Chapter 2116: Kangzong Chronicles 3: The Shuaibin Incident

The Prince of Lu's residence, Southern Hall.

This was the main place where Prince Lu Liu Ai studied and handled official business while residing at the mansion. The Mid-Autumn wind had already turned somewhat chilly, but the melancholy brought by the wind was clearly no match for the pressure brought by the change in the master's mood.

The Prince of Lu's expression was clearly not pleasant to look at. An invisible pressure hung over everyone in the hall, almost suffocating them—especially for Liu Wei, the Prefect of Shuaibin, who knelt in the middle of the hall.

"So... you just came back like this?" Liu Ai stared straight at the trembling Liu Wei, questioning him coldly.

Feeling the Prince of Lu's anger, Liu Wei kowtowed in terror: "Your Highness, it's not that your subject didn't try his best—it's truly a case of having the will but not the power. The entire Shuaibin Prefecture has already been eroded by the State of Andong. The orders of the King of Andong are far more effective than the decrees of the imperial court. If your subject had remained any longer, he feared for his very life.

Your subject does not fear death, but having eaten the sovereign's grain and received Your Highness's gracious promotion, after careful consideration, your subject boldly decided to cover his face and flee, returning to the capital with resentment, to report the situation and warn the court."

Hearing Liu Wei's words, Liu Ai was stunned speechless. Such an explanation could indeed be called "refreshingly original"—and the key thing was that he actually dared to say it right to his face, with such earnest sincerity, as if he truly were consistent in word and deed, matching appearance with reality.

"So by that reasoning, you've been enduring humiliation to serve the country loyally, and I should represent the court in rewarding you for your devotion to duty?" Liu Ai laughed in fury, his tone icy: "Abandoning your post, forsaking the city and its people—you do it as if it were only right and proper, and say it with perfect confidence. Liu Wei, oh Liu Wei, I truly underestimated you before!"

"Your Highness, your subject... your subject..." Facing Liu Ai's ice-cold gaze, Liu Wei's psychology ultimately wasn't "strong" enough to reach that level. Even if he wished to argue, he could no longer produce any "grand discourse," and could only stammer there, at a loss for words.

"What loyalty are you fulfilling, what warning are you giving!" Liu Ai directly began to curse: "Andong is a fief of the Great Han, established by Shizu, bound to the Great Han by blood, inseparable. What are you trying to do—drive a wedge between the imperial family's kinship, spread slander to disrupt governance, and use evil words to harm the state?"

Not a single one of the charges Liu Ai listed was something a mere Prefect of Shuaibin (and a prefect who had fled his post, no less) could bear. For a moment, Liu Wei forgot everything else and kowtowed frantically to confess his guilt: "Your subject misspoke! Your subject is guilty!"

Having vented his anger, Liu Ai gradually calmed down, staring coldly at Liu Wei while his mind raced furiously. He also took the time to size up Liu Wei—the fellow looked bedraggled, having fled back from Shuaibin Prefecture, yet his clothing was still neat and clean.

The matter of Liu Wei abandoning his post could be predicted to cause a great shock and negative influence throughout the Great Han. First of all, since the time of Shizu, even during the war years, there had not been many cases of "abandoning a city," yet now it had happened in the current era of peace—and it had happened so naturally and smoothly.

Secondly, Liu Wei was a man of the Prince of Lu's household, a subordinate Liu Ai had previously held in considerable regard. Half a year ago, he had been sent to Shuaibin Prefecture, entrusted with an important mission, hoping he could clean up the chaos there and curb the erosion from the State of Andong.

But what was the result? Things went contrary to wishes. This Liu Wei was clearly just a "keyboard warrior"—he hadn't brought the situation in Shuaibin Prefecture under control, and instead had been dealt with by the other side, producing a laughable "post-abandonment incident" that was the world's greatest joke.

A minor figure like Liu Wei was of no consequence, but involving the Prince of Lu, the impact was significant. Liu Ai himself was at the center of the vortex of power and controversy. Once this matter fermented and spread, it would certainly deal a blow to Liu Ai's reputation.

At the same time, this matter also exposed a problem the court had long overlooked or deliberately avoided—namely, the question of how to handle relations with the various fiefs both within and beyond the seas. In this regard, it had always been a muddled account.

