The Imperial Secretary Wei Zheng sat upright across from him, holding his ceremonial tablet in silence, his face betraying no emotion. In truth, Wei Zheng's stance was fundamentally opposed to that of the Court of State Ceremonial, as he supported the idea of sending a prince beyond the frontier—only differing on the choice of candidate. Listening to the debate between Li Yuangui and Gao Biao-ren, Wei Zheng's thoughts remained inscrutable. Perhaps he found it inappropriate to side with either, so he simply kept silent.
The Court of State Ceremonial withdrew, having exhausted their arguments—though judging by Gao Biao-ren's expression, he still seemed half-convinced by Li Yuangui's claims. Yet he couldn't outright accuse him of "boasting and exaggerating" to his face. Next, it was the Supreme Court's turn to step forward.
The moment Li Yuangui caught sight of the stern, expressionless face of Sun Fu-jia, the Chief Judge of the Supreme Court, he lowered his head sheepishly, bracing himself for a scolding. The accusations of treachery and rebellion Sun Dali hurled at him were impossible to refute—after all, he had confessed to them himself in his written statement atop the Black Tortoise Gate tower.
Ordinarily, impeaching officials of rank fell under the purview of the Censorate. However, this case was particularly sensitive and troublesome, and with the Son of Heaven openly shielding his half-brother, the Censor-in-Chief and his subordinates were content to let Sun Fu-jia—known for his forthrightness—take the lead, merely echoing his words. Li Yuangui, too, resolved to endure the reprimand, silently bowing his head and admitting guilt whenever Sun Dali paused for breath, waiting for the judge to exhaust his litany of rebukes before steering the conversation toward "redeeming himself through meritorious service."
What he didn’t expect was an unexpected ally coming to his rescue—one who had always been at odds with him: Crown Prince Li Chengqian.
After Sun Fu-jia finished enumerating the various provisions of the Unapproved Construction Law that Li Yuangui had violated, the Crown Prince interjected:
"Judge Sun, hold a moment. While Prince Wu may have violated other laws—something I failed to notice—his involvement in investigating the conspiracy of Consort Yin and her brother was carried out under the orders of the Crown Prince's Palace. That he was misled and ensnared in the process reflects poorly on me as well."
What?
When had he ever received orders from the Crown Prince to investigate Consort Yin and her brother...? Li Yuangui gaped at his nephew, though he managed to suppress his shock before it escaped his lips. Sun Fu-jia was equally taken aback. After a pause, he asked gravely:
"Prince Wu acted under the Crown Prince's orders? Why was this never mentioned before?"
"No one asked me," Li Chengqian replied innocently, spreading his hands. "As for Prince Wu... Fourteenth Uncle, I know you meant well by not implicating me, but there’s no need to hide such things. I was entrusted with overseeing affairs at the Great Peace Palace and noticed suspicious behavior from the Yin siblings, so I ordered you to investigate. It was a legitimate duty—nothing to conceal. That’s the first point. Secondly, regarding the foreign rebels who conspired with Prince Wu—they claimed to be assassins sent by the Tuyuhun, but based on my inquiries, the evidence is far from conclusive. Thus, their identities remain uncertain."
"???" Li Yuangui struggled to follow the Crown Prince’s reasoning, left dumbfounded as Li Chengqian continued speaking. It turned out that during the chaos at the Great Peace Palace that night, the guards had failed to capture a single assassin alive. Later, when they examined the corpses of the black-clad men and combed Mount Cuiyun repeatedly, they found no trace of the Tuyuhun prince Sang Sai—the sixteen-year-old boy mentioned in Li Yuangui’s confession—who had mysteriously vanished. As a result, the identities of these assailants could only be determined based on the testimonies of Li Yuangui, Yang Xinzhi, and others. However, another witness had provided a statement that contradicted Li Yuangui’s account."There was a merchant of Hu descent, surnamed An, who along with his son was deeply involved in this affair. The son lost his life, while An himself was captured by General Cheng Yaojin and remains imprisoned," Li Chengqian said slowly. "An confessed personally that the son of King Sky Pillar of Tuyuhun never came to the capital—Prince Wu was deceived by those assassins. As for other matters, they involve state military secrets, and it is not yet appropriate for me to disclose them."
