Chapter Thirty-Two: Listening to the News

As expected, Li Zhi was so enraged that he fell ill, his head splitting with pain, his vision gone as though blinded. He lay on the bed in the Yan Ying Hall, clad in his undergarments, gasping for breath.

Liu Shenwei was crouched by the bedside, inserting needles into his scalp, while Wu Zetian and Li Yuechen each held one of his hands, softly comforting him.

"Your Majesty, how are you feeling now?" Liu Shenwei asked as he placed the final needle.

"It hurts... My head aches..." Li Zhi replied, his breath coming in ragged bursts, incoherent, "I... can't see anything..."

"Do not worry, Your Majesty, I am here," Wu Zetian reassured him, gripping his hand.

Li Yuechen also consoled him, "Father, don't be impatient. Calm yourself!"

With his wife and most beloved daughter at his side, Li Zhi’s agitation slowly subsided. Perhaps unwilling to let his daughter witness his frenzy, he forced himself to take deep breaths, working to restore his composure.

Li Yuechen knew well that his anger stemmed from the defeat in war, and the best solution would be to resolve the matter. Yet such things cannot be rushed, and now they were caught in a vicious cycle.

The silver needles Liu Shenwei had placed eased his pain somewhat, though not completely. It was nearly an hour before his condition began to improve.

According to Li Zhi’s own account, when he suffered an attack, his head would throb, his chest felt tight, breathing was labored, and his limbs numb—classic symptoms of hypertension. Li Yuechen recalled that the director of her orphanage had suffered similarly. Add to this the possibility of tumors and cardiovascular disease—the situation was grim.

Li Yuechen knew this illness was acute, with a high mortality rate. In this era, there was truly nothing to be done for Li Zhi’s condition.

In fact, what Li Zhi most ought to do now was to abdicate quickly, let Crown Prince Li Hong take the throne, and enjoy life as the retired emperor. Perhaps he might live a few more years; otherwise, the illness would only become harder to control.

But Li Yuechen dared not say so, for such words were taboo. All she could do was gaze at the father who had raised her for so many years, her heart aching, just as she had once looked after the orphanage director.

When Li Zhi’s vision returned, the first thing he saw was the worried faces of his wife and daughter.

Especially his daughter—her large, sparkling eyes shone with concern and guilt.

"Chen’er, why do you look at me like that?" Li Zhi managed a weak smile, "Are you afraid I’ll find out you’ve done something wrong?"

Li Yuechen shook her head, "I only regret my own helplessness, unable to share your pain."

"Silly child, even if you could, I would never allow it!" Li Zhi raised his hand and patted her head.

Seeing he wanted to sit up, Wu Zetian quickly helped him straighten, placing a cushion behind him. "Do you feel better now?"

Li Zhi nodded, "Much better..."

"Liu Shenwei, can Master Sun not come?" Wu Zetian turned and asked.

Liu Shenwei looked troubled. "Your Highness, I do not mean to boast, but I have fully inherited my master’s medical skills. If I cannot help, I fear he cannot either..."

"How can you be certain?" Wu Zetian pressed.

"This..."

Li Zhi patted her hand. "Forget it. This old illness—even Master Sun examined me himself and could not resolve it."

"But..."

"Enough." Li Zhi stopped her. "I am fine, am I not?"

He appeared calm, but his eyes betrayed both frustration and disappointment. Years of illness had taught him much about his own body; he knew his chances of recovery were slim.

"Liu Fengyu!"

Li Yuechen, kneeling at his side, turned slightly. "How should Father prevent future attacks?"

"Your Highness, he should avoid anger and cultivate calm," Liu Shenwei replied.

"Father, you must not let yourself become angry anymore," Li Yuechen turned to Li Zhi. "Whenever trouble arises, I will always be by your side."

"Very well, I promise not to lose my temper!" Li Zhi agreed with a smile.

How much he could truly manage was another matter...

