Chapter 2078: Taizong Chronicles 20: The First Year Succession Struggle

"You wish to resign?" Inside Chuigong Hall, Emperor Liu Yang frowned slightly, looking with surprise at the Duke of Lu, Liu Ai, who stood solemnly with clasped hands before the throne, his low voice carrying a hint of displeasure.

That was right—the Duke of Lu. In the summer of this very year, Emperor Liu Yang had once again bestowed favors upon his brothers, though only upon a select few. Among them, Liu Ai was elevated to Duke of Lu for his merit in assisting governance, Liu Zhao was elevated to Prince of Yan by virtue of his status as the legitimate son of Shizu, and the fifteenth imperial brother Liu Xuan was granted the title Duke of Shu, while the sixteenth imperial brother Liu Yao was granted Duke of Han.

At this point, all sixteen sons born to Emperor Shizu had received titles and ranks. Liu Yao ranked last and was young in years, so his enfeoffment was purely an act of grace. By contrast, the fifteenth brother Liu Xuan had fared far worse.

He had long since reached the age for enfeoffment, but because he had once defied Emperor Shizu's will, becoming the first to speak out against enfeoffment to save the state, he had been singled out for a lesson—killing the chicken to warn the monkeys. Add to that the later incident where Consort Hui's pleas for a title had angered the late emperor, and even by the time Liu Yang ascended the throne, Liu Xuan still had no title or rank, trapped in an extremely awkward position, unable to hold his head up among the upper echelons of the capital's elite.

It was a pitiful tale. Liu Yang's act of grace had finally resolved Liu Xuan's embarrassment, allowing the twenty-four-year-old Liu Xuan to finally "hold his head up" and live with dignity.

Liu Yang did feel some sympathy for Liu Xuan's plight, believing the late emperor had been too harsh, but his show of grace was clearly not so simple in purpose.

Winning hearts and minds was naturally one aim—at the very least, Liu Xuan and his mother were now endlessly grateful to Liu Yang, and Consort Hui went around praising the current emperor's wisdom and virtue to everyone she met, constantly building Liu Yang's reputation within the capital's circle of noble ladies. Moreover, Consort Hui's surname was Fu—she was the younger sister of the late Empress Xiaoxianren, Liu Yang's own second aunt. Given that connection, a little favoritism along the way was hardly improper.

Of course, as a mature politician, personal sentiment accounted for only a small portion of Liu Yang's decision-making factors. Behind the enfeoffment of his brothers lay other, more obscure yet more critical reasons: the Crown Prince.

Without question, the choice of Crown Prince was the most serious of the many problems Liu Yang faced after taking the throne, and one he could not avoid. From the moment he ascended, the struggle had unfolded on all fronts, both overt and covert.

Even back in Emperor Shizu's time, the Eastern Palace had been far from peaceful. The Crown Princess and Consort Zhao, along with the two military-political forces they respectively represented—the Murong clan and the Zhao clan—had been locked in open and covert strife, quite the lively affair.

But back then, the scope and intensity of the struggle had been limited, for Emperor Shizu had been there to keep a lid on things. If anyone went too far, not only would they get a beating themselves, but the Crown Prince would suffer the fallout as well.

Of course, for a long period, Crown Princess Murong had failed to produce a prince, which led her to adopt Liu Wenji, born of Consort Xiao. This also meant that for quite some time, the struggles within the Eastern Palace manifested as women's "jealous quarrels."

The fundamental change came only when the Crown Princess gave birth to the legitimate son Liu Wenpeng—a landmark turning point. From then on, the Crown Princess, like Empress Fu in her day, was cloaked in the aura of righteousness, unshakable.

By comparison, Consort Zhao's original greatest "support" was no longer so reliable. After all, in the ritual system of the Great Han, the distinction between legitimate and illegitimate came before the order of seniority.

And on the question of succession, unlike Emperor Shizu's "impartiality," Liu Yang remained in a state of hesitation, his attitude wavering.

On one hand, he instinctively upheld the system of legitimate eldest succession; on the other, he held great hopes for his two elder princes who had cost him no small amount of effort. The latter sentiment actually aligned with a certain phase of Emperor Shizu's own psychology.

It was precisely in this contradictory state of mind that, before his ascension, no discussion of the Crown Prince question had taken place in any form; at the coronation ceremony, only the establishment of Murong as Empress was confirmed, with not a word said about the Crown Prince. This decision was made to wait a while longer, observe more, and defer the matter for later discussion.

After all, the Crown Prince concerned the very foundation of the state. Establishing a Crown Prince was not merely a matter of confirming status—if you gave the title, you also had to give power. Consider the configuration of the Eastern Palace when he himself had been made Crown Prince; it involved the court situation and would inevitably trigger changes in the imperial center's power structure and distribution.

