Chapter 530: Posthumous Titles and Honorific Names

In the Tiance Prefecture of Jiangnan.

Noisy voices rang out as many were arguing over something, each holding firm to their own view and refusing to yield—it was about drafting an honorific posthumous title for Chen Dingye, which should have been handled by the Chi Emperor’s lineage, but Qu Hanxiu, a great Confucian of the Central Plains’ Ministry of Rites, had remained stranded in Jiangnan.

Chen Dingye had also been attacked by the Prince of Qin.

Thus, the task of assigning Chen Dingye’s posthumous title fell to the Tiance Prefecture’s officials.

Regarding this matter of moderate importance, the officials of Tiance Prefecture each held divergent opinions.

Some argued for the title “Yang,” saying: “He abandoned rites and alienated the masses.”

Others suggested “Li,” meaning: “He slaughtered the innocent.”

Still others insisted on “Kang,” meaning: “He defied heaven and abused the people.”

The debate grew heated because each believed his chosen title carried the greatest weight, and the others’ choices were unworthy.

What kind of posthumous title is that?!

Mine is the only one worthy.

Just as the argument reached its peak, Yan Daiqing suddenly said: “Wen Qingyu, what do you think?”

The room fell silent; all eyes turned instinctively to the corner chair, where Wen Qingyu—the scholar who had returned from the frontlines to recuperate—was lazily cradling a cup of floral tea, nibbling on a small pastry. When Yan Daiqing asked him, Wen Qingyu paused to think.

He slowly stuffed a pastry into his mouth.

He chewed.

With a gentle expression, he remarked casually:

“Then let it be ‘Zhou.’”

The Tiance Prefecture ministers, who had just been shouting at each other, fell silent.

“Zhou” means: “Corrupting righteousness, harming goodness.”

“All the evils of the world are attributed to him.”

Regardless of historical truth, this title had become an indelible mark—the singular, legendary epitome of ultimate wickedness, a confluence of the most loathed qualities, even among the worst posthumous titles.

After a moment of silence, they exchanged glances, lips twitching, and said: “Though Chen Dingye committed many crimes, in his later years he also showed great valor—he hardly deserves the character ‘Zhou.’”

“Oh.”

Wen Qingyu said: “Then what about ‘Jie’?”

The room grew even quieter.

The Tiance Prefecture literati had strained every effort to unearth the most vile posthumous titles from history, yet these learned scholars, steeped in classics, could not match even Wen Qingyu’s casual suggestion.

Indeed, effort cannot rival talent.

Forget it—better not ask Wen Qingyu anymore.

“You rest now.”

“Oh, alright.”

“Call me if you need me.”

The group subtly excluded the one scholar from Tiance Prefecture who seemed the gentlest, most sincere, and least threatening.

Later, Chen Dingye personally led troops against Ying State, using himself as bait to create the perfect opportunity for the Central Plains to crush the steppe Turkic tribes; when leaving the capital, he neither looted nor burned cities, and even took with him the three-hundred-year-old aristocratic clans.

Judging by his deeds in these later years, he might even merit a decent posthumous title.

His actions simply did not warrant those two characters.

Just as the young scholars of Tiance Prefecture remained deadlocked, a knock came at the door—calm, unhurried. All turned to look; Yan Daiqing went to open it.

He saw an old man and was startled.

“Master Qu?”

Qu Hanxiu straightened his posture, strode in, and stroked his beard: “Youngsters, are you troubled by this posthumous title? Why didn’t you come ask me?”

The Tiance Prefecture officials were not the type to look down on this old scholar; they knew him as the foremost Confucian master of ritual law, so they exchanged glances, rose, and invited him to sit and be served tea.

Even the floral tea and pastries Wen Qingyu had specially chosen were taken away without ceremony by Yan Daiqing.

They were given instead to Qu Hanxiu.

Wen Qingyu sat in his chair, chin propped on one hand, smiling amiably.

So pleasant.

Wei Xuancheng remained silent for a long while, stepped back half a pace.

Qu Hanxiu took a bite of pastry, looked at the young men, and said: “I know you’re unsure how to judge Chen Dingye. Ordinary emperors are typically called foolish, enlightened, tyrannical, or mediocre.”

