Chapter 1526: The Tenth Day of the Third Month

While Lu Duoxun criticized Zhao Pu, while Zhang Dejun targeted Wang Yinwu, while Emperor Liu assessed the contradictions among his ministers, Zhao Pu—whom Lu Duoxun had in mind—was still toiling away on the Fengshan sacrifices.

The grand ceremony was set for the tenth day of the third month, and as the date drew near, everything unfolded in an orderly manner, but the atmosphere gradually grew tense and grave.

With the moment at hand, it was actually more chaotic than the myriad threads that had come before.

As the chief director of the grand ceremony, Zhao Pu bore the greatest pressure by far—and this was also the first time in all his years that he had participated in an undertaking so deeply.

In the past, he had focused intently on certain matters, certain affairs, certain policies,

but nothing quite like this,

inquiring into every specific detail—that was truly a first. Clearly, perfection was also Zhao Pu's goal.

Unlike the Great Han's previous grand ceremonies—court assemblies, sacrifices to Heaven, ancestral rites—those rituals had long since formed a fixed set of procedures and patterns. Everyone up and down, including those permitted to participate, was well practiced; even when changes occurred, they were only normal small-scale adjustments.

The Fengshan sacrifices were different. This was the first time since the founding of the state, with absolutely no prior experience. Even if words could be found in historical records and ancient texts for reference, turning the scenes those words described into a real and even more perfect presentation was no easy task.

There were no rehearsals,

yet the scale was this grand, and it had to be presented flawlessly.

And this "flawless"—

there was no concrete standard for it. Even with Zhao Pu's ability to coordinate affairs, this was a tremendous challenge in that regard.

Dusk had already fallen, the spring night carried a slight chill, and the chancellor's lodgings remained brightly lit. Zhao Pu sat behind the large desk, his posture still as upright and straight as ever. The faint light of several candles only illuminated half his face, and on that half could be clearly seen the exhaustion.

Seven or eight subordinates of the "Fengshan Committee" stood below—two or three seated, four or five standing—listening quietly to Zhao Pu's instructions. Zhao Pu, with tireless patience and solemn seriousness, worked through the Fengshan procedures with them, perfecting every link and digging deep into every detail.

"Notify all newly arrived ministers and envoys thoroughly—not only must they be informed of the regulations, but one point must be made clear: no matter who,

all must follow the regulations,

and must obey command..."

"Notify Commander Yang of the Palace Command: starting tomorrow, seal off the roads to Dai, prohibit outsiders from entering, and simultaneously place the Fengshan route under martial law, so that idle loiterers gathering in the vicinity do not disrupt the preparation and execution of the grand ceremony!"

"During the ceremony, re-inspect all personnel, objects, and structures involved—the guards and honor guards on duty may now enter their posts and stand by!"

"The ritual music troupe and the carriage procession—continue drilling! And those Daoists and Buddhists—emphasize it once more: they must follow the regulations to the letter. This is not a place for their transcendental detachment..."

"How is the construction of the latrines and cesspits coming along? How is the cleanup of livestock dung on the roads and in the wilds? This stench filling the air must be resolved as soon as possible!"

"..."

Attending to every detail, no matter how small, Zhao Pu went item by item, taking into account every person, matter, and thing that could possibly be involved, urging and arranging each one, while his subordinates wrote with pens as fast as the wind, heads bowed, recording desperately.

Even the standing positions of each person on the day of the ceremony itself were drawn into a diagram and ordered to be circulated. Of course, within the entire plan, those fixed positions and duties were not the difficult part.

The difficulty lay in the fact that the entire process was dynamic: Emperor Liu first had to drive by carriage to the Fengsi Altar to offer sacrifices, then ascend the mountain, and afterward descend and travel south to Liangfu—the twists and troubles involved far surpassed those of ordinary sacrifices.

Fortunately, these procedures were spread across three days, not required to be completed in a single day, which allowed some room for adjustment. But even so, on the whole, it remained a tight schedule.

"The grand ceremony draws near—time left for us is short. All matters must be fully carried out and implemented! I also require you all to unite your efforts and complete the ceremony.

I, this Chancellor, will say again what I've said before: you may be busy, but you must not be disorderly—especially during His Majesty's sacrificial rites! For the sake of this ceremony, the court has invested enormously, His Majesty watches closely, and you have all been busy for a long time. With the moment at hand, we cannot afford a single mistake, lest all our previous efforts be wasted.

This task—if done well, you will all be ministers of merit; if done poorly, then I, this Chancellor, will personally go before His Majesty to beg forgiveness..."

