Chapter 1591: Unrest on the Frontiers

The court's internal affairs had stabilized, but for the Great Han as a whole, it could hardly be described as "peace under heaven." Such a vast empire faced shifting winds and changing clouds every month, every day.

Of course, the most "lively" spots were the Great Han's various frontiers—the more remote the border, the more troubles arose. This held true from the northwest to the northeast. In the Yulin Circuit, the court's forceful sinicization policy finally provoked a backlash: several hundred Tangut tribesmen in Xiazhou, led by their chieftain, rose in revolt against the court's annexation.

The outcome was entirely unsurprising—the rebellion was crushed by Wang Shen, Duke of Yan and Chief Commander of Xiazhou's troops. The suppression itself was hardly worth describing: simple, swift, and as bland as water. The only somewhat bloody detail was that all the Tangut rebels who had joined the uprising were put to death by Wang Shen, with over a thousand more Tangut tribesmen implicated and executed alongside them.

For the Great Han, this affair was but a ripple. Yet when word reached the Eastern Capital, it drew considerable attention—more precisely, the attention of Emperor Liu.

Emperor Liu naturally would not reflect on how the court's policies toward the barbarian peoples had driven the Tangut to resist. He was, if anything, somewhat furious—that when his reign had extended grace and authority across the realm, there were still those who dared to rebel.

This was not like the rebellions of the barbarian savages in the mountain valleys of the southwest. This was Xiazhou, one of the core governing regions of the Great Han's northwest, one of the border prefectures where imperial civilizing influence ran deepest. And the rebels were the Tangut, one of the largest minority peoples within the Great Han.

What made it even more hateful was that this rebellion was a resistance to sinicization, a direct challenge to the court's fundamental policy for governing the barbarian peoples—this touched the dragon's reverse scale. To implement thorough sinicization and reshape the barbarians' traditional productive and social relations, the court had gone through so much discussion and preparation, and pushed forward with immense determination. There had already been dissenting voices within the court, and this sudden revolt was a slap in the face.

The Tangut were not like the Mobei tribes that had only recently submitted in the past couple of years. More than a decade had passed since the Dingnan Army had pledged allegiance, and no major upheavals had occurred elsewhere—yet it had to be the Tangut, and it had to be in Xiazhou, that key northwestern stronghold.

What did this show? The court's assimilation of the Tangut had been inadequate. Many submitted in appearance but not in heart. Simply relocating the Li clan and splitting up and transferring tens of thousands of Tangut could not resolve the fundamental contradiction—it was only a palliative, a compromise measure.

In the past, no major upheaval had occurred only because the court had not touched their core interests, especially the tribal leaders' and chieftains' fundamental ruling authority.

Now, more than a decade later, a new generation of Tangut had grown up. Their reverence for the court was fading, and the old and new contradictions between Han and barbarian had been fermenting over a long period. The court's sinicization policy was merely a trigger; the concrete manifestation was that rebellion in Xiazhou—one hardly worth making a fuss over.

Where there is oppression, there is resistance—this is an unassailable truth. But as a ruler, Emperor Liu would not reflect on whether his own policies were flawed. Especially regarding the Tangut, his concern for the realm had its limits. He even believed that the Tangut's daring to stir up rebellion precisely proved that the court's past governing and civilizing policies had been insufficient, that they needed further implementation, that the oppression had not been thorough enough, that the Tangut had not been fully tamed.

Before the greater interests of the state, the interests of the Tangut—specifically, the Tangut chieftains—were utterly insignificant. If they dared to resist, the court dared to kill. Emperor Liu's stance was unyielding.

Therefore, he gave a positive assessment of Wang Shen's timely and effective suppression of the rebellion, issuing an edict of commendation, and remarking that Wang Pu had raised a fine son, worthy of the Duke of Yan's title, and deserving of greater appointment. This assessment essentially announced that the next Chief Commander of the Yulin Circuit would be Wang Shen.

At the same time, Emperor Liu urged the court to issue directives to all the northern frontier regions, requiring that all border prefectural governments, in implementing the sinicization policy, strictly guard against the subjugated peoples' backsliding. The Xiazhou incident was a warning.

Meanwhile, under the previous policy, the Prefectural Administrator of Xiazhou had fallen into grave misfortune, for a large-scale rebellion had occurred within his jurisdiction, and the commotion had even reached the emperor's ears.

Though the minor disturbance had been quelled, the subsequent accountability procedures were not spared. Prefectural Administrator Liu Chengxi was directly stripped of office and rank, demoted to commoner. He was, after all, a member of the imperial clan—Liu Chong's son, Emperor Liu's cousin. Of course, given Emperor Liu's harsh attitude toward these imperial relatives, such a disposition was hardly surprising.

However, a plausible-sounding story circulated in Xiazhou, claiming that Wang Shen had received intelligence before the incident broke out but had deliberately held back, waiting until the rebels had gathered and the impact had grown before dispatching troops to quell the rebellion—thereby earning a modest but sufficient merit to report victory.

Of course, the ins and outs of this matter could not be clarified. Even if it reached the court and drew attention, it would be difficult to investigate and reach a concrete conclusion. Wang Shen would have plenty of words to defend himself, but the fact of the suppression was certain.

In truth, this Tangut rebellion in Xiazhou had a considerable impact locally. Those Tangut who had long accepted the court's rule suddenly discovered that there seemed to be another way to resist the court and fight for their interests. And with the court's uncompromising sinicization policy, with the high-pressure measures pushed by the border prefectural governments under the court's urging, the contradictions would only deepen with the passage of time...

