Chapter 553: The Emperor Who Responds, the Four Directions Stir

When he learned of the Emperor’s decree, Wei Yiwen lowered his eyes; the old chancellor fell silent, wishing to restrain the Emperor, yet this Emperor, though capricious and reckless, still held the authority and prestige of the throne.

At the front, Grand Tutor Jiang Su faces off against Emperor Qin Wu, and the great war has not ceased.

Though neither side has yet erupted into a truly fierce conflict, minor skirmishes have never paused.

Both sides, like martial masters, continuously probe each other.

The moment one side reveals a fatal opening, an absolute kill will follow—in other words, the true war that will bring peace to the realm is not far off; Wei Yiwen anticipated this situation.

The balance among the former states endured so long precisely because of mutual checks and balances, because of the art of vertical and horizontal alliances; now, the world is reduced to only two nations, both with irrevocable reasons to fight.

Emperor Qin Wu is young and vigorous; as a ruler, his only problem is that he has no heir.

Aside from that, he can be compared to the wise monarchs of history; meanwhile, Jiang Su, the pillar of Great Ying, is aged, and for Emperor Qin Wu, unifying the realm and realizing his ambitions is his deepest desire.

But for Jiang Su, he can no longer afford to wait.

Since Jiang Wanxiang’s death, the two nations have been locked in opposition—a state of extreme instability; from the moment Jiang Wanxiang passed, perhaps a year, perhaps several years, but at most no more than ten, the realm will surely be unified.

Yet Jiang Su’s low-cost, cyclical training and attrition at the front gave Jiang Yuan a false impression—that the cost of war at the front was negligible for such a vast realm.

“Foolish! Foolish!”

“Utterly absurd!”

Wei Yiwen clenched his fist and slammed it onto the table, making it shake and the cups rattle: “Damned—even the incompetent monarchs of the former dynasty never dared such tactics. Is your ambition truly without limit, Jiang Yuan?”

Jiang Wanxiang had already purged the entrenched aristocratic clans and factions.

Yet perhaps precisely because this shrewd monarch swept them away, new ones—like vines—would inevitably entwine and bind the new era, draining the new ruler like a puppet.

These things, unknown in origin, once unworthy to even converse with the great clans, had now emerged.

At this moment, Wei Yiwen even wondered whether His Majesty had eradicated the old forces too thoroughly; in the past, these jumping, grasshopper-like court flatterers could never have passed the aristocrats’ scrutiny.

“Your Majesty, did you foresee all this?”

Wei Yiwen sighed.

He thought that, compared to monarchs entirely controlled by great clans, these rootless, grasshopper-and-autumn-cicada courtiers who knew only flattery might be simpler to eliminate.

Jiang Wanxiang and Wei Yiwen had both witnessed the era of the great clans; they knew well the terrifying entanglements, how even the Emperor and imperial family were, to some degree, controlled by these powerful clans.

Marriages, alliances—those outstanding princes’ maternal clans became their pillars; the struggle for succession among princes was nothing less than a brutal war between the realm and the aristocratic clans.

This was what was called “sharing the realm.”

In that era, outstanding illegitimate sons of the imperial house dissolved like water.

For them, eliminating the deeply rooted old forces would inevitably bring new troubles—but it was still necessary; even Wei Yiwen himself now barely regarded these floating courtiers as a threat.

“If His Majesty wishes to play, let him play.”

Wei Yiwen quietly influenced the so-called canal excavation.

He had, of course, agreed to the Emperor’s demand.

But through decades of experience, he had subtly altered the project’s pace—completing the canal would take at least twenty years; before the monarch, he could not use force to compel.

He could only use this one tactic: delay.

He only hoped the matter at the front with Divine General Jiang Su would end quickly, while he barely endured the court’s administrative burdens, spending at least half his month sleeping at his office.

It was barely enough to keep Great Ying functioning.

At least, no signs of collapse had appeared.

Yet for some reason, it reached Jiang Yuan’s ears; Jiang Yuan grew furious and shook his head: “Old fool, how dare you deceive me because I am young, playing such tricks!”

He paced back and forth, then added: “Yet a mere lowly subject dares to display scheming here—how presumptuous!”

In the autumn of the third year of Daye, Emperor Jiang Yuan led three thousand cavalry on an inspection tour of the great canal; because the bridge was unfinished, he personally beheaded the Minister of Waterworks Huang Geng and nine overseers.

A few days later, the bridge was completed, and he proceeded.

He continued onward; the governor Qiu He offered exquisite, delicious food; at Mayi, Governor Yang Kuo offered nothing—no delicacies, no beauties.

Jiang Yuan was displeased; he promoted Qiu He and demoted Yang Kuo to the harsh, cold lands.

From then on, those offering gifts along the route multiplied greatly.

