Chapter 1372: Hidden Dangers Beneath the Golden Age

In the end, Emperor Liu didn't take a single sip of the tea at the Bureau of Military Affairs before leaving without hesitation. However, as he departed, a trace of worry creased his brow, his gaze deep and unfathomable—the mark of a troubled mind.

In the military affairs chamber, aside from inquiring about various military and governmental matters, Emperor Liu had discussed with Shi and Cao the future defense issues of the northern frontier.

Emperor Liu greatly appreciated Cao Bin's cautious and vigilant mindset. As he had said, the Kaibao northern expedition had taken all of Monan, and everything south of the Yin Mountains had become territory of the Great Han, expanding the realm's borders northward by several hundred li—a display of martial glory that was unmistakable.

But this also brought a problem: the difficulty of imperial defense increased enormously, and the Great Han's future northern frontier defense system would face even more severe tests. In the past, in the northwest and in Shanyang, the numerous border armies and garrison forts established by the court had already consumed enormous national resources, to the point that the Hall of State Affairs had proposed reducing border troop numbers to lighten the court's fiscal burden.

Now, with Shanyang expanded northward and Liaodong newly added, the subsequent construction of military defenses—whether building cities, garrison forts, relay stations, or roads—would continue to devour the nation's finances. This was a pressure that even Emperor Liu was beginning to feel.

But it had to be done. The land had already been taken—was there any reason to abandon it and hand it back to the grassland barbarians? Clearly impossible. Otherwise, Emperor Liu's massive mobilization, exhausting the people and wasting resources, would have been a misguided move, damaging both national prestige and imperial authority.

Regarding policy toward the grassland tribal forces, Emperor Liu did have some considerations in mind. Continuing the northern expeditions to strike at Liao's power was inevitable. But after Liao's destruction, what the future order of the grasslands would look like—that too was something he was pondering.

Advancing into Mobei and seizing the entire grasslands—Emperor Liu no longer entertained such thoughts. He feared truly overstuffing the Great Han to the point of bursting, for the difficulty and cost of governance were simply too high.

Emperor Liu's inclination was, of course, to maintain a divided situation. The Great Han court, in the role of an arbiter, would divide the tribes, support those who were close, strike those who were alienated, aid the weak, and suppress the strong.

As for what Cao Bin envisioned—devising a policy that would settle matters once and for all and ensure lasting peace—Emperor Liu lacked that confidence. So-called lasting peace and stability also had a shelf life.

Therefore, on the border threat issue, Emperor Liu's attitude was very clear: as long as the Great Han itself remained strong and prosperous, nothing was a problem. The key was leaving behind a sustainable policy favorable to the court.

In comparison, the Great Han's own internal problems were the most critical and the most worthy of Emperor Liu's deep reflection. And it had to be said—after all these years, this was the first time Emperor Liu felt anxiety over the Great Han's territory being too vast.

Greed for size and completeness often came with various negative effects, and the difficulties of digestion and consolidation were even more severe.

From the time Emperor Liu ascended the throne, governing with vigor and determination, the Great Han had embarked on a path of expansion. In fifteen years, it had gradually swept away the separatist regimes and recovered the passes and mountains. If unifying the realm was the tide of the times, following heaven's will and answering the people's hearts, then after entering the Kaibao era, all of the Great Han's military actions no longer seemed so rational.

From the first year of Kaibao onward—taking Hexi in the west, pacifying Annam in the south, expanding into Tibetan territory, recovering Liuqiu, destroying Dali, and campaigning against the Khitan in the north—though every single one ended in victory, it was too fast. Gulping down food whole could easily choke oneself in the end.

It could be said that Emperor Liu had accomplished a series of feats worthy of eternal remembrance and shining glory for a thousand ages in just twenty-three years. But viewed rationally, such martial glory and prosperity seemed to lack a solid foundation, giving one a feeling of a castle in the air.

The unification wars of the fifteenth year of Qianyou were a gain for the court—beneficial from political, economic, and military perspectives. But every war after the Kaibao era began could be said to be a loss. The court paid with massive casualties among its soldiers, conscripted over a million laborers, squandered enormous sums of money and grain—and indeed obtained vast amounts of land. But then what?

The court needed to dispatch officials, station garrison troops, consider the traditional power relationships in various regions, and sustain continuous administrative costs to consolidate rule over these newly acquired lands. But the returns? Almost none!

Hexi and Liaodong concerned the Great Han's strategic security and held extremely high military value—no matter the investment, it was worth it. But in comparison, the southwestern region seemed somewhat like a chicken rib—its annual tax revenue could barely sustain itself, let alone contribute back to the court.

And as for these lands and tribes conquered in such a short time through the Great Han's formidable military might—how much loyalty did they hold for the Great Han, and did they truly submit to the court? On this point, Emperor Liu was not optimistic.

At present, the Great Han's national power was strong, its military edge sharp, sweeping all before it with no rival in all of East Asia. All forces and all tribes, even if dissatisfied, could only crouch in reverence, prostrate themselves in submission, and be loyal subjects and obedient people of the Great Han.

But in the long run—once the Great Han encountered problems, once its rule over these places became difficult to maintain—would they seize the opportunity to betray and rebel? On this, Emperor Liu naturally had an answer in his heart, though it was somewhat hard to accept.

As of now, the Great Han's rule over the vast southwestern region was actually only in a state of barely maintained stability, with each area having its own difficulties and troubles. Whether it was Dali or Annam, or the portions of Tibetan tribes absorbed into the Great Han's system, disturbances and resistance had never ceased. Though all were suppressed, it also revealed the weakness of the Great Han's governance over these regions.

