Chapter 2054: The Final Journey (End)

Whether it was the matter of enfeoffment in the South Seas itself, or the old Emperor's grave expression, both made Liu Chun treat the matter with solemnity. After deliberating for a moment, he slowly said, "Your subject recalls that when Zhou enfeoffed the realm, the four barbarians were all present, and many did not submit. They were held in check by the feudal lords, and eight hundred years later, all was unified under China. The vast lands surrounding the Great Han today are no different from the various barbarians of the Zhou era."

Liu Chun's torrent of words had just gotten going when the old Emperor cut him off: "I did not ask about the Zhou Son of Heaven's enfeoffment. You need not beat around the bush with me—just speak plainly!"

"Yes!" Noting the old Emperor's displeased gaze, Liu Chun's heart tightened. After a slight adjustment, he clasped his hands and bowed: "Your Majesty, in your subject's humble opinion, the purpose of enfeoffing states since ancient times has been to open up new lands and hold them."

"If we were to wait for the court to conquer and govern every territory before enfeoffing, that would defeat the very meaning of enfeoffment, and would also go against Your Majesty's original intention in enfeoffing the South Seas!"

"If enfeoffment must await a suitable opportune moment, then your subject believes that when the barbarian states have all been destroyed and the grand design has not yet been fully woven, that is precisely the right time. As for the management of the South Seas, the court ultimately cannot handle everything itself. Enfeoffing states to govern them would be a way to lighten the court's burden and deepen our administration of the South Seas!"

With that, Liu Chun lowered his head and folded his hands, looking as if he had finished speaking. And his words, the old Emperor had clearly taken in. After a brief moment of thought, he suddenly looked up and asked, "You have brought the latest map of the South Seas, haven't you?"

"Yes!" Liu Chun replied, and immediately made arrangements for someone to fetch the map.

Before long, a sheepskin map that looked somewhat worn but was richer and clearer in content was slowly unfurled before the old Emperor. The old Emperor rose, walked to the map stand, and unconsciously stroked his white beard, his eyes fixed intently on the Southern Gold Province and the three islands of Java, centered on Liangping Island.

Compared to the South Seas maps the old Emperor had seen before, this new map clearly refreshed his impression. The greatest difference was that the markings for Han people and the Han army were denser and covered a wider area.

Although in terms of geographical presentation, more than half of the three islands remained in a chaotic, vague state, one could still sense from the map that after two years of war, the Han army and people's understanding of these three islands was deepening—as if the mist that limited one's vision was gradually thinning and dissipating.

"Perhaps as you said, the time has come!" After a long while, the old Emperor remarked with emotion. His eyelids drooped, his gaze turning somewhat sharp, and he muttered softly: "If we don't act now, there won't be enough time! After I die, someone will surely 'turn their coat.'"

The old Emperor's voice was very low, and Liu Chun and the others could not hear clearly, but even the few scattered words that did emerge were enough to shock the three royal family members present. The two imperial grandsons, Wenhuan and Wenji, who had not been able to get a word in anyway, now buried their heads even lower.

Liu Chun also felt a chill run through him, a flicker of contemplation crossing his face. But before he could think further, he heard the old Emperor say, "You have worked hard. Return to Luoyang and pay your respects at your father's funeral!"

"Yes!" Liu Chun responded instinctively.

"Additionally, the title of Prince of Yong shall be inherited by you. The decree will be issued shortly!" The old Emperor sighed softly, then added in a tone of admonition: "The line of the Prince of Yong must be well guarded—do not bring shame to the family name. Conduct yourself well!"

"Yes!" Liu Chun bowed again, his voice somewhat choked.

Liu Chun withdrew with no small measure of doubt. Inheriting his late father's princely title was expected, and the old Emperor had not shortchanged him in the slightest. What Liu Chun was uncertain about was—having inherited the title of Prince of Yong, what would become of his enfeoffed state?

That territory in the South Seas—at least the major towns of Java Island—had been taken by him and his soldiers. Regardless of the old Emperor's attitude, at least as far as Liu Chun was concerned, the South Seas enfeoffment should include a share for his line.

Under the Great Han's current system, having a fief overseas could only bring benefits, not harm. Of course, the precondition was ensuring one's status and treatment within the home country.

But unfortunately, even while in the South Seas, he had heard the story of Liu Wenyuan being enfeoffed with the State of Andong. If things turned out that way, it would not be so pleasant.

Liu Chun was a clever man—even a shrewd one. He certainly could not ignore the geopolitical differences between Andong and the South Seas, nor the obscure but fundamental conflicts among the imperial heirs. But if the same outcome were to befall him, harming the interests of his father's line, that would be most displeasing.

