in her twenties caught a snowflake on her palm, watched it melt, then looked up into a flurry of falling snow.

A louder cheer rose from the streets; the dancers spun faster, energized by the snow.

In the taverns, young men and women smiled and promptly suggested composing poems with the snow as their theme.

Li Zhi pulled his sable cloak wide, wrapping Li Yuechen inside. “Chen’er, are you cold?”

“Not at all!” she shook her head. “You both must take care instead.”

Wu Zetian smiled sidelong, “Don’t mind me—you two can look after each other.”

Oh dear, was that a hint of jealousy? Could she be envious of her own daughter?

Li Yuechen glanced back. Her mother had tilted her head, gazing at the city, cheeks slightly puffed.

Li Zhi, struggling not to laugh, turned and held open the other side of his cloak. “Meiniang, will you walk with me?”

Wu Zetian glanced over, but quickly looked away without moving.

Li Zhi raised his brows at his daughter, then moved to his wife’s side, draping his cloak over her shoulders and drawing her in, his arm wrapped around her as they continued their stroll.

Wu Zetian rolled her eyes but said nothing, her feet keeping pace with his.

Li Yuechen finally couldn’t hold back; she buried her face in Li Zhi’s shoulder, laughing in silence, her shoulders shaking.

Li Zhi walked on, his left arm holding his daughter, his right arm around his wife. The Imperial Guards all discreetly turned away, even stepping back a couple of paces.

Her four brothers and two sisters exchanged surprised glances. Only eldest brother Li Hong looked complicated, reflecting that if the censors at the Court of Remonstrance saw this, they’d surely have a field day.

Seeing her daughter’s face buried in Li Zhi’s shoulder, Wu Zetian asked, “Chen’er, what’s so funny?”

“Ahem... I’m not laughing,” Li Yuechen quickly lifted her head, forcing a solemn expression.

Wu Zetian was not letting her off so easily. “Oh? Then why behave so?”

“Well... It’s just—the sight of the snow... moved me... deeply...” Li Yuechen stammered for a plausible excuse.

She knew Wu Zetian probably wouldn’t mind being teased, but by the standards of propriety, this was quite serious.

Wu Zetian raised an eyebrow, “If that’s so, why not compose a poem to express your feelings?”

“I...” Li Yuechen felt awkward. Though she’d read the Classics of Poetry, she’d never really enjoyed them. Poetry and she did not get along.

She realized her mother wasn’t truly upset—just in a playful mood, teasing her for fun. After all, if you’ve nothing better to do, you might as well tease your child.

But Li Yuechen had no intention of admitting defeat. Determination shone in her eyes.

Wu Zetian looked relaxed. How much poetry could a four- or five-year-old possibly compose? Not everyone could be a prodigy like Wang Bo or Luo Binwang.

Li Yuechen thought for a moment, then recited in her childish voice, “One flake, two flakes, three and four; five, six, seven, eight come more; nine, ten, eleven snowflakes fall...”

As the lines fell, Li Zhi grinned and Wu Zetian’s brow arched, as if to say, “Just as I expected.”

Behind them, Li Hong covered his face, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“And all within the palace wall, they’re gone, seen no more at all,” Li Yuechen finished her verse.