Chapter 2014: The Southern Tour

While the many powerful figures of the Western Capital scrambled in a flurry of last-minute preparations to accompany the Emperor on his tour, the Eastern Palace remained tranquil, as if untouched by the clamor of the capital city.

With the old Emperor away on tour, it was only natural that the Crown Prince remain in the capital to oversee state affairs—there was no dispute on that point. Of course, the Eastern Palace also had its share of attendants for the journey, with the two imperial grandsons Liu Wenhuan and Liu Wenji representing Liu Yang in attendance to fulfill filial duties—this too was personally designated by the old Emperor.

Inside Hongde Hall, lamplight flickered dimly. Liu Yang, clad in a single layer of plain clothing, sat slightly hunched behind his desk, his gaze calm and steady as he examined the objects laid before him.

It was a sheet of Xuan paper, its quality visibly excellent—appearing in the Eastern Palace, it was naturally of imperial-grade supply. With the realm at peace, this was naturally an age of cultural renaissance; from the official sphere to the common folk, demand for paper—especially paper of superior quality—had grown correspondingly, multiplying severalfold. Even by the twenty-ninth year of Kaibao, the market's appetite for fine paper remained insatiable.

After decades of development, the Great Han's papermaking industry had entered a relatively mature stage, and the most advantaged among it was, without question, Jiangdong paper—"Jiangdong paper is dear" had once been the finest testament to its value.

And the most renowned of Jiangdong papers was naturally the Xuan paper produced in Jing County, Xuanzhou. Beyond the superior industrial environment of Jing County itself and its outstanding product quality, its rapid development also benefited from an offhand remark by the old Emperor: "Of all the papers under heaven, Xuan paper is the finest."

Thereafter, Xuan paper's development received support from all quarters—the common folk were enthusiastic, and the officialdom was vigorous. At the time, with the old Emperor's endorsement, there was no government office that did not exert its full effort.

When Fan Zhigu served as Prefectural Administrator of Xuanzhou, he placed particular emphasis on the development of Xuan paper, mobilizing the entire prefecture's strength to develop the papermaking industry centered on Jing County, fully leveraging the advantages of local resources, organizing technical personnel to provide free guidance to interested gentry and commoners throughout the prefecture—from material selection to manufacturing.

The development of Xuan paper thus began to expand rapidly, with the scale of the industry surging dramatically. By the twenty-ninth year of Kaibao, in Xuanzhou itself, beyond the several major paper mills concentrated in Jing County, small and medium-sized workshops among the folk had sprung up everywhere. In particular, among the common folk of Jing County, nearly every household understood some papermaking technique; ordinary farming households, besides tending their fields, would also actively participate in the Xuan paper manufacturing supply chain.

By now, paper produced in Xuanzhou had long been sold far and wide across the four corners of the Great Han, and had driven the neighboring prefectures of She and Chi along with it. Jiangdong paper thus flourished greatly; from the court to the localities, official use of paper predominantly adopted Jiangdong paper. Paper produced by the great mills of Jing County was supplied for use by the upper echelons of the powerful, while Xuan paper of the very finest quality became tribute paper exclusively reserved for the imperial household—its use strictly forbidden to ordinary people.

And on this sheet of Xuan paper, five inches in length, lying before the Crown Prince, was displayed a chart of personnel—also a chart of the power structure. The most important and critical military and governmental posts at the central court were all represented, and the rigid hierarchy of the Great Han's upper echelons leaped off the page.

Naturally, what Liu Yang paid the closest attention to were the personnel adjustments the old Emperor had recently intervened in, pondering name by name the newly appointed generals and ministers, and the considerations behind them on the old Emperor's part.

His expression remained calm throughout; after a long, silent deliberation, he finally picked up his brush and marked out certain names on the personnel chart—such as Ma Huaiyu, Deputy Chief Commander of the Capital Circuit—all of whom were the men Liu Yang relied upon most heavily, and all of whom likewise held key positions.

