Chapter 2133: Shizong Chronicles 1: Who Shall Succeed to the Great Throne

In the cold sky with evening snow, by the rocky shoals, Liu Wenji, wearing a felt cap and a straw rain cloak, sat fishing by the river. However, the fishing rod extending over the water had neither a hook nor even a fishing line. Clearly, what the Prince of Jing was fishing for was not fish, but the solitude of one lying in wait.

Cold mist swirled over the river surface, obscuring visibility, but passing boats could still be faintly made out, coming one after another within view.

The Prince of Jing's residence was crowded with people and prying eyes; only in such an environment of solitary fishing on the cold river could Liu Wenji find a measure of peace, could he slightly lower his guard and relax his nerves.

Winter in the south was equally cold, and the river wind raging only intensified the chill. Even with a charcoal brazier placed at his side, its warming effect was poor. However, Liu Wenji had long come to savor such an uncomfortable environment, and it was precisely through this self-tempering and settling that he had become "consummate" from the inside out.

His attendants were not many, only five or six, scattered about on guard duty nearby—all of them the most loyal and elite guardsmen, impervious to the cold wind, unruffled by the waves.

On the path leading to the fishing spot, a figure hurried over, drawing the vigilance of two guards. But upon seeing who it was, they released their sword hilts and resumed their posts.

Liu Wenji's ears caught everything; he naturally noticed the newcomer's approach. But he did not move in the slightest. Only when Xiao Gong rushed to his side did Liu Wenji ask: "Hurried footsteps, emotions laid bare—what has happened to make you so undignified?"

Upon the question, Xiao Gong took a deep breath of the cold riverside air, nearly choking on it, then exhaled heavily. A man as steady and composed as Xiao Gong could hardly conceal his excitement now. He clasped his hands in a deep bow, and his voice trembled involuntarily—not from cold, for the fire within his heart was enough to erase the chill of winter.

"Reporting to Your Highness, a letter has come from the capital—His Majesty has passed away."

It is difficult to accurately describe the psychological state of the Prince of Jing of the Great Han upon first hearing such "terrible news." But from his sudden rise, slipping and falling, quickly getting back up, and staring fixedly at Xiao Gong—these reactions seemed sufficient to convey his feelings.

The meaning in Liu Wenji's gaze was self-evident. Xiao Gong bowed again and said: "His Majesty, on the nineteenth day, passed away at Shangyang Palace!"

"Return to Jiangling!" With that one sentence and no further words, Liu Wenji turned and left, striding swiftly along the path. Only when he boarded the carriage did he realize he was still tightly gripping the fishing rod, his knuckles white.

Setting down the rod, he discovered he had left the fish basket behind. Not needing his attendants' help, Liu Wenji chose to turn back and fetch it himself. By the time he returned carrying an utterly ordinary fish basket, he had already regained his usual composure, with not a trace of agitation on his face.

For the members of the Prince of Jing's faction, they did not know whether years of lying low, accumulating, and waiting had all been for this very day. But when news of the Son of Heaven's death arrived, the figures in the inner circle could hardly contain their excitement.

On this matter, Liu Wenji's forces naturally held an urgent discussion and, making a prompt decision, resolved to set out immediately—to enter the capital and seize the throne!

Right after, a letter from Consort Dowager Xiao arrived by swift horse, containing only a single character: Steady!

That one concise and forceful character, like a "settling" mantra, thoroughly helped Liu Wenji calm his heart. After brief deliberation, he revised his plan, deciding not to rush into the capital for the time being—after all, the court had not yet announced the mourning.

And for Liu Wenji, there were also reasons to proceed steadily. From the moment the Son of Heaven passed away, his connection to the fate of the Great Han Empire had suddenly become inextricably close. For no other reason than that he was a son of Emperor Taizong—a Prince with no other faults to speak of besides the "question of bloodline."

The Son of Heaven had died without issue. No matter who held power at court, no one could bypass him in deciding the successor! Of course, Consort Dowager Xiao in the capital could also give Liu Wenji a measure of confidence.

A full three more days passed before news of the Son of Heaven's death spread through official channels to Jiangling, and from Jiangling continued to spread throughout Huguang, and further to the two Guangs and even Annam.

Thus, Jiangling was shaken, Hubei was shaken, the central-south was shaken! One must remember, just last spring, the Son of Heaven had toured Huguang. Though he had been dissolute then, he had seemed normal enough, hale and hearty. How could such an earth-shattering change occur in less than two years?

How many clever people there are in this world! Just before the Prince of Jing's procession departed Jiangling northward to return to the capital for the national mourning, a heavyweight figure in the Jinghu North circuit officialdom—the Duke of Yan, Wang Zeng, then serving as Vice Administrative Commissioner of Hubei—came calling.

One need only look at his title to know his origins: grandson of Wang Pu, son of Wang Shen. To be fair, the Wang family had not fared well over the past thirty years, having gradually retreated entirely from the ranks of the Great Han's top nobility.

