Chapter 1878: The Old Emperor

In the spring of the twenty-fifth year of Kaibao, in the third month, the former Deputy Finance Commissioner Chen Yilun passed away at the age of seventy-nine. Following established precedent, Emperor Liu issued an edict suspending court for three days and posthumously conferred upon him the title of Marquis of Kangping.

This year's climate was somewhat unusual—only by the fifth month did signs of warming finally appear, with noticeably insufficient sunlight. For human sensory experience, the impact was minimal, even somewhat comfortable, but for crops, the effects were severe.

After receiving warnings from the Imperial Observatory and the Academy of Agricultural Sciences, Crown Prince Liu Yang expressed grave concern and personally listened to the reports. The Imperial Observatory needed no introduction; as for the Academy of Agricultural Sciences, it was naturally something Emperor Liu had established, now thirteen years since its founding, devoted to researching agricultural techniques and management issues, guiding farmers in cultivation, and preventing disasters and pests.

Agriculture depends on heaven for its harvest, so climate change was naturally a key research topic for the Academy of Agricultural Sciences. After holding a joint meeting with the two offices, Liu Yang personally went on inspection tours, visiting the countryside to observe the growth of crops around Luoyang. Traveling several hundred li and setting foot in over a dozen counties and towns, the results he obtained were far from optimistic.

Because temperatures were clearly lower than in previous years and sunlight was insufficient, the crops in most fields could hardly be said to be growing well. A reduced harvest for this season's grain was already a foregone conclusion—and if conditions persisted, even summer planting and autumn harvests would be affected. And once large-scale grain shortfalls occurred, grain prices would inevitably fluctuate upward, the national economy and people's livelihoods would be greatly impacted, and even famine could break out.

After the annual reports at the start of the year, the court formally ordered the scope of tax reform to be further expanded, with Hedong, Hebei, and the Guannei Circuit as key targets, and the Two Lakes and Two Huai regions as the next batch. Against this backdrop, the court needed a stable political and social environment—stability was paramount, to ensure the smooth progress of reform.

If a famine disaster were to break out, the impact would be difficult to estimate. Therefore, upon returning to court, Liu Yang convened the various ministers for a meeting on the abnormal climate and grain shortfalls, making preparations for possible disasters.

In such matters, the court had abundant experience—the only question was whether to act, and how. To repeat the old saying, the Great Han had accumulated considerable reserves over the years, enough to withstand the vast majority of risks and weather any storm, especially when prepared in advance.

And to respond to a possible grain crisis, the court had already made preparations to transfer and allocate grain from various regional reserves, while simultaneously increasing grain imports from the South Seas. The vast South Seas was truly a fine place...

Upon learning of Crown Prince Liu Yang's performance before and during this matter, Emperor Liu said nothing more, but shortly afterward issued an edict: from the day the edict was promulgated, all matters except military campaigns, sacrifices, and the appointment and dismissal of officials of the third rank and above were to be decided entirely by the Crown Prince, without further reporting to Emperor Liu.

This was Emperor Liu once again delegating power, and doing so in the form of an open edict—the first time in decades. The impact of this edict was far-reaching. First, the Crown Prince's position was once again consolidated. A vigorous, strong emperor posed a tremendous threat to the Crown Prince—he could decide his fate with a single word, strip him of his title—but an aging, declining emperor naturally saw his deterrent power greatly diminished.

Of course, a tiger, however old, could still eat people, and no one above or below dared to test whether the old emperor's teeth were still sharp. Yet although Emperor Liu loved to stir things up, at this point he could no longer use the safety of the realm as a bargaining chip. Besides, throughout the years, while Emperor Liu had found some things about Crown Prince Liu Yang hard to stomach, on matters of principle he had always been satisfied...

All in all, Emperor Liu no longer had the energy to keep stirring things up. And that open edict delegating power served as an explanation to the subjects of the Great Han, to reassure the people.

But how effective it was, and in what specific aspects that effectiveness manifested, was beyond Emperor Liu's control.

At the very least, many people could not help but wonder: just what was the old emperor's physical condition, and how had he recovered from the fall injury at the start of the year?

Naturally, information about Emperor Liu's physical condition was top secret, and people from all walks of life involved did not dare reveal it lightly. Because a sword was constantly hanging over their heads—if one person leaked information, all would be executed. Simple, crude, cruel, and merciless.

However, with many things, the more you hide them, the more you want them unknown, the more easily they arouse others' attention and speculation. Even if it was difficult to obtain Emperor Liu's specific condition, nothing could stop the rumors.

Therefore, of course, when rumors about Emperor Liu's health began circulating inside and outside the palace, the most tormented were those who served Emperor Liu, terrified of having their heads chopped off on charges of "leaking secrets."

And those rumors and speculations naturally could not escape Emperor Liu's ears and eyes. When he learned of these matters, one could well imagine how complicated his feelings were.

From those conjectures and doubts, Emperor Liu saw the world's questioning of him; from that seemingly loyal concern, Emperor Liu saw a kind of ulterior motive. Some people thought he was old and ill, thought his days were numbered, no longer held him in the same awe as before—and one could not even rule out those who hoped he would ascend to heaven early.

