Chapter 2: The Grandfather and Grandson

Unlike the melancholy Li Er, Li Kuan—known both inside and outside the palace as the carefree Second Prince—headed straight to the Eastern Palace the moment he left Ganlu Hall.

Li Chengqian, his elder brother by two years, was currently immersed in rigorous study under the guidance of great Confucian scholars. It had been quite some time since the two brothers last met.

“Big brother!” Li Kuan called out loudly as soon as he reached the gate of the Eastern Palace.

“Second Prince… oh, my dear Second Prince…” Before Li Kuan could shout more than a few times, a middle-aged eunuch of about thirty hurried over, quick-stepping and wearing a pleading expression.

“I pay my respects to the Second Prince,” the eunuch, Pu Yun, bowed to Li Kuan before grimacing. “Your Highness, the Crown Prince is currently in class. Perhaps you might wait in one of the side chambers until he finishes his studies, so you may meet afterwards?”

Li Kuan glanced thoughtfully at the main hall behind Pu Yun, then smirked. “Forget it. Tell my brother that I beat up that brat Li Ke. Mother will surely punish me later, so I need to hide for a while. Make sure he returns to Ganlu Hall before dinner and pleads my case to Mother. If he’s late, well,” Li Kuan said, pointing to his recently kicked backside, “then I’m doomed!”

“Ah?” Pu Yun was momentarily stunned. Li Kuan was no stranger to trouble, but this was the first time he had struck his own brother. The eunuch was naturally surprised.

“What ‘ah’?” Li Kuan shot him a sharp glare. “Just say whether you can deliver the message or not!”

Pu Yun hesitated, glancing at Li Kuan until the prince raised his fist, small but firm like a sandbag. Pressured by the Second Prince’s “authority,” Pu Yun finally nodded. “Your Highness, rest assured, I will deliver the message.”

“Good, that’s settled.” Li Kuan waved off the eunuch and turned to leave.

Before departing, he looked at the courtyard walls of the Eastern Palace, where large patches of plaster had fallen off. Except for the main hall, most buildings were dilapidated; some side chambers even had torn window paper. Li Kuan couldn’t help but sneer.

What’s so great about being the Crown Prince?

Getting up earlier than a rooster, sleeping later than a dog, and spending every day following those long-bearded Confucian scholars spouting flowery words, all while enduring grueling physical and mental hardship for show—is this what being the Crown Prince is about?

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Might as well be a dog!

He just couldn’t understand how his elder brother managed not to rebel.

Walking along the imperial road of the palace, Li Kuan looked up at the sun. It was still early; he needed to find a place to lay low.

How about Hongyi Palace?

Hongyi Palace had originally been the residence granted to Li Shimin when he was still Prince of Qin, a remote location reflecting Li Shimin’s status in Li Yuan’s eyes.

Now, after the Xuanwu Gate incident, Li Er had firmly taken the throne as emperor. Naturally, he moved into Li Yuan’s Taiji Palace, relegating the former emperor to Hongyi Palace.

If there was no trace of revenge in this, no three-year-old would believe it.

Of course, none of this concerned Li Kuan.

That day, a small-scale banquet was underway at Hongyi Palace.

Li Yuan and his old retainers were drinking in the main hall. Though called a banquet, their gazes were almost entirely fixed on the dancers twirling gracefully in the center. Some of the old men even licked their lips at the sight, their lecherous expressions unmistakable.

Among them, the most shameless was Li Yuan himself, now in his fifties with a prominent paunch and a red neck. Squinting at a dancer bending backward and revealing a patch of white chest, he unconsciously tugged at his crotch.

Well, how to say this?

The more than thirty siblings born after Li Er ascended the throne were a testament to the retired emperor’s enduring desires, living out his old age in full color and vitality.

“Retired Emperor, today’s dancer’s movements are especially graceful…” Sitting below Li Yuan was his loyalist, Pei Ji.

Pei Ji, the first prime minister of the Tang Dynasty, was an average man of mediocre talent.

Since taking office, he had enjoyed Li Yuan’s favor. He had a rival, Liu Wenjing, but the two, both loyal ministers, despised each other. Liu Wenjing was ultimately executed by Li Yuan during the Wude era, tearfully but decisively.

Pei Ji had tried to advise Li Yuan to distribute favors more evenly, but the emperor would not listen.

Now, Li Yuan was lonely.

As the last political figurehead of the retired emperor, Pei Ji stubbornly held onto the prime ministership, and Li Er had no means to remove him.

After all, the Tang Dynasty valued filial piety. Li Er, whose rise to power was far from honorable, would lose whatever little reputation he had left if he dared move against his father’s old ministers.

Returning to the present moment—

Just as Li Yuan, the old lecher, was about to share some crude thoughts on the “art of pleasing women” with Pei Ji, a certain brat’s voice rang from outside the hall.

“Grandfather! Grandfather! I’m out now!”

When Li Kuan’s unmistakable voice and accent echoed through the palace, Li Yuan first froze, then darkened in expression. Before Pei Ji and the other ministers could react, he waved sharply to the dancers. “Quick, quick! Stop dancing!”

But it was too late.

As the musicians ceased playing and the dancers withdrew behind the folding screens, Li Kuan, who called himself the “Li family Tiger Cub,” strode into the main hall with his hands behind his back, scrutinizing the retreating dancers.

“Degenerate! Decadent! The state has cultivated scholars for a hundred and eighty years—is this what you’re doing, drinking and carousing with my grandfather?!” he exclaimed with a smack of his tongue.

Right from the start, his hostility was in full force.

This was the Second Prince, Li Kuan!

Hearing this, Li Yuan instinctively covered his face, while Pei Ji, sitting nearby, gaped in shock.

No, you little rascal! By my count, the Tang Dynasty has only been established for eleven years. Where do you get this “hundred and eighty years” nonsense?

What, does that mean the stipends given by that tyrant Yang Guang to his brothers were meant to support the cultivation of scholars?

Good grief… If Emperor Yang of Sui, resting in his grave, heard you say that, he might just rise up from his coffin to have a serious talk with you.