The ministers below the steps exchanged glances. Li Yuangui's head buzzed for a long moment before he regained his composure and could think clearly again.
If—if Li Yuangui had indeed first received the Crown Prince's order before colluding with a group of unknown individuals who were not enemy assassins, then his crime could indeed be significantly mitigated. It could be framed as "being misled and acting rashly without proper scrutiny," rather than the previous charge of deliberate high treason. However, Li Chengqian suddenly lying to exonerate Li Yuangui would also implicate himself to some extent, such as being "poor at judging character." Why had the Crown Prince suddenly changed his stance?
Li Yuangui stared fixedly at Li Chengqian, and a vivid scene suddenly flashed before his eyes—one he imagined but felt as real as if he had witnessed it himself. He seemed to see the Emperor admonishing his eldest son:
"The matter of sending your fourteenth uncle to the frontier for a marriage alliance is entrusted to you. The trouble he’s in also stems partly from your own failings—handle it yourself. How you persuade him to go willingly and convince the court to approve this marriage is up to your skill..."
Skill and ability were things Li Chengqian had never lacked... What he lacked was something else...
The Crown Prince’s unexpected maneuver threw the Dali Temple into temporary disarray. Li Yuangui gathered his thoughts and pressed his advantage, delivering a lengthy speech of repentance and reform. He cited historical precedents: Duke Mu of Qin employing Meng Ming despite his failures, Suo Lu Fang of the Later Han sacrificing himself for his prefect, and the Supreme Emperor’s leniency toward Dai Guogong Li Jing, arguing that "using a man’s merits is not as good as using his faults." Li Chengqian chimed in, mentioning the "Eight Considerations" and redemption clauses, adding that exile of three thousand li was already an extremely severe punishment, and sending Prince Wu to the Western Regions to serve the state could hardly be considered favoritism or bending the law.
The uncle and nephew joined forces, achieving unexpectedly favorable results. After a hushed discussion with officials from the Censorate and Dali Temple, Sun Fu-jia declared, "We must review the case files in detail," temporarily conceding this round.
Thus, Li Yuangui’s only remaining opponent was Wei Zheng.
Only Wei Zheng.
The Imperial Secretary was no ordinary minister. Instead of waiting for Li Yuangui’s attack, he struck first—and aimed at the flank. Bowing to Li Chengqian, he said:
"First, I congratulate Your Highness. A few days ago, His Majesty summoned us to his presence and showed us a Letter of Gratitude written in Your Highness’s hand, praising its sincerity and literary excellence. We respectfully read it, and its discussion of filial piety and fraternal duty aligned perfectly with the teachings of ancient sages and modern worthies—this goes without saying. What particularly impressed me was Your Highness’s profound understanding of the sovereign’s intent to govern with benevolence, your humility in honoring subordinates, your praise for benevolent rule, and your advocacy for tranquility and allowing the people to rest. This is the path to enduring stability and lasting peace for the state. I offer my congratulations."
His lead prompted the courtiers to rise and bow in unison, leaving Li Yuangui no choice but to follow suit. When he raised his head, he saw Li Chengqian looking slightly embarrassed. Wei Zheng had hoisted him onto a pedestal, explicitly praising the Crown Prince for "advocating tranquility and allowing the people to rest"—making it difficult for him to now voice support for provoking conflict with Gaochang.Li Yuangui was focused on something else. Li Chengqian had written some sort of Letter of Gratitude to present to his father, which the Son of Heaven had praised so highly that he couldn't resist showing it off to his important ministers... The Crown Prince's Palace was full of renowned scholars and great Confucians of the time, who could effortlessly compose a beautiful parallel prose by quoting classics. But if it were merely ornate rhetoric, the Emperor had seen plenty of that before and wouldn't be particularly delighted—especially since he had been displeased with the Crown Prince until recently.
