Chapter 1962: The Tibetan Rebellion—Can He Rest Easy?

On the twentieth of the twelfth month, Luoyang was also in the coldest period of the year, so cold that the air itself seemed almost frozen. The common folk still had the warmth of hearth and home, but within the imperial city and the Inner Palace, though the jade towers and ornate halls were dressed in flying snow, beautiful and pristine, the chill they conveyed could pierce straight to one's heart.

Inside Chuigong Hall, the aged Emperor sat casually with his young grandson by the brazier, fiddling with a jigsaw puzzle. Accompanying Emperor Liu was Liu Wenji, the second son of the Crown Prince. Since Liu Wenhuang returned to the capital from his mission to Anxi, he had received more attention than before and was busy with advanced studies, so his opportunities to enter the palace naturally grew fewer, and this time was temporarily filled by Liu Wenji.

Laid out on the floor was a set of map boards newly made by the Court of the Imperial Manufactories, covering the states and powers of Anxi, Tibet, the South Seas, and other regions. As the Great Han's influence expanded and deepened, the maps produced had also become clearer and more detailed.

Take the Tibetan region, for example. In the past, the annotations on the maps showed only that vast, vaguely delineated territory, along with a handful of cities, fortresses, and strongholds on the Lhasa, Pibo, Han-Tibetan border, and tea-horse routes. Now, they were considerably more comprehensive.

The Tibetan Grand Assembly had been successfully convened in early July of this year and concluded perfectly. Prince Jin, Liu Xi, represented Emperor Liu in person at Lhasa to preside over the assembly, reaching consensus with the various Tibetan kings, faiths, tribal nobles, and chieftains, and gaining their recognition. The "Resident Minister to Tibet" was formally established, and Liu Xi entered Lhasa on behalf of the court.

Of course, these were only the official reports. In truth, regarding the matter of court military and administrative institutions entering Lhasa, Emperor Liu had been somewhat presumptuous. Judging from the current results, the goal had been achieved, but the process had not been so harmonious or smooth, and hot on its heels, fierce resistance had erupted.

The anti-Han forces in Tibet had revived after this assembly. Or rather, some Tibetan tribal powers had simply shifted their attitude and stance toward the Han. In the past, they had not resisted—indeed, they had sternly suppressed and slaughtered those tribes that opposed the Great Han—in order to consolidate their rule, expand their strength, and obtain benefits from the Great Han.

After the once-mighty Tibetan Empire collapsed, though it was fragmented with tribal powers standing everywhere, it was broadly divided into four great royal lineages. And this time, those who raised the call and unfurled the banner of anti-Han were the Burang King of the Ali lineage and the Yaze King of the Yaze lineage.

All along, the Great Han's policy toward Tibet had been to apply both grace and might, both pacification and suppression. But over the past decade, it had shifted to pacification as the primary approach, with economic measures leading the way. The tea-horse trade was also one of the court's principal means of exerting influence over Tibet, strengthening ties between Sichuan, Guizhou, Yunnan, and Tibet, with the benefits also reaching the relevant groups.

However, for the various Tibetan powers, the benefits of the tea-horse trade were not evenly distributed—most of it was captured by the central, eastern, and southern Tibetan tribes represented by the Lhasa King and the Yarlung King. These two royal lineages—one being the political, economic, and military center after Tibet's unification, the other a traditional heartland of farming and herding—had far superior natural advantages, and the Great Han's merchant caravans naturally favored them when choosing trading partners.

As for regions like Ali and Yaze, not only were they remote, but their output was also meager, so they naturally failed to win the favor of Han merchants. Even when the tea-horse trade eventually radiated to those areas years later, they still had to endure exploitation by the eastern royal lineages and tribes during transactions—"protection fees" always had to be paid.

Against this backdrop, as time passed and the disparity in benefits widened further, the attitudes of eastern and western Tibet toward the Great Han grew increasingly antagonistic, and their internal divisions deepened more and more.

Moreover, the court's pacification policy was unwilling to make serious efforts to grant favors to the Tibetan powers of Ali and Yaze. The Great Han under Emperor Liu's rule could be called the stingiest of all the central dynasties in history—not a trace of the generosity and magnanimity befitting a great celestial empire. Any benefit given had to be recouped from other avenues.

Perhaps in Emperor Liu's view, not making the various Tibetan peoples present tribute year after year without cease was already an immense grace. For the southwestern Tibetan powers, who enjoyed few benefits, there was naturally little inclination to feel any closeness toward the Great Han court.

The so-called court breaking its oath and reneging on its promises, stationing troops in Lhasa—that was merely a pretext. The real reason was still a matter of interests. And raising the banner of anti-Han was perhaps not the goal, but merely a means.

Therefore, the first thing Liu Xi did after entering Lhasa and establishing the Resident Minister to Tibet institution was to rush about extinguishing the backlash from various Tibetan powers. At least he needn't worry about a dull life in Tibet...

