Dawn.
Snow still lingered in patches around the western wing, yet willow buds had already unfurled—fine as inked brows, trembling in the sharp spring wind. A ring of thin ice clung to the wellhead, reflecting both sky and the crouched figure beside it.
Prince Guang, Li Yi, stared into the water at the face of a boy just past ten—clear-eyed, lips faintly upturned, the very picture of innocent oblivion.
Only he knew the truth: last night, he’d dreamed again of Jingling. But the child kneeling in the snow wasn’t him—it was another self, eight years old, clad in a single robe, lips blue with cold, gripping the corner of his Father’s coffin so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
“Father’s cold…” he murmured, voice soft as breath.
Footsteps approached—measured, unhurried, carrying the quiet cadence of the Inner Music Bureau. Zheng had arrived.
She was in her thirties, tall and spare, with a plain face and long, steady hands—the kind shaped by decades among zithers and scrolls. At her cuff, stitched in matching thread so fine it vanished unless sought, was a tiny character: Guo.
“Your Highness,” she said, voice low but precise, “time to change.”
Li Yi took the fresh robe she offered. His fingertips brushed the lining—there, hidden, lay a fleck of charcoal ash. Last night, while Zheng slept, he’d used a charred twig to scratch names onto the wall: men whose shadows would soon stretch across the empire. He needed to remember them.
Suddenly, he grinned like a fool, pointing at the willows: “Granny! Look—the crows’ tails have grown back!”
A flicker passed through Zheng’s eyes—gone in an instant. She knelt, adjusting his collar with gentle firmness. “Don’t catch cold, Your Highness. The wind bites today.”
Li Yi let her dress him, gaze drifting blankly into the distance. He knew this new “Mother” was the Empress Dowager’s eyes. That tiny “Guo” was her pass.
Afternoon. The sun warmed slightly.
The young eunuch Aman swept leaves listlessly along the veranda. Small-boned, ever-smiling, he claimed to be Wu’s distant nephew—come out of gratitude to serve the Guang Prince.
Seeing Li Yi alone on the stone steps, basking in weak sunlight, Aman sidled closer and whispered: “Does Your Highness remember Mother Wu? Even at the end… she spoke of you.”
Li Yi froze. The image of Wu’s water-swollen face flashed behind his eyes. This man was no kin—he was poison.
In one heartbeat, he leapt up, jabbing a finger at Aman’s ear: “Bugs! They’re back! Crawling inside your ear!” Then he threw himself into a snowdrift, rolling and wailing: “Cold! Father’s cold! Bugs want to eat me!”
Aman stumbled back, face pale, broom nearly slipping from his grip. As he retreated, he absentmindedly scratched behind his right ear with his left pinky—a gesture swift as a blink.
But from the shadow of a distant pillar, Zheng’s pupils contracted sharply.
That reflex—scratching the right ear with the left pinky—was the mark of Shence Army recruits. New soldiers were branded there, discreetly, to deter desertion. Over time, they developed the telltale itch.
Who but the Shumishi—the Chief Eunuch of the Shence Armies—had access to such men?
Zheng lowered her lashes, returning to her needlework as if nothing had happened.
But her heart sank. The Empress Dowager had sent her to guard the Guang Prince. Now even the Shence’s claws had reached into this courtyard.
The western wing was no longer a refuge. It was a net—finely woven, patiently held—and Li Yi was the prey every hunter watched.
Two months earlier, a thousand li away in Youzhou.
The headquarters of the Lulong military governor.
Deep night. Silence absolute.
Governor Liu Zong woke gasping from a nightmare, drenched in sweat, chest heaving as if dragged from drowning depths.
In the dream, his father Liu Ji stood over his bed—drenched in blood, eyes hollow with accusation.
In his hand, Liu Ji held a still-beating heart. Black blood dripped between his fingers, pooling on the floor.
Crows circled the canopy, shrieking, diving to peck at the organ.
“Second Son,” his father rasped, voice like grinding stone, “how many human hearts have the crows on Youzhou’s walls eaten today?”
Thirteen years ago, Liu Zong had poisoned his father’s wine to seize power.
Since then, he’d aided the court in crushing Chengde, earning glory in hopes of washing clean his sin. Emperor Xianzong had shown mercy—even granted him honors.
But Xianzong was dead. The new emperor, Muzong, drowned in feasts and music. Court affairs lay in the hands of eunuchs.
Did anyone still remember the blood on Liu Zong’s hands? Did anyone still care to cover it?