If the upheaval in Xiazhou could be described as a mere ripple, then in Mobei, the winds and clouds were truly churning. The death of the Khitan ruler Yelu Xian was a tremendous upheaval for Mobei.

The rule over the northern frontier tribes, maintained with such difficulty through years of recuperation, was shaken once again by Yelu Xian's death. Setting aside the Han army's iron cavalry riding north to offer condolences, the Khitan themselves were plunged into turmoil. The Naiman people east of the Jinshan Mountains seized the opportunity to expand eastward once more, raiding the Khitan's northwestern Mobei territories, advancing toward their grand ideal of becoming the new masters of the steppe.

Of course, for the Khitan, the Naiman's harassment was merely a minor itch. The most critical question they faced was: who would inherit the Khitan throne?

On this question, Emperor Liu had once discussed it with ministers like Xiao Siwen in a gleefully schadenfreude manner. According to their speculation, Prince Yue, Yelu Bishie, had the greatest chance.

But the development of the Mobei situation followed the Great Han court's predictions only in part; the final outcome still exceeded their expectations. Prince Yue, Yelu Bishie, having bided his time for years, having personally witnessed the collapse and decline of the Great Liao dynasty under Yelu Xian's leadership, finally decided to personally shoulder the national cause of Khitan revival.

Before Yelu Xian's very coffin, Yelu Bishie summoned the Khitan imperial clan and noble ministers, declared his banner openly, and sought to reclaim the legitimate succession of Taizong Yelu Deguang's bloodline.

When Yelu Bishie chose to make his bid for the Khitan throne, years of accumulation paid off. He gained the support of many Khitan nobles, his voice was loud, and nearly all rallied behind him.

This included both the pent-up dissatisfaction with Yelu Xian, that declining ruler, and the practical consideration that a state needed a mature sovereign. For the Khitan, this latter point mattered more—no one would submit to a child of a few years old.

Under normal circumstances, Yelu Bishie's chances of ascending were very high. But the final outcome of events simply refused to follow normal patterns.

Some supported him, and naturally some opposed him. In the end, the minority defeated the majority, because the minority held the most important thing of all: military power.

Yelu Xianshi, Han Derang, and Yelu Xiuge—Yelu Xian's most trusted ministers—joined forces to push for the succession of Yelu Xian's son, Yelu Longxu, firmly upholding the system of eldest-son succession that Yelu Xian had established, for the sake of the Khitan's long-term stability.

The two factions engaged in ten days of open and covert struggle within the Khitan's palace tents, and ultimately it came to arms. Yelu Xiuge, who was gradually reaching the peak of his personal abilities, became the pillar minister safeguarding Yelu Longxu's succession.

Once, Yelu Bishie had been weak, had yielded to the greater good, unwilling to plunge the Khitan into civil strife, and had voluntarily given up contending with Yelu Xian. But this time, he was resolute, even organizing a coalition of nobles—yet he was easily defeated by Yelu Xiuge, and Yelu Bishie's head was cut off by Nüli, one of Yelu Xian's close retainers.

As for the Han cavalry's march north, it also failed to achieve the desired effect. Cao Guangshi was a ruthless man with plenty of nerve. Setting out from Linhuang Prefecture, he truly led his several thousand iron cavalry directly to the Onon River basin, threatening the Khitan's ruling center in Mobei.

From receiving word of Yelu Xian's death, to transmitting the order to advance, to marching into Mobei—the time required was considerable. By the time Cao Guangshi deployed his troops along the Onon River, the situation among the Khitan had already been settled.

Even after an internal upheaval, facing the Han army's incursion, Yelu Xiuge still led the Pishi elite troops to actively engage in battle. Over ten thousand cavalry from both sides clashed. Cao Guangshi, facing a Khitan force twice his size, ultimately could not hold and retreated, losing nearly half his men during the pursuit.

As for the other Han cavalry contingent, led by Kang Baoyi, they were rather unlucky—having lost their way, they wandered around the highlands before retreating back to Han territory, even suffering over a hundred non-combat casualties. Of course, being able to return with the entire force intact was already the best of a bad situation.

When the Han army returned without success, it meant that the Khitan in Mobei had once again weathered a crisis—though it was also because the Great Han had not exerted its full effort. Even so, during the northward advance, Cao Guangshi, well-versed in the "three alls," still inflicted heavy losses on the Khitan tribes of Mobei.

Speaking of the Khitan, they were truly pitiable. In the old days, when they clashed with the Great Han, they could mobilize one to two hundred thousand troops at the drop of a hat. Now, a battle involving over ten thousand men already counted as a large-scale engagement.

As for the stabilized Khitan of Mobei, their main power was concentrated in the hands of Yelu Xianshi, Han Derang, and Yelu Xiuge—two Khitan imperial clansmen mixed with one Han minister, forming the Khitan's new power center.

Upon receiving the news, Emperor Liu could not help but wonder how Han Derang had earned the recognition of the Khitan people, allowing such a Han minister to occupy a high position. After all, when the Khitan had migrated north, the dual-administration foundation of the Southern and Northern Bureaus had already been destroyed. Under such circumstances, one could imagine the status of Han ministers among the Khitan. In fact, not many Han ministers or Han people had followed the Khitan north.

After much deliberation, the only explanation Emperor Liu could conceive was this: Han Derang—indeed, the entire Han clan—were merely Khitan wearing the skin of Han people.