After Li Zhi’s pain eased, he immediately appointed Jiang Ke as Grand Commander of the army in Liangzhou, to guard against invasion from Tibet.

In court, although Pei Xingjian and mentors like Liu Rengui believed the likelihood of a Tibetan invasion was low, precautions were still necessary, hence the decree.

...

Recently, Li Yuechen had begun to take an interest in court affairs.

But... it was only an interest. As she always said, she was just a child and could do nothing.

On the first day of September, following discussions with his ministers, Li Zhi decided that since droughts and famines frequently plagued Guanzhong, he would tour the Eastern Capital in the coming January.

Li Yuechen wanted to advise him that staying put would better reassure the people during such times, but thought better of it.

Soon, the official holiday for Tang court officials arrived—Chongyang Festival.

The officials’ holidays were quite numerous. Though they rested every ten days, New Year’s Day, Winter Solstice, Cold Food, Qingming, and many other festivals all brought breaks.

Li Yuechen had once calculated out of boredom that all the holidays totaled about one hundred and thirty days a year, and with home leave every three years, it was more than one hundred and fifty.

However, on the first day of most holidays, officials were required to celebrate with the emperor; Chongyang was no exception.

Li Zhi usually hosted a banquet for his ministers at the Great Compassionate Mercy Temple during Chongyang, and climbed the Wild Goose Pagoda to remember his mother, Empress Changsun.

Li Yuechen had never attended before, but this year she was notified to accompany them.

On Chongyang, Li Yuechen rode in a luxurious carriage with Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, heading for the Wild Goose Pagoda.

Outwardly she chatted cheerfully with the couple, but inwardly she was resigned.

What was so special about the Wild Goose Pagoda? It was just where the monk translated scriptures! Over a thousand years later, one could ride a motorcycle there in ten minutes; and why ride instead of drive? Because the place was hopelessly jammed at night!

Still, she kept her smile, delighting Li Zhi and Wu Zetian.

Now, the couple kept only their favorite daughter close; their other sons followed in carriages behind.

...

The imperial carriage stopped before the Great Compassionate Mercy Temple, and Li Zhi carried his little daughter down.

The assembled ministers, waiting for hours, bowed in greeting. Li Zhi set Li Yuechen down and raised his hand, "No need for ceremony, enter with me."

Li Yuechen looked up—nine stories?

She counted carefully, certain she had not erred. So, at this period, the Wild Goose Pagoda had nine levels? The exterior looked different from what she remembered from the future, almost like two separate buildings.

But it made sense, given a millennium had passed; much could change.

Before the banquet, Li Zhi led Wu Zetian and took Li Yuechen by the hand inside the tower.

Ascending level by level, Li Yuechen saw a multitude of scriptures, Buddha statues, and even relics.

At the top, Li Zhi’s expression became solemn, remembering his mother.

Li Yuechen stood quietly by his side, closing her eyes to mourn for the soldiers who had recently fallen in Dafei Chuan.

After a long silence, Li Zhi took the clear wine offered by Zhang Chengxin, raised a toast, and poured it onto the floor.

Seeing his daughter’s earnest expression as she mourned, Li Zhi patted her head. "If your grandmother were still here, she would surely love you, Chen’er."

"Yes," Li Yuechen replied sweetly, nodding.

...

Chongyang brought a three-day holiday for the ministers, and the palace grew quiet.

Li Yuechen spent her days practicing martial arts, then accompanied Li Zhi and Wu Zetian in the Yan Ying Hall, joined by several of her brothers.

With the palace lively, Li Zhi was delighted, though the commotion often led Wu Zetian to raise her head from her paperwork, asking them to quiet down.

Li Zhi, sensing it might be too much, left Wu Zetian behind and took the children to a side hall to play.

He and the children formed a circle to play "Shuanglu," also known as "Woshuo."

Similar to chess, the game’s essence was two sides deploying black and white pieces, rolling dice to move them, with "capture" or "eat" rules for opposing pieces.

