Chapter 23#
The Minor New Year’s Kitchen God festival was a minor occasion at court, supervised by the Ministry of Rites and presided over by the Directorate of Palace Servants and the Court of Imperial Sacrifices. Only those of the Emperor’s close relatives and maternal in-laws whom he favored were invited. A small Daoist ceremony was first held at the Dajiao Temple north of Daming Palace to send the Kitchen God to heaven to report on the year.
Feng Bing stood among the ranks of noble relatives and saw for the first time the current Emperor’s Empress and Crown Prince. The Empress was surnamed Cui, from a distinguished family—dignified and gentle. The Crown Prince’s childhood name was Chiyun, just over five years old this year. He held onto his mother’s skirt, sucking on his finger, watching everyone bow to him. His round, jet-black eyes swept the crowd and somehow locked onto Feng Bing. Feng Bing found it amusing and returned his gaze until Zhao Wang Feng Yan, ahead of them, coughed twice.
After the grand ceremony, the Emperor specifically ordered Feng Yan and Feng Bing to stay behind and join his family of three in the small hall beside the temple. Several minor Daoist immortals were enshrined there—usually no one ever visited—but now fruits, delicacies, and fine wines were laid out, and the warming brazier and incense had all been prepared.
The former Third Prince, now Zhao Wang Feng Yan, looked at Feng Bing as though he couldn’t get enough of him, yet didn’t dare speak too much.
The Emperor smiled as he peeled an orange for the little Crown Prince and said, “It’s truly wonderful today—my brothers are all gathered together.”
The late Crown Prince Youke was a traitor guilty of rebellion, never to be pardoned in all eternity, and naturally did not count among his brothers.
Feng Bing turned sideways to leave his seat. “Your Majesty’s grace is vast and boundless. This humble one is deeply moved and grateful.”
Li Fengtao turned to share a smile with Empress Cui. “Haven’t you grown tired of saying that? I’ve grown tired of hearing it.”
Feng Bing pressed his lips together, unsure how to respond. Feng Yan conveniently added, “My fourth brother has been away in the provinces so long he’s nearly forgotten Chang’an’s splendor. He certainly won’t grow tired of saying his grace is vast and boundless.”
All of them laughed. The laughter—some deep and resonant, some refined and graceful—reverberated within the four walls of azure-latticed windows, clouded and misted over.
“So Third Brother is trying to put me in my place,” the Emperor said, feeding an orange segment into the little Crown Prince’s mouth, speaking unhurriedly. “Since I brought Fourth Brother back to the capital, naturally I have my arrangements.”
His words were vague, but Empress Cui eagerly pressed, “Your Majesty, what brilliant strategy do you have?”
“When Fourth Brother was imprisoned back then, the case was never clear. Though I was ordered to investigate, all the details went through Pei Yunwang’s hands…” The Emperor suddenly stopped speaking, as if being considerate of everyone present. “But times are different now.”
Empress Cui said, “Fourth Brother is a member of the imperial family, with the bearing of a dragon and the grace of a phoenix—could it be that he was harmed through treachery?”
The Emperor smiled faintly.
Feng Bing listened silently as the couple played off each other like a double act, his eyes fixed on the little Crown Prince’s puffed-out cheeks as he ate. Suddenly the Crown Prince pursed his lips and, in the blink of an eye, spat a mouthful of chewed white orange pulp directly onto Feng Bing.
Empress Cui was shocked pale, grabbing the Crown Prince and pulling him behind her. The Emperor sprled to his feet and raised his hand to strike the child. “Don’t shield him!”
The lump of refuse fell from Feng Bing’s chest to the ground, yet it felt as though it had struck him square in the face. For a moment he was too stunned to react. Li Feng Yan immediately called for palace servants to clean up and pulled Feng Bing down to kneel with him in apology.
“It was this humble one—it was this humble one’s fault!” Feng Bing came to his senses but couldn’t find any excuse, only growing more inarticulate. “Your Majesty, please don’t be angry—it might damage your dragon body…”
The Emperor’s palm didn’t fall, for the Crown Prince had already burst into wailing tears. Empress Cui, face deathly pale, clutched him and trembled at the Emperor’s feet. The Emperor fumed in silence for a long while before finally sweeping his sleeve. “Get out!” Empress Cui hastily kowtowed and took her leave with the Crown Prince.
