Chapter Ninety-Four: The Essence of Spring and Autumn

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Shanglin Lane, Residence of Princess Yiyang.

Mother and son sat in silence.

Princess Yiyang felt as if a thousand words were pressing on her tongue, yet none could be spoken. Her eldest son bore the burden of inherited guilt; navigating the treacherous court was already fraught with danger. To accuse him of mistaking a traitor for an aunt was impossible to voice. Yet encouraging him to grow closer to Princess Taiping was something she could not bring herself to do.

“My son, though bound by blood, one must still heed the duties of sovereign and subject with some measure of restraint. Do not be frivolous,” Princess Yiyang sighed. Her maternal instincts prevailed, worried that her son might misstep and give others a handle against him.

“Yes, Mother,” Quance bowed his head in submission and voluntarily spoke of his interactions with Princess Taiping. From the thunderbolt incident involving Xue Shao, to the Ghost Festival, then to recuperating at Shangqing Temple, and finally to the fifty lashes and the General’s Order, he recounted carefully. “I harbor no intent to ingratiate myself. I have always maintained the boundary between sovereign and subject. Since my time at Shangqing Temple, I was instructed to change how I address her, observing all proper etiquette. It was merely a change in form of address, nothing more; I dare not overstep. Please rest assured, Mother.”

“My son acts prudently; as your mother, I am reassured.” Hearing this, Princess Yiyang felt a twinge of dissatisfaction. After all, she was but an aunt from another branch—how could this be called overstepping? As their conversation turned, she finally asked what troubled her most. “With your demotion by two ranks, does this cause you any hindrance?”

“Not much,” Quance answered lightly. His life’s ambition was simply survival, and the rise and fall of rank no longer concerned him. “I have no desire for advancement. Mother has toiled half her life; I wish, when the time is right, to retire early and accompany you in travels, to fulfill my filial duty.”

“You’re just a boy; don’t speak nonsense,” Princess Yiyang chided gently, but her face was filled with joy. “Having this intention pleases me greatly.”

After some more motherly chatter, Princess Yiyang rose and suddenly remembered something. “There is much household business, and Er Lang and Chichi are growing up. They must be disciplined. If possible, bring Fuqu back to help me with some of the burdens.”

Quance smiled and agreed, escorting his mother back to her chamber. Once alone, the smile faded from his face. His mother’s weariness could best be eased by no one but himself.

Composing himself, Quance then entered the palace to pay his respects. The thunderous grace of Heaven was a blessing, yet the ritual of gratitude was indispensable.

“Quance, you still dare come here?” The moment he bowed, a thick memorial was hurled onto his shoulder. He quickly prostrated himself on the ground.

His arrival was ill-timed. Empress Wu was in a foul mood, so much so she lost her composure and unleashed a torrent of curses. “Your companions are all scoundrels. Wu Youji pretends to be virtuous, yet he even consorts with a maid once favored by his own cousin. Such lustful depravity—human face, beastly deeds... Not a word? You pretend to be pure? Birds of a feather flock together; where can you really go but down? Merely a good disguise, utterly without integrity. Your words and actions are all false, and when trouble comes, you only know how to cower and evade. Have you ever shown the slightest loyalty or filial piety?”

Drenched in invective, Quance kept his head bowed, enduring the Empress’s tirade. As she hurled memorials and insults, the scandal involving Wu Youxu was truly outrageous. No wonder Princess Taiping cursed men as scoundrels. He had borne the brunt of the wrath from this supreme mother and daughter duo, all undeserved.

“Go and deliver my message to Wu Youji. If he dares to act recklessly again or disgrace Taiping with unfilial conduct, I have ways to make him regret beyond measure.” The Empress’s anger subsided somewhat. She pointed at Quance like a blade, her voice sharp and chilling.

Quance kowtowed silently. One was the Empress’s daughter, the other a cousin; both nearer kin and elders. There was no room for him to speak.

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“What brings you here?” Empress Wu calmed her breath and returned to her seat. The chaos moments before had been swiftly cleared by nimble attendants, as if the storm had never been.

“I have come bearing orders, to offer thanks for the Celestial Empress’s grace,” Quance said calmly, bowing deeply.

“Hmph,” Empress Wu sneered. “I demoted you, and you come to thank me?”

