Chapter 2090: Taizong Arc 32: A Throne Built of Flesh and Blood

Of course, the news that the Heavenly Land was in ruin and Chengdu was under siege was enough to keep the Emperor from eating or sleeping in peace. However, at this point, Liu Yang had actually steadied himself. In the court, before his ministers, when discussing the Shu rebellion, he could even crack jokes, putting on an air of ease, calmly commanding both internal and external affairs while making arrangements to suppress the rebellion.

Even though the Emperor was inwardly burning with anxiety, he remained restrained on the surface. In the edicts sent to Yang Yanzhao's army, he gave explicit instructions: do not be hasty, do not advance recklessly, let the generals obey orders and act accordingly, and the court would guarantee the supply of military provisions, and so on.

Liu Yang was doing his utmost to relieve pressure on Yang Yanzhao. After all, he himself had been on the battlefield and understood something of the art of war. He knew that haste was not permissible, and strategically he was unwilling to make any further mistakes. Such measures were naturally effective—to a certain extent, Yang Yanzhao, entrusted with such a heavy responsibility, bore even greater pressure than the Emperor himself.

Even with Liu Yang considering everything so thoroughly and placing his complete trust in him, Yang Yanzhao still thought of resolving the Shu rebellion as quickly as possible.

The rebel army's decisions—whether to strike east into eastern Sichuan or to counterattack Chengdu—their underlying cause, to put it plainly, was nothing more than a desire for survival, a beast-like instinct.

Due to successive disasters, the grain shortage in Chuanshu had not been a matter of just one or two years. When Pan You was in office, he could still make every effort to coordinate relief, stabilize grain prices, and soothe the people's hearts. However, the great drought of the first year further exacerbated the food crisis.

When the uprising erupted and warfare became frequent, while the rebellion vented the vengeful fury of serfs and the lowly against the exploiting classes, it also shattered the original social order and the structures of production and livelihood into fragments. Fields lay barren, grain was scarce, and the hunger crisis formed a vicious cycle—this was also the direct reason why the Shu rebellion flared up one after another and grew ever more intense.

But then, did Jiannan truly lack grain? Not entirely. It was short, but not to such a degree. It was just that, like land and the three treasures of salt, tea, and silk, grain—this basic and life-saving resource—was likewise concentrated in the hands of the powerful, the landlords, and the wealthy merchants.

Asking them to take out their precious grain to relieve the poor—a small amount to buy a bit of reputation was acceptable, but large-scale relief was the government's business; no one's household was a charity hall. Distributing grain was also possible, but in exchange for money, land, or people.

The ruling class oppressed ever more heavily, refusing to let people live, so the toiling masses naturally had to rebel. But if a fierce struggle like rebellion was based merely on survival, it was destined not to go far.

Once they raised the banner of "equalizing wealth and poverty," tens of thousands naturally followed and glory was bestowed upon them, but at the same time, as leader, Li Shun also had to feed the hungry mouths gathered across the four prefectures. The rebellion grew larger and larger, and people gathered in greater and greater numbers. When it reached several hundred thousand mouths, survival remained the rebel army's primary concern.

Taking eastern Sichuan, then advancing east into Huguang to forage for food—while breaking the cage of Chuanshu, this could also spread the glory of the righteous army to more places of the Great Han. This plan was utterly shattered by the defeat at the Battle of Luzhou.

Thus, turning back to attack Chengdu, continuing to forage for food on the Chengdu Plain—this land that had nurtured countless sons and daughters of Shu—was also a helpless choice. The rebel army, which had no productive capacity and no time to engage in food production, could only plunder existing survival resources.

Even though this choice was no different from trapping themselves in a cage, as time passed, the court's pacification army was converging on Shu from all directions.

If the Wang-Li uprising still possessed the righteousness of "opposing harsh governance and equalizing wealth and poverty" in its early stages, then as Li Shun's army marched north and besieged Chengdu, as survival pressure climbed step by step, in the face of hunger and death, that thread of righteousness was swiftly extinguished.

The failure of peasant uprisings throughout the dynasties, aside from the stubbornness and strength of reactionary forces, had the limitations of the rebels themselves as the fundamental and important cause. Wang and Li, the two of them, also failed to break this pattern.

In the early stages of the northward march, a great many people were jubilant and welcomed the righteous army with joy, but the situation slowly began to change. The rebel army needed to survive, and the gentry and common folk around Chengdu also needed to survive. Everyone could converge for this same goal, but under the pressure of survival, they might also come to resent and harm one another.

