Chapter 2127: Kangzong Chronicles 13: The Empire's Rot, the Emperor Without Heirs

Perhaps because his interest had waned, the wild banquet at the Western Garden that night did not last long before it ended under the Emperor's listless announcement. He did not return to the palace either, but spent the night at the imperial camp. This was nothing unusual—Liu Wenpeng had experienced sleeping in the open before.

Inside the wide-open imperial tent, candlelight illuminated it thoroughly, with all sorts of furnishings complete, resembling a dismantlable, movable traveling palace. By the small brazier lit to ward off the night chill, Liu Wenpeng sat close, sweating profusely from the heat without noticing, a young face full of contemplation.

Liu Wenpeng rarely showed such a serious expression, and at this moment, all he could think about was the "inspection tour plan." As an emperor who followed his heart and whims, once the idea arose, there was no stopping it—he had already begun quietly mulling over the details of the tour. Of course, all he needed to consider was where to go; the rest would be arranged by his ministers and servants.

While Liu Wenpeng was agonizing over whether to go north or south first, the gaudily dressed inner eunuch Qin Fu walked in from outside the tent, his face full of displeasure, weeping and sniveling even as he bowed to the Emperor.

Snapping back to attention and observing his state, Liu Wenpeng immediately scolded: "Are you putting on that face for me? Sending you back to the palace to deliver cooked meat to the Empress Dowager—is that such a grievance to you?"

Upon hearing this, Qin Fu hastily knelt and bowed: "His Majesty misunderstands! To be able to serve His Majesty and the Empress Dowager is this servant's fortune, a great honor—how could there be any grievance?"

Liu Wenpeng waved his hand and asked casually: "Scolded by the Empress Dowager?"

"The Empress Dowager did not scold me at all—on the contrary, she praised His Majesty's filial piety and asked His Majesty to take care of his health," Qin Fu explained, then, meeting the Emperor's gaze, hesitated for a moment before speaking: "It's just that when this servant was returning to the palace, I heard a piece of news, and I beg His Majesty to render a judgment."

Seeing Qin Fu kowtow, Liu Wenpeng grew interested and said: "Let's hear it! What happened in the palace?"

"It's not in the palace—it's outside. My elder brother Qin Xie was taken away today by people from the Ministry of Justice and thrown into the imperial prison by Minister of Justice Xu Shilian."

Qin Fu, with a pitiful, tearful face, explained the matter to Liu Wenpeng. The affair was not complicated. The Qin brothers came from poverty; through fortune, Qin Fu managed to enter the palace as a servant, and through opportunity, eventually became one of Liu Wenpeng's young eunuchs, standing out thanks to his cleverness.

When Liu Wenpeng ascended the throne, Qin Fu naturally rose with the tide. Once Qin Fu prospered, the Qin family enjoyed the benefits too, especially his elder brother Qin Xie.

With someone in the palace, it was inevitable that one would throw one's weight around outside. Especially after committing several offenses in the Western Capital, a city full of nobles, and getting off lightly each time, he grew even more arrogant. The name of inner eunuch Qin Fu worked quite well, at least in the eyes of ordinary officials and minor clerks. And in the past two years, "Lord Qin" had gradually gained some reputation in the capital, "earning" a fortune of ten thousand strings of cash in a short time.

But the powerful figures of the Great Han—who wouldn't even deign to look at Qin Fu, the Emperor's trusted eunuch—how could they possibly pay any mind to a mere Qin Xie? The reason they had ignored him in the past was simply that they didn't want to make enemies over trifles that hadn't touched them personally. If they truly locked horns, who would take Qin Xie seriously?

This time, the one making the move was none other than Minister of Justice Xu Shilian. As an old minister of the Yongxi era, Xu Shilian was not a purely upright and straightforward man—he was deep and perceptive, capable and resourceful.

After so many years of observation, he was not only thoroughly disappointed in Emperor Liu Wenpeng, but also utterly disgusted with the favored sycophants surrounding the Emperor, and had long harbored the intention of teaching them a lesson.

After a period of secret scheming and gathering evidence of their crimes and misdeeds, he now struck at once, directly arresting them and bringing them to the Ministry of Justice for trial. Moreover, the charges were severe: assuming the Son of Heaven's name to commit plunder and exploitation—first, deceiving the sovereign; second, harming the people. With such a tune set, he intended to send them to their deaths, to fiercely cut down the arrogance of these treacherous vermin.

Of course, Qin Fu's report to the Emperor was a different story altogether. He complained that his brother Qin Xie, while searching for fine horses for the Emperor, had taken a liking to a sturdy Gaochang steed—truly the finest of horses—and had a minor "dispute" with the horse's owner during the "negotiation" process.