In the Taizong era, "dividing the household and living separately" had been thoroughly clarified, but the relatives still had to be kept, and relations still had to be maintained, which inevitably meant facing a series of complex contradictions and problems.

During Shizu's time, everything was still in the construction phase, and all problems were merely problems of development. By the Taizong period, the fief system had passed its awkward stage and achieved certain results. Moreover, constrained by Taizong's absolute legitimacy and sufficient authority, the brothers, sons, and nephews of the various states didn't dare cause trouble, and everything followed the empire's rules.

After Taizong passed away, the situation gradually began to change. Through years of development and accumulation, the various fiefs slowly developed their own sense of self, and one question became increasingly clear: the interests of the various states were not entirely aligned with the imperial center.

This misalignment inevitably created contradictions in the interactions between the two sides. The days when the fiefs had requests and the center was bound to respond had completely passed, but the reality that the fiefs had requests for the center remained, and would continue for a long time. The contradictions grew along with the development of interest demands.

At present, Andong was the fief most adapted to these subtle, complex changes in relations—or rather, it was actively seeking change. The Shuaibin Prefecture problem was a product of this psychology of seeking change and coveting profit. This had been destined from the very moment Shizu enfeoffed Andong.

After all, Shuaibin Prefecture, with its port granting direct access to the Whale Sea, was the most important window for Andong's external exchanges besides the Liaodong Circuit. Yet this window was held in the hands of the court.

Over the past decade or more, Andong's powerful families, landowners, and merchants had shipped goods by sea through Shuaibin Prefecture, earning profits and acquiring resources scarce in Andong, and the scale had grown ever larger. Although overland trade was frequent, the restrictions were considerable—far less free than Shuaibin Prefecture.

With greater profits came greater entanglements. Naturally, the Andong side wanted to secure a measure of safety and stability, to bring Shuaibin Prefecture under their own control and truly command this commercial port. This was the fervent desire of King of Andong Liu Wenyuan and the Andong elite who followed him.

For over a decade, covert maneuvers had continued without cease. Of course, during the Taizong period they had been relatively restrained, merely planting sand in Shuaibin Prefecture. Unable to achieve a breakthrough at the court level, they worked from the bottom up—the officials, soldiers, and clerks dispatched by the court were far easier to manipulate.

Then in the second year of Pingkang, when Zhu Cong, the Prefect of Shuaibin, passed away, the Ministry of Personnel deliberated on a successor. Considering the special circumstances there and the Andong state's restless activities in Shuaibin Prefecture and the border regions, upon Liu Ai's recommendation, Liu Wei was dispatched.

Before his departure, Liu Ai had specifically instructed Liu Wei to properly rectify the chaos in Shuaibin Prefecture and restore "order." As for the hands and claws of the Andong state—cut them when they should be cut, without too much hesitation, with the court backing him up. Liu Ai even stated directly that Liu Wei's mission to Shuaibin Prefecture to clean up political and commercial affairs was precisely to give Andong a warning, to make them behave.

However, Liu Wei proved unequal to the task and returned in disgrace. Although it was still unclear what methods Liu Wenyuan had used to scare Liu Wei out of his wits, the result was that the Prince of Lu was placed in an awkward position, and the court suffered a great loss of face.

In the hall, the invisible pressure continued to oppress everyone. After a long while, Liu Ai finally snapped out of his contemplation of the matter's implications. He raised his eyes to look at Liu Wei—however much he had once appreciated him, that was how much he now loathed him.

Troubles for later could be solved later, but the man before him—if he wasn't dealt with, Liu Ai could never let it rest in his heart.

"Someone!"

At the call, an attendant officer immediately stepped forward from the left side of the hall: "Awaiting Your Highness's command!"

Liu Ai took out a sheet of official paper and picked up his brush to write. From his eyes to his movements, a sharp aura permeated everything. After finishing in a flourish, he affixed his seal, handed it to the attendant officer, and ordered coldly: "Take this document, escort this criminal under guard to the Ministry of Justice, and have Xu Shilian (Minister of Justice) handle it according to law—with the utmost severity!"

"Yes!"

Clearly, Liu Ai was moved to kill. Of course, given Liu Wei's conduct, survival would be difficult regardless. Hearing this, Liu Wei's face turned pale, and he collapsed directly to the ground, begging endlessly: "Your Highness, spare my life! Your Highness, spare my life!" Hearing this, Liu Ai became even more furious. Pointing upward, he raged: "Above there is Heaven, below there is the law. I could spare you, but the Way of Heaven and the statutes will never show mercy!"

