Chapter 1963: Times Have Changed

The hall was utterly silent, the atmosphere so oppressive it was almost suffocating. The trailing echo of Emperor Liu's questioning still reverberated through the rafters, sending chills down everyone's spine. Especially Liu Yang and Zhao Pu—from the perspective of political acumen, these two were the most capable of understanding what the old emperor's words truly contained.

This was perhaps the most heart-piercing thing Emperor Liu had said to the Crown Prince in decades, and the most severe questioning—deeper than any direct scolding or rebuke. Faced with such an Emperor Liu and such a question, Liu Yang could only bow his head deeply, not daring to offer any reply. In such a situation, no matter what he said, it might provoke the old emperor, who was torn between grief and suspicion.

And faced with Liu Yang's silent reaction, even though Emperor Liu wanted to vent his anger on him, he found it hard to speak the words. Beside him, the one whose head was buried even lower than Liu Yang's was Liu Wenji, his hands with nowhere to rest, his mind struggling to digest the shock of Liu Xu's death.

Liu Wenji could hardly claim to be familiar with Liu Xu—having met him only a few sparse times from childhood to now, with virtually no direct conversation between them. Their relationship was that thin, yet Liu Wenji's impression of Liu Xu was extremely deep.

This all stemmed from his clever mother, who had always instilled in him and analyzed for him the important personnel situations both inside and outside the court. In Xiao Chuo's eyes, among the imperial clan, aside from the Prince of Yong, it was the Prince of Qin who mattered most. Such a pivotal imperial uncle, dead so suddenly—Liu Wenji could not yet comprehend what kind of impact Liu Xu's early death would have on the Great Han's imperial house and court, but his subconscious told him it was very serious.

Emperor Liu turned his head to glance at Liu Wenji, expressionless, with not a trace of kindness remaining. His gaze shifted to the jigsaw puzzle that had just been assembled—the fine, neat seams of the pieces, like his own body and mind, cracked all over from the vicissitudes of life.

Suddenly, with one motion, he violently overturned the puzzle board. The smooth, exquisite pieces scattered across the floor, startling everyone in the hall into a shudder—several palace maids even knelt outright. He struggled to rise, his movements appearing especially clumsy. Seeing this, Yan Tuo hurried forward to support him.

Standing upright, his gaze slightly unfocused, his hand extended trembling, he said flatly: "I understand! You may go. Your elder brother's funeral affairs—handle them properly according to court protocol!"

With that said, supported by Yan Tuo, he walked in a daze toward his bedchamber, leaving Liu Yang and Zhao Pu behind. The more they looked at Emperor Liu's retreating figure, the more lonely it seemed, the more sorrowful. When Liu Xiao died, even with guilt in his heart, he still had Worthy Consort Zhe's place to go. But with Liu Xu's death, looking across the entire palace inside and out, there was no one to confide in—Consort Geng was buried over in Kaifeng.

"Yes!" It was only after the two palace eunuchs had already lifted the hanging curtain that Liu Yang snapped back to attention, cupping his hands in acknowledgment.

"Father." The atmosphere in the hall remained heavy and oppressive. Liu Wenji called out softly.

Looking at his second son, who stood properly with a puzzled expression, Liu Yang raised his hand and patted him on the back, letting out a sigh: "You go back to the Eastern Palace first!"

"Yes! Your son takes his leave!"

Going and returning together, Liu Yang and Zhao Pu walked side by side toward Guangzheng Hall, with Zhao Pu courteously lagging half a step behind. Neither of them spoke for a time. However, Zhao Pu's peripheral vision kept falling on Liu Yang from time to time, observing his expression.

At this moment, even a seasoned schemer like Zhao Pu couldn't help but wonder what was going on inside Crown Prince Liu Yang's heart. Emperor Liu's performance in Chuigong Hall just now was truly unsettling. Still, curiosity was curiosity—it had to be hidden away, especially upon seeing the Crown Prince's unflappable demeanor.

In the few years since being reinstated as chancellor, aside from carrying out Emperor Liu's assigned tasks without any compromise and presiding over the reform agenda, Zhao Pu had been observing the shifting winds of the Great Han court as an objective outsider.

