Chapter 2126: Kangzong Chronicles 12: The Hunting Son of Heaven

In the summer of the sixth year of Pingkang, in the Western Park of Luoyang, within the lush royal gardens, more than two thousand imperial cavalry swept past, startling birds into flight and beasts into flight, a scene of jubilant clamor.

The Inner Palace imperial cavalry were all skilled horsemen and archers without exception, and equally experts at hunting. Under the leadership of their various Commanders, they spread out in orderly formation, expertly and smoothly driving the surrounding prey into the hunting grounds.

At the position of honor, surrounded like stars around the moon, was naturally the Emperor Liu Wenpeng. Even setting aside his status, that flamboyant, dazzling golden armor alone was enough to catch the eye.

This golden armor had quite a pedigree. It was the Director of the Palace Workshops Liu Gui who had gathered renowned clothing designers from both official and private circles to design and draft the plans. From over a hundred proposals, they compared and eliminated one by one, then selected the most skilled craftsmen from the Palace Workshops, the Ministry of Works, and the Armory Bureau. With the most dexterous hands and the most careful patience, it took over half a year before it was finally completed.

Without a doubt, this was the most extravagant set of armor since the founding of the Great Han Empire. The shimmering, flowing leaves were forged from pure gold, and every other ornament was no ordinary item. To facilitate the Emperor's inspections and hunts, it was specially crafted as a set of willow-leaf light armor, retaining practicality.

At the same time, both inside and out, the armor bore patterns, lines, and shapes encompassing heaven and earth, the four directions, and the rivers and mountains of the realm—designs laden with special significance—while also possessing beauty, or rather, artistry: the truly expensive, priceless kind of artistry.

As for the finished product, after trying it on, Liu Wenpeng was extremely satisfied, believing that it finally matched his status.

Of this immensely costly, meticulously crafted golden armor, ten sets were initially made, with the actual labor and materials consumed being ten times that amount. In the end, at Liu Wenpeng's direction, eight sets were destroyed, leaving only two as the Emperor's personal armor—one for regular use, one as a spare.

With this, Director of the Palace Workshops Liu Gui once again won Liu Wenpeng's favor. The Emperor bestowed upon Liu Gui all the leftover "waste materials" from the armor-making process—residual gold, gems, gold thread, bead strings, and tassels—in a display of great generosity, and all meritorious officials were richly rewarded as well.

However, no matter how much gold and silver wealth was involved, to Liu Gui it was nothing more than that. Thirty years ago, perhaps, it would have mattered, but now Liu Gui was past sixty, and a eunuch besides—he truly regarded money as dirt.

Moreover, as an old household servant who had managed the Palace Workshops for over thirty years, it could be said that Liu Gui had enjoyed power and splendor for exactly as long as he had held the post.

One could even say that many of the Emperor's material pleasures, he had enjoyed as well, and things the Emperor either did not have or was unwilling to indulge in, he had also tried. By now, ordinary gold and silver held little appeal for Liu Gui.

What could stir the old eunuch's heart, besides the power and status that the Palace Workshops itself represented, was honor that would have been impossible to obtain in the era of Shizu and Taizong.

Therefore, faced with the Emperor's lavish reward, Liu Gui appeared reserved, putting on an air of pure integrity and detachment. Seeing his "complicated" expression, Liu Wenpeng naturally asked the reason.

Only after the Emperor asked did Liu Gui, with a melancholy air, express to Liu Wenpeng that although he had served two generations of sovereigns, Shizu and Taizong, in the palace for fifty years, and had been entrusted with the Palace Workshops and managed the imperial treasury for over thirty years, he was ultimately no match for those meritorious nobles of the outer court. Now nearing the end of his life, he could only hope for a "complete man" in his next life, to continue serving the Great Han imperial house with utmost loyalty.

Whatever faults one might find in Liu Wenpeng, it could not be denied that he was in fact a clever man—only, his cleverness was rarely applied to political matters, or in the directions people expected.

