Chapter 1608: The Jiaqing Festival and the Crown Prince's Troubles

In the winter of the seventeenth year of Kaibao, Kaifeng carried a gentler quality than in years past—morning brought the rising sun, dusk brought rosy clouds, and the blue waves and yellow leaves added a splash of color to the capital, a far cry from the bleak desolation of previous years. This year, it was lush and thriving throughout.

For the officials and commoners of the Eastern Capital, this winter was also noticeably more comfortable. Of course, for some officials, this was an auspicious omen—indeed, a greatly auspicious one.

The court had never lacked for clever men, nor for those skilled at making associations and adept at divining the emperor's intentions. And not just one or two—a whole flock of them.

Many people linked this comfortable winter to a single matter: in a few months, Emperor Liu's birthday would come around again.

Thirty years ago, Emperor Liu's birthday had been designated the Jiaqing Festival by the court. Of course, at that time, it was some Ministry of Rites officials who had made the proposal to curry favor with Emperor Liu, and Emperor Liu had been at a stage of consolidating imperial power and expanding his influence, so such a tactic—setting his own birthday as a nationwide celebration—was something he could readily employ.

Thus, every year on the seventh day of the third month, the Jiaqing Festival was observed as usual. After thirty years, it had essentially become integrated into the lives of the Great Han's officials and people.

Turning the emperor's birthday into a fixed festival had begun with Li Longji, but the degree of promotion and acceptance of Emperor Liu's "Jiaqing Festival" clearly far surpassed Li Longji's.

At least at present, the "divinity" attached to Emperor Liu far exceeded that of the Tianbao Emperor. Nowadays there was no "Qianqiu" or "Tianchang"—only Emperor Liu's Jiaqing.

It was easy to imagine that, before long, so long as the Great Han could maintain stability for a hundred years, the "Jiaqing Festival" would become a fixed traditional holiday.

On this point, Emperor Liu was quite driven by vanity. Surpassing all achievements and leaving his name in history—he had already done that. But this matter of binding his reputation to Chinese culture, traditions, and customs still gave him considerable motivation.

In his early years, Emperor Liu had not paid it much mind; his energy had been focused on strengthening the state and enriching the people. But now, he was increasingly attentive to his posthumous reputation.

The Jiaqing Festival was merely one highly representative symbol. Just as people think of Qu Yuan during the Dragon Boat Festival, Emperor Liu hoped that in the future, when the people celebrated the Jiaqing Festival, they would also think of him, Emperor Liu.

As things stood, the effect was remarkable—though it came with a certain degree of administrative intervention. Nowadays, every Jiaqing Festival, all the circuits and prefectures across the nation, both official and civilian, would hold celebratory activities. Burning incense and offering prayers was also one of the daily activities of officials and commoners that day, either praying for Emperor Liu's well-being or praying to Emperor Liu for blessings...

And under Emperor Liu's attention, the official celebrations grew increasingly lively. Moreover, the Jiaqing Festival had also been designated as one of the fixed rest days for all officials nationwide—three days off.

There was no doubt that this was cultivating a personality cult, even deifying himself without regard for appearances. And with universal acclaim, he would face no criticism whatsoever. Naturally, no one dared to say anything strange or express any dissenting view.

In fact, in the current Great Han, Emperor Liu had long since become the equal of the gods. Last year, on a whim, Emperor Liu had specially received a batch of local officials who had come to the capital to report on their duties and await reassignment.

The scene was "moving." From prefects down to county magistrates, upon seeing Emperor Liu, tears and snot streamed down their faces, and they could not contain themselves. When asked why, they were too overcome to speak, struggling to express their joy. As for the result—Emperor Liu, delighted, found time to specially treat that batch of officials to a meal.

Against this backdrop, the upcoming Jiaqing Festival of the eighteenth year of Kaibao naturally drew the full attention of the court. This time, its importance clearly surpassed any previous occasion, because it marked Emperor Liu surpassing fifty years of age—half a century of life.

Setting other matters aside, in ordinary years Emperor Liu could handle his birthday simply, without extravagance. But this kind of decade-milestone birthday deserved a bit more attention.

Even if Emperor Liu didn't mention it, those attentive ministers would respond actively. Thus, still in the winter of the seventeenth year, the court had already begun preparing for the Jiaqing Festival several months away, with Zhao Pu personally presiding over the planning and preparation of the celebration, and Duke of Ji State Xue Juzheng serving as the master of ceremonies.

And from the start of winter, the court internally—including the remonstrance officials—had shifted a great portion of their energy to singing the praises of Emperor Liu. Auspicious omens from all regions began appearing in clusters again. Even Kaifeng's comfortable winter could be strained through forced association into an auspicious sign.

Amidst this surging tide at court, there were still clear-headed people—for instance, Crown Prince Liu Yang. From his heart, the court's grand display, its great mobilization, this kind of atmosphere within the government, was abnormal. The ministers were all busy flattering and praising Emperor Liu, busy singing his virtues, so who was left to pay attention to governance and the people's livelihood? It could even affect the normal functioning of state affairs.

However, he could not voice any dissenting opinion, nor could he stop it. He was both Crown Prince and imperial son—he couldn't very well risk bearing the charge of "unfilial and disloyal," could he?

Moreover, Liu Yang could be certain that if he truly raised any opinion that went against the mainstream, some remonstrance officials would even dare to attack him. Open denunciation might not come, but veiled insinuations and indirect accusations would certainly not be lacking.