It wasn't just the Burang and Yaze kings that needed handling; he also had to placate the Lhasa and Yarlung kings. After all, they weren't necessarily happy about Liu Xi's arrival either—especially the Lhasa King, for this was his territory, and he would be affected the most. Indeed, the news of the great Tibetan unrest was reported to the court together with the intelligence on Tibet's national conditions that Liu Xi had gathered and submitted.

Tibet had erupted in the largest rebellion since submitting to the Han, yet the court's reaction was somewhat peculiar. There was no shortage of those offering advice and suggestions, but in Emperor Liu's view, within those pieces of "loyal counsel" lurked veiled mockery of him—indeed, many were simply watching for amusement.

Those people seemed to be saying: Your Majesty, you insisted on going your own way and establishing the Resident Minister to Tibet, and look what a great mess it has caused—even the southwest is destabilized. With the rebellion rising, the common folk of dozens of prefectures in the southwest have no peaceful days ahead, and you've even placed His Highness Prince Jin in danger.

Tibet is in chaos—could it threaten the heartland of the southwest? Should the South Seas campaign be called off? Should support for Anxi be reduced as appropriate? Should the enfeoffment expansion be postponed? Should the sons of the meritorious nobility not rush to go overseas...

When Emperor Liu held such a mindset, his reaction was naturally excessive. He directly issued an edict: for those Tibetan rebels who raised the banner of anti-Han, regardless of who they were, they were to be sternly suppressed without exception—exterminated to the last.

The entire southwest, including Shannan, Jiannan, and Yunnan, had all border prefectures placed under martial law, with border troops strictly prepared for war, ready at any moment to march west to support the pacification. Of course, given Tibet's unique geography and human conditions, large-scale military deployment was impossible—the logistics simply couldn't sustain it.

To resolve the Tibetan rebellion, the best approach was still to work from within the plateau itself. This was also Liu Xi's recommendation—he intended to rally the pro-Han tribes to strike at the rebels while simultaneously dividing and attacking the rebel forces. After all, not everyone on the plateau was anti-Han; there were also plenty of pro-Han "guide dogs."

Considering that Liu Xi had only his "three thousand" guards, too weak a force, a contingent of ten thousand troops was mobilized from the Jiannan border prefectures to march west. Moreover, Emperor Liu also sent a secret order specifically to Shangguan Zheng, the then Chief Commander of the Jiannan Circuit: if matters in Tibet went badly, he must ensure Prince Jin's safe return.

Clearly, the death of the eleventh prince, Liu Xiao, had given Emperor Liu much to think about—at least he had begun to actually consider the circumstances of those descendants stationed in harsh or even perilous regions, and to care about their safety.

Still, regarding Liu Xi's situation, Emperor Liu could barely hold steady, and he believed that with Liu Xi's intelligence, even if he couldn't settle the rebellion, extricating himself would be no problem. And even in the worst case—if matters failed utterly and he became trapped—those Tibetan powers shouldn't dare to harm Liu Xi.

While piecing together the map of Tibet, Emperor Liu's thoughts naturally drifted there, to his third son. However, when he received the report that the Crown Prince Liu Yang and Chancellor Zhao Pu were requesting an audience together, his heart clenched before the two had even entered the hall. And when he saw the two men's faces as grim as still water, his mood sank even further.

"Surely there isn't more bad news!" Seeing how serious the two looked, Emperor Liu forced a smile and said lightly.

This truly was dreadful news! Liu Yang couldn't help but exchange a glance with Zhao Pu, their gazes communicating rapidly through the air. In fact, before coming to Chuigong Hall, the two had already discussed the situation of Liu Xu's death—the key issue being how to report it to Emperor Liu.

It was just that they didn't dare. This was the Great Han's Prince of Qin, Emperor Liu's eldest son! Liu Xiao was not in the same league at all by comparison, and the impact was worlds apart. But even more, they didn't dare not report it...

After discussing for a while, they decided to come for the audience together, so neither would be left alone. With the lesson of Liu Xiao's affair, Liu Yang didn't dare report Liu Xu's matter alone. And at this moment, facing the old Emperor's question, it was old Zhao Pu who, hunched over with his aged back, spoke almost word by word: "Reporting to Your Majesty, Andong has submitted a mourning memorial—His Highness the Prince of Qin has passed away..."

After speaking, he just stood there, playing dead along with Liu Yang.

The atmosphere in Chuigong Hall froze completely. Emperor Liu heard it clearly—the dreadful news came swiftly and suddenly, not like thunder or lightning, but plain and quiet, yet striking straight at the heart, tearing another bloody gash in his steel heart already covered in scars.

He didn't ask whether it was true, nor did he ask the cause. Emperor Liu only, after a brief moment of daze, with tears glistening in his eyes and trembling hands, pointed at Liu Yang and said: "So... are you satisfied now..."