Chapter Two: The Royal Banquet

On the other side, in the Hall of Contained Images, Li Zhi, clad in his dragon robes, was so incensed that his vertigo flared up again, and his vision blurred. He reclined on the bamboo couch by his side, closing his eyes and leaning against the Empress.

Wu Zetian reached up to knead his temples gently, her voice soft with comfort. “They’re still young, after all. There’s no need to be so upset over this…”

At that moment, a commotion of hurried footsteps sounded outside the door—someone was running this way. Already irritable, Li Zhi was about to lash out when Xiao Fu, the little attendant, burst in at a run, shouting as he came, “Your Majesty! Wonderful news, wonderful news!”

“Absurd!” Li Zhi bellowed in his anger. “What’s so wonderful?”

Sensing the tense atmosphere, Eunuch Fu, seeing Wu Zetian massaging Li Zhi’s head, realized the emperor’s illness had flared up again. Nevertheless, he dropped to his knees and bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, Your Grace, the princess has spoken!”

At these words, Li Zhi’s eyes snapped open. “What did you say? The princess spoke?”

“Yes, Your Majesty! The princess has spoken!” Eunuch Fu beamed with delight.

Wu Zetian’s face lit up with excitement. Had Li Zhi not been leaning on her, she might have leapt to her feet. “Where is Chen’er now?”

“Your Grace, she is in the Hall of Auspicious Virtue!”

Li Zhi rose at once and waved his hand. “Come, to the Hall of Auspicious Virtue!”

...

Upstairs in the Hall of Auspicious Virtue, Old Li watched the sun sinking toward the horizon, pondering what to say when he soon saw Li Zhi.

Over these years of study, he’d learned a good deal, including the variety of names for “father” in the Tang Dynasty. “Ye-ye,” “A-ye,” and, most astonishingly, even “Gege” could be used to refer to one’s father. When speaking of one’s parents to others, one generally used the term “Daren.”

Court etiquette in the Tang seemed far less rigid than on television. For instance, in private, Li Zhi rarely referred to himself as “Zhen,” but rather as “I” or “Wu.” And after three years in this world, Old Li realized that “Huang Shang” was a literary term, almost never used in daily speech.

He could well imagine the scene about to unfold. After three years of silence, given how much these two doted on him, they might well weep with joy.

Soon, amid the sound of golden-armored guards running and forming ranks, Old Li turned to see Li Zhi and Wu Zetian rushing toward him. Li Zhi wore his dragon robes, but not even his black rabbit-eared cap; he and Wu Zetian hastened over, one after the other.

Kneeling before Old Li, his face radiant with excitement and eyes brimming with tears, Li Zhi exclaimed, “Chen’er, you can speak now?”

Something deep in Old Li’s heart was stirred by that look—after decades as an orphan, such emotion was unfamiliar. She offered a sweet, innocent smile and, in a childish voice, called out, “A-ye!”

At that, Li Zhi burst into laughter. “Good! Good! Wonderful!”

He reached out to scoop her up, only to grab at thin air. Wu Zetian quickly steadied him and said, “Chen’er, your brother’s vertigo is acting up—he can’t see well. Come forward two steps yourself.”

“Yes, A-niang!” Old Li replied obediently, stepping forward into Li Zhi’s arms and hugging his neck.

Laughing heartily, Li Zhi lifted her up and spun around twice, all his earlier gloom vanishing with his youngest daughter’s first words. Old Li grinned as well and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Though partly out of genuine affection, the greater motive was the prospect of a better future. As the saying goes, “No family colder than an emperor’s.” If she wanted to be the cherished little princess, she needed to be the warm comfort that delighted Li Zhi and Wu Zetian alike.

If she played her role well, there was no doubt she’d have everything she desired!

Li Zhi was momentarily stunned by the kiss; none of his children had ever done such a thing, and he didn’t quite know how to react. But he soon laughed again, lifting his little daughter high in the air.