Yuan Jiulin directed the palace servants to quickly sweep the floor clean. Feng Bing looked down at his freshly prepared garments—a brocade of cloud silk in the fashionable precious-flower pattern, expensive not to mention, and the only one he had. Wearing it to the palace banquet later, he feared it would ruin his standing. But then he thought: what standing did he even have left?
The Emperor invited him to sit again and personally brought him tea. “That child—his mother has spoiled him into unruliness. Sometimes even I can’t discipline him. Fourth Brother, please don’t take offense.”
Feng Bing hurriedly said, “The Crown Prince is intelligent and will surely accomplish great things in the future.”
Li Fengtao gazed at him, as if trying to dig something deeper from his expression—resentment, perhaps, or endurance. After a long while, he sighed heavily.
“What I said just now was also sincere,” Li Fengtao said in a low voice. “When the Crown Prince Youke case erupted back then, it caused the late Emperor such rage that his heart was seized—he fell gravely ill and never recovered. It implicated Fourth Brother as well. When I was ordered to investigate, there were many things beyond my control. Fourth Brother, you must understand.”
Feng Bing held his teacup—gold-inlaid rim, secret-ware base, clear and scalding hot, hot enough to almost reflect his reddened fingers. He drank silently, stifling his cough.
“…This humble one is truly guilty and dares not presume to ask for mercy.” He deliberated and chose the most conservative reply.
“Whether you are truly guilty—only Crown Prince Youke and Pei Yunwang know,” Li Fengtao smiled. “Pei Yunwang’s essay On Shun Not Killing Xiang is known throughout court and the provinces. He and Crown Prince Youke became enemies long ago—you know this too, don’t you?”
Feng Bing blinked hurriedly and finally coughed, pressing a handkerchief to his mouth.
He knew. Their first unpleasantness after marriage was related to this.
When Pei Dan was newly wedded, there was a nine-day rest period from office. When the leave ended, Pei Dan first went to the Secretariat, and in the morning they had both been in high spirits. But Pei Dan didn’t come home all night. Feng Bing went to make inquiries and learned that the Crown Prince had been making things difficult for him.
His eldest brother Feng Chen was the legitimate eldest son, granted a princely title at birth. In his youth he had won military merit in Goryeo and had always been arrogant and unruly—no one dared to cross him. Even though Pei Dan’s essay implied he was like the sage-king Shun, it was merely a subtle reminder not to kill his brothers unjustly. Yet to suffer for one’s writing—reasonably enough, there was cause. Fearing Pei Dan would refuse to yield, Feng Bing, himself being one of the “Xiang"s, still scrambled to pull strings to beg his eldest brother for leniency.
Pei Dan knelt copying official documents without rest for three days at the Secretariat. On the fourth day he was finally released. His handsome face had turned the color of dirt, and though his clothes were still clean, they emanated a foul stench. He came through the door, and Feng Bing moved to help him remove his outer robe, but he dodged aside, turned his back to Feng Bing, and said: Why did you go to find the Crown Prince?
Feng Bing’s hand froze in midair. He had never once thought about why. He had assumed that helping his own husband needed no reason.
That day Pei Dan locked himself in the bathhouse for a long time, and Feng Bing waited silently for just as long. The carefully prepared dishes had long gone cold.
After that, he never again asked about Pei Dan’s affairs in officialdom, nor did he want to know what other grudges existed between him and the Crown Prince. Even now, recalling it, he could still feel that day’s displeasure—at first it had seemed like the small poutings between lovers, but after too long, even the poutings had no face left, and all he felt was suffocating heaviness.
Perhaps because Feng Bing had been silent too long, Li Feng Yan grew anxious for him and spoke up with a roundabout remark: “His Majesty is just and compassionate, holding the ten thousand affairs of state in his palm.”
Li Fengtao glanced at him. “Justice and compassion—those cannot be had together.”
The Prince of Zhao shut his mouth.
The Emperor finally rose, seemingly intending to let Feng Bing go, and said lightly and coolly, “Fourth Brother, we are brothers after all—different from outsiders. You should know, I am willing to clear your name.” With that he lifted his stride and was led away by Meng Chao’en to change for the grand banquet.
