Chapter 2015: Something's Off!

Luoyang Prefecture went without saying; the counties of Zhengzhou, Xuzhou, and Caizhou were all in the heart of the Central Plains, densely populated, economically developed, with villages and settlements scattered like stars across the sky, and markets and fairgrounds visible everywhere. Although the Great Han had already bred many problems, the prosperity of the common folk at this time was nonetheless real and tangible.

However, the old Emperor had little interest in the prosperity along the way. Even though the journey was slow, aside from necessary rest stops, he was unwilling to pause and take notice. Even when he did stop, it was only to receive the military and civil chiefs of each prefecture; other staff and lower-ranking officials were not qualified to have an audience with His Majesty, and the conversations were merely hollow flattery, with little mention of governance or the people's livelihood.

Of course, the old Emperor had his reasons. During last year's flood disaster, of the three prefectures, only Zhengzhou had been affected, and even then only to an extremely limited extent—Zhengzhou's water conservancy facilities could be said to be the most complete and sturdy along the banks of the Yellow River.

And judging by the crop growth in Xuzhou and Caizhou, this year should be a bumper harvest, with the upcoming summer harvest expected to be quite substantial. To be fair, such a sight was worth stopping to behold—at the very least, it was excellent material for those seeking fame and reputation.

But the old Emperor of today was already remiss in governing the state; where would he find the mood and energy to put on a show? It was not until reaching Xinyang that the old Emperor finally stepped out of the field headquarters and entered a local city for the first time. Since the completion of Taikang Palace owed three-tenths of its effort to Shenzhou's resources, he ought at least to offer some acknowledgment.

The Prefectural Administrator of Shenzhou was actually a member of the imperial clan, and his status was by no means low—Liu Jiqian, the third son of Xu Prince Liu Chengyun. The Great Han imperial house had developed to this day, roughly divided into five branches: the first was naturally the old Emperor's own main line; the second was the line of Yong Prince Liu Chenghsun; the third was that of Wei Prince Liu Chengxun (essentially existing in name only); and then came Xu Prince Liu Chengyun.

The remainder was the line of the late Taiyuan Prince Liu Chong. Although the old Emperor had long since issued an edict lifting their restrictions, due to historical reasons they remained in a state of suppression. Now Liu Chong's descendants were scattered across the Great Han, and though they bore the name of imperial kin, in reality they had degenerated into an ordinary political family.

Compared to the pitiful Liu Chong line, Xu Prince Liu Chengyun's treatment was vastly different—one could tell just from his title. Although he was merely the eldest son of Gaozu Liu Zhiyuan, although he was born to Liu Chong, and although he had achieved nothing in the past few decades and made no widely known contributions to the empire.

But Liu Chengyun had an excellent relationship with the old Emperor. He grasped the bounds of ministerial loyalty and integrity with perfect measure, always retaining the old Emperor's trust—that in itself was a tremendous skill. The old Emperor was suspicious even of Yong Prince Liu Chenghsun and Crown Prince Liu Yang, but he had never once suspected Liu Chengyun, never believing he could do him any harm.

From this one could imagine the special position Xu Prince Liu Chengyun occupied in the Great Han Empire. In many cases, being the eldest of the imperial clan was itself an unparalleled honor and a manifestation of prestige. As the third son of the Xu Prince, Liu Jiqian had another peculiarity: he was not Liu Chengyun's biological son.

This required digging up old accounts from the Great Han imperial clan's history. In the early years, Imperial Uncle Liu Xin, due to his tyranny and cruelty in Xuzhou, had been arrested and dealt with by law while the old Emperor was escorting Gaozu's coffin for burial. He was ordered to guard the tomb, and only after he and his son were trapped and died there was the restriction lifted.

Liu Xin and his son were gone, but they left behind a grandson and a granddaughter. Taking pity on their orphaned state, the Xu Prince's heart was moved, and after requesting permission from the old Emperor, he took them into his household and raised them. Liu Jiqian was that boy.

Now Liu Jiqian was just past forty. Compared to the many political stars that had emerged on the Great Han political stage in recent years, he appeared far more low-key. Everything proceeded step by step, and there was even deliberate suppression from the Xu Prince, for fear of arousing the old Emperor's suspicion and prompting him to dig up old grudges.

