Chapter 224: An Early Marriage
"My humble self dares to speak—" Lin Qing raised his head, his expression solemn. "The Prince of Chu has become ensnared in carnal pleasures while stationed in Jinzhou." He was well aware that the Prince, having just secured achievements in Jinzhou, commanded numerous supporters at court—flatterers and sycophants eager to embellish his reputation. Yet, as an imperial censor sworn to fearless oversight of officials, it was Lin Qing's duty to expose the Prince's faults fully and without reservation. Fortunately, the hall was silent; the emperor did not interrupt, the crown prince even turned to look at him, and the other ministers held their breath, granting him the floor. Lin Qing exhaled deeply and presented his carefully prepared account in full.
Clearing his throat, he declared gravely, "Since His Highness the Prince of Chu arrived in Jinzhou, he has personally visited Dahuaishu Village to investigate the people's plight. He even faced an assassination attempt while searching for a crossbow, narrowly escaping death. Though beset by hardship and danger, he has selflessly devoted himself to the welfare of the common folk, exposing the traitor Zhou Ci beyond the city walls, calming the populace at the last moment, dispersing rebel forces, thereby restoring imperial favor among the people and ensuring the farming season in Jinzhou remains uninterrupted…"
Lin Qing's words droned on, and the ministers exchanged glances, some clearly surprised. Who cared whether the fields in Jinzhou were sown? What about the alleged indulgence in lust? Thankfully, Lin Qing suddenly raised his voice: "However—"
The ministers relaxed. "Good, you have a 'however.' Make it relevant."
Lin Qing had spoken rapidly and was slightly breathless. He drew in a deep breath and continued, "Though the situation in Jinzhou has somewhat stabilized, immediately after Commander Bai's departure, the Prince—injured though he is and heedless of propriety—has shared his bed with others, indulging in secret revelries through the night. Before sunset, at the hour of the rooster's crow, he shuts the courtyard gates tightly, dismisses maidservants and guards, and immerses himself in carnal delights. He neither receives visitors nor attends to affairs of state. Such reckless abandon, heedless of consequences, compels me to dutifully impeach him, serving as a stern warning to others."
Regarding the Prince's licentiousness, Lin Qing had not witnessed it firsthand due to the closed gates, so his description remained vague. Yet the very vagueness—"red sun," "rooster hour," "closed gates," "all-night revelry"—stirred the imagination, casting a strange atmosphere over the once solemn Zichen Hall.
Upon finishing, Lin Qing stole a glance at the emperor. The ruler's expression was inscrutable—brow furrowed as if in anger, yet unable to suppress a faint smile, a mixture of amusement and vexation twisting his features, leaving him momentarily speechless, only sipping tea in silence.
Lin Qing then observed the crown prince. Li Zhang's countenance was far more composed, much to Lin Qing's relief. The prince's shame for his brother's misconduct, the awkwardness of such scandalous talk in court, mingled with frustration at his brother's waywardness, his brow knitted, head bowed in guilt for his own failure in guidance.
Yet beneath the surface, Li Zhang's mind churned with suspicion and suppressed mirth, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. Li Ce consorting behind closed doors? With whom? Did Ye Jiao know? A woman like her, having broken an engagement over a scandal involving Fu Mingzhu and Qin Baiwei's liaison in the wilds, would she tolerate this grievance? The current An Guo Duke's household was not what it used to be—no matter how much Ye Jiao wished to endure, her family certainly would not relent. To think Li Ce was such a man… Who was the woman? Wait—Ye Jiao had gone to Jinzhou too!
Suddenly Li Zhang's gaze darkened with rancor, his blood rushing fiercely to his chest, as if his body would burst from within. He opened his mouth to inquire but sensed the impropriety. Before he could speak, the emperor cut in.
"Lin Qing, be explicit about whom the Prince consorts with."
Indeed, everyone wanted to know. Some ministers shifted forward, disrupting the previously impeccable order.
Lin Qing solemnly replied, "With the Ministry of War's assistant director, Ye Jiao."
At this revelation, a nervous laugh echoed, followed by a stir of murmurs. One minister exclaimed loudly, "Lord Lin is still young—has he forgotten? The Prince and Lady Ye's marriage was arranged by His Majesty himself and is set to be solemnized soon. Though they have been—cough, cough—premarital, it is hardly scandalous. Why must Lord Lin so harshly impeach them?"
One voice of dissent quickly invited others to join in. "Indeed, even if the Lord has heard rumors, such severity is unwarranted."
The general sentiment was that Lin Qing ought to be more lenient, though the Ministry of War officials were far less forgiving. Jiang Min, their deputy, spoke first:
"Censor Lin, you're like a rat gnawing on a wooden chest—idle chatter. It seems your journey to Jinzhou was altogether too leisurely."
