Chapter Thirty: Defeat in Battle (An Extra Chapter for Alliance Leader [oO Rimuru Oo])

As summer arrived, the air grew thick with oppressive heat. Lately, her brothers had stopped coming to play with her; instead, she spent her days with her two sisters and Shangguan Wan’er. The two princesses were fond of the little girl, and having experienced life as servants in the Palace of the Hidden Garden themselves, they carried no airs at all.

Li Yuechen’s greatest joy each day was to lie sprawled on the floor, eyes closed, savoring the memory of ice cream. In this era, making ice cream was out of the question, and even shaved ice was unlikely, since the royal ice cellars held only a limited supply—too little to withstand daily consumption.

With the peaches ripening, Li Yuechen asked Li Zhi for a dozen pounds. She brought them back, had Xiao He and the others peel and pit them, then soaked them in syrup. She found some porcelain jars, filled them with the peaches in syrup, sealed the mouths with wooden stoppers, and carried them to the Imperial Kitchen to steam in a large pot.

Squatting beside the stove, Li Yuechen wiped sweat from her brow, carefully watching the heat. When she judged it ready, she quickly directed the nearby eunuch to seal the jars with wax.

“Eunuch Fu, move these jars inside the hall; keep them out of the sun.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Watching the jars placed neatly, Li Yuechen silently prayed they would succeed—this way, she could enjoy fruit in other seasons as well. Especially for Li Zhi, who would be able to eat lychees with ease.

Fu Lai and the others had grown accustomed to her inventive ideas; they followed her instructions without question. Shangguan Wan’er, however, hovered nearby, asking about everything, but Li Yuechen feigned mystery and refused to explain, leaving the girl disappointed.

June’s heat was relentless. Li Yuechen wielded her folding fan, cooling herself whenever she had a moment. Each evening, after bathing, she liked to relax by the Taiye Pond. Even Li Zhi and his wife, along with many palace maids, frequented the spot nightly.

Sitting beside the imperial couple, Li Yuechen chatted as she wished summer would hurry and end. She now wore a silk long skirt every day, draped from her chest, and a semi-transparent gauze top, yet still felt unbearably hot. If not for the strict etiquette of the era, she would have introduced shorts and camisoles by now.

She endured the heat until the end of June. After finishing her morning training, she was about to bathe and change when she noticed the sky suddenly darken. Expecting rain, she hurried outside to cool off, but looked up to see not a single cloud—only a black spot slowly expanding across the sun.

An eclipse?

Li Yuechen froze, then realized trouble was brewing. The year was already plagued by drought; an eclipse now would surely be seen by the superstitious as an omen of disaster.

“Your Highness, the Heavenly Dog devours the sun! Don’t stand outside!” Fu Lai rushed over to pull her back.

“Come, to Yan Ying Hall!” Li Yuechen waved and dashed ahead.

Unfortunately, her wooden clogs made running difficult, so she stumbled forward like a frantic penguin—a comical sight.

“Your Highness! Your Highness!”

Fu Lai called out, looked up in resignation, gritted his teeth, and followed, praying as he ran: Heavenly Dog above, please do not devour my soul!

Arriving at Yan Ying Hall, Li Yuechen saw Li Zhi and Wu Zetian standing in the doorway, faces tense as they watched the sky. Neither dared step beyond the threshold.

Seeing Li Yuechen approach, Li Zhi called anxiously, “Chen’er! Come inside! How can you run about during the Heavenly Dog’s eclipse?”

Wu Zetian’s expression was even darker. “Fu Lai! Dragging the princess outside at such a time—what punishment do you deserve?”

Li Yuechen entered, “Father, Mother, do not blame him—it was I who wanted to come.”

“Why come at such a moment?” Li Zhi scolded, face stern.

“I heard the Heavenly Dog was devouring the sun, so I came to protect you both,” Li Yuechen replied.

She didn’t explain the scientific principle of an eclipse; it would have been impossible for ancient people to grasp. Though theories like “people live on a sphere” existed, they weren’t mainstream, and mysteries were still attributed to spirits and gods.

Hearing her words, Li Zhi and Wu Zetian’s faces softened with gratitude.

Yet Li Zhi continued, “Even so, you shouldn’t run about at such a time!”

“I understand—I’ll remember!” Li Yuechen answered with a bow.

Li Zhi sighed, “Meiniang, prepare brush and ink—a calamity such as this requires me to write an edict of self-blame…”

Li Yuechen felt helpless—didn’t the emperor realize the impact such an edict would have? Admitting mistakes was virtuous, but claiming unrelated faults was a grave error. The drought that year had nothing to do with him, yet a self-blame edict would make it all his fault.

“Father need not blame himself; this is not the emperor’s error,” Li Yuechen protested.

“Oh?” Li Zhi turned, “Why do you say so, Chen’er?”

Li Yuechen hesitated, searching for a convincing excuse. After a moment, she stammered, “Last night, I dreamed of Lady Nuwa… She said this is the consequence of a great war between the tribes of sorcerers and demons—not your fault, Father.”

Li Zhi and Wu Zetian exchanged incredulous glances. Li Yuechen pressed on, “If you don’t believe me, just wait a little. It will end within a quarter-hour!”

In truth, even a quarter-hour was generous; she knew eclipses rarely lasted longer than ten minutes. Celestial bodies are always in motion—she left herself some leeway.

Wu Zetian nodded, “Just a quarter-hour. Your Majesty, why not wait?”

“Fine, let’s wait then!” Li Zhi agreed; a short delay made no difference.

As the dark spot on the sun grew, Li Yuechen felt resigned. She truly wished to avoid such affairs, but if Li Zhi issued an edict of self-blame, who knew what consequences might follow? His health was poor; any chain reaction could worsen his condition and end her peaceful days.

