Chapter 1772: Some Must Die

The imperial coffin traveled westward, its destination naturally being deep in Mount Mang, north of Luoyang. There lay Emperor Liu's Gaoling Mausoleum, and there too was where Empress Fu would be laid to rest.

Gaoling Mausoleum, construction of which began in the eleventh year of Kaibao, took over two years before it was basically completed and sealed. However, due to Emperor Liu's fondness for tinkering, he would occasionally come up with "whimsical ideas" that had the mausoleum commissioner make additions and alterations, keeping the construction of Gaoling in a perpetual state of half-completion.

The Gaoling construction team, jointly formed by the Court of the Imperial Treasury and the Ministry of Works, had never been disbanded. They were sequestered within Mount Mang, guaranteed to be able to resume work at any time, and for the most part lived in isolation from the world. This had gone on for over a decade, to the point that many of them had already been forgotten by their families.

Because when the craftsmen's families sought out the relevant authorities, all they received was a "work-related death notice" and sufficient compensation. Due to Emperor Liu's various demands and his hard-to-gauge psychology, the heads of the Court of the Imperial Treasury and the Ministry of Works found it extremely difficult to manage, having to tread carefully and hesitantly. Many matters were handled sloppily—currying favor with those above while suppressing those below.

Over the past few decades, the Great Han Empire had undertaken endless projects, from grand ones like canals and city construction to minor ones like bridges and ditches, too numerous to count. But in terms of Emperor Liu's personal preferences and enjoyment, there were only two.

One was the Qionglin Garden in the Eastern Capital, and the other was the Gaoling Mausoleum in the Western Capital. In the construction of Gaoling, Emperor Liu invested tremendous enthusiasm, for after all, it was to be his resting place after a hundred years.

For Emperor Liu, moments of indulgence were few, but when it came to the matter of Gaoling, he displayed an abundance of personal desire. Of course, the construction funds were all paid by the Court of the Imperial Treasury, drawn from the imperial family's private wealth. Though it still taxed the people and drained resources, at least it maintained a basic semblance of decency. But for those workers who could not return home for years on end, or might even spend their entire lives in obscurity, it was inhumane—and this was a part of Emperor Liu's many secrets that could not be spoken of, one that required particular effort to conceal.

The construction of Gaoling, from start to finish, consumed over ten million strings of cash—already a considerable sum—but the even greater investment of manpower and various resources could never be reflected in paper figures. The construction span of over a decade already spoke volumes, and within Gaoling, aside from the magnificent main structures, what demanded the most effort were those things deeply imprinted with the marks of Emperor Liu's and the Great Han Empire's growth and development.

That relief sculpture meticulously recording Emperor Liu's founding history, transplanted into Gaoling, cost five or six times more in time, money, and manpower than the carved walls of the Hall of Supreme Ultimate in the Eastern Capital.

The vast Gaoling Mausoleum now welcomed its first occupant, Empress Fu. The westward funeral procession was grand in scale, drawing the attention of all, but the actual interment within the mausoleum was carried out in secret. Those in charge, from the mausoleum commissioner down to the palace attendants and soldiers, had all undergone "political vetting" beforehand—all for the sake of Gaoling's security and secrecy.

In fact, many people knew that Gaoling was built within Mount Mang, but few knew its exact location, on which particular ridge. Achieving concealment to this degree could only be called no easy feat—though the cost was also steep, as Emperor Liu had even built several decoy tombs.

After keeping Empress Fu company at Gaoling for three more days, the imperial procession set out from the mountains, slowly making its way toward Luoyang. Though the mountain paths of Mount Mang had been extensively cleared, most were still difficult to traverse, especially the hidden sections, which were rugged and treacherous—the imperial carriage simply could not move at all.

Therefore, Emperor Liu unceremoniously ate his own words—for much of the journey, he took to a sedan chair again. Of course, no one dared to say anything about the previous "sedan ban." Setting that aside, wasn't it only natural for the Emperor to enjoy certain privileges?

Only when they reached the outer fringes of Mount Mang, where the mountain roads had been widened and opened up with gunpowder and even axes and chisels, could the carriage finally pass through, and Emperor Liu's experience finally became comfortable again.

Of course, the depressed Emperor Liu was not presently concerned with such physical sensations. Accompanying Emperor Liu in the carriage was Yan Tuo. The jostling along the way left Emperor Liu drowsily leaning against the soft cushion, while Yan Tuo attended to him with utmost care, nerves strung taut, looking as if he were ready for anything at any moment.

Sure enough, Emperor Liu suddenly opened his eyes and asked flatly: "Tell me, how should I deal with those imperial physicians and the palace attendants of Kunning Palace?"