“My gratitude is heartfelt. I am young and have long navigated the treacherous officialdom, often busy with official duties, neglecting my family and feeling constant remorse,” Quance’s expression remained steady, his words sincere. “Now transferred to a censorial position, I can balance both sides, all thanks to the Empress’s magnanimity.”

“Hmph, you still lack ambition,” Empress Wu’s tone softened somewhat. Then she shifted, asking a question that chilled like a biting wind.

“When I rule the nation, will my position be legitimate and proper?”

Quance’s thigh muscles twitched painfully, barely holding himself up. His lips moved several times before he stammered out, “I believe that as long as the Tang Dynasty is peaceful and prosperous, and the nation strong and its people wealthy, the Empress’s merits to the realm cannot be questioned, and titles matter little.”

Empress Wu paused slightly. She had asked many this before. Quance’s answer was fresh and forceful. She pressed further, “What if I insist on probing deeper?”

By now Quance had steadied his spirit and thought more clearly. “At home, my residence had no name, and friends doubted me. Reluctantly, I named it ‘Nameless.’ Such is my thought: a person’s life is but a fleeting season like grass and trees in autumn. One’s deeds, virtues, and achievements cannot be claimed in this moment or place, but only judged after death. The Empress is a celestial being, need not be bound by worldly concerns. Changes in heaven are not to be feared; human words not to be heeded; ancestors not to be blindly followed. The merits and faults of a thousand autumns are left for those who come after to judge.”

He trailed off, mouth opening slightly but silent.

Empress Wu rose, descended the steps, and grasped his chin. Her voice was clear and commanding. “Continue. I want to hear more.”

Quance looked up, his expression shifting through sorrow and resolve. “I dare speak impertinently: the Empress is skilled in statecraft, yet must also be prudent in self-preservation.”

Empress Wu studied him closely. Her thumb brushed his cheek, then suddenly released. She swept her sleeve and turned, coldly reprimanding, “Mind your own affairs more. You may withdraw.”

Quance swallowed with difficulty, rose, and retreated from the hall. Outside, the chill of early spring brushed his skin, cold sweat soaking his chest and back.

Once outside the palace, he lingered long by Chongguang Gate, heart pounding with fear. He could not fathom where he found the courage to speak of self-preservation to the Empress.

The attendants Shazha Fu and Juedi approached to inquire after his well-being. Quance answered vaguely, mounting his fine horse. The steed, sensing his master’s distracted mind, snorted loudly. Quance snapped back to alertness, reminded that recent days’ smooth sailing had made him complacent—an unforgivable mistake for a tactician.

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“Master, shall we return home?” Juedi’s voice was low; he had sensed Quance’s unease.

“No, to Princess Taiping’s residence.” Quance still had the Empress’s message to deliver. Involving himself in such intimate matters was awkward but unavoidable.

“Lord Quance,” upon arriving at the Princess’s residence, the gatekeepers hurried to assist with his horse. The servants there only respected the preferences of Princess Taiping. As one favored by her, his status here was unparalleled.

Shazha Fu distributed some tips, and the crowd escorted Quance inside. Just past the screen wall, several men hurriedly carried a litter covered in white cloth, stepping aside quickly.

Curious, Quance asked the steward quietly. “That is the maid of Wu Youxu, the Spring Official. Somehow, she caused a scene in the Prince Consort’s quarters. The Princess was furious and ordered her to be beaten to death and taken back to the Wu residence.”

Quance’s steps faltered. He sighed and pressed onward, noticing servants bustling about as if preparing for some event.

“The young Lady Princess is visiting to confer with the Princess. They plan to summon the sons of Chang’an’s noble families and refined scholars with handsome appearances to a literary banquet called the ‘Eyebrow Painting Feast.’ Lord Quance, known for your character and talent, have you received an invitation?”

Quance stopped. The young Lady Princess was historically the most shameless princess, having lowered herself two generations to serve Empress Wu as a daughter and pioneering the scandalous trend of providing the Empress with male favorites. It was unclear how many Tang princesses she had corrupted. Naturally, such an invitation would never reach him—if it did, it would be a miracle.

“I suddenly remember an urgent matter. Today, I will not visit my aunt. Prepare ink and brush; I will write a few words to send to the Prince Consort on my behalf.”

He wrote two large characters and left without delay, walking swiftly away.

One was strong-willed, the other burdened with resentment; their union inevitably bore the fruit of evil.

Reflecting on his own entanglement in their affairs, Quance’s mood grew heavy and difficult to express.