LFHYB -Chapter 218 Everyone Dances to the New Emperor

Li Yuan, expression blank, was escorted by officials to welcome Li Shimin at the gates of Chang’an. He felt neither joy nor sorrow, only a sense of reflection.

Before leaving the capital, Li Xuanba finally met Li Yuan, questioning him: since he had already decided to abdicate, why force him into this? What does it mean for the people to force Li Shimin to “ascend the throne”—isn’t that a final humiliation for him?

Li Xuanba replied, “Father, is it possible that the people of Luoyang detaining Second Brother wasn’t part of my plan? You’ve read the classics—if the people could overturn the Sui dynasty’s massive ship, they could also lift the Tang dynasty’s vessel. They even dared to punish Emperor Yang of Sui to the bone; why wouldn’t they dare to enthrone the emperor they wish for?”

After Li Xuanba left, Li Yuan pondered for a long time.

He seemed to see Li Xuanba anew, finally understanding why old friends visiting him often sighed, “Li Sanlang is truly a madman.”

After all, Li Yuan was Li Xuanba’s father—he had many misunderstandings about him, but also knew him better than most people.

He knew Li Shimin cared for the people, but it was merely pity. Li Xuanba, however, empathized with the people as if he shared in their suffering.

He could not understand how Li Xuanba, though frail and raised as a wealthy duke’s son, could feel so deeply for the common folk. The people he cared for were illiterate, without ideals, without a future, sometimes without even a self—they lived like beasts, struggling simply to survive, exerting every effort just to scratch a living.

Those commoners only resembled them in appearance, but in reality, they were completely different beings.

The nobles of the Sui Dynasty had originally inherited their ways from the Xianbei of Northern Wei, and all of them loved hunting. Some nobles, when hunting, would drive commoners into the forest and chase them down like prey.

The nomadic aristocrats, while indulging in hunting for pleasure, often treated their slaves and herders this way. Li Yuan considered it barbaric and despicable, but even if a noble were punished for such cruelty, it would at most be a demotion or a fine—it would never be a matter of life or death.

This was the fundamental difference between the common people and the aristocrats.

An emperor might treat the common people slightly better for the sake of the dynasty’s continuation, to prevent uprisings—this was something Li Yuan could understand. What Li Xuanba had done, however, went far beyond that—it became something completely beyond comprehension.

Not only Li Yuan, but anyone who glimpsed the true intentions behind Li Xuanba’s actions would be struck in the same way.

Yet, they could only marvel. Many sages before them had been just as unrestrained; the reckless scholar was not unique to Li Xuanba.

Do not think a ruler walks alone—far ahead, many pioneers had already gone before.

Moreover, a founding emperor, destined by Heaven, would always have extraordinary wise men by his side, their thoughts unlike ordinary people’s, like twin stars shining together in the darkness and light. Does this not perfectly suit the twin-like identity of Li Shimin and Li Xuanba?

While waiting, the people pondered much. When they finally heard footsteps and lifted their eyes to see a dense crowd approaching, all their thoughts were instantly swept away.

It was winter again, with all life locked beneath the frozen ground, and the view outside Chang’an was a gray, misty expanse.

A marching army slowly but resolutely approached from afar, raising a cloud of dust as if emerging from the fog.

Closer now, they could make out the leader, hair disheveled, supporting a young man leaning on a bamboo staff—the very person they had been waiting for, the new emperor, Li Shimin.

Li Shimin’s hair was unkempt, and his “imperial robe” had been washed several times, now wrinkled and shabby, giving him a somewhat bedraggled appearance.

The Li Xuanba beside him was only slightly better dressed than Li Shimin, but limped as he walked, looking even more miserable than his brother.

The armored soldiers behind them had long since lost the gold lacquer on their armor; the once-polished surfaces were now dusted with mud, as if they had marched out while the morning frost was still wet, leaving the dirt clinging unsightly to their armor.

On either side of the armored army were scholars standing straight, without official rank; farmers with hunched bodies, poorly dressed and anxious; even some Hu people in strange attire, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, their purpose unclear.

Despite their diverse identities, they had somehow managed to form a roughly orderly formation, mimicking the armored soldiers. From a distance, one would not have immediately noticed that the armored troops were actually flanked by commoners.

“We’ve arrived,” Li Xuanba exhaled, brushing aside his elder brother’s hand. “Go ahead.”

Li Xuanba no longer supported him, yet Li Shimin felt every step difficult.

Still, he lifted his trademark radiant smile and decisively said, “Very well.”

Yet as he stepped forward, he worriedly asked, “Are you steady? Perhaps you should sneak behind and hold my robe?”

Li Xuanba snapped, “I’m fine. I can walk steadily.”

Li Shimin smiled again and took his first step.