But when he did put his mind to something, Liu Wenpeng was shrewd. For instance, when Liu Gui made that "petition" to him, a moment's thought was enough for him to realize that this old eunuch actually wanted a noble title.

Liu Wenpeng asked him directly, but the old fellow Liu Gui continued to hold himself aloof, neither admitting nor denying it, and even feigned senility by rambling on about old memories to Liu Wenpeng.

But Liu Wenpeng was hardly one to listen to others prattle on. He cheerfully cut him off and said: "With your loyalty and merits, a duke or marquis might be hard to grant, but an Earl is more than within reach. I am not afraid of court officials criticizing or opposing it—but the Great Han's noble rank system was established by Shizu, with measured rewards and orderly succession.

You are a eunuch, without roots or heirs; a title would be of little use to you. However, since you have raised the matter, and considering how hard your old servant's lot has been, I shall grant you a special favor.

When you have passed on, I will certainly posthumously bestow a title upon you."

Heaven knows what the old eunuch Liu Gui thought upon receiving such a reply from the Emperor, but at least on the surface, he appeared fearful and grateful, weeping tears of gratitude. And from this matter, one could actually see that although Emperor Liu Wenpeng delighted in frivolity and committed many absurdities, his absurdity had its limits.

Returning to the matter of the "imperial armor," there was naturally endless criticism within the court. After all, behind those two suits of treasure armor lay the waste of enormous human and material resources, especially the consumption of hard currency like gold measured in hundreds of catties. In terms of value, the cost of forging those two suits of armor for Liu Wenpeng would have been enough to completely repave several damaged roads leading to the outskirts of the capital.

The empire's nobles and officials were, deep down, quite satisfied with the Emperor's "rule by non-interference." As long as he did not stir up the court or harass the powerful, he could make as much noise as he liked within the palace.

However, as the Emperor gradually let himself go, more and more men of insight and loyal ministers grew increasingly unable to stomach it. Especially at the ever-swelling extravagance and waste within the palace, some old ministers of the Yongxi era were deeply grieved—was the legacy of Taizong to be thus destroyed, abandoned, and even trampled upon? How could the Son of Heaven bear it?

Thus, seizing upon the "imperial armor" affair, Vice Censor-in-Chief Lu Zongdao stepped forward. He had long been unable to tolerate the Emperor's absurd frivolity and neglect of state affairs, and had previously submitted remonstrances, all to no effect. In the autumn of the fifth year of Pingkang, at Li Hang's suggestion, Lu Zongdao was sent to the southeast to inspect official governance.

Half a year later, upon returning to the capital, he happened to encounter the Emperor wandering about hunting in his flamboyant treasure armor. After learning the full story, Lu Zongdao could no longer hold back. He directly "charged" to Chuigong Hall and, outside the hall, loudly recited the Imperial Han Ancestral Statutes.

Liu Wenpeng, who rarely got to rest even in the dead of night, was disturbed by Lu Zongdao in this manner and flew into a towering rage. Of course, within that "rage" there was also an element of embarrassment turning to anger.

And Lu Zongdao's blunt, even reckless approach accomplished nothing more than enraging the Emperor. He was immediately ordered by Liu Wenpeng to be seized by the guards and given twenty strokes of the court cane. Had the guards not been moved by Lu Zongdao's integrity and shown some leniency, he would likely have been crippled.

It must be said that the caning of Lu Zongdao was actually the first time since Liu Wenpeng ascended the throne that corporal punishment had been inflicted on a senior court minister—yet another situation that seemed to defy "common sense."

Liu Wenpeng certainly had reason to be angry. Not a single coin of the money spent on forging the treasure armor had come from the state treasury—it was all funded from the imperial privy purse, his own private property. At most, he had summoned some renowned masters and skilled artisans from various offices and the private sector. He had neither burdened the common people nor damaged the state's finances—what right did the ministers have to interfere?

And they had even dragged out the Imperial Han Ancestral Statutes—did this Emperor have no face to save? This was also the reason Liu Wenpeng had to strike back, to punish severely even at the cost of public outcry.

