Chapter 80: Li Zhi's Reckoning
When her father inquired, Li Yuechen made no attempt to conceal anything. She recounted everything that had happened the previous day in detail, including some of her own conjectures. Li Zhi and Wu Zetian sat quietly by her side, listening. The matter itself was not complicated; Li Yuechen had simply realized that the Gate Guards could not hold out and so she ran for her life. As she explained, she gestured with her hands. Wu Zetian, noticing the scabbed scratch on her palm, gently took her hand and caressed it. The usually stern expression on her face softened with a hint of concern. “Does it still hurt?” she asked.
“It’s nothing, it doesn’t hurt at all,” Li Yuechen replied with a smile.
“If you knew they wouldn’t dare to kill you, why did you run?” Wu Zetian pressed.
Li Yuechen grinned. “If I’d been captured, not only would it have disgraced the royal family, but it might also have worried Grandfather so much that he’d fall ill. I don’t want Father and Mother to worry about me.”
Wu Zetian patted her head. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you get an explanation for this!”
Good, she thought, it would be best if all those masterminds were thrown in prison and made to pick up soap! Of course, some things were best left unsaid.
Li Yuechen, ever sensible, gave a gentle laugh. “Actually, I don’t care about these things. You don’t need to go to such trouble for me. I’m grown now, and I know there are many things I can’t do as I please.”
Hearing these words, both parents looked at her with pride and relief. Li Zhi reached out, gently patting her head. “Don’t worry, Chen’er. I’m not only doing this for my daughter, but also to uphold the royal family’s honor!”
Wu Zetian also stroked her hand softly. “You needn’t trouble yourself about this, just focus on your recovery. Are you feeling unwell anywhere else?”
“No,” Li Yuechen shook her head, then suddenly looked up. “By the way, I hope you won’t punish the Gate Guards who were assigned to protect me. They did their best. And the father and son who saved me…”
“Alright, alright!” Li Zhi cut her off with a laugh. “I’ll handle it. You just rest these next few days!”
Li Yuechen nodded. “Alright!”
Her body still had not fully recovered, and after chatting for a while, she felt drowsy again and soon drifted off to sleep.
Li Zhi tucked her in, and Wu Zetian touched her forehead. She still felt a bit warm, but it was much better than the day before. Wu Zetian refreshed the damp towel on her forehead, then the couple quietly withdrew from the room.
...
In the inner hall, the couple’s earlier relief darkened into grim determination. Li Zhi reclined in his rocking chair, closed his eyes, and said, “It seems it’s time for my blade to taste blood.”
Wu Zetian asked, “Majesty, how do you intend to proceed?”
“What does Meiniang think should be done?” Li Zhi replied, pausing in his exercise with the health balls.
No one knew what the two discussed in the inner palace, but the next day, Lü Hexiang, head of the Henan Prefecture offices, along with his student, the county magistrate of Henan, were exiled.
This outcome surprised few people. After all, the princess had been attacked on their territory—she hadn’t died, and that was already fortunate.
But immediately afterwards, Liu Rengui submitted a memorial impeaching Liu Yue, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, for corruption and perverting the law, requesting a thorough imperial investigation.
The emperor approved. Liu Yue was thrown into the imperial prison, and Chamberlain Zhang Wenguan was appointed as the new Chief Justice.
At the same time, the Supreme Court, the Ministry of Justice, and the Censorate jointly interrogated him.
On that very day, Chief Justice Zhang Wenguan ordered a mass investigation of shops in both the northern and southern markets of Luoyang. Shopkeepers were detained and brought to the Supreme Court for selling counterfeit goods.
The news left many people wide-eyed with disbelief. After all, selling counterfeits was hardly the Supreme Court’s responsibility, yet the order was carried out all the same. No one doubted that the imperial will was behind this.
The shopkeepers were locked up in the Supreme Court’s interrogation rooms before they could even process what was happening. Seeing the walls lined with all manner of torture devices glinting ominously in the dim light, some still stained with dried blood, they began to tremble uncontrollably.