This was Liu Yang's unspeakable distress, and his mood had inevitably grown gloomy lately. Forced to smile, his heart was actually filled with bitterness. Of course, Liu Yang's worries and sorrows did not stem solely from this matter. The turmoil in the Eastern Palace and the discord in his household also left him quite depressed, even feeling a kind of heart-weariness.

In recent years, the internal strife in the Eastern Palace, revolving around the Crown Princess and Consort Zhao, had grown increasingly fierce. In the past, ministers saw the potential struggle among princes for the succession; now, some were already looking to the third generation.

To date, Liu Yang's position as Crown Prince remained rock-solid, nearly unbreakable. And a Crown Prince of twenty years' standing had long since accumulated sufficient depth and influence. Even without the support of his mother's clan, Liu Yang alone, with his banner, was sturdy enough.

Most importantly, Emperor Liu still trusted him completely, expressing his expectations with utter sincerity, saying things like "the rivers and mountains will be yours in the future"—such occasions were commonplace.

In fact, to Emperor Liu, Liu Yang could be seen as a kind of repository—a vessel for his life's work and his hopes. Having spent so many years cultivating an heir who satisfied him, that persistence, akin to walking a one-way road, allowed no turning back.

Of course, all this had a premise: that Liu Yang himself did not court disaster. And judging by the qualities he had displayed over so many years, such an inwardly brilliant Crown Prince was clever enough, had long adapted to his identity, and was thoroughly skilled at handling Emperor Liu.

However, regarding his own family affairs, the troubles of the Eastern Palace, he often felt vexed. The conflict between Consort Murong and Consort Zhao was not mere jealousy among the women of the Eastern Palace—it reflected the struggle between the two great meritorious clans, the Murong and the Zhao, and concerned the question of the empire's future succession.

This was clearly a matter of great attention. After Emperor Liu, barring accidents, it would be Liu Yang—this was known to all. None of the other imperial sons, princes, or dukes had the strength or prestige to contend with him.

But after Liu Yang? That was worth discussing. Though speaking of such matters while Emperor Liu still lived and Liu Yang was in the prime of his years seemed premature, for those with "far-sighted vision," it was not early at all.

Moreover, Liu Yang's situation deserved attention. As of now, Liu Yang had only two sons and one daughter. His eldest son, Liu Wenhuan, born of Consort Zhao, was already nine years old; his second son, Liu Wenji, born of Consort Xiao (Xiao Yanyan's status had naturally been elevated after giving birth to a son), was now five.

As for the Crown Princess—she had finally conceived in the fifteenth year of Kaibao and given birth that winter, but unfortunately it was a girl. This not only made Consort Murong lose composure, but also gave Liu Yang a terrible headache.

Liu Yang himself—how could he not have considered the succession question? Choosing from his two existing sons, without a doubt it should be the eldest, Liu Wenhuan. After all, he was of pure and proper lineage. Liu Wenji, being the son of Xiao Yanyan, was naturally at a disadvantage from birth.

But the Crown Princess wouldn't accept it. In a state of near desperation, someone gave her an idea. She was the Crown Princess, Liu Yang's lawful wife, and the legal mother of Liu Yang's children—so this person suggested she adopt Liu Wenhuan.

This idea was quite constructive. Even Liu Yang, upon hearing it, thought it was a good solution—killing two birds with one stone. But it clearly met with fierce opposition from Consort Zhao. Probably influenced by his mother, the young imperial grandson Liu Wenhuan was also unwilling.

This matter caused a stir for a while, drawing gossip from all corners of the court and country, before fizzling out, ending with the Crown Princess voluntarily giving up. After all, adopting a son who would likely not be filial to her in the future was truly unnecessary—instead, it would solidify the position of an "enemy's" son, which wasn't worth it.

Throughout the entire process, Zhao Kuangyin did not rashly express his stance, remaining silent throughout. But Zhao Kuangyi, who had already returned to court to serve as Vice Director of the Secretariat, had privately told Zhao Kuangyin that having the Crown Princess adopt the child was not a bad solution—it was something that could directly settle the matter and confirm Liu Wenhuan's status.

Unfortunately, Zhao Kuangyi had keen insight but lacked the ability to interfere much. He was merely an uncle; he couldn't control Consort Zhao's thinking, much less influence Consort Murong.

This matter caused such a commotion that even Emperor Liu heard of it. Liu Yang had once sought his advice on it, only to be criticized by Emperor Liu in a lukewarm manner—"If you can't even manage your own harem, how can you govern the realm?" He even shamelessly used his own "harmonious" harem as an example to lecture him.

As for Emperor Liu himself, he probably had no particular opinion either. They say grandparents dote on grandchildren, and he indeed had no special preference among his grandsons. Moreover, when it came to the question of succession, one had to be even more cautious.

However, regarding the open and covert struggles in the Eastern Palace, Emperor Liu was displeased to hear of them. At the same time, he felt people's hearts were in disorder—he was still alive and well, yet some were already considering the question of the third-generation emperor. It was simply improper. Were they harboring ulterior motives, or did they simply no longer take him seriously?

Therefore, during that period, Emperor Liu's temper was somewhat poor. Even when he invited Zhao Kuangyin for drinks, his face remained cold.

The matter of Lady Murong's adoption of Liu Wenhuan had come to nothing, and due to Emperor Liu's attitude, the Eastern Palace had been quiet for two years. But recently, waves had risen again.

After long observation and deliberation, the Crown Princess once again proposed to Liu Yang that she wanted to adopt Liu Wenji, born of Consort Xiao. As soon as this proposal was made, Liu Yang truly had a headache. The Eastern Palace, the imperial city, and even the court all stirred with considerable reaction......