If that were the case, Liu Yang would have to add another layer of concern on many major state affairs, especially personnel matters. The saying goes, "don't throw stones for fear of breaking the vase"—why put himself in such an awkward position?

Perhaps it was also a sovereign's instinct to naturally resist the division of his own authority. Besides, he had only been emperor for such a short time, just beginning to enjoy it, and he was in the prime of his life—why rush?

On the other hand, not rushing to establish a Crown Prince was also a form of protection for the successor. The position of Crown Prince had never been an easy one in any dynasty. Having spent nearly thirty-five years as Crown Prince himself, Liu Yang had plenty of authority on this subject. That he had ultimately broken through, donned the yellow robe, and achieved the final success was the result of great perseverance, great wisdom, and great forbearance.

First, the choice was hard to settle; second, it concerned his own authority; third, he wanted to avoid factional strife. Based on these three reasons, Liu Yang sent a clear signal to the court: the Crown Prince question was to be shelved for the time being.

However, this was ultimately wishful thinking. Liu Yang wanted to postpone, but others did not think the same way, and it was hard for things to go as he wished. Over the past half year and more, in the palace and at court, people had ceaselessly murmured reminders in his ear, and ceaselessly submitted memorials urging: settle the foundation of the state early, to reassure the people.

And from those tangled personnel and remonstrances, it was hard to distinguish loyalty from treachery, good from evil. All one could see was inscrutable human hearts and self-interested scheming. Among them, aside from those pure-stream pedants who had to stick their noses into everything to show they existed, the most eager were the Zhao faction, led by Zhao Kuangyi and Zhao Dezhao.

On this matter, they made no attempt to conceal themselves—and given their position, concealment was impossible. Not to mention how strong Zhao Kuangyi's political ambitions were, even if he were indifferent and detached, there would inevitably be a crowd of people behind him pushing him forward to lead everyone in the struggle.

The Zhao clan no longer represented merely the Zhao family; it also encompassed the interests of a large wave of meritorious nobles and officials. Although Emperor Shizu had once suppressed the Zhao brothers, he had ultimately not struck the killing blow, which meant the Zhao clan had always maintained powerful influence within the Great Han and held a share of the voice.

Zhao Kuangyin in the military, Zhao Kuangyi in politics—the strength and foundation these two brothers had accumulated over decades was not to be underestimated by anyone. Especially Zhao Kuangyin: although he himself and most of the old nobles of his era had passed away, the military-political force centered on them had survived, grown stronger, and become deeply entrenched.

Of course, this could not be called a very solid military-political alliance. There were internal divisions, and cohesion was not that strong—otherwise, given Emperor Shizu's temperament, a killing blow would have been quite likely.

It was just that most of the time, their interests aligned. On the Crown Prince question, for instance, everyone's support was stronger, and they could try to pull in the same direction.

After all, though the Great Han Empire was vast, the highest-level power and various resources were ultimately limited. When the cake could not be enlarged, people had to snatch food from one another.

By now, at the same dining table, the imperial family's plate was naturally the largest and its food the most delicious, while every other family's plate was essentially fixed. To make a breakthrough, one either continued expanding outward or snatched food from the plates of others at the same table. By comparison, the latter might be more difficult and riskier, but the returns were equally higher.

For that batch of nobles and officials centered on the Zhao clan, elevating a prince born of the Zhao family to the position of Crown Prince, and later having him inherit the throne, would surely bring considerable returns.

Of course, for the powerful and privileged, going down one road to the bitter end was inadvisable. Once things seemed unlikely to succeed, jumping ship was only natural. But at least in the early stages, they would provide some genuine support. On this basis, Zhao Kuangyi's ability to mobilize forces at court to attack the difficult problem of the "Crown Prince" was very formidable.

On the other hand, as one of the historical problems left by Emperor Shizu, the Great Han's vast group of meritorious nobles and aristocrats contained many different interest blocs, and the situation was highly complex—the Zhao family was not the only one.

At the very least, as the other protagonist in the Crown Prince struggle, the Murong clan's weight was in no way lighter than the Zhao clan's; their strength and influence even surpassed it. If one only compared the size of their forces, there was no concrete standard—each had its advantages, and they were roughly evenly matched.

But from start to finish, the Murong clan had in fact held the upper hand over the Zhao clan. Murong Yanzhao was a founding veteran minister, an early commander of the Great Han. No matter how great Zhao Kuangyin's later achievements were, he was a latecomer. Setting aside the achievements of the previous generation, just looking at the two consorts—one was the legitimate wife, the other a secondary consort. Superior and inferior, master and servant—the status had long been fixed. This was the Murong clan's greatest confidence in this struggle: the legitimacy conferred by the Great Han's ritual system, giving them a natural advantage over Consort Zhao.