“But Chen Dingye—youthful and valiant, middle-aged and foolish, yet in his final decade became wise and decisive, radiating heroic spirit, the closest to Chen Wu’s bearing in three hundred years of Chen history—his posthumous title is hard to choose.”

“I heard from Master Yan Chen that he chose for himself the title ‘Li.’”

Yan Daiqing’s expression paused slightly.

Knowing his father was unharmed, Yan Daiqing’s spirits had truly lifted.

How much? Even Wen Qingyu’s repeated jests no longer irked him—he no longer flew into a rage or punched him. Such restraint was exceedingly rare.

Yan Chen was now assisting the Prince of Qin in reclaiming other scholars.

Yan Daiqing said: “Then let it be—Chen Li Huang?”

Qu Hanxiu stroked his beard: “‘Li’ means ‘slaughtered the innocent.’ His early reign was indeed foolish—fitting. But later he revealed heroic spirit. Thus, for such a man, a two-character title is needed.”

“One character cannot encompass his life.”

Qu Hanxiu wrote several characters: “‘Jian’ means ‘upholding righteousness, concealing faults’; ‘Gang’ means ‘making amends for past errors’; ‘Ling’ means ‘died with purpose fulfilled’; ‘Mi’ means ‘making amends for past errors.’ These, combined with ‘Li,’ can reveal his early folly and later heroism.”

Fang Ziqiao pondered briefly: “Fair enough.”

“But which character fits best?”

“Jian Li Di? Gang Li Di? Ling Li Di?”

“Each seems good, yet each feels slightly lacking in resonance…”

Qu Hanxiu stroked his beard, about to speak and make his choice, when a soft sound—fingers tapping the table—arose, perfectly timed, drawing all attention.

The gentle Wen Qingyu smiled: “What about ‘Ding’?”

“‘Ding’ means ‘correcting past errors,’ and it harmonizes with his name—it feels almost like a neutral title.”

Qu Hanxiu froze.

Huh???

This character—this character—it seems even more fitting than mine?

Wait—this boy, does he study ritual law deeply?

Qu Hanxiu stared at him with suspicion and bewilderment.

Yet he studies ritual law, and also the art of diplomacy, and military strategy—so broadly. But what does this boy aim for?

If he studies ritual law but doesn’t join the Ministry of Rites, what’s the point?

What do these three have in common…

Damn it—they have no common ground at all.

Military school, Diplomatic school, Confucian ritual school.

What could possibly unite them?

Use weapons to protect himself, use words to protect himself, use the world’s ritual laws to protect himself? Ridiculous… who would learn so much just to safeguard himself comprehensively—from grand strategy, power dynamics, to public opinion?

Huh… wait…

What if someone really did?

A thought struck Qu Hanxiu.

The eighty-year-old Confucian stared at the gentle, harmless scholar; his expression slowly hardened.

Military strategy lets him adapt to chaos and see where safety lies; diplomacy lets him maneuver between factions; ritual law lets him find loopholes in propriety and law, moving freely, doing anything while remaining within the bounds of ritual…

Not to mention his triple-heaven martial skill, his Shizhan sword art, his seventy-two-compound mafeisan, his immunity to mafeisan rivaling the qilin, his terrifying alcohol tolerance capable of defeating the entire Tiance Prefecture’s general corps, his horse-like agility, and his fitted soft armor.

Qu Hanxiu, at eighty, had weathered storms and braved the world—he’d seen the chaos of the Chi Emperor’s court. What kind of man hadn’t he encountered?

Damn it—he’d never seen one like this.

What kind of bizarre geniuses does the Prince of Qin gather?

The great Confucian scholar of the Central Plains stared at Wen Qingyu as if he’d seen a ghost.

Utterly baffled.

How could a world-class genius fixate entirely on self-preservation, unable to break free?

Qu Hanxiu watched the gentle scholar tap the table.

Wen Qingyu said nothing.

So Yan Daiqing raised an eyebrow and carried the tea and pastries back from Qu Hanxiu’s table.

He placed them again on Wen Qingyu’s table.

Wen Qingyu was quite pleased.

