Chapter Sixty-Seven: Cultivation and the Sovereign

Several days passed, and the pile of work on Quan Ce’s desk as Deputy Minister of the Grand Herald was reduced to just a few thin pages. Each submission, its matter and request, was clear and concise; Quan Ce annotated responses beside them, either ordering immediate execution, archiving, or leaving matters for Doulu Qinwang’s final decision. In less than an hour, all was accomplished. Not content to rest, Quan Ce instituted a cancellation system to ensure nothing was overlooked.

With time freed, Quan Ce devised a plan, dividing his schedule in two: first, he spoke heart-to-heart with his subordinates, seeking their experience; then, he went out for official business, visiting envoys from troublesome vassal states, coordinating with the Maritime Bureau, calling on the Western Regions Chamber of Commerce. He made acquaintances high and low, and gradually sorted out all affairs.

The Grand Herald, Doulu Qinwang, was a man of responsibility. Though the changes in the workflow at the Grand Herald’s Office were all Quan Ce’s ideas, Doulu took them upon himself, bearing the brunt with his ample girth and supporting Quan Ce forcefully. With his background and seniority, no one dared protest excessively, and Quan Ce’s arrangements were carried out smoothly.

“As the saying goes, long but not lordly, inactive yet nothing left undone. Deputy, just act boldly; old I shall bear all consequences.” This protective phrase warmed the heart, and its cost was that Doulu handed over his sole domain, the rites of auspicious and inauspicious occasions, to Quan Ce, embracing the ways of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, making himself a hands-off manager.

Quan Ce, unable to refuse, could only smile wryly, shuttling daily between palace and office, hurried and busied to exhaustion.

“Elder brother, so busy, we haven’t met in ages.” Shangguan Wan’er stepped out from behind a column, blocking his path, hands clasped behind her back, her expression sour. She had chosen this secluded place, the Dragon Tail Path leading to Phoenix Perch Pavilion, which stored archives from the former dynasty and was rarely visited.

“Heh.” Quan Ce gave a foolish laugh. The last time they met was over four months ago, on the night of the Ghost Festival. The situation then was precarious; Shangguan Wan’er had rushed back to the palace to plead for him, and Quan Ce, in desperation, had called her Wan’er—a memory still vivid, though now he found himself unable to utter her name.

Seeing him dazed, Shangguan Wan’er’s face darkened further. “I never expected you to be so cold-hearted. I misjudged you.” With that, she turned to leave.

Quan Ce put down the scroll in his arms and hurried forward, bowing deeply. “Wan’er, do not blame me. I only feared to offend a lady…”

“Why did you not fear that then? Frankly, you just lack conscience…” Shangguan Wan’er retorted coldly, but as the words left her mouth, she realized their impropriety. That night, that night… those unaware might suspect something untoward between them. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she burst out laughing.

“Heh.” Quan Ce joined her in laughter, relieved.

After a moment, Shangguan Wan’er’s smile faded into worry. She recalled Empress Wu’s stern warning: affection was forbidden, marriage even more so.

Quan Ce noticed her change in expression but did not press for details, instead offering vague comfort. “Wan’er, no matter how dark the sky may be now, dawn will come, and sunlight will pour forth.”

Shangguan Wan’er replied with a gentle smile. The heavens would change, but whether light or darkness awaited her, she did not know. Tilting her head, lips slightly pursed, she said, “That day in the Yaoguang Hall, you recited only half a poem. You are most annoying in this, always leaving people in suspense. Hurry and recite the rest.”

Quan Ce was momentarily confused, then remembered: when Empress Wu summoned him to Yaoguang Hall, he had tried to prevent the marriage between Wu Youji and Princess Taiping, borrowing two lines in haste. Now, riding the tiger, he could only see it through, his face tinged with shame. “Passing through the flowers, I am too lazy to look back—half for the pursuit of the Way, half for you.”