It was precisely for this reason that Zhao Kuangyi appeared so anxious. He was a traditional civil official who cultivated morality and ritual law, and he knew all too well how stubborn and powerful that set of rituals, ingrained in people's hearts for decades, truly was. Were it not for reasons of position and interest, he would never have dreamed of challenging it, for it meant going against the current.

At the same time, only by fighting early could their chances of success be greater. At least for now, Liu Wenhuan still held the character "elder," and his "worthiness" had also been demonstrated in the late years of Emperor Shizu. Liu Wenpeng was constantly growing up. If they did not strive with all their might, as time passed, Liu Wenhuan's competitive strength would only continue to decline, his advantages would gradually be leveled out, while the other side would forever hold the orthodox position of legitimate son. This was a process of one rising as the other fell.

Therefore, even before Liu Yang ascended the throne, Zhao Kuangyi had been secretly planning. After the coronation, he became even more active, running in many directions, networking and uniting, launching a political campaign to "establish the Crown Prince."

The struggle over enfeoffment and princes that occurred in the Great Han court in early spring—Zhao Kuangyi had not participated in it from start to finish, appearing utterly indifferent, because he had devoted all his attention and energy to the great matter of "establishing the Crown Prince." This was the true grand vision. In this world, was there any investment more thrilling than "contending for the state"?

By the same logic, the Murong side was on the whole far more restrained, with the overall planning naturally in the hands of Minister of Personnel Murong Defeng.

In fact, on the matter of promoting the establishment of a Crown Prince, the Murong and Zhao families held identical attitudes. Empress Murong in particular also wished to have the status settled early, so as not to give the Zhao mother and son any opportunity. After all, human hearts are hard to fathom, and delay breeds change—putting the cake on one's own plate early was the proper course.

Consequently, there was too much struggle and too much interference in the palace, which made both the Empress and Noble Consort Zhao a source of annoyance to Emperor Liu Yang during that period.

Among the court officials, none understood the Emperor better than Murong Defeng. After observing for a while, he strongly urged the Empress not to pressure Liu Yang too much. No emperor liked being forced into a decision. Murong Defeng also knew that although Emperor Liu Yang was a lenient and benevolent sovereign, often criticized by Emperor Shizu as "pedantic" and "lacking decisiveness," he was in fact a man of firm convictions.

After the Emperor had already shown his attitude on the succession question, Murong Defeng had to repeatedly persuade Empress Murong to stop her "stoking the fire," finally calming her down. His reasoning happened to align with Zhao Kuangyi's thinking.

Time was on their side. The longer the delay, the more advantageous it was for them. If a child of five or six were made Crown Prince, opponents could easily raise controversy; but if ten years passed, that controversy would plummet.

Therefore, if the matter could not be accomplished, why provoke the Emperor's anger? What the Empress truly needed to do was protect the young prince and nurture him carefully. As long as she made no major mistakes, no matter what the Zhao clan did, they could hardly shake their position.

After all, the more you do, the more mistakes you make. If they went too far, setting aside how wise the Emperor was, the Murong clan was not to be trifled with either.

On the question of contending for the succession, Murong Defeng was relatively rational, but not everyone shared his understanding, and the Murong clan's large faction was not his to command alone. The Empress in the palace, Duke Weiguo Murong Deye outside, and various Murong clan leaders—there were always those who would not listen to advice, whether willingly or unwillingly drawn into the fray.

Of course, it was also because the scale of Zhao Kuangyi's campaign was simply too great! That spring, from meritorious nobles to high court officials, from capital officers to regional governors, fully a hundred or more people had submitted memorials to Liu Yang one after another requesting the establishment of a Crown Prince. Many of them carried considerable weight—trace back any one of them and you would find distinguished achievements and a tangled web of connections.

And although none of these people mentioned a single word about establishing Liu Wenhuan as Crown Prince, between the lines, that was exactly what they meant.

Zhao Kuangyi's methods were clear to him at a glance. This behavior—not quite a coup d'état, yet very much like one—deeply angered him. And the Murong clan, which had followed suit, bore a share of that anger as well.

Watching the two sides' disputes grow ever more intense, even devolving into mutual attacks and fault-finding, Liu Yang could no longer endure it. He directly found pretexts to issue edicts reprimanding Zhao Kuangyi and Murong Defeng. Interestingly enough, within two or three months, the Yongxi chancellors were almost taking turns being scolded by the Emperor.

Along with this came Liu Yang's crackdown on the "core members" of both sides—salary deductions for some, power stripped from others, demotions for yet others. Seeing that the Emperor was truly firm in his resolve and had no desire to establish a successor, both sides finally ceased hostilities.

