Chapter 1825: The Vicious Circle

After Lü Duan left, Emperor Liu's expression changed immediately. He didn't want to vent this nameless anger, but it felt like a foul breath was pent up in his chest, and he couldn't be at ease until it was released. His expression shifted through several shades of gloom, and his gaze went from cold and indifferent to incomparably complex—resentment, killing intent, helplessness, and finally even a trace of dejection.

His cold gaze moved downward, landing on the memorials on the imperial desk. He still couldn't hold back—he shoved hard, sweeping them to the floor. His strength truly was failing; even venting his anger seemed beyond him, and he couldn't even clear the desk cleanly.

Facing Emperor Liu's sudden outburst, Yan Tuo, who was attending at his side, was startled again. He glanced at Emperor Liu, hesitated for a moment, then summoned a palace eunuch and carefully picked up the memorials scattered on the floor, arranging them neatly.

But no sooner were they set down than Emperor Liu knocked them over again. This time, Yan Tuo dared not tidy them up. Noticing Emperor Liu panting heavily, he stood at a loss, not even daring to breathe loudly.

Emperor Liu adjusted his posture slightly, his old face twisting into an even uglier grimace. After a long while, he finally pointed at the memorials on the floor and barked viciously at Yan Tuo: "What are you standing there gaping for? Pick them up!"

"Yes!" Yan Tuo dared not be negligent. He immediately bent down and set to work, not even needing anyone's help.

Watching Yan Tuo kneel on the ground gathering the memorials, Emperor Liu half-closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. The things Emperor Liu had seen recently were hardly limited to what he had discussed with Lü Duan.

His fury had its reasons. This year—especially over the past half year and more—everything he saw and heard seemed to remind Emperor Liu of one thing: the official-governance campaign he had launched, the anti-corruption and evil-eradication efforts, were all wrong, useless, even laughable.

Within and beyond the capital, throughout the court, endless problems and all manner of people and affairs seemed to be mocking Emperor Liu. A proper autocratic emperor, a solitary tyrant—why did he have to go and fight corruption and purge the powerful and wicked? And what was the result? He'd still compromised, sought stability, and dared not dig deep into the foundations of the empire.

And whether it was Henan, Liaodong, or the chaos erupting in other circuits and prefectures, it all seemed like a slap in the face—a hard, unsparing slap across Emperor Liu's old face.

The administrative problems—chaos, inefficiency, and the like—seemed perfectly normal to many officials. They even had ample justification, as if to say: their earlier advice had been correct, Emperor Liu's decisions had been wrong, and after all the churning, what was thrown into disorder was the court and the state, and what was tormented was Emperor Liu himself. Worse still, had it not been for the change of course in the "Chongyang Edict" last winter, which halted the over-expansion in time, the current situation might have been even more severe.

For Emperor Liu, this was truly hard to bear. And facing such circumstances, there was little he could do. Even with the dignity of an emperor, he often felt powerless. This growing sense of helplessness filled Emperor Liu's heart with a murderous ferocity.

Yet no matter how heavy that ferocity, what could he do? Would killing a few people to vent his rage help? He had already executed so many corrupt officials and lawless nobles—and what was the result? The Great Han had not changed much. Without solving the problem at its root, the Great Han would never see true change. And Emperor Liu obviously was not—and could not be—the kind of man to dig up his own roots.

His actions were like a kind of self-righteous willfulness, a stubborn, headstrong struggle. And when the struggle reached its end, he discovered that everything seemed futile. He had merely tossed a stone into a calm lake, stirring ripples that quickly settled back into equilibrium. If he wanted to maintain this "vitality," he could only keep throwing stones. On reflection, this was what he had done in his youth—only now, in his twilight years, he no longer had that much energy, nor that firm a will.

Take this official-governance campaign for example. Before it, although the Great Han had many ills, too many things that Emperor Liu found displeasing and troubling, at least on the surface it was still peaceful and harmonious. Even if it was a castle in the air, it was a beautiful one. All the filth and grime—everyone above and below still knew to maintain the facade, and the nobles and officials knew to put on some surface polish.

