Most of the monks were clad in robes with round collars and square fronts, loose at the waist and wide at the sleeves, dyed the somber blue of the haiqing. The leading monk wore a kasaya pieced from a hundred patches and held a staff of Zen—his bearing, even from afar, exuded solemnity and spiritual dignity.
A Ministry of Rites official swiftly stepped forward to greet them, palms pressed together in respectful salutation. Upon seeing the official's scarlet robe, Li Ce recognized him as Zuo Jin, the Assistant Minister of Rites. The Tang Ministry of Rites oversaw all significant state ceremonies, including rites, sacrifices, banquets, and the imperial examination.
Zuo Jin, in his mid-thirties, was at the prime of life and ranked fourth among court officials. Though still subordinate to the Minister of Rites, he was already capable of managing affairs independently. The responsibility for the sacrificial rites at the Circular Mound Altar this time also fell upon his shoulders.
To warrant such a ceremonious reception from a fourth-rank Tang official, the visitor could only be a highly esteemed monk—such as Master Shouzhi, abbot of the imperial Daxingshan Monastery. The monastery, long held sacred by the royal house, regularly conducted rites for the state's peace and prosperity.
Master Shouzhi, as the head abbot, was a figure of enlightenment, possessing both the great vehicle insight and moral scholarship, a status equivalent to that of a national spiritual advisor. Though the reigning emperor did not particularly revere either Buddhism or Taoism, he nonetheless treated the clergy with due deference. These sacrificial rites, in accordance with custom, required the monks' participation.
Master Shouzhi and his disciples would set up an altar on the outer perimeter of the mound to chant scriptures. Their appearance now was curious—what could be their intent?
"Go and inquire," Li Ce said with a slight gesture. Qingfeng dashed down the steps of the altar and returned shortly.
"Master Shouzhi came in person to verify the location of the altar, to prevent any mishap on the day of the sacrifice," he reported.
The area around the mound was to host the civil and military officials, members of the imperial family, and even Taoist priests, all of whom would offer prayers for good weather and protection against disasters. Li Ce had never attended the heavenly rites before and was unsure if this had always been the practice. Given Master Shouzhi's stature, it seemed unnecessary for him to make the trip himself.
"What else did he say?" Li Ce asked.
"He mentioned that they are used to eating in the open and sleeping under the sky—they don't need shelter under the wooden canopy. He suggested that Lord Zuo reassign that space to others, and that they could stand farther west."
It was a self-effacing gesture, true to the ascetic humility of monks. The canopy had not been erected in previous years—until last year, when a snowstorm struck during the sacrificial rites. The emperor stood exposed in the snow; the canopy above him was caught in the wind and failed to shield him.
When the time came to ascend the altar and burn the offerings, snow had accumulated an inch thick atop his ceremonial crown. His splendid robes were bleached white, his brows and beard had frozen into icy tendrils, and his lashes, glazed with frost, fluttered as he blinked. His cheeks glowed red from the cold, making him look like a wild monkey just sprung from the mountains—utterly disheveled.
The Ministry of Rites officials privately believed that the emperor's ire from that day had led to this year's increased workload. Whatever happened, the canopy must be built this time. Even if thunder cracked and wind howled, the Son of Heaven must wait for the auspicious hour beneath a warm, dignified shelter—composed and majestic, as befitted the image of a divine ruler performing rites of heaven and ancestors.
This year, Prince Wei, Li Chen, was particularly attentive to the construction of the canopy. It extended in a fan shape along the southern side of the altar, forming a semicircle. At the northern end, just before the emperor's ascending path, ornate eaves with nine dragons carved atop them loomed grand and imposing.
Half of the canopy was already erected, only the top remained unfinished. An Assistant Director from the Ministry of Works accompanied Li Chen, frequently unfolding diagrams to show him the project's progress. Li Chen scrutinized every detail—asking about the depth of the foundation, the dimensions, the angle of the beams and pillars, and the quality of the timber.
The assistant answered each question in turn, and Li Chen nodded with measured approval. After Master Shouzhi's visit, the Ministry of Rites had reallocated the positions beneath the canopy for officials, finding ample space now available. They amended the plans slightly to hasten completion. The assistant dared not delay and immediately set to work.
