Chapter 86: The Campaign for Yanyi (Part Ten)

On a night shrouded in darkness, the moon hidden and the wind high—a night ripe for murder and arson—the mansion of Cen Changqian, Imperial Secretary of the Bureau of Phoenix and concurrently Chancellor, was ablaze with light. Despite the late hour, the handsome Prime Minister had not yet retired. Servants and attendants moved in bustling clusters throughout the sprawling estate. The Cen family, since the days of Cen Wenben, uncle to Cen Changqian, had produced two generations of chancellors, serving under Emperors Taizong and Gaozong, wielding formidable influence for decades. Their properties and servants were innumerable; this residence, spanning streets and alleyways, rivaled those of princes, yet it was but one of the Cen holdings in Chang’an.

Before Cen Changqian lay not official documents, but a single sheet of large script, unrelated to state affairs. Lines and circles marked the paper, resembling a structural diagram—it recorded the movements and activities of Chang’an’s powerful and noble families that day. When he had come of age, Cen Wenben, intent on grooming him, had ordered such diagrams drawn, instructing him to analyze court dynamics. Though Cen Wenben had long since passed, Cen Changqian had maintained the habit for decades, unwavering.

Some claimed that secret dealings were the true essence of courtly connections, and public gestures mere illusion. Cen Changqian disagreed. Without visible association, no matter the substance, one could not stand in the limelight; with interaction, however insubstantial, there remained a thread of incense smoke, a token of connection. The Cen family’s ethos was to refrain from clandestine deeds—so long as the relationships on the board were untangled, their position would remain unshaken.

Cen Changqian’s gaze fell upon a corner of the diagram, his deep eyes growing grave. He drew out previous days’ charts from his desk, and in the same corner, noted the trajectory of the same individual’s recent actions.

“Assistant Minister Quan Ce of the Court of Ceremonies visits the Penglai Palace to meet the Empress.”

“Assistant Minister Quan Ce hosts a grand gathering of colleagues, appraises new musical scores, vigorously promotes the ‘General’s Command,’ emphasizing its origins from Lady-in-waiting Xie Yaohuan of the Empress’s retinue.”

“Assistant Minister Quan Ce strolls through the city markets with Princess Taiping, revels in the citywide performance of the ‘General’s Command,’ then proceeds to a pleasure house in Pingkang Ward for feasting with courtesans and young men. At the banquet, he proposes composing poems in praise of heroines; the assembly concurs, festivities continue until dawn, Quan Ce becomes inebriated, and the Princess personally escorts him home.”

Cen Changqian bent closer to the edge of the paper, reading the small script: “That night, Assistant Minister Quan Ce composed a seven-character quatrain: ‘With broom and dustpan, sweep away the enemy, joyful shouts resound across the land. Come the day of the Hall of Celebrated Ministers, let the first portrait be of a heroine.’”

“This poem is beneath his usual standard,” Cen Changqian remarked with a wry smile, though the smile faded swiftly.

“‘General’s Command’? Female generals? Heroines?” Cen Changqian murmured these words, his eyes widening, the handsome contours of his face twitching involuntarily. Suddenly, he glimpsed the edge of a grand conspiracy.

“Someone, bring another brazier,” Cen Changqian called out, though two already warmed the study, he still felt cold.

He sat in silence for a long while, calming his thoughts, stroking his elegant beard in contemplation. How should he respond? Feign ignorance, or go with the flow?

A sudden whistling sound split the air.

Cen Changqian dropped his left hand. The beard he was so proud of had been sliced off at the root, now lying silently in his palm.

He did not cry out. If the intruder had meant to take his life, he would already be standing before the King of the Underworld. After a stunned moment, he rose and walked to the small altar by the desk. A throwing knife was embedded in the forehead of the Buddha statue, its blade buried deep, a testament to the force behind it.

Cen Changqian tried to pull it out, but failed. In the knife’s tassel, he found a small scroll of paper. He closed his eyes, then slowly unfolded it.

“Female general, female chancellor, female emperor.”

Six tiny black characters confirmed his earlier suspicions. The script seemed to enlarge before him, flying about his vision, leaving him dazed and bewildered.