After a long while, Liu Yang finally snapped back to awareness, let out a sigh, and with a complex expression placed the paper over the candle flame, silently watching it burn completely to ash. Slightly composing himself and restoring his usual dignity, Liu Yang instructed the palace eunuch Wang Yue, who had been waiting in attendance for a long while: "Go see how Wenhuan and Wenji's preparations are coming along, and have them come to Hongde Hall to see me!"

"Yes!" Wang Yue dared not be negligent and answered immediately.

The brothers Liu Wenhuan and Liu Wenji were this time traveling alone to accompany the Emperor—not merely as imperial grandsons, but as representatives of the Eastern Palace, which naturally carried a certain political significance. The key points of this matter would have to be personally explained by him.

Even so, Liu Yang still found it difficult to be completely at ease; he needed to assign a "house steward" to accompany the two brothers, to assist and guide them, lest any misstep occur. But whom to send? Liu Yang pondered for a moment and finally settled on one person: Xu Shilian.

The square before Pingguanfeng Hall at Shangyang Palace was ordinarily somewhat desolate, but under the blazing sun at this moment, it was a bustling scene—though crowded, order was perfectly maintained.

Along the walkway, dragon banners fluttered and battle-axes gleamed; a ceremonial guard of several hundred stood at solemn attention, ready to depart at any moment, all of them radiating dazzling brilliance under the sunlight.

The majestic imperial carriage stood quietly on the imperial road, six pure-white imperial horses standing side by side in harness, occasionally stamping the ground, while the drivers sat upright in their seats with solemn expressions.

Below the hall's terrace, the civil and military officials remaining in the capital stood arranged in order, backs slightly bent, expressions respectful—many even bearing a hint of "piety." And extending from the terrace were three thousand stalwart soldiers of the Inner Palace, serving as the core escort for this tour.

At the same time, following established precedent, the four armies subordinate to the Palace Command and the Imperial Guard—the Dragon Rest, Iron Cavalry, Guardian Sacred, and Service to the State—each also selected two battalions of soldiers to accompany and protect the imperial procession. Together with the accompanying retinue of the rear palace, imperial clansmen, dukes and ministers, and high officials' carriages, they had already formed up in ranks, extending beyond Shangyang Palace, awaiting only the imperial order to set forth.

Accompanied by Liu Yang, the old Emperor, leaning on that bamboo staff full of stories, slowly descended the imperial steps. Halfway down, he paused at the middle of the terrace, gazing down at the vast formation before the hall, a trace of daze surfacing in his aged eyes.

He quickly recovered his senses, said nothing more, and, shaking off Liu Yang's supporting hand, continued down step by step on his own—his stride perhaps the most composed it had been in recent years.

On the square, everyone was dressed in their finest—brocade and splendid garments—but the old Emperor alone wore no ceremonial crown and no dragon robe, just an ordinary black embroidered robe, and even his topknot still exuded an air of "unruly defiance."

Largely ignoring the ministers who stood in attendance on both sides to see him off, he walked straight to the side of the imperial carriage, where a eunuch had already placed the boarding steps. Stepping onto the steps, he had not gone two paces before he turned back, studied Liu Yang for a moment, and then said softly: "The capital and the court—I leave them to you!"

The old Emperor's tone carried an indescribable quality—partly entrustment, and faintly hinting at a certain "unease." Liu Yang, however, seemed not to notice anything unusual about the old Emperor, his expression as composed as ever, his respect undiminished, as he solemnly clasped his fists and said: "Yes! Your servant shall deliberate carefully and act earnestly, tending to governance with full devotion, and shall not fail Your Majesty's trust!"

Seeing his reaction, the old Emperor cast two more glances at Liu Yang with a complex look, said nothing further, turned, mounted the carriage rail, and ducked inside the imperial carriage. Immediately thereafter, with Hu De's resounding cry of "Set forth!", the imperial procession began to move, and the old Emperor, after an interval of nearly twenty years, once again embarked on a journey of imperial tour—though his destination was directly the Taikang Palace at Mount Jigong.

Crown Prince Liu Yang stood on the imperial road, silently watching the imperial carriage recede into the distance. For no discernible reason, he felt a sudden surge of intuition, which he forcibly and swiftly suppressed. Nevertheless, his brow grew even more furrowed, and no one could guess what he was thinking.