But the officers of the Ministry of Justice, ignoring right and wrong, had arrested Qin Xie on such unreasonable grounds, sealed up his residence, and detained his family members, and so on and so forth.

Liu Wenpeng did have some impression of Qin Xie, and even thought rather well of him. Previously, Liu Wenpeng had gone out in disguise to roam the city, and had been quite interested in "Lord Qin," who enjoyed considerable "popular support." Led by the Qin brothers, he had experienced a taste of the "jianghu adventures" of the Western Capital's streets, thoroughly enjoying himself, and had even spent a night at Qin Xie's home.

That such a loyal and amusing man should be arbitrarily charged by the Ministry of Justice—Liu Wenpeng was immediately angered upon hearing this. At the same time, he couldn't help but let his thoughts run wild: could it be that after half a year of calm, those ministers of the outer court were up to their old tricks again? A mere Qin Xie was hardly worth the attention of the dignified Minister of Justice—clearly, this was a provocation aimed at him, the Emperor.

As for Xu Shilian, Liu Wenpeng's impression of him was actually quite good—a bit deep, not talkative, unlike those like Li Hang who always wanted to put a yoke on him. Moreover, back when Lü Mengzheng had wanted to abolish the Palace City Office, Xu Shilian had firmly stood on the Emperor's side and opposed it.

Therefore, in Liu Wenpeng's eyes, Xu Shilian, this old minister of Taizong's era, even if not a trusted "Emperor's faction" member like Wang Qinruo or Dong Yan, was at least "one of his own."

But precisely because he was one of his own, he went and stirred up trouble without so much as a word. So Liu Wenpeng immediately sent someone to the Ministry of Justice to demand an explanation from Xu Shilian regarding the "Qin Xie case." Qin Fu volunteered to go himself—there was no other choice. Minister Xu was a ruthless man; he feared that if he didn't act quickly, his brother would be sentenced to death right there in court, executed first and reported later, not lasting two more days.

A single Qin Xie, alive or dead, only stirred a ripple in Liu Wenpeng's heart. In comparison, it was those uncertain speculations that made him frown and brood.

Late at night, Commissioner of the Palace City Wang Yue came to see him upon imperial summons. Since the "crisis of abolishing the office," Wang Yue had again increased the frequency of his visits to the palace, desperately trying to squeeze his way into the Emperor's favor, diligently working to raise his standing with Liu Wenpeng.

He had no choice but to do so. Liu Wenpeng, as an emperor, whether loved or hated, had too short an attention span—if one didn't carefully manage the relationship, one would most likely lose one's position. If the Emperor intervened in appointments to important court positions, there might be some trouble and struggle involved, but replacing a Commissioner of the Palace City Office was truly as simple as issuing one edict—as easy as boiling water.

Therefore, men like Wang Yue still maintained the competence of the Taizong era, except that this competence, beyond maintaining the basic functions of the Palace City Office, was now devoted more to currying favor with the Emperor. In fact, for a eunuch servant like Wang Yue, a Son of Heaven like Liu Wenpeng was far easier to serve.

And toward Liu Wenpeng, Wang Yue could basically answer any question asked. For example, when asked about the Qin Xie matter and whether any changes had occurred at court, he immediately grasped the Emperor's worries and suspicions. Thus, in a tone of absolute certainty, he assured the Emperor that the Qin Xie matter was not a big problem—most likely, Minister Xu had simply seen how rampant and lawless the man had become and intended to seek justice for the people, to rein in this brute and quell popular resentment.

At this, Liu Wenpeng was even more astonished—what popular resentment could a single Qin Xie stir up? So under the Emperor's repeated questioning, Wang Yue, under "duress," reported Qin Xie's situation in detail.

Wang Yue was a man who knew how to grasp the key points. He glossed over the trivial filth and focused on how, in the past two years, Qin Xie had used the pretext of presenting tribute to the Emperor to scour the populace for precious swords, fine horses, famous artifacts, and rare treasures—which was inevitably accompanied by seizure by force and fraud, lining his own pockets, breaking families, and costing lives.

Wang Yue never once mentioned Qin Fu, but every single matter gave the impression that Qin Fu's shadow loomed behind it. Noting the Emperor's gradually worsening expression, Wang Yue paused, then continued: "Officials and commoners who have been oppressed and plundered by Qin Xie all dare not speak out, only because—"

"Enough!" Liu Wenpeng clearly couldn't listen any longer. He kicked over the small brazier in front of him, and the flying sparks struck Wang Yue, nearly making him jump.

However, seeing the Emperor's furious appearance, his heart blossomed with joy, though his face remained composed. He hurriedly knelt and pleaded: "His Majesty, please calm your anger!"

"Is everything you've said truly accurate?" Liu Wenpeng stared coldly at Wang Yue.