This game was popular at the time, though essentially a gambling game.

Li Zhi and Wu Zetian often played it when idle; in this era, it was more widely enjoyed than Go.

It had even become a test of intelligence—those poor at Shuanglu were often mocked for their intellect.

Li Yuechen was not a master of such strategy games, but held her own, exchanging moves with Li Zhi and her brothers.

...

But she found games for only two people dull. She thought that once they reached Luoyang next year, she could introduce mahjong.

Four players made for much more excitement. She could play with Li Zhi and Wu Zetian, and Princess Qianjin.

Li Zhi and Wu Zetian were no longer suited to vigorous sports like polo; brain games were more appropriate now.

...

Li Zhi’s mood had been especially good lately, and his illness stable.

Yet with his health stable, the couple began to pull tricks in court.

At the end of September, the empress submitted a memorial: due to prolonged drought, she requested to step down!

Behind the screen in the side corridor, Li Yuechen raised her brows—this was likely a performance for the ministers.

Never mind whether anyone believed it; how would resigning solve the drought?

Besides, the ministers were no fools. With the emperor’s health poor and the empress handling state affairs, how could she resign now?

Though the entire court was uneasy with her regency, no one dared voice support for her resignation.

Instead, they submitted memorials praising her as a paragon of virtue, a model empress for the ages—not to be allowed to leave!

Li Zhi, "going with the flow," refused her request.

Less than a week later, he announced the posthumous appointment of the late maternal grandfather Wu Shihuo as Grand Commandant and Prince of Taiyuan, and maternal grandmother Yang as Princess.

Through this maneuver, Li Yuechen deduced behind the screen that they were elevating Wu Zetian’s status.

Though she lacked clues as to the reason, she could see the couple was acting in concert.

Now, Li Yuechen would listen in on court affairs, treating it as news. Perhaps she could find something she could do for the common people.

Li Zhi and Wu Zetian paid her no mind; for her, the court was like a marketplace—she could come and go as she pleased.

But she always remembered her principle: listen, but never comment. Even if Li Zhi or Wu Zetian jokingly asked for her opinion, she would respond with playful evasions.

She knew everything, but took part in nothing, feigning ignorance.

Recently, court matters revolved around the drought, since none could say how long it would last.

Seated on the dragon throne, Li Zhi listened as his ministers debated below, mindful of Liu Shenwei’s medical advice, breathing deeply, reminding himself not to become agitated.

Yet the health balls spinning swiftly in his hand betrayed his worry over the drought.

Among the voices, Li Yuechen suddenly heard her mentor Liu Rengui.

"Your Majesty, I believe it best to allow the people in drought-stricken areas to seek food in other prefectures."

Li Zhi paused, nodding. "I have considered this as well... Does anyone have other suggestions?"

With his invitation, the ministers began to offer their own remedies.

To Li Yuechen, none seemed better.

Some conservative officials insisted the people should not leave their native prefectures, yet when pressed for solutions to the drought, they could offer nothing.

Others suggested the strategy from last year—fishing along the coast and distributing grain from various prefectures—which made Li Yuechen, behind the screen, want to laugh.

This year, the drought affected dozens of prefectures—how many fish would it take? Not to mention, in this era fishing was inefficient, and by the time the catch was smoked and transported, countless would already have died of hunger.

Such ideas were swiftly dismissed by other ministers.

The debate continued in clusters.

Eventually, Li Zhi leaned back in his dragon throne, consulted quietly with Wu Zetian, and nodded.

He waved his hand; the ministers fell silent and looked up.

"The drought is grave, and we cannot delay. Since there is no better solution, we shall follow Lord Liu’s proposal!"

With the emperor’s decree, the ministers had nothing more to say.

At this time in the Tang dynasty, the system was still collective, but Li Zhi held imperial power firmly.

The emperor’s word was law; once he decided, no opposition mattered.

And so it was settled.