Chapter 1771: Influence

The passing of Empress Fu was, without question, a thunderbolt from a clear sky for the Great Han Empire — an event of enormous impact. Though she and Emperor Liu had not known each other in their humble beginnings, and their union carried strong political considerations, they were nonetheless founding partners in marriage who had weathered hard times together.

Empress Fu, through her extraordinary courage and outstanding virtue, won Emperor Liu's recognition and respect, truly entering his heart. In his early years, Emperor Liu had been fond of women, with numerous consorts in his harem; countless had borne him children, but there was only one elder Lady Fu in this world.

Even Consort Zhe, renowned for her virtue and reason and deeply trusted by Emperor Liu, was motivated in her considerations primarily by political factors, along with a touch of that "collecting" amusement.

The couple had weathered storms together for decades; the depth of their bond was known to others but impossible for them to truly comprehend. For Emperor Liu, Empress Fu was the harbor of his soul, the repository of his spiritual sustenance. There were too many things he could not share with anyone — only Empress Fu could hear them.

With Empress Fu gone, there was no one left in the world who could make Emperor Liu completely shed his mask, and no one who could make him open his heart and pour out his innermost feelings.

With Empress Fu gone, it almost meant that the last shred of humanity and true goodness Emperor Liu retained would depart with her, leaving behind only a political creature called "Emperor." In matters of personal conduct, no one could admonish him anymore; even if someone tried, whether that would bring fortune or disaster was uncertain.

Therefore, with Empress Fu's passing, Emperor Liu was by no means the only one grieving. There were many who felt regret, who felt shaken, who even felt panic. Over the decades, countless officials and commoners — thousands upon thousands — had received the Empress's help and experienced her kindness.

From dukes and nobles at the top to common folk at the bottom, they long cherished Empress Fu's memory and took pride in the Great Han having such a virtuous empress. Especially some noble ministers, when facing difficulties, found Empress Fu the person most capable of giving them hope — particularly when facing Emperor Liu's reproach.

However, with Empress Fu's passing, such a situation would never exist again. The imperial family had many members, but whether it was jealous consorts, princes contending for fame and profit, or princesses complaining about Emperor Liu, all had always respected the Empress, because she understood the greater picture and handled matters fairly; decisions she made, whether regarding people or affairs, were never reversed.

This was only the immediate picture. Some who were calculating and skilled at opportunism set their sights further ahead. They saw the potential impact the Empress's death could have on the Great Han's political landscape.

For a long time, many had known that the Crown Prince's position was as stable as Mount Tai, for two reasons. One was Emperor Liu's trust and cultivation; the other was the Empress. Indeed, in most people's eyes, on this matter, the Empress's weight was even greater.

Because Emperor Liu had so many princes, so many dragons among men; if he so wished, he could choose any of them as Crown Prince. But the Empress's sons — setting aside Prince Wei, Liu Min — numbered only two. And as long as the Empress lived, no one could truly challenge Liu Yang's position.

The Emperor and Empress were like two heavenly pillars, each supporting the Crown Prince from their own side. Now, one pillar had collapsed, leaving only Emperor Liu alone; and an Emperor without Empress Fu's "counterbalance" held far too many possibilities.

As for Liu Yang's years of governance, the power and prestige he had accumulated, including the entire Fu clan — those could only count as foundational reserves. Their true energy would only erupt and form the most powerful supporting force after Liu Yang ascended the throne.

As for the present, if these people were asked to support the Crown Prince in opposing Emperor Liu, they would likely dare to think but not to act. Nowadays, too many ministers and high officials dared not even breathe heavily in Emperor Liu's presence.

Even though Emperor Liu had been delegating authority extensively over the past decade, from top to bottom, everyone knew that the empire's backbone remained Emperor Liu, who reigned from Chongzheng Hall.

The old Emperor's past achievements and the prestige built from decades of rule were simply too great — so great that it was difficult for anyone to even conceive of rebellion. Basically, as long as he did not become senile to a certain degree, no one could challenge his authority; this had become a habitual mode of thinking for all subjects under heaven.

In his advancing years, Emperor Liu had always been moody and unpredictable. With Empress Fu gone, from now on, no one would likely be able to gauge his temperament. It was easy to foresee that Emperor Liu would become the greatest variable in the Great Han Empire.

Therefore, at Empress Fu's passing, some were consumed by grief, some felt anxiety, and still others wore mournful faces while inwardly rejoicing — without such a cataclysmic change, how could they ever have their opportunity?