Had the Crown Prince's Palace gained new strategists? It seemed there had been some recent changes in their movements...
"As for Prince Wu's mission to Gaochang to seek marriage with Qu Shi's daughter," Li Yuangui noticed Wei Zheng avoided terms like "marriage alliance," "matrilocal marriage," or even "princess," "I dare ask Prince Wu, what exactly do you seek by volunteering to journey west to those desolate lands? I know Prince Wu has had great ambitions since youth and is skilled in archery, horsemanship, and martial arts. Venturing beyond the Jade Gate, do you vow to make your might known in the desert, emulating Han's Fu Jiezi, swearing not to return until Loulan is slaughtered?"
Fu Jiezi was a general during Emperor Zhao of Han's reign. When the Western Regions' Qiuci and Loulan allied with the Xiongnu, killed Han envoys, and plundered wealth, he was sent by General Huo Guang with gold and brocade to Loulan. At a banquet, he beheaded the King of Loulan, installed a Han-hostage prince in his place, and was enfeoffed as Marquis of Yiyang for his merit. By invoking this allusion, Wei Zheng not only questioned Li Yuangui's intentions but also subtly mocked the Emperor and Crown Prince.
Fortunately, Li Yuangui was prepared. First, he respectfully pressed his hands to his forehead and prostrated—a sudden thought flashed through his mind: "How nice it would be if this were a bow to my father-in-law at the wedding ceremony," filling him with inexplicable sorrow—using grand etiquette to defuse Wei Zheng's imposing demeanor. Second, he earnestly confessed and repented his past rash and arrogant behavior, casually citing examples of rebellious and immoral imperial brothers from history—like the Prince of Huainan and Prince Xiao of Liang from the Former Han, or the Prince of Guangling, Prince Ying of Chu, and Prince Linchuan of Liang from the Later Han—expressing fear and trembling at his own unworthiness.
This was a tactic he had learned on the spot, with his elder brother the Emperor as the model. Anticipating that the old scholars would quote classics to admonish him, he preemptively recited the texts himself, saving them the trouble and, more importantly, catching them off guard to weaken their momentum. Once preempted, the great Confucian ministers were often left speechless, at most offering a few perfunctory words like "Since you already know, you must learn your lesson and reflect deeply," allowing him to pass the test.
However, Minister Wei, who often attended the Emperor and was battle-hardened, was no ordinary remonstrating official. After Li Yuangui finished speaking and repeatedly bowed, Wei Zheng calmly returned the courtesy and seized an opening to ask:
"Prince Wu's mastery of classics and refinement are admirable. Yet earlier, in your reply to Chief Minister Gao, you stated you would not remain long in Gaochang as a hostage, nor would you endure humiliation under another's roof, but would employ means to bring your bride back. The King of Gaochang loves his daughter deeply. If this leads to war between Gaochang and our Great Tang, would Prince Wu not care? Or is Prince Wu precisely afraid that conflict might not arise on the border, leaving no opportunity to distinguish yourself on the battlefield?"
Though sharp and pointed, this question still fell within the scope of ancient texts Li Yuangui had memorized. He only needed to spout more grand principles—like "Born in the deep palace, my vision is limited; with every meal I remember the toil of farming, with every garment I think of the labor of weaving," or "The state is rooted in the people, and people depend on food. If crops fail, the masses will no longer belong to the state," or "If warfare is frequent and construction unceasing, how can farming seasons not be disrupted?"—essentially vowing to prioritize the people's peace and livelihood and never recklessly wage war.But as the words "deep love for his daughter" reached his ears, he suddenly lost all interest in reciting. A retort naturally escaped his lips:
"Does such a father truly exist in this world? One who loves his daughter so deeply that he would go to war with a great nation just to keep her at home and away from her husband? What kind of profound paternal love is that? I, Yuan Gui, am young and ignorant. I beseech Duke Wei to enlighten me."
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