The Emperor nodded and said, “No need for such formalities at a family banquet. Send the notice.”

Because I was seated by the palace gate, I could just see a few eunuchs folding their umbrellas and several young men tidying their robes at the entrance. When I entered the palace, my imperial grandaunt had just ascended the throne; some princes, to avoid trouble, either claimed illness and left the palace to recuperate or were simply banished. Now, they all looked utterly unfamiliar.

Standing before them was Li Chengqi. A young eunuch was bent over wiping the water from his long boots. He had been turning his head to listen to the youths behind him, but as if sensing something, he suddenly glanced back into the hall. Our eyes met; he gave a faint smile and waved the eunuch away.

“Sister,” Yongtai touched my hand and said softly, “is my brother handsome?”

I came back to myself and gave an awkward smile. “Why did you come over here?” She blinked and said, “The incense is too strong; it’s lighter here.” I pulled her into my arms and said, “Only you would dare run about in front of the Emperor—aren’t you afraid of punishment?”

She stuck out her tongue, then turned her head to look at the brothers who had entered.

Li Chengqi and several princes walked into the hall and respectfully performed the kowtow. The Emperor seemed in an excellent mood, smiling repeatedly as he bade them to rise and take their seats. All the princesses stood to bow except for Taiping, who watched them closely. I had just pulled Yongtai up when she wrenched free and darted in a pink flash toward Li Chengqi. “Brother Chengqi.”

Li Chengqi gently stroked Yongtai’s head, but the youth behind him raised an eyebrow and said, “Yongtai, oh Yongtai, I’m your real older brother.” Yongtai snorted and didn’t look at him.

Everyone else shook their heads and laughed; the few taut threads of tension that had remained immediately dissolved.

The Emperor shook his head with a smile and said, “Taiping, this scene reminds me of when you were little—just as clingy to Hong.” Taiping’s expression dimmed for a moment, then he quickly brightened into a radiant smile and said, “I wanted to cling to my virtuous brother then too, but he was cold as midwinter ice—wouldn’t say more than three words.”

The Emperor chuckled and shook his head, then ordered the palace maids to open the feast.

These few sentences sounded like casual chit-chat, but they were speaking of two princes who had already passed away—both once invested as crown princes and later deposed. Before ascending the throne, the Emperor had successively deposed six crown princes and two emperors, and only then did the founding of the Great Zhou come about. Now that I thought it over, they were all the legitimate sons and grandsons of Imperial Aunt; it was merely events that took place during the six years when I was three to nine years old.

Benevolent Filial Emperor Li Hong and learned Prince Zhanghuai Li Xian both passed away with the highest exalted titles. The remaining Prince of Luling and the current Crown Prince, however, are considered mediocre by the world. There are so many rumors in the Daming Palace—becoming the stuff of posthumous legend, or living as a puppet—that perhaps no one can say definitively who was right or wrong.

I idly picked up a piece of qīfǎn cake and, listening to the dialogue between a few youths and the Emperor, realized that the one who just lost his temper must be the eldest son of the Prince of Luling—no wonder he bore a five- or six-part resemblance to Yongtai.

Yongtai clung to Li Chengqi and sat down, like a little sticking plaster, making people both amused and exasperated.

About halfway through the banquet, Taiping suddenly brought up matters of the court.

“Li Junchen has interrogated for several days, employing cruel punishments and every vicious method,” she said as she lifted her cup and swirled it, “and yet he still can’t obtain evidence that Ouyang Tong plotted rebellion. Now many ministers have petitioned to exonerate Ouyang Tong—how does Mother Empress view this?”

The Emperor pondered for a moment and said, “If by the twelfth day there’s still no proof of guilt, then release him.”

“There’s never been an innocent person in Li Junchen’s hands.” Taiping sneered. “There are all sorts of tortures, and they give them pretty names. They nail a person’s hands and feet to beams and thread them on a single line to be spun in one direction—’Phoenix Drying Its Wings,'” she mocked, using her chopsticks to point at the dish of birds before her, “it’s exactly like that, only with much more blood.”

She spoke, and Yongtai, who was eating that dish, immediately spat it out.

