Chapter 1464: Bloodshed Approaches

Walking steadily beneath the eaves of Chuigong Hall, the polished floor clearly reflected Zhao Pu's shadow. His expression was not as bitter as Wang Qiwu's—merely somewhat grave, somewhat heavy.

His thoughts drifted, and what remained active in his mind was still Emperor Liu's stern and forceful statement in the hall just now. It was not that he was worried about Emperor Liu's undisguised reprimand. Having served as chancellor before the throne for so long, Zhao Pu had some understanding of whom and what Emperor Liu's reprimands targeted, and how severe they were.

What gave Zhao Pu pause was Emperor Liu's final attitude and stance toward this court disturbance. Originally, Zhao Pu had thought he understood Emperor Liu to some degree, but after this audience, he felt he still did not understand the Emperor enough. The sacred will was hard to fathom—Emperor Liu governed by doing nothing, yet his thoughts were increasingly difficult to divine and grasp.

As for this political upheaval, so many meritorious nobles were involved, so many officials had been swept in, whether actively or passively. How could the resulting shockwaves be underestimated? Beneath Zhao Pu's calm exterior, he was in fact extremely cautious, not daring to take it lightly at all.

Emperor Liu had held back for a long time. Though some edicts had been issued, Zhao Pu had never realized that his attitude on this matter would be so resolute. Given Emperor Liu's character and methods, perhaps this was not so surprising, but it was ultimately somewhat off from what Zhao Pu had expected.

The memorial tucked in Zhao Pu's sleeve was a proposal of no small weight. Its main thrust was to restrict the powerful meritorious noble class in the court. The specific measures included reducing noble stipends, cutting back on various tax privileges, and most crucially, weakening those privileges that, while not explicitly listed in statutes, existed in fact.

Zhao Pu had been planning this proposal for a long time. From a vague concept in his early days as chancellor, to careful deliberation once his position was secure, and now, it had matured into a fairly complete set of proposals. It could even be said that this had become the most important point of Zhao Pu's governing policy. With years of exploration and testing, Zhao Pu was now basically certain that this was also one of the purposes for which Emperor Liu had made him chancellor.

This was no easy task, and it was even more a task that would offend people. But in the court, there were always some thankless tasks that needed doing. Zhao Pu saw this very clearly: Emperor Liu gave him full respect and authority, gave him a stage on which to display his talents and realize his personal worth, and he would repay it with all his effort. This was fair, and it matched Zhao Pu's pragmatic view of life.

In the past, there had never been a suitable opportunity to introduce it. Even when he made some moves, merely expressing some intentions, Emperor Liu would beat them back.

Now, nearly a year had passed in restraint. During this year, although Zhao Pu's main energy had been devoted to national recovery and governance and various fiscal reforms, his preparation of policies to constrain the meritorious nobles had never slackened.

When the Huazhou case broke this time, although Zhao Pu was initially startled by the audacity of those people, he had not paid it much attention, treating it as an ordinary corruption case—just one with somewhat serious circumstances.

However, as the investigation deepened and more and more nobles and officials became implicated, he began to take notice. It was only when the wave of voluntary confessions swept through the court, starting with Zhao Kuangmei, with nobles of every clan rushing to expose their own faults, that the situation gradually expanded and its influence grew ever deeper. From this increasingly restless and agitated situation, Zhao Pu finally glimpsed an opportunity—an opportunity to introduce policies restricting the nobles by borrowing this momentum.

The meritorious nobles, for the Great Han court, were a bloc, a class—numerous in number, vast in power, deep in influence. Even if there were some flaws, they were hard to bite into.

Acting rashly might achieve some results and strike at some people, but it would be difficult to harm their foundations. Moreover, once their interests were touched, it would surely invite the enmity and resistance of the entire class.

Therefore, Zhao Pu, who understood the stakes deeply, had not acted rashly either. But this time, nearly three-tenths of the meritorious nobles had been implicated one after another because of the Zhang Jin case. This was handing him the opening on a platter. How could Zhao Pu not have ideas? He seized tightly this rare opportunity.

Of course, with Zhao Pu's rationality, he would not delude himself into taking down all these nobles and dismissing them wholesale—that was unrealistic. Moreover, the cases that the nobles and their sons had turned themselves in for were mostly selective; not all were as honest as Zhao Kuangmei. Judged by national law, it would be hard to elevate them to the level of having their families exterminated and property confiscated.