But after Emperor Liu's rectification, all that harmony was destroyed, the balance was broken, and the past prosperity seemed false, so fragile as to be unbelievable. The ruling classes seemed to be telling Emperor Liu through their actions: some things are not yours to do just because you want to, nor to change just because you wish it. They might not dare to oppose Emperor Liu openly, but their ability to comply in public while defying in private, to attack by innuendo, seemed innate—they were thoroughly practiced at it.

In the past, the state was led by Emperor Liu. He was the undisputed helmsman, the navigator. Everyone above and below—whether compelled by authority or enticed by interest—was willing to follow Emperor Liu's steps, step by step, bringing forth the great Han empire of today.

But now, the situation had clearly changed. When Emperor Liu's ideals clashed with the interests of the nobles and officials, they still habitually proclaimed with unwavering loyalty that they followed Emperor Liu's steps and obeyed his will—but in fact, they had already begun seeking ways to resist.

Anti-corruption and anti-crime campaigns were politically correct; no one disagreed with them. But just don't turn them against themselves, don't sweep them up—especially not on this scale, and not without mercy.

Over the past half year and more, amid the chaos appearing across the realm, in officialdom and among the people, how much of it was fueled by those with vested interests—even Emperor Liu could not fully know. Some things floated to the surface; others lurked beneath the pool, beyond even Emperor Liu's grasp.

Sometimes, Emperor Liu felt he was rather pitiable...

Setting aside whatever his original intentions had been, his goals were certainly good. But now, few people understood him anymore—including his crown prince, his brothers, his sons. Some voiced their objections directly; others merely thought it in their hearts but dared not say it aloud.

As for the ministers and grandees at court, Emperor Liu had long since stopped trusting them. People like Li Fang and Zhao Kuangyi—even Wang Zhe, who had always taken loyalty to the sovereign as his motto—Emperor Liu now harbored doubts about him too. In his view, what Wang Zhe was loyal to was not Emperor Liu himself, but the emperor he hoped for. As for someone like Lü Duan, whose conduct and integrity were both excellent and who had always handled affairs fairly and dutifully—what attitude he held toward Emperor Liu's policies in his heart, Emperor Liu held no great hopes for that either.

The loneliness, for Emperor Liu, was growing ever stronger. In the past, his loneliness came from the loftiness of his position, the supreme power that let him trample all underfoot. Now, it was from the very depths of his thoughts—a loneliness so despairing it bordered on madness.

So what if he was a transmigrator? He could change everything—but many times, in truth, he could change nothing at all!

Before the official-governance campaign, the bureaucratic system, even if riddled with filth and dregs, was largely balanced and stable. But now, the old have fallen and new men have taken their places. What they would grow into—judging by the current results, Emperor Liu held a pessimistic view.

Under the Great Han's system, power was limited. When someone lost his rice bowl, someone else would naturally come to feed on his corpse. To say nothing of other places—in Henan Circuit alone, after this great campaign, nearly three-tenths of the officials had been promoted or recommended by Administration Commissioner Shi Dechong, or had overt or covert connections with him...

Was this the situation Emperor Liu wanted to see? Clearly not! And the thought that his rectification campaign had only made room for others, giving them the chance to devour more power and increase their influence—Emperor Liu could not suppress the killing intent in his heart!

Should he kill a few more people? This thought suddenly arose in Emperor Liu's mind. As he thought it, his hand involuntarily took out a thick memorial—that was from the Wude Office, concerning the current power structures and official situations in the various circuits and prefectures. Shi Dechong of Henan Circuit was listed in a rather prominent position...

Perhaps Shi Dechong had not deliberately cultivated a faction or expanded his power. Perhaps he was merely doing his utmost, serving the court loyally, wanting to help Emperor Liu govern Henan well, reassure the gentry and common folk, and stabilize the local situation.

But judging by the results, as they fell before Emperor Liu's eyes, that was expanding his influence and power—with sinister intentions...

Kill! At this point, this character would pop into Emperor Liu's mind from time to time. Even though he knew full well in his heart that it wouldn't solve the problem, aside from this means, he could no longer come up with any viable course of action.

As for laws and institutions—at least for the ruling class—they must always be viewed dialectically. Don't take them too seriously.

"Let it go..." Emperor Liu suddenly said this, then, under Yan Tuo's bewildered gaze, he walked slowly, step by step, out of Chuigong Hall.