Taiping quietly instructed a maid to bring Yongtai a cup of hot tea, then lifted her narrow phoenix-like eyes and said, “A few days ago I had someone bring me the ‘Stratagems of Intrigue’ he compiled to study closely. The vinegar to the nose, boiling people in jars—those ordinary things made my scalp crawl, not to mention the head nailed with wooden wedges, brains split and marrow spilling—”

The Emperor’s phoenix eyes tightened, and he interrupted her, “Taiping, do not speak of such things at meals.”

Taiping smiled and continued eating the Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix.

I was shivering, when I heard the tinkling of jade—one of the palace maids serving me had gone pale and could no longer steady the jade plate in her hands. My heart tightened; I hurriedly reached out and took the plate from her so she wouldn’t draw the emperor’s attention. “This dish is a bit greasy. Bring me a cup of ‘Shenquan Small Dumplings’ instead.”

When the emperor dines, they always brew ‘Enshi Jade Dew’; I specifically asked for something not on the banquet so she’d have to step outside for a moment and calm herself. Still, Taiping’s remarks are mostly sensational—how could she be so frightened?

The little maid paused, then looked at me gratefully, bowed, and retreated.

Once she had gone, I didn’t think further about it and kept my eyes on the “Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix,” marveling at Taiping’s appetite and courage. Before the imperial grandaunt, only Taiping and Wan’er dared speak plainly; Wan’er usually placates, but Taiping always opposes the emperor’s wishes.

Lai Junchen has executed countless officials; another name like Ouyang Tong is nothing more than one more accused to add to the list. Wan’er once said this was merely the emperor’s tactic for cracking down on the Li Tang imperial clan before his enthronement, yet Lai Junchen’s talent for extracting confessions is uncanny — he has never failed. Though infamous, no one can lay a finger on him.

The emperor didn’t seem very concerned with pacifying matters; instead he looked to the other side at Li Chengqi and asked, “Chengqi, what do you make of Ouyang Tong’s case?” As he spoke he gestured to a dish nearby, indicating Wan’er should offer it to Li Chengqi.

Li Chengqi rose to receive the favor and said, “Your subject thinks Ouyang Tong’s affair is not only a matter of court politics but also concerns the scholars among the people.” Seeing the emperor slightly nod, he continued, “Ouyang Tong’s father, Ouyang Xun, was famed across the realm for his calligraphy; even Gaozu once praised him highly, and among literati he held a very lofty reputation. Ouyang Tong inherited his father’s true skill and his name is no lesser. For that reason, this case has become widely discussed among poets and scholars, who have protested its injustice.”

The emperor nodded again and asked, “What are they saying?”

“There is a saying: you can know a man by his handwriting,” Li Chengqi said, “Everyone assumes Ouyang Tong harbors no treasonous intent. Your subject believes this case should be tried swiftly, to cut off such talk.”

“Let the literati talk if they must. If it weren’t for the Ouyang Tong affair, they’d find something else to gossip about,” the Emperor said, studying him closely with a faint smile. “I’ve heard that in the garden outside the palace, at Furong Yuan, you once stood by a pavilion and wrote together with Ouyang Tong—felt a kindred spirit, did you not?”

I started inwardly, my hand tightening on one leg of the writing desk. Anything connected to treason had always been harshly judged by the Empress’s clan; his earlier words had been oblique, but now this was…

Li Chengqi’s expression did not change; he inclined his head and said, “When I was young I admired Ouyang Xun’s calligraphy. I happened upon him at Ziyun Tower that day, and took some interest—merely a chance encounter, nothing that could be called a kindred spirit.”

The Emperor asked with a smile, “So, having examined his handwriting, do you also think this man harbors no intent of rebellion?”

At that, everyone fell silent; only the delicate music behind the screen continued, drifting on without pause.

Li Chengqi pondered for a moment, as if weighing his words.

Suddenly, Taiping coughed a few times, as if choked by the wine.

She covered her mouth with her handkerchief and laughed, cutting off the conversation between grandfather and grandson: “My daughter has also discussed the way of practicing calligraphy with him, but can anyone judge whether he’s a treacherous minister or traitor by his handwriting alone? You just said it yourself — literati like to chatter about state affairs, so let them chatter.”