After several failed attempts to attack Chengdu, the rebel army gradually degenerated amid a subtle shift. Those who had neither managed to flee into Chengdu nor wandered off to escape disaster elsewhere, but had chosen to stay and support Li Shun's army, began to realize—

The arrival of the righteous army had not improved their lives or granted them the "fairness" they deserved. Instead, it had intensified the chaos, and even the bare minimum of peace was lost. Last year's great drought had delayed the farming; this year the drought had eased, but because of the warfare, it was delayed again.

Even harder to accept was that the rebel army had also begun plundering in all directions. To satisfy the needs of the assault on Chengdu, Li Shun's subordinates struck out on all sides, nearly scraping the very skin off the nearby prefectures and counties, devouring everything in sight like a swarm of locusts.

And at this point, it had completely violated the original purpose of the uprising. Early in Wang Xiaobo's rebellion, during the process of liberating the attached households and common folk, the righteous army had maintained a relatively good style and military discipline. Not to say they took not a single needle, but there was absolutely no abuse or cruelty. Even the landlords and wealthy households who were plundered were left with basic rations.

This style had been maintained in the early period of Li Shun's army's campaigns. However, this kind of "benevolence and righteousness" was far too rare for a rebel army composed of attached households and the lowly, and it could not last long.

Their narrow vision and inefficient organization meant that when faced with problems, they could only resort to simple and crude methods. After the passion passed came even greater madness. In the face of survival, no power or justice was frightening, and all propriety, righteousness, honor, and shame were cast aside.

Li Shun was also troubled by the changes in the righteous army, but he had no good solution. Though he was the leader of the rebel army, his control over his subordinates was truly not strong. At the same time, he also needed various resources, especially grain, to maintain the assault on Chengdu.

Taking Chengdu might not necessarily solve the problem, but not taking it meant only death. Moreover, the righteous army could win battles—first, by relying on the anger in their chests; second, by relying on numbers; third, by relying on fearlessness of death. In the end, it still came down to filling the gap with human lives.

The righteous army's soldiers had sacrificed and paid so much; the elders, brothers, and sisters of Shu should also contribute their share. On the other hand, if everyone else couldn't survive and rose up in rebellion, and you could still live, how could you share the same boat and walk side by side? Only when everyone became the same kind of person could they break through that gray sky that had hung over Shu for so long and fight for a thread of new hope for the millions of Shu people.

Of course, Li Shun hadn't done nothing. After all, they were still the righteous army that saved the poor, and they were all elders of Shu—they couldn't take things too far.

Sensing his insufficient control over his subordinates, Li Shun judged that it was because his authority was not firmly established. Although the rebel army in Shu had Li Shun's forces as its core, in reality it was a convergence of various powers and streams from different sources. Li Shun was certainly the leader, and his subordinates responded to his leadership and calls, but they were not absolutely bound by him. The rebel army didn't even have a clear organizational structure from top to bottom.

Thus, to establish authority and achieve the effect of restraining the righteous army, Li Shun came up with a method: proclaim himself king.

On the fifteenth day of the second month of the second year of Yongxi, the rebel leader Li Shun proclaimed himself king and established his regime in Hanzhou, calling himself the King of Shu, changing the era name to Jianxing, appointing officials, and enfeoffing generals and meritorious ministers.

The first thing after proclaiming himself king was to raise troops again and launch a major assault on Chengdu. At the same time, Li Shun also divided his forces to spread outward in all directions, plundering grain and conscripting men. There was no other choice—the Chengdu Plain could no longer support so many troops.

However, the "Shu army" sent to raid the surrounding areas suffered a heavy blow this time. In every prefecture and county, government troops and local militia all made every effort to suppress the bandits. Clearly, the hearts of the people had quietly changed.

In particular, the seventy thousand "Shu troops" that marched north were nearly wiped out by the two generals Cao Guangshi and Kang Jiying, with more than half taken prisoner. The intention of seizing Jiange and blocking the imperial army north of the Sichuan basin also came to nothing.

Li Shun's act of proclaiming himself king was like a ridiculous farce of a monkey wearing a crown. It not only thoroughly enraged the Han court but also exhausted the last bit of popular support. Apart from those mud-legged folk who yearned for "titles of nobility and generalships," no one genuinely recognized him.