The Xu Prince understood the old Emperor all too well—who knew which day some nerve might misfire, and any abnormal psychology could arise quite normally. If Liu Jiqian were promoted too quickly and attracted the old Emperor's attention, that would by no means be a good thing. Rather, the current state—a forty-year-old Prefectural Administrator of a mid-tier prefecture, steady and unremarkable—was just right.

However, for Liu Jiqian himself, life was somewhat hard to endure. Since he had entered officialdom, he naturally harbored certain ambitions and aspirations in politics. But his political future was perpetually shrouded in shadow, a feeling of being at the mercy of the sovereign's whims. One could imagine just how vast Liu Jiqian's psychological shadow was.

Liu Jiqian was barely past thirty when he became County Magistrate of a large county. After one five-year term, he came to serve in Shenzhou, where he had been for exactly three years. It was precisely during these three years that Liu Jiqian found a way to win over (and please) the old Emperor—the construction of the Jigong Mountain Traveling Palace.

For the past two and a half years, without question, Liu Jiqian had devoted his entire mind to supporting the palace construction. Manpower and financial resources were at his disposal, and indeed, the entire gentry and common folk of Shenzhou had been "hijacked" by him, sparing no cost to complete the palace project well.

In other prefectures and counties, there might have been those with dirty hands, pocketing something for themselves while contributing to the palace. But Liu Jiqian had no interest in embezzlement; he devoted himself single-mindedly to fulfilling the imperial command.

When it came to which prefecture suffered the heaviest casualties among laborers during the Jigong Mountain Traveling Palace construction, there was no question—it was Shenzhou, as the "host."

From the palace's construction to the present imperial southern tour, Liu Jiqian had been struggling to hold on for two and a half years. Now, with the imperial carriage arriving, it was time to test the results.

In Liu Jiqian's heart, joy and trepidation were intermingled. But when he received the notice that the old Emperor would deign to visit Xinyang and lodge in the city overnight, he felt immense pressure yet also breathed a sigh of relief. He had long since ascertained that the imperial carriage had not stopped to tour any city along its route. Now that His Majesty's intention had been made known, wasn't Shenzhou's special status suddenly made manifest?

Shenzhou's city walls had been repaired, so clean that not a trace of moss could be seen; the moat water was clear to the bottom, having been entirely replaced not long ago; the roads were tidy, almost spotless; the alleys, houses, and buildings were also meticulously decorated, with embroidered ribbons fluttering and colors resplendent.

Everything appeared so beautiful, harmonious, and thriving. Yet the gentry and common folk of Shenzhou, who ought to have been the most lively and spirited, seemed so devoid of vitality.

Liu Jiqian personally led Shenzhou's officials and people in welcoming the imperial carriage. The atmosphere was naturally stirred up to be enthusiastic. Having learned about Liu Jiqian in advance, the old Emperor indeed recalled the "old affair of the Imperial Uncle."

However, perhaps because the matter was too long past, or perhaps out of respect for the Xu Prince, or perhaps because Liu Jiqian's contributions during the palace construction had genuinely moved the old Emperor.

Toward Liu Jiqian and the Shenzhou officials, the old Emperor's attitude was very kind. He permitted Liu Jiqian to ride on horseback alongside the imperial entourage, as a sign of favor.

The main body of the field headquarters naturally remained camped outside the city. Of course, some ordinary accompanying ministers had already begun, under the guidance of Shenzhou officials, to check into their lodgings. The Shenzhou government had built a lakeside garden complex on the shores of Nanwan Lake southwest of Xinyang, with buildings and houses arranged in close succession, blending seamlessly with the surrounding lake and mountain scenery—an excellent environment.

The houses there were naturally prepared for the accompanying ministers. The Jigong Mountain Traveling Palace was an imperial detached palace; ordinary ministers could not reside there. Back when the summer resort site was being selected, Nanwan Lake, this "Pearl of Southern Henan," had also been an important weighing factor.

The completion of a traveling palace was by no means just the palace buildings in the mountains. Besides the garden district at Nanwan Lake, there was also a series of supporting facilities including military camps, horse pastures, and hunting grounds. To complete all of this relying solely on the strength of Shenzhou's three counties was clearly far from sufficient.

Likewise, for a construction project of such scale, even if Shenzhou only bore a portion of it, it was still a heavy burden for the prefecture.