Many ministers knew that if they slacked off in these tasks, the Emperor’s blade would fall—and cutting off their own heads would be nothing; even their nine clans might be in danger.

But if they pleased His Majesty, promotion awaited.

This simple journey had already easily undermined Wei Yiwen’s preparations; for the ministers, merely executing the Emperor’s orders was not difficult at all.

If progress slowed, their lives were at risk.

Though all knew this was merely for the Emperor’s luxury, and that obeying him would harm the realm, few dared use their lives to counsel him.

What’s the point of such meager monthly pay?

Death is terrifying.

But rewards, promotion, and lasting wealth are so alluring.

Thus, all ministers and officials competed in zeal.

Wei Yiwen’s tactics were casually undone by Jiang Yuan; the old chancellor fell silent for a long while, gazing upward and sighing—he knew Jiang Yuan was no fool, only that his heart was utterly absent from the state.

All his energy was spent suppressing and controlling the ministers.

It was not that Wei Yiwen was no match for the Emperor; in this realm, Wei Yiwen was ultimately subordinate; to influence and manipulate the superior from below required far greater effort and skill than one could imagine.

That day, Qin Yulong resolved to leave Great Ying with Xue Peijun and their child.

He had lost all heart.

But Qin Yulong had been away from the frontier too long; he was eventually discovered, and someone sent word to court; Jiang Yuan flew into a rage and issued an edict ordering Qin Yulong and his wife arrested and brought to court. Only then did Qin Yulong realize that many of Jiang Yuan’s spies likely lurked within the frontier army.

He Ruo Qinhu, Wei Yiwen, and others fought to protect Qin Yulong.

Jiang Yuan’s fury grew; he hurled a jade artifact onto the court floor and roared: “As a frontier general, you abandoned your post, leaving your army behind—what is Qin Yulong trying to do?!”

“Are you planning to hand over all of Great Ying’s frontier to Li Guanyi?!”

“Or perhaps hand over those fierce soldiers as well?!”

Wei Yiwen remained silent for a long while.

This old court veteran, who had spent a lifetime navigating politics, nearly cursed aloud: Don’t you know why Qin Yulong returned?!

Yet even so, he still harbored resentment toward Qin Yulong—for a mere woman, he had done something so absurd, it was too much.

But he also knew the weight of an eighth-layer Heaven general, one nearly certain to defeat other eighth-layer generals, under such circumstances.

He did not approve of Qin Yulong’s actions or choices.

A mere woman? Marry her off to a princess as compensation.

But he valued Qin Yulong’s worth: “General Qin Yulong acted under special circumstances. Moreover, the general is a master strategist; the frontier has seen no battle, and the state has not lost ground.”

“I humbly beg Your Majesty to consider General Qin Yulong’s long service and great merit, and impose only a light punishment.”

Jiang Yuan said: “Can state affairs be erased by the mere word ‘merit’?!”

“Throughout history, powerful ministers executed were all men who once served the state with merit—so, were they not deserving of death?!”

“Can past merit cancel out later crimes?!”

“Your ranks and wealth are granted by the state; serving the state faithfully is your natural duty. To commit such a grave offense and then claim it is balanced by duty—is that not inappropriate, Chancellor?”

Wei Yiwen knew this was Jiang Yuan striking at him.

The aged chancellor fell silent, as if struggling whether to protect Qin Yulong.

Jiang Yuan suddenly asked: “How old are you now, Chancellor?”

Wei Yiwen replied: “Eighty-six.”

Emperor Jiang Yuan sighed: “Chancellor, you are already eighty-six, having served Great Ying faithfully for sixty years, with great merit and labor—you deserve the posthumous title Wen Zheng.”

Wei Yiwen opened his mouth, then fell silent.

He was white-haired, not one of those rare martial masters with extended life; his years were limited. He craved no beauty, no luxury, no indulgence in food or music.

But this title—

For the twenty-year-old Wei Yiwen, back then, full of vigor, he had stood against Dan Tai Xianming, scoffing: “Crude! Radical! Not the true Dao!”

Back then, he cared nothing for reputation—only for doing what was right.

But now he was old. He was far too old.

The fire of youth had vanished; the passion of youth had cooled; his aged eyes saw only the deaths of old friends, the disgrace of colleagues after death.

He saw the Red Emperor, the Great Khan, Chen Dingye, the Divine Martial King—even the mighty Jiang Wanxiang—all gone; the more he saw, the more fear and emptiness he felt.

For this old man who had read books his whole life, the lure of the title was immense.

Especially since he did not know if he would live to see the day of ultimate peace—perhaps he would die before Jiang Su and Li Guanyi settled their conflict; then, this title—

Wen Zheng.

The highest posthumous title for a civil official.

