Chapter 1719: Guo Wei Finally Departs

Iron cavalry cleared the way, ceremonial escort following close behind. With only three days remaining before the twenty-first year of Kaibao came to an end, Emperor Liu left the palace once more. The imperial carriage moved slowly and came to a stop before the Duke of Xingguo's residence.

The imperial procession was as solemn and majestic as ever, yet in this deep winter season, there was a visible heaviness and oppression to it. Only when the carriage halted and Yan Tuo called out from outside did Emperor Liu snap back to his senses. Supported by Consort Guo Ning, the two descended together.

This year was indeed bitterly cold—bone-piercing and frigid. The Yellow River was frozen solid for a thousand li, passable by carts and horses. To the south, the Huai River and the Yangtze had also experienced large-scale freezing. Even in Guangdong and Guangxi, heavy snow had fallen and continued for days without end. Clearly, the climate was undergoing some unfavorable changes.

Stepping down from the carriage, the biting wind struck him full in the face. Even fully bundled from head to toe, Emperor Liu's cold-intolerant body could not help but shudder violently. By his past habits, at this time of year he would stay in the palace, in those spring-warm chambers, hardly moving at all, enduring until the flowers bloomed and the weather warmed.

But not this time. He had a reason he could not ignore: Guo Wei, Duke of Xingguo, had passed away—dying peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty, which counted as a ripe old age. In recent years, Guo Wei had remained in the capital, enjoying his twilight years in comfort. He was frequently summoned to the palace by Emperor Liu for banquets and conversation. Now he had come to a good end.

At least compared to the historical record, where Guo Wei's wife was lost and he died young in middle age—in Emperor Liu's era, he might not have reached those unattainable heights or tasted the flavor of that throne, but neither could one say Guo Wei's fortunes had been poor. Moreover, even in the official histories, his Guo family was not the final victor either.

In life he enjoyed prominence and wealth; in death he still received glory. This posthumous honor, Emperor Liu gave generously. Personally visiting the residence to offer condolences was only the first step. Wang Yucheng was already writing the spirit-path stele inscription, and the edict posthumously conferring the title of King of Xing on Guo Wei had long been drafted. The verdict on his life was sealed, and the assessment was quite high.

Under the dim winter daylight, the cold wind stinging his face, Emperor Liu looked up at the plaque reading "Imperially Commissioned Residence of the Duke of Xingguo," its surface inlaid with golden threads. The white silk hangings and the upright funeral banners were almost dazzling to the eyes.

Countless memories surfaced in his mind, his face carrying boundless emotion. He spoke softly to Consort Guo Ning beside him, whose eyes were rimmed red: "Let's go. Enter the residence."

Several imperial princes had accompanied Emperor Liu. Liu Yang followed closely, while the twelfth prince, Duke Yue Liu Han, had been specially summoned to stay near—after all, he was Guo Wei's maternal grandson.

Liu Han was now nearly twenty-four years old. He had married early, taking as his wife the granddaughter of Wang Quanbin. Among the imperial princes, Liu Han's birth was not low, and his maternal clan's influence was considerable, yet his presence was not particularly strong. Still, he conducted himself properly and had never caused any trouble. Like his elder brothers, Liu Han had been enfeoffed with a title and established his own household at an early age. After three years of training in the imperial army, he was now assigned by Emperor Liu to work in the Palace Administration.

As he crossed the residence's threshold, Emperor Liu accepted a white mourning sash and personally tied it around his waist. In silence, he made his way directly to the mourning hall. By now, the ducal residence was already crowded with bustling figures—nobles and officials coming to offer condolences filled the hall inside and out. The mournful music was bleak, and the chanting of monks and Daoists never ceased.

Managing affairs within the residence at this time was Guo Wei's second son, Guo Xin. Seeing Emperor Liu arriving together with Consort Ning, the Crown Prince, and the others, he set aside his grief and hurriedly led his people forward to receive the imperial presence.

Guo Wei had three sons in total. The eldest, Guo Tong, had risen the highest in office—though, of course, because of the Yulin Rebellion, he had been stripped of his post as Administration Commissioner and was even now still on his way back to the capital. Guo Yi was young and appeared to be the most promising of the three, currently serving under Prince Wei Liu Min in the western frontier.

The second son, Guo Xin, was ordinary—though, of course, his official rank was not low either. He currently served as a Councilor of the Capital Circuit, a high position in its own right. However, though Guo Xin was ordinary, at the moment of Guo Wei's death, he could no longer be considered ordinary. Many eyes turned toward him with meaningful looks.

Being closest to the waters, one gets the moon first—attending his father in illness and seeing him to his end, Guo Xin seemed to have already secured a natural advantage over his two brothers. Among the three sons of the Guo family, the distinction between legitimate and illegitimate was not pronounced, because their mothers had each in turn become Guo Wei's principal wife.

Under normal circumstances, Guo Tong was the undisputed choice to inherit the title—his head start was simply too strong. But there was no helping it: one Yulin Rebellion had turned all his advantages to nothing. Escaping guilt and punishment was already difficult enough, let alone in a matter as major as inheriting the Duke of Xingguo's title.

Of course, all of this still depended on Emperor Liu's attitude. But almost no one believed that Guo Tong, tainted by the Yulin Rebellion, retained any favorable impression in Emperor Liu's eyes.

Under the gaze of all—both reverent and fearful—Emperor Liu stood in the mourning hall as if oblivious. His powerful presence made the scene utterly silent; apart from the mournful music and the chanting of scriptures, no one dared make any sound.