However, exactly how the passing of Empress Fu might reshape the empire's political landscape remained to be tested by time. For the moment, the palace was shaken, the court was shaken, the Eastern Capital was shaken. The Mid-Autumn Festival of the twenty-second year of Kaibao was destined to leave a profound mark in the annals of history.

The court's focus swiftly shifted from celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival and sharing joy with the people to national mourning and citywide lamentation. In just one night, the lanterns and colorful ribbons throughout the palace were replaced with white silk and plain banners; all bright colors were covered. The same happened within the Eastern Capital, which began stirring from the night onward.

From court to common folk, from officials to scholars and citizens, they displayed remarkable efficiency. In only one night, the entire city was draped in white mourning — for a city of a million people like the Eastern Capital, this was nothing short of a miracle.

Of course, mixed in were too many people's genuine grief and sorrow over the Empress's passing. Many acted spontaneously, wanting to see Empress Fu off; replacing red with white was the way they could express their feelings for her within their means.

In many wards, often all it took was for a clerk or soldier to run through once, shout out the news of the Empress's death, and the residents would spontaneously spring into action. Those with means turned red lanterns into white lanterns and colored ribbons into plain cloth; those without tore strips from their plain garments and wrapped them around their heads.

Such unanimous behavior among the scholars and citizens of the Eastern Capital was rare throughout history. Even if some of it was spurred by official urging, the greater part came from the Eastern Capital's subjects' reverence for the Empress.

Kunming Hall had already been decorated as a mourning hall, and Empress Fu's remains, after being prepared, were placed in the coffin. Emperor Liu had not moved a step, staying by Empress Fu's side and speaking to her the whole time — only, he received no response anymore.

Sitting desolately beside the coffin, gazing at the memorial tablet, his sorrowful and lonely appearance would bring tears to anyone's eyes; no one needed to feign sympathy — the scene genuinely moved them. Many were surprised that the Emperor, so high above all, could appear so pitiable.

Concerned for Emperor Liu's health, consorts, palace attendants, the Crown Prince, and ministers alike could not help but offer words of comfort, but everyone abandoned their attempts under Emperor Liu's murderous glare.

Within two days of Empress Fu's passing, Emperor Liu went without food or water, his face losing all color and his body showing signs of collapse. This terrified everyone, but no one's persuasion worked. It was only when the young prince Liu Yao, in his innocence, burst into tears and recited the words the adults had taught him that Emperor Liu finally ate — though it was only plain broth and watery soup.

Empress Fu's funeral was conducted with extreme grandeur. Even though Emperor Liu knew that Empress Fu would absolutely not have wished for such extravagance, he still insisted on doing it lavishly, even at the cost of disturbing the people.

Of course, everything still followed funeral protocol, only on a more magnificent scale. If compared, it was even grander than when Empress Dowager Li had passed away.

After the Imperial Observatory selected an auspicious date, the coffin left the palace and the city, heading west to Luoyang. Emperor Liu personally rode in the ceremonial carriage to see Empress Fu off, with tens of thousands following — essentially the entire court nobility, officials, and their families were in the procession. Moreover, many scholars and citizens of the Eastern Capital, dressed entirely in white mourning, voluntarily joined along.

From the Eastern Capital onward, both sides of the road were packed with onlookers who knelt by the roadside, tears streaming from their eyes, watching the coffin pass. And that was not all — after leaving the city, commoners from every prefecture and county along the route came upon hearing the news, likewise wearing mourning garments and kneeling to see her off.

Emperor Liu and Crown Prince Liu Yang rode in the same carriage. Lifting the curtain to look outside, all he saw was white — countless white paper slips dancing in the bleak autumn wind, blanketing the road. The rows of prostrate figures, the sorrowful faces — he could not help but feel their grief as his own.

"How are there still so many people outside the city?" Emperor Liu's voice was low and somewhat hoarse. Since Empress Fu's passing, he rarely spoke of his own accord.

Liu Yang's eyes were rimmed with red as he said, "These people learned that the imperial coffin was heading west, so they came on their own to see Mother off!"

"Look through the history books — only your mother could achieve this!" Emperor Liu's expression mixed sorrow and joy, but clearly sorrow dominated. His eyes reddened again, and he took out a silk handkerchief to wipe his tears.

Seeing this, Liu Yang could not help but be overcome with grief as well, choking out: "Father, please restrain your grief and take care of your health!"

Emperor Liu had heard such words countless times over these days. Hearing them again now, he truly wanted to snap back: Restrain what grief? You haven't lost a wife!

However, the other man had indeed lost his mother, and so that venting, nonsensical retort ultimately went unsaid. He merely nodded silently.