Wei Yiwen fell silent; Jiang Yuan’s eyes lowered slightly, and with a casual wave of his hand, he ordered a eunuch to read the edict: the former Consort Ping, once a prince’s consort, was now Empress; the concubine, whose surname was He Ruo.

She was the daughter of He Ruo Qinhu.

Wei Yiwen fell silent, gazing at the old general, eyes closed, his merits equal to his stature; the old general seemed blind to the court’s brilliance and splendor.

Wei Yiwen suddenly remembered—the Empress was pregnant.

All were seasoned courtiers; in an instant, they understood everything.

Have you also been won over, He Ruo…?

Is this why He Ruo Qinhu has grown ever more steadfastly loyal to His Majesty? Empress, maternal relatives—if the Empress bears a son, the future Emperor will be He Ruo Qinhu’s grandson.

Thus, a new great clan and aristocratic faction was about to be born.

Wei Yiwen suddenly felt a profound inner tearing; a fierce shame rose from deep within him, making him dizzy, making him want to step forward and stop what was about to happen.

Yet for some reason, he could not move his foot.

Thus, amid this internal struggle, today’s court session ended; the Emperor dispatched troops to capture Qin Yulong—he may not kill the famed general, but he would certainly keep him under his control.

Wei Yiwen walked out slowly.

He gazed at the world beyond and the court, his expression dazed; He Ruo Qinhu was the same—standing there, they watched the grand hall, the ministers in crimson and purple robes lining up like ants crawling across the earth, fading into the distance.

Right beneath their feet.

Wei Yiwen was dazed and silent, observing himself arrive here with the posture of an elder, having made his choice after agonizing over it—yet once chosen, he grew calm.

Even unconsciously calculating in his mind—

The Emperor of Qin and Grand Tutor Jiang Su might not decide a clear victor; if Jiang Su wins, Da Ying will stabilize, and this great name will surely be his; but if Jiang Su loses, whether or not he followed the late Emperor Jiang Wanxiang’s orders, his fate would not differ much.

How to choose? This was not a hard decision.

But if he wished to preserve himself should Jiang Su prevail, he must do one more thing…

Ensure Emperor Jiang Yuan is not deposed.

With aligned interests, he looked toward He Ruo Qinhu; neither spoke. Human nature is complex, never fixed—and under such intense danger and temptation, it shifts violently.

As long as one seeks fame, pursues profit, or even merely craves protection for one’s children—

The essence of the aristocratic clans will never vanish.

It is not a single enemy, slain and gone forever.

Wei Yiwen, once famed for his elegant prose, could not utter a single word today.

He simply felt that the powerful aristocratic families the late Emperor had spent years eradicating had, within these three years, revived—right on him and He Ruo Qinhu.

Back then, they had labored tirelessly, spilling rivers of blood.

Yet in three years, they returned.

Like blood-sucking vines rooted deep into the court.

Impossible to kill, impossible to eradicate, impossible to uproot!

Wei Yiwen instinctively gave himself reasons: even if Jiang Gao ascended, new great clans would emerge; even under Li Guanyi’s rule, clans would arise—it was an unavoidable truth.

Thus, his actions were merely natural.

After a long silence, He Ruo Qinhu said: “Today’s wind is cool.”

Wei Yiwen forced a smile: “Yes.”

Neither had any taste for idle talk; their inner turmoil could not be shared with others, for they had once been heroes who followed Jiang Wanxiang to sweep away the old, stubborn forces.

Yet now, those very forces were reviving through them.

Guilt? Resentment? Or perhaps, silently convincing themselves with every excuse imaginable?

That was why they did not speak.

Wei Yiwen suddenly laughed: “Ha—even in this situation, General Yuwen hasn’t come. The Emperor himself summoned him…”

He Ruo Qinhu nodded.

Wei Yiwen looked to the sky, his gaze complex, tinged with sigh and a trace of envy, whispering:

“Truly… aloof.”

“Yuwen Lie.”

When Emperor Jiang Yuan sought to arrest Qin Yulong,

Prince Jiang Gao made his decision without hesitation, risking everything with his influence and resources to escort Qin Yulong’s family out of the city—and personally saw them off. When Qin Yulong emerged, he saw Jiang Gao standing beneath the pavilion, stunned.

Qin Yulong stepped forward and bowed: “Your Highness, why are you here?”

Jiang Gao forced a smile: “How could I not come to see you off, General Qin?”

Much sorrow filled the air. Xue Peijun held her five- or six-year-old child, silent. Jiang Gao looked at the child, exchanged a few pleasantries—but the child, clearly shy, turned his head away.

Jiang Gao’s expression grew complex. He knelt down, looked at the child, and smiled: “The road ahead is long. You must protect your mother.”

The child nodded.

Jiang Gao paused, then removed his jade pendant and pressed it into the child’s hand. Qin Yulong gasped: “Your Highness, this cannot be!”

