Chapter 2121: Taizong Chronicles 8: Policy Talk at the Marquis Manor

Under the respectful farewell of the palace attendants inside and outside Chuigong Hall, who bowed their heads and bent their waists with cautious deference, Empress Dowager Murong strode out quickly, her steps hurried and her movement carrying wind, showing not a trace of her usual dignified bearing as the mother of the realm.

One needed only to look at her demeanor to know—the Empress Dowager was furious, and the cause of her anger was clearly directed at Emperor Liu Wenpeng.

The origin was not complicated. In view of the dispute over the Censor-in-Chief post left vacant by Wang Xuanzhen's departure to garrison Shanyang, the matter had dragged on for a long time without resolution. The various factions in court fought over it, the conflict growing ever more intense, until recently it had reached the point of mutual attack and slander.

Seeing the chaos in people's hearts and the instability of the court, Empress Dowager Murong was "deeply pained and grieved," and so, struck by inspiration, she could no longer remain peacefully in Ciming Hall. She came to seek out the Emperor to recommend a suitable candidate for the Censor-in-Chief post.

And this suitable candidate was none other than Murong Dechen, Chief Commander of the Chuandong Circuit, who had returned to the capital to report on his duties. The Murong clan, once supremely illustrious and long accustomed to enjoying wealth and honor, had over the past year been suppressed—at least at the level of the central court.

The "Palace Removal Case" was both the beginning and the climax of this suppression. The imperial clansmen represented by Prince Lu, Liu Ai, and the auxiliary ministers represented by Director of State Affairs Zhang Qixian united with the most basic demand of preventing Empress Dowager Murong from improperly interfering in governance.

At the same time, there was a group of meritorious nobles who held considerable say within the Great Han Empire's system. Some felt repulsed and uneasy about the Empress Dowager Murong's crude interference in governance, while others simply did not want to see the Murong clan dominate the court alone. Though they spoke little, they secretly supported the suppression of the Murong clan through practical actions.

Of course, this restriction also had its limits—unless the one sitting on the imperial throne were not Liu Wenpeng, who carried half Murong blood in his veins. Therefore, although the Murong clan was tightly suppressed at the empire's center, across the whole realm, within and outside the empire's military and political apparatus, Murong clan sons, relatives, old subordinates, and protégés still filled the ranks.

One should know that the late Duke Wei, Murong Yanzhao alone, had more than ten children. Even if not all of them possessed Murong Defeng's insight and ability, after all these years, the living among them still held appointments at the circuit, prefecture, and county levels throughout the land, including no small number of powerful substantive posts.

The most obvious point of suppression against the Murong clan was that the current Duke Wei, Murong Weizhen (Murong Yanzhao's eldest legitimate grandson, and eldest legitimate son of the second-generation Duke Wei, Murong Deye), was excluded from the court and appointed Prefect of Fengxiang.

As for this status quo and situation, Empress Dowager Murong deeply resented it. However, having learned lessons from a year of setbacks, she was no longer as impetuous as in the first year of Pingkang, and had gained a measure of steadiness.

This steadiness was manifested in the Empress Dowager's demands regarding the court situation. She had lowered her goal from the Murong clan holding sole power to having a seat in the Hall of State Affairs—the position previously held by Murong Defeng could conveniently be filled by his blood brother Murong Dechen.

Of course, Empress Dowager Murong had also read the changes in the court situation—the trend of the Emperor personally governing. Given the power struggles and various tugs-of-war in the Great Han's central government in early the third year of Pingkang, as long as mother and son worked together and the Emperor issued an edict, it was highly likely to succeed.

However, what the Empress Dowager Murong least expected was that her calculations would first come to nothing with Emperor Liu Wenpeng himself.

To summarize, Liu Wenpeng refused the Empress Dowager's request, and even played the victim before her, saying that the great power at court still rested in the hands of the Imperial Uncle and Chancellor Zhang and others, that he had only just begun to make progress, and that it would be inadvisable to act rashly and ruin the "excellent" situation, and so on.

He also asked the Empress Dowager to be at ease, saying that he greatly appreciated and trusted Murong Dechen, this maternal uncle of the state, and that once he fully took personal governance, he would certainly give him important appointments.

