Chapter Seven: The Celebration Banquet

At this moment, the sun had already risen completely, casting golden light across the earth and bathing the vermilion Daming Palace in resplendent hues. Old Li crouched quietly at the entrance of the left inner hall, peeking out with half her head to watch the ministers already assembled and waiting inside the main hall.

Standing at the very front among the ministers, Crown Prince Li Hong happened to turn his head and caught sight of that small half-hidden face behind the screen across from him. He was momentarily astonished, a trace of puzzlement flickering in his bright eyes, unable to understand why his younger sister was there.

Noticing her brother's questioning gaze, old Li flashed an adorably sweet smile, lifted her arm, and waved at him. Li Hong instinctively glanced at Li Zhi and Empress Wu Zetian. Seeing that neither showed any particular reaction, he guessed her presence was permitted. Smiling faintly at his sister, he ever so subtly raised his wrist to return her wave.

Seated upon the dragon throne, Li Zhi seemed to notice Li Hong's small gesture and then cast a fleeting glance in old Li’s direction. He said nothing, however, instead revealing the barest hint of a doting smile.

Behind him, seated beyond a pearl curtain, was Wu Zetian herself, splendidly attired. To be honest, old Li found her appearance somewhat unsettling today. Though she wore exquisite robes and her hair was adorned with an array of ornaments, her makeup was difficult to behold. Her entire face was painted an unnaturally pale white—so much so she resembled a ghost. The rouge on her cheeks was applied thickly—calling them “monkey’s rumps” would have been an understatement. Her lipstick was not spread over her full lips, but dabbed into a tiny shape at the center, covering barely half the length of her mouth, the remainder left bare and painted white, visually shrinking her lips. On either side, near her dimples, two small red dots were added. But the most striking feature was her eyebrows: in this era, the higher the brows, the higher the status. As Empress, Wu Zetian’s were drawn extremely high—the latter half of each brow seemed covered with something else, while the front half arched steeply upwards. Yes, just like Kaguya—the final boss in that anime, Naruto—her slender brows had been transformed into two thick black stubs. Old Li found this makeup so strange that she felt goosebumps rise. It wasn’t exactly ugly, she thought, but rather unnatural, more like a doll than a living person. Perhaps it was simply a matter of differing beauty standards across eras; in any case, old Li knew she would never paint her own face like that.

Still, seeing this style, old Li nodded inwardly, guessing that the makeup of Japanese geishas likely originated from this tradition.

Just then, Zhang Chengxin, standing to Li Zhi’s side, flicked his horsetail whisk and announced in a loud, clear voice: “Summon—the Grand General of the Liaodong Expedition, Li Ji; the Deputy Grand General, Liu Rengui; and the General of the Left Martial Guard, Xue Li, to appear—”

In the stillness of the grand hall, his voice echoed powerfully. Three figures, their beards already turning white but their steps still strong and steady, entered from outside, approaching the tall dais where Li Zhi was seated. They raised their arms and bowed deeply.

“Your subjects, Li Ji (Liu Rengui, Xue Li), greet Your Majesty!”

The Tang dynasty did not require kneeling except on the most solemn occasions, such as the Winter Solstice, New Year, or major sacrifices.

Li Zhi beamed. “Rise, my loyal ministers! This great victory is thanks in no small part to your invaluable efforts!”

As the three men modestly exchanged courtesies, old Li quietly observed them. The one in the center was certainly Li Ji—now in his seventies, yet still robust and full of energy, his voice strong and unwavering—truly a veteran of countless battles.

But the other two she could not distinguish, so she tugged gently at Eunuch Fu’s sleeve and whispered in his ear, “The one in the middle must be General Li. Who are the other two?”

Eunuch Fu replied in a low voice, “Your Highness, on the left is Lord Xue, on the right Lord Liu.”

Old Li poked her head out for a better look. On the left was the legendary Xue Rengui! Even someone with only the barest knowledge of history would have heard tales of him since childhood. Meeting the real man now, she felt a surge of excitement. His beard and hair were already streaked with white; he was burly, somewhat shorter than Li Ji and Liu Rengui, but appeared much more valiant, with a rugged face that marked him as a formidable man.

On the right, Liu Rengui seemed far more genial, almost scholarly in demeanor. He did look a little older than Xue Rengui, with most of his hair and beard turned white.

Next came the tedious business of work reports, which did not interest old Li. She slipped away quietly with Eunuch Fu. As long as the celebratory banquet at noon wasn’t delayed, she was content. For now, she planned to visit the Palace of Concubines.

In recent days, old Li had often gone there every few days to chat with her two elder sisters and pass the time. She never lingered long—half an hour or so each time.

Lady-in-waiting Liu had received no orders from Wu Zetian, knowing this little princess was favored, so she assigned the two princesses the lightest of duties: simply supervising the other maids at their tasks, never having to do any work themselves.

Over time, the three girls became quite close. Seeing old Li arrive, Princess Yiyang smiled and swept her up into her arms. “Chen’er, with the army returning to the capital today, why aren’t you at the banquet and have come here instead?”

“I just went to the morning audience—dull as can be,” old Li replied. “I thought my sisters might feel lonely here, so I came to keep you company.”

Princess Xuancheng took her next, hugging her and shaking her gently. “Chen’er, you’re so sweet!”

Old Li grinned, pinching Xuancheng’s cheek. “You’re wonderful too, Sister. You look so much better lately!”

Yiyang flicked her hair. “Indeed, it’s all thanks to you, Chen’er!”

Freed from daily chores and with their meals improved by Lady Liu, both princesses had regained their natural beauty. Even dressed as maids, their noble bearing was re-emerging.

Old Li played and chatted with them, feeling a surge of familial warmth. “Sister, you’d better put me down, don’t tire yourself out.”