With his bamboo staff, Li Xuanba indeed followed steadily behind, just as he had claimed, despite his limp.

The others trailed about a body-length behind, following the two brothers toward the gates of Chang’an.

“Father, I have returned.”

Li Shimin bowed before Li Yuan, smiling as he once had.

Li Yuan stared at his son, and for some unknown reason, tears fell.

After all their scheming, now at the moment when everything was about to end, it felt as if they had returned to the past.

“You’ve worked hard,” Li Yuan choked, first pulling Li Shimin into a gentle embrace, despite his dirtied state, then giving Li Xuanba a similar hug.

Li Xuanba stiffened but still complied, showing a familiar, father-son intimacy.

“Are those truly commoners?” Li Yuan looked up at the people flanking the armored army, their expressions anxious.

Li Shimin nodded. “Yes. They insisted on escorting me here. Some were even from Luoyang. I barely persuaded them to return, but some rode after me, insisting on protection. I have the armored army—why would I need an escort?”

He smiled again, eyes sparkling. “They said that during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, wandering knights would often voluntarily escort worthy rulers. They were simply following the example of the ancients.”

Did worthy rulers not have guards?

They did.

But whether a ruler had guards had nothing to do with wandering knights voluntarily escorting them.

And so they came.

Perhaps some sought wealth or favor in the presence of the new ruler, just as wandering knights of old might hope to be employed by a worthy lord. But it didn’t matter; their deeds mattered more than their hearts. And truly, who among us can claim a wholly pure heart?

“The hearts of the people, like a surging tide, will engulf the Sui Dynasty, and that tide will lift the Tang high, carrying it into the clouds,” Li Yuan advised. “Erlang, always remember the might of the people’s hearts.”

Li Shimin put away his smile and cupped his hands in salute. “Father, I will surely remember.”

“Good.” Li Yuan smiled too, finally relaxed. “Good.”

He then turned his gaze to Li Xuanba.

Li Xuanba also saluted. “I will surely remember.”

Li Xuanba: [Will always remind you, Second Brother.]

Li Shimin cast him an exasperated glance. Could you not make me laugh right now? It ruins the solemn atmosphere!

Li Yuan laughed. “You two are whispering in ways others cannot understand again.”

Li Shimin cleared his throat lightly.

Li Xuanba obediently closed his “heart.”

Li Yuan waved, signaling Li Xuanba to step aside. From the tray held by Pei Shiju, he took the imperial crown and placed it upon Li Shimin’s head.

This time he came out without wearing the imperial crown, only dressed in the regular robes of an emperor.

Li Yuan’s imperial robe was extremely magnificent and imposing, but on his head rested only a simple golden crown. His face showed no signs of fatigue, yet his eyes were deeply weary.

Li Shimin’s robe was wrinkled like a commoner’s clothing, but on his head he wore the imperial crown with its dangling jewels. His body was very tired, yet the only clean part of him—his face—radiated abundant energy. The colorful curtains hanging from his crown partially hid his approachable smile, adding an air of distance to him.

Su Wei stepped forward, holding the real imperial robe and jade belt in his hands.

Li Yuan picked up the robe, but Li Shimin did not take off his soiled robe.

“This robe was given to me by the people; I’ll wear it underneath,” Li Shimin said.

Hearing these words, spoken almost like a command, Li Yuan felt a complicated mix of emotions.

But he did not object and obediently placed the imperial robe over Li Shimin’s wrinkled one.

Li Xuanba picked up the jade belt and other accessories to help Li Shimin complete his attire.

Li Yuan was already being considerate enough, not showing displeasure during such an important ceremony, which made Li Xuanba quite satisfied.

When the two brothers marched and fought in the field, they couldn’t expect many servants to attend to them. They had long been used to dressing each other in accessories that were awkward to wear alone.

Li Shimin looked down at the ornaments around his waist and felt they matched Li Xuanba’s outfit, so he removed them and hung them on Li Xuanba’s jade belt.

He then gestured to Li Zhiyun, standing obediently behind Li Yuan, and took down a brocade pouch to hang on Li Zhiyun’s belt.

“When A-Xuan and I weren’t in Chang’an, Jihong worked hard,” Li Shimin patted Li Zhiyun’s shoulder. “Jihong has grown up.”

Li Zhiyun replied helplessly, “Second Brother, I’ve long grown up.”

“All right, all right. Xiao Wu has long grown up and is no longer the child who would cry when he couldn’t see A-Xuan and me,” Li Shimin said.

Li Zhiyun became even more exasperated. “Second Brother, I never cried just because I couldn’t see you and Third Brother.”

“You did,” Li Shimin said.

Li Xuanba said, “You’d better shut up. Save your chatter for after the coronation.”

Li Xuanba signaled with his eyes to their teachers, who had hurried back to attend their second brother’s enthronement, and were now being scolded silently.

