Chapter Sixty-Four: The Mountain Rain Approaches

Although the Emperor had pardoned the Shenwu and Tianxiong Armies, there were still those who refused to let the matter rest. Even before Li Zhenggu was to return to the capital, the faction led by Han Xizai and Xu Xuan had repeatedly submitted memorials, blaming the defeats at Fuzhou and Suchang on the commanders, and urging the Emperor to mete out harsh punishment. When the Shenwu and Tianxiong Armies finally reached Jinling, they were first ordered to camp outside the city, and then had their weapons confiscated. Both Han Xizai and Xu Xuan believed disaster was about to befall these armies.

Yet events unfolded contrary to their expectations. Li Zhenggu, Gao Shensi, and Zhu Kuangye received only minor reprimands—punishments Han Xizai and Xu Xuan considered little more than symbolic. What was truly intolerable to them, though, was that this so-called Yang Lian—bearing the same name as the late Crown Prince of the previous dynasty—had, after a single campaign, been promoted several ranks in succession; now he was a fifth-rank commander and had even been granted the silver fish pouch!

This was simply unbearable! Han Xizai could not fathom it. Had the Emperor lost his wits? But the Emperor was in his prime, and confusion was out of the question.

Clearly, some villain must be misleading the sovereign. As a loyal minister, Han Xizai felt compelled to remind His Majesty. Thus, within half an hour, he produced a memorial brimming with eloquence and patriotic concern. Anxious, Han Xizai ordered his servants to prepare the carriage as soon as he finished writing, and hurried to the imperial city.

On the way, Han Xizai pondered how best to persuade the Emperor. The carriage rolled briskly along the Qinhuai River. Suddenly, it came to an abrupt halt. Deep in thought, Han Xizai was thrown forward, nearly tumbling to the floor. Fortunately, the thick Sichuan brocade cushioning the carriage saved him from injury.

Furious, Han Xizai lifted the curtain, glaring at the coachman on the driver’s seat, about to unleash a torrent of abuse. But then he noticed the crowds ahead, people packed shoulder to shoulder, filling the street.

“Damn it, what’s going on here?” Han Xizai cursed, rubbing his forehead. Though learned and widely read, he hailed from humble origins—some habits could not be changed.

Startled, the coachman turned and saw Han Xizai, hastily stammering, “Master, I’m not sure why, but there’s suddenly a crowd up ahead.”

“Pull over,” Han Xizai ordered with a wave. The coachman guided the carriage to the roadside.

“Go find out what’s happening. Where are the constables?” Han Xizai instructed.

The coachman obeyed, dismounting and mingling with the throng, chatting and asking questions. After a while, he hurried back to report. Han Xizai’s face lit up with delight upon hearing the news. “Quick, to the imperial city!”

The coachman scrambled back into the carriage, pushing through the crowd, drawing a volley of curses from the onlookers. Han Xizai sped away as if fleeing, and upon reaching the palace, changed into a crimson official robe. As a sixth-rank Doctor of the Imperial Academy, Han Xizai was not technically entitled to such garb, but as a former retainer of the Crown Prince, he had enjoyed the Emperor’s special favor and was granted the privilege.

Han Xizai savored his attire for a moment, but then, remembering how Yang Lian had risen from a lowly officer to a commander after a single battle—and now outranked him, with the right to wear crimson—he felt a twinge of resentment. After some inward grumbling, he composed himself and proceeded to request an audience with the Emperor.

Li Jing was napping. The recent flood of affairs had left him restless and exhausted. Now, with spring in full bloom, he had at last managed to fall asleep, only to be roused by his trusted eunuch. “Your Majesty, Doctor Han Xizai requests an audience.”

“What’s he here for at this hour?” Li Jing rubbed his eyes, annoyed. He recalled the nights he’d spent in deep conversation with Han Xizai, regarding him as a confidant. After ascending the throne, he had instructed those around him never to deny Han Xizai entry should he come. This time was no exception.