At that same moment, over a dozen high-ranking officials at court received similar notes. Most kept silent, meeting the matter with calm. There was an exception: Wu Sansi, Minister of Ceremonies, who had recently been marginalized and stripped of his allies. His mansion had been subdued as if in mourning, but that night he laughed three times, hosted a grand banquet, and drank until dawn.

Wu Chengsi and his close associates in court did not receive such a note.

Come dawn, at the Golden Light Gate of Chang’an, carriages and horses of the Court of Ceremonies rattled out of the city. Lu Zhaoyin, Director of Rituals, departed for the Eastern Capital to prepare for the arrival of the Western Turkic Khagan, Khusro. Upon reaching Luoyang, he first scouted the Four Directions Guesthouse for lodging, then visited the White Horse Temple outside the city to meet the great monk Xue Huaiyi. Returning to Luoyang, he attended a banquet hosted by General Zheng Zhong, an old confidant, and stayed overnight.

Whatever happened that night remains unknown. Zheng Zhong’s style of military command underwent a remarkable transformation. Previously, he led personally and recognized only individuals, ignoring rank. Now, he picked someone at random, handed them the command tally, and let them direct nearly three hundred troops as they pleased, as if playing a child’s game.

The Imperial Guards—whether chief, deputy, or ordinary—were all officials of the eighth rank, and their backgrounds were far from simple. Their pride and spirit were formidable; they were not easily manipulated and swiftly rebelled.

Instead of anger, Zheng Zhong was delighted, and met their resistance with severe punishment. He ordered floggings and confinement for several officers; even Han Zhai was not spared, locked away until dizzy and green-eyed, never daring to challenge again.

From guards to servants and even eunuchs, anyone could take the stage. As long as they held the command tally, they wielded power with ease. Zheng Zhong pressed further, putting a maid in charge. Some soldiers muttered complaints, but nonetheless carried out orders efficiently.

Zheng Zhong stood with arms crossed against the wall, watching his subordinates drill with a cold eye, nodding almost imperceptibly, his chin lifting higher and higher as he gazed at the sky. “The general presents me with endless challenges, but my Eastern Capital guards are tempered like steel. It matters not—as long as that female general stands firm, my guards can do anything.”

North of Chang’an, at Longmen Station.

Wu Sansi, Minister of Ceremonies, Doulu Qinwang, Chief of the Court of Ceremonies, and their subordinates gathered to welcome the Western Turkic Khagan Ashina Khusro.

They stood in the snow, battered by biting winds, suffering greatly. Wu Sansi glanced back at Quan Ce. “Assistant Minister Quan, I hear you’ve composed several poems in praise of female generals these days?”

“Not at all, not at all. They were mere social efforts, entirely lacking in quality. You flatter me, Minister Wu,” Quan Ce replied, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Throughout history, there had been many celebrated heroines, but few were immortalized in poetry. The most notable was the last Ming emperor, Chongzhen, whose verses in honor of Qin Liangyu were far inferior to those of the flourishing Tang.

“Haha, merely playful words after drinking—Assistant Minister Quan, your eloquence is already rare,” Wu Sansi graciously offered him an easy way out. “I often lament my own lack of literary talent, falling far short of the court poets. Now, it seems even in military prowess, I am bested by Lady-in-waiting Xie. The pinnacle of a minister’s career is to excel both in civil and military affairs; by pure talent alone, women are by no means incapable.”

A gleam flashed in Quan Ce’s eyes, and he replied ambiguously, “Minister Wu, you are too modest. Since ancient times, heroines have equaled men, and with the Empress reigning, the women at her side are beyond the reach of mere mortals like us.”

“Quite right, Assistant Minister,” Wu Sansi nodded knowingly, saying no more.

As they spoke, a rider approached, announcing that the Western Turkic delegation had arrived three miles away.

“Good, finally. Let’s go and greet them—better moving than freezing here,” Doulu Qinwang called out. The officials mounted horses or entered sedan chairs and set off.

The Western Turks favored white, using it extensively in ceremonial regalia. Amid the snowy landscape, their procession appeared and disappeared, blending into the vast whiteness.