Chapter 2152: Shizong Chronicles 20: Liu Min Departs

During the period of Khotan's rule, the city of Hotan was unquestionably a Buddhist city—both inside and outside its walls, every aspect of it was steeped in the cultural atmosphere and imprint of Buddhism. Of course, this situation underwent considerable change after the Kang army's arrival.

The fifty thousand people Liu Ye relocated to the Fei and Long prefectures were largely drawn from the nobles, artisans, and commoners of Hotan and its surroundings—and, of course, a great many monks and Buddhist devotees. He also transferred two camp establishments from the "Central Military Command" of the Kangju state (camps, troops, populations, and lands directly under the royal house), along with the ten thousand soldiers, civilians, and retainers under their jurisdiction (essentially slaves, renamed for political reasons), to take up residence there—strengthening control and governance while fusing and reforming local customs.

Within the reorganization and reform of local Buddhism, the relocation of Buddhist believers and the consolidation of monasteries was a relatively major move—especially concentrating the tens of thousands of monks into the great temples for centralized management.

Rawak Temple was a renowned great monastery among the many temples of Khotan, with numerous devotees on ordinary days. During this inspection tour, Liu Ye specifically had Liu Wenqian accompany him to stroll through and take a look at this famous temple. The reason was, of course, not that Liu Ye had suddenly developed an interest in Buddhist doctrine and wished to hear the eminent monks preach and expound the sutras—it was simply because this temple had been renamed "Holy King Temple" by Liu Wenqian, with a stele erected there recording Liu Ye's great merits and virtues.

Within the square, orderly temple grounds, the sound of meditation chants drifted in waves. Beneath the round-stupa-style Buddha hall, a host of accomplished monks waited with utmost reverence, holding their breath in focused silence, while rows of disciples of varying ranks stood to the side. Yet Liu Ye clearly regarded these people with a measure of disdain.

Following the worship path, passing among the gleaming, lifelike statues of Buddhas, bodhisattvas, and heavenly kings in their various poses, not a trace of reverence appeared on Liu Ye's face. Instead, he remarked with some feeling to Liu Wenqian: "These Buddhist folk can still be put to use. Against the Muslims, relying on swords and soldiers alone is not enough. The weapon of religion—when it should be used, it must be used. Fight poison with poison; check one faith with another.

Only by fundamentally expelling the lingering poison of Islam from the bodies of the various peoples and factions under our rule can our governance achieve lasting peace and stability, can we truly gain a firm foothold on this land of the Western Regions and take root here for generations—rather than, as in the past few decades, constantly dreading the Arab counterattacks and the eastward expeditions of the Muslim armies."

Liu Ye had always presented himself as stern and unyielding, but at this moment his tone betrayed a hint of melancholy, a thread of sorrow, which surprised Liu Wenqian greatly. Yet meeting his father's gaze, he dared not be remiss and responded swiftly: "Father's teachings—your son will remember them!"

After a moment's thought, Liu Wenqian further reported: "Your son has already consulted with the officials of He Prefecture and the temple authorities, and we plan to send another group of monks westward to build temples there for preaching and spreading the faith."

Hearing this, Liu Ye turned his head to cast a glance at Liu Wenqian and nodded: "For those willing to go and preach, the government must guarantee them the fame and benefits they deserve!"

"Yes!"

Having come all this way, Liu Ye still received the temple's monastic officials as a matter of courtesy, offering words of reassurance, and partook of a vegetarian meal at the temple. However, from beginning to end, Liu Ye wore a suit of inner armor—his cold, killing aura forming a strangely harmonious contrast with the solemn, majestic atmosphere of the temple.

Before leaving, Liu Ye pointed at the mountain gate and remarked that he was unworthy of the "Holy" in "Holy King Temple," and ordered the temple to change its name. Thus, under the king's directive, the Holy King Temple was renamed "Radiant King Temple."