Qu Hanxiu: “…………”

He felt he had unraveled Wen Qingyu’s nature. To show he understood, as he had once done with Nan Hanwen, he later sought Wen Qingyu privately and delicately pointed out: “Your friend Yan Daiqing is your weakness.”

Just as he had once revealed to Nan Hanwen that the Prince of Qin was not in Jiangnan.

Enough to seize the initiative and intimidate the opponent.

But unlike Nan Hanwen’s reaction—

Wen Qingyu merely looked surprised, smiled, and shook his head.

He said nothing, and left calmly.

Qu Hanxiu was puzzled—unable to understand Wen Qingyu’s response.

Could this be a sign of denial?

Is it meant to show that Yan Daiqing, his closest friend, is not his weakness?

Or is there some other reason?

One day, Master Qu Hanshou went out for a walk and was ambushed, stuffed into a sack, doused with numbing powder, and beaten—no one knew who did it.

As Qu Hanshou applied ointment to his blackened nose and swollen face, he suddenly understood.

A weakness is a weakness; a soft spot is a soft spot.

As long as you knock out the man before the enemy strikes at his weakness or soft spot—stuff him in a sack, douse him in numbing powder, and finish him—then the weakness ceases to be a weakness, the soft spot ceases to be a soft spot.

Clean, swift, efficient, brutal.

No regard for propriety—only swordplay.

This is the way of the western bandits.

Scholar, great Confucian, strategist, swordsman, wandering knight, bandit, student, the lowest-ranked scribe in the Tiance Prefecture—all these identities belong to one man.

Qu Hanshou stared blankly for a long while; then this old man, bound all his life by ancient rites, seemed to have glimpsed true jade and fine talent—a sight he had never seen before—and he laughed aloud, utterly delighted:

“Act as one pleases, yet never transgress the bounds? Act as one pleases, yet never transgress the bounds!”

“Hahahaha! What a wild scholar!”

“His talent remains uncertain, but in the Tiance Prefecture, the most unrestrained and free-spirited is surely Wen He, Wen Qingyu.”

“Ouch… apply the ointment.”

“It hurts!”

“This kid doesn’t know his own strength.”

“The young strategists of Jiangnan have no manners at all.”

“Hm? Does this mean that the stern, upright Yan Daiqing—his closest friend—is truly his weakness? This boy… perhaps I should give him a little lesson.”

Qu Hanshou pondered, rubbing his hands together.

One day, he was ambushed again, stuffed into a sack, and beaten.

He lay in bed for three days.

He never spoke of it again.

This incident was later recorded by Sa Atandi in her old age, in her compiled Biographies of the Esteemed, where she, after much thought, placed it with amusement and mockery in the sixth chapter, “The Chapter of Grace.”

At this moment, after much discussion, the many scholars of the Tiance Prefecture finally settled on Chen Dingye’s posthumous title, drafted the memorial, and under the Emperor Chen’s name, declared him: Chen Moidai’s Lord, Emperor Chen Dingli.

After the memorial was written, it was sent to Prince Qin, who was calming the people in the Chen borderlands. Prince Qin read it, his expression calm and serene, then asked the messenger: “The Red Emperor still lives—how can Chen dare call itself imperial?”

“Chen and its state should remain as princedoms.”

Thus, his title was downgraded to Prince Chen Dingli.

Later, when the posthumous title of Emperor Chen was mentioned again, Prince Qin fell silent for a long while, drew his sword, and slashed once across the memorial scroll, saying calmly: “Chen Dingye committed countless atrocities for the sake of imperial status and posthumous glory.”

“He killed my parents, imprisoned Marshal Yue, and drove away the Divine Martial Prince.”

“The debt of my parents’ blood cannot go unpaid. Though he is dead and buried in the imperial mausoleum as a sovereign, I may not defile his corpse—but I will not let him have his wish. The world does not bend to his will.”

Prince Qin held the imperial sword, his gaze cold and disdainful.

“Life and death are grave matters; reputation is weighty.”

“Yet—”

“His life’s fate, his posthumous name—I shall cut both down with one sword.”

The scholars’ expressions hardened as they watched Prince Qin’s back—calmer now than in his youth—and said:

“…Let future generations say I lack magnanimity. Chen Dingye committed too many evils for the sake of his name. Benevolence and righteousness define a king—this title, he did not deserve for the first half of his life.”

