Chapter Fifty-Five: The Mid-Autumn Festival

At this moment, Li Zhi's thoughts were indeed as they appeared, and he felt both happy and proud to have such a daughter. Beside him, Wu Zetian glanced over, a gentle smile playing at her lips—she clearly knew what was on his mind. Although she usually put on a strict face before her daughter, in her heart she too was brimming with pride. After all, no matter how stern her exterior, she was still her own flesh and blood; any severity was for her own good. Deep down, she cherished her daughter dearly.

Not long after, Li Yuechen came bouncing back, with Fulai behind her, directing servants to carry several wooden buckets with a shoulder pole.

“Oh? Father and Mother are here,” Li Yuechen called out as she ran over to greet them.

“Chen’er, tell me about this poem—” Li Zhi had just started to ask when Li Yuechen interrupted him.

“Father, let’s talk later. I need to get this fertilizer into the ground first. If the smell lingers, we’ll hardly sleep tonight.”

With that, she hurriedly instructed the servants to scatter the fertilizer in the garden, then took up a hoe to turn the earth and bury it.

“You—” Wu Zetian was about to chastise her for making the emperor wait, but Li Zhi stopped her.

Li Yuechen grabbed a small trowel and began to work alongside the servants, helping to bury the fertilizer. As soon as the buckets were opened, the pungent odor spread instantly, causing everyone nearby to wrinkle their noses in reflex.

Zhang Chengxin approached and said, “Your Majesty, perhaps you and Her Majesty should wait outside. The smell is rather sharp…”

“It’s nothing!” Li Zhi waved him off. “If my own daughter can do it herself, why shouldn’t I stand here and watch?”

Wu Zetian just smiled and remained at his side to watch their daughter at work.

Xiao He quickly ran over. “Your Highness, perhaps I can help—”

“Step back! You wouldn’t know what to do anyway. Just stand aside and watch!” Li Yuechen waved her off and continued to bury the fertilizer.

It was only the end of July, and the heat was still oppressive. Soon, beads of sweat formed on Li Yuechen’s forehead. Li Zhi stood at the palace gate, idly rolling a pair of health balls in his hand, enduring the stench as he watched his daughter labor.

Fortunately, the plot wasn’t too large—just over a hundred square meters—so it didn’t take long to finish. When it was done, Li Yuechen’s hands were inevitably covered in dirt. She tossed aside her trowel, wiped the sweat from her brow, and her cheeks glowed with a healthy flush from the exercise. Then, she vaulted over the Linbo Pavilion’s fence, landed in front of Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, and thrust out her grimy hands like claws, roaring, “Awooo—!”

“Still howling? Go wash your hands!” Wu Zetian scolded, raising a hand as if to swat her.

“I’m going, I’m going!” Li Yuechen laughed and scampered off to wash her hands.

Li Zhi couldn’t help but grin, stroking his beard in delight.

Fulai rewarded the servants for their help and then reported the day’s schedule to Li Zhi and Wu Zetian.

Moments later, Li Yuechen returned, hands clean, jogging lightly.

Only then did Li Zhi crouch down and pick up the sheet of paper in his hand. “Chen’er, when did you compose this poem?”

Seeing the paper in his hand, Li Yuechen froze for a moment.

Damn, I forgot to deal with that!

Recovering quickly, she explained, “I wrote it last time I left the palace, after seeing the farmers toil in the fields. I was moved to compose it.”

Li Zhi didn’t dwell on it—after all, Li Yuechen was often slipping out of the palace, so it was nothing new.

He reached out to pat his daughter’s head, a touch of emotion crossing his face. “Chen’er, your heart holds the world. Having you is a blessing for both me and Meiniang!”

“That’s only because I have you and Mother!” Li Yuechen beamed, throwing her arms around him. “That’s my blessing, too!”

Li Zhi patted her back gently, his face full of satisfaction.

Li Yuechen then turned to Wu Zetian, arms wide. “Mother, come down and give me a hug!”

“You’re too old for hugs now,” Wu Zetian protested, but despite her words, she squatted down and embraced her daughter.

