Chapter Thirteen: Fighting Tigers with One's Own Kin

That night, Pei Min found it impossible to sleep, his mind occupied by the events of the morrow.

He had been in the Tang Dynasty for over a year and had accomplished much, yet the only deeds that truly altered the course of the empire were the recovery of the Liaodong and Liaoxi regions. For a time, he had been exhilarated by this, but now he dismissed such thoughts as trivial. Tomorrow, he would not merely influence history; he would create it. To personally participate in the Xiantian Coup and forge a new era—the sensation was incomparable.

Though a coup implied bloodshed, compared to the current political chaos, stabilizing the country at the earliest opportunity to pursue military and political development was the only true path to national resurgence. Both in the immediate and long term, it was a necessity.

As for Princess Taiping, Pei Min felt a slight tinge of regret. In all conscience, she had treated him well, but their paths diverged. She prioritized internal power struggles, while he found such deceit distasteful. He believed that such energy was better spent confronting the Tibetan Empire, the Turks, or testing his mettle against the distant Abbasid Caliphate—these were the far-sighted plans that would benefit both the nation and its people.

Princess Taiping’s political acumen was indeed peerless, but her vision remained confined to the court. By comparison, Li Longji was far superior. During the Kaiyuan era, he would govern with diligence, employing men like Wang Zhongsi and Gao Xianzhi to expand the borders, making the Tang Dynasty a power feared by all. Had he not grown senile and foolish in his twilight years, plunging the Tang into the abyss, his name might have stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Li Shimin.

Pei Min did not dwell on what might happen in twenty or thirty years. The Tang Dynasty currently stood at a crossroads between salvation and ruin, and it required a visionary ruler like Li Longji, not a princess obsessed with internal power plays.

Lost in these wandering thoughts, he eventually drifted into sleep. In a hazy dream, he saw himself wielding a three-foot blade, rising step by step to become a legendary border commander and sword saint, striking awe into foreign lands and ushering in a golden age for the Tang... and then, there was nothing more.

Pei Min awoke to the gloomy weather outside. It seemed as though the heavens knew the day was unconventional, casting a grey veil over the world and imbuing it with a sense of vast, desolate anticipation.

Upon arriving at the dining hall, he found Xue Ne already seated. Pei Min smiled, “Should you not have slept longer, Elder?” Despite his robust health, Xue Ne was aged and prone to drowsiness; usually, he would still be dreaming at this hour.

Xue Ne laughed, “I woke early and had no desire to sleep further. The meal is ready. This is your first official duty; do not be late.”

Pei Min acknowledged this and ate his breakfast in a leisurely manner. During the meal, Xue Ne remained silent, only speaking once Pei Min had finished: “Filial piety is the foundation of the Way, the law of Heaven, and the essence of earthly ethics. A man may lose everything, but he must never lose his filial heart. You have carved out a career in Chang’an; it is time to bring your mother here to fulfill your duty. I shall personally send men to Huairou County to fetch her. Rest assured, all will be taken care of.”

Pei Min looked at Xue Ne with gratitude. If today’s events went smoothly, this was indeed feasible. Yet, in the affairs of the world, how often do things unfold exactly as wished? Li Longji’s Xiantian Coup was a desperate gamble, a last resort taken with the resolve of a man staking everything on a single throw. If it failed, he would not only lose his life but also implicate his family.

Pei Min had no attachments in this era, save for his mother. Xue Ne’s meaning was clear: if they succeeded, the court would stabilize, and his mother would enjoy a life of ease in Chang’an. If they failed, he would have her moved elsewhere to ensure she remained unharmed.

With this singular worry removed, Pei Min’s spirit soared. He mounted his chestnut horse and galloped toward the Imperial City.

The Imperial City was divided into the Inner and Outer Cities. The Outer City housed the offices of the Three Departments and Six Ministries, while the Inner City was the residence of the Emperor and his family. With his identity token, Pei Min easily entered the Outer City and arrived at the Ministry of War.

Guo Yuanzhen had already prepared everything, waiting only for Pei Min’s arrival.

“The morning court has adjourned. Follow me to the Wude Hall to join His Majesty!”

The third day of the fourth month in the second year of Xiantian—regardless of the coup's success or failure, this day was destined to be inscribed in the annals of history.

As the Retired Emperor, Li Dan held court every five days at the Taiji Hall to receive the officials. Most of the chancellors were lackeys of Princess Taiping, and they reserved all major matters for these sessions. As for Li Longji, his own morning audiences mostly dealt with trivialities, and the officials would disperse quickly.

Usually, Li Longji would be infuriated by this, but today he was uncharacteristically swift, retreating from the court without a trace of reluctance.

Upon returning to the Wude Hall, he was greeted by his brothers: the eldest, Li Chengqi; the second, Li Chengyi; the fourth, Li Longfan; and the fifth, Li Longye.

It is said that in battle, a father and son are the best support, and in hunting, brothers are the best allies.

In the royal family, this was usually empty talk. Throughout history, for the sake of the throne, the slaughter of fathers, sons, and brothers had been countless. Even the most illustrious Tang emperor, Li Shimin, bore the stain of fratricide and the imprisonment of his father.

But these five brothers of Li Longji were different. During the reign of Wu Zetian, she had purged the Li royal clan to secure her throne, sparing neither sons nor grandsons. Back then, Li Dan was a puppet crown prince, unable even to protect himself. Li Longji and his brothers had been confined to the Eastern Palace, living in constant fear of death. They had encouraged one another, struggling to survive. For nearly a decade, the five brothers had lived side by side—playing together, learning to read together, fanning one another during the sweltering summers, and huddling together for warmth in the freezing winters. Their bond was forged through time, brotherly and harmonious, as close as one body.

It was because of this that after the Tanglong Coup, when Li Dan sought to make the eldest, Li Chengqi, the Crown Prince, Li Chengqi had ceded the position to Li Longji. Deeply moved by this fraternal love, Li Longji had a massive bed crafted, capable of seating all five, so they could continue to sleep together.

This was precisely why Princess Taiping, despite holding the upper hand, remained in a passive position.

She had the power to support another prince to suppress Li Longji, and she could have made it unbearable for him. But Li Dan had only six sons, the youngest of whom had died. The other four were as one with Li Longji, completely ignoring the Princess’s overtures. This was the Princess’s most awkward predicament: without the support of a prince, she had no choice when it came to installing a puppet.

For such a monumental coup, Li Longji had notified his brothers first, and they were the first to answer his call.

“Eldest Brother, Second Brother... Fourth Brother, Fifth Brother!” Li Longji looked at his own flesh and blood, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Sanlang!” the eldest, Li Chengqi, said with gravity, “We brothers are of one mind, advancing and retreating together. Today, we shall help you secure the foundation of the empire.”