Chapter 3: Cold Alley
As Xue Chongxun had anticipated, the family banquet fell through, leaving everyone to return home separately.
Though early spring, the days remained short. By the time they departed Princess Taiping's mansion, night had already begun to descend. Xue Chongxun rode his horse, flanked by guards and servants carrying lanterns emblazoned with the character "Xue" on long poles—a symbol of their household. The procession turned south along the street, their lights flickering like fireflies in the deepening gloom.
Encountering Yuwen Ji earlier had reminded Xue Chongxun of an urgent matter: he needed to topple Feng Yuanjun, the Vice Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices (Taichang Temple) and her betrothed.
There were two reasons. First, by acting himself, Xue could dispel any lingering suspicion from his mother, Princess Taiping, that he might collude with the eunuch Gao Lishi. Second, though Xue held the honorary title of Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, real power in the Taichang Temple lay with Feng Yuanjun. Removing Feng and installing their own loyalist would consolidate control.
The Taichang Temple oversaw imperial rituals, ancestral worship, music, astronomy, and even the bureaucratic dress code. Its influence ran deep in Tang politics, particularly through its authority to select young nobles as assistants during state sacrifices—a critical stepping stone for securing court positions like the Qianniu guards or low-ranking civil posts. Such patronage was invaluable for building factional power. How could Xue allow this institution to remain in the hands of the Crown Prince's faction?
Drawing on memories from his "previous life," Xue Chongxun keenly felt the peril of being Princess Taiping's eldest son. With opponents like the Crown Prince and even Emperor Li Dan himself, survival depended on strengthening his mother's position inch by inch. He dared not underestimate them—the Emperor, after all, had twice ascended the throne amid the treacherous politics of Empress Wu Zetian's era.
"My lord, this Temple Alley is too dark and deserted at night. Should we detour?" interrupted Fang Yuzhong, a square-jawed guard gesturing for the procession to halt. A generations-old Xue family retainer, Fang was a man of few words but formidable martial skill.
Xue scoffed, "This is Chang'an. What danger could lurk here? The cold bites—let's hurry home."
As they pressed onward, the plump servant Pang Er—nicknamed "Noodle Xishi's Husband" after his wife, a former noodle-seller turned household servant—chimed in without turning: "My wife says Peiniang's of age now. We'll send her to your chambers tonight."
Peiniang, Pang's stepdaughter of thirteen or fourteen, had long been earmarked as Xue's concubine. But the modern sensibilities from Xue's past life rebelled. "Tell your wife to keep the girl. That arrangement is void."
A sudden aroma of braised meat pierced the night. Pang Er inhaled deeply, muttering with theatrical longing: "Braised pig's head…"
Laughter rippled through the retinue. A lantern-bearing skinny servant teased, "Why not carve a slice from your own forehead, eh?"
Pang Er blinked in earnest confusion. "I crave pig's head, not my own flesh!"
Even Xue chuckled. "You two belong in a farce."
The mirth proved fleeting. Fang Yuzhong's bark sliced through the night: "Glint ahead!" Guards echoed the coded alert, hands flying to weapons.
A black-clad figure sprinted toward them. Crossbows snapped up as Fang roared, "Halt!"
Flames blossomed at both ends of the alley. Footsteps pounded. The woman collapsed before Xue's horse, kowtowing desperately: "Save me, noble lord! I'll serve you forever!"
Pursuers closed in—masked men halting at the sight of Xue's entourage. Their elderly leader growled, "This doesn't concern you. Let us reclaim our runaway slave." He produced gold ingots. "For your trouble."
Xue flicked his whip toward the official gold fish pouch at his waist—symbol of authority. "Dare bribe an imperial officer? Seize them!"
As guards feigned pursuit, the woman gazed up with awed gratitude. Xue noted her raspy voice, filed the detail away. "Home," he ordered. "To the Mist Chamber first."
The Mist Chamber—his private retreat in Anyi Ward, built using "past-life" ingenuity—awaited. Wealth had its privileges, after all.