Chapter Twenty-One: The Calm

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On Chang’an Avenue, Shangguan Qing lay in a pool of blood as cold plum blossoms drifted down, blanketing his body. Soon after, Shangguan Wu arrived, but he too failed to block the blade of the Marquis of Sacred Might. Worse still, both the Marquis of Sacred Might and the one who had barred King Jingwu’s path now turned their gazes on him. It seemed this conflict was far from over and yet new storms were brewing.

“Third Brother, Ninth Brother! Why did it come to this?”

King Jingwu looked at the lifeless Shangguan Qing, his face clouded with loss.

“This has nothing to do with you. You are a prince, not of the Shangguan clan.” The Marquis of Sacred Might shot King Jingwu a disgruntled glance, clearly displeased by his earlier interference.

“Third Brother, must you shatter the balance the moment you return to the Eastern Capital?” King Jingwu’s eyes grew cold.

“I’ll say it again. Remember this, Li Chengyu! You are the thirteenth son of the Emperor Zhongzong of the Great Tang, the supreme commander of the Dragon Guard, the King Jingwu of Tang! You are not a dog of the Shangguan family! Don’t forget your station. I have no wish to teach you a lesson today—take your men and get out!” The Marquis of Sacred Might’s patience snapped. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his murderous gaze swept over King Jingwu. From within his right sleeve flashed a cold blue light—should King Jingwu utter another word, the blade would strike him down.

This was not negotiation; this was command. Of the few surviving sons of the late Emperor, the Marquis of Sacred Might was the eldest; in their youth, his feckless younger brothers had often felt his fists. It was so then, and so it was now.

“You—!” King Jingwu raged, but dared not provoke the Marquis further at such a moment. He well knew the Marquis’s temper; say one word too many, and the blade would indeed fall on him.

…

The death of Shangguan Qing did not resolve the standoff on Chang’an Avenue; if anything, it worsened it.

Shangguan Qing had died before Shangguan Wu’s very eyes—a flagrant provocation, trespassing upon the limits of Shangguan Yu’s forbearance. Within two days, the Shangguan family had lost two great masters, both within the streets of the Eastern Capital. Such humiliation had never befallen the family since it had risen among the city’s nobility.

“Marquis of Sacred Might, you court death!”

With a thundering stomp, Shangguan Wu unleashed a wild, searing aura, pure and fierce as a thousand bolts of lightning. The temperature on Chang’an Avenue soared as if all were cast into a furnace.

“Shangguan Wu, I don’t believe you would dare lay hands on me,” the Marquis of Sacred Might retorted coldly. Far from shrinking back, he advanced three steps, pressing the confrontation.

“Enough! Shangguan Wu, what do you intend?” The middle-aged man suddenly snapped King Jingwu’s spear in half, whirling with a cutting tone. A tidal wave of energy radiated from him, meeting Shangguan Yu’s violent aura head-on.

Jolted by this power, Shangguan Wu regained his senses, masked his aura, and with a flick of his sleeve, signaled the Shen Ce Cavalry to edge closer to Shanglin Park.

“Marquis Yongwu, I care not if you are head of the Shangguan clan or the Emperor’s own kin. The defense of the Eastern Capital has always been the duty of the Dragon Guard, not a place for your insolence! If your Shen Ce Army dares advance within a hundred feet of Shanglin Park, do not blame me for what follows,” King Jingwu warned in a low voice. If another clash broke out, it would mean open war between the Shangguan family and Tian Ce.

Meanwhile, across Chang’an Avenue, three thousand Tian Ce cavalry, led by the three great generals, bristled with anticipation. Should the Shen Ce Army move closer, this confrontation would flare into a small war.

“I demand an explanation,” Shangguan Wu strode forward, pointing at the lifeless Shangguan Hong, his tone steely as he addressed the Marquis of Imperial Might.

