Chapter 2184: End of the Shizong Chronicles: The Emperor's Passing

"Your Majesty, Grand Tutor Zhang has arrived!" Inside Chongzheng Hall, the palace eunuch Shi Quanbin cautiously addressed the drowsy-looking Emperor Liu Wenji.

Hearing the voice, Liu Wenji "woke" from his scrolls, opening his eyes. The weariness of old age was hard to conceal, but his gaze remained deep and profound, as if harboring boundless mystery and danger.

It was only in his later years that Liu Wenji's authority was truly established, earning the reverence of all above and below. Not for any other reason, but because Liu Wenji began to exercise imperial power without scruple, using extremely forceful and even cruel means to strike down the disobedient and uphold his own authority.

One thing that could be clearly observed was that from the twentieth year of Jianlong onward, Emperor Liu Wenji's temperament grew increasingly violent, his patience daily more scarce, his killing intent gradually deeper, and his severity in meting out punishment stood in stark contrast to the early days of his reign.

In the twilight of his life and imperial career, Liu Wenji seemed to have shed all pretense, no longer restraining his instincts. As for that tolerance and benevolence—not to say he had completely abandoned them, but at least he no longer pursued them as obsessively as before...

Chen Yaozuo, Lü Yijian, Xiao Gong, Zhu Qi—these renowned elder ministers of the Jianlong era were all successively driven from the court, far from the empire's political center. And the most extreme manifestation of this was the death of Deputy Commissioner of Military Affairs Dong Congyan.

Dong Congyan, through his achievements in attacking and killing the Jin barbarian Liu Jin and pacifying Mobei, rose from a frontier general to Deputy Commissioner of Military Affairs, becoming a representative of martial achievement and military officials in the Jianlong era, holding a special position in the military sphere during the latter period of Liu Wenji's rule.

His struggle within the Bureau of Military Affairs against Zhe Weichang and Xiao Hui—two meritorious veterans of campaigns north and south—lasted a full eight years, and this was also the primary reason for his eventual downfall, murder, and tragic end.

If it had merely been differences in political views, or simply a struggle for power confined within reasonable bounds, then Dong Congyan would not have courted death.

But as it happened, Dong Congyan, arrogant in his great achievements, was often overbearing in daily conduct, confident in his military strategy and ability, and in military-political affairs he even repeatedly overruled Emperor Liu Wenji's opinions—that stiff, utterly politically inept defiance of his sovereign.

Even so, Liu Wenji could have tolerated Dong Congyan; it was not unusual for meritorious officials to enjoy certain privileges, and at least it would not have provoked killing intent. But of all things, Dong Congyan became deeply involved in the struggle for the succession, becoming one of the chief ministers bought over by Duke Suiyang, Liu Jiying.

Dong Congyan's thinking was simple: by supporting Liu Jiying's ascension, he could replace Zhe Weichang and become Commissioner of Military Affairs. What he could hear was how the imperial heart favored Liu Jiying; what he could see was how high Liu Jiying's momentum had risen...

Based on such understanding and perception, Dong Congyan naturally drew closer and closer to Liu Jiying, becoming ever more entangled, even helping Liu Jiying place trusted confidants and cultivate power within the military.

When the scales in the Emperor's heart tipped toward his grandson Liu Weizhen, when Liu Jiying's shortcomings were exposed, Dong Congyan's deeds became, in Liu Wenji's eyes, treasonous in intent and unforgivable.

In the winter of the twenty-second year of Jianlong, Deputy Commissioner of Military Affairs Dong Congyan died suddenly at the Bureau of Military Affairs. This manner of death could be considered a face-saving gesture toward a meritorious official of the empire, but the impact of this affair was extremely far-reaching.

After Dong Congyan's death, no one at court or in the realm dared to overstep or show disrespect toward the Emperor; even veiled criticism and indirect attacks grew fewer, simply because the Emperor had become more and more terrifying.

A meritorious official like Dong Congyan was killed at a word, with not a shred of leniency. Emperors of the past had been weighed down by concerns, and ministers could deceive them with propriety—but when the Emperor no longer cared about appearances, then even the most stubborn and conservative person would not dare to stake their family's wealth and honor against him head-on.

Dong Congyan's death was also a powerful signal that triggered changes in the empire's military-political system. From then on, by imperial decree, Zhe Weichang and Xiao Hui, jointly presiding over the Military Justice Bureau with Shi Yuansun, carried out a large-scale reshuffling and purge of military personnel both within and outside the capital.

