Chapter Sixty: Guilt and Innocence

Shangyang Palace was a detached palace of the Taichu Palace, situated to the southwest, set on higher ground, flanked by mountains on two sides, and bordered by tributaries of the Luo River on the other two, linked to the Nine Provinces Pool. Its perch among hills and waters afforded a sweeping view of most of Luoyang. On the grand feast of the Supreme Goddess at the Myriad Manifestations Shrine, the Empress Wu had visited Shangyang Palace. Witnessing its ruin and chaos, she was incensed, dismissed several officials—masters of works, junior winter ministers, and supervisors of Shangyang Palace—and ordered Wei Ji, the Deputy Minister of Agriculture, to undertake a thorough restoration.

Ten months had since passed. All was now in readiness; Shangyang Palace had regained its magnificent splendor. Though it could not rival the vastness of Taichu Palace, it possessed a unique style, blending the elegance of southern gardens and northern courtyards, lush with evergreen plants from Lingnan and other regions. Ingenious mechanisms abounded, harmonizing with the stars and celestial phenomena, delighting the Empress greatly.

Yet, Wei Ji, who oversaw its reconstruction, received not the Empress’s reward but the ministers’ impeachment, dismissed for the excessive opulence of Shangyang Palace.

Since her arrival in the Eastern Capital, Princess Taiping had resided in the Palace of Sweet Dew at Shangyang, and Empress Wu often graced the palace, living in the Hall of Observing Winds.

Today, the exalted mother and daughter strolled together through the Fragrant Hall. That hall faced east toward the valley waters; a covered water corridor stretched a mile long. In late autumn, the scene was bleak and cold, wind biting, scarcely worth viewing. The maids and attendants all pursed their lips, but Empress Wu and Princess Taiping took delight, arm in arm, admiring the rugged grandeur before and behind, pointing and praising ceaselessly, their laughter ringing through the corridors.

At the end of the water corridor knelt two men in white.

“Your servant Hou Sizhi, pays homage to the Empress, and to Her Highness the Princess.”

“Your servant, the criminal Quan Ce, pays homage to the Empress, and to Her Highness the Princess.”

Hou Sizhi spoke with vigor; Quan Ce’s breath was weak, his expression dazed, body trembling uncontrollably. As he knelt, his white outer robe slipped open, revealing the blood-stained garments beneath. He had tidied his appearance for the audience, making his facial wounds less gruesome; Hou Sizhi had lent him a coat to cover the injuries.

Empress Wu stared for a long while before recognizing that the kneeling man was indeed Quan Ce.

Princess Taiping, unconcerned with protocol, strode forward, pulled Quan Ce to his feet. Her grip must have touched his wounds, for his eyes widened in pain, sweat beaded on his brow, and his features contorted before settling into a docile, respectful mask. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Useless fellow—there’s not a trace of royal bearing in you!” Princess Taiping suddenly flared, cursing him and delivering a heavy slap that knocked Quan Ce to the ground. Pain surged through his body; flesh split in several places, blood soaked his white robe anew.

Seeing this, Princess Taiping grew furious; she turned and kicked Hou Sizhi over, hitting and kicking him. “You cur! The Empress has yet to pronounce judgment, and you dare to abuse your authority with private punishment!”

Hou Sizhi curled up on the floor, unharmed but chilled. He glanced at Quan Ce, also sprawled on the ground, and remembered the day he shackled him, parading him through Luoyang. Quan Ce had said, “Men like us, life and death are never ours to command,” words as clear as crystal.

After a moment’s distraction, Quan Ce’s face turned blue, lips pale, twitching on the cold floor. Alarmed, Hou Sizhi crawled back and kowtowed repeatedly. “Your Highness, allow me to speak. Quan Ce endures torture daily; his life hangs by a thread. Please summon the imperial physicians.”

Princess Taiping relented, and turned to see her mother gesturing gently. Physicians, already waiting, rushed forward and carried Quan Ce to the nearby Shangqing Pavilion for treatment.