After three days of inspection, Liu Ye chose to return to Shule, preparing to embark on the long journey east to Luoyang. However, having packed and readied himself, just before departure, Liu Ye was compelled by a piece of news to alter his planned itinerary.

The news came from the city of Hezhong in the state of Anxi: Liu Min, Prince of Wei of the Great Han Empire and King of Anxi, had passed away from illness in Hezhong City (Bukhara) on the 18th day of the 11th month of the first year of Jianlong.

Since the Fifth Han–Muslim Great War, under Liu Min's rule, the state of Anxi had adopted a posture of "conservative expansion" toward the Muslim forces of West Asia. On the one hand, it maintained offensive pressure against the neighboring Ghaznavid and Ziyarid states, repeatedly invading Persia and plundering the southern shores of the Caspian Sea—yet it also exercised considerable restraint: small skirmishes were frequent, but great wars never erupted.

At the same time, Liu Min devoted the vast majority of his energy to internal reorganization and reform, especially the deep sinicization of the Hezhong region. To consolidate and strengthen his rule, Liu Min implemented a comprehensive set of policies across political, military, and economic spheres, establishing rules for everyone from the powerful nobles and generals at the top to the commoners and slaves at the bottom—and in the first year of Pingkang, he formally promulgated the "Great Code" belonging to the state of Anxi.

What Liu Min did in Anxi was, in essence, no different from what Emperor Shizu had done in the early and middle periods of his reign—both reformed, fused, and innovated upon existing institutions, using several decades to turn the Great Han Empire into a "patchwork monster" of an autocratic feudal dynasty. But Emperor Shizu's empire, though possessing all the fundamental contradictions and problems of a feudal dynasty, nonetheless saw its policy essence and governing philosophy carried forward and glorified, sustaining and consolidating its rule for a considerable length of time.

By comparison, Liu Min's Anxi was a "patchwork monster" through and through—a brand-new kingdom whose every level, from top to bottom, was riddled with contradictions and conflicts.

Ethnic problems, cultural problems, religious problems, institutional problems, economic problems—every single problem was a glaring stitch line on this "patchwork monster."

In this realm, centralization and local autonomy, feudal autocracy and slave retainers, Han culture and Central Asian Muslim culture, East Asian peoples and Central-West Asian peoples—even some whites—everything reasonable and unreasonable was thrown together.

One can well imagine how extraordinarily difficult it was to fuse these contradictory people and affairs, to harmonize them and settle them peacefully under the kingdom's rule. To a certain extent, it could be said to be even more difficult than what Emperor Shizu had done for the Great Han Empire.

After all, although Emperor Shizu had made many reforms and changes to the Great Han Empire, some fundamental things had not changed—the core of imperial rule had not changed. The form changed, but the essence remained; the many policies, measures, reform regulations, and initiatives were merely instruments of governance. Moreover, there was simply so very much for Emperor Shizu to draw upon for reference.

By contrast, Liu Min's operations in Anxi were a true "revolution"—epoch-making and unprecedented. This was destined to be a difficult road. The "camp establishment system" proposed in the late Kaibao era marked his formal step onto this path; the decades of western campaigns were the process of clearing thorns and broadening the way; and the birth of the "Great Code" represented Liu Min's achievement of a staged milestone on the road of sinicization and fusion—forging a brand-new Central Asian dynasty belonging to the Han people.

At the very least, the "Great Code" could serve as the supreme legal basis for the dynasty's rule—recognized by all, a general binding constraint on all classes and all peoples under the Anxi system. Of course, this constraint was formed only under the might of Liu Min's formidable authority and the deterrence of the Han-armed military forces at the core of the camp establishment system.

Even though the "Anxi system" personally forged by Liu Min was far from perfect—rife with contradictions, sharp conflicts, and top-down opposition—one misstep could give rise to major problems.

