Chapter Forty-Four: The Little Secret of the Princess of Huairou

Although Yang Lian spoke in a dispirited tone, he still kept a close eye on the Southern Tang’s campaign against Min. After all, in the struggle within the court, if the faction led by Prince Qi, Li Jingsui, were to lose, and the balance of power shifted, the influence of Li Hongji, Duke of Dongping, would inevitably surge. Yang Lian didn’t have a good relationship with Li Hongji; should Li Hongji gain control, Yang Lian’s actions would become even more difficult.

For now, the situation at Fuzhou was stalemated. Yang Lian estimated that no further development would occur until the spring. Events unfolded as he predicted: in late October, the State of Wuyue dispatched troops to reinforce Fuzhou, arriving nearly a month later. During this entire period, the Southern Tang army failed to breach the inner city of Fuzhou.

The Wuyue soldiers infiltrated the inner city, bringing ample provisions and joining forces with Li Renda, further strengthening his resolve to hold out. Soon after, the Southern Tang army seized Dongwu Gate; Chen Jue sent Wang Jianfeng, the governor of Xinzhou, to assist in the assault. However, due to generals competing for glory, the inner city remained unconquered. Instead, Li Renda seized the opportunity to slay over a hundred Southern Tang soldiers, greatly boosting the morale of the allied forces.

These reports reached Jinling in mid-December, and most of the Southern Tang’s court viewed the situation with optimism. After all, Chen Jue’s victory reports had been embellished, and amidst such triumphs, no one cared for the details.

Li Jing was overjoyed and ordered his fourth brother, Li Jingda, to travel to Fuzhou to reward the troops, conveying to Chen Jue the imperative that Fuzhou must be taken after spring and the conflict brought to an end. In the capital, Li Jing hosted a grand banquet for his officials; all those ranked third grade and above attended.

Yang Lian, Lin Renzhao, and Chen Tie, naturally lacking the qualifications, spent their days leisurely drinking rice wine indoors. As the year drew to a close, Prince Qi sent gifts, leaving Yang Lian somewhat abashed. Though their relationship was one of mutual benefit, Prince Qi had indeed treated him generously. After some thought, Yang Lian took his secret recipe sausages in person to the Prince Qi’s residence.

Sausages had a long history, dating back to the Northern and Southern Dynasties, but Yang Lian’s sausages were specially smoked with pine and cypress branches, with a touch of dried mustard for a hint of spiciness, giving them a distinctive flavor. Gold and jewels would hardly impress Prince Qi, who lacked for nothing; such a unique gift would stand out.

Indeed, when Li Jingsui saw them, he was intrigued and immediately had them prepared, eager to taste Yang Lian’s offering, and invited Yang Lian to stay for a meal. As they chatted, conversation inevitably turned to the Fuzhou campaign. Yang Lian could tell Li Jingsui was very satisfied with the progress, his speech full of optimism.

Not wishing to dampen Prince Qi’s spirits, Yang Lian gently advised him to keep an eye on the movements of the Wuyue troops. Perhaps his words were too subtle, for Li Jingsui paid little heed. After dining at the prince’s residence, Yang Lian was about to leave when Princess Huairou approached him quietly, her manner secretive.

“Are you free tomorrow?” Princess Huairou asked.

“I am,” Yang Lian replied tersely.

“Then come with me somewhere tomorrow,” she said, her mood somewhat low. After a pause, she added softly, “Don’t tell my father.”

Yang Lian nodded, “All right,” and turned to leave.

“Aren’t you going to ask anything?” Princess Huairou blinked her large eyes at him.

“If you don’t wish to say, then I won’t ask,” Yang Lian smiled, waving his hand. “Tomorrow, I’ll wait for you at the gate of Prince Qi’s residence.”

“No, I’ll come find you,” she replied.

Yang Lian understood and nodded, turning away.

The next day, the sky was unexpectedly clear. Yang Lian rose early, as usual, for a run and a cold bath. Just as he was about to have breakfast, Princess Huairou arrived furtively, her face smudged and disheveled.

“Princess, what happened?” Yang Lian asked in confusion.

“Every year on this day, my father forbids me from leaving the house,” she replied gloomily.

“Why?” Yang Lian inquired.

“Because it’s a special day,” Princess Huairou said, casting her eyes on the bowl of porridge in front of Yang Lian, its aroma drifting over. Her stomach rumbled audibly.

“What is this? I want some too,” she said.

“Century egg and lean pork congee,” Yang Lian smiled, scooping a bowl for her and placing it before her, along with two steamed buns.

