Chapter Twenty-Nine: Uncle Is Dying

Military physicians diagnosed that Zhang Guangfu, the commanding general tasked with quelling the rebellion, suffered multiple contusions across his entire body, a herniated lumbar vertebra, and a shattered nasal bridge that had left his face disfigured. He was in a state of unconsciousness, unable to issue any orders.

The turn of events was abrupt. The handsome Minister Cen Changqian temporarily assumed the role of commander-in-chief, convening a council of civil and military officials at the central camp to discuss how best to explain this incident.

The guards of the central command tent, as eyewitnesses, testified that the culprit was a drunken captain. General Quan Ce had tried in vain to restrain him, and the final blow delivered by the captain’s elbow was likely an unconscious act.

Cen Changqian sat cross-legged on the couch, his expression one of extreme impatience. “Since that is the case, apprehend the offending captain, submit his name in a memorial, and request Her Majesty the Empress’s judgment.”

“Minister Cen, I must disagree,” said Qu Chongyu, his face as calm as still water, though a keen glint flashed in his eyes. “While General Quan may have acted unintentionally, he was nevertheless one of those involved in this disturbance. Furthermore, assembling a crowd to drink alcohol within the army is itself an offense. We cannot simply gloss over these matters and place the entire blame upon a mere captain. Such action would not silence the murmurs among the ranks, nor would it inspire confidence at court. I urge all present to consider this carefully.”

He turned and bowed to Quan Ce, who sat just below him. “General Quan, merit is merit, and fault is fault. I am forthright by nature—please do not take offense.”

Quan Ce returned the salute with a cold chuckle in his heart. If you were truly forthright, you would not be so calculating. “General Qu speaks the truth. I have been wanton and reckless in my actions, and brought harm to the commander-in-chief. I am deeply ashamed and unworthy to claim the leading merit. At Guochang Town, it was Lu Jiong of Fanyang who cut down the enemy’s detachment and seized their banner. At Ruyang, it was Zheng Zhong of Xingyang who was first over the ramparts and broke open the city gates. I have done nothing to deserve such honors.”

Lu of Fanyang? Zheng of Xingyang? Qu Chongyu’s face darkened, his thick eyebrows drawing together. “It seems General Quan’s officers are all heroes. Their names should indeed be inscribed in the rolls of merit, but the question of who receives the foremost honor must be reconsidered.” He thought to himself that these scions of noble houses were not qualified to claim the highest merit; a mention in the records would suffice.

“There is no need for such trouble,” Cen Changqian interjected, his expression even gloomier than Qu Chongyu’s, cutting through the confusion like a sharp blade. “General Quan has relinquished his claim in light of his fault. The highest merit shall be awarded collectively to the entire Capital Imperial Guard. Of them, Zheng Zhong shall be ranked first, Lu Jiong second, and General Quan will take the third place.”

His narrow gaze swept across Qu Chongyu’s face. “There is no need for any of you to be impatient. In the days to come, there will be ample opportunities for you all to lead troops into battle.”

Quan Ce felt a sudden chill in his heart. There seemed to be a deeper meaning behind these words. Was another conflict brewing?

Qu Chongyu, unable to press further, glanced to the side. A lieutenant colonel of the Left Martial Guard objected. “Minister Cen, the order of merit has never been determined by numbers alone. Since General Quan declines the highest honor, it should fall to General Qu as the second in merit.”

“Indeed,” another agreed. “After the suppression of the rebellion, the Prime Minister commanded the eradication of all remnants. General Qu’s achievements were outstanding, with tens of thousands beheaded. He deserves the highest honor.”

Cen Changqian sneered but said nothing.

From among the civil officials came a reaction. Di Renjie spoke angrily. “Minister Cen, I, Di Renjie, governor of Bianzhou, along with the governors of four other provinces, intend to jointly impeach Vice Minister Zhang Guangfu for using his position as commander-in-chief to amass wealth, abuse his power, slaughter the innocent, and mismanage military affairs, causing our forces heavy losses. His crimes are not lesser than those of Li Zhen. What is your opinion, Minister?”

Di Renjie’s words seemed to suck the heat from the many braziers in the command tent. Each general calculated in silence. The master of the hall had changed; was the tide about to turn?

“Prime Minister Zhang may have his faults, but at this moment, it is not convenient to impeach him,” Cen Changqian hesitated, then refused. He had never gotten along with Zhang Guangfu, but the man was bedridden with injuries. To impeach him now would be inhumane.