However, the impact of the "First Year Succession Struggle" continued to spread and expand, nearly running through the entire Yongxi reign. It was just that the subsequent struggles were no longer conducted so openly, face to face. Of course, when overt struggle turned covert, the clashing of blades and the hidden arrows were the most wounding of all, and all manner of treacherous schemes emerged in endless succession.

Even at the time, it had already affected the court situation. First, after Song Bai was exiled to Qingzhou, the initial candidate to succeed him was Vice Minister of Personnel Jia Huangzhong, recommended by Zhao Kuangyi—but Liu Yang ultimately rejected him, choosing instead the former Governor of Kaifeng, Liu Jichang.

Liu Jichang could be said to have turned misfortune into blessing. Due to the adverse aftermath of the "Yankang Street Incident," he had been given the cold shoulder by Liu Yang for a period—unable to rise, yet unable to retreat. Being transferred laterally to the Luoyang prefecture was the best of a bad situation, at least gaining him the additional title of Grand Academician of the Inner Cabinet.

Zhao Kuangyi did not get his wish, and Murong Defeng also suffered a considerable setback. First, Jia Huangzhong, that "Zhao partisan," could not be removed; at the same time, his proposal that Fu Zhaoyuan succeed as Administration Commissioner of Liaodong also failed to pass. Liu Yang ultimately chose Zheng Qi, the Deputy Administration Commissioner of Henan, citing his outstanding achievements in Henan's tax reform.

Clearly, whatever the reasons, neither the Zhao nor the Murong clan came out ahead—both faced the Emperor's forceful crackdown.

However, Zhao Kuangyi was not as disappointed as one might expect. Failure was certainly disappointing, but at the same time, he had captured more clearly from the Emperor's attitude that thread of hesitation—and that hesitation was the hope of Liu Wenhuan and the Zhao clan.

Subsequent events seemed to corroborate this as well—Liu Yang conferred titles on the three imperial princes simultaneously, elevating Liu Wenhuan to Commandery Duke of Ruyang, Liu Wenji to Commandery Duke of Linzi, and Liu Wenpeng to Commandery Duke of Taiyuan. Perhaps feeling that ennobling only three sons looked a bit sparse, Liu Yang also casually added titles for several of his younger imperial brothers.

Although the Commandery Duke of Taiyuan was clearly more weighty than the other two princes' titles—after all, that was the very place where the Great Han had risen to power—even with this partiality, three princes and three commandery dukes precisely illustrated Emperor Liu Yang's hesitation.

Throughout the entire process, Liu Wenji was a complete nonentity—almost no one paid him attention or cared about him. He and his mother, Consort Xiao of Zhuang, maintained their usual low profile, not even showing any interest in watching the spectacle. In the end, he simply picked up the title of Commandery Duke of Linzi for free.

The turmoil of the "Crown Prince dispute" also left Liu Yang mentally exhausted. In less than a year since succeeding to the throne before the coffin, the court had weathered several storms, none of them minor. Only after becoming emperor did he truly realize just how much "vitality" the magnates of the Great Han Empire possessed, how much trouble they could stir up, and how formidable they were when they did.

Liu Yang only wanted to maintain a stable environment, focus his mind on governing the state, steadily rectify the various ills left behind by Emperor Shizu, and do real things for the country and the people—but it was simply too difficult.

Liu Yang was, after all, not Emperor Shizu. When displeased, Shizu could overturn the table at any moment and bear the backlash of breaking the rules. But Liu Yang clearly could not—even if he had the authority, he lacked the audacity. It simply was not in his bones to do such things.

Of course, over the past six months, Liu Yang's hold on the throne had grown steadily firmer, his authority gradually established with the passage of time, and he had made further adjustments to central power and personnel.

He appointed Prince of Lu, Liu Ai, as Director of the Secretariat, in charge of all state decrees. It must be noted that throughout the entire reign of Emperor Shizu, no one had ever held the post of Director of the Secretariat—previously, serving as Vice Director of the Secretariat with the title of Chief Minister was already considered a chancellor of the Hall of State Affairs. This shows how highly Liu Yang regarded Liu Ai.

In fact, Liu Ai's presence in the Hall of State Affairs as a representative of the imperial house was itself a balancing measure against the outer court. Both Emperor Shizu in the past and Emperor Yongxi today were fond of such tactics.

They did not expect Liu Ai to achieve anything outstanding or accomplish remarkable political feats—so long as he occupied that position, he was already serving his purpose.

But today, Liu Ai suddenly came to request resignation from the Emperor. How could Liu Yang possibly accept that? And his first instinct was to suspect the reasons behind it.