Chapter Forty-Three: A Strange Order

As he spoke, Li Zhi’s expression resembled that of a sulky child, making Wu Zetian smile despite herself.

“Zhinu is the sage of Great Tang. Tell me, who under heaven could surpass Zhinu in excellence?”

“But... but I don’t care! In any case, I absolutely forbid anyone from coveting my daughter!” Li Zhi declared angrily.

Wu Zetian covered her mouth and laughed softly. “Would Zhinu truly bear to see Chen’er live alone all her life?”

“This...”

For a moment, Li Zhi was at a loss for words. “Let’s wait until Chen’er grows up before we talk about it!”

Seeing him so tongue-tied, Wu Zetian could not help but laugh out loud.

Standing guard at the door, Zhang Chengxin heard the laughter from inside. He glanced around and drove the surrounding servants farther away.

...

Elsewhere, Liu Rengui, having left the palace, mounted his horse and rode homeward, deep in thought.

The emperor had asked him to test the princess—what could be the true meaning behind this?

Was it, as he had guessed, a desire to cultivate the princess into a leader of armies?

After all, there was precedent for Tang princesses leading troops into battle.

Liu Rengui shook his head at the thought. He knew well that Li Zhi was an emperor unafraid to break tradition—more so even than the late emperor.

Thus, the matter was surely more complicated than it appeared.

He recalled that Li Zhi’s health had declined, and most affairs of state were handled by the empress. The empress had reached her position through the emperor’s personal guidance.

This raised an important issue: whether in the previous Sui dynasty or the present Tang, both dynasties’ emperors were heavily influenced by the northern culture, and were not averse to women being visible and influential.

Take Emperor Wen of Sui, for example; many of his policies were indistinguishable from those of Empress Dugu.

Strictly speaking, Sui had two emperors: one on the throne, and another operating from the shadows.

The current emperor and empress mirrored this pattern—indeed, the empress had officially stepped forward to rule.

Li Zhi’s actions, then, could very well be for the sake of the crown prince’s future.

Speaking of Crown Prince Li Hong, every courtier could not help but praise his benevolence and filial piety—he seemed destined to be a good emperor!

But being a good emperor does not necessarily mean being a wise ruler; there were still gaps in his judgment.

With this in mind, the emperor’s intentions became clearer.

As a minister, one must always ponder the emperor’s will to endure at court.

Liu Rengui understood this deeply, which was why he considered the purpose behind the emperor’s actions.

...

In Anfu Hall, Li Yuechen handed the hoe to Xiao He and dusted her palms.

Shangguan Wan’er brought over a basin of water for her to wash her hands, asking curiously, “Your Highness, what do you plan to plant here?”

As she washed, Li Yuechen shook her head. “Nothing! This year, we’ll just nurture the soil.”

Afterward, before Shangguan Wan’er could hand her a towel, she watched Li Yuechen casually shake her hands and pat them against her clothes.

Then, with her half-damp hands, she tidied her slightly disheveled hair.

After lunch, Li Yuechen sat at her desk, brush in hand, writing and sketching.

Curious, Shangguan Wan’er crept closer, peeking over her shoulder to see what she was writing.

Li Yuechen heard the footsteps but didn’t bother to respond, her attention focused on the paper before her.

Shangguan Wan’er craned her neck over Li Yuechen’s shoulder and saw notes listing calcined gypsum, plant ash, fresh cow manure, and other ingredients.

Intrigued, she asked, “Your Highness, what are these?”

“Things that might increase grain yields,” Li Yuechen replied as she scratched her head. “But I’ve forgotten the proportions—seems something’s missing...”

She scratched her head as she thought, and soon her neat hair was in disarray.

Xiao He, entering from outside, called out, “Your Highness, you should tidy your hair!”

“Mm.”

Li Yuechen agreed, deciding it was better to set the matter aside and do something else to clear her mind.

After her hair was brushed, Xiao He instinctively prepared to style it into a small bun, but Li Yuechen refused.

“Find a red cord—just tie a simple braid,” Li Yuechen commanded.

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“Understood!”