Trembling, he lit the Buddha lamp on his desk. Its dim glow pushed back the dark—but not the chill in his bones.
He summoned his most trusted aide, voice hoarse: “Send word… when the spring snow melts, I’ll shave my head and become a monk. All nine prefectures of Lulong—I’ll return them to the throne.”
His aide paled. “My lord! You cannot! The Hebei generals look to you alone. Without you, chaos will erupt!”
“Chaos?” Liu Zong gave a bitter laugh. “My life has been chaos from the start. Perhaps only temple bells and sutras can cleanse me now.”
He gazed into the black night. “I only pray the court sends a wise man—not one who’ll provoke these proud soldiers.”
The twenty-eighth day of the second month. Midday.
Zheng returned from the palace market with a packet of fresh sesame cakes. Setting them on the table, she broke one apart, speaking as if idly: “Has Your Highness heard? The capital’s abuzz about this year’s metropolitan exams.”
Li Yi looked up, feigning confusion. “What did Mother say?”
“The jinshi candidates.” Zheng sighed, a trace of sorrow in her eyes. “They say this year’s list is full of chancellors’ sons-in-law and secretaries’ brothers. No matter how hard a poor scholar studies, there’s no room for him.”
She handed him a piece of cake. “There’s one Su Chao—son-in-law of Vice Minister Li Zongmin—his essays are crude, yet he topped the list. And Yang Yinshi, brother of Yang Rushi, also made the roster. Who knows how much Chief Examiner Qian Hui took in bribes?”
Li Yi took the cake, fingers trembling slightly. Li Ke had told him days ago: this was the scandal that would ignite the Niu-Li factional wars.
“Mother,” he asked, crumbs in his palm, eyes wide with childish curiosity, “what’s a jinshi?”
“Someone… who becomes a great official.” Zheng studied him, expression unreadable. “But these days, it seems that path is open only to the sons of the powerful.”
Late that night, Li Yi lay in bed, whispering: “Li Ke… what happened next?”
Long silence. Then, weary:
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“In three days, Emperor Muzong will order Wang Qi and Bai Juyi to re-examine the candidates. This marks the beginning of the Niu-Li factional strife—a feud that will last forty years… until the Tang falls.”
Li Yi stared into the darkness above his bed.
In the Nanxun Hall of Xingqing Palace, music swirled and dancers spun.
Emperor Muzong, Li Heng, lounged on a brocade couch, golden cup never empty, eyes glazed as he followed the twirling Hu xuan dancer—her skirts flaring like a blooming peony.
A eunuch tiptoed to the doorway, murmuring: “Your Majesty, Prince Zhang requests an audience.”
Muzong frowned, annoyance flickering across his face. “Again, spoiling my mood?” He waved off the music, then drawled: “Admit him.”
Prince Zhang, Li Cou, entered—robes immaculate, bearing upright, a stark contrast to the hall’s decadence. Hidden in his sleeve was a hand-copied broadsheet: the “List of Privileged Jinshi,” circulated among failed candidates, each name a wound, each line a cry of injustice.
“Your humble servant pays respects,” Zhang bowed.
“Rise.” Muzong yawned. “What troubles you today, Uncle?”
“Your Majesty,” Zhang lifted his head, earnest, “the capital is in uproar over this year’s exams. Talented commoners are cast aside, while men like Su Chao and Yang Yinshi gain rank through family ties. The imperial examinations are the foundation of the state! If fairness is lost, where will scholars place their hopes? Where will the realm find its pillars?”
Muzong waved a dismissive hand. “Qian Hui is a two-reign veteran. He knows his duty. Why believe street gossip?”
“But gossip spreads because it holds truth!” Zhang pressed. “Your Majesty is in the prime of life—you should strive to govern wisely! How can you—”
“Enough!” Muzong snapped, raising his cup. “I know your loyalty, Uncle. But such trifles belong to the chancellors. Come—enjoy the dance instead. This girl is a rare beauty sent from Fanyang!”
Music surged anew. The dancer’s skirts whirled, drowning Zhang’s unfinished plea in silken noise.
Zhang stood in the corner, watching his elder brother—once bright with ambition, now sunk in wine and vanity. A cold void opened in his chest.
This empire… no one wished to save it anymore.
He withdrew silently. Outside, fine snow had begun to fall, settling soundlessly on his shoulders. The palace walls loomed high—shutting out the world, and hope.
In his carriage home, he murmured to his aide: “Prepare the horses. To the Sixteen Princes’ Compound.”