Lin Qing's face flushed crimson, breath forgotten. How could he be idle when he had narrowly escaped assassination? He spent every day drafting memorials, impeaching every official in Jinzhou, including Zhou Ci and Zheng Feng'an, both of whom he successfully prosecuted.
Thankfully, a minister spoke in his defense: "Deputy Jiang, mind your words! How dare you liken a court official to a rat?"
Lin Qing gratefully met the eyes of the speaker—it was Liu Yan, usually taciturn governor of Jingzhao Prefecture. Such rare support was a blessing. Liu Yan's hand was bandaged thickly, so he held no tablet. He turned to Lin Qing and said gravely:
"Censor Lin, you're merely indulging in idle gossip."
Lin Qing's face darkened; he nearly lost his footing. Idle gossip? Still an accusation of idleness? He cast a beseeching glance at the emperor, who raised a hand and motioned for silence.
The emperor was a man of strict etiquette, known to have married the empress at his parents' behest without ever having seen her beforehand. He governed his many sons with rigorous discipline, demanding abstinence and virtue. Though the Tang dynasty was indeed more liberal now, premarital—cough, cough—activities remained inappropriate.
Unexpectedly, the emperor took responsibility.
"This is my failing," he said gently. "I am aware of this matter."
The ministers exchanged glances, intrigued.
The emperor continued softly, filled with paternal affection: "Young Lord Jiu has been exhausted and near death over the affairs in Jinzhou. You all know his constitution is frail, requiring careful tending. He requested permission to wed early, hoping to bring some joy. I consented and instructed the Secretariat to draft the necessary documents to amend the wedding date and send them to the An Guo Duke's residence to fulfill imperial protocol. Since the formal wedding will be held upon his return, the matter has not been publicly announced."
The court bowed in understanding. Lin Qing was dumbfounded, his cheeks flushed deeply.
"My oversight is regrettable," he bowed his head.
"You have labored well, Lin Qing," the emperor smiled without reproach. "We will need you to speak more on the Jinzhou situation, especially regarding the Li Dai case, which still holds uncertainties."
Li Dai? Lin Qing was momentarily dazed, recalling Ye Jiao's words—"Li Chen is finished, now renamed Li Dai."
He quickly responded. Yet the emperor's gaze shifted away as he added, "Has a master of ceremonies been appointed for the Prince's wedding?"
Zou Jin, deputy minister of rites, stepped forward with relief. "Not yet, Your Majesty."
Selecting one now was difficult. The Wei Wang case remained unresolved; Zou Jin had proposed three candidates within a day, all of whom were seized during breakfast, lunch, and dinner interrogations and never returned—likely imprisoned for alleged connections with Wei Wang.
On the way to court today, Zou Jin had requested Prince Kang take the role. As the emperor's brother and trusted ally, Kang had been a master of ceremonies at the crown prince's investiture. Yet Kang, having heard the rumors, quipped: "How can I still eat in peace?"
Zou Jin tried to suggest others, but ministers all avoided him, some pointing skyward, distracting with tales of flying creatures. Zou Jin nearly laughed at the absurdity—birds, yes, but pigs?
So when the emperor inquired, Zou Jin hoped for a direct imperial decree to spare him the burden of choice. The emperor nodded thoughtfully, scanning the hall before solemnly declaring:
"This time, the Prince of Chu and Lady Ye each serve the realm—one quelling unrest in Jinzhou, the other safeguarding the capital—harmoniously united in purpose, moving and comforting to witness. As a father marrying off a daughter, my heart is both content and reluctant. The choice of master of ceremonies is crucial; after much thought, I have decided it shall be the Crown Prince."
Only the Crown Prince could represent the emperor and imperial house. His rank lent dignity to both Lady Ye and the An Guo Duke's household.
Ministers nodded in agreement. Zou Jin brightened. Only Li Zhang stood frozen, his body rigid as an iceberg.
"The Crown Prince?" the emperor called again.
Usually cautious and poised, Li Zhang did not respond.
"Li Zhang!" The emperor's tone sharpened.
Startled, Li Zhang lifted his head and murmured, "Father?"
"I appoint you master of ceremonies," the emperor said firmly, "to preside over your brother's wedding. Your stewardship will ensure the ceremony's smooth progression."
Master of ceremonies? A conflagration ignited within Li Zhang's heart, then doused by a chill, leaving only a pall of gloom. To accompany Li Ce to wed Lady Ye—seeing her adorned in phoenix coronet and bridal robes, becoming another man's wife—how could such cruelty exist in the world?