Unless one deliberately expanded the scope and engaged in mass implication. But that was not Zhao Pu's intention, and it exceeded his capabilities—it would require the powerful support of imperial authority. Whether Emperor Liu would do such a thing could be known from his attitude in Chuigong Hall just now. The Emperor had especially emphasized one point: the primacy of national law.

The bandwagon behavior of the noble officials—Zhao Kuangyi could make clear judgments about it, so how could Zhao Pu not see it? Therefore, in Zhao Pu's eyes, an opportunity for a transaction had appeared—a transaction between the court, or rather imperial authority, and the meritorious nobles.

What the nobles sought was that the law would not punish the many, that past offenses would not be pursued, and that they could start fresh. Then the court could take this opportunity to introduce restrictive policies. Both sides could reach a consensus on this matter to resolve the current disturbance, restore the court's dignity, and open a new chapter in the Great Han's upper-level politics.

What Zhao Pu had sought from beginning to end was merely a fulcrum—a fulcrum to pry open the meritorious noble class. This disturbance had given him an extremely powerful fulcrum.

Using this political upheaval as a lead, he could both neutralize and strike—dispose of a batch of people, appease a batch of people, achieve restrictions on the entire noble class, keep the impact within the smallest possible scope, and reduce future troubles.

There was certainly an element of compromise in it, but for the court, it was the safest possible choice. In fact, although Zhao Pu had explicitly refused the proposal to submit a joint memorial with Wang Qiwu, in his heart, he agreed with Wang Qiwu's concerns and suggestions.

It was just that their paths differed, and the positions they sat in differed, so he could not hold the same opinion as him. When all was said and done, Zhao Pu was still a scholar-official born and bred in this era. Even if his insight and ability were outstanding, he was ultimately a bureaucrat, and as Chief Chancellor, conservatism was his instinct.

For Zhao Pu, maintaining the stability of the court was beneficial without harm. It was just that above him, this chancellor, there was ultimately still an Emperor, and what mattered most to him was the Emperor's attitude.

Especially with a strong founding monarch like Emperor Liu—if he could not stay aligned with him and follow closely in his footsteps, then his tenure as chancellor would not last long. Zhao Pu's understanding in this regard was very thorough.

As for Zhao Pu's thoughts on this disturbance, based on his observation and reflection on Emperor Liu's more than twenty years of governance, Emperor Liu absolutely could not have failed to think of these things, and it was entirely possible he would accept the advice.

However, after this audience, Zhao Pu suddenly felt that he had been wrong—even wrong to a ridiculous degree. Emperor Liu's attitude had been that clear: all involved persons and matters were to be punished, with not the slightest room for compromise. Then this memorial of his, with its obvious compromising character and ugly political-transaction nature, would be untimely to present—or rather, it would not match the sacred will.

Walking along, Zhao Pu thought, pondering where the problem lay, until he stopped before the door of the Hall of State Affairs. Only then did his tightly knit brows relax.

Immediately after, he revealed a bitterness similar to Wang Qiwu's. Previously, his deliberations had only seen the benefits after compromise, only seen the ease or difficulty of policy implementation, and he had always viewed the matter from his own perspective.

But if he were in Emperor Liu's shoes, how would he think? Divining the sacred will was something Zhao Pu often did, but putting himself in Emperor Liu's perspective to think about problems—that was something Zhao Pu rarely did. In his heart, there always existed a kind of reverence, and he also feared losing himself in it.

In the past, Emperor Liu had indeed not lacked moments of compromise. But that was ultimately the past. Now, the times were different, and Emperor Liu was different too.

For such a founding monarch with firm will and an iron heart, how difficult it was to make him compromise. Moreover, even in the past, compromise was selective about matters.

Like this time—those short-sighted, shallow nobles following the trend, even stirring up public opinion and building momentum. To put it harshly, this was forcing the Emperor's hand—forcing Emperor Liu to yield, forcing Emperor Liu to forgive.

If he compromised on such matters, if he compromised this time, then what about next time? Would it not give the nobles a false impression—a way to protect their class interests, a means to oppose Emperor Liu—that as long as they united, they would be invincible, their power incomparably great, and Emperor Liu would always compromise!

Moreover, Emperor Liu's suspiciousness and jealousy—those who understood him, understood. Having figured this out, not only was there not a trace of relief on Zhao Pu's face, but it grew even more solemn. He looked up at the sky, and from that pure white sky rendered jointly by winter sun and winter snow, he seemed to see a layer of blood-red color brewing.

This time, if so many people had not cleverly meddled in, with just a mere Zhang Jin, how many people could he have implicated? How much real impact could he have caused?

But there were no so many "ifs." Zhao Pu could imagine that this time, quite a few people would die!