Whenever he thought of these things, the fierce tiger in Emperor Liu's heart could not help but roar and rage. He wanted to vent his fury and resentment, but looking around—inside and outside the palace, throughout the court and the realm—he could find no clear target.

He could hardly kill people indiscriminately without cause or reason, merely to vent personal desires. Emperor Liu had not, after all, sunk to such depths of senility. The aging Emperor Liu was clearly suffering from some mental affliction—he had to pay the price for forty years of suspicion and ruthlessness—but on matters of critical importance, he still possessed an instinctive clarity and rationality.

On one hand, Emperor Liu wanted to guarantee his authority, to prove he was still that generation's dominant sovereign who had forcefully suppressed the empire, but many of his actions ran directly counter to that goal.

While convalescing in the palace, Emperor Liu slept very poorly, often having nightmares and waking with a start. His low, guttural roars frequently frightened the attending palace attendants into trembling.

Although he had never told anyone what nightmares he had, Emperor Liu's condition was indeed worrying—and unsettling.

Perhaps to vent his feelings, Emperor Liu personally handled a case. Li Yi, the horse supervisor of Qinzhou, possessed vast wealth and hundreds of servants. Rich but unkind, he preyed upon the common people, cultivated connections with the powerful, bribed officials, and embezzled and perverted the law—a veritable local tyrant.

Feng Kang, the Judge of the prefecture, had submitted multiple memorials of impeachment, but all were concealed by the courier clerks that Li Yi had bribed. And to retaliate, Li Yi actually hired men to kidnap and humiliate Feng Kang's wife and daughter...

This matter was merely a case of a corrupt and violent local official bullying his superiors and harming the people; once it came to light, it should have been investigated and adjudicated by the proper authorities. But Emperor Liu personally intervened, sentencing Li Yi to death by dismemberment by chariot. At the same time, he greatly expanded the scope of punishment, digging deep into the background. In Emperor Liu's view, how could a mere horse supervisor have the power to commit such crimes with impunity and run rampant across the region for so long without being exposed? Someone must have been shielding him.

And so, the local officials that Li Yi had cultivated connections with were, one by one, dragged out, and the net gradually widened. More than half of Qinzhou's local officials were dealt with, and many people in the Longyou Circuit administration were also implicated, dismissed from office and prosecuted.

At the same time, Emperor Liu brought up old matters again—how could such a man have been allowed to run rampant for so long? How could the previous campaign to clean up officialdom have permitted such a fish to slip through the net? And so, some officials who had previously handled investigations in Longxi were also charged with dereliction of duty...

In the Li Yi case, aside from the principal criminal Li Yi meeting a rather miserable end with a cruel method of death, not too many people were killed. But another matter involved far more people.

A rather absurd-sounding affair: Li Feixiong, son of Li Ruoyu, the Administrative Assistant of Shanzhou, had been a rogue since youth, running wild without restraint, and set out westward from the capital. After passing through Chang'an, he stole an official horse and falsely claimed to be a special envoy of the Prince of Jin, bearing an imperial decree to inspect the border. Traveling westward, every county and town he passed submitted to his orders. Over ten county officials in the Qin-Long region were forced to accompany him, and by the time he swaggered into Hexi territory, the officials and soldiers coerced into following Li Feixiong already numbered several hundred.

After crossing the river, Li Feixiong had another "sudden" inspiration, believing that Hexi was a strategically advantageous land where one could establish a hegemony. So he led his men toward Liangzhou, planning to seize Liangzhou to accomplish his grand scheme.

As for the result—Wang Ming, the Administration Commissioner of Hexi, upon learning that an "imperial envoy" was arriving, personally came out to welcome him. But Wang Ming was a shrewd man; he spotted something off about Li Feixiong at a glance. After a simple test, he exposed his identity as a fraud and arrested him. And so, a "rebellion" was dissolved into nothing.

The affair of Li Feixiong was absurd and laughable, but what it exposed was substantial and serious. A single rogue, driving several hundred people westward across the northwest, relying on nothing but a lie—a "secret edict" that could not withstand scrutiny.

This was, of course, a testament to the authority of the central government, making local officials afraid to offend it. But the court had established so many detailed and comprehensive rules, with multiple verification measures for identity—yet before a "false imperial envoy," none of them worked. Had it not been for one shrewd man, who knew how great an impact it might have caused.

In fact, the matter was already bad enough. Upon learning of the situation, Emperor Liu naturally flew into a rage and intervened in the case once again. Without even needing the relevant authorities to investigate and interrogate, he directly issued his disposition.

Li Feixiong's entire family naturally could not escape their doom—all were executed by the most extreme punishment. And those several hundred officials and soldiers who had been coerced westward by Li Feixiong's lies were also all put to death. Many high officials of Guannei, Longyou, and Hexi were also punished. Had Wang Ming not spotted the problem and dealt with it promptly, they too would likely have faced a round of reprimands.

Although each case had its reasons, killing seemed to have become a means for the old emperor to display his presence—the most direct, the most effective, and the lowest in cost...