The old Emperor, for his part, had no idea that his nephew had entertained so many stray thoughts in such a short time. After continuing to study the new South Seas map for a while, he finally could no longer stand, and pointing at the map, asked the second imperial grandson, who was attending him with downcast eyes: "What are your views on the South Seas?"

Upon being asked, Liu Wenhuan instinctively glanced at Liu Wenji first. Since that clash at Jiangling, the brothers had begun to compete with each other—though perhaps due to their personalities, it was usually Liu Wenhuan who came across as aggressive.

After only a brief moment of thought, Liu Wenhuan said, "Just now, merely hearing the imperial uncle's account made my heart soar with longing. Crossing the vast oceans, leading armies to conquer states, expanding territory—truly the deeds of a hero!"

Liu Wenji remained in his usual unhurried manner. He did not look at his elder brother, but instead glanced at the old Emperor, then, gauging the old Emperor's attitude, said softly, "When your grandson was in the capital, I often used and saw local products from the South Seas. The common folk all speak of the vastness of the South Seas and the abundance of its goods, and it does seem that a great many people have profited from it. But as to how things truly stand, I still feel like looking at flowers through a mist—unclear."

"If given the opportunity, I should follow the example of the imperial uncle, Grandfather, and the soldiers and people of the South Seas—go there in person and see for myself. Only then can I truly appreciate Grandfather's painstaking efforts and far-reaching vision in opening up the South Seas."

What a silver tongue! After Liu Wenji finished speaking, Liu Wenhuan felt a pang of displeasure, and his gaze toward him carried a hint of contempt. When he noticed the old Emperor's beaming expression, his look turned even more sour.

For Liu Wenhuan, the kind of lukewarm, ingratiating performance Liu Wenji put on was the most unbearable thing. What made it unbearable was that he himself could not do it—he could not go against his nature and put on an act. From childhood to now, Liu Wenhuan had always been heaven's favored son, with his own pride and reserve.

Yet, watching Liu Wenji win their father's and grandfather's favor through such means made Liu Wenhuan's heart burn with resentment.

The two emotions tugged back and forth in Liu Wenhuan's mind, while the old Emperor dismissed Liu Wenji's answer with a smile. Leaning on his bamboo staff, he slowly returned to the warm mat. Once seated, he looked at his two spirited imperial grandsons and said with some wistfulness:

"Only by seeing with your own eyes can you truly appreciate how vast this world is! I no longer have the chance, but you are still young. If the opportunity arises in the future, go and see it for me—consider it fulfilling one of my long-cherished wishes."

"Opening up the South Seas—we've sung that tune loudly for decades, and yet to my old age, I still have not seen it with my own eyes."

Seeing the old Emperor sink once more into his own sentimental reverie, the brothers had nothing to do but echo the old man's sentiments.

"Hu De!"

"This humble servant is here! Please give your commands, Your Majesty!" The moment the old Emperor called, Hu De immediately scurried out and bowed to receive his orders.

"How much longer until the field headquarters' main force arrives?" the old Emperor asked.

"Reporting to Your Majesty, according to the latest report from the field headquarters, based on the distance, they should reach the port in about three more days!"

Upon hearing this, the old Emperor thought briefly, then ordered: "Transmit the order—in five days, the imperial carriage departs, touring eastward!"

Hearing this order, Hu De could not help but ask, "Your Majesty, the new year is about to begin, and the Lantern Festival is not far off. May I ask where Your Majesty intends to spend the festival, and whether the local authorities should prepare in advance?"

"We'll go wherever the road takes us! As for the festival—it's the same wherever we spend it!" The old Emperor waved his hand, looking utterly indifferent.

Hu De nodded, then immediately asked, "Will Your Majesty continue eastward by boat?" "I've had enough of boats!" the old Emperor said flatly.

"Yes!" Hu De responded at once, asking no further questions. He turned and went to transmit the decree and make arrangements.

And so, under the old Emperor's insistence, the field headquarters set out five days later, accompanying the old Emperor on his eastward tour—even in the dead of winter, he would not let anyone have a moment's peace.

By the time the thirtieth year of Kaibao arrived, they had only just entered Huizhou. When the Lantern Festival came around, they still had not left the Guangnan East Circuit. Sensing, perhaps, the reluctance emanating from the entire field headquarters, the old Emperor finally showed a bit more understanding and ordered that the new year be celebrated in Haiyang, the prefectural seat of Chaozhou, with three days of grand festivities to dispel the resentment.

