Chapter Fifteen: I Was Fooled by a Rabbit

In the twelfth year of the Zhenguan era, a heavy snowstorm fell continuously for three days during winter, bringing disaster across the entire Guanzhong region. Collapsed houses were seen everywhere; countless people and livestock perished from the cold, and the number of those lacking clothing and food was incalculable.

The imperial court took the matter very seriously.

The eight hundred-li region of Qin Chuan was the foundation of the Li Tang dynasty. If it became unstable, the entire realm would be unsettled.

During the Qin and Han periods, Guanzhong’s economy was the most prosperous in the world. Sima Qian once described its wealth as “six out of ten parts of the country’s richness.” By the Sui and Tang dynasties, due to frequent wars in the north, the economy had somewhat declined, and the southeast’s wealth had become crucial to Guanzhong.

Nonetheless, Guanzhong remained the center of the world, the heart of the empire.

The entire realm might fall into chaos, but Guanzhong must not.

If Guanzhong were to be disturbed, it would shake the Li Tang dynasty’s imperial foundation that was meant to last for millennia.

However, with such widespread disaster, even in a later age of “help from all corners when one region suffers,” governance would be difficult. How much more so in the Tang dynasty, when transportation and communication were extremely underdeveloped?

After the Sui and Tang dynasties expanded their rule, the political center of Chang’an saw a dramatic increase in demand for supplies. The Guanzhong region alone could no longer meet this demand; it had to rely on the eastern regions to transport goods for provisioning. The digging of the Grand Canal in the Sui dynasty and the great efforts to regulate grain transport in the Tang dynasty were for this very reason.

The only way to manage the disaster was to rely on the financial and grain support from the southeast.

Yet the snow had blocked all land routes; the Wei River was frozen over. To the east lay Tong Pass, to the west Dasan Pass, to the south Wuguan, and to the north Xiaoguan. These four passes, once strategic strongholds, had become shackles tightly clasping Guanzhong’s throat. The entire region seemed like a dead corner. Large convoys and fleets could not enter, supplies could not be delivered, and both officials and commoners could only watch helplessly, lamenting in vain.

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Behind the towering city walls, the snow disaster and the cries of the people were firmly concealed. Inside the luxurious mansions and embroidered pavilions, the high officials, nobles, and princely sons of the Tang dynasty neither heard nor saw these woes. They cared not, continuing their revelries of wine, music, and dance.

They paid no mind to the peasants outside. In recent years, Guanzhong had been ravaged by war, with corpses strewn across the land. Could the deaths caused by a snowstorm truly surpass those of warfare?

As long as the mighty Tang government troops—feared across the four seas—remained, they could rest easy.

What the nobles cared most about was one matter—an amusing and absurd one.

“Pamper me… don’t deceive me… keep your promises… help me when I’m bullied… cheer me up… even in your dreams, do it for me… always think I’m the most beautiful…”

Once this phrase spread from the palace, it shattered many spectacles—if spectacles had existed in this era.

Especially among the women secluded in deep courtyards and the young ladies who lived long in embroidered pavilions, whose monotonous and meager lives lacked any diversion, this phrase caused them both to marvel at the second son of the Fang household and to repeat it endlessly.

Although Tang society had not reached the extreme male dominance and female subservience of the Ming and Qing dynasties, it was still a patriarchal society. How could a proper man shamelessly utter such spineless words?

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Amid teasing and ridicule, there was also quiet sighing: if only one could find such a man to marry, what more could a woman ask for in this life?

Besides this, the daily conduct and behavior of Fang Jun were discussed as a source of gossip.

Unsurprisingly, Fang Jun became infamous.

His name spread widely within the grand estates and secluded courtyards of noble families, becoming a byword for male disgrace and shamelessness.

When this phrase reached Emperor Li Er’s ears, he held before him the memorial from the Hundred Riders investigating Fang Jun’s brawl with Prince Qi. The usually composed Emperor Li Er felt his temples throb incessantly, as if an old headache was flaring up anew.

