Chapter 62: It

…

Within the princely circle, there was consensus on who should become emperor and who was more suited for the throne.

That consensus was Zhao Yu.

In fact, during the last audience at Wende Hall, the outcome among the princes had already been decided—even Zhao Si, who still harbored ambitions to challenge Zhao Yu, had to admit Zhao Yu was more fit to be emperor.

As for Zhao Bi and Zhao Si, who had no desire and no qualifications to contest the throne, they sincerely hoped Zhao Yu would ascend, so they could enjoy wealth and honor under the protection of a capable emperor.

Now, seeing Zhao Yu grow so close to Empress Dowager Xiang, it was clear he was not only fit to be emperor but also powerful enough to compete for the throne; Zhao Bi and Zhao Si willingly ceded the center stage to Zhao Yu and spoke to him with respect.

Zhao Yu declined slightly but could not refuse, so he calmly stood between Zhao Bi and Zhao Si.

Then Zhao Yu abandoned his earlier avoidance of politics and asked Zhao Si, who had remained silent: "The Western Xia, seeing your elder brother seriously ill, have abandoned their former subservience and now posture as if willing to wage war; the Liao have sent envoys claiming the Bai Gou border is unclear and are demonstrating troops at Xincheng; our court is plagued by constant strife between the New and Old Parties; state finances are depleted, and official salaries and military rations have been unpaid for months. In light of all this, what counsel does Prince Jian offer me?"

Upon hearing this, Zhao Si forced himself to remain composed, but all three of Zhao Yu's companions could see sweat on his temples.

Zhao Yu thought: "Am I being a bit too harsh?"

These problems were beyond even Zhao Xu's ability to solve, let alone mine—how could I expect a half-grown boy raised deep within the palace to have solutions?

But then again, whoever inherits Zhao Xu's throne must face these very challenges.

And as for the latter two chronic ailments, they've persisted so long they won't worsen overnight, but the earlier problems are urgent.

Crucially, the Liao have twice demanded redrawing the border, and each time the Song dynasty suffered losses.

Both incidents became stains on the reputations of the reigning emperors at the time—the well-regarded Emperor Renzong and Emperor Shenzong.

Whether Emperor Renzong or Emperor Shenzong, both were already in the middle of their reigns, with stable rule, so they could endure such political blemishes.

But the next emperor will ascend the throne and immediately confront these delicate diplomatic and even military crises—if mishandled, the Liao and Xia might unite to invade Song…

Zhao Si dared not think further; his mind was filled with: "If I become emperor, will I become the ruler who loses the empire?"

Instantly, Zhao Si felt the throne held no appeal—he might end up taking the blame, nailed to the rack of historical shame.

At that moment, Zhao Ji's voice spoke: "State affairs are handled by the chancellors and ministers; major matters are decided by the Empress Dowager and ancestral precedent; the ruler need only make the final choice."

Indeed, Zhao Ji saw more clearly than Zhao Si. He knew full well that whoever became emperor would first have Empress Dowager Xiang presiding behind the curtain, remaining a puppet for the foreseeable future, and thus need not directly confront these difficulties.

Moreover, Zhao Ji was clever—he deliberately avoided saying the emperor merely needed to appoint the right people, clearly unwilling to offend those in power and risk making them obstacles to his own ascension.

Zhao Ji believed he had grasped the essence of becoming emperor.

Zhao Yu looked at Zhao Ji, who thought himself capable, and smiled: "I have nine questions. If Prince Duan can answer them, I yield the throne—how about that?"

"Yield?!"

Zhao Ji quickly realized Zhao Yu meant that if he answered the nine questions, Zhao Yu would surrender the throne to him.

Zhao Ji's breathing quickened; he was eager to accept.

But Zhao Ji already knew Zhao Yu was formidable, and since these were Zhao Yu's questions, how could he rashly accept the challenge?

So Zhao Ji hesitated.

Seeing this, Zhao Yu smiled: "I'll make it easier—I'll give you ten days. You may consult others. If you answer all nine, you win—how's that?"

Zhao Ji felt Zhao Yu was insulting him—he had read countless books, was learned beyond measure; nine questions, ten days, and he could seek help—how could he possibly lose? If he did, he'd have no face left to compete with Zhao Yu for the throne.

Zhao Ji wanted to say: "No need for ten days, no need to ask others—I'll answer you now."

But lingering reason made him swallow the words almost spoken, replacing them with: "Ask away."

"First question: How many mu of land does a peasant household need to survive?"

"This…"

The first question stumped Zhao Ji.

Was it hard?

Not hard.

It was common knowledge among the lower classes, but Zhao Ji, a prince raised deep in the palace, had no idea.

Unable to answer such a simple question, Zhao Ji's face flushed red; he bluffed: "I'll answer you later."

"Second question: What monthly income does a city dweller need to survive?"

Zhao Ji clearly couldn't answer this either, so he turned his head aside: "I'll answer both later."

"Third question: How do you classify poor peasants, middle peasants, wealthy peasants, and landlords?"

Zhao Ji closed his eyes: "All together."

"Fourth question: How many social strata exist in our Great Song, what are they, and what are their respective attitudes toward reform?"

Zhao Ji had never heard the term "strata"—how could he answer? So he remained silent.

"Fifth question: Why does our Great Song frequently initiate reforms?"

Zhao Ji knew a little about this, but he knew his knowledge was insufficient to answer Zhao Yu's question, so he said nothing.

"Sixth question: Why is military reform so difficult to break through?"

Zhao Ji regretted it—Zhao Yu's questions were precisely those an emperor must face, yet all were beyond his understanding.

"Seventh question: What were the core measures and reasons for the failure of the Qingli Reforms?"

"Eighth question: Why did the Xining Reforms fail?"

"Ninth question: What is the fundamental reason for the failure of reforms in our Great Song?"

Zhao Ji was utterly stunned—he couldn't answer a single one of Zhao Yu's nine questions; he felt all his reading had been in vain.

He also felt tricked—these questions clearly reflected on reform, and the court had debated them for years without resolution; how could a retired prince like him possibly answer them? Who could?

"If you answer these nine, I truly yield. Otherwise, granting your wish won't solve our Great Song's problems—it will only harm yourself and others."

With the words, "Making choices is never easy—if chosen wrongly, the consequences are unthinkable," Zhao Yu stepped into Cide Palace.

Zhao Bi and Zhao Si glanced at Zhao Ji and Zhao Si—one sighed, one shook his head—then hurried after Zhao Yu, leaving only the flushed Zhao Ji and the anxious Zhao Si standing alone…

(End of Chapter)