Chapter Nineteen: Shangguan Wan’er

The lost royalties weren’t limited to just the health balls. The last time Yan Liben took the Quyuan plow for trials, after long experimentation, it proved to be extremely effective.

So Yan Liben submitted a memorial, hoping the emperor would promote this plow throughout the empire.

And, perhaps in an attempt to curry favor, he even named it—the Princess Plow.

The crux of the matter was that Li Zhi actually agreed! Smiling, he instructed Yan Liben to handle the matter personally.

To prevent him from overworking himself, Li Zhi assigned him solely to his duties as Right Chancellor. The office of President of the Court of Sacrificial Rites was handed over to a man named Yang Rifang.

Upon learning of all this, Li Yuechen could only sigh in resignation.

Princess Plow… could you possibly come up with a more awkward name? But she didn’t bother to protest—since it was a benefit to the nation and the people, the name hardly mattered.

As the days grew ever warmer, an ill omen arrived.

Li Ji had fallen ill! Gravely so—he could no longer leave his bed.

Li Zhi, on hearing the news, ordered Liu Shenwei, who served both as Chief Imperial Physician and Head of the Imperial Pharmacy, to do his utmost to save him.

After all, Li Ji was now advanced in years, and with an illness this severe, if he couldn’t recover, his remaining days were surely numbered.

But after his examination, Liu Shenwei admitted he was powerless, which plunged Li Zhi into deep sorrow.

This old minister had been a steadfast supporter; without his help in the early days, even if Li Zhi and Wu Meiniang had eventually managed to bring down Zhangsun Wuji, it would have taken much longer.

Some ministers suggested bringing in wandering ascetics from outside to try their arts, but Li Zhi refused outright.

Li Yuechen had heard bits and pieces of the reason behind this.

Not long after Li Zhi had been made crown prince, Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin, began dabbling in elixirs. Not only did he take them himself, but he also occasionally gifted them to his sons, daughters, and ministers.

At that time, a diplomat named Wang Xuance returned from India with the technique for sugar-making, accompanied by an Indian alchemist. This man claimed to be over two hundred years old, immortal, and skilled at concocting elixirs of immortality.

When Li Shimin asked him to make one, he replied that he lacked the proper ingredients and could only produce common pills for now. So Taizong had people search for rare ingredients while he himself took the ordinary pills the alchemist made—and before long, he fell ill and died.

At the time, no one attributed Li Shimin’s death to this. After Li Zhi ascended the throne, he wanted to send the alchemist home, but the man seemed to have grown fond of Chang’an, the world’s most dazzling city, and refused to leave, lingering on.

Not long after Li Zhi brought down Zhangsun Wuji, his own hereditary ailment flared up, plaguing him daily with suffering. The alchemist reappeared in the palace, trying to coax Li Zhi into taking his pills for immortality.

At first, Li Zhi was tempted, but Li Ji stepped forward and scoffed, “Nonsense! Last time I saw you, you were still a robust man—now your face is wrinkled and your hair is white. How can you claim eternal youth?”

Li Zhi found the words persuasive, and from then on, even in the worst of times, he never again entertained the thought of taking such elixirs.

So when ministers now proposed concocting elixirs for Li Ji, Li Zhi refused without a second thought.

Though heavy-hearted, he could not neglect affairs of state. With Li Ji bedridden, someone capable had to take his place.

Therefore, Li Zhi summoned Pei Xingjian back to court, appointing him Deputy Minister of Personnel.

Fearing Li Zhi might fall ill from grief, Li Yuechen spent much time each day by his side, talking and keeping him company. She even went to her brothers, urging them to spend time with their father, who was in low spirits.

Thus, Li Zhi was never left alone; there was always someone at his side, keeping him from feeling lonely.

Li Yuechen’s efforts bore fruit: Li Zhi noticeably grew closer to his children than usual, even the two daughters born of concubines, whom he usually treated with cold indifference.

Yet things rarely go smoothly for long. In June, a sudden torrential rain struck Jizhou, flooding fields to a depth of over ten feet and destroying nearly five thousand hectares of farmland.