Zhang Wenguan leaned against the wall, picking at his nails, and announced in a clear voice, “I have no wish to waste words. Tell me—who is behind you? If you confess, your life may be spared. But if you waste my time and resist… you’ll become acquainted with every instrument you see here, one by one!”
...
No one knew exactly what transpired within the Supreme Court, but it was said the screams from the interrogation rooms continued for days without end.
Not long after, more than a dozen officials were arrested by the emperor on charges of corruption, bribery, and other crimes. The evidence was irrefutable, and they were sentenced to death on the spot!
After this series of actions, nearly a hundred people were implicated and punished because of this incident.
With one stroke, the emperor’s blade truly sent heads rolling and blood flowing.
...
By now fully recovered, Li Yuechen had returned to Anfu Hall, sitting in Linbo Pavilion, gazing absentmindedly at the verdant rice seedlings before her.
Even though she felt a pang of guilt upon hearing the news, knowing that many innocent people must have been caught up in the sweep, there was nothing she could do. After all, she was a princess, and to some extent, she represented the dignity and honor of the royal family. Those who did such things had to be punished accordingly!
Resting her chin in her hands, Li Yuechen stared up at the sky, thinking that the scent of blood would linger over the Southern Market for a long time to come...
In Tang law, death sentences varied by status. Commoners and lower officials were usually executed in busy marketplaces as a warning to all. Fifth-rank officials and above, except for rebels and the like, were permitted to take their own lives at home. Seventh-rank officials, members of the royal family, and women, unless convicted of a capital crime, were generally hanged in secret locations.
But this time, most of the offenders were to be taken to the Southern Market for public beheading.
Among her brothers, all but the eldest, Li Hong, secretly took a carriage to witness the executions. Since ancient times, it was mostly children who flocked to watch, and the Tang dynasty was no different.
Li Xian had even invited Li Yuechen to go with him, but she refused, saying she wasn’t fully recovered and needed more time to rest.
Most of those executed were strangers to her, names she’d never even heard. She understood that few, if any, among them were the true masterminds behind the incident.
This was the emperor’s warning: he was letting them know that he was not yet old, and his blade remained sharp! If only there had been definitive evidence, he would not have stopped here.
Xiao He approached carrying a small silver tray. “Your Highness, His Majesty has sent you some cherries.”
“Set them down,” Li Yuechen replied without turning, her gaze still fixed on the sky.
What she had done had offended the great families, prompting them to act against her. But Li Yuechen had no intention of stopping her efforts. Personally, as a member of the royal family, she had to consider its interests. Yet from the people’s perspective, the existence of such aristocrats was not a blessing.
They controlled vast tracts of land, wealth, and even public opinion. Even if they feigned obedience while undermining the government, it was difficult for those above to detect. And when people went hungry, it was always the rulers who were blamed, not the nobles.
Li Yuechen knew little of history, but she clearly understood one thing: for two thousand years, nearly every dynasty had ended with a peasant revolt. And why did the peasants rebel? The root of it all was simply hunger.
Most people in this era were frighteningly unsophisticated. As long as they could survive, few had the courage to rebel. The problem was not only low grain yields, but also the nobility.
If one looked at the outcomes of peasant uprisings, the reasons became obvious. Given the special tax laws of the time, peasants had to own land to survive. But when the nobles relentlessly bought up land at low prices, the amount of land available to peasants dwindled. Yet the state taxes did not decrease, so eventually people starved and had no choice but to revolt—cursing the government’s incompetence all the while.
While this view was not entirely wrong, it was unfair to place all the blame on the royal family; the aristocracy bore much of the responsibility as well.
At this thought, Li Yuechen idly traced patterns on her thigh with her finger.
The solution was simple: control public opinion so that all government policies could be effectively implemented at the grassroots level, preventing the nobles from feigning compliance. But to control public opinion, literacy had to be improved; otherwise, it was all empty talk. And to improve literacy, grain yields had to increase—only when people were fed could they devote energy to other pursuits!
With this in mind, Li Yuechen left Linbo Pavilion and crouched down by her small plot of land. The lush green field before her—perhaps it could become the starting point for changing the course of the An Lushan Rebellion?
A smile crept across her lips at the thought.
...