As one might imagine, the Emperor's rhetoric could not convince the Empress Dowager. Mother and son even argued in Chuigong Hall. In fact, it proved that the influence the Empress Dowager could exert on the court, aside from through her maternal relatives, was mainly through the Emperor—and when the Emperor was uncooperative, she had few options. After all, at least in the Great Han Empire of the Pingkang era, the conditions for "ruling from behind the curtain" simply did not exist.

This time, Emperor Liu Wenpeng had clearly thoroughly enraged Empress Dowager Murong. Beyond her anger, she naturally could not help but feel hurt. She felt that Liu Wenpeng was far too inconsiderate of her as his mother—she had been thinking entirely for her son's sake, yet her son was not of one heart with her.

After the Empress Dowager left, the atmosphere in Chuigong Hall became even more oppressive. The attendants buried their heads deeply, not daring to breathe loudly. Emperor Liu Wenpeng continued fiddling with war chess pieces on a map board, but clearly absentmindedly, finally ending by kicking away the chess markers and overturning the map board.

Clearly, refusing the Empress Dowager was also an unpleasant matter for the Emperor. As for Liu Wenpeng's reasons for refusing her, they mainly proceeded from two points: first, after the many disputes of the previous two years, Liu Wenpeng no longer trusted the Empress Dowager's advice much, and even found her "stirring things up" somewhat tiresome;

Second, Liu Wenpeng was both dissatisfied with the various auxiliary ministers governing the state and suppressing his legitimate authority as Emperor, and equally disliked having a nagging mother above him constantly instructing him and interfering with his decisions.

On the contrary, Liu Wenpeng had no particular objection to Murong Dechen, this maternal uncle. Indeed, when he had previously received Murong Dechen, he had been very interested in his military career and had asked him to report in detail the stories of his past campaigns in pacifying rebellions and fighting wars.

In the court, some matters received very swift responses. For example, after news spread that Empress Dowager Murong had set her mind on the Censor-in-Chief position, the central government quickly reached an appointment for this important post.

First, Murong Dechen was appointed Patrol Inspector of Huguang. Over the past two years, in the poor and remote regions of the two lakes, the frequency of barbarian unrest had noticeably increased. In the winter of the second year of Pingkang, barbarian tribes had again erupted in rebellion in the prefectures of Li, Ding, Yuan, and others, raiding counties and prefectures, causing unbearable disturbance to officials and commoners alike. Thus Murong Dechen was dispatched to suppress the bandits, pacify the chaos, and restore order.

Of course, anyone with discerning eyes could see that this was precisely a counterstrike against the Empress Dowager's proposal of Murong Dechen for Censor-in-Chief.

At the same time, the "Censor-in-Chief Dispute" that had dragged on for over two months finally came to an end, stimulated by Empress Dowager Murong's intervention. To many people's surprise, the one who ultimately reaped the reward was a person who had never participated in the contest: Xiang Minzhong, Governor of Luoyang.

Xiang Minzhong was a jinshi of the nineteenth year of Kaibao, with a ranking not particularly high—seventeenth in the jinshi examination. During the Kaibao era, he was obscure, simply serving in his posts step by step. It was not until the Yongxi era, during Emperor Taizong's first northern inspection tour, that Xiang Minzhong, then Administrative Assistant of Xinzhou, made his name known to the throne. Through his diligence in governance and his maturity and steadiness, he won Emperor Taizong's appreciation.

The Yongxi era was an "era of diligent governance." Carrying the label of "diligent governance" and having entered the Emperor's field of vision, Xiang Minzhong naturally enjoyed a smooth official career, rising rapidly—basically one step up every three or four years. By the fourteenth year of Yongxi, he was transferred from Deputy Commissioner of the Capital Region to Governor of Luoyang, personally designated by Taizong.

This time, when the various bigwigs of the court's factions all failed in their contest, the Censor-in-Chief position ultimately fell upon his head—one could say it was a matter of timing and fortune. It was a result of balance and compromise, at least ensuring no opponent could gloat. At the same time, a relatively less forceful Censor-in-Chief seemed to do no great harm to anyone.

