Chapter 1656: Aristocrats and Bureaucrats

Perhaps feeling that the Mid-Autumn Festival celebratory atmosphere was not thick enough, while flower lanterns and colored ribbons were being hung all over the streets of the Eastern Capital, the court decided to add another touch of festive color—except this touch was red, bright red, blood red.

On the sixteenth day of the eighth month of the twentieth year of Kaibao, the day after the full moon, Emperor Liu issued an edict: all the officials who had been taken into the capital during this period and sentenced to death were to be brought together to the South Market entrance and publicly executed.

The urgency, the high-handedness, the cold-bloodedness were hair-raising. Emperor Liu had not broken his word, and Crown Prince Liu Yang had no room to refuse—he was to personally supervise the executions.

This batch of officials to be executed was only the first batch. Under Emperor Liu's crude interference, the Three Judicial Offices had hesitated yet had no choice but to cut through the knot swiftly, hastily drawing up a list totaling 138 people.

Clearly, this still fell somewhat short of the target Emperor Liu had set. However, the reasonable Emperor Liu also took into account the difficulties of Xin Zhongfu and the others, giving them some time to determine the sentences in three batches. But likewise, changing to three batches meant even more people would be executed.

As for whether there were any among them who were wronged, or whose crimes did not warrant death—of course there were. But Emperor Liu was clearly not as benevolent as the Crown Prince. He wanted to intimidate through killing, to warn the world with blood. Wronged ghosts under heaven were plentiful; a few more made no difference, and bureaucrats were nothing special either.

In fact, this was no longer simply a purge of the "Lu Faction." Of these hundred-plus people, fewer than a third were truly branded as the "Lu Faction," and most of those came from officials of Hexi.

The rest were mostly corrupt elements, greedy officials who had bred during ten years of peaceful politics, dragged out by the Lu Case. In the end, the Lu Case was merely a trigger. This was still a bureaucratic cleanup campaign of the Great Han, a means by which Emperor Liu, this centralizing monarch, eased contradictions and consolidated his rule—a periodic summation of the Great Han's politics over these ten years.

This practice of concentrated executions was not the first time in the Great Han—for instance, the Huazhou Case and the Yangzhou Case of years past—and the scale was growing larger each time.

However, there was a difference: the Huazhou Case had primarily targeted lawless meritorious aristocrats, while both the Yangzhou Case and the present Lu Case targeted bureaucrats who had already risen politically.

For a very long time past, while Emperor Liu treated the founding veterans, meritorious officials, and aristocrats generously, he had also adopted a vaguely restrictive attitude. Whether it was the successive punishments of aristocrats, the landmark Huazhou Case, or the subsequent restrictive policies spearheaded by Zhao Pu, all were carried out under this principle.

Restriction was necessary—every founding dynasty inevitably suffered the calamity of arrogant soldiers and fierce generals. They were meritorious officials during times of war, but if not controlled properly during peacetime, they became scourges.

Zhao Kuangyin had resolved this contradiction through a policy of redemption, pulling off his "relinquishing military power over a cup of wine," but this brought another problem: the arrogant soldiers and fierce generals were dealt with, yet the burden on the state and the people grew heavier.

Emperor Liu had done the same in the past. Even if he had not done it as "thoroughly" as Zhao Kuangyin, it had produced similar effects, and the subsequent restrictive decrees were also a measure of adjustment. This unquestionably stirred much discontent among the aristocratic class. Had it not been for the aggressive expansion of the past and the rapid development of commerce and overseas trade, which allowed the aristocrats to profit and eased some contradictions, the Great Han's internal problems would likely have been even more severe.

At the same time, to balance the aristocratic class, Emperor Liu vigorously promoted support for commoner-origin bureaucrats. And as it turned out, this class developed with extreme rapidity. As a group of ministers led by Zhao Pu were successively promoted to important positions, occupying key posts in the court and wielding great power, they did indeed achieve a certain suppression of the aristocrats. That Zhao Pu could serve as chancellor for so many years was also partly due to this.

But nothing could have only benefits without drawbacks. The rise of commoner-origin bureaucrats also brought many governance problems. Corruption was merely the crudest manifestation, and it was the excuse Emperor Liu used to make an example and release contradictions.