As the pacification army entered Shu one after another, resting and preparing their arms, the countdown to his downfall began. Even the chaotic city of Chengdu was stirred into a spirit of "shared hatred against the enemy."

Of course, the fundamental reason was that the court's reinforcements were about to arrive, and the rebel army's self-destructive practices on the Chengdu Plain had earned the contempt of all of Chengdu. No one could guarantee what those rebels, with hunger-reddened eyes, might do once the city fell.

Therefore, the rebel army's attacks, spurred on by Li Shun's proclamation of kingship, became even more frenzied, but the Chengdu defenders' resistance became even more resolute and powerful. From time to time, they could even dispatch elite troops to sally out and strike, inflicting heavy losses on the rebel army and severely hampering its assault.

In the emergency, the authority over Chengdu's defenses had in fact been taken over by Administration Commissioner Xiang Deming. A group of circuit commanders like Shangguan Zheng gradually degenerated into mere executors, and they didn't dare voice a single complaint.

Xiang Deming even drew a red line for the defenders: those who lost their positions would be executed, those who fled in fear would be executed, those who disobeyed orders would be executed. But at the same time, he also declared that grain would be sufficient, soldiers would be sufficient, and weapons would be sufficient.

Under such attack and defense, one can imagine how brutal the life-and-death struggle around the walls of Chengdu was. Death was the most ordinary thing imaginable—but since the Shu rebellion had erupted, was there a single day without death?

In fact, by the time the chaos had developed to this point, not only was the court reflecting, but the heavily damaged powerful figures, landlords, and strongmen of Shu were also reflecting. And the poor common folk, who had bought the ruling class's reflection with countless bloodshed and death, could not help but reflect as well:

In the past, even if they were exploited and squeezed, even if they sold themselves into slavery, even if they lived like dogs, there was always a chance to survive. Even becoming bandits in the mountains wouldn't have killed this many people or shed this much blood. The violent methods born of frenzy would only destroy the little stability and the last remnants of hope, ultimately burying everyone. This was a war without victors.

By the late stage of the Shu rebellion, those still following Li Shun to attack Chengdu were merely a herd of numb beasts with nothing left but survival instinct. The legendary Brocade Official City—behind those iron walls seemed to lie the hope itself. Step into Chengdu, and it was like walking into a bright future.

But this final delusion was utterly shattered as the court's pacification army marched south and advanced west. When the rebel army completely collapsed and even the "King of Shu" Li Shun fell in battle, Chengdu—this most stubborn fortress of the ruling class in the great southwest—still stood towering, firm as a mountain.

But beneath the sunlight that pierced through the dark clouds, the city built from countless flesh and blood was so "gorgeous" it nearly dazzled the eyes. Behind the warm hues lay bone-piercing cold.

The destruction of the rebel army could be said to be a self-inflicted annihilation, like a firework that, after releasing itself to the fullest, turns to dust.

When Yang Yanzhao's army marched south, it took only four or five battles, large and small, for the several hundred thousand rebels to collapse. Of course, calling them several hundred thousand refugees might also be accurate. By comparison, how to clean up the Heavenly Land that seemed to have been ravaged by ten thousand locusts, how to settle those common folk or rioters who had survived like worms—that was the more urgent, more critical, and more challenging matter.

After Li Shun, though scattered disturbances remained, they could no longer amount to anything. Shu's vitality was severely wounded, and the people of Shu could no longer afford to be angry. Eating, surviving—that was still the first priority. Perhaps later, they could think about rebuilding their homes?

On the tenth day of the fourth month of summer in the second year of Yongxi, inside Chuigong Hall, Emperor Liu Yang of the Great Han still sat upright behind the imperial desk, intently reviewing memorials. In less than two years since ascending the throne, the wrinkles on his face had grown ever deeper, yet the imperial aura about him had also become ever more profound.

Below the dais, the three cabinet academicians Xu Shilian, Wang Dan, and Zhao Defang all buried their heads at their desks, carefully and earnestly sorting memorials and writing official documents. The scene was extremely solemn.

Accompanied by a burst of hurried footsteps, the palace eunuch Zheng Yuan walked in. Those who had long served by the Emperor's side could judge certain things from the frequency of these eunuchs' footsteps. Though they kept their hands moving, the several ministers present cast sidelong glances at Zheng Yuan, whether deliberately or unconsciously.

