Chapter 446: There Really Are Loyal Ministers

"Although you've all expressed your views just now, to avoid harming the innocent, I'll ask again: I will be emperor— who supports me, who opposes?" Wang Yan's sharp eyes swept over the ministers: "Stand left if you support, right if you oppose. No more shouting—save your strength."

His voice wasn't loud, but in the silent Grand Hall of Great Qing, where a pin could be heard falling, it rang in every ear like thunder.

This time there was no chaos, no need for Wang Yan to count or threaten. As soon as he finished speaking, the ministers reacted instantly and moved quickly. In moments, they had formed their lines.

As expected, the left side was especially large. During the earlier brawl between the surrender faction and the opposition, the neutral faction, who had previously shut their eyes to the world, all moved to the left. In truth, even while silent, most had already chosen. Those who still opposed the majority, upon seeing the heads on the ground, wisely made the correct choice too.

By now, nearly everyone had figured it out: Qin Hui died unjustly—he was the chicken sacrificed to scare the monkeys. After all, surrender was clearly better; if everyone opposed, they couldn't possibly execute them all. So Wang Yan's meaning was clearly conveyed: the first to surrender and call him emperor was beheaded—then no one was safe from execution. They could imagine the fate awaiting those who opposed. Moreover, Song followed Tang customs, honoring the left as superior. The surrender faction standing on the left was another benevolent signal. All were clever men, sharp-minded.

Thus, several opposition members—once called loyal ministers of Great Song—who had never held numerical advantage, now chose to follow their hearts and wisely joined the side of the surrender faction, who had just been beating them.

Today was the grand court assembly; all eligible capital officials were present. A quick glance showed at least eight hundred, if not a thousand. Yet now, the opposition numbered only a pitiful few dozen. Among them were some famous names: Zhang Shuye, Li Gang.

Zhang Shuye had originally been demoted for offending Cai Jing. His later recall to the capital was a bumpy career path, since Cai Jing still held power. During the earlier pacification of Song Jiang and Fang La, he served as Regional Commander, the highest official overseeing bandit suppression. By then, Gao Qiu and Cai Jing had already been removed, so no one blocked his rise. With solid seniority, he easily rose to Director of the Longtu Pavilion and Vice Censor-in-Chief due to his success in suppressing bandits.

The Vice Censor-in-Chief oversaw the conduct of all officials—a third-rank high official. This shows that Zhao Ji, once his mind cleared, could indeed appoint capable men. But it was too late; even the best appointments were useless now.

The very man who first cursed Wang Yan was Zhang Shuye.

It's a pity such a man opposes him becoming emperor. But it would be even more tragic if such a man didn't oppose him.

He wouldn't harm these men, but he wouldn't employ them again. Though they had left their names in history and possessed real talent, none were irreplaceable under him. Talented people were plentiful; far more remained undiscovered. He didn't need these few dozen.

Seeing everyone now in position, Wang Yan waved his hand: "Liang Wu, take them home."

Liang Wu nodded, showing no shoving or abuse. He politely escorted the few dozen men out. Not only did their choice deserve respect, but the order to "send them home" was itself a signal: Wang Yan had no intention of harming them.

Of course, the so-called loyal ministers of Great Song, now spared, had no kind words. Some couldn't help cursing Wang Yan—a traitor born with rebellious bones. At this point, having made their choice, they had nothing left to fear.

The rest was simple: only a few dozen had left; the government ran without interruption. He issued four orders: First, announce to the empire the change of emperor and abolish all arbitrary taxes, keeping only the land tax at one-fifteenth. Second, prepare for the coronation ceremony. Third, prepare for the construction of a new capital in Luoyang. Fourth, draft a new tax law.

Before local civil and military officials declared their stance, his administrative authority extended only to Bianjing, Hebei, and Shandong. Even within the Western Army, where he had long infiltrated, his orders carried little weight. More accurately, he was merely a warlord who had seized Bianjing and controlled the emperor and ministers.