Old Li felt a bit dizzy but said nothing, laughing in delight.

Eunuch Fu, who had hurried after them, breathed a sigh of relief. With Li Zhi in good spirits, he surely wouldn’t be angry over his earlier impudence.

After holding her for a while, Li Zhi, feeling a bit tired, handed Old Li over to Wu Zetian to hold.

His mood clearly improved, Li Zhi turned and declared, “Announce it: Today the princess spoke her first words. A most auspicious occasion! Tonight, a banquet in the Hall of Auspicious Virtue for all the ministers!”

The attendant eunuch bowed with both hands. “Yes, Your Majesty!”

Wu Zetian looked concerned. “Your Majesty, your health—”

“No matter, no matter!” Li Zhi, in high spirits, waved off her worries.

Wu Zetian said no more, but lowered her head to stroke Old Li’s cheek. “Chen’er, call me ‘A-niang’ again.”

“A-niang!” Old Li chirped obediently.

Wu Zetian beamed. “Good girl!”

Seeing her smile and the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes, Old Li’s heart was at ease. It seemed this future Empress Regnant was quite fond of her.

Dusk had already fallen, and eunuchs were galloping off to deliver the emperor’s orders to the ministers, summoning them to the evening banquet.

Li Zhi soon scooped Old Li from her mother’s arms and carried her back to the palace to rest in preparation for the evening festivities, Wu Zetian following with a doting smile.

Back in the palace, Li Zhi finally set Old Li down. “Mei Niang, I’m weary. I’ll rest for a bit.”

“I’ll stay with you…” Wu Zetian offered.

“No need. You keep Chen’er company and talk with her.” Li Zhi smiled, shaking his head before withdrawing to the inner chamber.

Once he’d left, Wu Zetian seated herself, cradling Old Li in her lap and swinging her little hands. “Chen’er, you truly are our lucky star! Your father was nearly made ill with rage today.”

“A-niang, why is brother like this?” Old Li asked curiously.

Though she’d been silent for years, she’d overheard enough of the palace staff’s gossip to piece together a general understanding.

Li Zhi’s health had never been robust. Years ago, when preparing to lead a campaign against Goguryeo, Wu Zetian had persuaded him not to go, as his illness sometimes left him blind and required constant care—dangerous on the battlefield.

From Old Li’s observations, Li Zhi’s troubles were likely more than just vertigo; he probably suffered from high blood pressure as well. In the years before her birth, most state affairs had already been handled by her mother, Wu Zetian. Li Zhi, for the most part, merely observed, rarely intervening, focusing instead on his health.

So what could have upset him so much if he no longer managed state affairs? Had there been a defeat at the front?

At her question, Wu Zetian’s delicate face showed a trace of helplessness, her clear, melodious voice turning somber. “It’s your second and third brothers again…”

After her account, Old Li blinked her large, innocent eyes, piecing together the story.

To put it simply, there was a young man in court whom Li Zhi favored greatly—Wang Bo. Though still in his teens, he was already famed for his learning and eloquence, praised by Li Zhi himself as a prodigy of the Great Tang! Two years ago, he had served as a scribe in Prince Pei’s household, earning great favor from her second brother Li Xian.

But just yesterday, Li Xian and her third brother Li Xian had been gambling on cockfights. Wang Bo not only failed to dissuade them but even cheered them on, inspiration striking him to pen a piece titled “A Proclamation for Prince Ying’s Rooster” to enliven the contest.

Today, word of the affair reached Li Zhi, who, incensed, denounced Wang Bo as a miscreant and dismissed him on the spot!

Old Li found the story amusing. Those two fools—if they wanted to gamble on cockfights, so be it, but why let outsiders witness it? Royalty’s every move was scrutinized, prone to wild rumor and exaggeration. Not only were they shirking their studies, but they’d also gathered people for gambling—no wonder Li Zhi was so furious.