Emperor Liu gazed quietly at Guo Wei's spirit tablet, his thoughts drifting far away, his eyes growing distant and even cloudy. His lips moved soundlessly, murmuring something, as if communicating with Guo Wei, who had likely already reached the Bridge of No Return.

After a long while, Emperor Liu accepted three sticks of incense and, with the dignity of an emperor, bowed solemnly before handing them to Yan Tuo to place in the incense burner. The rites complete, he looked around and noticed that his arrival had made the atmosphere inside and outside the mourning hall oppressive and strange—the air of grief seemed considerably diluted. He sighed inwardly and prepared to leave.

"Accept my condolences!" Emperor Liu did not say much to Guo Xin, but those two brief words, together with a pat on the shoulder, moved Guo Xin to tears of gratitude.

"Liu Han!" Before leaving, Emperor Liu called out again.

"Your servant is here!" Liu Han had already changed into a set of mourning garments.

Emperor Liu appeared quite satisfied with this. In as gentle a tone as he could manage, he said: "Stay at the ducal residence. Keep vigil over Duke Xing's spirit."

"Yes!" Liu Han naturally could not raise any objection.

Consort Guo Ning was deeply grieved and unwilling to return to the palace. She wanted to remain at the residence to see her late father off on his final journey. Emperor Liu did not press her and agreed, telling her to take care of her health before returning to the palace himself.

Though Emperor Liu's stay was brief, its impact was considerable. In recent years, so many meritorious old comrades and pillar ministers had died, yet posthumous honors of this degree—receiving a personal visit from Emperor Liu to offer condolences—were truly rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns.

Even when men like Wei Renpu passed away, it was only verbal expressions of grief. At most, the Crown Prince or a designated imperial prince would be sent to offer condolences, and that was that.

Clearly, Guo Wei held a distinctly different position in Emperor Liu's estimation. Perhaps the father-in-law and son-in-law relationship played a part, but there were absolutely other factors at work. Of course, to speak of any profound friendship between Emperor Liu and Guo Wei would be a joke. With Emperor Liu's current temperament, everything he did carried special significance.

And this gesture of personally coming to offer condolences—as outsiders interpreted it—meant that he still regarded the Guo family highly. Though Guo Wei was dead, they remained top-tier aristocrats of the Great Han. Moreover, even among the meritorious nobility, there were distinctions of rank and precedence, and the Guo family was clearly among the most honored.

Guo Wei's death was still a major event for the court, even though in recent years everyone inside and out had grown accustomed to old nobles withering away, and even though Guo Wei's influence on the court had long been weakened to the extreme.

But while a person lives, few eyes are upon him—he may even be forgotten for a time. Yet once he dies, the whole world takes notice. Many old ministers and meritorious nobles came one after another to pay their respects, both for Guo Wei's status and influence and for basic human courtesy.

The Zhao brothers, Zhao Kuangyin and Zhao Kuangyi, were naturally among them, following the crowd. As they departed, the two brothers strolled through the winter streets. Zhao Kuangyin was now a man approaching sixty, and in recent years he had aged rapidly. Due to years of heavy drinking, his health was steadily declining. Thus, his face now bore a slight sickly pallor.

"So Duke Xing has gone as well." Zhao Kuangyin's face showed desolation as he sighed.

The Zhao and Guo families shared a certain connection. In the early years, Zhao Hongyin had served under Guo Wei's command for a time. Of course, after Emperor Liu ascended the throne, successive military reforms had shattered the chains of command in the army into fragments.

It was not until Zhao Kuangyin's rise and the elevation of the Zhao family's status—until they became a noble family on par with the Guos—that the old relationship gradually faded. Moreover, given the current momentum of the two families, there was no great problem in saying the Zhaos had already surpassed the Guos. From the perspective of actual influence, this was indeed the case.

Zhao Kuangyin's sigh now carried a sense of mourning for his own kind: "I wonder—after I die, what will the scene be like?"

Everyone has such a day coming. Everyone hopes their own funeral will be as grand and dignified as this. Zhao Kuangyin had retired at the height of his powers, swallowing his frustration for years, suppressing himself for years—it was inevitable that the scene would stir his emotions.

Hearing this, Zhao Kuangyi immediately tried to dissuade him: "Second Brother, your body is strong and healthy. Why speak such inauspicious words?"

Zhao Kuangyin smiled: "Who among men does not die? My ambition is gone, my aspirations are no more. Now I am old and decrepit, able only to cling to thoughts of my reputation in life and my affairs after death!"

Zhao Kuangyi fell silent for a moment. He did not know how to console his brother. In recent years, though Zhao Kuangyi had been busy with official duties, the exchange between the brothers had never ceased, and he could sense the changes in Zhao Kuangyin's mindset.

Zhao Kuangyin was indeed in his twilight years now. No matter how fierce the tiger, after more than a decade confined to its cage, unable to bare its claws, it cannot help but grow sluggish and indolent. Of course, for Zhao Kuangyi, he naturally hoped Zhao Kuangyin would live long—a few more years at least. Even setting aside brotherly affection, purely from an analysis of interests, one could conclude that the longer Zhao Kuangyin lived, the more beneficial it was to him. The influence of a living man versus a dead one is incomparable—especially in politics.

Zhao Kuangyin was not the founding emperor of the Song but Duke Rongguo. Zhao Kuangyi was not the Prince of Jin but a chancellor of the Great Han. With no conflict of power or interest between the two brothers, this relationship could naturally be maintained for a long, long time.