The only one who remained unmoved as a mountain was Emperor Liu Yang himself, who didn't even lift an eyelid. Steadying his breathing, Zheng Yuan bowed deeply and announced: "Reporting to His Majesty, Chancellor Cao of the Bureau of Military Affairs requests an audience outside the hall!"

Liu Yang finally raised his head, his gaze fixed toward the direction outside the hall, and said: "Admit him!"

Soon, Cao Bin's gaunt face appeared in everyone's view. Everyone in the hall, including Emperor Liu Yang, set down their work and looked at Cao Bin.

Cao Bin paid his respects, seemingly able to feel that air of expectation. Holding up a military report with both hands, he said solemnly: "Reporting to Your Majesty, the Shu rebellion has been pacified!"

At these words, Xu Shilian and the other ministers could not help but show joy on their faces. Were it not for the constraints of propriety, they would likely have leaped and cheered.

Liu Yang was very restrained. A similar report had been submitted by Shangguan Zheng in the winter of last year, and what awaited the Great Han was the "Li Shun Rebellion." He beckoned with his hand, and Zheng Yuan immediately hurried forward to present the military report from Cao Bin's hands to Liu Yang.

Every memorial seemed to carry a spark of the submitter's spirit, each with its own distinct character. This military report from the Pacification Commissioner Yang Yanzhao was not detailed in content, and its wording was plain and unadorned, but it gave Liu Yang a powerful sense of affirmation.

After a long while, Liu Yang finally raised his head, tilting it toward the southwest. In his dazed eyes appeared an extremely complex emotion, and he murmured to himself: "The resentment... should have mostly dissipated by now."

Having said this, Liu Yang rose, strode quickly down the hall steps, and headed straight outside. The Emperor's behavior was surprising, but the group of people almost instinctively followed.

The ruler and his ministers moved with hurried steps, urgent and pressed for time, with the Emperor himself leading the way along the palace road, passing through layer upon layer of palace gates and towers, until they arrived before Qianyuan Hall.

Ziwei City was vast, but this was perhaps the most exhausting walk any of them had ever taken. Liu Yang only raised his head for a glance, his breath quickening slightly, then without resting, he slipped behind the hall, found the staircase, and began to climb.

Even by later standards, Qianyuan Hall was a tower of over twenty stories, with an observation pavilion at its summit. In the prime of his life, Emperor Shizu had often climbed it to gaze into the distance, and Liu Yang had accompanied him then—but this was the first time he climbed it as Emperor himself.

Dismissing the attendant ministers, Feng Feng stood alone, gazing toward the southwest. After a long while, when the palace eunuch Zheng Yuan's heart was burning with anxiety, Liu Yang finally turned around.

"Your Majesty!"

"Your Majesty!"

"His Majesty!"

The several ministers who had followed him up the tower looked at the Emperor and called out with concern. Liu Yang swept his gaze across them, waved his hand, and said: "Downstairs!"

Whether it was because he had vented his emotions fully, or simply because it was cold at such heights, Liu Yang's nose was bright red.

"Go to the Hall of State Affairs and invite the Chancellors here for discussion!" Returning to Chuigong Hall and seating himself once more, Liu Yang instructed Zhao Defang, speaking with a grave and solemn tone: "It's time to deal with the aftermath!"

The news of the pacification of the Shu rebellion, propelled by the court, spread swiftly across the realm, informing officials and commoners of every circuit, prefecture, county, and district. Detailed accounts of the pacification were also submitted to Luoyang successively from multiple persons and multiple government offices, allowing the court to gain a more comprehensive understanding.

After several rounds of meticulous discussion, the various arrangements for aiding Shu unfolded in an orderly manner under the court's overall coordination. The most important matter among them was guaranteeing the supply of relief materials, especially grain and medicinal herbs—the two things most scarce in Shu.

To this end, the court decided to have Fiscal Commissioner Zhang Yong concurrently serve as Fiscal Commissioner of the Southwest, personally taking charge to ensure the dispatch and arrangement of aid supplies to Shu. Such an arrangement seemed to presage something. After all, under normal circumstances, even if the Finance Commission needed to send someone, dispatching a Vice Commissioner would have been more than sufficient.

And so, spanning the spring, summer, and autumn of the second year of Yongxi, along the water and land routes leading to Chuanshu, flowed the relief supplies that the court had gathered from various regions and dispatched into Shu.

