Chapter 1882: The Next-Generation Heir Stirs Ripples Once More

Autumn had already arrived, and the weather turned cool in an instant—sudden and swift. Even Emperor Liu found himself needing to add an extra outer robe these days.

Inside Chuigong Hall, two figures, one old and one young, sat facing each other across a table. On the table lay a chessboard, red and black pieces interwoven, the game already in its endgame. Lately, Emperor Liu had grown increasingly fond of summoning his grandsons to the palace to keep him company, especially the two imperial grandsons of the Eastern Palace. The one playing chess with Emperor Liu now was Liu Wenji, the eldest son of the Crown Prince.

Naturally, they were playing Chinese chess. Over the years, Chinese chess had gradually spread in popularity throughout the realm, the primary reason being that Emperor Liu enjoyed playing it—when those above love something, those below will surely follow.

So much so that even Go, that national treasure, had been overshadowed. For the vast majority of people, including Emperor Liu himself, Go was elegant enough, but it was simply too complex and profound—without putting in serious effort, one could hardly glimpse its mysteries. How could it compare to Chinese chess, which was simple to learn and easy to pick up? Even common folk on the streets could master it with a bit of thought.

Thus, after decades of development, Chinese chess had become a widespread fashion throughout the Great Han, from the government to the common people alike. On the streets of Great Han cities, beneath trees before doorways, scenes of Chinese chess matches could often be seen.

In the hall, a relaxed smile hung at the corner of Emperor Liu's mouth as he stroked his graying beard. Suddenly his old eyes lit up, and he picked up the red horse and slapped it down on the board: "Check! You have no moves left—I win!"

Emperor Liu was thoroughly pleased with himself, even a bit secretly gleeful. But Liu Wenji hesitated slightly and called out, "Grandfather..."

"What is it?"

Liu Wenji pointed at "that horse" and said, "The horse moves in an L-shape—you moved one square too many!"

"Hmm?" Emperor Liu was taken aback, then bent down to study the board. He couldn't help rubbing his eyes, and after recalling the move, he realized that he had indeed moved in a "tall L" shape.

However, Emperor Liu showed not the slightest embarrassment. He nodded very calmly and said, "This move—I did indeed make a mistake!"

As he spoke, Emperor Liu picked up the horse again, but instead of putting it back in its original position, he toyed with it in his hand and said to Liu Wenji, "But you're wrong too! I am the Emperor—how could the Emperor make a mistake? If there truly is a mistake, the fault lies with the rules of chess itself!"

With that, Emperor Liu used the red horse to capture the black general, then promptly declared the game over...

Liu Wenji stared blankly at Emperor Liu's actions, not reacting for a moment. Seeing this, Emperor Liu slowly picked up his teacup and took a sip, though his expression betrayed a hint of embarrassment.

Liu Wenji didn't dwell on the outcome of the game—after all, it was merely entertainment for his imperial grandfather. After thinking for a moment, he couldn't help asking in a manner of seeking instruction: "If the Emperor makes a mistake, shouldn't a subject point it out and correct him?"

Hearing this, Emperor Liu couldn't help chuckling twice and said, "That statement is also not wrong!"

"Then where exactly does the error lie?"

"Never mind right or wrong!" Emperor Liu waved his hand. "Let's play another round, the two of us!"

As the board was being reset, Emperor Liu's expression returned to its usual calm, even indifference, though his eyelids would occasionally lift to observe this grandson.

Liu Wenji, born in the tenth year of Kaibao, was now nearly sixteen. He had basically grown into his frame, with good genes and striking looks, a hint of heroic spirit already faintly visible on his face. Emperor Liu was rather fond of this eldest son of the Crown Prince.

Whether as the Emperor of the empire or as a grandfather, he ought to pay special attention to the Crown Prince's sons. The Crown Prince now had three sons—just this spring, the Crown Princess, Lady Murong, had finally, with great difficulty, given Liu Yang a son.

According to court ritual and law, the fourth-generation heir of the Great Han could be said to have appeared. The rules of primogeniture inheritance were clearly laid out. However, that was under normal circumstances—and "normal" included such elusive factors as age, political environment, and ability. The conditions for normalcy were almost harshly demanding.

The rules were set by Emperor Liu himself. He often constrained his ministers, demanding they strictly abide by the rules and not overstep or act recklessly. But regardless of how effective that was, at least one thing was certain: Emperor Liu himself was not a man who followed rules. In his forty years of rule, he had broken rules more than once or twice—many of them rules he himself had established. Practice had fully proven the iron law that rules are meant to be broken.