Wang Yue's old face was stern and solemn as he said: "How would this old servant dare deceive the sovereign?"

"Why didn't you report this before?" Liu Wenpeng demanded fiercely. Facing the Emperor's interrogation, Wang Yue said with a sigh: "Qin Xie once boasted that His Majesty had stayed at his home and thought highly of him, and he styled himself 'the commoner Academician.' This old servant, mindful of His Majesty's special relationship with him, was wary and feared offending His Majesty's dignity, and therefore—"

"Bullshit!" Liu Wenpeng finally couldn't hold back and cursed aloud.

The inner eunuch Qin Fu, who had gone to the Ministry of Justice to deliver the imperial order, did not know that within the half hour of his leaving the Emperor's presence, he and his brother had been repeatedly stabbed in the back by Commissioner of the Palace City Wang Yue, provoking Emperor Liu Wenpeng to a murderous rage. Especially since Liu Wenpeng had recently heard the story of Emperor Jingzong of Tang, Li Zhan.

And the result of the trip to the Ministry of Justice also left Qin Fu terrified and heartbroken, because Minister of Justice Xu Shilian's reply was that the criminal Qin Xie had made a scene in the courtroom, offended the majesty of the state, and had been subjected to corporal punishment—unable to endure it, he had already died.

Xu Shilian said it lightly, but Qin Fu was beside himself with rage, directly accusing Xu Shilian of breaking the law in his judgment and treating human life like grass. But who was Xu Shilian? How could he fear Qin Fu? He simply said he would give the Emperor an explanation.

In the end, Qin Fu fled back to the Western Garden in disgrace. No matter how grieved or furious he was, he didn't dare throw his weight around in the Ministry of Justice's main hall. That place was one of the most solemn bastions of the Great Han Empire's legal authority—whoever dared to touch it, beating someone to death there was truly no big deal.

Filled with grief and indignation, he rushed straight to the imperial camp. Just as he reached outside the tent, he burst into loud wailing, intending to crawl on his knees into the tent to lodge his complaint. But he was directly seized by four guards who were prepared in advance. Without any explanation, they gagged him, bound him, dragged him into the dense woods at the side of the imperial camp, and threw him into a deep pit that had been dug in advance, burying him alive in short order.

That was just how Emperor Liu Wenpeng was—more emotional than rational. When he loved, he could regard someone as a trusted right hand; when he hated, he cast them aside like a worn-out shoe; and when he killed, he didn't blink an eye.

Perhaps feeling somewhat guilty himself, Liu Wenpeng didn't make much of a fuss over the aftermath of this matter. Xu Shilian submitted a "confession of guilt" the next day, and Liu Wenpeng only gave him a mild reprimand for excessive use of punishment, and the matter was over. This greatly surprised Xu Shilian, who had been prepared for a fight, and he gained a small measure of changed opinion toward the Emperor.

On the other hand, the Qin brothers also proved a point: it wasn't that the Emperor only spent his private funds and amused himself in the palace without causing much harm to the empire. It was just that compared to those who craved grand achievements, abused labor, and were extravagantly wasteful, the harm was less severe.

A mere pair of Qin brothers could stir up such a mess, provoking official anger and popular resentment—let alone others.

Setting aside the period before he personally took the reins—no matter how much strife there was at the center, everything still followed the rules of the Yongxi era, and with Liu Ai and Zhang Qixian struggling to maintain things, the situation remained fairly stable.

But looking at the two years since Liu Wenpeng "personally took the reins," that specter that destroys autocratic imperial empires had begun to roam the skies of the Great Han Empire once more. Even if it was still far away, still wandering beyond the heavens, from the clear and prosperous firmament, one could already glimpse a shadow.

First of all, as for Liu Wenpeng's so-called pleasures that didn't "waste labor and money"—surely no one actually believed that everything was procured by the Court of the Imperial Treasury, that everything was drawn from the inner coffers, that all accounts were clear, and that all sources were clean.

Without saying much, just one point: in the palace stores, from the Shizu era there remained a large quantity of famous wines and fine brews collected from all over, with quite a few aged fifty or sixty years. Perhaps astonishingly, throughout the entire Taizong era, not a single jar of wine was added to the palace stores. Relying solely on the reserves left by Shizu, they sufficed for all the banquets, ceremonies, and rewards of Emperor Taizong over fourteen years. Even so, when Liu Wenpeng succeeded to the throne, sixty percent remained.

And that remaining sixty percent had already run dry by the spring of the sixth year of Pingkang. The Court of the Imperial Treasury had again begun purchasing fine aged wines from all over the realm.

