Chapter 2010: The Twenty-Ninth Year of Kaibao (2)

"Going west? What, is condemning him from afar in writing not enough—you want to go all the way to Anxi to trade insults in person?" The old emperor chuckled derisively.

Seeing this, a hint of gloom flickered across Liu Yang's brow. He drew a deep breath and said, haltingly: "Your Majesty, Song Zhun has... ridden the crane west."

"Eh?" This genuinely surprised the old emperor—so much so that he turned his head to look at Liu Yang in astonishment: "He's dead!"

Liu Yang reported: "Song Zhun passed away of illness at his home last night. By all accounts, he had long been ailing from overwork."

At this, the old emperor fell silent. After all, a minister of the Luoyang Governor's standing was no ordinary official—he was one worthy of a few extra measures of the emperor's attention and regard.

After pondering a moment, a somewhat listless expression appeared on the old emperor's face. He drew his hands back inside the bedclothes, like a beast retracting its bared claws, and sighed: "A bit of a pity. Song Zhun was only just past fifty, wasn't he? The makings of a top scholar, refined and elegant bearing—the splendor of his examination triumph back in the day is still fresh in one's memory!"

Of course, this was merely the old emperor speaking for form's sake. Since the man was dead, there was no point in holding a grudge—if he still refused to let up verbally, then he would be proving himself an overly petty emperor.

Likewise, had the Crown Prince's report been more complete, Song Zhun's fate might well have been different. For instance, Song Zhun had been writing memorials right up until his death—on his desk he had left an unfinished political treatise, written in the final moments of his life. With far fewer inhibitions, its language was all the more fierce—the sort that would have been enough to stir the old emperor's killing intent.

After mulling it over for a while, the old emperor again addressed Liu Yang: "Speaking of which, how do you intend to respond on the Anxi matter? Surely you don't mean to just keep dragging it out! Liu Min has described the situation in Anxi as dire beyond measure, a matter of utmost urgency—how much longer does the Luoyang court need to deliberate?"

"The ministers hold divergent views, and the debate is fierce!" Liu Yang replied. "I humbly beg Your Majesty to issue a decree and settle the matter with a single edict!"

The old emperor immediately rebuked: "If everything needs me to make the final call, then what use is having you as Crown Prince! With the prestige you hold at court, is there anything you can't decide on your own? Last year you even foresaw the flood in advance, planned the disaster relief, and made preparations with such resolve and decisiveness—yet you tell me you can't reach a conclusion on a trifling matter like Anxi?"

The old emperor's words carried a veiled insinuation. Liu Yang lowered his head slightly, considered for a moment, and replied: "In my view, if the situation in Anxi is truly as described, and if the military and administrative systems of Anxi must indeed be reformed, then adapting measures to local conditions would not be a poor contingency plan.

Ministers like Song Zhun were certainly loyal at heart, offering counsel for the state, but in the end they did not understand the actual conditions in Anxi. Policies for governing the realm cannot be applied uniformly everywhere.

If we mechanically implement Han institutions in Anxi without the slightest adaptation, I fear it would be counterproductive.

Clinging to old ways is not necessarily wrong—but if it leads to the loss of Anxi, betraying the achievements of over a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians who fought and pioneered there for over a decade, then that would make us sinners against the history of the Great Han.

Liu Yang spoke these words with a composed expression, though his inner thought was: institutions are never immutable. Long ago in Andong, there had been countless instances of breaking central administrative laws and regulations. In Anxi, Liu Min had merely taken larger strides.

The old emperor was not surprised that Liu Yang could speak this way—what he was curious about was why, holding such views, he had not voiced them earlier.

Studying Liu Yang, the old emperor asked in a teasing tone: "Not afraid of undermining the legitimate order? Not afraid that in time, the state will cease to be a state?"

What the old emperor referred to was precisely the core argument held by Song Zhun and his fellow ministers. Liu Yang sensed a trace of mockery, but his expression remained calm, showing no sign of disturbance. After a pause, he said: "Since ancient times, when a small state can throw a great one into chaos, the problem lies with the great state itself, not the small one."

The old emperor seemed rather satisfied with this answer. He shifted to a side-lying position and said languidly: "With such insight, you have not failed the many years you have held the reins of governance!"

With the old emperor's words, the dispute of nearly half a year was about to draw to a close—the Luoyang court would no longer obstruct the reform of Anxi's administration. At the same time, it meant the court was further relaxing its grip on Anxi's military and civil affairs. From now on, matters of Anxi would be decided by the Prince of Wei. The day when Anxi would become an enfeoffed state was not far off.