“Yet he held his sword at the border, shattered the Turkic steppes—his merit was immense.”

“His ambition served the many—he may be called public.”

Prince Qin, sword in hand, severed Chen Dingye’s half-life’s ruthless pursuit of the imperial throne.

His life ended; his reputation ended.

The world came to call Chen Dingye: Last Lord, Duke Dingli.

【At first, he, as a vassal prince, second in line, feigned humility and restraint to win false renown, secretly plotting to usurp the heirship. He courted the favor of powerful ministers. When imperial envoys came to his residence, regardless of rank, he bowed low, lavished gifts, and treated servants and messengers with such apparent benevolence and filial piety that all praised him.】

【Upon ascending the throne, his realm surpassed three generations, his might shook the eight quarters. The Chanyu bowed his head; the Yuechang sent envoys across languages. Coins of red purity flowed through the capital; rotting grain piled up beyond the frontier. Fueled by wealth and strength, he sought insatiable desires.】

【………………No one thought of chaos; they fluttered like mayflies, squandered their nights in pleasure. The land crumbled, the people rotted, evil reached its full measure.】

【Under heaven, all were his enemies; those around him, all were hostile states.】

【In the end, he repented, took command in person, wielded arms against hostile states, resisted Chen and shattered the Turks—his spirit calm and unyielding, rivaling the Divine Martial Prince’s. Yet, in his imperial dignity, he died by sword, his body lost, his state destroyed.】

——————The History of Chen: Annals of Duke Dingli

Tianqi Year 18, Spring, Fourth Month.

The Qilin Army’s generals had long returned with Prince Qin to the Jiangzhou region. After personally reviewing the scholars’ evaluations of Chen Dingye’s posthumous title, Prince Qin approved the title “Dingli.”

In his spare time, he personally reviewed the criminal records. The palace maids and eunuchs were all assessed and reassigned. On this day, as he arrived, Prince Qin saw many senior eunuchs and palace women bound and guarded.

He asked, and Fan Qing replied solemnly: “Your Majesty, these maids and eunuchs appear innocent, but their personal wealth far exceeds normal limits. I have cross-examined them thoroughly.”

“They were responsible for recruiting civilians into the palace as maids and eunuchs. The palace’s official quota for maids and eunuchs is fixed—no excess is needed.”

“Yet they bring in far more each year.”

“The Chen palace did not expand, yet the number of maids and eunuchs increased annually. I suspect: each year, new maids and eunuchs enter, and an equal number die.”

“These senior maids and eunuchs profit from it.”

“They pocket the compensation the Chen court pays for maids and eunuchs who die by accident—this is a business with no cost but human lives.”

After speaking, General Fan Qing produced many lists, pointing out how many maids and eunuchs died each year. The senior maids and eunuchs turned pale, all kneeling to beg forgiveness.

“Innocent! Innocent!”

“We knew nothing! This was all handled by the Grand Eunuch of Ceremonies! We’re just lowly runners—we didn’t know anything! We only followed orders, bringing people in each year!”

Li Guanyi flipped through the lists, asked the eunuch’s name, then fell silent. Prince Qin’s gaze lowered toward the senior eunuch and asked: “Do you know a woman named Qian Qian?”

The senior eunuch looked confused.

Li Guanyi said calmly: “She was an old acquaintance of mine—I never met her.”

The eunuch seized this as a lifeline: “Oh? Then perhaps I was the one who brought her in? Where is this acquaintance? Where is she?!”

“Was she in the laundry quarters? Or in some noble lady’s palace?”

He strained his memory.

Prince Qin said calmly: “She was beaten to death. Afterward, fifty strings of cash went to her brother—only 135 copper coins remained.”

“The letter sent to her brother bore your signature.”

The eunuch’s face drained of color. His legs buckled; he collapsed to kneel and beg. Li Guanyi said calmly: “Fan Qing, interrogate him thoroughly. When you return, write a letter to Master Thirteen. Have him come from Lingyin Temple in Jiangnan.”

“Investigate records of human trafficking and organ harvesting.”

Prince Qin turned, set the list aside, and said:

“Death by a thousand cuts.”

All faces turned ashen. Fan Qing bowed: “Yes, Your Majesty!”