"You returned quite composedly, but you brought back one extra thing!" Liu Ai's eyes now carried no trace of emotion as he cursed crudely: "I really want to twist your pig brain off and see what's inside!"

The foolish and cowardly Liu Wei was taken away, but the trouble and anger could not be taken away with him. A shadow could not help but fall over Liu Ai's heart. Seeing Liu Ai's pent-up frustration, the Registrar beside him couldn't help but offer words of consolation—yet this only made Liu Ai lose his composure even further.

Behind the disappointment and anger lay a deep sense of shame. Liu Ai even had the impulse to slap himself a few times, silently cursing himself for being blind and losing his senses—to have taken a barnyard chicken for a phoenix, a mediocrity for a talent. This contrast was what caused Liu Ai the most psychological pain.

Indeed, Liu Wei had been far too deceptive before. A jinshi degree holder, years in the governor's staff, with original thinking and eloquent speech, often offering "startling" insights when faced with problems. He wasn't without local governance experience either—he had risen as high as Administrative Assistant of Fenzhou, and in the Yongxi reign had somewhat qualified as a "reform talent."

Liu Ai had begun entering the central government since the late Kaibao period, participating in state affairs for nearly twenty years. He had promoted many people, but not many had stood out—and Liu Wei was one of those he had greatly admired.

Now it seemed, however, that it was all "gold and jade on the outside, rotten wadding within." The more Liu Ai thought about this conclusion, the more wounded and angrier he became. And that wasn't even the end of it—he still had to clean up the mess this fool had left behind.

One could well imagine how awkward Liu Ai's mood was at the next day's routine meeting of the Hall of State Affairs. The matter of Liu Wei abandoning his post and fleeing to the capital could not possibly go unmentioned. Kou Zhun, who had always been aggressive in his attacks, made veiled insinuations as he asked Liu Ai for his opinion on how to handle it. Had Zhang Qixian not smoothed things over, Liu Ai might well have been left without a leg to stand on.

Of course, just as Liu Ai had calculated before, compared to a minor figure like Liu Wei, what these high officials and heavy ministers of the imperial center cared about more was what this matter revealed.

Liu Wei's flight back was not entirely without significance—at the very least, it made the power-holders at the center clearly understand one thing: the court's rule over Shuaibin Prefecture was very likely already nominal in name only.

To be honest, these auxiliary ministers of the Great Han probably didn't care all that much about Shuaibin Prefecture in their hearts. After all, it was too far away—the terrain overland was complex, transportation poor, the environment harsh, and by sea it was separated by vast oceans, with Goryeo and Japan in between.

Even if civilization there had grown rapidly and, through the development of Andong's elite and surrounding merchants, had already become quite prosperous and one of Northeast Asia's notable trading ports, to the Great Han Empire it was still a remote frontier.

Had Shizu not left a stroke in the enfeoffment maps back then, keeping it perpetually recorded in the empire's maps and court registers, perhaps no one would have voluntarily mentioned the place for decades. Even so, it remained a neglected area, and the only attention it received was because there was a State of Andong there, and a King of Andong who wasn't so well-behaved.

To be sure, Shuaibin Prefecture's status within the court was very low—or rather, it had almost no status at all. Only the Andong state treated it as a treasure. But even so, the Andong state couldn't just seize it. Covert maneuvers were one thing, but you couldn't do it so brazenly and openly.

Under normal circumstances, even if only nominal rule was maintained, one could simply turn a blind eye. When the lid was kept on, there was no problem. But the "Liu Wei Incident" had precisely lifted the lid and exposed the contradiction.

No matter how incompetent Liu Wei was, or how improper his actions, the Andong state had driven out a prefect appointed by the court's decree—that was provocation and confrontation. To put it seriously, accusing them of harboring rebellious intentions would not be an overstatement. This kind of situation was absolutely not to be tolerated.

At the same time, problems from the Andong state had been emerging endlessly in recent years, especially among the officials and people in the border region between the Liaodong Circuit and Andong, who were full of grievances. In general terms, the Andong state was simply too overbearing—from officialdom to the common people, all of one mind—and many Liaodong scholars and commoners had suffered losses in their exchanges and trade with Andong.

