Chapter One: The Reign of Emperor Gaozong of the Great Tang

The light of dusk was hardly any weaker than that of noon. Though it did not dazzle, it spread a veil of radiance across the earth as delicate as cicada wings. The clouds on the horizon were tinged with orange-red, moving languidly like a maiden’s blushing cheeks. When this sunlight fell upon the vermilion walls of the Daming Palace, it shimmered with a brilliance that was almost blinding.

The Linde Hall was the most intricate structure within the Daming Palace, resembling three palaces stacked together like building blocks. Here, the royal family held banquets, received foreign envoys, and found their amusements. From the grand terrace on the second floor, one could gaze down at the shimmering waters of Taiye Pond and the three artificial isles rising from its surface. The view was truly breathtaking, yet the little girl dressed in splendid robes who stood on the platform wore no expression at all. She seemed utterly indifferent to the spectacle before her, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

She looked no more than two or three years old, so small and quiet that one might easily overlook her. Yet all the attention of a nearby eunuch, five palace maids, and twenty armored guards from the Golden Crow Division was fixed upon this tiny figure.

Her features had not yet fully emerged, but her large, bright eyes already hinted at the beauty she would one day possess.

She let out a sigh. The eunuchs and maids behind her remained silent, long since accustomed to the princess’s quiet sighs.

Old Li felt utterly exasperated. Even now, she could not figure out how she had managed to fall to her death simply by cleaning a window. And falling was one thing—why did she have to end up in another world? Fine, so she had transmigrated, but why did her younger brother have to vanish as well?

She recalled the moment she arrived in this world: she was just a newborn, and upon seeing the ancient furnishings and architecture, she immediately suspected she had transmigrated. There was an old woman patting the soles of her feet, and, playing along, she let out a few cries. Then she saw her mother lying in bed: a middle-aged woman drenched in sweat. Though her face was pale and weary, she carried herself with a stately elegance, a regal air faintly visible even in her exhaustion.

The old woman placed her in her mother’s arms. A gentle, loving smile appeared on that weary face, stirring in Old Li—an orphan in her previous life—a strange, indescribable feeling.

Yet before she could savor this newfound sense of familial warmth, a handsome, bearded man strode in, scooped her up, and grinned as he poked her cheeks with his rough fingers. Had she had teeth then, she would have bitten him for his impudence.

This man was, most likely, her new father. On closer inspection, she saw he wore a black official cap and, incredibly, a yellow dragon robe! At that moment, Old Li realized she had transmigrated into the royal family of some ancient dynasty.

Before she could process the implications, she stumbled upon a major problem: she could not understand a word anyone said! Had she landed in the royal family of some alternate world? Was this a world of immortals and martial arts? Such questions swirled in her mind.

The bearded man gently placed her beside her mother, then held her mother’s hand and spoke. Old Li understood nothing. Yet, listening carefully, she thought the language sounded a bit like Hakka, a bit like the dialect of Fujian, and a bit like Cantonese—in truth, something like a blend of all three!

This awkward barrier left Old Li resigned. She did not mind transmigrating, but the inability to communicate was truly inconvenient. Glancing at her tiny hands, she decided to remain quiet for now. Since she was just a newborn, she could start learning the language from scratch.

During her first month, she spent most of her time in her mother’s arms. Judging by the ornate robes and the deference shown by the palace maids and eunuchs, she deduced that her mother was the empress. That made her a legitimate daughter—at least, in this status-obsessed ancient world, she ought to have a privileged position.

Not that it mattered. As a girl, she could hardly hope to vie for the throne. What Old Li most longed to know was whether this was a world of immortals. If so, as the empress’s daughter, she had no interest in ruling, but perhaps she could seek out immortals and pursue the path to eternal life.

A few days later, several boys, aged five or six to their early teens, came to tease her, chattering in their unintelligible tongue. Still, they were all remarkably handsome—no less so than she herself had been in her previous life. But Old Li had no desire to let them poke her cheeks and prod her face, so she simply turned away and ignored them. Laughter rang out from behind her.

A year passed. At one, Old Li sat in her mother’s arms as her parents chatted and played with her. She had not yet learned the language, so she offered only perfunctory smiles and gestures, never saying a word. Once, seeing a book on her father’s desk, she craned her neck to look and was startled to find she could recognize the characters. The title read “Golden Mirror.” She had no idea what the book was about, but the fact that she could read at all was reassuring.

Though the script was traditional, she could still make it out. This discovery delighted her—she could at least glean some understanding of this world from books, even if she could not yet converse.

But how to express her desire to read? More importantly, would it not be preposterous for a one-year-old to know how to read? Still, Old Li was eager for knowledge. She reached out toward the book with babyish noises in hopes of seeing what was inside.

Her father stroked his beard and laughed, saying something to her mother, who smiled and brought her closer to the desk. When her mother opened the book at random, Old Li was not surprised to find it written in classical prose, with not a single punctuation mark. She could barely understand a word—something about whales leaving the water and wild geese sinking into mud. What was this nonsense?

Frustrated, she tried to gesture for another page, but her mother misunderstood and, thinking she was hungry, took her away.

It was not until her second year that Old Li began to grasp her situation. Though she had not fully mastered the language, she could understand most of what was said. If she was right, this was the Tang Dynasty. Her father was Li Zhi, and her mother—surely the woman who would become the Empress Regnant.

