HNYWEF -Chapter 162 The Reverse Scale

The twenty-seventh day of the second month, fifth year of Zhenguan.

Morning court.

There were no major matters to discuss. As always, things followed the usual pattern—Emperor Taizong of Tang nodded at each memorial in turn, approving what should be approved and rejecting what should be rejected.

Then a voice rang out from the ranks of officials.

“Your servant, Supervising Censor Zhao Wenchang, has a memorial to present.”

Li Shimin’s brow twitched slightly. He glanced toward the line of officials.

“Speak.”

Zhao Wenchang straightened up, his voice loud and clear.

“I wish to impeach Princess Li Lizhi.”

The hall fell silent at once.

Impeaching a princess?

The court officials had seen ministers impeached before, even imperial relatives—but impeaching a princess was unheard of.

Zhao Wenchang’s voice echoed through the hall, every word distinct and sharp.

“Since the beginning of spring this year, Princess Changle has frequently entered and left the residence of the Marquis of Jiuyuan, departing by day and returning late at night, lingering there without thought of leaving. Though the princess is still young, propriety exists between men and women, and ritual law establishes boundaries. Such conduct violates the virtues expected of a woman and damages the dignity of the imperial family. I ask Your Majesty to reprimand her strictly and correct this behavior, so as to set matters right and silence public criticism.”

After finishing, he knelt there and waited.

The hall was so quiet that people could hear their own heartbeats.

Li Shimin sat upon the dragon throne without moving.

He stared at the man below him, and the expression on his face slowly twisted.

Something was burning in his eyes.

One hand rested on the armrest of the throne.

At first it merely rested there.

Then, slowly… slowly… it tightened.

Veins bulged across the back of his hand, as if the blood beneath were trying to burst through.

Bang!

A muffled crash.

Li Shimin slammed his fist onto the armrest of the dragon throne.

The sound was not especially loud, but in the deathly silent hall, it struck like thunder.

Several ministers visibly flinched.

Standing near the front, Fang Xuanling’s eyelid twitched, though he did not move.

Wei Zheng stood in his place, brows slightly furrowed as he looked toward the man on the throne.

Li Shimin said nothing.

He simply sat there, one hand still pressed against the armrest, unmoving.

He was suppressing it—holding down that blaze inside him, refusing to let it erupt.

Then he spoke.

“Wang Gui.”

His voice was not loud, but every syllable carried clearly.

The Minister of Rites, Wang Gui, stepped out from the ranks.

His pace was neither hurried nor slow. Every step landed steadily, as though he had long known this moment would come.

He walked to the center of the hall, stopping beside Zhao Wenchang, and bowed.

“Your servant is here.”

Wang Gui straightened and turned to look at Zhao Wenchang.

Then he spoke, his tone calm and measured.

“Princess Changle’s visits to the residence of the Marquis of Jiuyuan were carried out under His Majesty’s orders, for the purpose of attending to Marquis Zhou’s illness. Marquis Zhou suffers from a grave disease, and the Prince Consort is still young. The princess, acting in the role of a daughter-in-law, has been personally tending his medicine as an act of filial duty, not engaging in improper relations between man and woman. The Ministry of Rites has long been aware of this matter and already submitted reports to His Majesty. As for Censor Zhao’s accusation that the princess has ‘failed to uphold womanly virtue,’ I fail to see where such a claim comes from.”

When he finished speaking, he looked directly at Zhao Wenchang.

Zhao Wenchang knelt there, mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

Every sentence from Wang Gui was like a nail hammered into the ground—firmly fixed, impossible to pull free.

By His Majesty’s orders—the emperor himself had sent her.

Acting in the role of a daughter-in-law—that was a family matter, not a state matter.

The Ministry of Rites already knew—the procedures were complete and fully proper.

Zhao Wenchang’s face turned pale.

Kneeling there, sweat rolled down his forehead in large drops. His lips trembled as he tried to say something, but nothing came out.

Li Shimin looked at Zhao Wenchang and finally spoke.

His furious voice crashed down from the throne, each word like a blade.

“The Ministry of Rites has no objections, so where exactly did your objections come from?”

Zhao Wenchang shuddered violently.

Li Shimin’s voice grew louder and louder, reverberating through the hall.

“Besides, this is my family’s private affair! I ordered my own daughter to visit my own in-laws. Since when is it the place of a mere seventh-rank censor to interfere? What are you, exactly, to dare slander the reputation of a princess in my presence?”

Zhao Wenchang collapsed flat against the floor, trembling all over as he forced out a few broken words.

“Your Majesty… I… I was only fulfilling my duty loyally—Your Majesty—”

Li Shimin did not let him finish. He lifted his hand from the armrest and swept it sharply to the side.

“Guards!”

Two imperial guards from the Jinwu Guard entered from outside the hall, their armor clattering loudly. They strode to the center and stopped, awaiting orders.

Li Shimin pointed at Zhao Wenchang.

“Drag him out. Twenty strokes of the court cane!”

Zhao Wenchang jerked upright in panic.

“Your Majesty! I—I was only carrying out my duty faithfully—Your Majesty—”

But the guards had already seized him by both arms.