Chapter 1615: The Children's Rhyme

The return of Prince Zhao Liu Fang's family to the capital was but one small reflection of the activities of imperial clansmen, meritorious nobles, and ministers outside the capital during the winter of the seventeenth year of Kaibao. There was no great deal of private collusion, yet without prior agreement, too many regional governors and frontier commanders rushed back to the capital before the spring of the eighteenth year of Kaibao, like eager streams joyfully surging back to their ancestral source in the capital.

The purpose, naturally, was to celebrate Emperor Liu's birthday. Such a situation was hardly uncommon even in the Great Han, for the empire's territory was vast beyond measure, and gathering ministers from all corners of the realm together in one place was no easy task.

The last time such a phenomenon had occurred was at the celebration of the thirtieth year of Emperor Liu's reign, and before that, at the Fengshan sacrifices at Mount Tai.

In light of this situation, responding to this trend, a children's rhyme appeared among the people, saying: "The Son of Heaven's birthday keeps him busy, the feudal lords toil in weary haste. What do the common folk desire? Only that auspicious snow may fall."

This rhyme appeared abruptly, yet it spread without legs, circulating widely in the capital and expanding from the capital region to the surrounding areas.

Since ancient times, the appearance of such rhymes and prophecies has often carried political connotations, or exposed the state of society and the suffering of the people, and has often borne a certain warning significance.

Over the long years past, rhymes had not been absent among the people of the Great Han, but most had been voices of praise and eulogy, proclaiming virtue and spreading "positive energy." One like this, carrying veiled ridicule and satire, pointing directly at the extravagance of Emperor Liu's birthday celebration, was the first of its kind.

Where this rhyme came from, and who composed it, remained unknown. However, the Great Han court did have some reaction—even a measure of tension. Anyone with even a slight political sense could detect the "power" of this rhyme and the risk concealed behind it.

The most vehement reaction came from a censor named Wang Yucheng, who directly attached this rhyme to a memorial and submitted it to remonstrate with Emperor Liu, stating the matter plainly, hoping that Emperor Liu would exercise restraint at the coming Jiaqing Festival and not make a grand, wasteful display.

Having come from a farming family, Wang Yucheng understood agricultural matters well and cared more deeply about the suffering of the people. In his memorial, he also advised Emperor Liu to devote more energy to bestowing grace upon the common folk, and not to neglect matters of state and livelihood for the sake of a Jiaqing Festival that came around every year.

Although Wang Yucheng had tried his best to be careful in his choice of words, the thoughts he expressed were direct, and viewed from another angle, could even be said to be criticizing and pointing fingers at Emperor Liu.

Though only twenty-six years old, Wang Yucheng had already earned considerable fame in the scholarly circles of the Great Han. His literary talent was especially praised, and he was a genius who could write essays at the age of nine. Moreover, he had passed the imperial examinations at twenty-two, enjoying early success in life.

When he had passed the examinations that year, he had been received by Emperor Liu. At the Qionglin Banquet, he had dashed off a poem titled "My Aspirations" to express his heart and political ambitions. It had left a deep impression on Emperor Liu at the time, and he had received both praise and encouragement from the Emperor.

In his years of official service, Wang Yucheng had unswervingly practiced what he aspired to, never betraying his original intentions. He was truly a man who spoke frankly and dared to remonstrate—whatever he found objectionable would often be transformed into a brilliantly written, sincerely devoted memorial.

Perhaps the court knew it needed such men, men who could speak boldly and remonstrate, full of youthful vigor, and this also fostered an atmosphere of open remonstrance. Toward Wang Yucheng, no matter how fierce his words or how offensive his phrasing, Emperor Liu's attitude remained genial, mostly tolerant—whether he actually listened was another matter.

But this time, upon receiving Wang Yucheng's remonstrance, Emperor Liu could no longer laugh it off as before. In front of Zhao Pu and other ministers, he directly rebuked him, saying that Wang Yucheng was audacious, taking his tolerance for indulgence, growing ever less restrained, and speaking recklessly without limit.

A mere censor, thinking himself loyal, thinking himself concerned for the state and the people, dared to heap such accusations upon his sovereign and speak so insolently. That posture of shame turning to anger was rarely seen in Emperor Liu.

However, anger was anger—it was only vented verbally. Of course, had Emperor Liu not known Wang Yucheng to be of an upright and unbending nature, he might have thrown him into prison. Naturally, this was also to maintain his previous public image.

Even so, Emperor Liu ordered Wang Yucheng to return home, reflect behind closed doors, and go write his poetry and essays...

But Wang Yucheng's remonstrance memorial had clearly still stung Emperor Liu, at least making him no longer so complacent and content, feeling as uncomfortable as if he had swallowed a fly.

In Emperor Liu's view, princes, meritorious nobles, bureaucrats, and generals coming to court to congratulate him on his birthday not only demonstrated the ministers' loyalty and filial devotion toward him, but also presented an opportunity for him to soothe and to gather counsel.