Li Yuechen nuzzled her cheek. “No matter how old I get, I’ll always be your daughter!”

With that, she planted a loud kiss on Wu Zetian’s face, making her blush as she tapped her daughter’s head with a finger.

After a bit of playful banter, Li Zhi and Wu Zetian took their leave, taking the poem with them.

Li Yuechen could only sigh—knowing Li Zhi’s temperament, he’d probably show off before the ministers at court.

Thinking it over, she resolved to skip the next morning’s assembly to avoid dying of embarrassment.

Day by day, time passed. Every couple of days, a new batch of fruit peels was delivered to the shop in the southern market. Li Yuechen assigned the servants to process them—good ones were buried in the soil, while the shriveled ones were dried in the sun, ground into powder, and then scattered into the earth.

Though she couldn’t guarantee anything, Li Yuechen felt confident that the yield of the land would increase, even if only a little. Any improvement would help the people better withstand natural disasters.

In the blink of an eye, the weather cooled and the Mid-Autumn Festival of August arrived.

The festival of this era was little different from a thousand years later: people ate mooncakes—though they were called “moon rounds”—and the fillings were mostly date paste. The only difference was in appearance; these mooncakes were shaped like various flowers, much like the decorative steamed buns of Shanxi.

As was the custom, there would also be rituals of worship, for the ancients revered the gods and held sacrifices at many festivals. As a woman, Li Yuechen was usually exempt from such events, leaving her free. But this year, Li Zhi insisted she join.

Li Yuechen asked if she could be excused, but Li Zhi made it clear: he wasn’t asking her opinion, just informing her of the decision.

Resigned, Li Yuechen reluctantly agreed.

After morning martial training and afternoon study and calligraphy, by about three o’clock Xiao He took her to be dressed and groomed for the evening.

After all, at the sacrificial banquet, not only Li Zhi and Wu Zetian would be present, but also a host of ministers. As a princess, she had to present herself properly.

It was worth mentioning that Li Zhi did indeed show off her poem “Pity for the Farmers” at court. The ministers all praised the princess for her understanding and virtue, declaring that such a princess was a blessing for the Tang Dynasty.

When Fulai returned with the news, Li Yuechen was entirely unsurprised and showed little interest, dampening Fulai’s hopes of pleasing her.

As dusk fell, the Mid-Autumn sacrifice to the Moon Goddess was about to begin. Li Yuechen, Fulai, and Xiao He arrived at Xihua Gate.

She’d originally planned to ride her tricycle, but Fulai and Xiao He stopped her.

If they’d been in Chang’an, the ceremony would have been held at the Round Altar—yes, the very one that would one day stand in the normal university campus. But in the Eastern Capital, the palace had its own altars and Daoist temples, making travel unnecessary.

Her four brothers arrived almost simultaneously. Li Hong smiled in approval. “At last, you’re not running around wild-haired today.”

Li Yuechen raised an eyebrow. “So, brothers, do I look better today or on ordinary days?”

“Today, of course!” Li Hong nodded. “This is a lady’s propriety.”

Li Xian disagreed, shaking his head. “I think you look better on ordinary days. Today, you lack your usual free-spirited air.”

“Indeed, today’s Yuechen doesn’t feel like the Yuechen we know,” Li Xian added.

“You see?” Li Yuechen turned to Li Hong. “Big Brother, look, listen! That’s a true opinion!”

“Nonsense!” Li Hong replied with elder-brotherly authority. “You’re all unreasonable!”

He turned to the youngest, Li Lun. “Fourth Brother, what do you think?”

Li Lun looked up. “All the girls I see look like this; Yuechen is different on ordinary days. So I also prefer her usual look.”

Li Yuechen gave a thumbs-up. “My three brothers have keen eyes! I’ll send you extra canned goods at year’s end!”

“You—” Li Hong, at a loss, pointed at his brothers, ready to scold.

Li Yuechen smiled. “Don’t be angry, Big Brother. Everyone sees beauty differently. You should accept other viewpoints.”

