Chapter Forty-Seven: Which Sutra to Study

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In the Daming Palace, the ministers entered through the Jianfu Gate and proceeded to the Waiting Hall for Officials, awaiting the arrival of the Empress and the Emperor for court. The high officials, dressed in purple robes, entered the chambers to rest, while those of lower rank gathered in circles along the corridor. Young eunuchs bustled about with teapots, pouring tea as they whispered tidings to trusted officials. In no time, those ministers with connections within the palace had a general understanding of what had transpired during the night and early morning.

The atmosphere in the Waiting Hall grew delicate. Quiet laughter and soft conversations ceased abruptly. Those who understood the situation pondered in silence, for the news itself was not the crux—it was how to wield it, and what decisions to make with it, that mattered. Most, unaware of the details, could only watch and wait, observing their superiors for cues, while those of low status and without backing forcibly suppressed their anxiety, nervously glancing about, ever ready to follow the crowd.

The pearl curtains were drawn, the golden hall revealed the imperial carriage, phoenix-feathered fans parted, and the treasure-laden palanquin halted at the white jade steps. Three crisp cracks of the ceremonial whip echoed faintly, and the civil and military officials, arranged in ranks, stood ready.

“The Empress ascends the court!” cried a eunuch in a sharp voice, piercing the clouds. The assembly of ministers stepped onto the crimson carpet of the Xuanzheng Hall, quickening their pace as they entered.

“Your subjects pay homage to the Empress!” thundered the crowd, bowing deeply. The Emperor, as so often, was absent due to some unknown ailment; indeed, his days of good health were few and far between.

The Empress responded with a bare nod, skipping the usual formalities and not inviting the Chancellor to inquire after state affairs. Instead, she spoke directly, her tone severe. “I observe the great Way of the world. Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism should coexist without conflict, yet petty men stir up strife, insisting on distinctions and rankings. If they must compete, let them do so among themselves—why drag the innocent into their quarrels? Hanlin Scholar Quan Ce, young and talented, an outsider with no vested interests, merely spoke impartially, yet was relentlessly pressured. What are your intentions in this?”

The ministers rose from their seats and prostrated themselves, hesitating, “We are at fault, Your Majesty, we beg your mercy.” To be questioned about their involvement in the Buddhist-Daoist dispute was to be saddled with a conspicuous blame, stirring unrest. From the Empress’s words, it seemed Quan Ce’s coughing blood after studying Buddhist scriptures had hidden implications.

“We must wait and see how the wind blows,” thought each in unison, abandoning their previous strategies.

“Quan Ce is useless—rigid and stubborn. When pressed, he insists on drawing distinctions, immersing himself in Daoist and Buddhist texts, heedless even of his own life. Such reckless obstinacy—does it not bring shame to his parents, and to me as well?” The Empress vented her anger further. “Issue my command: remove Quan Ce from his post as Hanlin Scholar. Let the Northern Command’s Thousand Riders set out for the Eastern Capital under his leadership. If he cannot serve as a scholar, he shall return to his military duties. From this day forth, Quan Ce is forbidden from reading Daoist or Buddhist scriptures; disobedience will be punished by death.”

With these words, the Empress’s fury flashed across her face, thunder still rumbling. The seasoned ministers, however, soon regained composure—this was a demotion in appearance, but in truth, a covert promotion. To be made General of the Thousand Riders, a high fourth-rank position, after angering the Empress and yet receiving a two-rank promotion, was highly unusual.

“Your servant Su Weidao, Assistant Chancellor, has a memorial. Not long ago, General Quan, at a banquet, spoke disrespectfully of the Buddha—perhaps due to persecution and inner turmoil. I was fortunate to witness it myself and heard the general recite, ‘I envy the mandarin ducks, not the immortals.’ Regrettably, at that time, his mind was already weary, and he did not finish the poem. I count it a pity.” Su Weidao, unexpectedly taking the initiative, appeared to denounce but in fact cleverly reversed the narrative, silencing rumors, complying with the Empress’s wish to protect Quan Ce, and lending a hand to his favored junior. Never had Su Weidao spoken with such righteous confidence.

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“Hmph, weak will—still a mere child at heart,” the Empress dismissed the matter with a wave of her sleeve, her verdict final. Without waiting for the ministers to respond, she swiftly changed the subject, “Chancellor Cen, the Protector-General of Anxi, Tang Xiu, reports that a vassal of Tubo wishes to return to our rule. What are the details, and how should it be handled?”

