Chapter Sixty-Two: A Chance Encounter on the Street

Chang’an Avenue.

Li Kong strode confidently through the crowd, with Lai Fu and Cui Zhu closely following him. Cui Zhu was now sixteen, tall and graceful. Though her figure was not flawless, she was striking among her peers, and her exquisite features made her worthy of being called a goddess. In most households, a girl her age might already be a mother, but she remained untouched, and Li Kong had never so much as laid a hand on her. This left her feeling helpless—wasn’t she supposed to be his bedwarmer? Why had things turned out this way?

Li Kong understood Cui Zhu’s thoughts clearly, and he was also aware of Li Yue’e’s intentions. Yet he himself was only eighteen, not quite nineteen, and Cui Zhu was just sixteen—an age equivalent to a high school student. Though he’d heard plenty of stories about high schoolers, he truly couldn’t bring himself to act. Most importantly, his heart was still tied to Li Lizhi, the eleven-year-old girl who had grown into remarkable beauty and with whom Li Kong had already forged a bond of life and death. He had told her long ago that, before their marriage, he would touch no other woman.

Such was the advantage of ancient times: it was normal for men to seek pleasure before marriage, and Li Kong was already viewed with suspicion for his restraint. After marriage, unless lacking means, men would often take concubines or frequent brothels as a matter of course. Though the position of imperial son-in-law was somewhat miserable in this era, if one’s ability was strong enough, anything was possible. After all, Chai Shao now had three concubines and one principal wife. Not to mention, Chai Shao had married the famed commander of the women’s army, Princess Pingyang. In antiquity, everything depended on oneself.

Most important of all, Li Lizhi’s gentle and virtuous nature grew more apparent with age, almost like a second Empress Changsun. Last year, she had told Li Kong directly that she did not oppose him taking concubines, but matters concerning Li Shimin would have to be handled by Li Kong himself.

“Where are we going now, young master?” Cui Zhu hurried breathlessly to Li Kong’s side, pouting as she asked.

Li Kong smiled cheerfully. Since he had helped Du Ruhui yesterday, Li Shimin had completely lifted his restriction, so his spirits were high. Moreover, he hadn’t wandered Chang’an in over two years, so why not take a good look at the city again? He had no particular destination. He tapped Cui Zhu’s forehead and said, “Just looking around. What, you don’t enjoy keeping your young master company?”

“Of course not!” Cui Zhu blushed at the sudden gesture and darted behind Li Kong, coyly shuffling her feet, leaving Lai Fu speechless.

Lai Fu was now the chief representative of the entire workshop, Li Kong’s most trusted confidant. Especially since Li Kong had erased his slave status the year before, Lai Fu regarded Li Kong as a benefactor who had given him new life. His loyalty soared to its peak—such a man would never betray Li Kong, even if it meant his death. To put it bluntly, if Li Kong ordered him to strike at Li Shimin, he would dare to do it.

Last year, Li Kong arranged a marriage for Lai Fu with the daughter of a tenant farmer from the estate. She was good-looking and had a pleasant temperament; now the two were expecting a child.

Passing through the central corridor, the trio entered the North Market, the most secluded area in all of Chang’an, where merchants rarely ventured. The main reason was its proximity to the Wei River; beyond the river lay the Hetao plain. Though the Turks had returned Yanmen Pass to the Tang at the beginning of the Zhenguan era, the accumulated shadows of many years could not be dispelled in just two. For this reason, the area was chaotic—brothels lined nearly every street, and aside from them, there were small workshops, unregistered and operating illegally, what modern times would call sweatshops.

These workshops employed mostly purchased slaves, and deaths occurred almost daily, often without any value. Yet, within such a place lived a renowned minister of the Tang—Wu Shiyue, the father of Wu Zetian, the Empress of the Zhou Dynasty. He was the only Duke residing here, though Li Shimin had originally intended to grant him quarters adjacent to Li Ji’s. For reasons unknown, Wu Shiyue refused the imperial favor and chose this forsaken place, unloved by both maternal and paternal relatives.

Yet, since Wu Shiyue moved in, the atmosphere greatly improved. At least, there were no longer daylight robberies; any shady dealings happened out of sight. Most importantly, Wu Shiyue’s wealth grew immensely, yet no one could catch him on any wrongdoing.

If not for Li Kong, Wu Shiyue would surely be one of the wealthiest dukes in the Tang court. Though his health suffered from living in such a place, and he—now over fifty years old—still refused to curb his excesses, finally passing away in the ninth year of Zhenguan.

Li Kong walked with hands clasped behind his back, eyeing the brothel archways with a peculiar smile, as if plotting something. Lai Fu and Cui Zhu shivered at the sight, for whenever Li Kong showed that expression, it meant someone was about to have bad luck.

Just then, a loud shout rang out ahead: “All of you, get out! Or do you believe I won’t throw you out of this house right now?”

“Wu Yuanshuang, how dare you say that? What gives you the right? Father is still alive, and you presume to take charge of this household?” A sharp, youthful female voice retorted, unable to hide its immaturity.

Li Kong paused—Wu Yuanshuang? Wasn’t he the second son in Wu Shiyue’s family? And that female voice… could it be Wu Zhao?

He guessed so because Wu Zhao was the fourth child, with an elder sister Wu Shun, who was older than both Wu Yuanqing and Wu Yuanshuang, and should be around sixteen or seventeen this year. But from their words, did it mean Wu Shiyue was dying? Yet the timing didn’t seem to match.

“Let’s go and take a look,” Li Kong narrowed his eyes. Whether out of curiosity or for future plans, Wu Zhao was a hurdle he had to overcome. She must be kept out of the palace, for though she was capable, she brought an unfortunate trend to the Tang. If not for her, Li Longji might never have fallen, and the Tang would not have declined—at least not so quickly.

Later generations blamed Yang Yuhuan, but who knew that it was Wu Zhao who made Tang women believe they could rule the world, giving Yang Yuhuan the audacity to meddle in state affairs?