This realization frightened Old Li. She had little interest in history and had never studied it in depth, but even she had heard of Wu Zetian’s infamous reputation. Legend had it that she had killed her own children to seize the throne. Would Old Li suffer the same fate?

But then, recalling that the daughter Wu Zetian was rumored to have killed had not survived her first month, and now that her mother was already empress and she herself was two years old, Old Li concluded she must be Princess Taiping.

She was not entirely certain. Her knowledge of history was limited to basic facts, mostly concerning the much-mythologized Zhenguan era. Apart from knowing that Wu Zetian would one day ascend the throne, she knew little else. She vaguely recalled hearing that Wu Zetian would purge many people upon taking power, but whether that included herself, she could not say.

In any case, now that she was here, she had to find a way to survive. Fortunately, Old Li was logical, if not historically knowledgeable. Human behavior, after all, was bound by logic, and as long as she followed this principle, survival should not be too difficult.

Perhaps because she posed no threat to the succession, Old Li was especially favored by her brothers. Her eldest brother, Li Hong, now the crown prince, did not visit often but came every few days. Her second brother, Li Xian the Prince of Pei, and her third brother, Li Xian the Prince of Ying, often came together to play and teach her to speak. Old Li could already understand most things by then, but she still remained silent. Her fourth brother, Li Xulun, visited frequently but spoke little and seemed rather shy.

Old Li herself did not mind, but her parents, Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, began to worry. After all, their daughter was already two but had not uttered a word, nor was she lively—she neither cried nor fussed, which was unsettling. They consulted the imperial physician, who declared her perfectly healthy. They even summoned the Grand Historian, a man who called himself “this humble Daoist.” Old Li could only marvel—did the ancients really believe a Daoist priest could determine if she was possessed by evil spirits?

At this thought, the corners of Old Li’s lips curled into a faint smile. The Daoist happened to catch this and leaned in, his bright eyes fixed on her. Uncomfortable under his gaze, Old Li turned away.

Then she heard him say, “Rest assured, Your Majesty and Your Grace, the princess is not afflicted by evil spirits. She is simply shy and dislikes socializing. In time, she will be fine.”

Though she had her back to him, Old Li could not help but shudder at these words. Had the Daoist seen through her? Or was there truly something supernatural at work in this world?

Hearing this, Li Zhi and Wu Zetian breathed a sigh of relief. After sending the Daoist away, they resumed playing with their daughter. In truth, Old Li was quite fond of her parents. For an orphan, familial affection was a precious thing. Yet she could not help but feel anxious, fearing that when Wu Zetian seized the throne, she too might be swept away.

Most days, Old Li was watched over by eunuchs and maids. Both her father and mother were constantly busy, barely having a moment to spare. Occasionally, she overheard the attendants discussing the ongoing war with Goguryeo, all eyes fixed on news from the front.

Her safety was never in question. In the harem, eunuchs and maids attended her every step. Outside, at least twenty Golden Crow guards followed her wherever she went. Having learned to walk, Old Li liked to stroll around the palace to relieve the stuffiness of her chambers. When she grew tired, she would simply tug on a nearby eunuch’s hand, and he would carry her with the utmost care.

Never having experienced such treatment before, Old Li could not help but marvel at her fortune. Had she been born into an ordinary family, such privilege would have been unimaginable.

Another year passed. Now three years old, Old Li could fully understand everything said around her. She felt it was almost time to start speaking. Though she had kept silent in front of others all these years, she had secretly practiced by herself. Now, the moment had come.

July arrived. The weather was scorching, the midday sun blazing, so Old Li stayed inside the palace. The eunuchs and maids, anxious for her comfort, took turns fanning her with palm-leaf fans. As the sun began to set, Old Li decided to go for a walk before dinner. The second-floor terrace of Linde Hall overlooked Taiye Pond—an ideal spot to catch the evening breeze.

As she walked, every palace maid and eunuch she passed bowed deeply. Old Li said nothing, merely waved her hand in acknowledgment. There were so many attendants along the way that, before long, her arm ached from waving. She could have ignored their bows, but coming from an era that valued equality, she felt uneasy if she did not at least acknowledge their courtesy.

Watching the setting sun, Old Li sighed as usual, expressing her discontent at being cast into the ancient world. Gazing at the shimmering water and feeling the evening breeze, she judged that the time was right. Licking her lips, she turned her head and said, “Eunuch Fu, water!”

Though she tried to sound composed, she was, after all, a three-year-old girl, and her voice came out soft and sweet.

At these words, the plump eunuch and the maids nearby froze in astonishment. For several seconds, all was still. Then, with a smack of his thigh, Eunuch Fu exclaimed, “Heavens! The princess has spoken! I must report this to His Majesty at once!”

He quickly turned to the guards. “You all stay here and watch over the princess. I will inform His Majesty!”

With that, he dashed off at full speed.

Old Li stood there, momentarily nonplussed, but soon smiled. She reached out to a nearby maid and repeated in her sweet, childish voice, “Water!”

The maid, finally regaining her senses, hurriedly poured a cup of tea, cooled it with a gentle breath, then knelt beside Old Li and offered it to her. “Princess, be careful—it’s hot.”