The primary purpose was to sever the claws and fangs of Duke Suiyang Liu Jiying, but such actions inevitably caused "collateral damage"—at the very least, a large number of Dong Congyan's subordinates and officers from the Northern Yan Mountains Circuit suffered severe marginalization and suppression, and most of these men had once followed Dong Congyan in bloody campaigns across Mobei...

But there was no help for it—this was politics. From the moment Dong Congyan fell, the tragedy and decline of a large number of officers was sealed, and a mountain within the empire's military establishment was thus toppled.

Dong Congyan's tragic end, in the final analysis, was his own problem. He possessed outstanding military talent for the age, but in politics he was truly inept, even shortsighted. At the empire's highest levels, he could charge ahead on the strength of his extraordinary achievements, but when the court situation grew complex and treacherous under the influence of the succession struggle, he became lost within it—and by the time he met his death, his keen military instincts proved utterly useless in politics.

Of course, Emperor Liu Wenji's use of personnel might be open to some criticism—had Dong Congyan been kept in the provinces commanding troops, he might well have had a perfect ending, his name celebrated for a hundred generations, his fame echoing through the ages. But that would be an outcome-oriented evaluation, with little practical meaning.

Dong Congyan's death could be regarded as a landmark event in the empire's political arena in the late Jianlong period—after all, not long afterward, at the start of the new year, Liu Weizhen was formally installed as Imperial Grandson. And in the final stretch of Liu Wenji's reign, the tension, oppression, and even cruelty of imperial politics were displayed to the fullest.

At the same time, this also reflected certain psychological changes in Liu Wenji. He had always been a man lacking a sense of security; in his prime, he could cope with his excellent tact and sufficient patience, but by his declining years, with failing energy and weary mind and body, he could no longer maintain that former state.

To uphold the dignity of the Son of Heaven and consolidate imperial authority, he could only resort to harsh measures, continuing to display his strength and inviolability. It could be said that Liu Wenji spent his entire life proving himself, but in his old age, he no longer needed to blend in with the world—he only needed a few short years of awe and submission from above and below.

Under such circumstances, the secret-police politics that had long been suppressed raised its head once more. After the twentieth year of Jianlong, the two bureaus of the Imperial City and Wude were extraordinarily active throughout the Great Han, especially within the capital region.

Returning to Chongzheng Hall—the old Emperor Liu Wenji set down the National History compiled by Cai Qi and other ministers, looked at Shi Quanbin, thought for a moment, then softly instructed: "Summon him! Prepare a seat for the Grand Tutor!"

Grand Tutor Zhang was none other than the former chancellor Zhang Jian. As a veteran minister of three reigns, having served the imperial house loyally for over forty years, Zhang Jian had long enjoyed the fine reputation of a "capable minister of a well-governed age." As chancellor for more than twenty years, he had greatly benefited both the state and the sovereign.

As early as the twentieth year of Jianlong, sensing the deteriorating situation at court, Zhang Jian had entertained thoughts of retirement, requesting to resign due to advanced age, but Liu Wenji refused and earnestly urged him to stay. Zhang Jian had no choice but to continue serving as Minister of Personnel at his advanced age. Fortunately, he had Du Yan's assistance; otherwise, he might truly have become, as he himself disparagingly put it, a muddled and mediocre minister, harming the state and its people.

After Chen Yaozuo was dismissed as chancellor, Zhang Jian was promoted to Director of State Affairs, but served only half a year as a transitional Chief Chancellor before Liu Wenji's "conscience" finally surfaced, permitting him to retire in his substantive post at the age of seventy-eight.

However, there was no doubt that Liu Wenji held Zhang Jian in great trust and esteem. He still kept him in the capital to shine on, bestowing upon him the title of Grand Tutor, stationed at the Eastern Palace to assist the Imperial Grandson Liu Weizhen. And Zhang Jian continued on his legendary path toward becoming a four-reign elder statesman—his achievements were for others to judge, but the combination of rank and age was enough to leave a profound mark on the empire's history.

By the twenty-fourth year of Jianlong, Zhang Jian was already eighty years old, yet his spirit and vigor remained excellent. Leaning on the imperial-bestowed purple-gold staff, judging by appearance alone, one might well believe he was younger than Liu Wenji.

"Your old minister Zhang Jian pays respects to Your Majesty!" Entering the hall with slow steps, Zhang Jian performed the full grand ceremony of obeisance.