But none of this detracted from Liu Min's lofty achievements in the Central-West Asian region, nor from the chapter of Central Asian history that he personally inaugurated through his own efforts. At the same time, even viewed through the most traditional lens, merely his expansion of territory and countless conquests sufficed to demonstrate his magnificent martial accomplishments.

By the first year of Jianlong, the state of Anxi established by Liu Min was already a great Central Asian power—bounded by Zhuhai (Lake Issyk-Kul) to the east, the Aral Sea to the north, the Caspian Sea to the west, and Persia to the south. With a population of over five million, it was a military powerhouse capable of mobilizing several hundred thousand troops. Its very existence dealt a heavy blow to the development and expansion of Islam in Central-West Asia, suppressing the Muslim world relentlessly for a full twenty years.

Now, its founder—Liu Min, called the "Heavenly King of Central Asia" by the Muslim world and the states further west—had finally succumbed to the ravages of time and the torment of illness, passing away suddenly, leaving this world with regrets, bidding farewell to his not-yet-fully-completed enterprise.

Liu Min was born in the seventh year of Qianyou (954 CE) and had just celebrated his sixty-fourth birthday before his death from illness. Given a lifetime spent toiling over state affairs and rushing between wars, living to such an age could hardly be called a short life.

Due to long-term exhaustion and the aftereffects of war, in his final years Liu Min suffered greatly from the torment of illness. This was also a very important reason why Anxi had been relatively quiet over the past decade or so, with all levels restraining their expansionist desires—after all, the lion that had led them in campaigns across the four directions had grown old.

Though Liu Min was gone, he had already left his own glorious mark upon the long river of history, and what he left to posterity was a prosperous and powerful civilized state. To elevate the significance further: the Anxi dynasty—a realm with Han civilization at its core, fused with many local cultures and customs—was a great practice of East-West civilizational convergence and fusion in Central-West Asian history, making a significant contribution to the progress of world civilization.

This isn't quite a spoiler, but I should say in advance: the Anxi dynasty of Liu Min's era was its peak. At least militarily, and in terms of suppressing the Muslim world, the Liu Min era was its zenith.

And with Liu Min's passing, where the future of the Anxi kingdom would head, what prospects the descendants of the Liu clan would have, and how the nearly six hundred thousand Han people would survive and develop in Central Asia—these questions could only be answered after being washed by the currents of history.

Hezhong City, called the Central Capital by all within Anxi, was a famous and mighty city of great antiquity—the capital of the Samanid dynasty. With the arrival of the Han people, after a series of sinicizing reforms and transformations, it now presented itself to the world in an entirely new guise.

Brick-and-timber hybrid construction was its architectural style; the fusion of Han and barbarian was its cultural hue. Hezhong City was like a great crucible, and Liu Min was a craftsman of forceful and consummate skill—after adding all the elements of people and affairs, he smelted out a brilliant "new Hezhong civilization."

Within it lay the royal city—a sub-city expanded from the original Bukhara city, reserved for the royal house, the royal court, and the nobility. At this moment, the original black-and-red banners had all been lowered, replaced by white funeral streamers and plain flags flapping noisily in the cold wind.

At the center of the royal city was the palace city, whose main hall was named the Great Achievement Hall—the most magnificent palace in all of Central Asia, and the place where Anxi's upper echelons of power ordinarily deliberated on state affairs.

But at this moment, the Great Achievement Hall was shrouded in an atmosphere of mourning. The coffin of Anxi King Liu Min lay quietly at the center of the hall, packed inside and out with people all dressed in mourning garments, weeping in waves. Yet after a month of funeral observances, the cries had inevitably lost some of their emotion.

The impact of Liu Min's death on all of Anxi could be gauged by reference to the situation when Emperor Shizu had passed away. Thus, amid the sorrowful atmosphere, there was inevitably a sense of unease, and the uncertain, questioning gazes were mostly directed at a middle-aged man kneeling before the coffin—Liu Wenze, the fifth son of Anxi King Liu Min.