Feng Bing’s expression remained stiff. After a moment, Yuan Jiulin came to call him, and only then did he come back to his senses. The room had grown abruptly cold and empty—only he himself was still dirty. It was time to depart for the palace banquet. Li Feng Yan sighed and said, “Shall we go together?”
Feng Bing nodded.
The sky was overcast and dark, as if more snow would fall by evening.
Daming Palace was the Emperor’s usual residence and had more signs of life than Taiji Palace. Feng Bing hadn’t seen Chang’an in five years, yet he found Daming Palace remarkably cold and desolate. Walking from the Dajiao Temple to Taiye Pool, the weather was bitter and the roads slippery. In the woods, snow shadows drifted faintly, and the ground was covered in ice shavings, making every step feel heavy and sluggish. Li Feng Yan was only one year older than Feng Bing. Five years ago he had still been a reckless hooligan of the kind who chased dogs with swords, but now he carried himself with much greater dignity. When he spoke to Feng Bing, his brows were always furrowed: “Why didn’t you say a few more good words just now? The Emperor clearly wants to keep you.”
“Keep me for what?” Feng Bing said.
“To use as a counterweight to Chancellor Pei.” Li Feng Yan lowered his voice to a whisper, stating it as the most obvious thing in the world. After a moment, with disbelief: “Don’t tell me you didn’t understand.”
Feng Bing smiled bitterly and said nothing. Imperial will was as capricious as fate itself, and he didn’t wish to spend the effort of deciphering it. Besides—how could keeping him serve as a counterweight to Chancellor Pei? In the end, the Emperor was like the common folk in the market, fond of believing those tiresome old stories, believing him to be someone bitter and weak who could only cling to Pei Dan for survival. He lowered his eyes and lightly changed the subject: “Is the Dowager Consort doing well?”
Of their four brothers, only Feng Yan’s birth mother, Lady Zhou, was still alive—enshrined as Dowager Consort and moved to Xingqing Palace where she spent her days in vegetarian fasting and Buddhist devotion. Hearing this, Li Feng Yan’s brows furrowed even tighter. “Well? Very well indeed. As long as I am alive for even one more day, I can guarantee she lives for one more day too.”
Back then, when the Great Treason case erupted, Consort Zhou was recovering from illness at Mount Li. The Third Prince, Feng Yan, requested permission from the throne to attend to her medicine and daily care, only returning to the capital with his mother when spring came. Anyone with eyes could see he was deliberately keeping his distance. But Feng Bing harbored no resentment for this. He thought: if Lady Qi had still been alive, he too would have done everything in his power to protect himself and his.
After all, to be born into the imperial family was to be caught within a vast net. Every word was a veiled challenge, every step a trap. Danger to one’s life lurked at every turn—but the net was rarely torn even when the fish died. Far more common were the shifts and maneuvers, the flattery and exchanges.
Li Feng Yan suddenly said, “Actually, I’ve always felt… Imperial Father loved you the most.”
Feng Bing laughed in surprise. “What?”
Li Feng Yan said, “After you fell ill, he treated you differently from the rest of us. And later he arranged for Pei Yunwang to marry you… Imperial Father never spent that much effort on any of us.”
Feng Bing couldn’t understand at all. Hands clasped behind his back, he raised his head, and through the old tree branches, the sky was clear and white as though it had erased all past and future lives. He didn’t want to understand, either. All of it had passed so long ago—father and mother both long since buried in the earth. He didn’t need to prove any parental love anymore.
He gradually grew tired.
“I only want to hurry back to Laozhou,” he breathed out softly. “The grand avenues of Chang’an are not where I find joy.”
As they spoke, Taiye Pool came into view. Yuan Jiulin invited them onward to the Self-Rain Pavilion by the pool’s edge, where jeweled lanterns and fragrant incense lined the path, ritual officers chanted their praises, and the Minister of Rites, Pei Dan, stood waiting at the end of the road, just as expected.
Seeing Pei Dan, for reasons unknown, Feng Bing’s heart skipped a hasty beat.
This person seemed always able to shatter all his eloquent composure.