Chapter Fifty-Nine: Folk Entertainment Activities

As Li Yuechen walked back, nearly reaching the Anfu Palace, she suddenly recalled something. Her sponsor, Red Bull, had two versions. The one that sponsored her was the slender blue can, whereas the domestic version was a short, stout yellow can. She could adopt a similar strategy: sell the scented soap at a higher price, targeting wealthy and powerful households. Then, she could try to make soap with soybean oil; if successful, she would keep the price as low as possible so most people could afford it.

The biggest issue, however, was that soybean oil of this era was notoriously rancid. Would soap made from it carry the same unpleasant odor? On further thought, for ordinary folks, as long as the soap cleaned well, who cared about the smell? With this in mind, Li Yuechen nodded and decided to conduct an experiment right away.

Seeing Fulai coming out to greet her, she quickly asked him to prepare the necessary items, planning to try the experiment in a few days. Now that her initial experiment had succeeded, she needed to find a way to scale up the eggbeater; relying on manual stirring was simply too troublesome. This batch of soap was only a dozen bars, yet it required five people to stir, the efficiency appalling! Clearly, it was time to upgrade the equipment.

She summoned Xiaohe and others, asking about their experience using the soap. They unanimously praised it, saying they couldn’t do without it now. With their feedback, Li Yuechen nodded, convinced the soap could indeed be sold at a higher price. After all, for the elite, cleanliness was paramount—a slightly higher cost was acceptable.

The following day marked the first of November. After finishing her morning yoga, Li Yuechen went to the court to listen to news. The recent reports were much the same, all about the drought. Though not as severe as previous years, the Guanzhong region still suffered from a grave shortage of grain.

As she listened, the sky suddenly began to darken. Li Zhi, seated on the Dragon Throne, raised an eyebrow, about to ask what was happening when the Qian Niu Guards entered, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty, it is the celestial dog devouring the sun!” they announced.

Behind the screen, Li Yuechen was puzzled—another solar eclipse? She knew eclipses often occurred around the beginning of each month, but one had happened just last year. Wasn’t this a bit frequent?

Just as she pondered this, she heard Yu Shi Da Fu Le Yanwei’s voice: “Your Majesty, the celestial dog devours the sun—Heaven warns us. Please issue a decree of self-blame at once!” Some ministers echoed him, their voices united: “We second the motion!”

Li Zhi felt a surge of anger, thinking this was not something he should be blamed for. Yet, with so many ministers insisting on a decree of self-blame, it seemed they’d already decided it was his fault.

Glancing behind the screen, he saw his favorite youngest daughter shaking her head at him with exaggerated vigor. Li Zhi’s lips curled into a faint smile; turning to face the ministers, he took a deep breath, spinning the health ball in his hand rapidly, lost in thought.

Le Yanwei, seeing Li Zhi silent, stood his ground, showing no sign of moving—he seemed determined to stand there until the emperor complied.

Li Yuechen peered out from the side passage, noticing many ministers shared the same attitude. She was growing increasingly annoyed with these people: for every little thing, they demanded a decree of self-blame. If such decrees truly worked, why not issue them every day?

Li Zhi suddenly spoke: “You all believe I should issue a decree of self-blame. Do you think the drought will end if I do?” The ministers remained silent, except for Le Yanwei, who persisted: “As long as Your Majesty issues the decree, the drought will surely…”

“Le, my beloved minister!” Li Zhi interrupted sharply. “In that case, shall we make a wager?”

Le Yanwei was taken aback. “Matters of state are not for gambling!”

“Hmph! Matters of state?” Li Zhi snorted coldly. “If you know it concerns the state, why blame the eclipse on me? Since my ascension, I have had no shame before Heaven or my people! If you think this is my fault, let’s wager: I can issue the decree immediately, but if the drought persists next year, I’ll have your heads! Will you wager?”

“This…” Le Yanwei was at a loss.

As Yu Shi Da Fu, confronting the emperor was part of his duty, but he dared not make such a wager—if agreed, and the drought wasn’t resolved, his head would be forfeit!

Today’s eclipse was not total; only a portion of the sun was obscured, and soon the sky brightened again. Even then, the ministers below remained silent.

Seeing their silence, Li Zhi waved them off, ending the court session. The argument concluded without resolution.

Li Zhi and Wu Zetian rose and left the court side by side, leaving Le Yanwei and the others in quiet contemplation. In the corridor, Li Zhi scooped up his daughter, returning with her to the Renshou Palace.

After instructing Zhang Chengxin to add water and light the tea kettle, Li Zhi began to vent, “Outrageous! How can the drought be blamed on me? I wish I could kill those country bumpkins!”

Wu Zetian, sitting nearby, gently counseled, “Your Majesty, don’t let this upset you. Your health matters more.”

“Yes,” Li Yuechen patted his chest. “If you fall ill from anger over them, it’s not worth it.”

“Fine, I won’t get angry!” Li Zhi shook her wrist twice. “Still, I can’t help feeling aggrieved. Why does Heaven warn us so?”

Li Yuechen considered explaining the celestial mechanics of the sun and moon, but she too was ignorant of astronomy, and such a lesson would be troublesome.

So she countered, “Why must an eclipse be the emperor’s fault? Couldn’t it signify someone disturbing the court?”

Li Zhi was momentarily stunned, then turned to Wu Zetian.

Wu Zetian hadn’t considered this perspective. After thinking it over, she nodded gently to Li Zhi.

“Hahaha… Chen’er is right!” Li Zhi laughed, shaking her wrists lightly.