Wang Renshan of Yunnan and Tian Qinzuo of Annam had nearly become butchers in recent years. To maintain the court's rule, they and their subordinate officers had become executioners with their hands stained in the blood of the local people.

The tusi system had been basically spread throughout the southwestern region. Generous treatment and sufficient power and benefits had indeed attracted a great number of tribes and local old powers. But this was not a miracle cure for all ailments—it was impossible to cover every aspect and satisfy everyone's interests. Those who were dissatisfied inevitably resorted to armed resistance.

Even under Wang Renshan's leadership, leading those tusi who were close to and submissive to the court in great campaigns to suppress the disloyal, it ultimately brought severe negative effects on official governance, with local law and order destroyed. Bloodshed and killing often bred hatred and unrest, fueling hostility—but it had to be done.

And Tian Qinzuo of Annam was even more hardline. He was by nature a ruthless man, and his methods were even more cruel and merciless. The local powers of Annam were practically not treated as human beings by him—dare to defy him, and slaughter would follow at the slightest provocation.

After several years of this, the situations in Yunnan and Annam had indeed gradually improved, with fewer forces daring to directly oppose the court's rule. But this also meant that the resisters had merely gone into hiding, and the dissatisfied had bowed their heads in submission—yet contradictions and hostility remained, and anger might even be accumulating, waiting only for the day of eruption.

And for remote places like the southwest—with its high mountains, long roads, deep forests, and treacherous terrain—communication with the court was extremely difficult. The normal exchange of military and administrative orders was troublesome and time-consuming, with extremely low efficiency. Under such circumstances, maintaining local rule and consolidating the court's authority was absolutely a major challenge.

As for overseas territories like Liuqiu, there was no need to even mention them. Were it not for the envoys coming to court every year in recent years, presenting local tributes and reporting on political conditions, the court officials probably wouldn't even remember such a place existed, with Great Han officials and garrison soldiers stationed there.

It was only in recent years that the Great Han's maritime transport had developed, the Maritime Silk Road flourished, and commercial trade became frequent, deepening the connection between Liuqiu and the southeastern coastal circuits and prefectures. Even so, Liuqiu remained a perennial object of neglect.

In recent years, the Great Han's border defense pressure was not only in the north. The southwest—especially Yunnan and Annam—was also a part of it. Though difficult to compare with the long northern frontier defenses, the two circuits still maintained nearly thirty thousand garrison troops. Considering the transportation difficulties, military expenditure was no small sum.

Emperor Liu had considered these situations before, but after this northern expedition, when the Bureau of Military Affairs produced its newly drafted northern military defense system, he began to think deeply and broadly.

The more he thought, the more his head ached, and his sense of crisis deepened. Throughout history, cases of courts being overburdened by enormous military expenditures and excessive border defense pressure, plunging nations into suffering and leading to turmoil and ruin, were all too common.

Though Emperor Liu himself was unwilling to think in that direction, he also knew that with the Great Han's current situation continuing as it was, it could ensure temporary peace but could hardly guarantee complete security. Not to mention a hundred years hence—even thirty or fifty years, or closer still, even if he reigned another twenty years, he dared not guarantee that during his reign the empire would truly enjoy peace and tranquility across the four seas.

Conquering a realm was difficult, but holding it was even harder. Emperor Liu had gained a deeper and more thorough understanding of this.

Perhaps many people could not imagine that beneath the Great Han's current glorious and prosperous surface lay enormous hidden dangers and deficiencies—the consequences of expanding too rapidly with an unsteady foundation. The Great Han now had spread its stall too wide, making it difficult to clean up. And whichever aspect developed problems, it could trigger a chain reaction, even leading to irreparable consequences.

In the past, nourished by continuous victories, Emperor Liu had not seriously pondered these issues. But now, he had no choice but to worry about what lay ahead.

Even so, the Great Han's military actions would not stop. As for the Khitan Liao—the blood-deep enmity was impossible to dissolve. No matter how one considered it, there was no possibility of indulging one's enemies. Until they were destroyed, Emperor Liu could not rest easy.

As for the Western Regions, Emperor Liu perhaps did not have such an urgent desire for conquest, but circumstances compelled him, and personal considerations drove him—he had no choice but to send troops westward.

In fact, by now Emperor Liu had little desire to continue external expansion. The Great Han had already expanded too fervently, yet there was a feeling of being unable to stop.

Take the hostility with the Kara-Khanids, for example—it was a confrontation born of coercion. Even if Emperor Liu no longer wished for war in his heart, there was no grounds for negotiating peace. How could the Great Han humble itself before a mere Kara-Khanid state? And how could Emperor Liu be one to lightly speak of peace?

Moreover, even if peace were negotiated and both sides ceased hostilities, each holding their own territory—would that not let the other side press their advantage? Looking back suddenly, this war chariot of the Great Han truly seemed unable to stop, forced to continue forward. But where was the destination?

As helmsman, Emperor Liu did not believe he was crying wolf about nothing, and he increasingly felt the risks. Twenty-three years—he had built an incomparably vast and powerful empire, achievements surpassing the Qin, Han, Sui, and Tang dynasties. He should have been enjoying the fruits of this golden age, yet he discovered that new crises and new challenges were already set before him, blocking the very road ahead of the Great Han.

This, without a doubt, weighed heavily on Emperor Liu!