The aide started. “Your Highness? You mean… to see the Guang Prince?”
“No.” Zhang shook his head, eyes deep as an ancient well. “Only to look—from afar. If he’s truly witless, it’s his blessing. But if he’s pretending…” He paused. His voice turned colder than February snow. “In this palace, the sane don’t live past three years.”
In a side chamber of the Shumishi Office at Daming Palace, candlelight flickered.
Chief Eunuch Wang Shoucheng trimmed the wick with deliberate slowness. The flame danced, illuminating half his face; the other half sank into shadow, sharp and predatory. Below him stood Liang Shouqian, commander of the Right Shence Army—posture deferential, eyes keen as a hawk’s.
“Zhao Yan’s been dead over ten days,” Liang said quietly. “No proof found in the palace. But… the Guang Prince…”
Wang chuckled, amused. “A fool? What can he do? Zhao Yan was bait—sent to test who’s truly mad, and who’s merely waiting for winter to pass.”
“But he altered a princely exam scroll…”
“That’s exactly what I wanted.” Wang’s gaze turned blade-sharp. “The emperor is young, the heir unchosen, and the princes grow older by the day. We must know which ‘fools’ are real—and which are wolves in sheep’s wool.”
Liang hesitated. “Yet the Empress Dowager has placed the Guang Prince under ‘the late emperor’s grace’…”
“A woman’s whim.” Wang caught himself, shifted tone. “Anything else?”
“Prince Zhang petitioned the throne today…”
“Oh?” Wang’s brow arched. “He saw His Majesty?”
“Yes. Urged him to purge corruption in the exams. His Majesty… ignored him.”
Wang laughed coldly. “This ‘virtuous prince’ can’t sit still. Thinks reading a few classics makes him a savior?”
He rose, pacing slowly. “Watch Zhang closely. Report everyone he meets, every word he speaks—especially if he contacts the Sixteen Compounds.”
“Understood.”
“And,” Wang sat again, tapping the desk with one finger, “you delivered Qian Hui’s list to Li Deyu?”
“It’s done. Li Deyu was furious. He’s already instructed his disciples to impeach.”
“Good.” Wang nodded, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “Let Niu Sengru’s faction hate Li Deyu. Let Li Deyu’s camp devour Qian Hui. The more the court tears itself apart, the firmer our grip. Let them fight—until both sides lie broken. Then… the empire will be ours.”
Liang bowed and retreated, vanishing into the corridor’s gloom.
The tenth day of the third month. Dawn.
The last snow in the western wing had finally melted. Mud gave way to sprouts of green. Spring had come, at last.
Li Yi crouched by the well, watching the water. No ice remained—but the surface was murky, refusing to show his full face.
Zheng sewed a spring robe on the veranda, stitches even and tight. Aman swept farther off, movements more cautious than before.
From beyond the wall, a eunuch’s voice recited the court gazette—clear, toneless, devoid of feeling:
“…Military Governor Liu Zong of Lulong, moved by the emperor’s boundless grace, offers his nine prefectures to the throne. His Majesty, praising his loyalty, grants him the honorary titles of Acting Grand Guardian and Palace Attendant, bestows three hundred taxable households, and permits his entry to court…
The Censorate reports gross irregularities in this year’s jinshi examinations—privileged sons admitted through influence. His Majesty, enraged, has ordered Chancellor Wang Qi and Hanlin Academician Bai Juyi to re-examine all candidates and restore the integrity of the state’s rites…”
Li Yi suddenly grinned like a simpleton, pointing skyward:
“Father! Crows are biting writing brushes! Ink’s spilling on the ground—turning into blood!”
Zheng’s needle pricked her finger. A bead of blood welled. She didn’t wipe it—just pressed it lightly against her sleeve and kept sewing.
—She knew the prince was babbling again.
But those words—brushes and blood—pierced her like a needle.
Spring in Chang’an was never warmed by blossoms.
It was fed by blood.
Beneath the thinning ice of this season, a net was being woven—silent, intricate. Spun from eunuchs’ ambition, scholars’ rivalries, governors’ defiance, and the throne’s decay. Every soul within it struggled: some awake, some feigning sleep, some truly lost.
The ice grows thin.
Human life is grass.
Who cracks first—dies first.
Li Yi stood, brushing dirt from his palms. He walked back to the veranda, picked up the copy of the Classic of Filial Piety Zheng had left there, and pretended to read. Sunlight bathed him, warm and golden.
But his heart was colder than March wellwater.