When it came to the matter of the next-generation heir, Emperor Liu naturally would not act willfully, and precisely because of this, his considerations were all the more realistic. He naturally bore no prejudice against Liu Yang's eldest legitimate son, and even blessed him with healthy, smooth growth—but to say he held any special expectations was clearly impossible.

Compared to Liu Wenji and Liu Wenji, the two imperial grandsons Emperor Liu had watched grow up since childhood, that little one still nursing in swaddling clothes carried far too many uncertainties. Emperor Liu himself knew he could not wait until the child grew up.

To speak of a more realistic matter—if the Crown Prince Liu Yang were unfortunately to pass away at this moment, Emperor Liu would rather choose from among his other sons than pin his hopes on the "first in line" heir stipulated by ritual law.

And Emperor Liu's habit of summoning the two brothers Liu Wenji and Liu Wenji to the palace from time to time—many people could sense the meaning behind it, including the Crown Prince Liu Yang himself.

Of course, the birth of the Crown Prince's legitimate son had inevitably caused some impact. First, every era has its martyrs and its defenders of orthodoxy. There was a group of people who had already decided that the newly born legitimate imperial grandson was the next-generation heir. Of course, these people held no real voice at court, and they rarely had opportunities to convey their opinions to those in power—and even if they did, they would not be taken seriously.

The real impact occurred within the palace itself, especially in the Eastern Palace. For the Crown Prince Liu Yang, having another son was naturally a joy, but beyond the delight, his feelings could hardly avoid becoming complicated.

Regarding the question of succession, over the past decade or more, he had of course only wavered between his two sons. But now, with this additional legitimate son, he couldn't help feeling torn.

When it came to supporting the system of primogeniture, there was probably no one in the realm more steadfast than Liu Yang—after all, it involved his own vital interests; it was an important guarantee of his position as Crown Prince.

Without this layer of protection, with Empress Fu deceased and Emperor Liu growing old, how easy would it be for him to completely suppress those brothers of his who were like tigers and dragons? Even to this day, Liu Yang's ability to remain firmly in the position of Crown Prince had required no small amount of hard work and effort.

Liu Yang was, after all, a man approaching forty. By contemporary standards, that was not a young age—there were plenty of grandfathers among the common folk. And the question of succession was indeed something Liu Yang needed to consider seriously...

Beyond the conflicted Crown Prince, the Eastern Palace itself was churning with undercurrents and undergoing considerable changes, involving the entanglement of multiple forces. The first to grow tense was undoubtedly Consort Zhao. Previously, her greatest advantage over the Crown Princess had been her son Liu Wenji, and she had even forced Lady Murong to adopt Liu Wenji, born of Consort Xiao. But that had never been truly regarded as a threat by Consort Zhao—how could a child of Khitan blood possibly qualify?

But Lady Murong had "bloomed from an old tree," and had given birth to a boy with the proper equipment—this was a serious problem. It wasn't visible yet, but what about ten years from now? In terms of legal principle, time always stood on the side of Lady Murong and her son. As long as the little imperial grandson grew up healthy and smooth, he would reap a steady stream of political support.

For Lady Murong, it was also somewhat awkward. At least when she heard Liu Wenji call her "Mother" again, she found it hard to suppress a strange feeling in her heart. A child born of another woman and one born of her own—how could they be the same? And the more she saw of him, the more unsettled Lady Murong felt.

It even reached the point where Liu Wenji would respectfully pay his respects, and Lady Murong's attention would be entirely on her beloved son, as if she neither saw nor heard him, paying him no heed whatsoever... There was, of course, a deliberate element to this.

Thus, after learning of the situation, Consort Xiao instructed Liu Wenji that he should still go to the Crown Princess's residence—regardless of Lady Murong's attitude, he should remain as before, respectful as ever. Of course, to accommodate the Crown Princess's feelings, he should henceforth be careful to maintain distance and observe proper boundaries.

Consort Xiao's instructions were somewhat difficult for Liu Wenji to follow, but the gist was clear: try to make the Crown Princess feel comfortable, and not let her grow annoyed. His response was very proper, but the relationship between the Crown Princess and this mother-and-son pair gradually grew distant and estranged in a short span of time.

For Consort Xiao and her son, the birth of the little imperial grandson had no small impact—but whether it was fortune or misfortune remained to be seen. At least in Consort Xiao's view, it allowed them to temporarily distance themselves from the center of the Eastern Palace's struggles. One should know that previously, she and her son, along with the entire Xiao clan, had faced all manner of open arrows and hidden daggers from both inside and outside the palace—the danger and pressure of which outsiders could hardly comprehend.

Now, the struggles of the Eastern Palace seemed able to return to their "proper track," and Consort Xiao and her son could use this opportunity to hide themselves and protect themselves...