Cen Changqian, still digesting the flood of information, collected himself and quickly stepped to the center of the hall. “Your Majesty, to the southwest of Tubo lie the Black and White Barbarians, occupying vast and mountainous lands, traditionally subject to Tubo. Now, a tribe in Jianchuan, known as Langqiong Zhao, whose chieftain Bang Shixi has repeatedly sent letters and grain, wishes to become a Tang vassal…”

With this, the Xuanzheng Hall returned to state affairs—military and national matters discussed at length, officials speaking with confidence, censors raising their petitions, each fulfilling their duties. Yet, in every heart, suspicion lingered: what truly lay behind the reversal of Quan Ce’s case?

As the court was dismissed in the afternoon, the officials left in small groups, returning to their offices, only to hear that another major event had occurred in Chang’an.

Monk Huifan’s ordination temple, Ximing Monastery, led by the abbot, the head of the disciplinary court, and the heads of ten halls, jointly announced his expulsion for violating the three precepts of anger, lust, and greed, neglecting Buddhist practice, and disrespecting outsiders. His status as a monk was publicly revoked, the Three Jewels reclaimed, and word sent to all Buddhist temples to refuse him shelter.

The Buddhists acted first, supporting the Empress’s narrative. The Daoists quickly followed suit: Xuandu Temple, famous for its peach blossoms, expelled Sima Huang, head of the scripture hall, stripping him of his status and forbidding him from claiming Daoist affiliation. Sima Huang, a scion of the Daoist patriarch Sima Chengzhen, was a figure of high standing—making him their scapegoat showed even greater earnestness than the Buddhists.

The incident snowballed. Wei Yuanzhong, Prefect of Luoyang, who had debated Buddhist doctrine with Quan Ce, and Zheng Huairen, Lord of Xingyang, who had posed challenging questions in the high-walled court, both submitted memorials requesting punishment.

Wu Sansi, ever adept at currying favor, even petitioned the Empress to bestow a divine title on Quan Ce, to comfort his soul and aid his recovery.

Thus, it became an unassailable fact that Quan Ce, pressured by both Buddhists and Daoists, had studied their scriptures to the point of coughing blood and nearly dying.

At the residence of Wu Chengsi, Minister of the Board of Rites, he brandished the family rod, striking Wu Yanshou’s backside hard. This time, Wu Yanshou did not resist; with each blow, he cried out miserably.

After forty strikes, Wu Yanshou’s underclothes were stained red, his breath weak. Two sturdy servants carried him back to the main study, closed the doors and windows, and withdrew.

Alone with his father, Wu Yanshou leapt up, “Father, has Grand Aunt really gone mad…”

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A resounding slap landed on Wu Yanshou’s cheek, stars dancing before his eyes as injustice filled his heart. The news that Quan Ce had angered their Grand Aunt and was to be arrested had come from his own father. He had acted on her orders in capturing the man, and now he had to feign punishment to appease her anger and give Quan Ce an explanation—what absurd logic, how utterly suffocating!

“Now recount every detail of what happened outside Princess Yiyang’s residence that day—not a single word omitted,” Wu Chengsi commanded, seated upright with eyes closed.

Wu Yanshou dared not protest further and recited the events as instructed. After listening, Wu Chengsi, combining this with his own knowledge of the banquet at Princess Taiping’s residence, deduced step by step: for some unknown reason, Quan Ce had antagonized Huifan, suppressed him with poetry, realized his own peril, and fled to the Eastern Capital seeking Xue Huaiyi’s protection. Yi Jing, for some reason, had intervened and presented the scriptures Quan Ce had been studying.

“Scriptures?” Wu Chengsi’s eyes lit up. Of course, the crux lay in the scriptures. What kind of text would cause his aunt not only to spare but to shield Quan Ce in every way?

At Princess Taiping’s residence, Jade Servant and Fragrant Servant, identical in appearance like twins, knelt on the ground as the princess, furious, scolded them. “You know nothing of this, nothing of that—what use are you to me?”

“Your Highness, Scholar Quan, General Quan, perhaps, perhaps he truly is on the verge of death, coughing blood,” Jade Servant stammered, worry etched on her face.

“Your Highness, perhaps Quan Ce had long made arrangements, with competent aides—everything proceeded methodically, without a single flaw,” Fragrant Servant frowned, calmly analyzing the situation.

Seeing their contrasting responses, Princess Taiping felt a wave of indolence. “Enough, enough. My mother, wise and far-sighted, always has her reasons. In a few days, the truth will surely come to light.”

“Send word: from this day forth, no monks are to be admitted into the residence without my command.”