Having finished discussing matters involving the two princes, Liu Yang continued his report: "A report from Shanyang: Yelu Xiuge, the Khitan Yuyue, has died of illness. According to rumor, he was wounded by a stray arrow during last year's campaign against the Naiman tribe, and the wound never healed—this spring it burst open and he died."

"The Khitan!" Hearing this news, the old emperor was visibly startled, a flicker of daze in his eyes: "How long has it been since I last heard news of the Khitan! Yelu Xiuge—he was the most capable commander the Khitan of Mobei had, wasn't he? These past twenty-odd years, the fact that the Khitan could cling to survival in Mobei was largely thanks to his great merit! Now that he's dead, who else can the Khitan rely on?"

The timeline had changed. With only the Khitan dwelling in Mobei, circumstances were naturally vastly different from history—no longer as rich in talent as in the historical record. With the old ministers left by Yelu Xian either aged, dead, or fled, and after that purge of Han officials back in the day, the Khitan king Yelu Longxu now had only a paltry handful of civil and military officials he could truly rely on.

Thanks to his achievements over the past twenty-odd years, Yelu Xiuge was a banner figure among the Khitan of Mobei, with enormous influence—calling him a pillar holding up the sky was no exaggeration. His death struck the Khitan like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, a loss that was almost irreparable.

Hearing the old emperor's lament, Liu Yang picked up the thread: "Two men have succeeded Yelu Xiuge—Yelu Yuanning and Xiao Talin, who now share control of military and civil affairs respectively."

"Xiao Talin!" The old emperor had no impression of Yelu Yuanning, but Xiao Talin caught his attention. Looking at Liu Yang, he said with a knowing smile: "That would seem to be Xiao Siwen's clan nephew, wouldn't it?"

At this moment, it was hard to fathom what was going through the old emperor's mind, but Liu Yang remained unhurried, nodding calmly and naturally: "Indeed! Back then, this man accompanied Xiao Siwen in Liaodong and resisted the imperial army's northern expedition!"

Since Liu Yang was so candid, the old emperor found it awkward to make further issue of that connection. After a moment's thought, he asked leisurely: "Yelu Xiuge was a hero of his generation, yet he died at the hands of the Naiman. Could this insignificant Naiman tribe truly possess such strength?"

At this mention, Liu Yang also felt some emotion. Because of the old emperor's indolence, in recent years it had fallen to him, the Crown Prince, to keep watch over the changing situation in Mobei. The more attention he paid, the deeper his understanding grew.

Looking at the old emperor, Liu Yang explained: "For years, the Khitan of Mobei have been caught between two enemies. To the east, the Shiwei beyond the mountains, after repeated setbacks in Andong, have continuously raided westward.

As for the Naiman to the west, over the past decade or more they have been migrating eastward, seizing vast swaths of pasture and land that originally belonged to the northwestern Khitan, their strength growing steadily.

In particular, their revered Solar Khan, Liu Jin, after growing to maturity, has rallied his tribesmen and repeatedly invaded eastward, clashing with the Khitan in a bid for hegemony over Mobei.

Last year, Yelu Xiuge leading his army on a western campaign was merely one ordinary engagement between the two sides over these years—the commander being wounded on the field was truly an accident."

Hearing this account, the old emperor suddenly asked with keen interest: "The powers of the steppe always rise and fall in succession, the old giving way to the new. If the Khitan falter, the next to rise will be either the Shiwei or the Naiman.

Judging by the current situation, the Naiman tribe seems more likely and more promising. The court should pay them greater attention."

"Their Solar Khan—his name is Liu Jin?" The old emperor sounded slightly puzzled.

At the question, Liu Yang also wore a strange expression as he replied: "There were rumors back then that this child was a son left behind by Sixth Brother during his time in Mobei. Because he carried imperial blood, he was elevated by the Naiman tribes as their common lord.

However, Sixth Brother denied it, and the court never acknowledged it—but the Naiman believe it deeply. Naiman merchants trading at the border with the Great Han also spread this story widely, taking pride in it."

"Seems there was something to that!" The old emperor nodded and smiled: "True or false aside, these Naiman, though barbarians, are clever—they know to embrace the Great Han.

But the young fellow is still young and hot-blooded, not knowing his own limits. Those who need a lesson should be taught one—even a heavy hand is fine!

The tacit understanding the Khitan have formed with the Great Han over these past ten-odd years should not be broken!"

"Your subject understands!" Liu Yang naturally grasped the meaning behind the old emperor's words and replied calmly.