When Shangguan Yu came to Shanglin Park earlier, the Shangguan family had already learned of it. They had not simply discovered it when the park’s gates were breached—they had tacitly allowed Shangguan Yu’s actions from the start. After all, the family had been slapped hard by Tian Ce’s hand the previous day; reclaiming some dignity was understandable. Moreover, Shangguan Wu did not believe Xu Changhai would truly risk all-out conflict. The previous day’s events had already angered the Emperor; should Tian Ce dare spill more blood in the capital, His Majesty would not turn a blind eye. Then it would not just be a feud between Tian Ce and Shen Ce, but open contempt for Imperial authority—a mistake the Marquis of Imperial Might would not make, nor would Xu Changhai be so foolish.

Shangguan Wu’s real aim was to confirm if the Grand Tutor had followed Li Fu to the Eastern Capital in secret. By the Grand Tutor’s character, he would never allow the Shangguan family to treat the Shanglin Park—his own creation—so. More importantly, he wished to gauge how much Tian Ce valued Li Fu as Young Master: was it merely a title, or did they truly regard him as heir?

What Shangguan Yu had not anticipated was that the Marquis of Sacred Might would appear in the capital from distant Tongguan. This was unwelcome news for the Shen Ce Army and its allies; for a prince forgotten a century, to defy the late Emperor’s edict and step beyond Tongguan, and to do so without a whisper beforehand—there were unsettling implications behind this.

And now Shangguan Wu demanded an explanation for Shangguan Qing’s death.

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“Shangguan Hong and I were sparring with blades. Regrettably, he was old and frail, and it was the cold season in the Eastern Capital—his footing slipped, and he met my blade by mischance. How’s that for an explanation?” The Marquis of Sacred Might carelessly caught a falling plum blossom in one hand, squinting indifferently at Shangguan Yu as he replied on behalf of the Marquis of Imperial Might.

He spoke as if Shangguan Qing were no more than a stray dog dead in the street, entirely unmoved.

True, Shangguan Qing was aged, but he had once been a formidable general at the Emperor’s side, a warrior of near-divine rank. Even on the frozen northern front, blanketed in snow for a thousand miles, he would not slip and die on a blade by accident.

The explanation was brazen, and the Marquis knew it well. Both sides merely wanted a way to save face. He had offered a step down—not for them to descend gracefully, but to tumble ignominiously, whether they took it or not was their business.

“Marquis of Sacred Might, do not push us too far!”

Shangguan Wu slowly shook his head, casting aside his broken blade. Silver light flickered in his slender palm, threads of chilling true energy pulsing forth…

Just as the tension reached its breaking point, a figure appeared unhurried on the distant Vermilion Bird Avenue.

With this figure’s arrival, both sides’ cavalry halted where they stood.

“The Wine Master requests Li Fu, Yang Zixu, and Jiang Moyuan to proceed to the Imperial Ancestral Temple.”

The newcomer seemed oblivious to the tense atmosphere, addressing the three youths calmly.

It was none other than the Grand Protector—one of the Three Excellencies.

“What! The Wine Master?”

“How can it be! The Wine Master hasn’t left the temple for years—why summon these three?”

King Jingwu and Shangguan Wu’s faces changed.

The Wine Master—the Imperial Ancestral Temple’s sage—was a Confucian leader who had served five emperors. Even the reigning monarch addressed him as Teacher. Two centuries ago, it was the Wine Master who, stepping from the temple and surveying the smoke-filled capital, uttered the words that placed the present Emperor on the throne.

The Grand Protector’s arrival was not to resolve the standoff, yet everyone understood the import of his words: the Wine Master’s request meant the Emperor would not intervene today. When the Wine Master spoke, even the Emperor deferred—let alone the Shangguan family.

“Marquis of Sacred Might, my family will seek you out for this,” Shangguan Yu said, choking down his fury. The old Wine Master had called the three young men, but not Shangguan Yu—clearly displeased with the family’s conduct. However unwilling, Shangguan Yu dared not defy the sage’s wishes. Glaring at the Marquis, he suppressed his anger.

The Marquis’s offered explanation was as if Shangguan Wu had invited the Marquis to slap him—then extended his own face for the blow.

After a moment, the Marquis said, “When your family is capable, come back and tell me.”

Shangguan Wu, enraged to the point of laughter, said nothing more and led the Shen Ce cavalry away from Chang’an Avenue.

The middle-aged man looked at King Jingwu and sighed, “You are not Lord Zhangsun; you cannot change anything. Let it go, Chengyu.”

