Chapter Eight: Taking a Master

At present, Li Yuechen couldn’t help but feel a sense of discomfort. Before arriving in this era, the most common praise she had read about the Tang Dynasty concerned its tolerance and openness. Yet, just how open it was couldn’t be fully grasped through words alone. Only after truly coming to this world did she begin to understand.

The customs of the Tang were indeed liberal; among wealthy and powerful families, it was perfectly ordinary for men to keep female companions and women to keep male favorites. Even relationships between men or between women were nothing unusual. To the historians of the time, such matters were mere trifles of romance, not worth recording—far too mundane. Those with idle curiosity would rather gossip about the imperial family.

The Jiaofang, established during the reign of Emperor Gaozu, had by now split into two branches. One resided within the palace as the imperial orchestra, with members whose beauty rivaled even the imperial concubines. The other, managed by the Ministry of Rites, comprised official courtesans—these were the women now seated beside the ministers, pouring wine and making merry. Most were wives, daughters, or relatives of disgraced officials or prisoners of war, all refined in at least one art—whether the zither, chess, calligraphy, or painting—and skilled in music and dance. They were expected not only to amuse but to serve in every sense.

Watching these courtesans laugh coquettishly in the arms of the ministers, Li Yuechen found herself ill at ease. Beneath their alluring smiles lay a host of emotions: bitterness and desolation from railing against fate, and a kind of wild abandon that followed their resignation to it. She felt some sorrow for the feudal system, but knew such things were beyond her power to change, so she turned her attention away from the spectacle, reaching for a piece of flatbread and some lamb to eat instead.

The drinking games below had nothing to do with her; she simply focused on finishing her meal. After a flatbread and a piece of lamb, she was nearly full. Out of habit, she picked up the crumbs from the table and ate them. This was a practice instilled by her grandfather in her previous life—he’d been strict about never wasting food, insisting that even what fell to the floor should be rinsed and eaten. She’d carried this habit into adulthood, and though she’d thought to change it in this new era, her attention was elsewhere now, so she unconsciously acted as before.

Seeing her pick up the crumbs and eat them, some of the ministers below were momentarily stunned. Even Emperor Li Zhi turned to look, his expression darkening. For a princess to do such a thing at a banquet was indeed disgraceful, as if she were perpetually deprived. He couldn’t scold her in front of the assembled ministers, so he gently reminded her, “Chen’er, if you wish for more, just ask.”

Old Li shook his head instinctively. “I’m full, Father. I simply do not wish to waste food. Every grain of rice, every bowl of porridge, comes by great effort.”

At these words, Li Zhi raised his brows. Even Wu Zetian, who had also felt embarrassed, lowered her head in surprise, glancing over at her daughter.

Then Li Zhi burst into laughter, startling Old Li, who turned in confusion. The assembled ministers and princes also looked up, wondering at his sudden mirth.

“Well said! Very well said!” Li Zhi laughed, lowering his gaze. “Minister Xu, did you hear what the princess said?”

Apart from the crown prince and a few other princes, Minister Xu Jingzong, who sat closest, rose and answered, “Your Majesty, the princess said, ‘Every grain of rice, every bowl of porridge, comes by great effort.’ I heard her clearly.”

Sitting beside Wu Zetian, Li Yuechen was momentarily bewildered—she nearly slapped herself. Why had she said that aloud? It was something she’d learned in school, perhaps from a textbook, and only that line had stuck with her. If Li Zhi questioned her further, what would she say? And why ask Xu Jingzong of all people?

Though she was still young and not well-versed in court politics, she knew Xu Jingzong’s reputation. He was a powerful figure, greatly trusted by both Li Zhi and Wu Zetian—one of only two officials permitted to ride a carriage into the inner palace. His rank was formidable: Chancellor, Grand Master of Ceremonies, Imperial Tutor to the Crown Prince, and supervisor of the national histories. If he were to add her words to the official records, would the textbook’s original author someday feel as though he’d lived in her shadow? Old Li mused.

But no one cared what she thought at that moment. Li Zhi was evidently in high spirits and, before the assembled ministers, asked, “Chen’er, what prompted you to say this?”

All eyes turned to her. Feeling awkward, Li Yuechen blinked her large, innocent eyes, quickly considering her answer. She needed to avoid embarrassing the emperor, but not be so precocious as to draw suspicion.

After a moment’s thought, she stood and bowed formally, striving to look serious. “I have recently been reading our histories and learned that after droughts and locust plagues, grain harvests are often poor and many people go hungry. Therefore, I believe we must always cherish our food and not waste it.”

She refrained from grand rhetoric—after all, she was only a three- or four-year-old girl. This answer didn’t arouse suspicion; rather, it brought smiles of satisfaction to both Li Zhi and Wu Zetian.

“Your Majesty, the princess is compassionate and kind—a true blessing to the Tang!” Xu Jingzong offered praise, and the other ministers followed suit, lauding the princess’s virtue as an omen of prosperity.

Old Li was mortified, nearly rolling her eyes at the chorus of compliments. She did nothing, however, but wiped the crumbs from her mouth.

As the ministers’ flattery grew, Li Zhi’s mood lightened further. “Chen’er speaks wisely; her words should be promulgated. Is there any reward she desires?”

Old Li almost blurted out her wish to free her two elder sisters but checked herself. To make such a request before the court might seem like coercion if Li Zhi refused. So she simply blinked her dark eyes and smiled. “I’d like to wait until we’re home before I decide.”

“Very well!” Li Zhi agreed with a laugh, stroking his beard and raising his cup. “My loyal ministers, today the princess’s words have brought fortune to the Tang. Let us drink together!”