With those words, Zhao Pu swept his subordinates with an intensely penetrating gaze, and the already unsmiling expressions on everyone's faces grew even more solemn. Zhao Pu had said similar things before, but each time it was more direct, more severe than the last. Zhao Pu certainly bore pressure, but he also transferred that pressure onto all the officials responsible for the ceremony, making them suffer together with him.

One batch of people, having received their instructions, withdrew in an orderly fashion, and another batch entered to receive directives—a cycle that repeated over and over—after which Zhao Pu gave special instructions on certain key links and to the responsible officials.

Through this frequent, trivial round of audiences and arrangements, immersing himself in work seemed to alleviate his anxiety somewhat. The night had grown deep. A weary subordinate respectfully took his leave of the exhausted chancellor, and without a moment's rest, the interpreter reported that Wang Chune, Director of the Imperial Observatory, had arrived.

Without any adjustment, Zhao Pu immediately ordered him brought in. Wang Chune was something of a celebrity in the Great Han court—a technical bureaucrat skilled in astronomy and divination, carrying an aura of mystery, regarded by many as a celestial master.

Of course, the reason Emperor Liu valued this man was his practical utility and contributions. Over the years, Wang Chune's greatest contribution to the Great Han had been the refinement of the imperial calendar. To this day, the Great Han's *Yingtian Calendar* had already reached its fourth edition, growing ever more complete and accurate, all researched and compiled under Wang Chune's direction.

The calendar might not seem particularly conspicuous, but for the livelihood of the people, it was indispensable—not merely serving to mark the passage of days, but more importantly guiding the daily lives of the common folk, touching every aspect of their welfare.

Thus, Emperor Liu had always valued it, and Wang Chune, for this very merit, had remained in his position at the Imperial Observatory for twenty years. Though his rank had not risen, his treatment outside his official title was exceptionally generous, and he had completed many research achievements in astronomy and astrology.

And to remain in the post of the Imperial Observatory for twenty years—such a situation was probably only seen in a few cases in the Great Han. Examples could only be found in institutions like the Imperial Medical Academy or the Three Halls—of course, only such highly specialized offices could have such stable tenure.

For this Fengshan sacrifice at Mount Tai, as Director of the Imperial Observatory, Wang Chune naturally participated as well, and many of the preliminary preparations had incorporated his opinions.

It was already deep into the night, and Zhao Pu had summoned him—naturally, it concerned the Fengshan sacrifices. Ordering tea to be served, Zhao Pu wasted no time and asked directly with a grave expression: "Lord Wang, are you certain that the weather from the tenth to the twelfth will be favorable?"

The specific dates for the ceremony had been finalized based on the Imperial Observatory's advice. And this point was especially important—the weather being the most critical issue deserving the greatest attention.

One had to know that just two days earlier, a light rain had fallen. They say spring rain is as precious as oil, but for Zhao Pu, he would rather have had these two weeks be cloudless and rainless.

Facing Zhao Pu's repeated inquiry, not a trace of impatience appeared on Wang Chune's aged face—but perhaps precisely because of this repeated confirmation, he dared not guarantee it anymore.

Under Zhao Pu's scrutinizing gaze, Wang Chune hesitated for a moment, then said: "I report to Your Excellency: based on the observations and calculations of this old man and my subordinates, the day of the grand ceremony should be without concern!"

That flicker of hesitation was clearly caught by Zhao Pu. His facial muscles twitched slightly as he looked at the old man, but in the end, he did not rebuke him as harshly as he might have other ministers.

Although what he wanted was merely a definitive answer to bolster his spirits and strengthen his confidence, perhaps it was precisely this anxious concern that made Wang Chune less confident. His answers had grown increasingly conservative.

"Lord Wang's judgments, and those of the Imperial Observatory officials, have always been accurate, rarely off the mark—I, this Chancellor, still have great faith in them!" After a moment's pause, instead of issuing harsh words, Zhao Pu instead soothed him warmly: "It's so late, and I've summoned you here to trouble you—I hope you'll forgive me!"

"Your Excellency is too kind!" Wang Chune replied.

Without any idle pleasantries, Wang Chune soon departed, seemingly unwilling to deal with this chancellor. And Zhao Pu had no choice but to place his hopes in the professional judgment of those Imperial Observatory experts—that there would be no problems.

On the tenth day of the third month in the twelfth year of Kaibao, Emperor Liu's Fengshan grand ceremony officially began, commencing with the Fengsi sacrifices on the southern slope of Mount Tai.