Chapter Fifteen: The Graveyard of the Fallen

Within the Grand Ceremonial Office, Li Fu's mind churned ceaselessly over the words spoken by the Grand Minister. He had only arrived in the Eastern Capital three short days ago, yet in this single day, so much had transpired. Not only had he become the Young Lord of Tiance, but now, in three months’ time, he was to participate in the so-called marriage selection in Southern Chu. Worse yet, he had come to the Eastern Capital to uncover the mystery of his origins, but had not only failed to find a single clue—he had instead gained yet more enigmas, further entangling his thoughts.

If the venerable teacher was indeed the current Grand Tutor, then why had he left the capital? What, exactly, had happened sixteen years ago to provoke such fear in both the Grand Tutor and the Crown Prince? The more Li Fu pondered, the more he sensed the complexity of these matters. Vaguely, he felt an invisible thread leading straight to the royal family.

“Young Lord, what did the Grand Minister say to you?” Li Fu, lost in thought over the Grand Minister’s words, had not even noticed Xu Changhai and Chu Tiannan waiting ahead in the corridor.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Li Fu replied, distracted. After a brief pause, he turned to Xu Changhai and asked, “Why did the Grand Tutor leave the Eastern Capital all those years ago?”

“You’d best not inquire into this matter for now. Since neither the Grand Tutor nor the Grand Minister have told you, it means the time isn’t right. Besides, I’m not entirely clear on the details myself,” Xu Changhai answered after a long hesitation, as though the words had cost him great effort. His tone was grave.

Li Fu’s expression darkened. After a long sigh, he shook his aching head and, without another word, left the Grand Ceremonial Office.

...

Within a grand hall along Vermilion Bird Avenue, there was emptiness and silence; only one solitary figure sat above, exuding an innate aura of nobility and grace. This was none other than the Marquess Yongwu of the Great Tang.

“Your Highness, you called for your old servant?” An aged attendant bowed, his frail voice echoing in the vast hall.

Other than the Marquess Yongwu, not another soul was present.

The marquess wrapped himself in the darkness high in the hall, remaining silent for a long time.

“Chief Steward Wang, investigate the origins of that Young Lord of Tiance. I want a detailed report.”

It was a long while before the marquess’s voice finally broke the silence.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The old steward was about to turn to leave when the marquess called out again.

“Wait... Also, keep an eye on the movements of the Shangguan family these next few days.”

The marquess spoke after a moment’s hesitation.

...

With the Marquess Diwu still not returned to the capital, Li Fu had no choice but to reside temporarily in the Tiance Residence. Once the marquess returned, Li Fu’s station as Young Lord would be formally declared throughout the Eastern Capital.

Early the next morning, Yang Zixu arrived at the Tiance Residence. After wandering about for a while, he took Li Fu away, saying he had new friends to introduce.

“Heaven and earth are mysterious and yellow, the universe vast and ancient, the sun and moon wax and wane, constellations set in order, cold comes, heat goes, autumn harvest, winter... storage?”

A crisp smack sounded.

“Ow! Who hit me?” A boy of ten or so clutched the back of his head, twisting around in pain. The book he was holding fell to the ground.

“Fool, you got it wrong. It’s ‘autumn harvest, winter storage’—the ‘storage’ here means to gather and keep, not the Daoist Canon,” a man in white robes laughed, tossing a pine nut at him.

Led by Yang Zixu, Li Fu had arrived at a scholarly academy on Chang’an Street, just in time to witness this scene.

“Jiang Moyuan, picking on Xu Xianghe again, I see,” Yang Zixu teased the young man.

“Zixu? I thought you’d be at home. What brings you to my Shanglin Academy?” Jiang Moyuan tossed aside the pine nut, dusted his hands, and grinned.

“I heard from Brother Yang Ning that you returned last night. So, did you bring me any gifts from your great victory in the northern border?” Yang Zixu asked.

“What could I possibly bring you from the Rongdi? Though, I did seize a longbow from one of their commanders—I'll give it to you later,” Jiang Moyuan replied with a smile, clearly used to such requests. Though Yang Zixu had yet to set foot on the battlefield, the unyielding blood of the Yang family flowed in his veins.

“The Di are nomads; their bows are naturally superb. The longbow of a commander, hmm... not bad, a worthy gift indeed,” Yang Zixu nodded in satisfaction.

At that moment, young Xu Xianghe interjected, “Brother Moyuan, you’re so unfair. I had my eye on that bow yesterday—why not give it to me?”

“Haha, you should focus on your studies,” Jiang Moyuan ruffled Xu Xianghe’s hair fondly. “Read well, and one day you’ll be like your father.”

“I don’t like studying, I want to learn to fight,” Xu Xianghe muttered, pouting.

“Fool, you don’t even know the Tiance Oath, how do you expect to fight?” Jiang Moyuan, indulgent, picked up the fallen book and handed it back. “Study hard, and one day you’ll be like your father.”

...

“And who is this?” Jiang Moyuan turned to Li Fu, who was quietly observing.

“This is the Young Lord. You only returned to the capital last night, so you haven’t heard about what happened yesterday,” Yang Zixu said spiritedly, proceeding to recount Li Fu’s confrontation at the Shangguan estate.