Then in July, a severe drought afflicted nineteen prefectures of Jiannan Circuit, leaving nearly four hundred thousand households in peril.

The court dissolved into heated arguments, but no one could offer a satisfactory solution.

Returning to the Hall of Prolonged Reflection, already in a foul mood, Li Zhi lost his temper and overturned his desk in a fit of rage.

As the saying goes, the emperor’s wrath brings rivers of blood.

Now, in his fury, everyone around Li Zhi was cowed into silence, not daring to provoke him.

This oppressive atmosphere in the palace only made Li Zhi’s mood even worse.

Hearing all this, Li Yuechen grew anxious as well. In this era, with such low grain yields, disaster relief was no simple matter.

Although she dared not speak rashly, she felt she had to try—perhaps, as a child, she might spark some inspiration with a naive suggestion.

She didn’t expect to solve the problem, merely to calm her father. Otherwise, he might truly fall ill.

The next day, Li Yuechen went as usual to keep Li Zhi and Wu Zetian company.

Now, aside from herself, only Li Hong dared approach; the other siblings were too afraid of incurring their father’s wrath.

Li Yuechen leaned on the couch beside Li Zhi, noticing that he wasn’t even turning his health balls anymore. After some thought, she finally spoke: “Father, why have you been so unhappy of late?”

Li Zhi sighed, stroking her head. “If you could tell me how to end this famine, then I would be happy.”

Propping her chin up with both hands, Li Yuechen blinked. “For the famine, could we not transport grain from neighboring prefectures?”

Li Zhi shook his head at this childish suggestion. “But if the neighboring prefectures are left without grain, how do we solve their problem?”

“Then transfer from their neighbors as well?” Li Yuechen asked.

“If we do as you say,” Li Zhi replied, putting down his health balls, “wouldn’t we go all the way to the sea? What about the people living on the coast?”

“Can they not fish?” Li Yuechen suggested.

At this, both Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, who had been shaking her head with a wry smile, paused and exchanged glances.

With a deep intake of breath, Li Zhi looked up. “This…”

Wu Zetian nodded. “This method is imperfect, yet it could be tried. If done cooperatively, and the fish are smoked over charcoal, they could be transported long distances.”

The two began discussing the feasibility of this idea.

This was the best solution Li Yuechen could offer as a child; it sparked new thoughts for both Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, and could be seen as her small contribution to the disaster victims.

She did not linger, but withdrew after excusing herself.

Still, she understood well that this idea could hardly address the era’s food shortages completely.

To truly solve the problem, grain yields must be increased.

But as for hybrid rice… all she knew were those two words. As for how to actually develop it, she had no idea!

And in any case, this was not something a child could tackle.

Li Zhi summoned many ministers to the Purple Hall to discuss the matter.

Li Yuechen’s proposal was sound in theory, but implementation would be extremely complicated, requiring coordination across many prefectures. In an age of difficult communication, it was no simple matter.

Still, the idea could be adapted: directly fish the sea, smoke the catch, and transport it to the disaster areas, while each passing prefecture contributed a share of grain. This could ensure the bare minimum for relief.

Moreover, sea fish could help supplement salt in the diet—a practical benefit.

Li Yuechen strolled to the edge of the Taiye Pond, watching the breeze ripple the water, while her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Even if she knew little of history, she was aware that most chronicles focused on emperors and ministers, while the lives of common people were hardly mentioned.

No wonder people said, “Regardless of rise or fall, it’s the people who suffer.” Such was the mark of the feudal era.

Even in the mighty Han and Tang, there remained distinctions of high and low, noble and base.

With a sigh, Li Yuechen shook her head, resolving not to dwell on such matters until she grew up.

She was already caught in the vortex of power; securing her own safety came first.

If she could just survive until one of her brothers became emperor, her life would be secure. As a princess of mature years, so long as she didn’t court disaster, no one could touch her.

For now, she thought, best to find something to occupy her before adulthood.

But what?

As an extreme sports enthusiast, Li Yuechen was an authority on “play”—parkour, motocross, surfing, skiing, rock climbing, wingsuit flying—there was little she hadn’t tried.

Unfortunately, in this era, all those things were out of reach.