As the ministers resumed their feasting, Li Yuechen sighed in relief—she had muddled through.

…

After the banquet, Li Zhi kept Liu Rengui behind and summoned him to the Purple Emperor Hall. There, Li Zhi and Wu Zetian sat on the dragon throne as Liu Rengui knelt respectfully before them.

“Minister Liu, you have rendered great service in pacifying Goguryeo. I intend to appoint you as Pacification Commissioner of Liaodong, to work with Minister Xue in organizing the Andong Protectorate. What say you?” Li Zhi asked, seemingly at ease.

Liu Rengui hesitated, then bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, I am nearly seventy and my health has declined these past years. I beg Your Majesty to allow me to retire and enjoy my remaining days in peace.”

Li Zhi and Wu Zetian exchanged a glance, smiling subtly. Then Li Zhi replied, “Minister Liu, not long ago, Chen’er told me she wished to learn martial arts. The empress said you are a master of both civil and martial pursuits. Since you wish to retire, why not take this chance to teach Chen’er? It will occupy your time and keep you active.”

Liu Rengui was momentarily stunned. Looking up, he saw both Li Zhi and Wu Zetian smiling with a hint of hidden intent. He realized that refusal meant no retirement—he’d likely end up working in the Andong Protectorate regardless.

He bowed again. “It would be my honor to instruct the princess in martial arts. But I must warn Your Majesty—training is arduous and can bring injury…”

“No matter; if Chen’er cannot endure it, she may return,” Li Zhi cut him off.

Liu Rengui pursed his lips—clearly, there was no escape from this task. Still, he thought, she’s just a little girl. She’ll never withstand such grueling practice for long. If she gives up herself, it will be no fault of his.

With this in mind, he bowed once more. “In that case, I shall do my utmost to instruct the princess.”

…

Meanwhile, Li Yuechen made her way to the Bureau of Attire, specifically the Wardrobe Office. Today, she’d inadvertently uttered a phrase that might end up in the historical record, which could make Li Zhi and Wu Zetian think she was growing up. She couldn’t let that happen—she needed to prove with action that she was still a child, her parents’ darling little girl.

Her usual antics might have lost their effect; she needed a new strategy. The Wardrobe Office, in charge of all courtly garments and accessories, housed the best tailors in the empire.

When Li Yuechen arrived with Eunuch Fu, a tailor in his forties hurried over and bowed. “Greetings, Your Highness!”

“Rise,” she said, waving her hand. “Tailor, I’d like your help making a garment. May I see your selection of fabrics?”

“Of course, Your Highness. Please follow me.”

She followed him into the storeroom and began to browse. In her past life, she’d once bought a dinosaur-themed pajama suit, but people here would have no idea what a dinosaur was. A bear would do—so long as it looked cute.

The key elements were simple: a loose, one-piece design; ears; and eyes. The cut was no trouble—the tailors were skilled. For the ears, she’d have them use pink fabric for the inner lining and make them rounded. As for the eyes, she’d have to find two oval wooden pieces and paint them herself. Cartoonish eyes wouldn’t be difficult, even for someone of limited artistic talent.

She wandered around the storeroom. Naturally, there were no modern fabrics here, but real fur would suffice, with white cloth stitched on the belly. Once satisfied with her selections, she asked for paper and ink, sketched front and side views, and handed them to the tailor. “Can you follow this?”

The tailor nodded after looking over her drawings. “Yes, it can be done. But, Your Highness, what about the eyes?”

“I’ll paint them on the wooden pieces and have them glued with fish glue. I’ll bring them tomorrow with Eunuch Fu.”

“Understood!”

There were no zippers in this era, so they’d use traditional toggles instead. After a brief discussion, they estimated the garment could be finished by midday tomorrow if they worked quickly.

Li Yuechen nodded and left with Eunuch Fu. Once outside, she turned and cautioned him, “You mustn’t tell Father or Mother about this. I want to surprise them by wearing it tomorrow.”

Eunuch Fu hesitated but, seeing no harm, agreed respectfully, “As you wish.”

Not long after she’d returned to Chengxiang Palace, Zhang Chengxin arrived. “Your Highness, the emperor summons you. Please come with me to the Purple Emperor Hall.”

“All right!” Li Yuechen replied with her childish, sweet voice and followed him.

Upon entering, she saw Liu Rengui kneeling respectfully to the side, with Li Zhi and Wu Zetian on the throne. She ran straight to them with open arms, crying, “Father! Mother!”

Her lack of formal greeting was nothing new to Li Zhi and Wu Zetian—after all, they doted on her. While their sons always bowed first, Li Yuechen simply threw herself into their arms, indifferent to ceremonial propriety. She understood that physical closeness deepened bonds, and that much of the intrigue in royal families stemmed from excessive ritual.

She’d always disliked the phrase “treat each other with the respect of guests,” believing it had no place between spouses or between parents and children. Whenever she saw her parents, she’d play with them or climb onto their laps, always careful not to annoy them—she knew when to stop. This approach had endeared her even more to Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, who indulged her in all things, even the bending of social conventions.

“All right, Chen’er, enough mischief,” Wu Zetian said, her expression unusually stern. “Did you not wish to study martial arts? Go greet your teacher.”

“Yes!” Li Yuechen replied, approaching Liu Rengui and bowing deeply. “Li Yuechen greets her teacher!”

“Oh, please, Your Highness!” Liu Rengui hastily rose, “I cannot accept such a bow from a princess!”

Li Zhi, smiling, waved it off. “No matter. Even a princess of the Tang must honor her teachers.”