Thus, at this moment, everything was hollow; his orders held little power. He first ordered the most critical tax law studied, while relocating the capital to Luoyang had long been his plan. The north now had multiple enemies; the south remained undeveloped. Luoyang had the Grand Canal, a mature land transport system, open terrain, historical prestige as a former or secondary capital, and the already-existing Purple Micro Palace.

Of course, Bianjing also had these advantages—but he didn't want to stay in Bianjing. He also desired a mighty capital, a glorious imperial palace. Moreover, though Luoyang's city walls and structures were already adequate, as his capital he intended grand construction: expanding, renovating, maintaining, and re-planning the city layout. He'd also build some wonders to create jobs and stimulate domestic demand. These were massive projects, requiring many years.

As for government restructuring, handling civil and military officials, land reform—those were matters for later. At this moment, no one's interests could be touched; a stable transition of power was paramount.

He didn't ask Zhao Ji to write an abdication edict—it was meaningless. He was a rebel; he didn't need false legitimacy. In truth, whether Zhao Ji abdicated or not, ambitious men would now seize territory and declare themselves kings.

Zhao Ji and his ministers had ruined the people too severely; uprisings had been constant, with people fleeing to the hills daily to become bandits. Now, any ambitious man could easily rally followers with a simple promise. That's why, alongside announcing the emperor change, he publicly abolished all oppressive taxes and kept only the one-fifteenth land tax—to keep property owners docile and stabilize the landlord-gentry class.

This was done to minimize innocent casualties. Otherwise, given his temperament, he'd have declared land nationalization and abolished Confucian orthodoxy—two moves that would instantly ignite rebellion across the land. But now he wanted to peacefully inherit the dynasty, then reform. Had he truly swung his arms and acted openly, he could have raised his own banner long ago, instead of hiding for over a decade.

The surrendered ministers said nothing and obeyed Wang Yan's orders immediately. Though they saw the tax abolition as self-preservation—how could a vast empire fund its military, salaries, infrastructure, and occasional disasters without those oppressive levies? This year might seem fine, but next year? Everywhere needed money; nowhere had any.

Yes, they believed Wang Yan could become emperor, could hold power through next year and beyond. No choice—he was capable. Yanggu County was the richest in the land; the Rebuilt Northern Army was the strongest. All his achievements. He'd prepared long; militarily, they trusted he could suppress the country. But governing? They had no faith.

But now the blade was at their throats; no one dared speak up and make trouble. As long as they lived, let him do as he pleased.

Wang Yan liked their attitude—this was perfect. They were still capable men; quiet, uncomplaining, focused on survival—they'd remain useful for a while. No need to rush slaughtering pigs.

The rebellion was now, in essence, successful. He had surrounded Bianjing; the imperial family was in his hands—how could this not count as success? But the real challenge had just begun: could he hold the throne? That, of course, was unquestionable.

After dismissing the surviving court ministers, Wang Yan finally turned to Zhao Ji, seated high upon the dragon throne behind him.

Zhao Ji's heart was filled with terror. When he first heard Wang Yan had gathered troops outside the Xihua Gate, he hadn't feared much—the purpose was unclear. But when he learned all inner city gates were sealed, he finally understood what his beloved son-in-law intended. Then, when he heard the gate defenders had failed to hold, he nearly collapsed. Watching Wang Yan's men brutally slaughter outside the Grand Hall, he was utterly terrified.

He'd considered fleeing, but wasn't foolish—he knew escape was impossible. Though the palace had secret tunnels, the farthest led only beyond Bianjing's walls. Knowing the combat prowess of Wang Yan's soldiers, he was certain he'd be captured within two li. So he wisely stayed put.

Now, his ministers had not disappointed him—they had truly abandoned him. True, he'd seen men who refused to yield. But what good was that? He needed his own safety.

The hall now held only the two of them. He wanted to propose Wang Yan become regent, to rule all state affairs, as long as his life was spared. But that had already been rejected by the ministers—no one at this point would stop. That was suicide. Beyond that, he couldn't think of what else to say. He rose uneasily, instinctively stepping back.

