Chapter Nine Mist and Moon over Fourteen Provinces in One's Prime (III)

　　Thus it is said:

　　Say not that a heart without intent has no speech; where intent abides, a voice may come from beyond the world.

　　And if a heart is full it will speak—one true phrase outweighs a thousand secret longings.

　　It was told that the Tang and Goguryeo had now been at war for more than two years; the burden of frontier affairs grew ever heavier in the rear, and Emperor Gaozong, tending these matters day and night, fell into lingering illness.

　　One day Empress Wu prepared a bowl of medicinal broth and handed it to the Emperor. Gaozong accepted it and ate, saying, “Lately the state business has been great; this surely has wearied you, Meiniang.”

　　The Empress answered, “If Your Majesty deems my toil heavy, why not let Hong (Li Hong, the Crown Prince) bear part with you? First, it would lighten my burden; second, the Prince would learn statecraft and so be steadier when his day comes.”

　　Gaozong found the counsel good and replied, “So be it—let it be as you say.”

　　Before long he issued the imperial edict: the Crown Prince Li Hong would act as regent.

　　Three days later the edict was promulgated. It read:

　　——

　　By the authority of the Throne,

　　Since our Tang and Goguryeo have yet warred many years and I have fallen ill while attending to state affairs, to preserve the realm I now appoint Crown Prince Li Hong to supervise state matters; where questions cannot be decided, consult with the Empress. At the same time I commission General Li Ji as Supreme Commander to lead the forces against Goguryeo.

　　——

　　From that day Empress Wu could no longer watch over Li Lingyue as closely as before; though Nurse Zhang remained, the Empress’s mind yet found no ease.

　　One day, as Empress and Crown Prince together handled state business, Li Hong perceived the melancholy upon his mother’s brow. He spoke: “I know, Mother, the grief you feel for Lingyue; yet public affairs must come first and I will not falter. I have a maid who is clever; let her join Nurse Zhang in watching the Princess.”

　　The Empress brightened: “Very well—another pair of eyes is well.” Yet she hesitated and thought, “The child is young; if the maid lacks proper manners or has a stern face, she may frighten the Princess.” So she added, “Call her forth; I will instruct her myself.”

　　Thus Li Hong summoned the girl.

　　Out she came in water-green robes: slim of waist, tall of frame, brows like willows, eyes like stars, cheek of jade and lips like cherries—some sixteen or seventeen years in age, and of peerless beauty.

　　The Empress asked, “What is your name?”

　　The maid curtsied, “Your Highness, I have no formal name in the palace; my parents called me Qing’er, and so I am called.”

　　“Then Qing’er shall be your name,” the Empress said. “Crown Prince says you are clever—do you know letters?”

　　“Your Highness, I know most of them; perhaps eight or nine in ten,” Qing’er replied.

　　Pleased by her manners and speech, the Empress said, “These days the Prince and I are occupied; I entrust the Princess to you and Nurse Zhang—take care that no mistake befall her. When idle, amuse the Princess with fables.”

　　Qing’er bowed and took her place at the Princess’s side.

　　As for the war with Goguryeo, once the rear was secure the court invested Li Ji with the marshal’s seal, chose the auspicious day and appointed Jiang Ke as vanguard.

　　Jiang Ke, styled Zhiwu, of Shanggui in Qinzhou, a scion of the Jiang clan, led three columns with great swiftness. Li Ji marshaled a host of one hundred thousand and swept like a flood toward the palace of Quan Nansheng.

　　Thinking themselves safe in a mirage of peace, Quan Nansheng’s men had not properly arrayed defenses; Jiang Ke’s spearheads struck sharp and soon rode within thirty li of the palace.

　　The palace commanders, seeing the danger, shut gates and sent fast riders to warn Quan Nansheng. The lord heard the tidings and, distrusting the bearers, beat the messenger with three hundred rods for suspicion of falsehood and treachery meant to wreck relations between the realms.

　　Frantic, the garrison sent again and again; at last Quan Nansheng believed and wept in the palace, cursing Gaozong as oath-breaker and calling him kin to beasts.

　　His son Quan Xiancheng observed his father’s despair and counseled, “Father, set aside anger and think of a way to break the siege.”

　　Quan Nansheng asked, trembling, “What plan?”

　　The son answered, “Let us open the treasuries—gold, pearls, brocades—and hire the town’s thieves and cutthroats as freebooters to fend against the Tang.”