Though this was hardly in accordance with palace etiquette, as the emperor’s favorite daughter, Li Yuechen’s wishes were to be obeyed.

Nearby, Shangguan Wan’er asked, “Your Highness, why do you favor red?”

She liked it, that was all—why should there be a reason? Her former sponsor had always used red as their main color.

Li Yuechen smiled. “It’s festive—it lifts my spirits.”

Xiao He brought a red cord and tied a simple ponytail as instructed.

Li Yuechen looked at herself in the polished bronze mirror, then waved to Shangguan Wan’er. “Come, today I’ll take you to see the Workshop Bureau!”

As a palace maid, Shangguan Wan’er was not allowed to leave the inner palace. In theory, the women of the harem—whether concubines or maids—were all the emperor’s, and could not freely interact with outsiders.

But with the princess leading, it was another matter.

Shangguan Wan’er was delighted, rising to follow Li Yuechen.

Li Yuechen walked with her ponytail swinging rhythmically behind her. Several palace maids saw this and, while bowing, wondered at the princess’s casual appearance.

Li Yuechen paid them no mind, leading Shangguan Wan’er out of the inner palace and into the Workshop Bureau at the imperial city.

Seeing the princess arrive, Supervisor Wang came forward with a smile and bowed. “Greetings, Your Highness. Are you planning to commission some new device today?”

“Yes!” Li Yuechen nodded. “Please, Supervisor Wang, summon the carpenters and blacksmiths.”

“Certainly! Your Highness, please follow me.” Supervisor Wang gestured for her to enter.

Inside, he invited her to sit, and had someone serve a cup of yogurt.

Soon, he brought in a crowd of blacksmiths and carpenters.

These craftsmen were now familiar with the princess; after bowing, they stood awaiting her instructions.

“This time, I need two items—one purely wooden, the other requiring your joint effort.”

Li Yuechen produced a small wooden block to illustrate. “The first is a wooden plaque of this size—one hundred thirty-six in total! The designs to be engraved will be delivered tomorrow.”

Handing the plaque to a carpenter, she continued, “The second is a tricycle, requiring cooperation between you all...”

She was not seeking a cargo tricycle—the issue of chains would stump everyone in this era.

What she wanted was a children’s tricycle driven directly by the front wheel, with no chain required.

Li Yuechen took paper and brush, sketching as she explained, gesturing energetically, until they finally understood what she wanted.

“Do you all understand?” Li Yuechen asked.

“We understand!” the craftsmen replied.

Li Yuechen nodded and gave them a thumbs-up.

The craftsmen, unsure of its meaning, copied her gesture.

Leaving the Workshop Bureau, Shangguan Wan’er was still curious. “Your Highness, does that tricycle really require neither horses nor pushing—will it move on its own? Surely it’s a Daoist artifact?”

“Not at all...” Li Yuechen shook her head, laughing as she explained, “Although it doesn’t need pushing, you must pedal—it still requires effort.”

At the same time, she wondered whether it would be possible to create a chain in this era.

Even the greatest craftsmen could not forge identical parts—for humans are inherently inconsistent.

But if a simple machine tool could be developed...

Not to mention a motorcycle—if a bicycle could be made, it would be a leap beyond imagination.

Then again, even if a bicycle could be produced now, it would scarcely resemble her mountain bike of a millennium later.

Li Yuechen shook her head regretfully at the thought.

...

Back in Anfu Hall, she instructed Xiao He to have someone water the barren garden soil, then returned to her desk to ponder the ingredients and proportions for chemical fertilizer.

Meanwhile, in Renshou Hall, Li Zhi handed two books to Zhang Chengxin. “Deliver these to Chen’er, and tell her that all my children must read them.”

Zhang Chengxin agreed and promptly took the books to Li Yuechen.

Wu Zetian, seated opposite, filled his teacup. “Is this really the best approach, Your Majesty? Why not teach her personally?”

Li Zhi smiled, relaxed, rolling his health balls in his palm. “Chen’er is especially talented and self-disciplined—she’s well-suited to self-study.”

