Chapter 2032: The Final Journey 1

The blazing sun beat down, yet the old Emperor showed not the slightest fear of it, lying calmly on the terrace of Taikang Hall—a soft chair, a light robe, sash not even fastened, chest bared, sagging flesh faintly visible, shoes and socks off, a pair of slightly deformed feet swaying in the air...

Even more incongruous with the old Emperor's bearing was the plain palm-leaf fan in his hand, which he was actually waving himself, with such a light touch that not even a strand of hair stirred.

"Your Majesty, His Highness the Prince of Yong requests an audience!"

"Admit him!" At this, the old Emperor reacted visibly, his hand pausing slightly as he instructed: "Bring a reclining chair for the Prince of Yong as well!"

"Yes!"

As the old Emperor's most beloved younger brother, Liu Chenghsun naturally could not be forgotten when it came to such a fine place as Taikang Palace. Before long, Liu Chenghsun came to pay his respects: "Your servant pays homage to Your Majesty!"

Liu Chenghsun was perhaps the one person toward whom the old Emperor's attitude was most unfeigned. Turning his head, he smiled at him and pointed with his hand: "Sit!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty!"

Soon, two old men lay reclining before Taikang Hall—one slovenly and unkempt, the other noticeably more proper and reserved. The palm-leaf fan still waved on and off, and the old Emperor asked in a casual tone: "Sanlang, you came after all!"

"Your Majesty is unwell; it is only fitting that your servant come to pay a visit." Liu Chenghsun's voice was also noticeably more aged.

"Rumors are stirring outside again, aren't they!" the old Emperor said coldly: "Even far from the imperial city and palaces, there is still this much trouble, this much unfathomable scheming—no peace to be had! Of those requesting an audience, how many truly care about my health? They are all people with ulterior motives!"

Hearing the old Emperor's heartless words, Liu Chenghsun was silent for a moment, then sighed softly: "How does Your Majesty feel now?"

"Merely somewhat depressed in spirits, yet some people spread it as if it were a matter of heaven-shaking importance, stirring up trouble and unsettling hearts. If they did not harbor treacherous intentions, why would they be jumping about so frantically?"

Hearing the old Emperor rambling on again, making no effort to hide his suspicion of his ministers, Liu Chenghsun's brows finally knit tightly. He cast a barely perceptible glance at him, thinking to himself: Second Brother, can you truly not see that your own problem is the greatest of all?

However, such a presumptuous question, even for the Prince of Yong, was not something to voice aloud. Liu Chenghsun was noticeably quieter during this audience, and the old Emperor sensed something amiss, asking: "Why so quiet? What are you thinking about?"

At the question, Liu Chenghsun sighed softly and said in a comforting tone: "They are merely some corrupt officials and cruel clerks who oppress the people. Since you have encountered them, disposing of them suffices—why must Your Majesty brood over it so?"

Hearing Liu Chenghsun say this, the old Emperor turned his head and said flatly: "Sanlang, with your understanding of me, do you think I would dwell on such a trifling matter, unable to let it go?"

"Then why?" Liu Chenghsun asked softly, following the thread.

The old Emperor fell silent. After a moment, instead of answering, he asked a question that left Liu Chenghsun utterly astonished: "Sanlang, how many years do you think the foundation of the Great Han can endure and be passed down?"

At this, Liu Chenghsun could hardly conceal the shock on his face. Meeting the old Emperor's gaze, he found it so deep and intent. Suppressing the turmoil within, Liu Chenghsun answered with extraordinary firmness: "Naturally, for ten thousand generations!"

"Ten thousand generations? Heh heh!" The old Emperor laughed at once: "Sanlang, these four words—search your heart, do you truly believe them yourself?"

Liu Chenghsun naturally could not say he did not believe them, for would that not be deceiving the sovereign to his face? Moreover, the old Emperor's current state was clearly not quite normal, and looking at his eyes, he seemed to want to hear the truth—truly a difficult position.