　　Without more ado the father consented; Quan Xiancheng raised men in the city and drew on the palace hoard to bribe a force.

　　Outside, Li Ji and his staff still deliberated the approach. Pang Tongshan urged caution: “We are new to their ground; send Jiang Ke with three thousand to probe and bait the enemy; if he is beaten we shall learn their strength before risking the main host.”

　　Li Ji agreed and sent Jiang Ke forth with orders: “If you fail, then fail; if you win, all the better.”

　　Jiang Ke challenged the city. Enraged, Quan Xiancheng sallied out with three thousand and they fought fifty exchanges. Jiang Ke feigned defeat and retreated ten li; Quan Xiancheng dared not pursue and both sides beat drums and drew back.

　　Receiving the report, Quan Nansheng rejoiced and declared, “Tomorrow my son will lead twenty thousand and break the Tang.”

　　The next day Quan Xiancheng engaged Jiang Ke anew; they fought again for many bouts. Jiang Ke again pretended to flee, casting away helmets and armor and leaving stores, and drew off some distance. Seeing this, Quan Xiancheng brought three thousand men to fetch the abandoned provisions back to the city—not knowing the caches had been poisoned by Jiang Ke: three hundred jin of tainted grain lay hidden by the Tang. Those within who ate were seized by violent sickness.

　　A scout brought word and Jiang Ke that night led his men to attack Quan Nansheng’s palace. The lord, seeing his officers retching and vomiting from the poison, burst into tears.

　　Jiang Ke found the gates open and with three thousand cavalry and footmen stormed the palace. Quan Xiancheng rode out to face him. Recognizing the youth, Jiang Ke struck without parley; in close combat they sparred twenty bouts, and Quan Xiancheng was forced to retreat.

　　Quan Xiancheng cried out to Quan Nansheng, “I hold these foes—father, speed you with the garrison and flee; later we will rise again and be avenged.”

　　The garrison, seeing Quan Nansheng’s cries, helped him to horse and fled from the city. Jiang Ke pressed on in pursuit, and after another ten exchanges unseated Quan Xiancheng and brought him bound before the horses. Jiang Ke had him trussed and placed him upon a cart, then rode off after the fleeing Quan Nansheng.

　　In the following year Jiang Ke harried Quan Nansheng and finally trapped him amid the mountains. Quan Nansheng, knowing Jiang Ke’s craft, disguised himself and set ambushes twenty li from the enemy camp, arranging to intercept Li Ji’s relief. But Jiang Ke, seasoned in war, thwarted those small tricks and struck repeated blows that routed Quan Nansheng’s forces.

　　Caught and desperate, Quan Nansheng’s officers resolved to fight to the death. Jiang Ke leveled his blade and split one leader in two. Quan Nansheng fled; Jiang Ke loosed an arrow that struck him from his horse, then dismounted and severed his head with his sword.

　　Quan Nanchan and the remaining captains, seeing all lost, raised white flags and surrendered. Jiang Ke bore Quan Nansheng’s head to Li Ji and proclaimed, “My lord, I have cut the rebel Quan down; here is his head.”

　　With that Li Ji pressed forward to capture Pyongyang, and thus Goguryeo fell.

　　Throughout the campaign Tang arms rolled as if the mountain had been cleft: dispatches of victory came in succession. The burdens of administration multiplied at home, so the Crown Prince daily consulted with Empress Wu. Late into the night the East Palace could be heard with the sound of mother and son discussing affairs.

　　Though mother and son, Empress Wu and Li Hong were not as a common household might be at ease; yet in their dealings the Empress now perceived in her son much likeness to both Taizong and Gaozong. Remembering Zhang Gongyi’s household of nine generations, the Empress felt a pang of conscience for past faults—she recalled, with shame, her earlier mishandling of the matter by which Helan Min had attempted to defile the Crown Prince’s bride.

　　Addressing her son: “Hong, in the case of Yang Shaoqing’s daughter, I did ill; I acted poorly.”

　　Li Hong at once interrupted: “Mother, do not blame yourself. It is past; let it go. Ordinary households can achieve harmony; so shall we.”

　　The Empress, hearing such filial comfort, felt her heart at ease—what more could she ask of life?