The Emperor shook his head and smiled, “How is it I never heard you practice copybooks?”

“I’ve grown lazy,” Taiping put down her handkerchief and said, “there used to be quite a few people in the palace who practiced with the Bu Shang model and the Zhang Han model.”

Wan’er, who had been silent at the side the whole time, turned at the right moment, took the tea from the palace maid’s hand, and set it down in front of the Emperor.

“The princess is right,” she said with a smile. “Many in the Daming Palace admire Ouyang Xun’s brushwork, and even Princess Yong’an, who has only been in the palace two years, is the same — she constantly goes on about Ouyang Xun’s Eight Principles of Calligraphy.”

The Emperor smiled faintly and looked up at me.

“Wearing it on your lips all day?” The Emperor sounded very interested. “Come, recite it to me.”

I hurriedly stood, ran it through my head once, then began: “Like a peak’s falling stone, like a new moon in the vast sky, like an array of clouds stretching a thousand miles, like the withered vine of myriads of years, like a mighty pine snapped and hanging upon a rocky cliff, like the release of a crossbow with ten thousand weights…”

Before I finished, the Emperor interrupted aloud: “Like a sword cleaving a rhinoceros horn, like a wave passing a brushstroke.” A deeper smile formed in her eyes. “Who taught you that?”

I replied, “Before entering the palace, Yong’an studied with our household tutor for two years. It was the tutor who taught me.”

“When I was young, my teacher also forced me to recite the Eight Principles of Calligraphy. I never thought, even for a generation like my grandniece, it would be the same.” The emperor seemed to recall scenes from his childhood; his expression softened slightly, and his smile carried a trace of warmth.

Before the emperor entered the palace at fourteen, there had been no bloodshed or the bloody intrigues of the harem—those adolescent years before palace life. Seeing the faint wistfulness on her face, I unexpectedly remembered the days before I came to court. Though my mother died early and I seldom saw my father the king, I didn’t have to weigh every word others said; my greatest worry then was at most not memorizing lessons and being scolded by my teacher to copy texts.

“Come, come sit with your grand-aunt.” The emperor signaled for me to come.

I hurried over, while the others looked at me with varying expressions. The Wu princesses’ faces showed envy, the Li princess displayed both jealousy and indifference. Princess Taiping merely held her cup and drank, casting a faint glance at Wan’er and then at me. I pretended not to notice their looks, but as I passed beside Li Chengqi, who was standing bowed, I found myself momentarily distracted.

I walked to the emperor’s side and she gently took my hand: “Be seated.”

A palace maid quickly brought over a short redwood seat; as I sat, the emperor smiled and said, “I’ve heard from your father about the teacher who taught you. Xie Liting spent many years with the Wu family—he even scolded me when I was young.”

I nodded and admitted helplessly, “An old scholar, stubborn temper. Yong’an and my sisters were all punished by him. The Four Books and Five Classics were forced upon us through punishments until we actually memorized them.” I hadn’t expected that that old teacher had also been my imperial grandaunt’s tutor.

The emperor returned a gentle, elegant smile, chatted with me a few more pleasant words, then said to Li Chengqi, “Go and sit.”

Li Chengqi bowed and sat back down.

“Taiping, I know you hold grievances,” the emperor sighed lightly, speaking to the silent Taiping. “Half a month ago Zhang Jiafu petitioned to make Duke of Zhou the crown prince. Ouyang Tong strongly opposed it, so you have long believed that the case against Ouyang Tong was a frame-up by the Duke of Zhou. I am of the Wu clan, and you have married into the Wu family too; we shouldn’t distinguish between us and them. There’s no need to let matters at court wound our feelings.”

When I heard that, I finally understood.

Since Di Renjie became chancellor, ministers have repeatedly petitioned to change the crown prince. Wu Chengsi of the main Wu line—the same Duke of Zhou the emperor mentioned—was the candidate proposed multiple times. So when Princess Taiping brought up the Ouyang Tong case, it was only a pretext; what she truly wanted to discuss was replacing the crown prince.