After a brief pause, Liu Chenghsun avoided the question and instead asked: "Your Majesty, why would you worry about such a matter?"

The old Emperor said with a wistful tone: "Perhaps I am too idle! Or perhaps, in recent years, I have grown too lax, too degenerate, and lost confidence in myself!"

"Your Majesty—"

Liu Chenghsun clearly wanted to offer words of counsel, to keep the old Emperor from sinking too deeply into such negative emotions and thoughts, for that would be good for no one.

However, although the old Emperor was in this deep and oppressive mood, his mind remained calm and his thinking clear—not a trace of the muddle-headedness and confusion he had shown earlier. This contradiction was especially striking in the old Emperor at this moment.

"Enough. Some things cannot be solved or changed just by us brothers chatting. Each generation has its own blessings—now that I chew on those words again and again, the more I find them true!" the old Emperor murmured. Judging by his state, it was less a matter of having found peace of mind or a broader perspective than of having compromised, having gone numb.

"You came to see me—even if a little late, I am glad in my heart!" the old Emperor continued: "I once promised your sister-in-law that I would take her to roam the world, and I broke my word; in earlier years I also declared I would walk every corner of the Great Han's borders and see this fine land with my own eyes—and I never did!"

"Take the southern circuit prefectures, for instance—their importance to the court grows year by year, supplying more than half the realm's taxes and revenues. Yet the farthest I have ever traveled on inspection was only to Jinling, barely across the Yangtze!" the old Emperor rambled: "Oh, and Mother passed away suddenly during that southern tour..."

As he spoke, the old Emperor was actually overcome with grief, his voice choking. He raised a hand to wipe the corner of his eye before saying to Liu Chenghsun: "Do you remember, in the early years, whether on campaign or on inspection, I always chose to leave you guarding the capital, or holding command over a region. Even now, thinking back, I still find those days fond.

The achievements I made—you, the Prince of Yong, had a share in them. Go back and pack your things, then accompany me on one more stretch of the road, to see the rivers and mountains of the Great Han.

I keep feeling that my time is running short. This journey, after all, is under the name of a southern inspection tour—while I can still move, let me make one more earnest inspection."

The more the old Emperor spoke, the more emotional he became, and Liu Chenghsun, listening, found his own eyes brimming with tears—so much so that the old Emperor ended up comforting him instead.

The two brothers conversed intimately. Neither was young anymore; they rarely spoke of the present, spending most of their time recalling the past—laughing heartily at happy memories, not holding back tears at sorrowful ones. They talked freely for over an hour before parting.

Leaving Taikang Hall, his steps very slow, Liu Chenghsun did not turn back until he had walked some distance away. His eyes were tinged with red, his gaze extraordinarily complex, and he softly called out in his heart: Second Brother...

Continuing the southern tour was not a whim of the old Emperor's, a decision made on a sudden impulse, but something he had thought through carefully. He truly did wish, as in the early years, to put his mind to it and go see the sights.

However, putting an imperial tour into practice was not as simple as a single sentence. Wanting to travel light as he had when privately visiting Luoshan County was hardly realistic either, for the target this time was the entire southern realm.

First was the matter of timing. In the height of summer, travel was naturally inadvisable—at the very least one had to wait until autumn, or even later when the autumn chill had set in. Of course, the spare time could be used for preparations.

The entourage would also need to be trimmed. This was no longer a pleasure trip for sightseeing and escaping the heat; the old Emperor intended to bring only the Inner Palace troops, along with a portion of serving palace attendants and civil and military officials, keeping the total number compressed to under five thousand.

As for everyone else—back to where they came from. They had enjoyed their fun, seen Taikang Palace, and weathered the summer heat; they could not be allowed to remain in Shenzhou on "imperial orders" and cause trouble for the locality. Among the consorts, the old Emperor even allowed only the Virtuous and Proper Consorts to accompany him; all others were sent back to the capital. From this series of arrangements, one could see that the old Emperor truly wanted to be thorough this time—though it inevitably seemed a little late.

