Chapter Nine: The Third Prince, Li Taian
When Li Yanhe heard that the Third Prince was to serve as military supervisor, her phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, a strange look flickering within them. An Qi, seeing her master's expression, immediately dropped to her knees.
Li Yanhe, hands clasped behind her back, gazed at the tree in Yang Fugui’s courtyard. The tree had grown tall and lush, its branches and leaves thriving, a clear sign that the master of the house cared for it well.
Li Yanhe shook her head and signaled An Qi to rise. Just then, Yang Fugui entered the courtyard carrying firewood on his back. He was startled to see Li Yanhe and An Qi standing there.
“What are you doing here? The leaves are falling under this tree—you’ll ruin your fine clothes standing here.”
Yang Fugui felt uneasy, staring at this man whose face was streaked with mud. There was something about him that made one instinctively want to kneel and bow, much like the feeling evoked by officials in the past, perhaps even more compelling.
Yang Fugui set down the firewood and turned to leave, muttering under his breath, “Good heavens! Could this person be more formidable than a magistrate? If so, my luck must truly be extraordinary!”
Li Yanhe had mastered the art of reading people years ago and could easily discern what Yang Fugui was thinking, though it mattered little.
A small figure like Yang Fugui posed no threat to her; the real danger likely lay ahead on the road.
On the official road to Luzhou, a man of striking appearance stood amidst the crowd, a pearl among stones. His eyes were deep and spirited, his nose straight and noble, carrying a scholarly air.
Yet he was unlike the others. His attire was a fine green robe adorned with gilded patterns, exuding an unmistakable sense of nobility.
The procession behind him made it clear that this refined gentleman was no ordinary person. The officials waiting nearby confirmed it further.
The officials, sweating nervously, watched as a servant hurried over to the middle-aged man in red official dress and announced, “The Third Prince’s carriage has arrived.”
Li Taian alighted from the carriage, smiling with gentle elegance, a folding fan in hand, fanning himself lightly. The Third Prince’s gait was steady as the wind; his shoulders swayed casually, radiating a carefree and amiable demeanor.
But Li Taian, the Third Prince, lacked the pretentiousness found in many scholars. On the contrary, he inspired immediate goodwill.
Upon meeting him, one might believe he was a nobleman from the water towns of the south. Yet the Third Prince Li Taian was born and raised in the northern capital.
The arrival of the Third Prince naturally called for a grand banquet. Despite the turbulent times, such matters were of no concern to the imperial kin.
“Red gates reek of wine and meat, while bones freeze on the roadside”—such was the reality.
Halfway through the feast, a serving maid accidentally knocked over Li Taian’s teacup, soaking his robe with tea.
Li Taian glanced at the maid, then suddenly smiled and instructed his guard, “Take her away and execute her with the rod.”
He continued to smile gently, retaining that spring-like warmth of a young nobleman, yet no one dared overlook his true identity.
This banquet, as intoxicating as poison, lent the Third Prince an air of languor, reminiscent of the southern water towns.
Smiling, reciting poetry, composing couplets, he watched beautiful women dance and play the lute.
His lips always curved in a gentle, elegant smile, but on his face, that smile never seemed entirely genuine.
Perhaps this was the Third Prince’s protective mask. He appeared harmless, yet beneath the surface lay darkness. In the royal family, that vast dye vat, how many were truly innocent and naïve?
By the time the banquet ended, the Third Prince was drunk. The servants, keen and careful, supported him, not daring to slacken. If they let him fall, their own lives would be forfeit. They cautiously helped Li Taian into the carriage.
He was not yet of age to be titled a prince. Compared to his two elder brothers, he was clearly less favored.
This noble prince maintained his title, but Emperor Yongchang seemed unconcerned about bestowing a princely rank upon him soon.
The Third Prince Li Taian was a man who kept himself hidden, refined and scholarly, often overlooked by others.
Once in the carriage, he shed the drunkenness and sat upright. A servant had prepared sobering tea.
Xiao Gexu quietly placed the cup by his hand. Li Taian picked up the tea and gave a wry smile.
He said to Xiao Gexu, “Gexu, why is this tea so bitter?”
Xiao Gexu glanced at the tea and replied, “Perhaps Your Highness’s heart is bitter.”
Li Taian did not respond, and for once, his face lost its usual gentle smile.
It was clear that his mood was sour. Narrowing his eyes, he lifted the curtain to gaze at the departing Luzhou.
His voice was cold, as if laced with ice. “A man of low status is trampled by all—even those petty officials dare to mock me.”
A chilling aura radiated from him as he reclined in the carriage, his refined face now exuding a violent energy.
Xiao Gexu sighed, quietly draping a cloak over Li Taian. In a calm and cultured voice, he said, “Your Highness, if you achieve great merit this time, you may be granted the rank of second-grade prince.”
“The Second Prince was only titled Marquis after his coming-of-age ceremony, not a true prince,” Xiao Gexu continued. Li Taian narrowed his eyes, then smiled.
“You alone understand me, Gexu. General Yuan Sihan should be arriving soon—it would not do for us to lag behind.”
In the Dayong dynasty, princes began their training at fourteen, and were formally titled after their coming-of-age ceremony.
To common folk, all became princes, but distinctions remained. A prince at leisure differed greatly from one with real power.
Their titles and ranks varied distinctly. The Second Prince now held the proper second-grade rank, Marquis Shengxuan.
Though merely a marquis, his rank equaled that of idle princes, and his status was even more distinguished.
The royal family of Dayong was large, but those excluded from power led less fortunate lives, subsisting on monthly stipends and imperial rewards.