“It’s nothing. While I still have the strength, I want to hold you as much as I can,” said Xuancheng, touching her forehead to her sister’s. “In a few years, I won’t be able to lift you anymore.”

Yiyang nodded in agreement. “Chen’er’s been growing so fast lately.”

Old Li herself didn’t notice much change, perhaps because of her morning exercises. Though she now had a teacher, she continued her routine of yoga and stretching each day, as befitted someone with her background as an extreme sports athlete—if not an expert, at least a professional in flexibility and agility.

After a while, old Li took her leave, needing to prepare for the noon banquet—her current outfit was far too casual, and she had to change quickly.

Her sisters walked her to the gate of the Palace of Concubines, bidding farewell with the hand gesture old Li had taught them.

Returning to Chengxiang Hall with Eunuch Fu, old Li found her maid Xiao He ready and waiting to help her dress. Ancient ceremonial attire was extremely troublesome—not only did one have to pin all sorts of ornaments into the hair and wear conspicuous jeweled necklaces, but the wide sleeves made even standing with hands folded before the abdomen an ordeal, the hems nearly brushing the ankles. If the arms hung naturally, the sleeves would almost touch the ground. Wearing such clothes, one had to move with the utmost care—it was like being bound in restraints.

At last, noon arrived and the banquet was about to begin. But first, a more important event—the ceremony of presenting prisoners.

Li Ji had already performed this ceremony once at Emperor Taizong’s mausoleum on the march back, but today it would be held again. Old Li did not know whether such rituals in other dynasties involved executions; in this era, it depended on the emperor’s decision.

Dressed in splendid formalwear, old Li sat unmoving at Wu Zetian’s side, the perfect picture of a model child, while her four brothers could only stand among the ministers below. By now, everyone knew how favored the princess was, and it was fortunate she was a girl; otherwise, many would have harbored more ambitious intentions.

The prisoners were forced to kneel before Li Zhi, awaiting judgment. Chief among them were the three sons of Yeon Gaesomun, the powerful Goguryeo statesman. Because they had to avoid using the founding emperor Li Yuan’s name, their surname had been changed to Quan. Thus, the three before him were Quan Nansheng, Quan Nanjian, and Quan Nanchan.

Through Li Ji’s report, it was revealed that this campaign had captured 176 Goguryeo cities and over 700,000 households.

As Zhang Chengxin read the imperial edict, old Li understood the outcome. The Protectorate General to Pacify the East would be established in Pyongyang, with Xue Rengui as its head, commanding twenty thousand troops to maintain order and establish the Tang dynasty’s rule.

The king of Goguryeo was demoted to Minister of Public Works in name only, with all the privileges but no duties—essentially an honorary position. Unless some great catastrophe required his service, he would remain invisible.

The chief culprit, Nanjian, was exiled to Qianzhou; Nansheng, having rendered meritorious service, was appointed General of the Right Guard; and Nanchan, who had opened the gates of Pyongyang to surrender, was made Assistant Minister of the Imperial Butlers.

Naturally, Tang generals received various rewards as well.

To be honest, this outcome surprised old Li. She had heard before of the Tang dynasty’s openness and willingness to employ people regardless of ethnicity, but this seemed almost excessive. Nansheng had indeed rendered great service by delivering all of Goguryeo to the empire, but being made commander of the capital’s garrison seemed extraordinary.

Still, from a practical standpoint, keeping him in the capital was far safer than leaving him in Goguryeo, where he might raise another rebellion; this helped integrate Goguryeo fully into Tang territory.

But to be honest, old Li felt that if she were in Li Zhi’s position, she might not have had such magnanimity. The thought made her glance up at Li Zhi with newfound respect.

On the internet, it was often said that Li Zhi was nothing but a big baby, a dullard with no abilities, who relied entirely on Wu Zetian to hold things together. But after three years in this world and witnessing all of this, old Li swore that if she ever returned, she would post online that Li Zhi was far more capable than people claimed.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Li Zhi turned his head and smiled faintly, betraying nothing. As a father, there was a unique joy in being admired by a daughter who was his little treasure—it made his heart swell with satisfaction. He sat up all the straighter for it, almost unconsciously.

With the ceremony concluded, it was noon, and the welcoming banquet formally began. As usual, it was held in Linde Hall; ministers and foreign envoys sat below, while old Li was nestled in Wu Zetian’s arms at her side.

Such treatment, were it granted to any prince, would have instantly triggered political maneuvering among the officials. But old Li cared nothing for that—she was now ravenous, her bright eyes fixed on the wheat cakes and roast lamb on the table.

Only when Li Zhi announced the start of the banquet and took the first bite did she dare reach for food herself. In the ancient world, etiquette was strict—one could not touch food before one’s elders, lest it be considered presumptuous. Intent on earning favor and determined to be a good child, old Li would never risk embarrassing Li Zhi or Wu Zetian over such a trifle.

The wheat cake was much like the flatbread of later ages, though smaller—just a little larger than her face. With one in hand, paired with chunks of roast lamb, it was a simple pleasure.

Food in the Tang dynasty was far less varied than one might imagine. Many vegetables had yet to be introduced, and there was no stir-frying. Most dishes were steamed or boiled, meats either boiled or roasted over fire.

Li Zhi raised his cup of grape wine, clinking it lightly with Wu Zetian’s before draining it. Old Li, being so young, was not permitted wine; instead, a maid steeped tea for her. But this “tea” was more like a soup, with scallions, ginger, garlic, Sichuan pepper, cardamom, and salt added during preparation. To old Li, the taste was not unpleasant, but certainly odd.

In the grand hall of Linde, ministers chatted as they ate and drank. Palace musicians and dancers performed, while official courtesans sat beside the officials, entertaining them with conversation and wine. The scene was one of lively harmony.