He had no mind to attend to the worsening pain in his head. Filled with fury and burdened by the frustration of the disaster’s mismanagement, he only wished to kill.

Kill whom?

Of course, Fang Jun!

Just thinking of that scoundrel feigning innocence to earn his sympathy, leading him to make a grievous error—wrongfully accusing his fifth son, Li You—ruining a lifetime of honor made Li Shimin grind his teeth in hatred, wishing he could devour the man alive!

Li Shimin valued his reputation above all. How could he allow a young upstart to destroy it through such despicable means?

As for Fang Jun’s refusal to deny responsibility and his voluntary admission, Li Shimin saw it as a cunning ploy of feigned surrender to deceive and escape.

In Li Shimin’s eyes, bloodthirsty pirates were not to be hated, nor were the fat, corrupt officials. The most detestable were those sly villains who appeared honest but were full of schemes.

Fang Jun was exactly such a man!

“Utterly shameless!”

Emperor Li Er was furious, cursing wildly. He could not imagine how a proud, upright man could say such disgraceful, spineless words.

He had seen Fang Yiai many times. Though somewhat simple-minded, he was an honest child. How could he suddenly become like this…

Emperor Li Er found himself at a loss for words to describe Fang Jun’s image after uttering those words.

In any case, it was utterly incomprehensible!

Or perhaps, Fang Yiai truly was a “rabbit master,” someone who in his heart never regarded himself as a man?

At this thought, the emperor felt a chill run through him…

In truth, it was not that Li Shimin was foolish or unaware, but who could have predicted such a drastic change in a man’s temperament in an instant?

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By common logic, character determines fate; a man’s character shapes his behavior, which in turn determines his success or failure.

Li Shimin was astute at judging character and excelled at discerning a man’s nature to predict his actions.

Yet he did not realize that the very method he prided himself on had led him to misjudge.

Empiricism can be deadly…

Beside him, Li Junxian handed over the memorial and stood silently, habitually saying nothing. Though he dared not look up in the emperor’s presence, he could lower his gaze and count ants…

Of course, there were no ants in the Taiji Palace. But that was irrelevant. What mattered was that Li Junxian understood: no matter how angry His Majesty was, the affairs of the imperial family were beyond a subject’s involvement. As a loyal minister, he must obey the emperor’s commands without uttering opinion or taking sides.

Emperor Li Er let out a sigh of frustration, feeling that venting this anger was no easy task.

First, if he severely punished Fang Jun, it would be tantamount to admitting his own error.

With his stubborn pride, Li Er would never slap himself in the face.

Second, Fang Jun’s father, Fang Xuanling, was his trusted minister, a comrade who had risen from the battlefield to govern the realm. Their bond had long surpassed that of ruler and subject.

Fang Xuanling was tirelessly managing the snow disaster at the Department of State Affairs before the Taiji Palace, working hard and deserving great credit. If the emperor punished Fang Jun harshly, the old man would grieve over his son. But if the punishment were light, knowing Fang Jun’s robust constitution, he would likely treat it as nothing.

Li Er was torn.

After some thought, he looked at the silent Li Junxian and asked, “Did Fang Jun encounter Princess Gaoyang when he left the palace that day?”

Li Junxian respectfully replied, “Yes.”

The emperor nodded and said, “Tell me again what happened that day, especially their conversation. Not a word must be missed.”

He wanted to discern from the subtle clues whether Fang Yiai was truly a ‘rabbit’ in spirit.

Li Junxian bowed slightly. “As you command.”

Then, in a steady tone like giving a report, he recounted the scene of Fang Jun’s ‘chance encounter’ with Princess Gaoyang that day. When he spoke of Fang Jun’s astonishing and shocking words, even his battle-hardened heart could not help but twitch slightly at the corner of his mouth…