Crown Prince Liu Yang was clearly Zhao Pu's key observation target, and under this observation, he found much to reflect upon. In his early years, Crown Prince Liu Yang bore many "human" weaknesses—modest to the point of pedantry, lenient to the point of cowardice, composed to the point of sluggishness. In short, he might as well have had the label "mediocre" pasted on his face.

Of course, as Liu Yang grew into his governance over the years, these "weaknesses" were continuously overcome. In fact, by the time Liu Yang was around thirty, no one inside or outside the court dared to bring up those shortcomings of Liu Yang that "did not resemble the imperial father."

Ordinary people merely stood in awe of the authority cultivated by a Crown Prince of over twenty years, but Zhao Pu had never underestimated the Crown Prince—he even admired his intelligence, though his method of hiding his brilliance was somewhat clumsy, the act showing visible traces.

Now, as Liu Yang had passed forty, Zhao Pu looked at him anew and discovered that Liu Yang was no longer the Crown Prince of those days. Those so-called weaknesses and flaws had vanished without a trace from the Crown Prince's person—dignified and steady, composed and restrained, with hardly any cracks to be found in him.

After all, this was a man who had been Crown Prince for over thirty years, and under Emperor Liu's "tyrannical might" no less. Even just for that length of tenure, he deserved admiration. Zhao Pu didn't know how to evaluate such a transformation—perhaps the Crown Prince had completely evolved, shedding his former "slowness"; perhaps his wings had grown full and his worries had diminished; or perhaps Emperor Liu, growing ever more aged and infirm, no longer projected the same intimidation.

But regardless, Zhao Pu knew well that this Crown Prince before him must never be taken lightly—he must be served with care. Zhao Pu also couldn't help but recall that when Emperor Liu first enfeoffed the Prince of An as governor of the east, the entire court's hearts were settled. The Crown Prince's faction nearly celebrated in advance, feeling that the great matter was decided and the Crown Prince's position was secure. However, it was only when news of Liu Xu's death arrived that this matter was truly settled. After all, from now on, Liu Yang possessed legitimacy, seniority, and virtue in full measure, backed by a powerful force both inside and outside the court—no one could shake him anymore.

Unless the old emperor wanted to stir up trouble. However, although Emperor Liu had been stubborn and paranoid in recent years, to the point of seeming senile, he still maintained clarity on the big picture.

Of course, for Zhao Pu, he had no worries about his future. His historical standing was essentially fixed—the court was already preparing to enfeoff the Kaibao meritorious officials, and no matter how the rankings were arranged, he would be first among both civil and military.

And Zhao Pu knew clearly in his heart that his official career had begun with Emperor Liu and would also end with Emperor Liu. By the time of Liu Yang's era, whether he was still alive or not, there would be no place for him in the court.

The Crown Prince of today needed no one to support him—he himself was a towering tree for others to cling to. As the saying goes, desirelessness makes one strong. At seventy years of age, Zhao Pu could see many things clearly and thoroughly.

Even considering the glory and fortune of his descendants, Zhao Pu had nothing to worry about. Whether it was one term or two, his relationship with Liu Yang had been maintained well, and Liu Yang had always shown him respect. As long as he knew when to retire at the height of his power, three generations would pass without trouble.

Snow fell rustling, wind blew howling. As the two walked, two rows of relatively distinct footprints were left on the bitterly cold corridor. The entire way was silent—neither spoke—until Guangzheng Hall came into view. Liu Yang finally stopped, and Zhao Pu halted as well.

"Lord Zhao, for the Prince of Qin's funeral, let the Hall of State Affairs issue the obituary and set up the mourning hall." After a moment of silence, Liu Yang instructed Zhao Pu.

Zhao Pu nodded, thought briefly, then cupped his hands: "Yes!"

The difference was apparent from this—one must know that for Liu Xiao's funeral, it had only reached the Ministry of Rites. But for Liu Xu, the Hall of State Affairs served as the "organizing body"—the highest power center of the Great Han—showing just how much importance was attached.

"Additionally, send a decree to Yin Jilun, telling him that the Tibetan rebellion need not be rushed, and he must not act rashly or advance recklessly. If matters prove difficult, he should weigh the advantages and decide accordingly. But regardless of anything, the safety of the Prince of Jin must be guaranteed!"

Liu Yang's countenance was solemn as he spoke slowly: "There can be no more mishaps with the Prince of Jin."