Even as he responded, looking at the old emperor's face—that solitary, star-crossed visage—Liu Yang found it hard to know how to judge him. If one called him wise, his arrogance and jealousy could be inhuman; if one called him muddled, his judgment on many matters could still hit the nail on the head.

Take the Anxi reforms, or the Mobei contention—especially his attitude toward the Khitan, which left Liu Yang particularly astonished. After all, the Great Han and the Khitan were hereditary enemies. Back in the day, the old emperor had wished nothing less than to wipe them out to the last man, and for the ten years following the Kaibao northern expedition, he had struck at them without cease.

Now, in his old age, stubborn and bigoted as he was, at critical moments and on critical matters he could still take a position more favorable to the Great Han and make relatively rational judgments—for the old emperor as he was now, this was truly rare.

As Liu Yang was pondering, the old emperor seemed to tire again and closed his eyes. The atmosphere between sovereign and subject, father and son, gradually grew awkward once more. After a moment, it was the old emperor who spoke: "Anything else?"

It was clear the old emperor was dismissing him. Liu Yang snapped back to attention, steadied his stray thoughts, and once more clasped his hands: "Reports have come in succession from the two river circuits and the two Huai circuits. The disaster relief for last year's floods has entered its final stage. The people of the affected prefectures and counties have returned to their homes and, under the arrangement of local authorities, are carrying out reconstruction. Spring plowing has also begun in succession. The court has decided to allocate a batch of funds, farm tools, and seeds as support, while also granting certain tax reductions to the severely affected prefectures and counties."

Last summer and autumn, another flood had erupted in the Yellow River and Huai River basins. Dozens of prefectures and counties along the riverbanks had been affected by the rains, with countless homes and farmland destroyed and over a million people displaced. It was only because the central government had foreseen this and prepared in advance—strengthening patrols and inspections of the river levees, mobilizing troops and conscripting laborers to guard the critical embankments, and rushing to avert danger several times—that the Yellow River had raged but not breached its banks, preventing even greater losses.

Otherwise, the Central Plains would likely have suffered a grievous blow to its vitality. And compared to the Yellow River's banks, the officials and people of the Huai River basin were not so fortunate—there were three breaches alone, turning the entire Huainan region into a vast marshland.

When the floodwaters receded and the rains ceased, what remained was a scene of devastation and countless hungry mouths to feed. Thus, in the latter half of last year, the entire focus of the Central Plains' affairs was placed on disaster relief, settling the people, and post-flood reconstruction.

In this regard, the court should by rights have accumulated ample experience—after all, this vast empire saw disasters nearly every month of every year, including major calamities that swept across entire circuits and prefectures.

But what made this flood different was that while it was not the largest in scale since the founding, nor the most severe in losses, it had claimed the most lives—according to the official figures compiled, over ten thousand people had died.

It could well be imagined that once unreported, underreported, and falsified local figures were excluded, the actual death toll would be even higher—possibly doubling or even quadrupling. This was during the "Kaibao Golden Age," and the contrast with the casualties and losses of past great disasters was too stark. There could only be one explanation: beneath every natural disaster lies man-made calamity, and the latter's impact is even greater.

Therefore, when Liu Yang brought up those "encouraging" reports from the two Huai circuits, the old emperor's attitude was clearly tinged with sarcasm: "Matters of routine—why must you report them to me specially? Besides, as Crown Prince, you should know the situation. Last year's flood killed so many people—can the impact truly be eliminated so quickly?"

Facing the old emperor's rebuke, Liu Yang remained composed and replied humbly: "Your Majesty's instruction is correct. I was overjoyed at the news and was remiss. I will continue to send envoys to inspect the affected prefectures and counties."

Hearing this, the old emperor pulled the blanket up over himself and pointed toward the Guanzheng Hall behind him, instructing: "On the desk in the side hall, there are several stacks of memorials. The second stack from the left—go take a look at it."

"Yes! Your subject takes his leave!" Liu Yang said respectfully.

After leaving Shangyang Palace, Liu Yang did not go to the Guangzheng Hall, but returned to Hongde Hall in the Eastern Palace. After a brief rest, he began flipping through the memorials he had brought back from Shangyang Palace. They were all secret memorials, originating from the Huangcheng and Wude offices, as well as various local officials—all concerning illegal activities, abuses of power, and acts of corruption and harm to the people committed by officials across the realm during last year's Central Plains flood.

However, faced with these shocking contents, Liu Yang appeared very calm, as if unsurprised. Indeed—this Crown Prince of the Great Han was not so easily deceived. He did not govern solely by memorials; on many matters, his eyes and ears were sharp. Who was loyal and who treacherous, who good and who evil—he had a fairly good sense of it all in his heart.