“Empress, General Quan’s vital organs and spirit remain intact—no fundamental loss. He bears many wounds, and his energy is depleted, but with careful nourishment for a few days, he will recover,” the physician assured her cheerfully; such patients, alarming in appearance but easy to cure, allowed him to showcase his skill.

“Dismissed,” Empress Wu waved him away, then settled before the desk in the main hall of Shangqing Pavilion. “Wan’er, instruct the Inner Servants Office to bring the memorials here. I shall handle state affairs in this place.”

“Yes,” Shangguan Wan’er replied gracefully, her face shadowed with worry.

“Hou Sizhi, there is no substantial evidence against Quan Ce; close the case,” Empress Wu ordered the attendant. “Go to Princess Yiyang’s residence and inform them that Quan Ce, gravely injured, will remain in Shangyang Palace.”

“Yes, your servant withdraws.” Hou Sizhi’s heart lightened as he stepped outside; the autumn sunlight warmed him, and he felt utterly at ease.

Shangguan Wan’er returned with attendants, bearing dozens of lacquer trays filled with memorials, assisting Empress Wu in her review. Princess Taiping listened for a while, then grew impatient, rose, and went to the inner chamber. There, the maids, guided by the physician, had bathed and dressed Quan Ce, cleaned and bandaged his wounds, replaced his garments, and restored his princely appearance.

Princess Taiping dismissed the maids and scrutinized him, muttering, “Now you look the part.”

Quan Ce’s hand trembled. Princess Taiping hesitated, then reached out to grasp it; Quan Ce seized the moment, pulling her onto the bed, burying his head at her breast, calling repeatedly, “Aunt, Aunt.”

Princess Taiping was taken aback, then steadied herself, embracing his head and sighing softly. In the royal family, close kin grew ever more numerous; Quan Ce, second in age only to Wang Hui among the younger generation, was the most promising, yet, saddled with a troublesome father, he suffered the most. Counting carefully, this nephew was but sixteen.

Thinking of their bond, Princess Taiping felt genuine affection for him.

After a long while, she released him and left the chamber.

At sunset, Quan Ce regained consciousness. The maids served him a bowl of ginseng soup and a cup of deer’s blood stew, restoring his strength. He left the inner chamber to pay respects to Empress Wu.

“Your criminal servant...”

“Enough, no need to kneel—sit over there,” Empress Wu said, her brush flying over the mountain of memorials, now much diminished. She glanced at a few, found them trivial, and handed them to Shangguan Wan’er to handle.

“The world knows you for your literary talent and your unique skill in training troops, but few realize you have a knack for strategy as well,” Empress Wu spoke calmly, as if in casual conversation. “I am curious—where did you find your men?”

“Your Majesty, my uncle, Minister Wu Youji, is fond of me. Seeing my straitened circumstances, he gifted me shares in several businesses. I used that money to recruit some city rats and alley foxes,” Quan Ce replied, mixing truth and fiction.

“Hmm. Let me ask you—so many were killed or injured because of you. Do you feel any guilt?” Empress Wu’s eyes bore into him.

Quan Ce’s lips quivered; he bowed, “I am ashamed before others, but not before my conscience.”

Empress Wu’s countenance brightened, and she laughed aloud. “That is how it should be! As long as one’s heart is clear, even if you slaughter all the people in the world, what of it?”

Quan Ce lowered his head, swallowing hard. Heaven knew, that was not his meaning. Those who died by his hand had sought their fate.

Empress Wu seemed greatly relieved, smiling as she approached, gentle and kind. “Since you wish to pursue the candle business, I will instruct the Maritime Trade Bureau to help you open new trade routes. These routes I grant to you personally, not your family.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Quan Ce bowed.

“As for the Thousand Riders, I will entrust them to Wu Yanyi. You should return to your civil post—how about Deputy Minister of the Court of Diplomatic Affairs?” Empress Wu continued to bestow favor; that office handled external relations and matched his candle business.

Quan Ce thanked her, his mind unsettled. If ordinary folk are obliged when receiving gifts, how much more so when they come from the ruler of a realm?

“I have a task for you to complete.”