Fan Qing led the captives away. Li Guanyi stared at the scroll—dense with names of men and women brought into the palace over the years. He saw Qian Qian’s name.

He suddenly recalled ten years ago, after he began training, on his way to meet Yaoguang, the border veteran he had personally killed—and the yellowed letters he had read. Now, as Prince Qin, Li Guanyi lowered his gaze and murmured softly:

“Today, maid Qian Qian died. By law, fifty strings of cash are owed as compensation.”

“Since no one oversaw her burial, five strings were spent on her funeral; five strings for disruption to palace affairs; thirty strings in debts; five strings sent to the post station; three strings and seven cash for sealing and mailing the letter—leaving 135 copper coins, transferred to her brother Qian Zheng, to uphold justice…”

That letter, and those 135 copper coins.

Like brand marks.

From the wilderness ten years ago to now, they burned Li Guanyi. He stared at the scrolls, at the names, silent for a long while, then gently placed the scroll on the table. Prince Qin’s gaze lowered.

He cannot lose.

He must win.

Under the Jiachi of Master Thirteen’s specialized version of “Can You Let Go?” and “Does It Burn?”, the maids and eunuchs quickly confessed: this practice had begun generations ago, under several emperors before Chen Dingye.

They bought people cheaply from all regions—mostly children, fourteen or fifteen, still tender—and brought them into the palace. After a while, they devised ways to kill them.

There were several methods.

“Moon in Water”: push them suddenly into a well or pond.

This method was crude.

A better method: “Bone in Coffin.” Withhold food and drink, give only scraps, assign heavy labor, night shifts. After ten days, they die of exhaustion or starvation—no visible signs.

It’s assumed they were always frail—common among the poor.

Weak body, overworked—just died.

Hard to detect.

But not foolproof. A careful investigator might notice irregularities in diet or schedule, forcing them to bribe others to stay silent.

The most refined method: “Cotton and Rags.” Cover the victim in a cotton quilt, then beat them with clubs. No surface wounds—yet internal organs and deep tissue are shattered. They die of internal bleeding within days.

No outward signs.

Like sudden illness.

Fan Qing’s eyes burned with rage. He asked: “Aren’t you afraid of coroners?”

The senior eunuchs and maids replied blankly: “It looked like a violent illness. The palace feared scandal and covered it up quickly—who would summon a coroner? And these were poor people—no money to pay one.”

Thus, the chaos of Chen’s age becomes clear.

Merely a veneer of peace.

These senior palace maids and eunuchs were all dealt with, and the silver and gold they had accumulated was considerable; the Prince of Qin, using the list, searched the entire realm, made up the missing amounts, and returned everything to their families.

But this step was also difficult, as many had originally been kidnapped during the chaos.

Even those with families often had relatives who had long since perished.

The Prince of Qin’s resolve to conquer the realm grew stronger.

General Yue Qianfeng, while recovering from his injuries, happily obtained a new Divine General List, eagerly unrolled it, and upon waking this morning, he, Old Yue, had finally become a true top-ten Divine General.

He had truly dominated his era and secured his name in history!

Hmph.

Now let’s see who dares say Old Yue is just a gatekeeper of the top ten.

Who? Who dares say that!

He first admired the Divine General List, thinking it truly was a Divine General List—wow, look at this scroll, look at the script, look at the texture and weight—just one word: satisfying!

After thoroughly admiring it,

he slowly unrolled it, smiling as he glanced at it—then, with just one look, General Yue Qianfeng’s expression froze solid. This Divine General, who had never fallen on any battlefield in the realm, felt as if struck by an unprecedented soul attack.

In Jiangnan, the silver-haired Whale-Fishing Guest grumbled that he didn’t care.

Neither Li Guanyi nor the grand tide of the realm mattered to him.

Nothing mattered.

Who cares? Who the hell cares about him?

He said so,

but still grabbed the latest version of the Divine General List at once, glanced at it, and his expression froze—the Array Chief who had been grumbling about not caring—every eye turned to the Divine General List.

The ancient list slowly unfurled.

Rank One: Prince of Qin Li Huiguan.

His honorific title was simple, exceedingly plain—six large characters:

Supreme Divine General of the Realm.

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