“Your Majesty, the Doctor says he has a memorial for Your Majesty,” the eunuch said with a smile, wary of incurring Li Jing’s ire.

Li Jing nodded. If Han Xizai had brought a memorial, it must be important. Donning his robe, he said, “Bring him to the Imperial Study.”

Not long after, Han Xizai hurried in and bowed deeply. “Your servant Han Xizai greets Your Majesty.”

“No need for excessive ceremony, Shuyan,” Li Jing replied, using Han Xizai’s courtesy name.

Han Xizai smiled faintly. By rights, his relationship with the Emperor was close indeed; impeaching a newly promoted commander should be easy enough. Moreover, Yang Lian was suspected of bribing soldiers of the Shenwu Army—a grave offense.

“Your Majesty, this is my memorial. Please peruse it,” Han Xizai said.

“Oh? What matter is so urgent that you must come to the palace yourself to present a memorial?” Li Jing, curious, took it.

Seizing the opportunity, Han Xizai declared, “Your Majesty, the defeats at Fuzhou and Suchang have emboldened the state of Wuyue. At the root of these failures is the fact that petty men have deceived Your Majesty.”

Li Jing set the memorial aside, displeased, but asked, “Deceived me? Whom do you mean?”

“Your Majesty, I have made it clear in my memorial. Chancellor Feng, Chief Minister Chen, and Minister Song have formed factions for personal gain, harming the country and the people. That officer of the Shenwu Army—even after defeat, he’s been promoted to fifth rank. It’s intolerable.” Han Xizai, proud by nature and unable to hold his tongue, had no particular grievance with Yang Lian, but the thought that Yang now outranked him—and belonged to Li Zhenggu’s faction—was infuriating, and he could not help but speak out.

Li Jing raised an eyebrow. He hardly needed to read the memorial to know its contents. Suppressing his irritation, he said, “Very well, I have noted it. You are dismissed.”

Han Xizai was taken aback, but seeing the Emperor’s weary face, he hesitated only a moment before saying, “Your Majesty is wise; I trust you will give me an answer.” With that, he withdrew.

Watching Han Xizai’s retreating figure, Li Jing suddenly found his drowsiness gone. The Doctor of the Imperial Academy was chiefly responsible for the five rites, and in this, Han Xizai had performed well. Li Jing’s greatest satisfaction with him was his diligence and refusal to engage in factional strife; tasks entrusted to him were always handled admirably. Yet Han Xizai’s recent behavior had left Li Jing deeply disappointed.

Moreover, Han’s earlier words were baseless in their first half, and the latter half reeked of personal resentment. Had Li Jing’s favor—appointing him Doctor, granting him the right to wear the crimson robe—not satisfied his vanity? Opening the memorial, Li Jing skimmed it and grew even more displeased. All thoughts of sleep vanished, and he stood, sifting through more memorials.

There were piles of them on his desk. Li Jing grabbed a handful at random—some from Song Qiqiu, the Minister of Works, some from Feng Yansi, the Chancellor. They all conveyed the same message: the defeat at Fuzhou was a matter of ill fortune. The Tang Empire was at its zenith, destined to expand its borders and restore the glory of the realm. A single defeat was a mere trifle; even the illustrious Emperor Taizong had suffered setbacks.

Li Jing frowned slightly, then looked at other memorials—those from Xu Xuan, Sun Sheng, Chang Mengxi, and others. These all called for the harsh punishment of Chen Jue, Feng Yanlu, and their ilk for their military failures.

“This court is on the verge of chaos!” Li Jing could not help but force a bitter smile. The most irksome matters were upon him once more.

At this very moment, Yang Lian was echoing the same sentiment.

Lin Renzhao and Chen Tie sat across from Yang Lian, the three sharing a drink.

“According to Prince Qi, Han Xizai, Xu Xuan, Sun Sheng, and others have already submitted memorials impeaching Chen Jue and Feng Yanlu. Prince Qi has, as planned, delivered these to the Emperor’s study,” Yang Lian said.

