Chapter Fifty-Nine: Banished

Late afternoon, just past the third quarter of the hour.

In the Imperial Garden of the Taiji Palace, snowflakes whirled through the air, lending the world a strange, crystalline chill. The pure white snow seemed to wash away all the filth within the palace, covering places once soaked in blood with breathtaking blossoms of plum. Each petal was adorned with glimmering shards of ice, a sight that sent a shiver—of dread rather than delight—down one's spine.

A thick layer of ice had long since covered the pond. Several palace maids gingerly walked upon it, gathering scattered lotus pods and extracting from them the black seeds, now frozen as hard as diamonds, to be saved for making porridge. It should be noted that these seeds were the maids’ own share; the finer ones had already been taken by the imperial kitchens for the royal family.

Li Shimin walked ahead, his face shadowed with gloom, while Li Kong followed closely behind, occasionally glancing up at the emperor. It had only been a little over an hour since his conversation with Li Chengqian, so Li Kong hadn’t given it much thought, assuming Li Shimin had summoned him for a formal inquiry about the heated brick beds.

At the very rear of the Taiji Palace compound, beside the pond, stood a palace called the Coiling Dragon Hall. This name, given by Li Yuan, was originally chosen with the intent of imprisoning Dou Jiande and Wang Shichong there. Coiling Dragon Hall could also be read as Imprisoned Dragon Hall. Yet, both Dou Jiande and Wang Shichong died before that could happen, and the hall ended up as Li Yuan’s own retirement residence.

Across a wall, Li Shimin gazed toward the Imprisoned Dragon Hall, from which the sounds of laughter and music drifted faintly. This was now Li Yuan’s life—indulgence, day and night. According to what Li Kong knew, during Li Yuan’s years of confinement, he had fathered more than a dozen new sons and daughters. The man was already over sixty, proof enough that a man’s ability to sire children is not bound by age.

“I hear you taught Chengqian something today?”

Suddenly, Li Shimin withdrew his gaze and turned to fix Li Kong with an icy, disappointed stare.

Li Kong’s heart skipped a beat, but he cupped his hands and replied, “I merely spoke to the matter at hand, Your Majesty. The root of the Crown Prince’s troubles lies within the Eastern Palace, and I did not wish to see him stray from the right path, so I spoke a few words. I wonder if I may have overstepped my bounds?”

Li Shimin snorted coldly. “Overstepped? Your words skirted the edge, but why mention that matter at all? I know you’re clever enough to understand what such a reference implies!”

Though Li Shimin had not said it outright, Li Kong knew he was referring to the Incident at Xuanwu Gate. Li Kong had told Li Chengqian that “perhaps Li Shimin was not a good brother,” a veiled reference obvious to any discerning listener.

History, as written under Li Shimin’s supervision, painted him as a paragon, but the truth was better known to those who lived it. Li Shimin was a brilliant general; Li Jiancheng, a steady and capable Crown Prince. By any measure, Li Jiancheng was fit for the throne, but he had to die. Nearly sixty percent of the Tang’s core strength came from members of Li Shimin’s Heavenly Policy Mansion—they would never want Li Jiancheng on the throne, for fear he would not favor them.

The saying goes, “A new emperor, a new court.” Those who had followed Li Shimin through endless campaigns naturally hoped to see a leader they knew and trusted. The coup at Xuanwu Gate was a decision forced upon Li Shimin by the veterans surrounding him; Li Jiancheng was simply collateral damage.

This was why Li Shimin regarded the Xuanwu Gate Incident as a forbidden scar upon his heart. Family ties and ambition, guilt and regret, tormented him, and his father’s current attitude only deepened his agony. Were it not for the needs of the Tang Empire, he might have collapsed long ago.

Thus, to prevent another Xuanwu Gate, he resolved to foster a sense of familial affection among all his children from a young age, so that they might know that even in an imperial family, kinship could exist. Yet, he had failed.

Li Kong took a deep breath and looked at Li Shimin. “Does Your Majesty truly think you can silence the tongues of the world? Or do you believe the Crown Prince, the Princess of Changle, and Prince Wei are all mere children, easy to deceive? They are not so young anymore; they may not understand the intricacies of politics, but each has their own sense of justice.

Today, I may have overstepped, but I can promise that the Crown Prince will one day take Your Majesty as his model. Yet, to prevent similar incidents, I suggest—”

“Enough! Are you trying to meddle in the struggle for the succession?” Li Shimin’s harsh rebuke cut him off. His face darkened as he said, “I once thought you could be the minister I’d entrust my children to, but now I see you’re no different from the others. In that case, I—”

Li Shimin wanted to have Li Kong killed, but he could not bear to do it. For one, Li Lizhi was hopelessly in love with Li Kong, vowing never to marry another. If he killed Li Kong, Li Lizhi would be devastated; her health was already frail, and he dared not risk it.

Moreover, Li Kong had done much for the Li family, both in business and in tending to the Empress’s illness. Especially when he recalled Li Kong’s unwavering resolve upon hearing of the Turkic invasion—Li Shimin could say with certainty that there was no one else in all of Tang, himself included, who could match it.

Finally, Li Kong was the son of Li Ji, the second greatest general of the Tang after Li Jing. The empire had been won by the efforts of Li Jing and Li Ji; Li Shimin’s own talent lay chiefly in employing the right men. If he killed Li Kong, even if Li Ji kept silent, all trust between sovereign and minister would be lost. Should Li Ji ever harbor ill intent, Li Shimin would have more to fear than he could bear.

Could he kill Li Ji too? He could not bear it, and with so many foreign tribes eyeing Tang hungrily, Li Shimin could not afford to lose him. Such is the power of ability; it decides one’s worth.

Li Kong had already resigned himself to losing his head, even wondering if death at Li Shimin’s hands would let him travel back to his own world. Perhaps it would—but there, he’d still be a penniless orphan, alone and forgotten. What a disgrace he’d be to the legions of transmigrators.

As Li Kong’s thoughts wandered, Li Shimin sighed with an even expression. “Go. Without imperial summons, you are not to leave Changle County. Tend to your business there as you see fit.”

Li Kong was startled, then understood—Li Shimin could not kill him, but could not swallow his anger either, so he simply banished him.

But… Changle County? That wasn’t bad at all. From now on, he would devote himself to commerce and strive to become the wealthiest man in all of Tang!