Wang Yan saw Zhao Ji's helplessness. He shook his head: "Regardless, you're my father-in-law. Besides, Yupan is now pregnant. How could I kill you?"

Watching his good son-in-law climb the steps, Zhao Ji forced himself to steady his nerves, trembling: "What will you do with me… er, with this old man? Imprisonment?"

Before Wang Yan could answer, Zhao Ji gave a bitter laugh: "Since ancient times, victors are kings, losers are dogs. To live is enough. Imprisonment? Fine. But… could you, out of past affection…?"

He was cowardly, but his life mattered most. Now that he had assurance of survival, he wondered if his living conditions could improve. He'd never suffered hardship since childhood—if imprisoned and mistreated, what then? Yet he still held onto a shred of imperial dignity and didn't press further.

Then again, he was still an emperor, his father-in-law. Even fallen, he shouldn't be mistreated—certainly not.

Wang Yan smiled: "Don't scare yourself. I have no intention of harming you. I plan to relocate the capital to Luoyang, where I'll build a new library. You've always loved calligraphy and painting—you know the rare editions in the Longtu Pavilion and Taiqing Tower. You'll oversee the cataloging. When the library is built, you'll manage it entirely, and immerse yourself in art and books."

In this, Zhao Ji was a professional. Making him head of the imperial library was perfect. He'd do nothing, just read, write, paint—how pleasant.

This was truly generous. Had their roles been reversed, Wang Yan didn't believe Zhao Ji would spare him. For great matters, a woman meant little—let alone a father-in-law. Killing one's in-laws wasn't beyond him. Victory and defeat—no words needed.

Zhao Ji's eyes widened, staring at Wang Yan in disbelief.

"At this point, why would I lie to you?" Wang Yan waved his hand. "But you're exempt. The rest of the imperial clan won't be so lucky. We'll investigate each member. Any who've committed crimes or abused power will be prosecuted."

"Must investigate—thoroughly! And those ministers—all useless, corrupt, colluding from top to bottom. Great Song was ruined by them—you can't let them go!" Zhao Ji raged, then forced a sycophantic smile: "That… my… er, my concubines…"

"After verifying their families are clean and free of crimes, they're yours. Now, go pack your things. Move to your former Duan Prince's Mansion before nightfall."

Zhao Ji nodded, turned, and walked away without a word. He was disappointed—not emperor anymore. But he'd kept his life; he was content. He no longer wanted a bicycle. This was fine—nearly back to his days as Duan Prince.

Wang Yan watched his hurried departure, then waved for Liang Wu. "Send men to open the city gates inside and out. Also, watch over Zhao Ji—help him move." The inner palace had already heard the upheaval; it must be in chaos, with women fighting over treasures, trying to flee. Zhao Ji returning would mean nothing—birds in the same tree fly apart when danger comes, let alone lowly eunuchs and maids who'd long suffered abuse.

They might initially fear his former authority, but later? Who knows—they might even beat him to vent their rage. He should still be protected.

He stepped back outside, bathed briefly in morning light, then summoned the Imperial Kitchen Bureau—the famed Imperial Kitchen, which cooked for the emperor and his consorts and children. He'd entered the city early, then launched the rebellion—now it was nearly noon. Time to eat.

While he ate, Wu Song's troops had already spread across every prefectural capital in Jingdong Xilu. Some officials there cooperated; others resisted; still others were planted by rivals to sabotage. As a local emperor who'd ruled Shandong for over a decade, he knew every detail. Moreover, Wang family merchants already operated in these cities—should resistance arise, they could open gates from within.

So simply: at dawn, a massive firework exploded over Wang Family Village. Then, one by one, fireworks answered from all four directions, spreading across all of Shandong.

In countless prefectural capitals, officials already marked for execution were seized in their warm, comfortable concubines' arms. Then came swift confiscations: men sent to hard labor; women left alone—they'd survive. Besides, these women had long misbehaved, or used their families' influence to cause trouble. They'd enjoyed their first half-lives; now they must pay.

