Chapter 1527: The Dengfeng and Jiangshan Rites

The spring scenery was bright, the breeze gentle, and the sun warm.

Heaven did not deliberately try to make its presence felt; the fine weather was a good start. On the Fengshan Altar built of five-colored earth, Emperor Liu's figure—which he himself considered aging but many others saw as imposing—stood tall, clad in ceremonial robes he wore barely once a year. To Emperor Liu, the weight of these ceremonial robes was heavier than the Fengshan ceremony itself.

The situation on the altar was clear at a glance: Emperor Liu appeared in full regalia, standing alone and majestic. In fact, this grand sacrificial ceremony conspicuously carried out Emperor Liu's will—a will tinged with overbearing dominance, even arrogance.

The scale was grand, but the specific procedures, at Emperor Liu's behest, had been greatly simplified compared to the complex rituals that Zhao Pu and his team had painstakingly compiled from classical references.

Of course, that was only relatively speaking. The main point was to lighten Emperor Liu's burden, so he wouldn't have to go through too much trouble. A series of procedures and details were handled by dedicated ritual officials, while all Emperor Liu needed to do was stand at the forefront, receive the gaze of ten thousand eyes, and feel the favor of destiny.

On the altar, the positioning of the assembled personnel was highly deliberate—of course, Emperor Liu was the absolute protagonist at the center. Beside him stood the masters of rites, the masters of wine vessels, the masters of music, the masters of ablutions, and those bearing silk, bearing goblets, bearing prayers, and burning prayers—all standing in respectful attendance around Emperor Liu, essentially encompassing the entire ceremonial program.

To the right of the altar, beyond the cordon formed by ceremonial guards, tens of thousands of onlookers gathered—from imperial clansmen, nobles, and officials at the top, down to scholars, commoners, artisans, and merchants, all the way to the lowliest peasants—all standing in orderly silence, observing the rites with solemn reverence.

An endless sea of humanity, boundless and vast—this was perhaps the only segment of the Fengshan ceremony in which so many people participated as observers. There were many people, yet little noise; the "civility" of the Great Han's subjects was on full display in such an event.

Clearly, on such an occasion, there were too many things worthy of submission, too many things worthy of awe. Everyone seemed shrouded in an invisible pressure, eyes lowered and brows bowed, restraining their behavior, curbing their bodies and even their thoughts.

As the Earl of Guangyang of the court, Zhao Kuangyi had also traveled north from Hunan for this grand ceremony, standing alongside Zhao Kuangyin in the ranks of the nobility, quietly observing the ceremonial proceedings.

The altar was very high and very far away, and the dense forest of banners further obstructed the view. Even standing in the front row, it was difficult to discern clearly what was happening on the Fengshan Altar.

But although he stood in a lowly position, the impression of that imposing, upright figure in his mind grew ever clearer and deeper. Under the gaze of ten thousand eyes, the radiance around Emperor Liu seemed all the more dazzling.

The ritual officials intoned the prayers, and as each proclamation was loudly transmitted, everyone present knelt in sequence, prostrating themselves with foreheads to the ground. This was a prescribed moment in the sacrificial process—the submission of tens of thousands of people even set off a wave through the crowd, awe-inspiring in its momentum.

On the altar, Emperor Liu did not completely set himself apart; he too prostrated himself on the ground. Though it was the full three kneelings and nine prostrations, his bearing remained proud and uplifted. For Emperor Liu, kneeling and bowing was itself a novel experience.

Directly in front of the altar, on the flat plaza, a ceremonial music ensemble of one hundred and twenty-eight performers, under direction, executed the choreographed "Dance of the Moon" as an offering.

However, that thunderous ceremonial music and vigorous sacrificial dance seemed less like an offering of respect to heaven, earth, and the spirits, and more like an act of flattery directed at Emperor Liu.

The entire initial offering ceremony, though centered on Emperor Liu, did not give him a strong sense of participation. From start to finish, Emperor Liu simply performed his bows, offered incense, and made a perfunctory pronouncement of "May the realm be at peace, and the people enjoy well-being"—the rest was him standing there in an upright posture while the ritual officials executed all other offerings.

After Emperor Liu came the Crown Prince Liu Yang, who performed the secondary offering.

After Liu Yang, Chancellor Zhao Pu performed the final offering on behalf of the ministers and the people. This was perhaps one of the most memorable landmark events in Zhao Pu's official career, nearly reaching the pinnacle of his chancellorship.

Finally, there was the ceremony of partaking of the blessed wine and sacrificial meat, personally presided over by Emperor Liu. After that, the first day's Fengshan sacrificial rites concluded in perfect success.

The Emperor returned to his place, the imperial procession set forth, and the ministers and people dispersed in orderly fashion.

Compared to his ministers, Emperor Liu's mood was not as excited as expected. On the contrary, he was rather unperturbed, feeling it all as plain as water. In comparison, his weary body and heavy steps felt more real.

On the eleventh day of the third month, with an even more solemn and imposing formation—like stars clustering around the moon, with all the ministers flanking him—the imperial procession with full ceremonial regalia set out with great fanfare for Mount Tai.

The winding mountain path that led straight to the summit of Dai was surrounded by lush verdure, thick and verdant. Along the neatly laid stone steps, the ceremonial guards were spread out, also reaching all the way to the summit—both protecting the sacred person and guarding this "path to heaven."

Compared to the sacrifices at the foot of the mountain, this Dengfeng rite was a tremendous challenge for Emperor Liu, especially a physiological ordeal that was extremely grueling.