Standing beneath the canopy, Li Chen gazed pensively toward the approaching figure of Li Ce. He murmured, "Redrawing the plans, are we?"
"Wei Wang," Li Ce greeted him as he passed.
"Chu Wang," Li Chen replied, motioning for him to come over and admire the dragon-carved eaves. "What grandeur, eh?"
"Yes," Li Ce gave it a quick glance, then withdrew his gaze. "Time for the midday meal. Will you wait for Fourth Sister-in-law to bring it again?"
"I'm heading home for lunch today," Li Chen chuckled. "And you? Still having hotpot?"
Surely not anymore? You've had it three days straight. I can still smell it on my clothes. And I've heard enough of your lovey-dovey chatter to last a lifetime. I now know you like radish and she likes bamboo shoots. You two are unbelievable—always feigning to offer each other food but never truly sharing a bite. Also, don't think I didn't notice yesterday's 'lamb' was actually beef.
"No," Li Ce beamed like a child given candy. "I'm off to the Duke of Anguo's manor to beg a meal. Lady Ye herself is cooking today—rare indeed."
"For her brother's birthday?" Li Chen blurted out, then froze, face stiffening awkwardly. "I... heard someone mention it."
His mind was a tangle of thoughts—he had let the truth slip. Knowing things others didn't was not always a blessing.
"Is that so?" Li Ce looked genuinely surprised and grateful. "Thank you, Wei Wang, for the reminder. I nearly arrived empty-handed and would have lost face."
A carriage waited beyond the construction site. Li Ce climbed in and cradled a hand warmer. Qingfeng took the reins and drove them toward the city.
Near the crowded Mingde Gate, just as they slipped through, the curtain lifted, and a flash of red darted inside.
"Did you miss me?" Li Ce raised both arms high to catch the warm figure of Ye Jiao, planting a kiss on her forehead.
"Not at all," she teased, settling beside him with bright eyes. "What gift are you giving my brother?"
"This," he said, retrieving a brocade box from his sleeve, long prepared.
"Gold or jade?" she asked with a grin.
"A military treatise," Li Ce replied. "An annotated edition of The Art of War by the Minister of War himself—worth a thousand in gold, and more."
"How did you manage to get it?" Ye Jiao's eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"I tricked him," Li Ce said with a laugh, setting down the box and enclosing her hands in his, pre-warmed in advance. Though he had held the heater for quite a while, his hands were only just warmer than hers—and that alone comforted him deeply. A real man, he thought, should warm a young lady's hands in winter.
At a courier station on the road near Deng Prefecture, young Marquis Lin Jing had been waiting a long time. He had been tasked with tracking down the Taoist Wang Qianshan of Mount Li. As the New Year approached, rumors swirled that a merchant in Deng Prefecture had made a fortune thanks to Wang's guidance. Lin had rushed here from Xu Prefecture.
Cautious and meticulous, Lin did not reveal the true purpose of his journey to avoid unwanted attention. Instead, he claimed to be on official duty. He stayed in the lowest class lodging to avoid mingling with officials traveling to the capital before the festival.
If his sources were correct, Wang Qianshan would stop at the station that very evening. Lin's gaze was fixed on the snowy road outside until a mule came into view, bearing a tall, lean man—Wang Qianshan himself.
Snatching up his saber from the desk, Lin bounded out of the inn and blocked the Taoist's path.
The man, though only in his twenties, wore a thin beard and a threadbare cotton robe beneath a tattered Taoist cloak. His figure was gaunt and awkwardly tall, yet his eyes shone with piercing brilliance.
"Master Immortal," Lin greeted him with a respectful bow, "I come on behalf of my lord to escort you to the capital."
"Your lord?" Wang Qianshan frowned, his fingers moving slightly in divination. He retorted, "What lord? You're a rootless man—without home or family."
Lin didn't understand. He could only reply truthfully, "My master is Lady Ye of the Duke of Anguo's household."
"Lady Ye…" Wang Qianshan hesitated. His eyes shifted, and he asked, "If I return with her, can she help me attain immortality?"
Lin stared, dumbfounded, wondering whether he had found the wrong man—or if this one was simply mad. Perhaps... he should tie him up and take him back. Bind the limbs, lash him to the mule, and wait until—