King Jingwu gave him a cool glance and led the Dragon Guard away without a word.

As the wind scattered the fallen blossoms, the crowds on Chang’an Avenue slowly dispersed.

Only the Grand Protector and the Tian Ce men remained before Shanglin Park.

From noon to this moment, all that had occurred on Chang’an Avenue and before Shanglin Park had unfolded before the eyes of many in the Eastern Capital.

On the surface, it was a clash between Shangguan Yu and Li Fu, but all knew this was a struggle between the new Emperor’s faction and the old royal clans—a contest not yet pushed to open hostility. To the elders of the city, such things were nothing new.

Yet this time was different: the heads of both great houses were now involved. Even the Marquis of Sacred Might, forbidden to leave Tongguan, had returned to the Capital after many years.

“Are they trying to shake the heavens?”

A mood of unease spread through the noble houses of the capital.

The people of Shanglin Park bowed to the middle-aged man, the Marquis, and the Grand Protector.

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After a deep bow to the Marquis of Sacred Might, Yang Zixu said, “As a child, I often heard tales of your feats and held you in great esteem. If my family hadn’t been so strict, I might have run off to Tongguan and joined your ranks long ago.”

“Oh? I’m surprised my deeds are still spoken of in the capital,” the Marquis replied with a smile. “But… you all must grow quickly. I’ve heard that on the northern front, the Shen Ce Army has several commanders who’ve distinguished themselves in battle. After this war, the Yu Ling Army will likely undergo a complete purge—the commanders of all six divisions will be dismissed. That prize is being eyed not just by Shen Ce.”

The people of Shanglin Park fell silent, reminded of the Yu Ling Army’s plight in this conflict.

Though the Yu Ling Army had declined over the years, its structure remained unchanged, still one of the Five Great Protectorates. The coming reshuffle would have a significant impact on the political landscape of Tang.

Many hoped this adjustment would not involve Tian Ce; Shen Ce hoped so as well.

Perhaps today’s events were, in part, about this very issue.

“Do your best—the future Tang needs you as its guardians.”

With these words, the Marquis departed quietly.

The middle-aged man exchanged a few words with the Grand Protector and the three generals, then left with the Marquis.

“What about the main gate?” someone from Shanglin Park asked.

The Grand Protector approached, surveyed the ruined entrance, and shook his head. “Leave it unrepaired.”

Yang Zixu was perplexed. “Not repair it? If we don’t, who will—the Shangguan family?”

“That’s right. The Wine Master said the Shangguan family will be made to repair it,” the Grand Protector replied.

Yang Zixu scratched his head, gazing at the rubble-littered street, incredulous.

“I understand.” Li Fu patted Yang Zixu’s shoulder with a smile. “Just wait—the Shangguan family will come to fix it.”

“All right, you three tidy up and come with me to the Ancestral Temple,” the Grand Protector said, gazing at Li Fu with meaning.

“To the Ancestral Temple?” Yang Zixu hesitated, uneasy; the words alone imbued with a mystique that inspired both awe and dread.

“The Wine Master…” Yang Zixu murmured, deeply shaken.

…

At the far end of the Vermilion Bird Avenue, inside the Tian Ce headquarters, the middle-aged man and the Marquis of Sacred Might sat across from each other. A teapot sat between them, long gone cold, wisps of smoke drifting from the brazier.

After a moment of silence, the middle-aged man spoke. “You should not have come back.”

“I didn’t wish to return,” the Marquis replied, toying with the jade pendant at his waist.

“But what choice did I have? There are always some bastards in this world who force your hand—what else can one do but return?” The Marquis smiled faintly, his gaze drifting toward Shanglin Park as if seeing an old friend from long ago.

“Does he know?” The middle-aged man placed the teapot on the brazier and, with a bronze poker, stirred the coals.

“It was Teacher Wine Master who summoned me back; even he has no say in the matter. But your Tian Ce has fared poorly in Tang these years. Now, with the widespread adoption of the military governor system, your position as Marquis of Imperial Might may soon grow precarious,” the Marquis said, gripping the jade pendant and lifting his eyes to meet the middle-aged man’s gaze.