Chapter Thirty-Six: The Three Factions of the Imperial Court

Pei Min had already spent more than a month in this dream-like world, but among all the famed figures of history, he had only truly encountered two: one was Xue Na, son of a great general, now a border commander guarding a region; the other was Pei Xingben, the former chancellor and current dean of the academy where Pei Min studied. Toward these two, Pei Min felt little beyond polite respect. Xue Na, though not as invincible and heroic as his father Xue Rengui, was nonetheless worthy of his family’s name. Pei Xingben had reached the pinnacle of officialdom, once serving as the prime assistant to the emperor, and importantly, both had died peacefully of old age, their lives free of regret.

But the man now standing before Pei Min—Yan Gaoqing—was different.

Born into a scholarly, upright family, Yan Gaoqing was a man of integrity and great talent. As the army registrar of Weizhou, he governed with order and insight, achieving results unrivaled across the Tang Empire. Such a man, with boundless promise, should have quickly risen to high office in the capital, perhaps even to the rank of chancellor. Yet the outbreak of the An-Shi Rebellion changed everything. When An Lushan rebelled in Fanyang, Yan Gaoqing was the prefect of Changshan, a territory already under An Lushan’s control.

Despite being surrounded by traitors, Yan Gaoqing remained loyal to the Tang. He raised troops to punish the rebels, organized volunteer armies, and split his forces to hinder An Lushan’s advance, blocking his retreat and thereby buying precious time for the Tang. Yan Gaoqing staked his life for the dynasty—and he succeeded. An Lushan, having led his army westward as far as Shan County with designs on Tong Pass and Chang’an, was forced to turn back upon hearing of the upheaval in Hebei, dispatching Shi Siming and Cai Xide north across the Yellow River to attack Changshan instead.

Beset on all sides, Changshan fell. Yan Gaoqing was captured by Shi Siming and brought to Luoyang. There, this humble scholar unleashed a torrent of abuse against An Lushan, who, in a rage, ordered Yan’s limbs hacked off and served as food. Yet Yan Gaoqing’s curses did not cease, so An Lushan cut out his tongue. Even then, Yan continued to curse, his words garbled, until death claimed him.

Wen Tianxiang, in his “Song of Righteousness,” once wrote: “For Zhang of Suiyang his teeth, for Yan of Changshan his tongue.” How could such a man not inspire awe?

Thinking of Yan Gaoqing’s deeds, Pei Min quickly returned his greeting with deep respect.

As host, Yuan Lüqian invited the two to take their seats.

The Tang dynasty did not use chairs; instead, they had low wooden platforms called “ta,” covered with mats and bedding, where one had to remove one’s boots before sitting. This was why the two had come out to greet their guest barefoot, having already removed their footwear in advance.

As someone from a later age, Pei Min found it hard to adapt to this custom. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if someone had a serious case of athlete’s foot—should one remove their shoes or not? In truth, his worries were unfounded. Tang boots were mostly made from silk brocade, hemp, or other breathable fabrics, sometimes woven from rushes, making them exceptionally well-ventilated. The chances of foot diseases were vanishingly small.

Kneeling on the platform, Pei Min listened as Yuan Lüqian and Yan Gaoqing resumed their earlier discussion.

Yuan Lüqian, born to an official family but fallen on hard times after losing his parents, and Yan Gaoqing, scion of a long line of scholar-officials, both harbored ambitions: one to restore his family’s fortunes, the other to carry on his ancestral legacy. Their conversation revolved around affairs of state—the very fashion of their time, just as, in later eras, young people might talk of games, films, or celebrities. Especially since Emperor Taizong Li Shimin had become known for heeding advice and encouraging open speech, it had become all the more common for scholars to discuss politics.

Yan Gaoqing had sought out Yuan Lüqian to lend him a hand. Yan’s father was the prefect of Haozhou, and with a strong web of family connections, Yan had already been recommended for office and would soon take up a post. The two families had been close since childhood.

Knowing Yuan Lüqian’s talent, Yan intended to make him his deputy—not only to have a reliable aide, but also to help his friend advance.

Yuan Lüqian said, “If Brother Xin had invited me in the past, I wouldn’t have refused. But lately, having met Brother Pei, I feel unworthy by comparison. Though I am several years older, I lack his drive. To venture forth on my own strength and build a career—that is a true man’s ambition.”

Pei Min shook his head. “I can’t agree with you, Brother Yuan. Opportunities are only seized by those with ability and preparation. It makes no sense to turn away from what’s within your grasp when you have both talent and opportunity. Compared with sitting for the imperial exams, I think practical experience is the real test of a man. Books teach us the principles of conduct; real work is where true, useful talent is forged. Early exposure to such matters is far more valuable than any examination. Don’t follow my path—I do this only to win honor for my mother. If you do as I do, you’ll only be making things difficult for yourself for no reason.”

Yuan Lüqian was momentarily taken aback.

Yan Gaoqing, upon hearing this, burst out laughing. “Brother Pei, you are a remarkable man! Yuan, why the hesitation? We all know your scholarship—why torment yourself trying to prove your worth?” Then he sighed. “Besides, the imperial exams are no easy matter. The situation in Chang’an is tangled and treacherous, currents running deep beneath the surface. Achieving top honors in one go is almost impossible; more likely, you’ll be caught in dangerous undercurrents. Without the skill to turn the tide, it’s hard to escape.”

Yuan Lüqian was curious. “How so? Haven’t the remnants of the Wei and Wu factions been eradicated? With a new, wise emperor, the realm should be flourishing.”

Pei Min also listened intently. The spring examination would be held in March, and barring the unexpected, he’d soon be in Chang’an himself. Its political climate was naturally of great concern. Yan Gaoqing, born in Wannian, Jingzhao, had grown up in Chang’an and, as the son of officials, was surely well-versed in its affairs.

Yan Gaoqing shook his head. “Though the Wei and Wu factions have indeed been purged, restoring order to the court is far from easy. Today, there are three major parties at court: the Retired Emperor’s faction is the strongest, followed by Princess Taiping’s group, and only then comes the Emperor’s own supporters.”

Yuan Lüqian was astonished. Throughout history, factional strife was inevitable, but whether it could be minimized—or even turned to the ruler’s advantage—all depended on the emperor’s skill in balancing power. Since the emperor’s authority should outweigh all, how was it that his own party was now the weakest?

Pei Min, with his memories of later ages, was not surprised by this bizarre situation. The root cause was none other than Princess Taiping, who wielded even more power than the emperor’s own faction.

Princess Taiping, daughter of Wu Zetian—the first empress regnant in history—had ambitions and talent rivaling her mother’s. She engineered the downfall of the infamous Lai Junchen, helped overthrow the Zhang brothers and force Wu Zetian’s abdication, masterminded the purge of the Wei and Wu factions, and even personally toppled Li Chongmao from the throne.

As a political figure whose power at times surpassed that of the emperor, Princess Taiping nearly became the second Wu Zetian herself.