Chen Tie was puzzled. “Commander Yang, though Chen Jue and Feng Yanlu haven’t directly supported Prince Qi, they are allies of Song Qiqiu, with whom Prince Qi enjoys close relations. Why would he present these memorials to His Majesty?”

Lin Renzhao smiled, “Better to divert than to block. The Emperor would learn of this sooner or later. Moreover, Han Xizai was once a retainer of the Crown Prince and is deeply trusted by the Emperor. Even if these memorials weren’t submitted, Han Xizai would find a way to ensure the Emperor knew.”

“Indeed,” Yang Lian nodded, taking a sip of wine. “A storm is brewing in Jinling. Gentlemen, keep your eyes open and see who laughs last in this power struggle.”

After a brief conversation, the three parted ways. As Yang Lian had predicted, the Tang court soon changed its tone.

The defeated generals of Fuzhou—Chen Jue, Feng Yanlu, Wang Chongwen, Wei Cen—were escorted back to the capital in chains. Li Jing ordered them imprisoned in the imperial dungeon and provided only basic sustenance. Chen Jue and Feng Yanlu petitioned daily for an audience, but Li Jing ignored them completely.

Yang Lian suspected Han Xizai would strike again now—and sure enough, Han Xizai submitted another memorial demanding severe punishment for the defeated commanders. Following his lead, his allies Sun Sheng, Chang Mengxi, Xu Xuan, and others also petitioned. In a single day, over fifty memorials arrived, all calling for harsh retribution against Chen Jue, Feng Yanlu, and their fellow defeated generals.

Li Jing, staring at the mountain of memorials, felt his head spin. Unlike Han Xizai and his associates, Song Qiqiu and Feng Yansi remained silent, as if the matter did not concern them. Yet Yang Lian grew uneasy; after all, he had advised Prince Qi, whose status had helped suppress Song Qiqiu’s and Feng Yansi’s intentions. But if Han Xizai and the others refused to let go, Feng Yansi might be compelled to intervene—after all, Feng Yanlu was his own brother, and he could hardly watch his kin perish without protest.

Thus, the twin debacles at Fuzhou and Suchang plunged the Tang court into temporary chaos. Not only did the officials debate the matter, but the common people in the markets also discussed it endlessly. Some claimed that Feng Yansi, Feng Yanlu, and Chen Jue had colluded, and the defeat at Fuzhou—where over twenty thousand soldiers died or were captured—had left countless families in mourning. These men must be punished; if not executed, public outrage would not be appeased.

Others argued that victory and defeat are the fortunes of war—who could guarantee a lifetime of victories? War always brings death; if one fears death, why be a soldier at all? Better to return home and farm the land!

For a time, Jinling was awash with rumors and opinions. Yang Lian’s tavern proved invaluable for gathering intelligence; every day, scholars congregated there, debating politics and composing essays, each acting as though he alone understood the world while others did not—a spectacle that made Yang Lian shake his head.

It was not that Yang Lian looked down on scholars, but rather that these particular ones fell short. Song Qiqiu, for all his autocratic ways and factionalism, was immensely talented. He had been instrumental in helping Li Bian seize the Yang Wu throne; such a scholar alone possessed the vision and strategic acumen to shape the world.

The court’s debate dragged on for half a month, with no clear victor—at least, the Emperor had yet to take a stand. Just then, further ill tidings arrived. In the wake of the Fuzhou debacle, Tang deserters fled into Quanzhou and Zhangzhou, looting and pillaging, stirring public outrage. Liu Congxiao, a former general of the fallen Min state, was so incensed that he led his troops to drive out the Tang forces, making himself the de facto ruler of those two prefectures.

This news struck the Tang court like a bolt from the blue, leaving it stunned and reeling. After years of campaigning in the Min region, the Tang had gained nothing, losing tens of thousands of soldiers and consuming over a million bushels of grain—a disastrous loss indeed.