With a wave of his sleeve, Cen Changqian rose and strode toward the exit, raising his voice as he went. “Gentlemen, with the rebellion quelled, disputes over drunken assaults and the order of merit are unending. I shall submit the matter to Her Majesty for judgment. Issue my command: the army must be fully assembled within two days. Once the Empress grants permission, we shall immediately return to the capital.”

With those words, he was gone.

“General Quan, do you dare to lie drunk for thirty thousand rounds again?” Di Renjie called out in jest, his spirits greatly lifted now that he no longer bore the burden of the people’s suffering. Whether Quan Ce had struck Zhang Guangfu intentionally or not, he was deeply grateful to this young general, who was not only a man of virtue but also an extraordinary character.

“Please don’t mock me, Governor. I have lost the leading merit and now bear blame. My heart is heavy. If I become too distraught, I might have to get drunk and give you, the governor of Bianzhou, a beating as well—which would be a disaster indeed,” Quan Ce replied, venting his pent-up frustration but feeling much better.

Di Renjie laughed heartily and, taking Quan Ce by the arm, left the tent together.

Qu Chongyu, having failed in his scheming, looked displeased. With a wave of his large hand, he summoned his officers, but Zhao Liu and the others strode off on their own, ignoring his call.

Back in his own tent, Quan Ce’s smile faded. He had received a letter from Quan Zhong: an imperial edict from Empress Wu. On New Year’s Day, there would be a grand banquet at the Temple of Ten Thousand Spirits, attended by envoys from all nations. All officials of fifth rank and above, as well as every prince and noble from across the land, were commanded to gather in Chang’an to pay homage.

The edict had been issued to the empire on the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month. Today was already the thirteenth—seventeen days remained. His uncle was doomed.

Eastern Capital, Luoyang. White Horse Temple.

Xue Huaiyi was dead drunk. The broad plaza before the Buddha was buried deep in snow, stretching white and endless. He tilted back his head, pouring wine down his throat, then tumbled from one end of the square to the other and back again, rolling in the snow.

Today, he had gone to Chang’an to visit Empress Wu, who granted him an audience and summoned him to her bath chamber. Yet, in less than half the time it took for a stick of incense to burn, he had spent himself, earning only her wrath. Before his very eyes, she called in Shen Nanmiao. For over half an hour, the two cavorted together in the flower-petal-strewn hot springs, Empress Wu’s cries of pleasure cutting into his heart.

He remembered how, in the past, he could have lasted just as long. But then, he was merely serving her, secretly thrilled by the danger and excitement. Now, it was different. That ever-youthful, proud, and upright figure was branded into his soul.

Love, after all, is a battle between man and woman. The one who falls first is always the one most deeply wounded; and the faster it happens, the more heartless the other becomes.

“Her Majesty grows ever more bewitching, ever more exquisite,” Xue Huaiyi muttered, lying on his back and grinning foolishly as he pressed a wine jar to his face. The sound of gurgling echoed, wine spraying out and drawing strange patterns in the snow.

“Ahem, truly my disciple—none of these scholars are any good; best to beat them all to death,” he rambled, forgetting that his own disciple was well versed in both pen and sword.

Daming Palace, Hall of Cherished Delight.

Several palace maids attended Empress Wu as she dressed, while Emperor Ruizong Li Dan knelt by her side, his face full of filial devotion, though his eyes kept darting about.

Empress Wu perused the memorials on her desk and smiled softly. “Dan, what is your opinion of Quan Ce?”

“He is somewhat talented, but rather willful,” answered Ruizong, bowing his head respectfully, mouthing the same platitudes as everyone else.

She glanced at him, set aside the memorial, and pressed her hand to her forehead. Her tone was gentle. “To break a thousand with a hundred, to be first over the walls at Ruyang, to inspire the army’s spirit, to mourn the ancient battlefield, to revel in the central camp, to drunkenly assault a prime minister—tell me, which of these do I most admire, and which angers me most?”

“I dare not presume to guess Your Majesty’s heart. What I admire most is his mourning of the ancient battlefield; what angers me most is his drunken assault on the prime minister,” Ruizong replied, his face lighting up with joy. It had been a long time since his mother had spoken to him so gently.

Empress Wu only smiled, dismissing him. She gathered the memorials, and both the report of the drunken assault and the essay on mourning the battlefield were set aside. She murmured, “Such is today, such is every day. My army’s spirit...”

Her hand tightened, and a stack of reports was crumpled into a ball. They were the memorials recounting Quan Ce’s bloody charge and first entrance into Ruyang.

“Mere courage cannot accomplish great things.”