And from the Yangzhou Case to the Lu Case, Emperor Liu's purpose lay precisely here. On one hand suppressing the aristocrats, on the other striking at the bureaucrats, thereby consolidating his rule and safeguarding imperial authority. But likewise, as time passed, the contradictions between ruler and ministers were inevitably deepening. Power and interests were one aspect, but Emperor Liu's excessive assertiveness and swollen lust for power also made the aristocrats and bureaucrats endure with difficulty.

As in the past, commoners gathered like a wall, discussing animatedly and cheering continuously, while the high ministers, aristocrats, and officials forced to witness the executions remained silent.

Many had not even fully sobered up from the hangover of the Mid-Autumn night banquet, but the gleaming executioner's blades and the bloody severed heads were enough to jolt them awake, their hairs standing on end.

A shadow hung over every heart. Every person felt as if a sharp blade dangled over their neck, crisis and fear intermingling, leaving them unable to relax in the slightest.

Many could not help wondering: what on earth was happening? Why such harsh judicial terror, such a large-scale slaughter of officials—what exactly did the Emperor intend to do?

Likewise, many could not help but think in the direction of "when the cunning hare is dead, the running hound is boiled." There were clear-headed people, but where one sat determined where one stood. They felt it more keenly—would this fate and ending befall themselves as well?

In the past, this feeling might not have been so deep, but this time, almost all the aristocrats and high ministers had this string taut in their minds. Lu Duoxun's fate was clear proof.

It had to be said that Emperor Liu's ruthlessness, even his rule-breaking hardline approach, was markedly effective—the entire court was awed, and no one was unafraid. But likewise, it inevitably produced some negative effects. The rift between ruler and ministers deepened, and the ministers' fear of Emperor Liu now outweighed their trust. This was naturally relative, after all—when had Emperor Liu ever truly trusted these powerful figures?

However, Emperor Liu's authority was simply too weighty. These powerful figures, even with many thoughts and grievances in their hearts, dared not show them. They could only remain silent, only lie low, not daring to stick their heads out.

Whoever dared to stick their head out would likely end up with their head on the ground and their family in decline—that much was clear. In an era of a strong ruler and weak ministers, everyone could only follow Emperor Liu's rules. As for resistance—setting aside whether they had the strength, the very looseness of the powerful class was a problem. Each had their own contradictions, each had their own interests, and no one could unite them.

Should such a situation occur, it would ultimately devolve into mutual recrimination, using the opportunity to topple political enemies. For so many years, the Great Han had only one center, and that was Emperor Liu. All personnel and affairs revolved around him alone, and no one could replace him.

During the previous two times, when forced to watch, some could not bear to see such a tragic scene, and some officials even complained aloud, insinuating "tyranny."

Seeing one's own kind disposed of in this manner indeed easily evoked empathy, and in the past, all those with "improper words or deeds" had likewise come to no good end—demoted, exiled, or even losing their lives.

But this time, there was no dissenting noise. Outside the execution ground, the commoners' discussions and the powerful figures' silence formed a stark contrast. On the execution-supervising platform, Crown Prince Liu Yang was equally silent, expressionless, watching with his own eyes as one guilty minister's head after another fell.

And many aristocrats and officials could not help casting their gazes toward the Crown Prince, who had reached his prime years. Emperor Liu's authority was too profound—no one dared to resist—but the Emperor was ultimately growing old, and his health did not seem to be so robust.

Compared to the old Emperor's harshness and coldness, His Highness the Crown Prince was after all more benevolent and lenient. Endure, endure until the day heaven and earth changed hands—perhaps then everyone's days would be somewhat better.

Such thoughts, in the past, many might not have dared to even think. But now, many people could not restrain themselves from looking forward to and hoping for that direction.

Of course, even if such rebellious thoughts existed, no one dared to show them; they could only be buried deep in their hearts. Among the many gazes cast toward Crown Prince Liu Yang was also Zhao Kuangyi's. He increasingly felt that his future lay not with Emperor Liu, but with the Crown Prince.

Under Emperor Liu, even serving as chancellor was unsafe. What else could he do, where could he display his talents?