In the past, Shenzhou's fiscal revenue, aside from agriculture, sericulture, fishing, and animal husbandry, came from "transit tolls." As an important hub connecting the Central Plains prefectures with the two Hu regions, the number of merchant caravans and travelers passing through north and south each year was extremely substantial. Merely providing hospitality services had yielded considerable profits—those who had historically held transportation advantages often reaped great gains.

Combined with the industrial advantage of Shenzhou's local specialty green tea (Maojian), over the past few decades, after paying taxes to the court and the circuit authorities, as well as the "profits" of the bureaucrats, the officials and people of Shenzhou had still accumulated a considerable amount of wealth.

But all these accumulations were consumed entirely by the Taikang Palace project. In this era of limited productivity, every achievement was wrought by the blood, sweat, and bare hands of the laboring masses at the bottom.

Those gleaming wonders devoured the flesh and blood of the common people. The selection of Shenzhou as the site for Taikang Palace was certainly an honor, but more than that, it was a suffering. As for the old Emperor's expectation that grand construction would drive economic development and bring blessings to Shenzhou's people—that was merely a self-righteous, ill-suited fantasy.

The number of people in the procession entering the city was not large; the most eye-catching was clearly that luxurious and majestic imperial carriage. The officials and people of Xinyang stood in sequence on both sides of the road—the meat-eaters with chests puffed and heads held high, the common folk prostrate with heads bowed—expressing their welcome to His Majesty.

The old Emperor was curled up inside the imperial carriage, unwilling to show his face easily. This was not entirely for security considerations, but because he felt that his current appearance was truly unfit to be displayed before the common folk. For the ignorant masses, the Emperor had best maintain a certain mystique. Of course, the fundamental reason was that the old Emperor was dissatisfied with his current wretched image.

However, though he remained inside the carriage, a strange feeling inexplicably arose in the old Emperor's heart, and this strangeness made him somewhat uncomfortable.

Something was off!

The small window was pulled open, the bright yellow curtain lifted to reveal a crack. Through the gap, one of the old Emperor's murky, lifeless eyes silently stared at the scene on the street, observing all the people and things he could see.

The people lining the street to greet him were not many, most kneeling in the narrow space beside the road, not daring to cross the line by a single step. Shenzhou's officials and people were humble, reverent; their submissive posture even seemed somewhat weak.

Most of the common folk kept their heads lowered. Occasionally someone would cautiously raise theirs, and the faces revealed were rarely seen with smiles—only misery and numbness. As for respect—they had all knelt down; wasn't that respect enough?

Unlike the common people, the bureaucrats, clerks, and runners were all spirited and energetic. Even knowing that His Majesty was unlikely to pay them any attention, they still presented their best appearance.

And Liu Jiqian, as the chief official of Shenzhou, rode a tall horse, impeccably dressed, with his head raised at an angle that carried some complacency, even arrogance.

Seeing this scene, a feeling of needing to speak out or burst suddenly arose in the old Emperor's heart. A breath lodged in his chest, neither rising nor falling.

This feeling came too violently, even going to his head. For a moment, his vision seemed to grow hazy, and the scene before him seemed to distort. The old Emperor felt as if he were in a surreal scene, and that intense sense of unreality even bred panic in him.

Vaguely, the old Emperor began to recall the old days. Back then, every time he left the capital—whether on inspection tours or campaigns—and every time he returned, he was greeted by the capital's citizens with flowers and cheers. Those surging waves of acclaim, many of them carried genuine emotion.

Why were Shenzhou's people so unenthusiastic? Was it because the Son of Heaven's majesty was too terrifying? No matter how confident the old Emperor was, he dared not think that way. That strange feeling grew even stronger.

And what the old Emperor did not know was that the very road the imperial carriage traveled had been temporarily "cleared." Xinyang's urban layout was cramped, and all buildings, civilian houses, shops, and even shop signs that might obstruct the imperial carriage's passage had been thoroughly removed by the government, all so that the carriage could proceed unimpeded straight to the prefectural office.

At this moment, Liu Jiqian, riding alongside the carriage, felt his heart surging. Perhaps triggered by his senses, he—who dared not look around—subconsciously glanced toward the imperial carriage and found himself staring directly at that one exposed eye of the old Emperor.

He nearly pissed himself in fright.