“Delicious, delicious!” Princess Huairou, evidently famished, ate greedily and spoke with her mouth full, paying no heed to her appearance. Yang Lian couldn’t help but smile; beneath her spoiled and capricious façade, she was endearing in her own way.

“Why is everything you bring so delicious?” she asked.

“There will be even tastier things in the future,” Yang Lian promised with a smile. Opening an inn and restaurant was not enough for him; he was accumulating funds to open a smithy, to forge a batch of finely crafted weapons, and, incidentally, to make iron pots. Yet he lacked experience, recalling only vague theories from the past. He wondered how many failures he would endure before success. But failure was the mother of success; Yang Lian feared not failure, only the inability to recover from it, as had happened to Chen Tie.

After eating their fill, color returned to Princess Huairou’s cheeks, and she urged him to leave the city.

With the year-end approaching, the city gates were closely guarded, especially as Southern Tang was still fighting remnants of Min, and Wuyue watched eagerly. The court feared troublemakers. However, Yang Lian possessed a token from the Divine Martial Army, and Princess Huairou had proof from Prince Qi’s residence, so the guards let them pass.

Yang Lian wondered what Princess Huairou intended. At this time, Xuanwu Lake lay outside Jinling’s walls, its edges frozen solid in the cold, with only the center showing rippling water. They walked slowly along the path, Princess Huairou uncharacteristically subdued.

Xuanwu Lake was a royal garden in Southern Tang; ordinary folk could not enter, but Princess Huairou’s identity ensured passage. She led Yang Lian confidently to Sakura Isle, one of five islets in the lake, named for its abundant cherry blossoms that bloom magnificently in March and April. Now, the trees stood bare, stripped by the cold wind, their branches stark and forlorn. A chill wind swept across the isle, adding to the bleak atmosphere.

Entering Sakura Isle, Princess Huairou’s mood grew even heavier, her steps slow, as if afraid to disturb others.

Yang Lian looked around and saw, five hundred paces away, several graves. As they neared, a woman approached, wearing a veiled hat and white gauze over her face, making her features indistinguishable. Beside her was a maid, similarly dressed; they passed by in silence.

Yang Lian took a few steps, then turned to look again, shaking his head, perhaps imagining things.

After walking a bit further, Yang Lian saw a tombstone in the distance and was struck with a jolt, freezing for a moment. He quickly hid his emotions.

Princess Huairou came before the massive grave, gazed at the inscription, and tears streamed down her face. Yang Lian noticed a bouquet of flowers trembling in the cold wind before the tomb; perhaps left by the woman earlier. He glanced back, but the two had vanished.

He scanned the surroundings and saw another, larger tomb nearby, lit with white candles. Perhaps the women had visited that grave. Turning back, he read the inscription: “Tomb of the late Princess Yongxing of Great Tang, Li Yaofan.” The words were striking.

This was his wife from his previous life, daughter of Li Bian. After Yang Lian was killed, Li Yaofan learned the news and believed her father, Li Bian, was responsible. She came to Jinling to confront him. Li Bian could not admit it and blamed bandits for Yang Lian’s death, distancing himself from the affair.

Li Yaofan refused to believe him and remained in Jinling. As Li Bian’s daughter, he could do nothing; not long after, she passed away in meditation. Li Bian sighed and buried her on Sakura Isle.

As Princess Huairou prayed and spoke, Yang Lian pieced together the story from his memories. He felt respect for the wife of his former self, and bowed reverently, burning paper offerings.

Seeing Princess Huairou still burning paper, Yang Lian’s gaze shifted to the tomb with the white candles, curiosity carrying him over. When he read the inscription, he couldn’t help but smile bitterly. It was Yang Lian’s own grave. Many believed he had died, Li Bian among them. Regardless, as the former crown prince and Li Bian’s son-in-law, ennobled as Duke of Hongnong, commander of Pinglu and Kanghua armies, and Chancellor, he deserved a grand burial.

“My aunt’s greatest wish was to be buried with Uncle Amo, but Grandfather wouldn’t allow it. He simply buried them both here, separated by a ditch,” Princess Huairou said, appearing beside him.

Yang Lian clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking softly, anger rising before quickly dissipating. He felt both rage at Li Bian’s coldness and relief—after all, the grave held not the real Yang Lian.

Princess Huairou, unaware of anything else, continued to pray at Yang Lian’s grave. “Uncle Amo was the best. He always took me to find bird nests and fly kites. Sadly, he’s gone now. Why, for power, do even those closest turn their backs on each other?”

Her voice was soft, but to Yang Lian it struck like thunder. He took a deep breath, casting aside shock and worry, and said, “Don’t be sad. One day, you will see him again.”

“Really?” Princess Huairou asked.

“Really,” Yang Lian replied with certainty.