The heavy ceremonial robes were already no small burden, and he had to ascend the mountain on foot with a solemn bearing. Even though the paths and steps had been cleared and carved, the physical exertion was still enormous.

However, at this point, Emperor Liu had no other choice—if he were carried up the mountain, it would truly be a laughingstock. Beneath the spring sun, amid the shade of the forest, Emperor Liu walked alone, taking solemn strides, step by step, level by level, straight toward the Dengfeng Altar at the summit of Dai.

The guards stationed along the route all stood tall and proud, only bowing their heads in salute as Emperor Liu passed. Behind Emperor Liu, at a distance of over ten zhang, followed the accompanying party of the Crown Prince, the various princes, and ministers such as Zhao Pu. Compared to Emperor Liu's ease, they were far more cautious, their postures far more reverent.

The ascent to the summit took Emperor Liu a full hour or more, and by the time he reached the altar atop Dai, it was nearly noon. After a brief rest, the most important rite of the entire Fengshan ceremony commenced.

There was no doubt that the nature of this Dengfeng rite was to display Emperor Liu's achievements and accomplishments to the vast heavens and the boundless cosmos—it was, in essence, a eulogy to Emperor Liu's merits.

The sacrificial text was composed by Li Yu. It was not that Emperor Liu deliberately sought to humiliate him—this was Zhao Pu's decision. Having the merits of Emperor Liu articulated by a fallen minister of a vanquished state like Li Yu seemed to carry more persuasive weight.

As it turned out, Li Yu was not only skilled at poetry and painting—he was also a master of prose. Nearly ten thousand words flowed forth, filled with nothing but praise, every line dripping with flattery and sycophancy.

Of course, the text had undergone three rounds of revision and correction before it was finalized. One could only wonder what Li Yu felt while writing this sacrificial text, but Emperor Liu was rarely seen to blush—and he did, simply because the flattery was too excessive.

A massive stone stele stood beside the Dengfeng Altar, seeming to merge with the mountain itself, as if intended to endure for ten thousand generations. Emperor Liu personally pulled away the yellow silk covering. The sense of weight and permanence struck one immediately. The sacrificial record was burned, but the full text of the eulogy was carved completely onto the stone stele.

Standing beneath the stele, Emperor Liu looked up at the carved characters, as if some magic force held his gaze captive. The inscription began with a retrospective from the very creation of heaven and earth, highlighting the chaos of the late Tang, the succession of three dynasties, and the turmoil of the Ten Kingdoms. Then it recounted Emperor Liu's birth, including the auspicious omens that accompanied it.

Raised in a military province, obscure for over a decade; the Khitan invaded from the south, the Central Plains seemed on the verge of collapse; a thunderclap arose from Hedong—he rode forth as the vanguard for his king, leading troops out through the Taihang Mountains. He gathered heroes, drove the Khitan northward, and the Battle of Luancheng made his name known throughout the realm.

When Gaozu passed away and the state was shaken, a youth received the mandate to govern the realm—suppressing rebellions within, repelling barbarians without, governing with diligence, and resolving to purify the world. He abolished the old and eliminated the corrupt, enriched the state and strengthened the military, looked far ahead with keen vision, advanced step by step with careful strategy, and in fifteen years, unified the realm.

Qianyou has passed, and Kaibao shall flourish. To the west, the He-Long region was recovered; to the south, Dali was pacified; to the east, they crossed the seas; to the north, they struck the Khitan. All four borders were at peace, all eight wildernesses submitted, and ten thousand states came to pay homage.

Emperor Liu did not entirely immerse himself in those words of praise, but looking back, he realized that he had indeed accomplished so much and achieved no small success. His imperial career, up to this point, could be considered a success.

He ascended the mountain from the sunny side and descended from the shaded side. By the time he returned to the field headquarters, he was exhausted in both body and mind. Yet Emperor Liu's spirits remained high—it was only when he was alone in the night that he began to feel the emptiness.

On the twelfth day of the third month, the imperial procession set out once more, grand and imposing, heading straight south, crossing the Wen River, and arriving directly at Liangfu. With the Dengfeng rite of the previous day behind him, Emperor Liu showed little further interest in the Jiangshan rite—he was already weary.

The Jiangshan rite concluded without a ripple, marking the formal completion of the entire Fengshan ceremony, a perfect conclusion. Of course, throughout the entire process, everything went smoothly on Emperor Liu's end. Beyond Emperor Liu, there were inevitably some minor issues, but all within controllable bounds. Zhao Pu's expectations were met—no major blunders meant success.

That night, in conversation with Empress Fu, when the topic of his reflections on the Fengshan ceremony came up, Emperor Liu stated unequivocally: for the rest of his life, he would never again set foot on Mount Tai, and never again perform the Fengshan sacrifices!

Indeed, the moment the Fengshan ceremony ended, Emperor Liu regretted it. Upon self-examination, he realized that this grand ceremony had been conducted largely to satisfy his vanity.

While following in the footsteps of previous emperors, Emperor Liu had also wanted to use this method to proclaim his surpassing of the ancients. But now that it was truly accomplished, the experience was not nearly as satisfying.

Accompanying the Fengshan were words like "massive construction projects," "wasting labor and money," "neglecting governance and military affairs"—these negative terms kept swirling through Emperor Liu's mind. Amid the chorus of praise and eulogy, Emperor Liu's private desires were on full display.

After this self-examination, Emperor Liu felt deeply embarrassed...