In Haiyang, on the day of the Lantern Festival banquet, the old Emperor issued his belated first decree of the new year. Its content had nothing whatsoever to do with the festivities—it was the formal enfeoffment of the South Seas region.

After that conversation with Liu Chun, the old Emperor's enfeoffment strategy had undergone some changes, and Liu Chun's concerns were resolved in this decree.

Based on the current progress of the expeditionary army, the old Emperor divided the three islands into four parts, formally establishing four enfeoffed states: the Northern Gold Province (the Malay Peninsula) was granted to Prince Qi, Liu Yun; the Southern Gold Province (Sumatra) was granted to the line of the late Prince Liang, Liu Xiao; Java Island was split in two—West Java was granted to the line of the Prince of Yong, and East Java was given to the twelfth prince, Duke Yue of Yue, Liu Han (son of Consort Guo Ning).

These were decisions the old Emperor had made after deep deliberation—in fact, they were swayed by his personal preferences. Of course, unlike before, these enfeoffments were gifts, additional rewards, and the recipients retained their domestic titles and treatment.

In other words, the old Emperor had abandoned his earlier idea of driving all his sons out. A melon forced from the vine is not sweet. On the contrary—here's the territory, manage it however you like. As for how things would develop in the future, the old Emperor simply did not have the energy to think about it anymore.

At worst, things could not regress to before the southern expedition. So many pioneers of the South Seas would not slack off, and the trade chain that had been established in the South Seas would not easily break.

The greatest impact Liu Chun's words had on the old Emperor was that he no longer intended to manage everything himself. He had made a good start; now he would simply let it develop.

The vast South Seas region, of course, comprised more than just those three islands, but the rest the old Emperor intended to leave for his descendants. Whether it was the South Seas enfeoffed states or future emperors, they all needed some room to maneuver.

Of course, having enfeoffed the south, the old Emperor would not forget the west. Having enfeoffed the younger ones, he would not neglect the elder sons he trusted and valued. But as to how to enfeoff Anxi, and how to arrange for his two sons Liu Xi and Liu Fang, he still had not figured it out—because he cared, he hesitated.

In early summer of the thirtieth year of Kaibao, the imperial carriage had already arrived in Hangzhou. Counting from the departure from Luoyang, a full year had passed since the old Emperor's southern tour. This might not have been the farthest the old Emperor had ever traveled from the capital, but it was unquestionably the longest journey of his life, and the most exhausting.

Throughout the past spring, the old Emperor had spent most of his time in the two circuits of Min and Zhe, winding his way from Zhangquan and Fujian, skimming over the sights, until he reached Hangzhou. Perhaps sensing the complaints from the localities, the old Emperor had been much more restrained in the Min and Zhe circuits, not causing the excessive upheaval he had in the two Hu and Guangdong.

This rather surprised the officials of the two circuits, as they had already braced themselves for the worst. Still, no one was a glutton for punishment. The old Emperor was gentle as a spring breeze and passed through lightly, so they received him with eager hospitality, making him feel entirely at home.

Of course, not executing a single person was not the old Emperor's style either. But for the senior officials of the two circuits, offering up the heads of a few corrupt officials and foolish thieves who had incurred public wrath—upward, it gave the old Emperor something to show for his tour; downward, it appeased popular resentment. Why not?

As long as the old Emperor did not keep overturning the table, launching political campaigns, and inflicting mass executions and guilt-by-association, everyone would naturally be loyal to the sovereign and devoted to the state, presenting the most prosperous and beautiful side of the Kaibao golden age to the old Emperor.

However, for the old Emperor himself, although this journey grew increasingly harmonious and agreeable by the day, his mood continued to sink into a deepening abyss. His vital energy was failing day by day, and sometimes his very soul seemed to drift off to who knows where.

During the year of the old Emperor's tour, the most prominent problem from the central government to the localities was the multiplicity of commands. On his southern tour, the old Emperor issued all sorts of impromptu orders and actions, which obviously could not be coordinated with the central court in Luoyang. During the days the old Emperor was away, Luoyang seemed to have broken free of its restraints—before the old Emperor had even died, some people were already writing poems subtly praising the relaxed and harmonious atmosphere of the court in the old Emperor's absence.

At the same time, the old Emperor's disruptive activities in the provinces ultimately all had to be implemented and cleaned up after by the central government. His various deeds in Huguang and Guangdong also sparked widespread controversy at court—one could even call it "condemnation."

