Chapter 1131: Four Major Matters

Until the onset of winter, the Great Han court was chiefly occupied with four major matters.

First, regarding the aftermath of the Qizhou flood disaster, a group of officials who had handled the relief with thorough care and timely aid received commendations and promotions, while likewise no small number of prefectural and county officials were dismissed from office, or even imprisoned and prosecuted.

The Yellow River had increasingly shown its menace—its destructive power was immense, and every breach inflicted heavy losses on both officials and commoners. In recent years, whenever reports of major or minor floods from the riverine prefectures and counties arrived, the court could not help but grow tense. According to official statistics, since the founding of the Great Han, there had been thirty-six major or minor floods in the middle and lower reaches of the Yellow River, with only four years entirely free of disaster.

The court's attention to the Yellow River floods was also rising day by day; it had even expended no small amount of manpower and resources on dredging the river channels and reinforcing the levees. Moreover, no small number of ministers responsible for water affairs had been dispatched over time, including Wang Pu, Prince Yong Liu Chenghsun, and Prince Changli Murong Yanchao. In recent years, Murong Yanchao had especially led a team of water-management experts on tours to inspect hydrological conditions and devise governance plans. Yet the results always treated symptoms rather than root causes.

Over the flood problem, the court had also convened several special meetings and issued open edicts to solicit a wide range of ideas, but likewise failed to deliberate a permanent cure.

Some lower-ranking officials did propose an idea, saying that dredging was better than blocking—that one should emulate Yu the Great's flood control by digging channels and rerouting the river course to carry and discharge floodwaters.

This line of thinking sounded reasonable enough, after all, even Yu the Great had been invoked; however, it met with opposition from a host of senior ministers, including Wei Renpu.

After all, if the Yellow River's course were truly so easy to change, it would not have become a chronic affliction of successive dynasties. Emperor Liu was somewhat tempted, feeling the concept was sound—that dredging was better than blocking was indeed a simple and obvious principle—yet he was not rash.

Because in Emperor Liu's impression, rerouting the Yellow River often brought disaster, and it was not lightly to be undertaken. Moreover, such a matter still required detailed investigation, thorough preparation, and feasibility assessment before implementation, and the investment of manpower and resources had to be considered.

Until then, governance of the Yellow River could only follow the old methods: dredging silt, reinforcing levees, and planting more trees. However, the southern channel's riverbed had risen too high, and the levees had been built ever higher, nearly making it a suspended river above the surrounding land—this was the most hair-raising concern of all. Even dredging the channel was no easy task. In truth, rerouting was indeed a good approach, only it could not be done the way the Northern Song period had done it—ignoring reality, drawing lines on maps, and changing things recklessly and chaotically...

However, one thing the court had been promoting since the Kaibao era was the systematic management of the Yellow River's water system. With the river's waters flowing north, Emperor Liu had even once harbored the idea of excavating a "Jing-Hang Grand Canal."

The governance of the Yellow River was not the work of a single effort, nor even of a single generation; it could be foreseen that it would run through Emperor Liu's entire reign, and even the whole era of the Great Han Empire—there was still plenty of headache ahead.

Apart from the long-term nuisance of floods, there was the marriage of Crown Prince Liu Yang—this was a major affair of the court, touching upon the foundation of the state. How could it not be momentous? Its political significance was especially prominent.

Compared to the earlier marriage of the eldest imperial son, Liu Xu, the handling of the Crown Prince's wedding was clearly more lavish, and its scale was beyond comparison—after all, it was the heir apparent marrying, taking a Crown Princess.

The wedding ceremony was held in Chongyuan Hall, with all civil and military ministers inside and outside the court offering congratulations together. For this occasion, the Hanlin scholars, academicians, and literary talents were specially commissioned to compose a large number of poems and essays as felicitations.

The gap in status between the Crown Prince and the other imperial princes was quite evident, and Emperor Liu fully demonstrated his regard for Liu Yang. The Crown Prince's position grew ever more secure.

First, the Emperor valued him; second, within the palace there was the Empress, and outside the palace the Fu and Murong families stood by him—such backing made his position nearly unshakable.

On the other hand, the marriage alliance with the Crown Prince also enabled the Murong clan, whose standing at court had slipped following the death of Duke Weiguo Murong Yanzhao, to consolidate its position anew.

After the marriage, Liu Yang continued to attend to governance at Guangzheng Hall in his capacity as Crown Prince, but he could now take charge of concrete affairs—all review work on military and civil edicts and proclamations was presided over by him, effectively assigning the functions of the Chancellery to him.

At the same time, the two brothers Liu Xi and Liu Fang also formally assumed official posts: Liu Xi went to the Court of the Imperial Stud as deputy, and Liu Fang went to the Ministry of War, assisting with logistics for the campaigns in the north and south.

The remaining two major matters were none other than the military campaigns to the north and south—the north conducted with great fanfare, while the south moved quietly and covertly.