At the same time, the "tribute wine" system, which had been suspended for who knows how many years, was restored to operation. Liu Wenpeng had issued no edict, but from east, west, south, north, and all directions, wherever famous wines were produced, local officials proactively gathered fine wines to present as tribute.

At first, the scale was small and the quantity modest, mostly as a test, but the palace's tea and wine commissioner accepted everything without exception. Then it became unstoppable—those who followed the trend were countless, and famous wines from all over, cart after cart, flowed continuously along the empire's highways toward the capital.

Regarding this situation, there were of course voices at court offering remonstrance and reminders. However, the court itself had a tribute system; it was just that the two preceding emperors had exercised restraint and not allowed local tribute (Shizu had strictly ordered procurement, while Taizong simply found the legacy of Shizu sufficient).

The key to this matter ultimately lay in the Emperor's self-control and moral standards—and using those two things to test Liu Wenpeng was inherently somewhat absurd.

Therefore, remonstrance was useless, because the Emperor would never listen. Without enough wine, how could one hold banquets and start singing and dancing?

If pestered to the point of annoyance, the Emperor would also lose his temper, and his reasoning was quite sufficient: the tribute wines from all regions were a token of sincerity from local officials and people—are you all trying to block my closeness with officials and commoners? Your intentions deserve death.

On the other hand, the local officials who presented tribute wine, besides currying favor with the Emperor and adding a boost to their official careers, were more obviously using this method to seek private gain or to fill holes in their fiscal deficits—this was a "perfectly legitimate" opportunity.

If the value of the tribute wine the Emperor could obtain was one, then the local bureaucrats could often gain three or four times that amount in profit. Those who went too far could gain more than ten times. And where did this wealth come from? From the people under their governance, that's all.

And this was only the impact of the "tribute wine" alone!

From this, another conclusion could be drawn: in the two years since Liu Wenpeng assumed personal rule, the officialdom of the Great Han Empire had begun to grow murky, and governance could no longer maintain its former clarity.

At court, the powerful and privileged were rife with contradictions, conflicts without end, and their struggles for power and profit grew ever more apparent. Meanwhile, the chancellors led by Director of State Affairs Wang Dan mostly only maintained the empire's overall stability and the normal functioning of government; for local affairs, especially certain malpractices, they could neither concentrate their efforts nor wield sufficient authority to resolve them.

The deeply intertwined web of political interests created severe obstruction. Those caught within it could do little beyond vigorously defending their own interests; attempting more often meant sinking into the mire. Of course, there were always some good ministers full of zeal and public spirit, but compared to the general environment, they seemed insignificant.

Thus, in the Pingkang era, the Great Han as a whole still remained in a state of peace and stability, but the fine, pure, and uplifting style of governance from the Taizong era was steadily decaying. This kind of imperceptible, silent corruption was all the more disheartening, and various visible blemishes began to appear once again on the vast body of the Great Han Empire.

All of this was clearly the doing of a pleasure-seeking emperor—at the very least, Liu Wenpeng, who had taken over the empire from Emperor Taizong, bore primary responsibility!

This summer hunt lasted another two days, ending with the emperor returning in disappointment. The reason for his disappointment was that the bowstring of Liu Wenpeng's treasured carved bow had snapped, which was deeply distressing and even more disheartening.

However, upon returning to the palace, a piece of terrible news shocked and grieved him even more: his two-year-old son, the Crown Prince of the Great Han, Liu Jiye, had died young!

In recent years, aside from his amusements, Liu Wenpeng had not been lax in his efforts in the harem—pressured from above by the Empress Dowager, concerned over by the ministers below, and himself hoping for an abundance of heirs.

But things often went contrary to one's wishes. Over the past years, his consorts had actually borne him two sons and three daughters, but most had died young; only one son and one daughter had survived.

The imperial prince in particular was the legitimate son born of Empress Yang, and his importance could well be imagined. Although Liu Wenpeng found Empress Yang's propriety and severity dull, he doted on the prince she bore, naming him Jiye and directly establishing him as Crown Prince in the autumn of the fifth year of Pingkang.

Yet in less than a year, the crown prince on whom he had placed such hopes had died young. Even Liu Wenpeng was stricken with heartbreak, wailing without cease. Perhaps even when Emperor Taizong had passed away, Liu Wenpeng had not grieved so deeply.

An enraged Son of Heaven could leave a million corpses in his wake, and a grieving emperor was equally dangerous. In his sorrow, Liu Wenpeng issued an order, and all several dozen palace women who had served in Kunming Hall were executed.

The death of the crown prince was bound to have profound repercussions, for the empire's upper echelons of power once again discovered a problem: it was already the sixth year of Pingkang, and the emperor of the Great Han seemed to have no heir once more.

Perhaps they could only wait for the emperor to work harder and produce another? Or perhaps.