After all, where there is a first, there is a second. If he did not crush the arrogant spirit of ministers like Lu Zongdao this time, then afterward, wouldn't those ministers follow suit—whenever they found something displeasing about him, raise high the Ancestral Statutes to restrain him?

Clearly, Lu Zongdao had chosen the wrong timing and used the wrong method. The ancestral laws were not omnipotent, nor could they be abused. At least, when fundamental institutions were not involved and the vested interests of the ruling elite were not infringed upon, relying on that alone was useless—especially against a "hot-blooded" Emperor like Liu Wenpeng. Lu Zongdao, a civil official, could hardly endure such suffering. When he was carried home, he had nearly lost half his life. His family urgently sought physicians and medicine before he was saved.

And this matter clearly had a sequel. Before public opinion could even ferment, Emperor Liu Wenpeng's follow-up move arrived: stripping him of his post, reducing him to commoner status, and banishing him to Hexi to raise horses—unless he raised ten thousand great Hexi horses, he would never be allowed to return to court.

This was clearly an imitation of the story from Shizu's reign, when Shizu dismissed Chancellor Su Fengji. But how many people, faced with circumstances like Su Fengji's, could possess such perseverance, such willpower, and such fortune as to make a comeback? Viewed with a normal eye, one could almost declare Lu Zongdao's political career at an end.

And the impact of the "Palace Alarm Incident" was clearly not as simple as Lu Zongdao's banishment. Birds of a feather flock together—at least those upright and loyal men who, like Lu Zongdao, valued integrity, felt greatly frustrated, and were disappointed by the Emperor's conduct of "refusing loyal remonstrance and persecuting the worthy." From this matter onward, those in court who dared to remonstrate frankly at the risk of offending the Emperor grew fewer and fewer.

Liu Wenpeng paid no heed to the ministers' sentiments and reactions. His anger not yet dissipated, he instead became relentless. He had delegated power to the Hall of State Affairs, not so those ministers could stuff themselves full and then interfere in his private affairs.

After delegating power, he had not interfered with the operation of the state treasury. Yet this inexplicable Lu Zongdao had stirred up trouble over a mere two suits of imperial armor, trying to control the privy purse. If this was not deceiving the sovereign, it was exceeding one's authority. How could this be tolerated? It had to be countered and taught a lesson.

Thus, from then on, Liu Wenpeng temporarily set aside his carefree pleasures and began to inquire into state treasury matters. Every few days he would summon Li Hang to ask about financial affairs, and even sent people to audit the accounts openly and covertly. When the Emperor wanted to find fault, how could he fail to find problems—especially in the Finance Commission, an office managing the entire nation's finances that was naturally full of disputes and errors.

Li Hang, the finance chancellor, was inevitably made to look a fool. Had it not been for fear of the matter growing too large, Liu Wenpeng would have had the impulse to replace Li Hang as well.

But after Liu Wenpeng's stirring of things, the effect was immediately apparent. At least many of the powerful came to recognize one thing: it was easy for the Emperor to make trouble for them, but for them to admonish the Emperor was exceedingly difficult, and carried the risk of losing their posts, being dismissed, or even being thrown into prison.

And to make the Emperor "behave" somewhat, it seemed not difficult at all—one simply had to avoid disturbing his private life. And although the Emperor's various activities were not particularly wise, nor did they match the conduct of a sage ruler, one could not demand of every emperor what one demanded of Shizu and Taizong.

As for Emperor Liu Wenpeng's various deeds that failed to win popular support—on closer thought, they seemed not so terrible after all. As long as he did not harm the state or the people, the solid foundation left by Shizu and Taizong was still ample enough to support it.

After the Lu Zongdao affair, Liu Wenpeng did not restrain himself; on the contrary, he became even more indulgent. He frequently donned his golden armor, came and went from the palace, rode horses, and hunted. In the past, there were great hunts in all four seasons; now it was one great hunt per month, with over a thousand imperial cavalry accompanying him at every turn.

