Chapter 2: Cunning and Clumsiness
In the past, when listening to the temple monks speak of Zen and the Buddha's teachings on karma, Xue Chongxun had heard that this life and the next were governed by cause and effect. The Buddha also spoke of karmic timing—that when the moment of enlightenment arrives, one awakens in an instant.
Two months ago, Xue Chongxun had suddenly gained memories from another life. Was this karmic timing? He couldn't tell whether it was a past life or a future one, for those memories came from 1,300 years later. If it were a past life, how could it exist in the future? If it were a future life, how could memories of what had not yet happened exist?
Perhaps before Pangu split heaven and earth, chaos reigned over time itself, with no distinction between past and future...
Does the Buddha truly exist? Whether in this life or the imagined next, Xue Chongxun found it hard to believe.
Yet those memories were no mere dream. They were too vivid. He refused to believe a mere dream could conjure such clarity—an entire lifetime, fully realized.
The distance from Qianfu Temple to the mansion of the Princess of Zhenguo, Taiping, spanned only two city wards. The walk was brief.
The sun hung low, its final rays gilding the world in molten gold. The princess's estate, rivaling the imperial palace in grandeur, rose like a celestial abode amidst drifting clouds and shimmering lakes. Its reflection rippled across the water, silk-like, opulent beyond measure.
"Local officials send tributes to Chang'an monthly for Mother," Xue Chongxun remarked casually to his brother, Xue Chongjian, who wore robes of purple damask embroidered with lavish floral patterns. "Foreign envoys, too, never fail to present gifts to her. Tonight's banquet might even feature delicacies from Jiannan's mountains."
Pale-skinned and frail, Xue Chongjian stood in stark contrast to his brother's sun-darkened complexion, forged through martial training. Yet their features echoed kinship: broad foreheads, large eyes, and strong noses framed faces of noble bearing.
Xue Chongjian was Xue Chongxun's full-blooded younger brother, the Prince of Lijie. Princess Taiping had married twice, bearing two sons and two daughters from each union. Her first marriage ended when Empress Wu Zetian—Xue Chongxun's grandmother—executed her husband. Such tangled grudges and loyalties were trivialities in the imperial family.
Even brotherly bonds here felt thinner than among commoners. Xue Chongxun and Xue Chongjian seldom met, their relationship distant. Instead, Xue Chongjian grew close to their cousin, Crown Prince Li Longji. During last year's coup that toppled Empress Wei, Xue Chongjian had served as liaison between Princess Taiping, Emperor Li Dan, and Li Longji—deepening the brothers' divide.
(Li Longji's father, Li Dan, and Princess Taiping were siblings, born to Emperor Gaozong and Wu Zetian. Thus, Li Longji and the Xue brothers were cousins.)
As they entered the mansion, Xue Chongjian's labored breaths betrayed his frailty. "I've come to counsel Mother today," he said weakly. "It may anger her. Who cares about banquets?"
"If you know it'll provoke her, why speak at all?" Xue Chongxun replied airily.
"I must speak my mind."
Xue Chongxun shrugged, masking his thoughts. Chongjian has always been brooding, but shrewd. He's no fool to act impulsively.
Such caution was no flaw in their perilous world of privilege. Xue Chongxun recognized this trait in himself—blood ties ran deep. Yet he preferred the adage: "Conceal cunning; expose clumsiness."
As the brothers exchanged pleasantries, their minds churned privately. They traversed winding corridors to a grand hall, where Princess Taiping stood alone, her back to the entrance. Draped in a sweeping gown, she gazed westward, attendants huddled silently along the walls.
Her coiled hair, adorned with jewels, and the richness of her attire radiated majesty. To those who knew her power, her presence loomed with oppressive weight.
"We greet Mother," the brothers intoned, bowing.
Princess Taiping turned. The hall seemed to brighten. At over forty, her figure remained full, skin luminous beneath sheer silks. Gold and jade glinted at her throat, her crimson gown daringly low-cut. Age had not dimmed her splendor.
"Come," she commanded, her sternness softening.
Xue Chongxun felt an unexpected warmth. Memories of a previous life—thick with familial love he'd never known—had taught him the chill of his existence.
The brothers approached obediently. Xue Chongxun glimpsed Chongjian's shadowed face, resentment simmering beneath bowed head.
"Behold this view," the princess said, gesturing to the sunset-drenched estate. "Is it not divine?"
Xue Chongxun admired the ethereal scenery sincerely; Chongjian's praise rang hollow.
As they strolled, Chongjian suddenly declared: "Mother, I hear Left Vice Director Dou Huaizhen, Palace Attendant Cen Xi, and Secretariat Directors Xiao Zhizhong and Cui Shi frequent your halls. Do they whisper plots against the Crown Prince?"
The words struck like thunder, shattering the fragile warmth.
Princess Taiping's face hardened. "You dare question me?"
Trembling yet resolute, Chongjian pressed: "I risk your wrath to warn you—heed not these slanderers!"
The princess flushed with rage. "Traitorous whelp!" she hissed, finger quivering. "Guards! Flog him! Beat this ingrate to death!"
Eunuchs seized Chongjian, dragging him outside.
Xue Chongxun stood motionless, feigning shock. Why this gambit? he wondered. Does Chongjian foresee doom, using this spectacle to forge an escape route?
Chongjian's cries rose between cracks of the whip: "Elder Brother! Must you stand idle? Plead for me!"
Xue Chongxun thought coldly: You court the Crown Prince; I cannot. To follow you is death.
"Do you betray me too?" the princess snapped, rounding on Xue Chongxun.
"Never," he swore.
Her glare sharpened. "Today at Qianfu Temple—your chance encounter with Yuwen Ji, Feng Yuanjun's betrothed. Don't pretend it was coincidence."
Xue Chongxun stiffened. How does she know?
Yuwen Ji's fiancé, Feng Yuanjun, was cousin to Gao Lishi—the Crown Prince's favored eunuch (originally named Feng Yuanyi). Such alliances were old tactics: Emperor Zhongzong had once let Empress Wei play chess in bed with Wu Sansi to secure power.
"I arrived early to pay respects," Xue Chongxun said evenly. "What gain is there in favoring the Crown Prince?"
The princess's fury relented slightly—his logic held. "An official saw you leave the temple together," she admitted.
"Spare Chongjian," Xue Chongxun urged. "Force cannot sway hearts."
The words sounded merciless, yet he had no choice. In her fury, defending Chongjian would doom them both.
Perhaps Chongjian speaks truth, Xue Chongxun mused. But our paths are set. No plea can sway destiny—or Mother's ruthlessness.