Translator’s Note on Historical and Cultural Terms
- Jinshi (进士) as political currency: By the mid-Tang, the jinshi degree had become less a meritocratic gateway than a mechanism of elite reproduction. Appointments like that of Su Chao (son-in-law of Li Zongmin) and Yang Yinshi (brother of Yang Rushi)—men with weak literary credentials—exemplify how examination results were routinely manipulated through yin (荫, privilege by kinship) and patronage. The scandal described here—the 821 Changqing Examination Controversy—was real and catalytic: it triggered the first open rupture between the so-called “Niu” (Niu Sengru) and “Li” (Li Deyu) factions, whose rivalry would dominate court politics for four decades.
The Ritual of Re-examination (覆试)
- Wang Qi and Bai Juyi’s retest: When exam corruption was alleged, the emperor could order a fushi—a second, supervised examination before senior officials or Hanlin academicians. While framed as restoring fairness, such measures often served factional ends. Here, Wang Qi (a neutral figure) and Bai Juyi (associated with neither major faction but respected for integrity) are chosen to lend legitimacy to what is, in effect, a purge. The fact that the gazette announces this as “restoring state rites” (zheng guodian) reveals how moral language masked power struggles.
Provincial Submission and Court Theater
- Liu Zong’s surrender of Lulong: Military governors (jiedushi) of Hebei had ruled autonomously since the An Lushan Rebellion. A governor voluntarily “returning” territory to the throne—especially all nine prefectures of Lulong—was unprecedented and politically explosive. The court’s lavish honors (honorary titles, tax grants) were not rewards but containment: they signaled imperial acceptance while neutralizing Liu Zong as a threat. His stated motive—“cleansing sin through monastic life”—echoes a real historical pattern: late-Tang warlords often used Buddhist repentance to legitimize political retreat.
Palace Surveillance and the “Guo” Mark
- Embroidered “Guo” (郭) on Zheng’s cuff: This subtle sigil identifies Zheng as an agent of the Guo clan—specifically, likely tied to Empress Dowager Guo (mother of Muzong and grandmother of Li Yi). In Tang palace culture, trusted attendants often bore hidden markers linking them to their patrons. Unlike overt uniforms, such discreet signs allowed deniable oversight. Zheng’s presence thus reflects the Empress Dowager’s direct intervention—not just general surveillance, but familial stewardship over a potentially dangerous prince.
The Symbolism of Writing Implements in Political Discourse
- “Crows biting writing brushes… ink turns to blood”: Brushes and ink were sacred instruments of bureaucratic order. To imagine them being attacked by crows—and their ink transmuted into blood—is a subversive poetic inversion: it frames scholarly corruption not as administrative error but as sacrilege that spills actual blood. Li Yi’s “mad” utterance thus encodes a truth too dangerous to state plainly—that the examination system’s collapse will trigger violence. Zheng’s visceral reaction confirms she understands the metaphor.
The Eunuch Command Structure
- Shumishi (枢密使) and Shence Army coordination: Wang Shoucheng’s dual role—as Chief of the Shumishi (the eunuch-controlled military secretariat) and de facto commander of the Shence Armies—illustrates the consolidation of eunuch power under Muzong. By placing loyalists like Liang Shouqian in key army posts and using intelligence networks (e.g., planting Aman), eunuchs could manipulate both civil appointments and princely conduct. Their strategy—“let factions devour each other”—was historically accurate: eunuchs thrived in divided courts.
The Performance of Royal Fraternity
- Prince Zhang’s failed remonstrance: As a “virtuous prince,” Zhang’s duty was to advise the emperor—but his appeal to “state foundations” and “scholarly hope” falls on deaf ears. Muzong’s dismissal (“let chancellors handle trifles”) reveals the erosion of Confucian kingship: the emperor no longer sees himself as moral center, only as pleasure-seeker. Zhang’s silent exit—and his later decision to observe Li Yi from afar—shows how even well-intentioned royals recognized the futility of direct action. His warning—“the sane don’t live past three years”—is less prophecy than grim diagnosis of court pathology.
Seasonal Metaphor as Political Barometer
- “Spring ice grows thin”: Unlike earlier seasonal references (e.g., “spring in Chang’an was never warm”), this image emphasizes fragility and imminent rupture. Ice that is “thin” appears solid but can shatter under the slightest weight—mirroring the empire’s surface stability. The chapter’s closing line—“Who cracks first, dies first”—transforms meteorology into mortal stakes: survival depends not on virtue or rank, but on timing and concealment.