“You…” Li Hong could only shake his head in exasperation. “Come now, let’s wait here for Father and Mother.”

Soon, the ministers arrived one after another, greeting the princes and princess with bows. The siblings returned the courtesies, exchanging wishes for a peaceful Mid-Autumn.

Many of the officials’ attention was fixed on Princess Li Yuechen—after all, Li Zhi had recently boasted of her poem at court, making her impossible to ignore. The poem had already begun to spread throughout the empire, gaining renown among scholars.

Still, the influence of poetry wasn’t so immense yet; Li Yuechen had deduced that, since poets like Li Bai and Du Fu had not yet appeared, the craze for poetry hadn’t reached its peak. For now, it remained a hobby—any literate person, from emperor to commoner, might write a poem for pleasure.

Only her master, Liu Rengui, came over, smiling. “A fine poem, that ‘Pity for the Farmers’!”

“Thank you for your praise, Master,” Li Yuechen replied. “Wishing you a peaceful Mid-Autumn!”

“And you as well, Your Highness,” Liu Rengui responded with a bow.

As they chatted, Li Zhi—dressed in his ceremonial crown—and Wu Zetian, splendidly attired, arrived amidst a retinue of attendants.

Li Yuechen, her siblings, and the ministers all bowed in greeting.

Li Zhi smiled and waved his hand. “Rise.” Then, leading the ministers, he proceeded toward the altar.

By now, the sun had fully set and a bright, round moon hung in the deep blue sky, ringed by twinkling stars—a living, beautiful tapestry.

Li Yuechen stood with her brothers at the head of the assembly, watching in mild exasperation as Li Zhi and Wu Zetian recited ceremonial prose on the altar, likely not even fully comprehending it themselves.

She mused that being emperor wasn’t easy, having to perform such rituals with conviction. Perhaps that was why emperors often seemed a bit eccentric.

When the recitations ended, the moon shone even more brilliantly, and Li Zhi ordered the feast to begin.

Notably, the Mid-Autumn banquet was held not indoors, but in the grand plaza outside the hall. The ministers sat on either side, while performers from the court troupe entertained with song and dance in the center.

Perhaps Li Zhi had grown fond of these tall tables and chairs, for all the seating had been replaced with them. By now, the ministers were familiar with them, and some had already commissioned their own sets from carpenters.

As Li Zhi sat, his children and the ministers all followed suit.

Musicians encircled them, their instruments filling the air with a surround sound, as if they were at a live concert. Dancers took to the center, their movements in perfect harmony with the music.

To her surprise, the effects of the encircling musicians created a truly immersive soundscape.

The emperor and his ministers enjoyed the performances as they ate and drank, and before long, literary inspiration struck—the poets began composing verses on the spot, drinking as they wrote, evoking the spirit of “discussing heroes over wine.”

Bored, Li Yuechen sipped her sweet plum wine in small mouthfuls. She neither understood nor appreciated poetry. These banquets did little for her except induce boredom; only the silvery moon above captured her attention.

Before long, Li Zhi and the ministers, now tipsy, began to dance—a necessary part of any grand event in this era. Changing out of his ceremonial attire, Li Zhi joined the ministers in a lively dance at the center of the plaza.

He beckoned to Li Hong and the others, inviting them to join. Wu Zetian, as empress, was exempt; her dancing was reserved for the emperor alone.

Perhaps because most were in high spirits, their movements grew increasingly wild, and the entire plaza resembled a scene of riotous revelry.

Li Yuechen shook her head in mock regret, thinking that if she had a smartphone, she’d record it all and post it online with the caption: “Ziwei Palace Disco—Welcome!”

Who outside, or in the future, would imagine that open-air raves were already a tradition in this era?

Before long, Li Xian came over, wiping sweat from his brow. “Yuechen, why aren’t you joining the dance?”

Li Yuechen shook her head. “I’ll leave that to you brothers. I’ll go keep Mother company.”

With that, she rose and went to sit with Wu Zetian, while Li Xian nodded in agreement and returned to the dance.