Hearing this question, Yan Tuo tensed up instinctively. It wasn't that he worried about the fate of those people—it wasn't his place to sympathize—but rather he was somewhat afraid of Emperor Liu's current state, worried it might affect himself.

At this moment, Emperor Liu's eyes and expression alike projected nothing but indifference, his tone devoid of any emotion—an almost pure manifestation. But the more it was so, the more it inspired fear.

"Is my question so hard to answer?" Receiving no response from Yan Tuo, Emperor Liu's gaze shifted slightly, landing on him.

Yan Tuo's heart immediately leaped to his throat. His mind raced, and his mouth answered instinctively: "They deserve death!"

Once those two words were out, the rest followed naturally: "Her Majesty has passed away—the Kunning Palace attendants failed in their duties of attendance, the imperial physicians failed in their efforts to treat her. All are guilty of clan-extermination crimes, unforgivable!"

Back then, Yan Tuo had even promised Physician Sun that he would speak up on his behalf and try to mitigate matters, but at this moment, that was long forgotten to the ends of the earth—he even proactively suggested "clan extermination."

However, upon hearing this, Emperor Liu's tone did not change in the slightest, and he said: "But the Empress hoped that I would spare them, that I would not implicate the innocent!"

Yan Tuo immediately said: "Her Majesty was kind-hearted, but that is no reason to be lenient with those guilty ones—if anything, they deserve even harsher punishment! Moreover, those people bear grave crimes; how can they be called innocent?"

After stating his position, Yan Tuo was committed to that stance to the end, even if it might not have come from his true heart. Of course, he also hoped that Emperor Liu could find some release through this; otherwise, if he continued like this, Yan Tuo would be in for a rough time—he certainly did not wish to live in constant fear.

And if he could help the Emperor return to normal and dispel the gloom in his chest, what did killing a few people matter? Moreover, being able to accompany the Empress in death was those people's good fortune—ordinary folk didn't have such qualifications or opportunities.

Emperor Liu nodded upon hearing this, then said: "But if I kill those people, what will posterity say? Will they call me cruel, take me for a tyrant?"

That stumped Yan Tuo, but he was quick-witted nonetheless: "Matters of posterity, this humble one cannot know—but for the present, it can be done discreetly."

Hearing this, Emperor Liu finally showed a trace of "human" expression on his face, and said disdainfully: "If I want to kill people, do I need to hide and cover up?"

Seeing this, Yan Tuo actually felt somewhat relieved, and said humbly: "His Majesty speaks truly! This humble one is foolish and shallow—I misspoke!"

Emperor Liu leaned back again and said: "I am not afraid of criticism; killing a few people is of no consequence. But if someone were to pin this matter on the Empress, that would go against my original intentions. Enough—let it be considered as accumulating some virtue for the Empress. However, those people cannot remain in the palace. Convey an edict: expel all those involved from the palace, so that one day I won't be moved to kill again!"

"Yes! His Majesty is merciful!" Yan Tuo responded habitually.

Yet in his heart, a strange feeling arose—Emperor Liu was clearly showing benevolence and grace, yet it sounded utterly murderous.

"But some people cannot be let off!" Emperor Liu's expression returned to impassivity, and he said: "I hear that after I fell ill, there were those with 'foresight' who began making preparations for the national mourning. You should know who those people are, shouldn't you?"

Hearing Emperor Liu bring this up, Yan Tuo's back immediately ran cold. Indeed—what in the palace could truly be hidden from Emperor Liu? He knelt directly within the imperial carriage, knocking his head: "This humble one failed in supervision—I beg His Majesty to punish me!"

Emperor Liu didn't even glance at Yan Tuo, merely saying calmly: "Go deal with those people yourself!"

"As commanded!" Yan Tuo did not hesitate in the slightest.

After a moment of silence, Emperor Liu spoke again: "Go, summon Wang Ji'en for me!"

After a moment of silence, Emperor Liu spoke again: "Go, summon Wang Ji'en for me!"

When Yan Tuo descended from the carriage, the autumn wind brushed his face, and he immediately shivered. He looked back at the slowly moving imperial carriage—in Yan Tuo's eyes, it was like a gilded cage, with no restrictions whatsoever, yet within it was confined a great beast named Emperor, ready to devour people at any moment.

As for Emperor Liu's purpose in summoning Wang Ji'en, it was not hard to guess. Around the time of the national mourning, there were always some people who had done something out of line, said something taboo—how could Emperor Liu let them go!

(Note: The original text ends at line 41; line 42 was not provided in the source.)