Moreover, having suffered losses, there was no place to seek justice, since the other side could invoke the State of Andong and the King of Andong. The officials and people of the border prefectures and counties generally couldn't even get the Administration Commissioner to act, let alone petition the court for a ruling. On such issues, the compromising nature of the bureaucracy was laid bare—after all, if things blew up, the first to suffer would be them.

In earlier years, whether it was Song Xiong, Murong Defeng, or later Zheng Qi, they had all been skilled hands at governing the border and pacifying the people—holding firm to their bottom lines, safeguarding the interests of Liaodong's officials and people, striking hard at Andong's rule-breaking behavior, and flatly rejecting their excessive demands. Thus the contradictions had not been obvious.

But in recent years, especially in the two years since Taizong's death, the Andong side had grown increasingly unrestrained. Against this backdrop, with the Shuaibin Prefecture affair added on top, the power-holders at court all knew that measures had to be taken.

Otherwise, if Andong were allowed to continue running rampant, the authority of the central government and the popular support of Liaodong would both suffer severe damage, and the backlash would most likely ultimately fall on these very power-holders themselves.

On this matter, Liu Ai and the chancellors quickly reached a consensus—but they disagreed on the specific measures. Li Hang suggested dispatching an envoy to Andong to reprimand the Andong state, while simultaneously coordinating the economic exchange problems that had erupted between Andong and the various border regions. One could even adopt measures such as sealing the border markets or strengthening controls to pressure Andong—in short, the Andong state had to be restrained.

Kou Zhun directly opposed Li Hang's opinion, criticizing it as too weak. In Kou Zhun's view, such measures were like scratching an itch through one's boot or trying to stop boiling water by adding more—they would not restrain the Andong state but would instead make it look down on them. This was an act of showing weakness.

Was the Andong state a place where one could reason? If Andong had followed the system and obeyed the law, if the King of Andong had been willing to restrain the scholars and people under his rule, there wouldn't be so many troubles today.

Therefore, Kou Zhun ultimately offered an extremely hardline suggestion: dispatching a capable official to take over Shuaibin Prefecture was a necessity, and this time, unlike his predecessor Liu Wei, he could not go merely with an imperial decree and official credentials—he had to have far stronger backing.

The strong support Kou Zhun spoke of referred mainly to two aspects: first, replacing all the rotating garrison officers and soldiers at Shuaibin Prefecture, with the court selecting another thousand officers and soldiers to accompany the new Prefect to his post. Second, dispatching a fleet from the East Sea Navy to escort him to his post under the pretext of training.

Only then would the court send envoys to Andong to emphasize legitimacy and declare its stance, rather than any "negotiation" or "coordination."

Among the many chancellors in the Hall of State Affairs, Kou Zhun had the lowest prestige and was also the youngest, not yet fifty years old. Moreover, his temperament invited dislike, and his conduct drew criticism. Yet in his understanding of matters and judgment of issues, he had always been clear and decisive.

And as the "junior assisting minister" personally appointed by Taizong, Kou Zhun's stance was especially firm, and on matters of upholding the authority of the central government, he was inevitably resolute.

In the end, Kou Zhun's opinion was adopted, for the nature of the matter was plain to see, and the chancellors were left with little room for choice by the force of circumstances.

Thus began a new phase in the imperial central government's relations with the vassal states and its handling of vassal state affairs!

To carry out Kou Zhun's plan, the Bureau of Military Affairs could not be bypassed—matters of troop deployment had to originate from the Bureau of Military Affairs.

One point must be mentioned: no matter how the court had shifted and struggled over the past two years, none of it had yet touched the Bureau of Military Affairs or the military power it represented.

Military matters had always been sensitive. On this issue, all factions exercised restraint; no one dared to easily cross the line. Thus, the empire's military and political affairs remained centered on the Bureau of Military Affairs, controlled by commanders such as Li Jilong, Yang Yanzhao, Guo Yi, and Ma Huaiyu, along with the hidden dragons and crouching tigers—the deeply entrenched military merit group behind them.

Just as the assisting ministers who held political power dared not lightly offend military authority, the military system likewise dared not overstep. This too was determined by the institutional structure—that existing set of rules that had operated for decades strictly constrained everyone, at least on the level of consciousness.

The ultimate limit of military power lay with the Emperor, and the Emperor of the Great Han Empire had not yet learned how to wield the power he ought to command.