The reason lay in the Yulin Rebellion over thirty years ago. As the chief commander of the early pacification efforts, Wang Shen's handling had been flawed in many respects, and the result had led to the situation in Yulin deteriorating. Although the causes, spread, and suppression of the Yulin Rebellion involved many more complex factors behind the scenes, Wang Shen's burden of blame was not undeserved in the least.

It was precisely from being dismissed as commander at Yulin that the Wang family began its decline. Of course, it was only because Wang Pu had such great face and held such a high position in Shizu's esteem that anyone else might have been cast down to the mortal dust entirely.

Wang Shen was a man of high ambition but insufficient breadth of mind, with an arrogant temperament—though he did possess some ability. It was precisely because of the lesson of the Yulin Rebellion that he settled his mind and plotted his resurgence.

In Danzhou, he spent four years thoroughly suppressing the local barbarian unrest, acting with decisive ruthlessness, slaughtering over ten thousand people, which greatly changed Shizu's impression of him.

Later transferred to Annam as Chief Commander, he remained responsible for suppressing bandits and quelling unrest. During his tenure, he eliminated a large number of native tribal groups who had outwardly submitted but secretly harbored treacherous intentions. Though this once stirred up considerable turmoil, it substantively advanced the sinicization of the region. His reputation was poor, but his toils and merits were great.

Yet, over ten years of hard work merely to reclaim the honor and status that had originally been his own—such an experience was quite bitter for Wang Shen.

Moreover, not long after Shizu's death, Wang Shen also passed away in depression amid years of toil and the bitterness that had always weighed on his heart. To his death, he never even managed to return to the empire's core ruling territory, let alone restore the glory of the Wang name and his late father's honor.

Now, another twenty-odd years had passed. The Wang family's talents had run dry, and though the title and stipend continued to be passed down, politically they had degenerated into an ordinary meritorious noble family. This was at least inconsistent with the position Wang Pu had held in the empire and in Shizu's esteem during the Qianyou era.

As the eldest legitimate son of the Wang clan and its current head, Wang Zeng had for many years diligently sought to rebuild the family's glory and bring the Wangs back to the center of imperial power. Of course, ideals are plump, but his ability was truly limited. After all these years of grinding away, he was only a Vice Administrative Commissioner of Hubei. For an ordinary official, this would be a high post of great importance, but for the Duke of Yan, it was far from enough.

At this time of great upheaval, Wang Zeng took the initiative to approach the Prince of Jing, Liu Wenji—his purpose, of course, was to pledge his allegiance. Ordinary efforts were simply too difficult, so one had to take a shortcut. Over the past two years, Wang Zeng had been one of the nobles quietly observing Liu Wenji, and he felt that he could gamble on Liu Wenji.

As for Wang Zeng's pledge of allegiance, Liu Wenji felt more surprise than delight. With his well-developed cautious nature, he did not accept it, but instead instructed him to remain loyal to his duties, govern affairs, and reassure the people during this time of great change. Wang Zeng was inevitably disappointed, but not disheartened—at least His Highness the Prince of Jing had not refused, had he? Following that, Wang Zeng began quietly making connections, especially toward the capital region, both to probe for information and to grasp the direction of events, preparing to support the Prince of Jing's succession at any moment.

A broken ship still has three pounds of nails—how much more so the Duke of Yan's Wang family. Some resources unused did not mean they did not exist, and once brought into play, they still carried some influence. At a critical moment, they might just produce unexpected results.

Even the increasingly declining Wang family was calculating its own schemes and even risking action—one can imagine how treacherous and deceitful the capital region had become.

In Luoyang during the deep winter, aside from being a bit colder, everything seemed largely unchanged. The death of the Son of Heaven seemed to have no effect on the gentry and commoners of the capital region—the streets were crowded, trade was brisk, and the clamor continued as before.

Of course, having no effect at all was impossible. At the very least, many gentry and commoners had stopped their New Year shopping and preparations. With the Emperor dead, the coming New Year was destined to be a difficult one.

At the same time, all imperial army units stationed in the capital region received military orders from the Bureau of Military Affairs: the entire army was placed on alert, with entry and exit prohibited, and violators would be executed. The garrison troops at all the passes and strategic points around Luoyang received the same orders.

With the Emperor dead, even the Bureau of Military Affairs in fact had no authority to mobilize troops, but a single order of martial law was still barely within its purview. And all these actions served only one purpose: before the new sovereign ascended the throne, the Great Han's army must remain neutral and ensure stability. This was also the consensus of all the nobles—whoever dared to act rashly would be besieged by all.

Of course, patrols, public security, and order in the capital region still needed to be maintained. The constables and officers of the Luoyang Prefecture and the Patrol Inspectorate turned out in force, strictly controlling entry and exit. This resulted in the old general Chang Guzhen, who actually controlled the Patrol Inspectorate, suddenly becoming one of the few people with the greatest real power in Luoyang. No other reason—with the thirty thousand troops of the Patrol Inspectorate under his command, one had to give him that face.

Chang Guzhen came from humble origins, a true old minister and veteran general who had fought his way up from the bottom, sword by sword. Moreover, his experiences were quite legendary: tragedy in childhood, vengeance in youth, military service in middle age—and now, approaching seventy, he could even influence the succession to the imperial throne and participate in activities that would decide the empire's future.