Somewhat ironically, the entire region of Chuanshu—especially Jiannan—had been exporting money, grain, and supplies outward for over thirty years, and this was the first time it received anything in return. Yet to receive it in such a manner was somewhat cruel. The crying child gets milk; the bleeding child gets meat.

At the same time as the court began its post-rebellion rehabilitation efforts in Shu, a team bearing the Emperor's secret orders also departed from Luoyang. Academician Xu Shilian of the Grand Secretariat was to travel to Chengdu Prefecture to replace Wang Shenrui as Prefect of Chengdu.

Traveling with him were Lin Te, Commissioner of the Wude Office, and the newly appointed Vice Minister of Justice, Xiang Minzhong. They were going to Chengdu for one thing: to make arrests.

Whether it was the death of Pan You or the rebellion in Shu, although the affair had been shrouded in filth and many details had been destroyed in the flames of war, the court had still managed to seize hold of considerable evidence. Not to mention the reports filed by righteous men of Shu who were grieved at the devastation of their heavenly-endowed land, the Wude Office alone had collected a great quantity of evidence of crimes during the process of pacification.

During the siege of Chengdu, those who had flooded into the city seeking refuge—every single one of them, strictly speaking, bore some guilt. Of course, small fish and shrimp were not worth the court making such a solemn show of force over.

The first to be taken was precisely the former Prefect of Chengdu, Wang Shenrui! And close on his heels, more than three hundred people—Shu's honored aristocrats, officials, and a portion of the powerful landlords guilty of grave crimes—were successively arrested, each and every one a person of name and standing.

What shook Chuanshu the most was that even the heads of the "Two Wangs" families, Wang Shenjun and Wang Zhaoyong, were taken into custody. The charges were numerous, but the core was only two: deceiving the sovereign and disrupting the law; and being the chief culprits of the Shu rebellion!

These people had previously held, one could say, more than sixty percent of the voice in Shu. Had the court attempted such mass arrests back then, a new upheaval might have erupted in an instant. But the great chaos was already over, and strong troops were stationed in Shu. When the court's great decree arrived, whether arresting people or executing them, it was as easy as turning one's hand.

In the ninth month of autumn in the second year of Yongxi, after nearly half a year of arrests, interrogations, and sentencing, 317 guilty ministers (and commoners) of the Shu rebellion, headed by the brothers Wang Shenjun and Wang Shenrui, were escorted to the Southern Market of Luoyang for execution. The gentry and commoners of Luoyang gathered like walls to watch, their response enthusiastic—after all, it had been years since there had been such a spectacle of mass execution to enjoy.

Of course, this was clearly not as simple as a single edict and the swing of the executioner's blade. To reach this resolution, the court had undergone countless struggles over the course of several months. There were those who supported heavy punishment, and those who recommended leniency—overall, the latter were in the majority.

Those of the same kind grieve for their own; when the rabbit dies, the fox mourns. From honored aristocrats to officials, most were unwilling to witness such large-scale executions of their own class and kind.

Moreover, such a precedent was an authority that only Emperor Shizu had possessed, and one of the many violent acts for which Emperor Shizu was criticized by the scholar-officials. The current sovereign was a benevolent and kind ruler—how could he emulate the late emperor?

Therefore, before Emperor Liu Yang's vermilion brush rendered the final verdict, voices of remonstrance and layers of resistance pressed upon him from all sides. However, contrary to what many expected, although he allowed the clamor to continue, when the time came to approve the death sentences with his brush, the benevolent Emperor showed not a moment's hesitation.

As the blades flashed, more than three hundred heads fell to the ground, and the second year of Yongxi was painted with another layer of vivid blood-red. Yet compared to the hundreds of thousands of casualties in the Shu rebellion itself, these three hundred-odd heads served as a far sharper warning to the realm's aristocrats, officials, and wealthy landowners.

So it turned out that even a benevolent sovereign like the current Emperor could kill with such ruthlessness—especially when it came to high-ranking magnates.

Wang Quanbin, who had fought desperately and endured countless hardships to earn his ducal title through the conquest of Dali, saw it end here. Not to mention passing it down through generations—his family property was entirely confiscated, his direct relatives were all exiled overseas, and his name was completely erased from the upper circles of the Great Han!

It was only at this point that the authority of the Yongxi Emperor was truly established—seared into memory, branded into the soul. Without thunderous methods, relying solely on warmth, kindness, courtesy, and modesty, such authority was clearly impossible to achieve.