Li Yuechen knew little of medicine, but had learned much about Li Zhi’s ailments. When he fell ill, his vision would fade, much like a tumor pressing on the optic nerve or some cerebrovascular disease—troublesome even millennia later, let alone in this era, where such things were death sentences.

Her only recourse was to keep Li Zhi in good spirits. She had heard stories of cancer being cured through happiness; in this age of limited medical science, she could only rely on the body’s own wonders.

Perhaps bored by waiting, Li Zhi suddenly asked, “Chen’er, what is this ‘Great Wilderness’ you spoke of?”

“It’s the immortal realm,” Li Yuechen replied, thinking to pass the time with a story.

Recalling the fantasy novels of her previous life, she began to recount the epic battles between the tribes of sorcerers and demons. Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, initially skeptical, became more convinced as she spoke—the logic was clear, almost as if she had seen it herself. Such coherence was hard to invent on the spot.

As she spoke, time passed swiftly; the sun became a golden ring hanging in the sky. Soon, the dark spot began to move away, and daylight gradually returned.

Li Zhi looked up, smiled, and nodded, “Just as you said!”

This made Li Yuechen feel affectionate toward him. Ancient people were not foolish, merely limited by their knowledge, leading to superstition. It was not a matter of intelligence, but perception—like watching a magic trick: before knowing the secret, it seemed miraculous; once revealed, one felt foolish for not figuring it out.

The sun gradually returned to its original form. Li Zhi lowered his head, “Chen’er, tell me honestly—are the gods and monsters of Journey to the West also dreams Lady Nuwa sent to you?”

“Uh… yes!” Li Yuechen nodded, accepting this explanation to avoid any hassle.

Li Zhi patted her head, “Chen’er truly is a heaven-sent blessing!”

Li Yuechen only smiled, feigning innocence.

With the eclipse over, she saw no need to linger—the rest would be dealt with by others. The ministers would surely argue, and the Censorate would likely offer symbolic criticism.

Li Yuechen cared little for their quarrels, preferring to return to Chengxiang Hall and cool off. Rather than watch grown men bicker, she'd rather ponder whether a hand-cranked fan could be feasible in this era.

Having witnessed the carpenters’ superb skills, Li Yuechen believed they could craft fan blades. The only real challenge was the gears—wooden gears were prone to breaking and difficult to make uniform.

More crucially, if powered by hand, wouldn’t one's arm tire out?

…

Time passed quietly into July. She heard the emperor and ministers had argued briefly in court, but in the end, no self-blame edict was issued.

This result made Li Zhi very happy, and when the emperor was pleased, the entire palace was cheerful.

Li Yuechen spent July in this atmosphere of happiness.

The only shadow was Lady Rong’s worsening illness; she was now bedridden. Li Yuechen, who used to visit every few days, now went to see her almost every afternoon.

She sensed the old lady’s time had come.

Wu Zetian, occupied with official documents, could not visit daily, so she instructed Li Yuechen and the other children to visit often. Except for Crown Prince Li Hong, the other brothers also came by whenever they could.

In early August, Lady Rong closed her eyes for the last time. As she departed, she held Li Yuechen’s hand and whispered an apology.

Li Yuechen had never been angry with her, and afterwards did her utmost to help with the funeral.

The empress’s mother’s death was no small matter; Li Zhi suspended court for a day in mourning.

On the day of the funeral, Wu Zetian’s eyes were slightly swollen, as if she had cried, but after kneeling in respect, she returned the next day to her duties.

Lady Rong was buried with honor, and Li Yuechen’s mood was low. Her morning exercises were distorted by grief.

Shangguan Wan’er, who was reading at her desk, put down her brush and gently advised, “Your Highness, perhaps you should not practice today.”

“Mm.” Li Yuechen nodded, abandoning her training and walking alone to the shaded steps in the backyard.

Zheng Shi, seeing her silhouette, turned to Shangguan Wan’er and gestured, “No lessons today—go keep her company.”

“Yes!” Shangguan Wan’er replied, coming to stand at Li Yuechen’s side.

“Sit,” Li Yuechen gestured, inviting her to sit without further words.

Shangguan Wan’er did not know how to comfort her, so she simply sat in silence.

The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, Li Yuechen returned to her usual self, smiling as before.

With the soul of an adult, she was adept at managing her emotions.

Seeing her practice without error, Shangguan Wan’er was delighted and became more enthusiastic in her studies with her mother.

After training, before noon, Li Yuechen was not hungry. Hearing that court was still in session, she felt a whim to sneak in and see if the Censorate was criticizing the emperor again.

But as she slipped into the side door of the Hall of Proclamation, she saw Li Zhi suddenly rise from the throne.

“Defeat in battle?!”

The words stunned Li Yuechen, who had just sneaked in.

What was happening? Lost? Had the Tang dynasty’s army really suffered defeat during its golden age?

Listening closely to the report, Li Yuechen pieced together the story.

In short, Xue Rengui’s plan had been progressing smoothly, with swift victories early on, leading to the capture of Wuhai City.

However, Deputy General Guo Daifeng disobeyed orders, led his troops forward against command, and was caught by the Tubo army, who surrounded them with two hundred thousand men, resulting in the loss of all supplies.

Now, Xue Rengui was forced to retreat to Dafeichuan, while Tubo gathered four hundred thousand troops to force the Tang army into a decisive battle.

Though the outcome was not yet known, it was obvious the odds were grim.

The Tang army had lost all their provisions, and the enemy outnumbered them three to one—not to mention the challenges of high-altitude conditions.

Even with no knowledge of military matters, Li Yuechen knew that unless they held an impregnable position, victory would be impossible.

Watching Li Zhi, grinding his teeth in fury on the throne, she could not help but worry amidst the tension.