In the great hunting party at this time, the two thousand imperial cavalry were all Inner Palace personal troops, and all were fierce and valiant men carefully selected over the past two years by Liu Wenpeng's decree from among the various armies within and outside the empire. The selection criteria imposed restrictions on age, height, background, and even appearance.

After being transferred to the capital, they served Liu Wenpeng both as his personal imperial guard and as his playmates. To this end, he ordered the Ministry of War and the Armory Bureau to forge two thousand sets of willow-leaf silver armor.

Iron hooves galloping, silver armor flying—how magnificent and imposing a sight! At the center of it all, Liu Wenpeng was naturally in high spirits, his heroic fervor surging. Seeing the hunting grounds open, he galloped over to more than twenty young knights whose attire and bearing set them apart from the ordinary "Silver Armor Army," and announced loudly: "Listen up, everyone! Today's hunt has new rules—we're playing something different!

In the hunting grounds, I have ordered a marked prey released—that is today's prize. Whoever hunts it down will be today's victor. I will not only reward him handsomely, but also have him drink at the same table as me!

Understood?"

"Yes!" The group shouted in unison.

These several dozen participants in the hunting competition all came from distinguished backgrounds—all were descendants of the empire's meritorious nobility. The lowest family standing among them was of marquis rank, and those sent to serve at the Emperor's side were all valued by their families as having high cultivation potential.

Among them were no shortage of family heirs, such as Murong Yonglin, the legitimate grandson of the Marquis of Wuchang Murong Chengde, and Guo Guang, the legitimate grandson of the Marquis of Bowang Guo Jin.

At the command of Emperor Liu Wenpeng, acting as referee, the group of noble scions immediately spurred their horses forward, charging toward the beasts that had been driven into the hunting grounds. Some of the more impatient ones had already raised their bows from a great distance.

Behind them, watching the hunting scene, Liu Wenpeng wore an expression of excitement, yet deep in his eyes, a hint of boredom also surfaced unbidden.

These years, over and over, he had hunted within the Western Park, with the farthest reaches being Ruzhou to the south and Huaizhou to the north—neither far. Liu Wenpeng had long grown numb in this repetitive existence; after all, he was someone who needed novelty to stimulate him.

At the same time, the high frequency and intensity of hunting was causing increasingly severe damage to the ecology of the Western Park in Luoyang, especially the loss of wildlife. A large portion of the prey in this hunt had been captured from elsewhere and brought in on Liu Wenpeng's orders.

Going to a farther place, a place more suitable for hunting—this thought sprouted once again in Liu Wenpeng's mind. Both Shizu and Taizong had traveled forth to inspect the realm. As their successor, following the example of the former emperors by touring to inspect governance and observe the people's condition—that was only fitting, was it not?

That night, within the Western Park, Liu Wenpeng held another bonfire banquet, with imperial wine in unlimited supply. He and his noble attendants savored the day's catch to their hearts' content.

Liu Wenpeng also fulfilled his promise, bestowing upon Murong Yonglin, who had "seized the laurel," the rank of fourth-rank Loyal and Martial General, and having him sit and feast at his side. At least on this summer night in the Western Park of Luoyang, within the imperial encampment, the twenty-three-year-old Murong Yonglin occupied a position that others could only envy.

The Great Han Empire had two great Murong clans—one was naturally the family of Duke Weiguo, Murong Yanzhao; the other was the branch of the imperial uncle, Duke Luanguo, Murong Yanchao. Murong Yonglin was his great-grandson, and the grandson of Marquis Wuchang, Murong Chengtai.

As for Murong Chengtai, although he was not Murong Yanchao's eldest legitimate son, by virtue of his military merits during the reign of Shizu, coupled with his impeccable family connections (being on intimate terms with Prince Yong, Liu Chenghsun, and having married the younger Lady Fu, making him a brother-in-law of Emperor Shizu himself), he was enfeoffed as a first-rank Marquis.