Likewise, the ministers who had come to see the Emperor off wore varied expressions—now "respectfully" gazing after the departing imperial carriage, now cautiously sizing up the Crown Prince, the air of strangeness in the atmosphere thereby intensifying.

From Luoyang to Taikang Palace was a journey of more than seven hundred li—by no means a short distance for an imperial northern retreat. Perhaps precisely for this reason, the old Emperor had made those personnel adjustments before leaving the capital—they were merely actions he considered prudent, to set his own mind at ease.

Mount Jigong lay within Shenzhou's borders. Given the current transportation routes, there were only two roads by which a large procession could travel to Shenzhou: one was east out of Luoyang, turning south via Zhengzhou and passing through Xu and Cai prefectures; the other was southeast out of Dengfeng, reaching Shenzhou directly through Xu and Cai.

For this tour, the imperial procession naturally chose the first route. Though the distance was several dozen li longer, the road conditions leaving the capital were far better—the "Luoyang–Zhengzhou" direct road alone was the Great Han's highest-grade official highway.

Over the past few decades, the Great Han had invested no small amount in basic transportation infrastructure, especially in the capital region and its surroundings, which were now thoroughly interconnected—at least as far as Shenzhou, the road was smooth all the way.

Considering the convenience of the Emperor's southern journey, during the construction of the Taikang Traveling Palace, the four prefectures along the route—Zheng, Xu, Cai, and Shen—had all undertaken certain works on their main trunk roads. Many long-neglected road sections had been upgraded, and at the very least, the potholes and ruts that had previously gone unattended were all filled in. Even Ruzhou had joined in—just in case the imperial procession happened to pass through.

Of course, the more important reason was that road repairs along the route counted as supporting works for the palace construction; as long as one submitted an application upward, the Roads Bureau would allocate some funds, and one could even obtain money from the Court of the Imperial Treasury. No matter how the actual work turned out, when it came to requesting money, these offices were exceptionally eager.

It was precisely because the transportation conditions permitted it that the old Emperor's six-horse imperial carriage could travel all the way to Shenzhou without stopping to change mounts except when crossing rivers and bridges. Even so, the speed of travel still could not be hurried.

Consorts, dukes and ministers, civil and military officials, escort troops, palace women, and servants—all manner of people added up to a full twenty thousand or more. With so many people, not only was the provisioning of men and horses troublesome, but the efficiency of travel inevitably suffered.

Even though the touring procession had essentially achieved full mule-and-horse mobilization, the daily progress was at best under forty li, and at worst twenty to thirty li, further slowed by wind and rain and by halts for rest. Setting out in early summer, by the time they reached Shenzhou it was already midsummer—a full month or more spent in total.

With such a massive procession and such low efficiency, it was clear that the old Emperor's tour was nothing like what the imperial edict described—it was not about inspecting the people's livelihood or observing popular conditions.

And the profound impact this tour brought upon the common folk had begun more than two years earlier, when the decision was made to build the summer retreat palace. From construction works to road works, all were major undertakings, all requiring money and grain, all requiring local commoners to contribute labor and effort.

By the time the imperial procession set forth, wherever the great column passed, even if it was not a swarm of locusts, it was close enough. Although the old Emperor had forbidden local authorities along the route from presenting tribute goods, the field headquarters' needs were a hard necessity—the daily consumption of over twenty thousand people had to be sourced locally, and even with money to purchase supplies, it exceeded the reception capacity of most prefectures and counties.

Of course, grain supplies were provided by the official granaries along the route, but the field headquarters' demands could hardly be satisfied by basic grain provisions alone. Under the overarching political principle of guaranteeing the field headquarters' needs, the cost of the excess portion naturally fell upon the officials and commoners of the various localities.

Since ancient times, when had an imperial tour ever benefited the localities and stimulated local economic growth? If such a thing existed, it would be nothing short of a miracle!

At the very least, this kind of grand ceremonial procession, with its magnificent fanfare, no matter how well the surface appearances were maintained, brought the local officials and commoners nothing beyond the majesty of the Son of Heaven—and, presumably, the heavy burden of disruption to their daily lives.