Li Shimin quickly fell silent.

Even as emperor, his teachers still dared to assign him extra copywork as punishment.

Though he enjoyed practicing calligraphy, punishment was another matter entirely.

Once Li Shimin wore the emperor’s crown and robe, he looked imposing. The Xuanjia army and accompanying citizens knelt immediately without waiting for orders, not daring to look upon the emperor’s face.

But soon, they heard Li Shimin chatting casually.

The new emperor rambled about how his brother had grown up, while the brother insisted it was a misunderstanding. As for the already familiar Prince of Jin, he continued, as usual, to tell his elder brother to keep quiet and mind the occasion.

Although the people still knelt, their fear and anxiety had eased considerably, and even smiles crept onto their lips.

After restraining Li Shimin’s untimely chatter, Li Xuanba proceeded with the scheduled ceremony.

The ritual music played, the ministers shouted, “Your Majesty,” and under Li Xuanba and Li Zhiyun’s lead, they clapped, spun, leaped lightly, bowed, kowtowed, and shouted “Long live!” three times, repeating this sequence three times, performing the “Dao Wu” ritual.

Li Shimin took a wine cup from the tray offered by Yang Daoxuan, now titled Duke of Cai, formerly Crown Prince of Cai, currently head of the Yang family of Hongnong. He raised the cup, signaling, “All ministers, rise.”

The ministers stood straight again.

After the ministers completed the “Dao Wu,” the Xuanjia soldiers and Li Shimin’s trusted generals rose, and Li Xuanba and Li Zhiyun led the troops and Xuanjia soldiers to perform the “Dao Wu” once more.

Li Shimin raised his cup again, signaling everyone to rise.

The spectacle of several thousand Xuanjia soldiers performing the “Dao Wu” was grand and imposing. The people and ministers felt awe at first but could not help feeling excitement swell within them.

Afterward, the Hu people stepped forward, but leading them was none other than the Princess of Pingyang of the Tang Dynasty, Li Zhao.

Li Zhao was still dressed in general’s attire. Wearing a helmet, she stood among Li Shimin’s generals, yet Li Yuan and others failed to recognize her at first.

Li Zhao removed her helmet, and the Hu envoys loudly announced their names.

The Eastern Turkic Shibi Khagan, the Xieli Khagan, the Western Turkic Mohe She Asina Nishu, the Tuyuhun Tianzhu King, and princes and rulers from small Western Regions states like Gaochang, all under Li Zhao’s lead, performed the three-line “Dao Wu,” bowed, and hailed Li Shimin as “Heavenly Khagan.”

Everyone was shocked and could hardly believe it.

Li Shimin raised his cup again.

“All ministers, rise!”

To the kings of the Western Regions, all ministers are equal!

“Long live His Majesty!”

“Long live the Heavenly Khagan!”

The citizens, no longer fearing the emperor and nobility, all kowtowed and shouted “Long live.”

Some scholars who had learned the “Dao Wu” in hopes of honoring the emperor when they rose to high positions also performed it, albeit awkwardly and unevenly. At this moment, no one mocked them or accused them of overstepping.

The common people didn’t know what the “Dao Wu” was, but seeing everyone dance, they clumsily imitated the movements, bowing, clapping, and shouting “Long live,” each performing it earnestly three times.

Led by the citizens who escorted Li Shimin back to Chang’an, even the people in the city, kept distant by the imperial guards, joined in shouting “Long live,” clapping, and dancing.

In an instant, all over Chang’an city, people shouted “Long live,” clapped, and danced.

The “Dao Wu” had ceased to be a formal ritual and had become the most ordinary, joyous dance of the people.

Only the shout of “Long live” remained unchanged, rising in waves, carrying from outside the city to within, and then from inside to outside.

The sound was deafening.

After the quake, minor aftershocks continued. Water vapor and dust on the ground rose into clouds. Chang’an’s sky had long been overcast. Today’s weather was fine, but a thin layer of clouds persisted, and the sun remained hidden.

It was unclear whether the roar of “Long live” dispersed the clouds, or if, nearing noon, it was simply time for the sun to appear. The sunlight pierced the mist, casting golden rays upon the land, dispersing the gloom, leaving everything bright and clear.

The people, having just endured a chaotic era and then struck by natural disasters, covered their faces and wept, shouting “Long live the Emperor!” at the top of their lungs, their cries like wounded beasts in agony.

Li Shimin no longer said anything about standing at attention.

He silently raised the wine cup to his lips and drank it all in one gulp.

The Prince of Qin of the Sui Dynasty, the new emperor of the Tang—no matter that he had first gone to battle at the age of eleven or twelve—had always been fearless.

Yet at this moment, Li Shimin found himself intimidated by the overly fervent public sentiment, by their too passionate expectations.