On ordinary days, when old ministers paid their respects, Liu Wenji would excuse them from the full ceremony. But today, he watched with his own eyes as Zhang Jian completed the entire set of ritual gestures before waving his hand in dismissal. A trace of melancholy appeared on his aged face as Liu Wenji sighed: "Minister Zhang, advanced in years yet still so robust—I cannot help but envy you!"

Hearing this, Zhang Jian naturally responded with humility, his attitude very cautious. As for these nearly perfunctory responses, Liu Wenji had grown indifferent to them, not paying them much mind, and muttered another reflection to himself: "Twenty-seven years at the helm of state, much has been accomplished, and many problems have been left behind. If only Heaven would grant me another twenty years, the great peace of the realm would not be empty talk—but alas, Heaven does not grant more years..."

Hearing the Emperor speak thus, how could Zhang Jian remain seated? He immediately rose and, with utmost trepidation, bowed: "Your Majesty shall live a thousand autumns—why speak such words? The countless subjects of the Great Han still need to bask in Your Majesty's grace—"

"Talk of a thousand autumns and ten thousand generations has always been foolish nonsense! Old is old; I am nearing the end of my road. I have made my peace with it—Minister Zhang need not speak such words to comfort me!" Liu Wenji waved his hand, and unbidden, a touch of moisture gathered in his eyes.

At this moment, Liu Wenji displayed neither the calm and composure he had maintained his entire life, nor the stubbornness and violence of his later years—he was like a bird on the verge of death, its voice faint, its cry mournful.

After a long while, he finally shook himself free from that mood of self-pity and self-lamentation, steadied himself, then looked at Zhang Jian and asked gravely: "I have always placed great hopes on Crown Prince Zhangde, intending to entrust the Great Han to him. Though he has no extraordinary talents, he is sufficient to guard the state.

But alas, Heaven is merciless, sending great grief and great sorrow to toy with me? In these past few years, what I have worried over most deeply is nothing but the succession of the state and the future of the altars of the realm. Though I heeded the pleas of my ministers and installed the Imperial Grandson, the Grandson is after all young and has little experience in worldly affairs—my heart has never been at ease.

Minister Zhang, with forty-five years in the sea of officialdom, of high virtue and great prestige, with keen insight into the ways of the world—after this past year and more of observation, in your view, this Imperial Grandson I have chosen—how is he? Can he bear the immense burden of the Great Han Empire?"

The Emperor consulting a minister on such a matter showed the depth of his respect for Zhang Jian, and also revealed the doubt that still lingered in Liu Wenji's heart. Hearing this, Zhang Jian's attitude grew even more humble and cautious. After careful deliberation, he spoke these words:

"Forgive your minister for speaking bluntly—in terms of sagely brilliance, the Imperial Grandson cannot compare with Shizu, Taizong, or Your Majesty. But he is steady and composed, able to heed others' words, and devoted to duty—that is enough to make him a benevolent and enlightened sovereign, capable of guarding the state.

Shizu once said: 'The predecessors plant trees, and the descendants enjoy the shade.' Now Your Majesty has governed with vigor for more than twenty years; the Great Han flourishes in prosperity, opening an era of greatness that no later sovereign can hope to match.

Even if the Imperial Grandson is not a sovereign of expansion and innovation, by following established precedents and inheriting the ancestral enterprise, he should still be capable of great achievement. Moreover, the court is full of talent—so long as he makes good use of capable men and accepts remonstrance readily, there should be no cause for worry..."

Zhang Jian's words rendered Liu Wenji silent, but judging by his expression, he was clearly not truly convinced. Liu Wenji was never a man easily persuaded, much less now, when suspicion had already taken deep root.

But aside from silently accepting, what other choice did he have? After all, Liu Wenji no longer wished to churn up the imperial court—and he no longer had the strength to do so.

After a long silence, Liu Wenji finally raised his head, his tone full of sighs: "Let us hope it is as you say..."

"I hear that Minister Zhang, having retired at the age of eighty, can still eat meat and drink wine—how I envy you!" Recovering his composure, Liu Wenji forced a smile and extended an invitation to Zhang Jian: "Today, stay the night in the palace and keep me company over drinks and conversation..."

——————

On the third day of the ninth month of autumn in the twenty-fourth year of Jianlong, Emperor Liu Wenji of the Great Han passed away in Chongzheng Hall of Ziwei City, Luoyang, at the age of sixty-six, having reigned twenty-seven years. His temple name was Shizong, his posthumous title Emperor Chengtian Longyun Wenwu Yingming Xuan, and he was buried at Tailing in Ruzhou.