Chapter 855: Ordered to Die

Summer had already arrived, and the weather was beginning to grow hot. But for the imperial prison, this made no difference at all—cold and gloomy was its defining trait, dampness its byword.

Of course, the imperial prison within the imperial city was not as terrifying as the outside world imagined. Apart from tight guard, scarce light, and a silent, eerie atmosphere, it had no other shortcomings. When it came to cleanliness and tidiness, the sanitation of the imperial prison was probably the best of any prison in the realm.

As for why the imperial prison was feared and dreaded, even to the point of rumors distorting the truth, the reason was simply that those who entered it were all nobles and officials of a certain standing in the court. Their cases were generally personally decided by the Son of Heaven, and few ever walked out alive.

For the officials of the Great Han, entering the imperial prison meant not only the end of one's official career, but also essentially the end of one's life—and it would affect the next generation as well. Therefore, no one was willing to have any connection whatsoever with the imperial prison.

In this early summer of the eleventh year of Qianyou, the imperial prison welcomed yet another high-ranking official. Over the years, the number of criminals received by the imperial prison had been comparatively few, but as for those whose cases carried great weight, there were only a handful.

Among the high ministers and grand officials, before Zhao Li, there had been Lord Wang Jingchong; and before him, the former chancellor Yang Bin. Yet of all those people, only Yang Bin alone had walked out of the imperial prison alive—all the others had died, without exception. And Yang Bin's fate was hardly good either: for eight full years now, the old Chancellor Yang had been squatting in a bitter prison in the Jingyuan region. Still, it was said he could endure poverty with equanimity, bear the bitter cold, and his health remained fairly sound.

Footsteps echoed through the silent, chill corridor—step by step, clear and heavy, treading on the prisoners' hearts. As if sensing something, Zhao Li raised his head. After a spell of rustling lock-picking sounds, the tightly shut iron door of his cell was thrown open.

He had been imprisoned for only a few days, yet Zhao Li looked far older, just like those who had suffered a devastating blow. During these days, within these thick walls and iron gates on all sides, he had rarely found time to reflect upon and reconsider his official career.

He had entered officialdom under the Later Tang, idled away his years under the Later Jin, and it was not until the Great Han was established—when Liu Chengyou made his western tour to Luoyang in the first year of Qianyou—that he came into the Son of Heaven's view. From then on, his rise had been meteoric.

He came from humble origins and owed his promotion to the Emperor's grace. In his early years, he repaid the Emperor with great passion and wholehearted dedication. In the reconstruction of the Great Han's supervisory system, the re-establishment of supervisory institutions at every level, and the selection of censors both internal and external, Zhao Li had rendered great service.

Of course, for his loyalty and devotion, the Emperor had not treated him poorly—high office and great power, noble rank and lavish emoluments had never been stinted.

These ten years had been the decade of Zhao Li's success and renown, the decade of his boundless glory. But from what point had he begun to degenerate and corrupt, abusing power for private gain? After much thought, he finally determined that it seemed to have started that cold winter, when he accepted a basket of charcoal. After that, favors, money, and beauties had come one after another, until matters reached this pass.

Looking back on the past, regret was inevitable—but only at this moment, when regret was useless, could he see things so clearly and thoroughly, achieving complete enlightenment.

Guo Tong stepped two paces into the cell and studied Zhao Li, who sat there woodenly, a trace of emotion unavoidably showing in his eyes. The gray at both temples told of all the desolation. One had to know that Zhao Li was not yet forty-six years old. As a minister ranking among the top echelons of the court, Guo Tong was well aware of the favor and generous treatment Zhao Li had received from the Son of Heaven.

Yesterday one raises a tall tower, today one feasts guests, tomorrow the tower collapses—such an ending was truly lamentable.

Seeing it was Guo Tong, Zhao Li's spirits lifted slightly, and he grew a little agitated, calling out: "Director Guo!"

From Zhao Li's eyes, one could seem to discern a faint glimmer of hope. Guo Tong's expression was stiff as he said: "His Majesty's oral decree!"

Hearing this, Zhao Li immediately knelt, his forehead striking the ground solidly: "Your guilty servant receives the decree!"

"His Majesty says: Zhao Li has neglected his duties and perverted the law, his crimes are heinous, and he has failed Our expectations!" Guo Tong's voice carried almost no emotion at all: "His Majesty also says: in consideration of ten years of sovereign-minister bond, he will grant you a measure of dignity—you will not be executed at the execution ground!"

Hearing Guo Tong say this, Zhao Li's body could not help but tremble, threatening to go limp, but he managed to hold himself together with effort. His gaze slowly turned despairing, then a glimmer of tears appeared in his aged eyes. Zhao Li said in a mournful tone: "Your servant has failed His Majesty's great kindness, and his crime deserves death. Your servant bows in gratitude to His Majesty! In this life I can no longer serve at Your side—only in the next life will I repay Your grace, binding grass and carrying rings!"