　　With Goguryeo subdued, Empress Wu and Li Hong proposed an edict to divide that realm into nine governorates and forty-two prefectures, some one hundred and odd counties, and to set an Andong Protectorate at Pyongyang. Gaozong approved and named Xue Rengui as acting Protector of Andong with twenty thousand troops to garrison the region.

　　Li Ji and Jiang Ke, for their merits, were summoned to the palace and granted audiences. Li Ji received a grant of one hundred household fields; Jiang Ke, promoted for valour, was raised to high rank.

　　After the court audience Li Ji removed his personal saber and presented it to Jiang Ke; he took off his jade belt and gave it to Minister Lu Chengqing.

　　Lu Chengqing, styled Ziyu, hailed from Fanyang of Youzhou.

　　Meanwhile Zhang Wenguan, seeing himself unprovided, asked Li Ji, “What gift will the Duke of Ying present to Zhi Gui?”

　　Li Ji replied, “At the front I fought shoulder to shoulder with that valorous man; he is gentle by nature, so I gave him a sword to stiffen his nerve; as for Ziyu, he is sometimes reckless in speech, so I bestowed a jade belt as counsel to bind himself. If one must give to you, then we shall invite everyone to the wine-house and spend a night drinking.”

　　Zhang laughed and accepted.

　　Yan Liben and Pei Xingjian, meanwhile, were employed in ceaseless labours: Yan would play chess and sing with the National Preceptor and exchange poems and calligraphy; Pei scoured the imperial shrines from dawn to dusk, digging deep for any trace. Yet for all their toil they found nothing and comforted one another, “When misfortune bottoms out, blessing will return.”

　　One sweltering summer day, the heat heavy, Yan saw Pei break sweat and the National Preceptor said, “Minister Yan, let Pei take a cup of tea and rest; do not overwork your bodies.”

　　Pei drank and the Preceptor praised both ministers as loyal and diligent.

　　Yan demurred, “We live on the state’s stipend and should share its burdens.”

　　The Preceptor then asked Yan to grind ink so that he and the Emperor might set down a letter that would resolve the matter on their minds. Yan prepared ink and Pei spread paper; the Preceptor wrote on the sheet:

　　—

　　What the heart seeks: the hearth-dog of the native place.

　　—

　　The Preceptor then urged them to bring the note to the sovereign and to leave temple matters to others; urgent military affairs must be attended.

　　Yan, seeing the writing, asked its meaning.

　　The Preceptor said, “I have recommended a man to the Sovereign—this is the person who holds the Emperor’s mind.”

　　Yan guessed at the family name and queried, “Is the man named Di?”

　　The Preceptor answered, “Not only Di; he hails from the same homeland as the Sovereign, and, more, Minister Yan has seen him before.”

　　Yan Liben’s face lit with understanding; he and Pei hastened back to the capital with the dispatch.

　　On the road Pei, puzzled, asked Yan, “Do you truly know where this man is?”

　　Yan then told how, years before, when serving as inspector he had once examined a prisoner at the Bianzhou jail—a man surnamed Di, named Renjie, styled Huaiying, of the Taiyuan Di family, who had earlier passed the imperial examinations and held posts in Bianzhou. Di had been imprisoned through false accusation after adjudicating against a corrupt superior. Yan found in him no trace of fear; in their talk Yan discerned a rare spirit and said, “Since childhood I have loved painting; few faces compel the brush at first sight—you are such a man.” Yan restored Di’s reputation and recommended him to a legal post in Bingzhou’s governorate, so that the people called him “the bright pearl of Hequ, the remnant treasure of the southeast.”

　　Thus Yan and Pei returned to Chang’an and reported at Hanyuan Palace. Gaozong listened and murmured, “It is ever so—whenever I seek a worthy painter or man, people recommend the same names. When will new talents be found?”

　　He then asked Yan, “How fares Di Renjie at Bingzhou?”

　　Yan answered, “He does well; the people love him, though he is sharp of edge.”

　　Gaozong replied, “Leave him in Bingzhou to be tempered; in time bring him to the Court of Judicial Review.”

　　Months passed and Yan Liben rose to be Right Chancellor and was ennobled as the Baron of Boling. He and the Left Chancellor Jiang Ke were often named together in courtly praise:

　　Left Prime ministers proclaim might in the desert,

　　Right ministers speed renown in brush and hue.

　　Students from the three academies disperse;

　　the clerks of the Five Platforms keep the records clear.