Logically, the real issue was not the cockfight, but how easily Wang Bo’s article could be twisted into a commentary on strife between Prince Pei and Prince Ying. And Wang Bo was no ordinary man, but a renowned prodigy!

Young talent is still young, Old Li mused with regret. The urge to play was too strong; perhaps Wang Bo himself never foresaw the consequences of his article.

In the end, it was all self-destruction.

Though she thought so inwardly, Old Li widened her eyes, feigning innocence as she asked, “Will my two brothers be punished by Father?”

Wu Zetian smiled. “A few days of confinement will do them good—let them reflect on their actions. They’re old enough to know better!”

She gently stroked Old Li’s head. “Chen’er, you mustn’t follow their example!”

Old Li nodded sweetly. “Mm!”

But in her heart, she grumbled—Li Zhi, getting so worked up over such a trivial matter, to the point of triggering his high blood pressure? What if something worse happened—wouldn’t he be in real danger?

Old Li resolved to spend more time with Li Zhi from now on. After all, having a father in this life was a rare blessing—she’d do her best to keep him around as long as possible.

...

That evening, Li Zhi hosted a banquet for the court in the Hall of Auspicious Virtue. The summer night was sweltering, but by the Taiye Pool, a cool breeze could still be felt.

Old Li had expected that, in this era without electricity, hosting an evening banquet would be complicated. Yet, arriving at the scene, she found the air so clear and the moon so bright that the whole palace was aglow. Countless lanterns adorned the Hall of Auspicious Virtue—so many they defied counting.

Though still dimmer than electric lights, the illumination was astonishingly bright.

Seated at the place of honor, cradled by Wu Zetian, Old Li watched as the officials below greeted the emperor and empress.

Kneeling was not the norm in most Tang ceremonies—only on grand occasions such as New Year’s Day. For a banquet celebrating the princess’s first words, bowing and saluting sufficed.

As this was not a formal event, the ministers wore informal dress rather than official robes.

One thing bothered Old Li: there were no chairs yet in this era, and the tables were low. Both emperor and ministers sat on mats, kneeling in a posture resembling that used on tatami mats. The military officials to the right mostly sat cross-legged. In the spacious corridor, palace maidens performed dances.

A band of musicians played background music, some of whom were strikingly foreign, with blond hair and blue eyes.

At this time, foreigners were all called “Hu people,” but to Old Li, whether they were Hu or officials, she recognized none of them, and could hardly tell them apart. All the adult men were bearded—shaving was reserved for eunuchs—so the hall was filled with bushy beards.

Held in Wu Zetian’s lap, Old Li ate little, most of her attention drawn to the foreign dancers among the palace maids. The palace maidens’ low-cut attire was already daring for the time, but these “Hu maidens” were even bolder, their pale calves and bellies exposed and writhing to the music like little clockwork toys.

A closer look revealed that some of the officials below were also foreigners. It was said that many foreigners served as officials in the Tang, and it was evidently true.

The ministers drank and watched the dances with easy cheer, showing none of the nervousness one might expect before the emperor.

Only the princes, seated between Li Zhi and the ministers, kept their heads down, eating quietly and sipping their wine in tiny sips—afraid Li Zhi might turn his attention their way. After all, they’d only just been disciplined and were now on their best behavior.

Old Li eyed the cup of grape wine before her, tempted to try it, but Wu Zetian would not allow it. She could only use her two plump little hands to clutch a piece of cake of unknown composition, nibbling at it.

The cake was bland to the extreme—terrible, really—and she even found a coarse grain of salt the size of a rice kernel in it.

Seeing the little princess gnawing away at a cake nearly as large as her own face, the ministers laughed heartily and showered Li Zhi with compliments.

A bunch of sycophants, Old Li thought, her face expressionless as she chewed. Did they really think she didn’t know she was pretty? Was their flattery necessary?

In the end, does appearance even matter? What truly counts is bearing!

How did that saying go?

“I am the queen—confidence is my crown!”