Some might remarry as wives or concubines; others might enter brothels; some might become lonely old women. Who knew?

There was no capture of the Two Emperors, no imperial consorts or princesses enslaved as prostitutes. Though chastity was valued, it hadn't yet reached the later extreme of erecting chastity arches. Women were still treated relatively leniently. At most, they'd be gossiped about—a universal human vice, present in every age, male or female. But overall, survival came before chastity.

In Jingdong Donglu, the imperial guards' commander refused to cooperate—he'd been bought by the old Wang family, or was even one of their own. They simply bound him, beat him, and later sent him to hard labor too. Their actions mirrored Wu Song's, except they acted on the spot, without prior planning.

But no major problems: Wang family shops existed everywhere; local officials cooperated. Some inevitably died, but most went smoothly.

In one day, the entire core of Shandong fell under Wang Yan's control. The remaining counties were merely a matter of time—full control within a month.

Meanwhile, the Northern Army facing Lu Zhishen mutinied. Key leaders were either captured or killed. After intense internal fighting, Lu Zhishen's Wu De Guard, with its fifty thousand troops, was allowed in by opportunists and quickly seized control of the Northern Army.

The Northern Army's infighting caused little loss—only a few hundred dead, a few thousand wounded. Whether innocent or not, in such a world-reversing event, their deaths were insignificant—no one cared. Though illogical, it was necessary. After these deaths, purging mid- and high-ranking officers meant another bloody purge. In the army, strength rules. No one could escape execution—only death could establish iron authority.

As the Northern Army changed hands, Wang Ming'an also fulfilled his father's and Wang Yan's expectations—he began clearing Hebei, advancing southward toward Bianjing, linking the controlled regions into one. This process would be swift: the Northern Army had over two hundred thousand men, but the Liao forces defending Xijin Prefecture could be held by Wu De Guard's fifty thousand alone—they dared not even emerge. The Northern Army was barely needed.

But the Northern Army was useless against Liao, yet showed no fear when turning on their own. After leaving over a hundred thousand Northern troops to continue guarding the border, he began reorganizing new armies, assigning one hundred thousand to Wang Ming'an's command. Where protection was weak and internal collaborators existed, it was essentially a straightforward advance. At that time, those one hundred thousand troops would be reorganized in Bianjing to suppress internal dissent.

Also on that morning, the main Western Army commanders—Zhong, Zhe, and others—received letters with nearly identical content: Wang Yan informed them he had already succeeded in his rebellion, and they could choose to fight or submit. He tempered his bluntness slightly, promising to elevate the military's status, free it from civil official interference, and outline a series of future military reforms: reorganizing new armies, institutional changes, improved pay, and establishing a Military Officers' Academy.

He added that if they submitted to central authority and to his leadership, they should send envoys to the capital for reporting duties; if they refused, Western Army supply lines would be cut, and they would meet on the battlefield.

As the second-most formidable military force in the Song, and the frontier garrison guarding the Western Regions, Wang Yan still wished to win them over. Internal unrest should avoid inviting external threats.

But when harsh words were needed, he spoke them; when action was required, he acted. He was not afraid of Western Army rebellion, for it could not truly erupt. Those commanders, no matter how patriotic, knew the Zhao Song dynasty was finished. As long as their own interests were secured, their resistance would be half-hearted—everything could be negotiated. After all, even loyalty to country and people must yield to loyalty to family. This was not about ethnic righteousness, merely an ambitious man's rebellion. Moreover, they all knew Wang Yan's capabilities—he was surely superior to Zhao Ji. Thus, they doubted his promises, yet were not firmly resolved to fight.

Even if the Western Army truly rebelled, he had men within it. Though he could not control many units, he could still strike from behind. Casualties would remain light, entirely bearable. This was the quiet benefit of over a decade of covert planning—everywhere, he had his people.

In the Bianjing imperial palace, Wang Yan believed those men would not disappoint him…