The friendly meeting did not last long. After all, this visit was not about politics but about the union of their families through marriage.
And truly, when it came to affairs of state, there was little to discuss—Dragon City did as it pleased; why would it need to negotiate?
So the talks centered mainly on matters pertaining to the wedding.
When the meeting concluded, Li Xuanzong was shown to the hotel's finest suite. He waited a while, but Li Xuanji never came.
He felt a pang of disappointment, and yet also a quiet sense of relief.
After all, Li Xuanji was still alive, which meant that his own claim to the throne was, at its root, illegitimate.
The news that Li Xuanji still lived was no longer a secret among the highest echelons of power.
Those of middle and lower ranks remained unaware, and the news could not be freely circulated for fear of causing unrest.
When certain senior ministers learned the truth, most fell into silence.
A few resigned their posts and departed.
Some made their way to Dragon City and sought out Wen Jingran and Lin Zhenghui, rejoining the ranks of those who served His Majesty the Emperor.
Only upon arriving did they discover that their emperor, though still very much alive, had wholeheartedly and earnestly thrown himself into the work of building Dragon City.
He was thoroughly enjoying his role as Chief Warden of Prisons, and those ministers could do nothing but sigh helplessly.
They turned to the Crown Prince, then—only to find him busy patrolling the streets and courting a girl...
He had little interest in paying them any mind.
A group of senior ministers was left to do its best to keep afloat a great ship that leaked ever more badly and looked, by any measure, to be on the verge of sinking.
Since Li Xuanji had not come, it could only mean he truly had no intention of contesting the throne with him.
Even though it was a throne of limited power and considerable frustration.
So Li Xuanzong selected a small retinue and headed out into the city, determined to see for himself what made Dragon City so different.
Under normal circumstances, someone of his standing would require an escort whenever he ventured out—both for his safety and to prevent any mischief. But Dragon City's leadership saw fit to let him wander freely. He had his own people with him, and this place was perfectly safe.
He could look at whatever he liked; he could hardly replicate any of it. If it could be replicated, old Wen and old Lin would have done so long ago—why would they wait for him?
For someone of the old era to find a place in the new, everything had to be rebuilt from the ground up.
That price was one no existing power could afford to pay.
Otherwise, why not have those emperors serve a few years as constables, or send those ministers and nobles to haul cargo for a few years and learn what ordinary life felt like?
Look at Dragon City's own leadership—when labor was short during construction, they were genuinely capable of rolling up their sleeves and getting to work.
The difference lay not in physical strength, but in outlook.
Outlooks on rank and status. Outlooks that held wealth in reverence and poverty in contempt. Outlooks of greed versus contentment.
These were the distinctions at the most fundamental level of thinking.
And these were the very cornerstones of the old era's ruling order—immovable by any individual will, such that the slightest touch, however gentle, could bring about a catastrophic collapse.
Li Xuanzong changed into the ordinary clothes worn by the people of this city and set out with two palace eunuchs, three cabinet ministers, and four bodyguards—a party of ten in all.
All of them were dressed in the common fashion of Dragon City's residents, yet passersby could tell at a glance that they did not belong here.
Some among them carried themselves with too much haughtiness; others were too deferential. Every gesture gave away the marks of class.
So most people gave them a wide berth—not out of fear, but out of a desire to keep their distance from something stale and decaying.
The group visited a fast-food restaurant. The meal was an uncomfortable experience; compared to the rare delicacies they were accustomed to, the food here seemed nearly impossible to swallow.
They went to a bathhouse. No one wished to undress before the others—not even among their own company. The emperor did not want anyone looking at him, the eunuchs did not want to be seen, and the old ministers dared not look upon the emperor.
There was nothing for it. They left.
They visited some shops and bought a few things.
After several hours of wandering, Li Xuanzong said in puzzlement, "Everyone speaks so highly of this place. I'll grant that certain aspects are genuinely admirable—but is it really all that remarkable?"
"Your Majesty speaks truly," said one of the eunuchs. "This old servant also finds it rather ordinary."
When people who have grown accustomed to every privilege suddenly find no privilege to enjoy, it is only natural that they feel uncomfortable and ill at ease.
"Let us go back. Rest early—tomorrow we must call on Master Zhao."
The next day, Li Xuanzong rode to the Zhao residence and met with Zhao Baihui.
Had he come as an emperor, he would not have been able to see Zhao Baihui. But this time the other party had come in the capacity of an in-law.
Not only did Zhao Baihui receive him, he did so with an extra measure of warmth.
The conversation was brief. Their ways of life were too different; what appeared on the surface to be a lively exchange was, in substance, hollow.
Then Li Xuanzong took his leave.
A few days later, the day of the grand wedding arrived.
In the largest banquet hall of the Peach Garden Hotel, fifty tables were laid out, and several hundred guests had gathered—every one of them a person of consequence.
The Zhao family numbered more than thirty. Senior officials from various government departments came by the dozen, each accompanied by a family member or two.
On Li Xuanzong's side, several dozen high ministers had made the journey. As for attendants and servants—there was no question of bringing many; one was fortunate to have kept a handful to provide personal service.
Nearly a hundred of the most highborn ladies in the world found themselves outshone here, each having entered alone, permitted not even a single attendant.
"First bow—to Heaven and Earth!"
"Second bow—to the parents!"
"Bride and groom bow to each other!"
"The ceremony is complete!"
Ming Cheng wore the same style of dark Zhongshan-inspired suit that was standard government dress, though this time the colors were brighter, and a small red flower was pinned to his chest.
The bride, Princess Luohe, was resplendent in her phoenix coronet and embroidered cape, radiant beyond compare.
She was, as she was always meant to be, the centerpiece of this day.