At the same time, settling the Censor-in-Chief position early also spared trouble from the restless Ciming Hall. However, if the Empress Dowager was determined to meddle in state affairs, with the myriad affairs of the court above and below, could she really fail to find opportunities? If not the Censor-in-Chief, there were other important posts and heavy powers—unless the Empress Dowager were completely placed under house arrest, but that was ultimately unrealistic.

In the final analysis, it all came down to the Emperor's attitude. However, given Emperor Liu Wenpeng's recent conduct, especially after entering the third year of Pingkang, the Great Han court could hardly truly settle into calm.

One wave subsides, another rises—this was also the most ordinary of matters.

Guangyang Marquis Manor, rear garden. The garden was full of spring splendor, with boundless scenery.

Under the bright sunshine, Zhao Kuangyi, already seventy years old, trod on the green grass and sat on a stone stool beneath a rockery. Hunched over with age, he gazed with loving eyes into the distance, where his grandson Zhao Yuncheng was sparring with several martial arts instructors kept by the manor.

Beginning in the ninth year of Yongxi, Emperor Taizong had set about ennobling and promoting a group of civil and military officials who had rendered extraordinary service to the state over the past two decades. Compared to Shizu's grand ennoblement of meritorious officials, Emperor Taizong was far more restrained, with high requirements and standards, and many of the titles were non-hereditary. But even so, it greatly soothed the hearts of many meritorious nobles—at least they saw hope of "glorifying their ancestors," rather than being forced to watch their ranks and emoluments be whittled down generation after generation with the passage of time and the succession of their families.

At that time, Zhao Kuangyi, then Baron of Guangyang, was promoted to First-Class Marquis of Guangyang for forty years of loyalty to the imperial house, with toilsome labor and great merit. To be fair, no matter how many small schemes Zhao Kuangyi might harbor, his abilities and political skill were extremely outstanding, and his contributions to the state and its people during times of good governance could not be erased.

Therefore, after comprehensive consideration, Emperor Taizong bestowed this special title upon him. Zhao Kuangyi was also one of the few senior ministers most heavily ennobled and best treated during the Yongxi era. Within the Zhao clan, Zhao Kuangyi's branch could thus truly stand shoulder to shoulder with the Duke of Rongguo branch. Although Zhao Dezhao had inherited Zhao Kuangyin's mantle, over the past twenty-odd years, the one who had been the actual head of the Zhao clan remained Zhao Kuangyi, and his authority had grown ever heavier.

By now, Zhao Kuangyi had been in retirement for five or six years, yet he remained the clan's anchor—especially after Consort Zhao and her son had been sent away to Annam to take up their fief.

At seventy years of age, Zhao Kuangyi's back could no longer straighten, his hair and beard were snow-white, and the hair atop his head was so sparse it could barely support a cap. But his spirit remained vigorous, his eyes still sharp, his thinking still clear, and he still paid close attention to the changes in the court situation.

Having floated and sunk in the sea of officialdom for a lifetime, he had long formed a dependency on power. Even though he could no longer maneuver and command at the heights of the court, that did not prevent him from directing affairs and discussing state policy from within his marquis manor—this had even become the "spiritual sustenance" of Zhao Kuangyi's later years.

At this moment, his eldest son Zhao Dechong, who had already risen to the post of Vice Minister of the Court of Judicial Review, stood respectfully at the side, reporting to Zhao Kuangyi on some recent developments at court.

"Lü Mengzheng resigned from office?" Zhao Kuangyi was somewhat surprised.

Zhao Dechong nodded and said, "Just the day before yesterday, his resignation memorial was submitted to the Ministry of Personnel, then forwarded to the Hall of State Affairs. His Majesty has already approved the resignation!"

Hearing this, Zhao Kuangyi remarked with emotion: "Times are different now. Twenty years ago, when he was demoted, he could make a comeback. But now, heaven does not have another twenty years to give him.

If the late Emperor were still on the throne, even a Prefectural Administrator of Taiping Prefecture—even a County Magistrate—he could still hold on and seek to rise again. But now, heh heh...

Still, seeking retirement is not a wrong choice. Perhaps he may live a few more years and witness the shifting winds and clouds of this Great Han Empire."