Especially the "Fan People's Uprising" in Guangzhou Prefecture and the "Shangyuan Edict" issued after the New Year both made the Luoyang court unable to approve. The old Emperor was simply too disruptive, too headstrong, and his methods too crude. Moreover, the court ministers genuinely could not feel any respect from the old Emperor toward them. Of course, such complaints could only surface while the old Emperor was away from the capital.

During this process, Crown Prince Liu Yang's role was incalculable. Had he not calmly and composedly mediated the contradictions between the field headquarters and Luoyang over policies and decrees, striving to maintain a stable situation, the old Emperor could never have toured the provinces for so long, and Luoyang might have long since erupted into chaos—ultimately inviting another round of the old Emperor overturning the table.

To be fair, maintaining the Great Han's current situation was a truly testing matter for Crown Prince Liu Yang. But as time went on, it grew increasingly difficult. Beneath the old Emperor's "tyrannical might," everyone felt suffocated. As heir apparent, Liu Yang felt this most keenly of all, and he often found himself caught in conflicts and entanglements of thought.

It was somewhat hard to believe, but in the eyes of many of the Great Han's powerful and privileged, the most concentrated and fundamental contradiction at the upper levels of the Great Han Empire lay precisely with the old Emperor.

Although the old Emperor had led his subjects to conquer an empire of unprecedented vastness and created a glorious era that split heaven and earth, after more than forty years, the subjects of the Great Han Empire truly had begun to loathe their Emperor.

Indeed, an absurd yet profoundly real sentiment had quietly taken shape: if the old Emperor did not die, the Empire could never find peace.

In Hangzhou, the old Emperor did only two things. First, he viewed the Qiantang tidal bore and issued instructions to reinforce the Qiantang seawall.

Second, he toured West Lake. Of course, in the old Emperor's eyes, although West Lake's scenery was beautiful, compared to the famous mountains and great rivers he had seen, it lacked grandeur. Seized by a whim, he even did something that spoiled the scenery—he urinated into West Lake. (This even later became a tourist attraction at West Lake.)

Before leaving Hangzhou, the old Emperor received another piece of mourning news: Zhao Pu had passed away. Zhao Pu's death had been foreshadowed. Since being appointed chancellor for the second time, he had poured nearly all his heart and energy into the court's institutional reforms. The challenges and pressures this undertaking faced were something those not in his position could hardly comprehend.

As early as the winter of last year, Zhao Pu's health had already failed him, but he had kept persevering, with imperial physicians monitoring and attending to him at all times.

By all reason, surviving the bitter cold should have meant surviving a tribulation—after the warm spring flowers bloomed, he ought to have gradually recovered. But as fate would have it, Zhao Pu passed away suddenly in the third month, just as the grass grew and orioles sang. The day before his death, he had still been chatting and laughing with his family.

Although the old Emperor appeared restrained in the face of Zhao Pu's death, an inexpressible grief filled his heart throughout. That broken heart, so tested by partings between life and death, had ultimately never become completely numb.

Just as when Lin Renzhao had died, the old Emperor saw his own reflection in Zhao Pu's death—only this time, more clearly than ever.

For Zhao Pu, the old Emperor also bestowed the honor befitting the foremost minister of the Kaibao era, posthumously conferring upon him the title Duke of Xun. Of course, what his family could pass down was only the Marquis of Xunyang.

In the fifth month of the thirtieth year of Kaibao, wandering through the beautiful scenery of Jiangzhe, intoxicated by the soft Wu dialect, the old Emperor set out from Hangzhou, passed through Hu, Su, Chang, and Run, and arrived at Jinling, the foremost prefecture of Jiangnan. This was the old Emperor's first personal visit in several decades.

There was no sense of things having changed while people remained the same. The old Emperor was not particularly familiar with this ancient capital, nor did he harbor any delicate sentiments toward it. He merely thought of Li Yu, who had died during a southern tour—had he returned to Jinling thirty years later, with his emotions fully stirred, he would surely have produced a poem that would be recited for a thousand years.

Perhaps feeling that his previous stay in Jinling had been brief—cut short by Empress Dowager Li's death, forcing him to hurry back to the capital—this time, the old Emperor decided to remain in Jinling for a longer period.

But as so often happens, misfortune arrives before tomorrow. The arrival of another piece of mourning news once again disrupted the old Emperor's plans.

The problem lay not in how serious the news itself was, but in the old Emperor's reaction upon hearing it. It was like the last straw that broke the camel's back. Even one as strong as the old Emperor could not withstand it, and it made Jinling city the final stop of the old Emperor's southern tour.

The mourning news concerned Prince of Jin Liu Xi, who had died of illness in Chengdu on the fourth day of the fourth month of the thirtieth year of Kaibao.