…

A few days later, Li Yuechen returned to the court to listen to news. Near the session’s end, Li Zhi announced, “Last night, I dreamed of playing chess with the Old Sage. When I mentioned the celestial dog devouring the sun, the Old Sage said it was Heaven’s warning: someone is disrupting the court! I have decided to order a thorough investigation into those guilty of corruption, to restore the court’s integrity!”

At his words, the ministers below erupted in discussion.

They were puzzled; traditionally, eclipses warned the emperor of wrongdoing—how had it become the ministers’ fault?

Of course, Le Yanwei and others understood the emperor’s meaning. He didn’t truly intend to investigate anyone for corruption. It was a warning: don’t blame such events on the emperor anymore.

In this way, not only did Li Zhi shed the notion that eclipses were his fault, but he also further consolidated imperial authority. Brilliant!

Le Yanwei, Liu Rengui, and many senior officials secretly marveled at the cleverness of the move.

Li Zhi’s expression improved considerably; with a smug smile, he glanced behind the screen.

Li Yuechen responded by raising both hands in double thumbs-up, then formed a heart above her head.

Seeing this, Li Zhi’s mood brightened further; his tired back straightened noticeably.

Behind the screen, Li Yuechen felt cheerful seeing Li Zhi so happy.

After court, Li Zhi and Wu Meiniang walked side by side down the corridor, unable to hide their smiles.

Li Yuechen walked between them, holding their hands, hopping along.

At noon, Li Zhi invited his daughter to lunch. Perhaps his good mood improved his appetite, for he ate much more than usual.

After lunch, Li Yuechen didn’t want to disturb her mother reviewing memorials and took her leave.

Back at the Anfu Palace, she sat at her desk to sketch the design for a foot-operated stirring rod.

Since the rod itself wasn’t heavy, a belt drive should suffice.

But just as she began to draw, Shangguan Wan’er came running, crouched beside the desk, and rested her head on it. “Your Highness, shall we go to the city wall to watch the Splashing Hanhu Festival?”

…

Li Yuechen’s pen hovered in midair, hesitant.

To be honest, she had little interest in such events—a bunch of men splashing cold water on each other held no appeal.

If it were a crowd of bikini-clad beauties splashing water, she wouldn’t miss it. But with a bunch of men, her interest waned.

Still, after considering, she put down her brush. “Let’s go!”

Shangguan Wan’er, raised in the deep palace, couldn’t leave without permission.

At her age, she should get outside more—being cooped up in the palace wasn’t healthy.

Since they were going, just two wasn’t fun; Li Yuechen asked Fulai to notify her two elder sisters.

Princess Yiyang was indifferent, but Princess Xuancheng had become fully engrossed in mathematics, solving problems Li Yuechen set daily.

Li Yuechen estimated that soon she could introduce her to the arithmetic treatises left by her master; once she understood decimals and fractions, she’d grasp most of the content.

Before long, both sisters appeared, intrigued by the festival.

Li Yuechen understood—they were real women, inside and out, and naturally enjoyed watching men splash water.

The four set out for the city wall on the outer edge of the imperial city.

The Splashing Hanhu Festival—its key was in the latter two words: Hanhu, the “barbarian” game.

In November, they would often parade shirtless through the streets, splashing cold water on one another.

It showcased their strong physiques—a proof of warrior status—and carried a hint of ritual, as if cold water in winter warded off illness.

Upon leaving the palace, a group of Gate Guards surrounded them.

The soldier on duty asked, “Your Highness, are you leaving the palace? Shall I prepare carriage and horses?”

“No need,” Li Yuechen smiled. “We’re only going to the city wall to watch the Splashing Hanhu.”

“Understood!” The soldier saluted, signaling his fellows to shift formation and escort them up the wall.

Once atop the wall, they found they weren’t the only spectators—Li Xian and Li Lun were already there.

“Hey? Yuechen?” Li Xian was curious, greeting her and the sisters.

Li Yuechen waved. “Are you two here for the festival as well?”

“Yes, it’s fascinating!” Li Xian replied. “Whenever I’m free, I come to watch.”

Li Lun shook his head regretfully. “I’d like to join in, but…”

Li Yuechen’s expression grew complicated. With your thin arms and legs, you’d look out of place among those burly men. Besides, if a prince tried to join, Wu Zetian would probably punish him severely.

She looked out; the parade was still far from the palace, so visibility was poor.

Such parades rarely crossed the Tianjin Bridge, usually turning at the opposite bank.

From the city wall, they watched the distant procession move.

At the front, a leader wore a flamboyant mask, his clothes torn into strips. He carried a bell, bouncing and shaking it as he led.

Behind him came more than thirty shirtless Hanhu men, accompanied by others carrying buckets, ladling cold water from gourds and splashing them.

The shirtless men skipped and danced through the streets, sometimes grabbing a full ladle and splashing it on the crowd.

Another masked figure walked ahead, wielding a whip nearly ten feet long, cracking it in the air with sharp “pa-pa” sounds.

Many citizens of Luoyang lined the route, cheering.

For an entertainment-starved era, such events were rare delights.

As the procession neared the palace, Li Yuechen noticed the men’s skin reddening from the cold water in late autumn.

But her attention was not on the men, but on the whip-wielding leader.

Listening to the crisp “pa-pa” of the whip in the air, Li Yuechen seemed to have an idea.

She beckoned Fulai.

“What are your orders, Your Highness?”

Li Yuechen pointed at the man below. “Find me a whip like that in the next few days. I need it!”

“Understood!” Fulai replied respectfully.

He thought to himself, guessing the princess was about to invent another curious device.