“Vice Captain of the ‘Swiftwind’ Corps, Jiang Moyuan, at your service, Young Lord,” Jiang Moyuan bowed formally to Li Fu.

“No need for that, Jiang. I’m not yet part of the military; such ceremony is unnecessary,” Li Fu said quickly, stopping him.

“Li Fu is right. He hasn’t enlisted yet; there’s no need for military formalities,” Yang Zixu chimed in.

The military always respected strength above all, and since Li Fu had yet to join their ranks, there was no need for such ceremony despite his title.

“Still, Young Lord will soon be joining the army. Once the Marquess Diwu returns, he’ll be headed to Cangyun Mountain for training. Zixu, you’re of age this year too, aren’t you?” Jiang Moyuan said earnestly.

“Cangyun Mountain? What’s that?” Li Fu searched his memory but found no mention of it.

“It’s a training ground the court established in recent years specifically for the scions of noble houses in the Eastern Capital, to cultivate future military talent. These days, any young noble wishing to join the army must pass the Cangyun Mountain selection. Those who excel may begin as centurions or even lieutenants,” Jiang Moyuan explained.

“I see...” Li Fu nodded thoughtfully.

“It’s also to curb the excess of Hu generals in the army. The system of regional military governors has been implemented throughout the empire, and most are Hu. Our Han forces now make up less than half,” Jiang Moyuan said, his expression troubled.

In the era of Emperor Taizong, the old Hu kingdoms had already been incorporated into Tang territory. Over eight centuries, many Hu people had been deeply influenced by Tang culture, adopting even Han names—such as Lord Yuchi of Wei in Taizong’s time, who hailed from the Eastern Hu of Shuozhou.

Among the eight grand generals of the day, half were Hu—Gao Xianzhi, Geshu Han, Fumeng Lingcha, Li Siyi. All their ancestors were Hu.

Compared to other neighboring races, these Hu who had lost their own lands had changed greatly. Many Hu served at the frontiers, and whenever battles erupted against the Rongdi, Northern Yan, or southern barbarians, the Hu commanders and soldiers fought with a ferocity unmatched by regular Han garrisons.

Yet the Hu were still not of the same blood, and so the royal house had established Cangyun Mountain, to train the sons of noble Han houses, so that in time, Han generals might match the Hu in number.

“Let’s not talk of this now. Today I brought the Young Lord to Shanglin Academy for flowers and wine. These matters can wait until the Marquess Diwu returns. Where’s Chu Ge? Let’s have a good drink. You two must be dying for a celebration after three months at the front,” Yang Zixu broke in.

“You rascal, drinking in the academy? You want to see Brother Yang come out with the rod and thrash you?” Jiang Moyuan burst out laughing. The young master’s escapades were infamous—who in the capital didn’t know the wild heir of the Divine General’s house?

“Come on, let’s find Chu Ge in the back garden,” Yang Zixu said, dragging Li Fu along.

Passing through the front hall, they entered the rear courtyard of Shanglin Academy. As Yang Zixu had promised, the scenery was indeed extraordinary. Though spring had only just arrived and the chill lingered, the plum blossoms were in full bloom—white, pink, and crimson, clustered thickly on the branches.

Li Fu gazed in silence at the sea of flowers; the petals drifted down, carpeting the ground like a soft blanket.

Though the national flower of Tang was not the plum blossom, it was beloved for its proud resilience, blooming in adversity, never losing its integrity. Thus, it was cherished by the noble clans as a symbol of their own spirit.

Yet beside the plum grove was a swath of wild land, overgrown with weeds, where a few great stone tablets jutted out from the tangled grass, starkly at odds with the elegance of the academy.

Puzzled, Li Fu wondered why this place was left to weeds. Curious, he approached.

...

“There’s nothing to see here—it’s just where the royal family’s dead are buried,” Yang Zixu remarked, unfazed. The patch of wild grass had been there as long as he could remember, untended even when the Grand Tutor himself lived here.

“This is the former Crown Prince’s burial ground?” Li Fu stopped, scrutinizing the gravestones.

“Yes. They say Emperor Taizong buried the deposed prince here. But who knows—more than one royal lies beneath these stones,” Yang Zixu said, glancing at the battered markers with a cold smile.

“It’s hard to understand why the Marquess Diwu and the Grand Tutor chose this spot for the academy,” Yang Zixu mused.

“Doesn’t the royal family ever care about those buried here?” Li Fu asked.

“The royal family? Would you care where those who sought your death were finally laid to rest?” Yang Zixu shot him a glance. “But the Grand Tutor said, when he founded Shanglin Academy: ‘No matter their crimes, they were still descendants of Taizong.’”

...

In the two hundred thirty years since the founding of Tang, through the golden ages of the first three emperors, through the change of dynasties by Emperor Wu, and to the present sovereign, the blood of the royal clan had been spilled time and again. Even the white jade steps of the Taiji Hall had been stained brown and never truly faded.

“Come, let’s see the rest,” Li Fu said, recalling the stories he had read in the village of Fragrant Rice. A shiver ran through him.

Shanglin Academy was, after all, nothing more than a mausoleum for those who had failed in their time.