“You are truly at ease!” Wu Zetian laughed as she filled her own cup.

“All these years, Chen’er has always managed on her own—why shouldn’t I be at ease?” Li Zhi raised his teacup and gently clinked it with hers.

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When Li Yuechen heard from Xiao He that Zhang Chengxin had come with deliveries, she went to greet him at the door.

“Your Highness, the Sage has said that all his children must read these books!” he said, handing over two volumes—one a folded classic, the other a scroll.

“Thank you, I understand.” Li Yuechen smiled as she accepted them. “Thank you, Master Zhang!”

“You’re too kind!” Zhang Chengxin replied with a smile. “Then, Your Highness, I’ll take my leave.”

“Very well.”

Li Yuechen responded, then glanced down to see what books had been sent—so long as it wasn’t the Three Obediences and Four Virtues or the Four Books and Five Classics.

Looking down, she saw the folded classic was “The Golden Mirror”.

She had read this book as an infant, not knowing what it was at the time, but now she understood—it was written by the late Emperor Taizong.

She then opened the scroll; as soon as she unrolled it, the words “The Imperial Model” leapt out!

Heavens!

Li Yuechen’s hand shook, nearly dropping the scroll. She quickly called out, “Master Zhang, wait!”

“Hmm?” Already at the door, Zhang Chengxin turned, flicking his dust whisk. “Your Highness, is there another instruction?”

Li Yuechen’s expression was complicated. “Did Father really say all his children must read these two books?”

Zhang Chengxin nodded slightly. “The Sage said so, indeed.”

Hearing this, Li Yuechen nodded dazedly. “Thank you, Master Zhang!”

After he left, she returned to the hall, mind racing with questions.

What was this about? Wasn’t “The Imperial Model” reserved for the Crown Prince alone? What did it mean to have all his children read it? Had he lost his mind?

Li Yuechen was tempted to march straight into Renshou Hall and confront Li Zhi: “It’s only been a few years since the Xuanwu Gate incident! The ghosts still linger above Great Tang, watching you! Have you forgotten?!”

No—there must be a purpose behind the emperor’s actions. She had to think carefully.

Taking a deep breath, Li Yuechen calmed herself, sat cross-legged at her desk, and began to ponder.

First, she recalled that her mother, Wu Zetian, had surely read both books.

Li Zhi was not a pedantic man; he wasn’t bound by tradition and was adept at breaking convention.

Thus, his motive for having the children read “The Imperial Model” could be interpreted differently.

What exactly? She would have to read it first.

With that, Li Yuechen opened the scroll.

It was, as ever, without punctuation and written in dense classical prose—she dared not have Zheng transcribe it, nor allow anyone near her without permission.

It was for their own good—if they caught sight of the contents, they might lose their heads by morning.

The text was indeed lengthy; Li Yuechen read from mid-afternoon until dusk before finishing.

“Hoo—”

When she finished, she carefully rolled up the scroll and let out a slow breath.

Her first impression was that there was too much content to digest at once.

But essentially, it was less an emperor’s manual and more the distilled life experience of a great monarch.

Looking back, Li Zhi’s aim in having his children read it might well be to prevent another Xuanwu Gate tragedy.

The entire book described what an emperor should do, conveying that ruling was not as easy as it seemed.

If considered from that angle, perhaps Li Zhi wanted his children to understand that being emperor was no simple matter—and not something to vie for.

But then, why include his daughters? Wouldn’t it suffice to have his sons read it?

Li Yuechen realized she, as a daughter, could not fathom her father’s mind—truly, the emperor was worthy of his title.

A profound and inscrutable emperor is the mark of greatness!

As for the book itself... she should read it more often when she had time. Since he had ordered all his children to read it, why not gather her two sisters as well? He hadn’t forbidden the illegitimate children, after all!

Moreover, Li Yuechen felt that since he had made it available to all, he no longer cared about distinctions between legitimate and illegitimate offspring. At least recently, Li Zhi had become much kinder to his two illegitimate daughters.

And since he had sent the books, he must have considered this—and, since he hadn’t specified, he must have tacitly approved.

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