“Half for the pursuit of the Way, half for you.” Shangguan Wan’er’s ruby lips moved, repeating the last line again and again. Seeing Quan Ce’s embarrassment, her own cheeks blushed deeply. Suddenly, she recalled something, suppressing her shyness to remind him, “Elder brother, be careful these days. Wu Yanyi has been inquiring about you in the palace. Master Luan of the Feilong Stables was beaten by him in a private act of violence, which might bode ill for you.”

“Wu Yanyi?” Quan Ce’s mind grew tense, his face earnest. “Thank you, Wan’er. I have survived many dangers thanks to your care and help. I will remember your kindness always.”

“Don’t say more. Just stay safe.” Shangguan Wan’er shook her head, her expression brisk. “Wu Yanyi is just a second-generation scion, not worth worrying over. But his father, Wu Chengsi, draws many flatterers, especially the likes of Zhou Xing from the Court of Judicial Review and Lai Junchen from the Censorate. They bear you much enmity; you must not be careless.”

“I understand.” Quan Ce replied solemnly, a flash of sharpness in his eyes.

They chatted a while longer, but as the palace was forbidden ground, they could not linger. After bidding farewell, neither moved, both still rooted in place.

Shangguan Wan’er laughed again, lowering her head to speak softly, “Elder brother, I have admired your writing for so long.”

With that, she passed before him and walked briskly away.

Quan Ce caught a strong scent of peonies, shook his head to clear away stray thoughts, and pursed his lips. He had been in Chang’an for some time; it was time to visit his aunt.

“My dear boy, I’ve missed you so much!” Princess Gao’an greeted him at the door, pulling him into a tight embrace. “How is your health, are your wounds healed?”

“Aunt, I am fully recovered.” Quan Ce hugged her back, stretching arms and legs to prove his vigor.

“Good, good.” Princess Gao’an took his hand and led him inside, fussing all the while. “The court is so unreasonable. My boy is the most obedient, yet they locked you up and tormented you—there’s no justice! Listen to your aunt, just resign and stay home. As long as you’re happy and healthy, I’ll eat vegetarian and chant sutras for you.”

Quan Ce grinned and bowed to his uncle Wang Xu and cousin Wang Hui. With no foundation or support, the position could not be relinquished; it was only by being useful to the Empress that shelter could be secured. Were it not for his steadfast presence at court, the three families would long ago have been swallowed whole.

“Come, let’s play polo. I promised you last time!” Wang Hui, recalling his earlier pledge, sent servants to gather friends from noble households.

“Go if you wish, but be careful not to get hurt. Pick a gentle horse for him from the stables,” Princess Gao’an scolded her son, but seeing her nephew’s eagerness, she relented, giving instructions before heading to the kitchen. Her nephew’s tastes had changed—he disliked food too greasy or too bland—so she had to be thoughtful.

Polo was golf on horseback, requiring good riding skill, agility, and teamwork. It was not mastered in a day. Quan Ce spent half an afternoon struggling, mostly riding back and forth, cheering from behind, rarely touching the ball, and when he did, his first instinct was to pass it on.

After supper, his aunt tried repeatedly to keep him, but Quan Ce excused himself with official duties, promising to stay a couple of days soon. Only then did she let him go.

Early the next morning, the stable hands at Princess Gao’an’s residence found all thirty-some horses collapsed, foaming at the mouth. The veterinarian diagnosed a deadly poison known as toad venom.

The entire household was shocked. Wang Xu’s face turned pale, hands trembling.

At Princess Yiyang’s residence, Quan Ce burned a secret letter over a candle, his eyes dark and forbidding.

The Li clan nobles had resolved to poison the novice monks at the White Horse Temple and frame Xue Huaiyi, determined to sabotage the dissemination of the Great Cloud Sutra. Wang Xu was involved.

Uncle, how can you not see? You may spare no effort to destroy, but the Empress is equally ruthless in protecting. These efforts, seemingly heroic, are utterly useless—only provoking the Wu family’s ferocious retaliation and increasing casualties.

Better not to poison the monks. First, I’ll use the same toxin to kill your horses. If you understand, don’t act rashly. If not, those involved will die, and I’ll see to it myself.

Foolish beyond measure.