The next morning, Li Yuechen set out as usual for her assessment at Liu Rengui’s residence.
Her parents had not forbidden her to leave the palace because of the recent incident, but now the number of Gate Guards protecting her had been increased from twenty to sixty! Several were those who had previously guarded her. As for those who had died, Li Zhi had given compensation to their families to support them.
Li Yuechen was not particularly worried. The last attack had been the limit; and after Li Zhi’s ruthless purge, she doubted anyone would dare try again.
The carriage rolled into Jiashan Ward, where Li Yuechen instructed the coachman to enter the alley and stop in front of a tall, two-story building on the corner.
A group of black-clad men with broadswords surrounded a carriage at the door, and soon a portly middle-aged man rushed out from inside.
“I don’t know who you gentlemen are—have you come to the wrong place…?” he said, explaining as he tried to recall if he had offended anyone.
When he saw the girl in red jump down from the carriage, he was momentarily taken aback. “You are…?”
“Mind your manners!” Fulai barked, his sharp eunuch’s voice cutting in. “You stand before Her Highness the Princess—why haven’t you bowed?”
At the sound of his name, the man started, then quickly bent low. “Your unworthy subject, Zhang Yufang, bows before Your Highness! I failed to recognize you—please forgive my offense!”
Li Yuechen smiled. Names in this era were not gendered, so a man with a delicate name was nothing unusual. Still, to her, it was amusing to hear such a greasy middle-aged man called “Yufang.” Yet she said nothing, only motioning with her hand. “Rise. Do you remember me?”
Zhang Yufang straightened and answered respectfully, “Yes, Your Highness, I remember.”
“That woman—was she your wife?” Li Yuechen asked.
“She is not my wife, but a concubine,” Zhang Yufang replied.
Li Yuechen nodded. “Could you call her out to meet me?”
“No problem, Your Highness. Please come inside and wait, I’ll—”
“No need, I’ll wait here,” Li Yuechen interrupted with a wave.
“Yes, of course. I’ll fetch her immediately.” With that, Zhang Yufang hurried back inside. Soon he returned with the woman who had met Li Yuechen that day. Clearly aware now of Li Yuechen’s status, the woman bowed respectfully. “Your subject, Liu, greets Your Highness the Princess!”
Zhang Yufang hastily explained, “Your Highness, my wife is not home today and so could not come to pay her respects…”
Li Yuechen waved it off. “It’s fine. I only came to thank you for your help that day, and also…”
She paused, reached up, and removed the hairpin from her head. Her black hair tumbled down, tied into a high ponytail with a red cord.
“I took your hairpin that day, and promised to replace it with a better one,” she said, handing the hairpin to Liu. “Here, take it.”
The two were stunned. The hairpin was pure gold, intricately designed—a treasure worth a fortune among commoners!
“We can’t—” Zhang Yufang protested. “It was our good fortune to aid Your Highness; how could we accept such a reward?”
“That’s enough. If I tell you to take it, you take it,” Li Yuechen insisted.
Since she had spoken so formally, Zhang Yufang did not refuse further. He patted his concubine’s shoulder, and Liu reached out with both hands to receive the hairpin, both of them bowing together. “Thank you, Your Highness, for your generosity!”
Liu was astonished—the pin weighed nearly half a tael.
“That was all I came for today. Let’s go.” With that, Li Yuechen boarded the carriage, with Fulai following behind. Zhang Yufang and Liu bowed deeply. “Safe journey, Your Highness!”
Back in the carriage, Li Yuechen thought that with this hairpin, at least the concubine might receive a little more favor at home.
In truth, concubines in this era could never threaten the position of a wife; it was different from the imperial family. An emperor’s concubine might one day rise to be empress, but among commoners, a concubine was barely considered a person. She might even be offered to guests as a bed companion, her status no different from a servant. Even if the master loved her, the law forbade any formal marriage, and she could never gain a legitimate title or legal protection.
Li Yuechen had no objection to men keeping women, women keeping men, or any other such arrangements—they were matters of personal preference. But if possible, she would like, in the future, to persuade the emperor to amend the laws—not to make everyone equal in this age, but at least to distinguish between people and livestock.