Liu Wenze, born in the twenty-fourth year of Kaibao (986 CE), son of Consort Kang (daughter of the distinguished Kang clan of Anxi, granddaughter of the old marshal Kang Zaiyu). In the twelfth year of Yongxi, he was enfeoffed as Marquis of An, and successively served as camp commander under the Suiye Army, Defense Commissioner of Guo City, Prefect of Suiye, Patrol Inspector of Haidong, and Governor of Khorasan.

Unlike the situation in the Kang state, where Liu Ye had almost no choice, Liu Min had an abundance of heirs—eight sons in total. Apart from the eldest son Liu Wenmian and the seventh son Liu Wenyi, who died young, six sons grew to adulthood. But likewise, in the selection of his successor, he basically did not follow the primogeniture system, instead choosing the worthy—except that the standard of "worthiness" was judged personally by Liu Min.

With the king's attitude thus, the princes below naturally engaged in a fierce struggle for the succession, and Liu Wenze was the victor who fought his way out. In fact, his main competitors were only two: the second prince, Marquis of Gan Liu Wenli, and the third prince, Marquis of Ji Liu Wenmin. The three men's backgrounds were essentially the same—their maternal clans were all upper-tier military aristocrats of Anxi. For instance, Marquis of Ji Liu Wenmin's mother came from the Yang clan—that "Yang" of Grand Preceptor Yang Ye.

Under Liu Min's iron authority, external factors had little influence on the choice of successor—everything depended on the sons' own performances and Liu Min's final judgment. Liu Min gave every one of them the opportunity, rotating them through positions within Anxi's military-political system to train, while quietly observing and testing them, and at the same time spurring their competition.

Under the high-intensity, high-pressure competition, the inadequate ones successively exposed their shortcomings and were crossed off Liu Min's list. Marquis of Gan Liu Wenli, though older and strong-willed, was marred by brutality. Despite his forceful methods, he never understood the principle that what is too rigid easily breaks. He was contemptuous toward his subordinates and arbitrarily killed his slaves—when these flaws were exposed one by one, he was eliminated.

Next was Marquis of Ji Liu Wenmin, who was too scheming, fond of forming cliques and courting empty fame. His governance was passable, but he had no military talent—which reminded Liu Min of the late Prince of Wu, Liu Hui. The utterly disqualifying mark, however, came in the first year of Duangong, when Liu Min fell ill. Liu Wenmin, then stationed at Samarkand, rushed to Hezhong ahead of all his brothers without awaiting the king's summons. His actions and intentions could not have been more obvious. Though Liu Min needed to choose a wolf-king for Anxi, he was not entirely indifferent to filial piety and righteousness—Liu Wenmin's behavior was simply too blatant and utilitarian.

Thus, as his competitors made mistakes one after another, Liu Wenze gradually stood out. Of course, the throne did not fall onto his head so easily—Liu Min's tests, both overt and covert, were multifaceted and comprehensive. Liu Wenze's own qualities, along with his years of performance in key military and political posts in Anxi, were the most fundamental factors. He might not have been exceptionally brilliant, but he had made modest achievements and shown considerable promise.

In the second year of Duangong, Liu Wenze was recalled by Liu Min from Khorasan to Hezhong. Prior to this, Liu Wenze had served as Governor of Khorasan for four years.

The Khorasan Governorate was established by Liu Min after the "Fifth Great War." By the second year of Duangong, it governed no more than a dozen towns, with a population of under two hundred thousand—yet it faced the Muslim world directly and was the most fiercely contested region between Anxi and the Ghaznavids: conflicts every year, bloodshed every month.

And this kind of place—complex in circumstances, sharp in contradictions—was extremely testing of a man. During his four years in office, Liu Wenze did not further expand territory, but on the one hand he soothed the people and developed the economy, and on the other, without strong support from Hezhong, he stubbornly withstood the overt and covert counterattacks from the Ghaznavids—repelling more than a dozen raids of over a thousand men, including three offensives of over ten thousand.