The empire was so vast—traveling from west to east, even walking for months would not see the end of it. Ministers were stationed in all directions, guarding the borders for the state, and on ordinary days it was difficult to see them at all. Even his own sons could not be seen once in several years, let alone everyone else.

Taking advantage of this occasion was not merely to offer birthday congratulations, but also an opportunity for all major military and civil officials, both inside and outside the court, to gather together and discuss matters of state. The court needed to hear opinions from below, synthesize the situation, and adjust or change policies in a timely manner, while the ministers below also needed to clearly implement the court's policies and guidelines, so as to avoid any errors in the process of transmitting orders downward and reporting upward.

Clearly, this was an extremely rare opportunity for communication, and it was beneficial to the governance of this vast empire. Constrained by the limitations of transportation and information, such gatherings naturally could not be held frequently, but using his fiftieth birthday as an occasion to organize a state affairs exchange conference was still worth doing—meaningful and feasible.

However, though he said this and used this reasoning to console himself, Wang Yucheng's remonstrance had still planted a thorn in his heart, making him extremely displeased.

The suspicious Emperor Liu could not help but wonder: had the officials and the common people truly come to see him differently? Did his current conduct still resemble that of a sage and enlightened ruler?

"I couldn't really be turning into Li Longji, could I?" Such a thought had never occurred to Emperor Liu before, because he had always looked down somewhat on Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, who had driven a perfectly good empire to the brink of collapse, going directly from golden age to decline.

But though he said one should take history as a mirror, in reality one often fails to perceive oneself. Though reflection was a good habit of Emperor Liu's, he unconsciously found himself easily immersed in that glory...

The court was never lacking in those who trimmed their sails to the wind. When the Emperor was displeased, there were naturally those below who moved at the slightest scent. Within the court, especially in the Censorate, several censors, under the direction of Lu Duoxun, submitted memorials impeaching Wang Yucheng, saying he was arrogant and self-important, reckless in speech, and offensive to his sovereign, demanding severe punishment.

However, their flattery had landed on the horse's hoof. Toward these people, Emperor Liu was especially furious. Did he need to strike back at a mere Wang Yucheng? To perfect his reputation for loyalty and integrity?

Therefore, those censors who had submitted memorials instead suffered the backlash—some were reprimanded, some demoted. In Emperor Liu's words: "Wang Yucheng, though unbending and defiant toward his superior, may be excused for his loyalty. But you censors and remonstrance officials—when you should remonstrate, you do not; when you should impeach, you do not. You only kick a man when he's down. That is the conduct of petty men."

Thus, several censors were demoted and expelled from court. Lu Duoxun lost several trusted lieutenants and himself suffered collateral damage, being criticized by Emperor Liu for lax management of subordinates and dereliction of duty.

At the same time, the Kaifeng Prefecture and the Palace City Office also mobilized in force, sweeping through the capital, beginning to "eliminate" those pernicious words and fallacies. Such a show of force naturally stirred up chaos—the capital fell into a hushed silence, and nearly all scholars and commoners, seeing this, strictly restrained their children, forbidding them from spreading rumors or speaking freely. "The convict labor camp" also became one of the means by which adults frightened their children.

The Palace City Office also felt the pressure emanating from Emperor Liu. One of their most important duties was to monitor public sentiment in the Eastern Capital, and yet the rhyme had spread like wildfire without them taking any action.

Zhang Dejun was somewhat depressed, but he could only work even harder, wanting to produce some results to assuage His Majesty's anger. He began vigorously investigating who was behind the spreading of rumors and the misleading of the people.

As for the results—with the Palace City Office's capabilities, they uncovered no "conspirators." However, quite a few storytellers from the various taverns and teahouses in the Eastern Capital were brought back to the Palace City Office for questioning, all without any results.

At the end of their investigation, they found a stone by the Wuzhang River with that rhyme carved upon it. Such a result was grave indeed—was this not saying that this disturbance was not the work of men, but a "warning" from Heaven?

Sensing the seriousness of the matter, Zhang Dejun strictly ordered the news sealed, then hurriedly went to see Emperor Liu to report the matter. Upon learning of the Palace City Office's actions in Kaifeng, Emperor Liu grew even more furious and harshly criticized Zhang Dejun—wasn't this just inviting trouble for him...

At the same time, Emperor Liu, who had not originally been so concerned, instead grew suspicious. The rhyme itself was not frightening—the common people were easy enough to fool, and once the fervor passed, it would be over.

But he did not believe that any stone tablet could naturally bear such a rhyme carved upon it. Behind this false attribution to the gods, there must surely be ghosts and demons at work.

Thus, the instruction to Zhang Dejun was but a single word: Investigate! Investigate to the very end!

This disturbance that occurred in the winter of the seventeenth year of Kaibao could only be counted as a minor interlude, a little shadow of gloom. Though it had left Emperor Liu somewhat depressed and somewhat angry, the coming Jiaqing Festival still had to be celebrated—his fiftieth birthday still had to be held in grand and glorious style, lively and prosperous.

. wap.