Zhao Dechong silently listened to his old father's commentary, pretending not to hear the parts that carried veiled sarcasm and taboo-adjacent content. In the past two years, when chatting with Zhao Kuangyi, Zhao Dechong had cultivated a "deaf ear" divine skill—he could not control his old father's commentary, but he could control his own ears.

"Wang Yucheng died of illness—has His Majesty still made no gesture?" Zhao Kuangyi asked.

The former Grand Tutor of the Crown Prince and Grand Academician of the Inner Cabinet, Wang Yucheng, had died of illness on the twenty-eighth day of the first month of the third year of Pingkang. As a renowned minister of his generation, a loyal minister, an upright minister, and a pioneer of poetic and prose reform, Wang Yucheng was widely praised by the world for his extremely high moral integrity and literary standards—after all, he was a figure whom even Emperor Shizu had both loved and hated.

Yet, for such a veteran minister of three reigns, his posthumous affairs were somewhat desolate. Even his political enemies held a measure of respect or fear for Wang Yucheng—but it was precisely Emperor Liu Wenpeng who appeared utterly indifferent.

Not to mention courtesies such as suspending court sessions or posthumous honors—let alone personally attending the mourning—he did not even make the gesture of sending someone to offer condolences or feigning concern, as if he knew nothing of the matter at all.

And the reason was simply that Wang Yucheng had disciplined him strictly during his time in the Eastern Palace. The warning ruler bestowed by Taizong had struck truly hard. The more obedient and reverent he had been then, the more indifferent he was now.

There was no doubt that the Emperor's conduct in this matter lost him the people's hearts—at the very least, it lost the great moral principle of respecting teachers and honoring their teachings. There was considerable criticism both inside and outside the court. Of course, from the Emperor's perspective, this could be glossed over as a "minor fault" and a "minor loss of popular support." However, even with the dignity of an emperor, how many times could such depletion be sustained?

In fact, the answer was: many times! The Great Han Empire's system—the foundation accumulated by Shizu and Taizong—was simply that solid, sufficient to bear the caprice of a not-so-brilliant emperor for a short period.

Hearing this, Zhao Kuangyi also commented: "Wang Yucheng's loyalty and uprightness were known throughout the court and the country. For such a three-generation loyal minister of extraordinary renown, even if one harbored a grudge, basic decency and respect should still be given. The current Emperor is still young and hot-blooded..."

Zhao Dechong stood by, merely nodding silently in agreement. In fact, he also knew that Zhao Kuangyi's words were already restrained.

"I still remember that Wang Yucheng once impeached this old man too—truly irritating. This copper pea has gone just like that; the world will lose a wisp of righteousness, and also lose some amusement! Thinking on it, I do feel rather regretful!" Zhao Kuangyi was full of emotion today. After a moment's thought, he instructed: "On the day of his funeral, you go in my place to see him off!"

"Yes!" Zhao Dechong acknowledged.

Finally, Zhao Kuangyi's gaze moved away from his grandson Zhao Yuncheng, who was drenched in sweat from training, and he looked up at this eldest son whose official rank was steadily rising and whose bearing was growing ever more composed. He asked: "Any other 'amusing tidbits'?"

At the question, Zhao Dechong hesitated briefly, then said: "There is one matter—I do not find it amusing, but I believe I should tell you, Father!"

"Then let's hear it!" Zhao Kuangyi raised his withered hand, evidently somewhat intrigued as well.

Zhao Dechong said: "Yesterday was the second day of the second month. Your Majesty led the assembled ministers to break ground outside the city, and spoke of the late emperor's example of personally tilling the fields to encourage farming, requiring all ministers in attendance, regardless of age, to go down into the fields and labor."

Minister Zhang, compelled by the circumstances, personally wielded his hoe to turn the soil, and labored until he collapsed from exhaustion—only then did Your Majesty relent."

"Is that so?" After hearing the account, Zhao Kuangyi was momentarily stunned, and only after a long while could not help but laugh: "Zhang Qixian is a man nearing seventy—how could he endure such hardship?

It's true that the late emperor valued the farmland and personally labored, but he always showed consideration for his elder ministers. This emperor of ours—it seems he grows ever more intolerant of the Yongxi auxiliary ministers, even devising such methods to torment the old officials.

Spring is warm and flowers are blooming, and this court is growing livelier and livelier."