After stepping down from Khorasan and returning to Hezhong, Liu Wenze was appointed by Liu Min as Governor of Hezhong and Recorder of State Affairs, undergoing his final test. In the third year of Duangong, he was further elevated to Chief Inspector of the Imperial Army, Inner and Outer, and Commander-in-Chief of All Military Camps—thoroughly cementing Liu Wenze's status as heir apparent.

Now, with Liu Min's death, Liu Wenze naturally assumed the supreme power of Anxi—at the very least, Hezhong City as the kingdom's heart, the central government, and the imperial army were all under his control.

Of course, the brothers who had hurried back to Hezhong for the funeral would not remain so docile—before the formal succession, some waves were inevitably stirred. But Liu Wenze, who already held actual power, would not see his position shaken as long as he kept his head. It was just that, for the subjects of Anxi accustomed to Liu Min's rule, this new king Liu Wenze was, after all, not so readily trusted.

Inside the Great Achievement Hall, Liu Wenze knelt in silence, wearing a deep and restrained expression, his reddened eyes revealing his grief. An attendant hurried in and whispered something in his ear, drawing the attention of many.

After hearing the report, Liu Wenze quickly rose, waved his hand, and said, "I shall go to welcome him in person." Not long after, the answer was revealed—it was King of Kang Liu Ye himself, come to offer condolences.

From Shule to Hezhong, a journey of over two thousand li, Liu Ye, heedless of his aged and ailing body, had traveled day and night to rush here. His weather-beaten face and weary expression spoke volumes of his hardship.

Paying no attention to the Anxi dignitaries in the hall, Liu Ye also shook off the attendant's supporting hand, slowly walked to the bier, looked at the coffin, then gazed at the spirit tablet shrouded in curling incense smoke. His old eyes were filled with bewilderment and sorrow, and his grief unconsciously spilled forth.

Taking the incense and candles, Liu Ye bowed solemnly before the coffin. After offering the incense, he stared at the spirit tablet for a long while before finally speaking in a despondent, low voice: "Sixth Brother, I have never been convinced by you. For you to leave like this—you simply don't want to give your younger brother any more chance to catch up."

As he spoke, strands of old tears unconsciously spilled from Liu Ye's eyes.

While Liu Ye offered his condolences, everyone in the hall remained silent, not daring to look sideways—including Liu Wenze, who maintained a posture of utmost deference. Though Liu Ye was not their king of Anxi, his status, his achievements, and the deep ties between the two states were more than enough to make these Anxi dignitaries lower their heads and soften their gazes.

Standing there for a long time, Liu Ye finally raised his hand and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with a silk handkerchief, but his reddened gaze remained deeply memorable. Turning his head, he swept his eyes around the circle, his gaze settling on Liu Wenze. Liu Ye's voice was weary and aged: "You are the heir Sixth Brother chose?"

Hearing the question, Liu Wenze's heart stirred. He immediately bowed in salute and said modestly: "Your nephew Wenze greets Uncle Kang. Father has placed a burden of a thousand jun on your nephew, and your nephew is filled with trepidation, as if treading on thin ice."

"There is no need for you to feign humility and prattle on at me!" Liu Ye cut Liu Wenze off directly, staring at him as he said: "Sixth Brother chose you—he must have had his reasons. I only hope you will manage the state well and never forget your father's aspirations!"

Having said this, he left behind a somewhat embarrassed Liu Wenze and slowly walked away before the eyes of the crowd. Braving the bitter winter snow, racing two to three thousand li, he had spoken only these two sentences in the Great Accomplishment Hall, and then Liu Ye set off on the journey to Luoyang—yet another arduous journey of over ten thousand li.

At the same time, although Liu Wenze had not been spared face, Liu Ye's words were clearly advantageous to his succession, adding another layer of "legal legitimacy."