Against the Dingnan Army, the court had prepared for years, and this time its resolve was especially firm—it was determined to eliminate in one stroke this hidden peril within the empire, the final stumbling block impeding military and political unification.

In fact, ever since news of Li Yiyin's death from illness spread, the atmosphere in the Xia-Sui region had grown tense. Perhaps years of clinging to survival had forged a sensitive nerve—Li Guangrui had a premonition at the time. A claim that the court had persecuted Li Yiyin, causing the late lord to die with resentment, spread within the Dingnan Army, gradually transforming into a cry for vengeance.

As for the court's edict summoning him to the capital to escort the coffin and handle funeral rites, Li Guangrui naturally would not obediently comply—with his father's fate as a warning before him, he would not be fooled, and simply pretended he had never heard of it.

At the same time, Li Guangrui truly realized that this time was different from usual—the signals emanating from the court were clearly out of the ordinary. When Yang Ye journeyed far to the northwest, Li Guangrui also entered into intense preparations.

For a time, the Xia-Sui region fell into a tension unseen in years—comings and goings, schemes and machinations, emerging one after another. Some methods might be clichéd, but they often worked; in stirring up hearts and minds, Li Guangrui truly had some skill, successfully rallying the entire Dingnan Army together. The slogan he raised was also clear: defend the ancestral land of Xiazhou.

By the time Yang Ye arrived at Yanzhou and the Han army was actively mobilizing, pointing straight at Xiazhou, the Dingnan Army was likewise striving to marshal its forces and prepare for contingencies. However, between the two sides, the disparity in strength and the balance of power were plain to see at a glance.

And just as Emperor Liu had predicted, under the pressure of overwhelming force, everyone harbored doubts—the Great Han had been invincible in battle for so many years, and those truly willing to follow Li Guangrui in defying the court were few indeed.

Even within the Dingnan Army itself, unity was the consensus among those Tangut generals and local magnates, but that was only to cope with pressure from the court. Yet when that pressure turned substantive, becoming military action, almost everyone's heart could not help but raise a question mark.

If they came to arms against the court, the outcome might be hard to predict, but the fate of the Ganzhou Uyghurs was bloody and stark...

On the other hand, the court's infiltration of the Dingnan Army and the Tangut people over the years had been too deep—Li Guangrui's every move had been continuously reported from the very start, ultimately converging at the field headquarters of the Pacification Commissioner and forwarded to the Eastern Capital.

At the same time, within the four prefectures of Xia and Sui, a large number of officials and military officers had secretly established contact with the Great Han authorities—among them both Han and Tangut people.

If Li Guangrui could still rally a portion of hearts within the Dingnan Army—after all, no place lacks diehards—his results in contacting and seeking support from the various Tangut tribes left him deeply disappointed.

When it came to making enemies of the Great Han court, most people expressed hesitation, while a minority explicitly refused. Among them were not a few with close ties to the Great Han authorities and interests linked to the Han populace, and some were more concerned about the consequences.

What benefit could opposing the court possibly bring? It was almost impossible to imagine—only dire outcomes could be seen. Tribesmen dying, settlements destroyed, cattle, sheep, horses, and camels lost entirely, and the salt they produced unable to be exchanged for grain and cloth...

Of course, these circumstances were signals transmitted to the Tangut tribes over years of infiltration, led by the Great Han authorities. Therefore, when they failed to gain the support of the broad mass of Tangut tribes, the Dingnan Army was nothing but duckweed without roots.

By mid-September, Li Guangrui already felt a sense of abandonment.

After taking up his post in the northwest, Yang Ye made no major moves beyond establishing his field headquarters at Yanzhou. Apart from sending envoys once more to Xiazhou to proclaim the court's edict, he busied himself with drilling and assembling the various armies placed under his command, while preparing supplies and grain—he was in no hurry to advance.

In this operation, the political offensive clearly preceded military action. Wang You handled matters splendidly—envoys were dispatched in all directions, traversing Xia and Sui, and in implementing the work of dividing and disintegrating the enemy, he further displayed his flexible tactics.

Therefore, by before the beginning of winter, with troops and supplies fully prepared, and seeing Li Guangrui hard-pressed on all sides and sinking daily into straits, Yang Ye finally set out from Yanzhou with his army.

Compared to the north's great fanfare and whetting of blades, the southern campaign was conducted with sufficient secrecy—he wanted the effect of a surprise attack. Pan Mei was eager for the southern expedition, but once he actually obtained the edict, he proceeded methodically, unhurried and unflustered, even more composed than Yang Ye at Yanzhou.

In the end, the Bureau of Military Affairs transferred twenty thousand troops from the various prefectures north and south of the mountain ranges of Lingnan, plus conscripted barbarian soldiers and borrowed the Pingqian Army, and counting a certain number of accompanying civilian laborers, the total mobilized force came to forty thousand, giving Pan Mei even greater confidence.

With both north and south advancing simultaneously, yet both holding their fire, each side was seeking an opportunity for battle. Emperor Liu had not set rigid targets for them, and had also given the two generals more room to maneuver.