Jiang Gao raised his hand to stop him, then gently stroked the child’s hair: “When I was young, I was frail. My mother begged for this peace jade to ensure my safety through life. I hope this child may be safe too.”

“And you both may live in peace.”

Qin Yulong sighed. Jiang Gao ordered wine brought. “General, as you depart, drink this.” Qin Yulong looked at Jiang Gao’s earnest face, then at the cup—his hand reached out, but Xue Peijun seized his sleeve.

Qin Yulong’s hand paused.

He saw his wife shake her head.

With two nations at war, the tenth greatest general of the realm must leave his homeland—whose wine would one dare drink now?

Jiang Gao’s eyes held bitterness. He smiled: “Madam is right. I was foolish.” He poured wine for himself, drank one cup, then poured the second onto the ground: “May the General travel safely.”

He fell silent, brushed his robe.

The former Crown Prince knelt halfway before Qin Yulong. Qin Yulong’s face turned pale with shock, grabbing Jiang Gao’s arm: “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”

Jiang Gao said: “You have sacrificed everything for state and family, yet leave under false charges. I cannot clear your name—only this I can do.”

Qin Yulong whispered: “When I abandoned my army, I accepted this fate. My wife and I are of the Jianghu spirit—but I owe the late Emperor great debt…”

He looked at Jiang Gao, his grip tightening: “Jiang Yuan, Second Prince, understands men’s hearts, possesses wit and talent—but thinks only of himself, not the nation!”

“If this continues, Da Ying will be destroyed by him. If Your Highness has the heart to save the state, just raise your banner—Yulong and General Yuwen will become your right and left arms. We will restore order and protect the realm!”

“Your Highness!”

Jiang Gao’s expression froze. He thought of Jiang Yuan’s years of folly—his face flickered with inner struggle.

But the struggle faded.

His clenched hand loosened. Jiang Gao sighed: “This is treason—forcing a brother to abdicate… I cannot do it. Besides, my nature would clash with Grand Tutor Jiang Su.”

Qin Yulong stared at Jiang Gao, sighed long, then withdrew his arm in disappointment, saying nothing—only left with his wife and child. Fifty li farther, they saw a man ahead, arms crossed over a heavy spear, leaning against a tree.

Qin Yulong called: “General Yuwen!”

Yuwen Lie said nothing, tossed something.

A wine jar flew through the air—Qin Yulong caught it.

This time, no hesitation. His weary face held a faint smile. He smashed the seal and drank deeply. Yuwen Lie drank too. Two divine generals emptied their cups in one gulp.

Yuwen Lie spoke no farewell. He lifted his spear and said:

“If you go to Li Guanyi, go.”

“But on the battlefield, Yuwen Lie will kill you first.”

Qin Yulong bowed: “The late Emperor showed me great favor. I merely retire to the Jianghu—I will never oppose Da Ying!”

Yuwen Lie gave no reply. He mounted his steed and rode away.

As if his refusal of the Emperor’s summons, his ride a hundred li out, had been only to share a jug of wine with Qin Yulong—and once done, he had no further interest, only returning to ride alone.

Qin Yulong’s heart stirred. He finally spoke: “General Yuwen, your aloofness is noble—but in today’s Da Ying, it is not wise. A tall tree invites the wind’s wrath; a man who stands above others draws criticism.”

“General Yuwen, take care.”

He called out—but Yuwen Lie did not respond.

Qin Yulong sighed, deeply desolate. Xue Peijun asked, puzzled:

“Are you so sorrowful?”

Qin Yulong replied: “I don’t know how he sees me—but among all I’ve known, only General Yuwen deserves the title of lifelong true friend.”

Xue Peijun frowned: “You two never had much contact before.”

After a long silence, Qin Yulong answered:

“Friendship between men is not measured by time.”

Yuwen Lie rode hard, returning alone—only the towering, solemn imperial city of Da Ying remained before him.

Back at his home, a decree lay waiting.

He did not look. He crushed it underfoot.

He burned the wine.

…………

In the winter of the third year of Daye, Jiang Yuan seized control of court and realm, flattered by ministers. Grand Tutor Jiang Su and Emperor Qin faced off less frequently, as if quietly building two great cities.

Yuan Shitong and Xue Tianxing still remained beyond the northern frontier.

They received letters ordering them to hold their posts, not to leave lightly.

Though they did not understand why, they waited.

Then came a day of fierce winds.

A gentle, unassuming young man finally arrived.

Yuan Shitong and Xue Tianxing stepped forward to greet him: “Master, you’ve finally come.”

“May we ask your name?”

On the northeastern edge of Da Ying, the gentle, unassuming youth offered a trustworthy smile:

“I am Yan Daiqing.”

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