Perhaps, she mused, she should learn the amusements of the age: chess, calligraphy…

Wait—writing? Of course! She could write stories!

During her childhood in the orphanage, unable to afford amusement parks or the like, she had found her only entertainment in mythological and martial arts novels—especially “The Investiture of the Gods” and “Journey to the West,” both of which she’d read dozens of times.

Li Yuechen clapped her hands. “Come, Xiao He, let’s go write some stories.”

Of course, she couldn’t expect to do all the writing herself. A long novel would be exhausting.

“Your Highness,” Xiao He said awkwardly, “I… can’t read or write.”

“Oh…”

Li Yuechen was not surprised. When she was young, Eunuch Fu had taught her to read and write, so she’d assumed Xiao He could as well.

But there was no way to have Eunuch Fu do it—though he was her attendant, he was responsible for many palace affairs and was neither particularly busy nor particularly idle.

With that, Li Yuechen waved her hand and headed toward the Palace of the Maidens.

Upon arrival, Stewardess Liu greeted her. “Greetings, Your Highness! May I ask if there is anything you require today?”

“Stewardess Liu, are there any palace maids here who are literate?” Li Yuechen inquired.

Stewardess Liu thought for a moment, then nodded. “There is a Madam Zheng, originally the daughter of a disgraced official, skilled with both brush and ink.”

“Summon her here.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Stewardess Liu agreed and quickly departed, returning shortly with a woman of about thirty years. Though dressed in palace maid’s garb, the woman still carried the air of a great family.

Her face, though tired and unadorned, radiated a natural dignity.

She came forward and bowed deeply. “Greetings, Princess.”

“Are you literate?” Li Yuechen asked.

“I am, Your Highness,” Zheng replied, head bowed.

Li Yuechen nodded. “I intend to write some stories. Stewardess Liu, I will be taking her with me.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Assigning a palace maid to a princess required no formalities at all.

Just as she was about to leave, Zheng bowed again. “Your Highness! I have a young daughter, still small—may I bring her with me?”

Li Yuechen was surprised—the Palace of the Maidens had children?

But she nodded. “You may.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. Please wait a moment!” Zheng bowed and hurried off to find her daughter.

Watching Zheng’s retreating figure, Li Yuechen let out a deep sigh.

Who would have thought a palace maid in the royal Palace of the Maidens would still be raising her young daughter? Life must be unimaginably hard. In such a neglected place, bullying must be common.

Before long, Zheng returned, holding the hand of a little girl, both hurrying along.

From a distance, the girl seemed to be about the same age as Li Yuechen, dressed in a palace maid’s gown and looking rather thin.

Yet her bright, lively eyes were striking. She hid behind her mother, peering timidly at Li Yuechen.

“Hurry now, pay your respects,” Zheng urged, giving her daughter’s back a gentle pat. Together, they bowed. “Greetings, Your Highness!”

The little girl imitated her mother’s bow, with utmost decorum.

Li Yuechen found her rather endearing. She stepped forward and stooped down. “Raise your head.”

The girl looked up shyly, her gaze a mixture of apprehension and fear.

“Do you have a name?” Li Yuechen asked.

In this era, girls rarely had personal names; they were usually called by their family name or by their birth order and “daughter.” For example, Li Yuechen, being the second daughter, would be called “Second Daughter Li” in a commoner’s house. Royal princesses were often named after their titles.

The little girl was clearly nervous, but replied in a tender, childish voice, “Your Highness, my name is Wan’er—Shangguan Wan’er.”

Ah! Wasn’t this…?

Li Yuechen recalled that her mother’s secretary after ascending the throne was called Shangguan Wan’er.

So she was born a palace maid’s daughter?

Well, it was of no consequence to her.

Nodding, Li Yuechen waved her hand. “Come along.”

On the way back to the Hall of Fragrant Harmony, Li Yuechen frequently glanced at Shangguan Wan’er trailing beside her mother.

No matter what, a child so young had surely suffered enough in the Palace of the Maidens. Since fate had brought them together, she might as well lend a helping hand.

Besides, this was to be the future Empress’s right-hand woman—a good relationship would surely make the future smoother!