It was not until mid-July that all matters were settled and the inspection route finalized. The old Emperor formally issued an edict, once again embarking on his southern tour, with the first destination being Ezhou of the Jinghu Northern Circuit.

However, on the very night before departure, the old Emperor suffered another blow: Liu Chenghsun, Prince of Yong of the Great Han, died of illness at Taikang Palace. Upon first hearing the grievous news, the old Emperor refused to believe it—his first reaction was even to have the eunuch who reported it beheaded. The Prince of Yong dead? How could that be? He was younger than himself, had rarely been ill all along, and was preparing to continue the southern tour with him—how could he suddenly be gone?

Yet things always happen in ways that catch one unprepared. The Prince of Yong suddenly developed a malignant sore; his condition deteriorated sharply, and in barely three days he died abruptly, without even letting the old Emperor see him one last time, without leaving a single word of farewell.

And according to reports, the Prince of Yong's illness closely resembled the miasmic fevers common in the South Seas—possibly a root of illness contracted during his voyage to the South Seas years ago.

The death of the Prince of Yong shook the court and the realm. For the old Emperor, no word was too severe to describe it. The old Emperor had long grown accustomed to old companions passing away one by one. At this point, if someone reported to him that some Duke had died or some meritorious minister had passed, he would probably need to muster his grief, at most offering a sentence or two of lamentation before having the court conduct a memorial service according to protocol—nothing more.

But there were always a rare few people in this world who could break the old Emperor's heart. When the grievous news of the Prince of Yong's death was confirmed, the old Emperor nearly fainted, then immediately fell into hysterical, wailing sobs—his grief, at full measure, even more severe than when Prince of Qin Liu Xu had died.

The last time before that had been when Empress Fu passed away. In daily life, one might only know that the old Emperor valued the Prince of Yong highly, but what might have surprised many was that Liu Chenghsun's standing in the old Emperor's heart was so high that he would abandon all dignity, tears and snot streaming down his face, even cursing Heaven itself.

Of course, this might also be related to the old Emperor's current state of mind—those in whom he could place his complete trust could no longer be counted on one hand.

With Liu Chenghsun's sudden passing, the old Emperor's southern tour plans were naturally delayed. At Jigong Mountain, a grand memorial ceremony was held, with several hundred Daoist priests and Buddhist monks summoned to conduct rites—nearly sweeping up all the monks and Daoists in the vicinity. After seven days and seven nights, the Prince of Xu was tasked with escorting the coffin back to Luoyang, where Crown Prince Liu Yang presided over the burial.

How esteemed the Prince of Yong was in the Great Han could be seen from one detail: among the imperial clan, he was the only one who had built his tomb during his lifetime—a tomb! Built by imperial decree of the old Emperor, with the site chosen at Mang Mountain, as one of the old Emperor's companion tombs.

As for the old Emperor, struck down once again, he continued his southern tour with a heavy heart according to the original plan. Heading south from Jigong Mountain, passing through Anzhou to reach Ezhou, it took a full twelve days to arrive. He did not engage in any pretentious incognito inspections this time, but instead displayed his full imperial procession, crossed Hanyang, and entered Jiangxia, the prefectural seat.

This southern tour was not a casual affair for the old Emperor; his goal was clear—for the first time in his forty-plus years of imperial reign, to tour the southern realm's rivers and mountains.

At the same time, he would briefly inspect the political conditions and popular sentiment of the southern circuit prefectures, console the southern gentry and commoners with the dignity of the Emperor, lecture the officials, encourage the clerks, reassure the people, and expand the imperial house's influence in the south as much as possible.

The old Emperor thought to himself that this might be the last great deed he could do for the foundation of the Great Han and the Liu family's realm. On reflection, this journey needed to be made—even if not by him, future sovereigns ought to do the same.

After all, although the southern half of the realm had been under the Great Han court's rule for nearly thirty years—close to two generations—this was truly the first time the supreme ruler had personally attended to affairs there. The old Emperor's early southern tour had been far too brief, never going deep, and its influence had been limited.