Chang Guzhen was a textbook "Western Expedition" general, having fought for over twenty years on the northwestern front. He had even become one of the camp masters in Prince Wei Liu Min's "camp system" reform in Anxi, enjoying the treatment of a true feudal noble under the Anxi system (currently managed by his descendants in Anxi).

Behind Chang Guzhen's rise, of course, was the support of Emperor Taizong—it was through Taizong's continuous promotions that he had reached his current position. This, in turn, reflected the intention, since Shizu's time, of promoting generals from humble and rising backgrounds to balance the traditional meritorious noble generals.

Regardless, at least in this winter of the eighth year of Pingkang, a great many people in Luoyang, including nobles at court, had to act according to Chang Guzhen's whims. At the same time, even more people sought to win him over through various means, and the old minister thus felt a "warmth" he had not experienced in decades.

The situation in Luoyang was indeed in such a complex, treacherous, even absurd atmosphere. The most absurd part was perhaps this: the Emperor had died, and apart from the palace, the court, and the government offices hanging white banners and donning mourning clothes, from the inside out, from top to bottom, there was not a single sign of a national mourning.

Of course, this was understandable. The Emperor had left too suddenly, with no issue, and had not clearly designated a successor during his lifetime—not even a backup. Under such circumstances, the minds of the Great Han's nobles were naturally all focused on one question: who would succeed to the great throne—a matter of paramount importance concerning the empire's future and the interests of all the people.

The struggle for the throne had always been fierce and cruel, and what Kangzong had left behind was an unprecedentedly chaotic situation, which further intensified the conflict and confusion, leaving many nobles at a loss.

However, after a brief period of chaos, everyone quickly adapted. Human hearts may be hard to fathom, and the situation may be chaotic, but interests are eternal—whether public or private. And the struggle for the throne, based on interests, had already begun once the imperial coffin was returned to Ziwei City.

At that time, the first to state a proposal was the chancellor Kou Zhun. He was always so resolute and bold, drawing attention, and he declared bluntly and firmly that since the late Emperor had no issue, the Prince of Jing, Liu Wenji, should be welcomed to ascend the throne.

It must be said that over the past years, Kou Zhun and Liu Wenji had hardly had a relationship beyond that of fellow officials—they had scarcely even interacted. Of course, this was also because Liu Wenji deliberately kept a low profile; he had not curried favor with or cultivated any of the court chancellors.

Yet when the mountain crumbled, Kou Zhun unhesitatingly, by name, chose to support Liu Wenji. His position was also simple: he firmly upheld one principle—the line of Taizong. And when it came to the line of Taizong, counting them all, in Kou Zhun's eyes, there was only Liu Wenji.

What Kou Zhun represented was in fact the view of a large portion of the court. At least the premise of "the line of Taizong" was nearly a consensus—it was only when it came to specifics that there were many considerations.

The line of Taizong was not limited to just the Prince of Jing, Liu Wenji.

After Kou Zhun, chancellor-level ministers such as Xu Shilian and Xiang Minzhong successively seconded the motion, but they only expressed that the successor should come from the line of Taizong.

Then dissenting voices began to emerge—and they came from the Murong clan, the consort kin. What they opposed was, of course, Liu Wenji's succession. Their reasons were three: first, since ancient times, there was the succession of younger brother after elder brother, but never elder brother after younger brother; second, the Prince of Jing had long been ill and could not bear the weight; third, he had Khitan blood.

Of these three points, the first naturally did not hold water—let alone elder brother after younger brother, even uncle after nephew had precedents.

The second point was indeed his weakness, but illness could not outweigh legitimacy. As long as the Prince of Jing still had breath, he was qualified to succeed.

What truly carried killing power was naturally the third point—this was enough to stir up the latent disgust and rejection hidden in the hearts of many nobles.

With Liu Wenji brought up, it was only natural that the Prince of Annam, Liu Wenhuan, as the eldest son of Taizong, should also be placed on the table.

And compared to Liu Wenji, Liu Wenhuan's legitimacy was even stronger, and at the same time, his bloodline was also thoroughly orthodox.

But likewise, after proposing Liu Wenhuan, the opposition came even more swiftly than it had for Liu Wenji. As for the reasons, there was basically no need to mention things like having already taken up his fief — the fatal weakness lay precisely in the point that "Consort Chang committed adultery, and the bloodline is in question."

Although this matter had long since become a secret of the palace, the upper echelons of the powerful actually knew it full well. In the past they had refrained from mentioning it only out of deference to the honored, but when it came to the purity of the Great Han Empire's realm and the orthodox bloodline of the imperial house, they could no longer care about saving face.

Of course, there was still a solution to this — at least Liu Wenhuan had later fathered several sons, so one could simply strip the two sons born of Consort Chang of their inheritance rights.

That was one way, but the opponents would not consider its reasonableness, and disputes over the great throne had never been matters of reasoning. In the end, what it came down to was strength — or perhaps a bit of luck as well.

And the struggle for the imperial throne, with the two brothers Liu Wenhuan and Liu Wenji having successively arrived in the capital, began to enter a new phase.