Watching Zhao Li's display, Guo Tong gestured behind him, and immediately two guards came forward bearing two trays—one holding white silk, the other poisoned wine. He said: "I have brought two things for Lord Zhao. Please choose for yourself!"

Looking up at them, Zhao Li suddenly pleaded earnestly: "Your guilty servant has one last wish—I beg you to grant it!"

"Please speak!" Guo Tong's brow furrowed slightly.

Zhao Li said: "At the moment of death, your guilty servant wishes to present one final memorial to His Majesty!"

After a moment's hesitation, Guo Tong waved a hand and ordered: "Give him brush and paper!"

After about the time it takes an incense stick to burn, Guo Tong tucked the memorial paper, its ink still damp, into his bosom, then stared at Zhao Li. Seeing this, Zhao Li revealed a bitter smile, and the sorrow on his face lessened somewhat.

Straightening his disheveled prison garb, he bowed solemnly once more toward the north, then chose the poisoned wine. With slightly trembling hands, he picked up the cup filled with wine, gritted his teeth as if resolving himself, and poured it into his mouth...

After confirming Zhao Li was dead, Guo Tong ordered people to tidy up temporarily, then returned to the Chongzheng Hall to report, his mood somewhat heavy.

Zhao Li had been deeply entrenched in the Great Han's supervisory system, with numerous disciples and former subordinates. Because of the Emperor's trust, his power and influence had been immense—he was one of the few truly powerful figures at court. Yet a heavy minister of such great influence had fallen in an instant, without any warning whatsoever. At a single word from the Emperor, he was arrested, imprisoned, interrogated, and ordered to die—all decided by a single pronouncement, with no ability to resist whatsoever.

Zhao Li's death was not without meaning. At the very least, it proclaimed to the realm the Emperor's attitude toward official discipline: even Zhao Li, when implicated in a crime, was punished and executed without mercy—how much more so for others? It was enough to alert every official and clerk.

On the other hand, it proved that in the Great Han of the present day, ministerial power no longer had the strength to contend with imperial power. The situation of a strong sovereign and weak ministers had already formed, imperceptibly.

"Reporting to Your Majesty: Zhao Li has been ordered to die!" Inside the Chongzheng Hall, Guo Tong entered and reported to Liu Chengyou, who sat behind the imperial desk.

Liu Chengyou, who was in the midst of approving matters concerning the migration of northwestern settlers, lifted his eyelids slightly and responded flatly: "Mm."

The Emperor's indifferent reaction was unsettling. Guo Tong said: "Before his death, Zhao Li showed considerable remorse, saying he would repay Your Majesty's grace in his next life!"

"Heh! If regret were useful, what need would there be for law?" Liu Chengyou said with a sneer. After a pause, he added: "Notify his family to come collect the body!"

"Your Majesty, Zhao Li's family property has already been confiscated, and his family members have all been exiled to Hunan..." Guo Tong reminded him.

Hearing this, Liu Chengyou sighed slightly and said: "Then issue a special decree—let him be buried first, and only then carry out the exile!"

"Your Majesty is benevolent and virtuous!" Guo Tong immediately clasped his hands in salute.

"After all, there was that bond between him and Us. If We are to grant him dignity, then grant it fully!" Liu Chengyou said flatly.

Seizing this opportunity, Guo Tong produced Zhao Li's handwritten document and presented it respectfully: "Your Majesty, before his death, Zhao Li wrote a final memorial. Your servant presents it on his behalf!"

"We have nothing more to say to him, yet he still has words of remonstrance for Us?" Hearing of this, Liu Chengyou smiled, seemingly with derision.

Taking it and glancing over it briefly, Liu Chengyou's gaze visibly grew grave. After pondering for a long while, he set down the memorial stained with ink and ordered Guo Tong: "Go to the Censorate and look into the official business Zhao Li has handled recently. Bring it all to the Chongzheng Hall!"

Somewhat curious about the Emperor's reaction, Guo Tong bowed: "Yes!"

Zhao Li's final memorial did not show how regretful he was, or how ashamed before the Emperor's trust—it was simply a perfectly ordinary memorial on official affairs. But its content was by no means ordinary, for what it addressed was the malady of military clerks throughout the realm.

The so-called malady of military clerks referred to the problem of those retired and transferred military officers now spread throughout the localities. In earlier years, during Liu Chengyou's reorganization of the imperial army, large numbers of wounded, aged, and retired officers had been dispatched to local areas—some as minor village clerks, some as prefectural and county functionaries, some leading the militia.

In several great battles, a batch of meritorious men had likewise emerged, and as the court rewarded merit, many of them had also transferred to local posts in recent years.

These arrangements were not only meant to refine the army, but also to soothe military morale, while strengthening the court's influence and control over local prefectures and counties. The original intentions had been good—yet after all these years, problems had arisen.