Chapter 536: Awakening of Insects

In the year Xiangfu, during the season of spring rain, the Northern Liang Prince’s Mansion removed all the large red lanterns, and the festive red couplets were replaced with white ones at the break of dawn. A slanting breeze and fine rain stirred the trees, as if the wind would not cease even as the branches longed for stillness, and a son wished to care for his parents but found them no longer present.

Raindrops struck the roof tiles, which clustered in countless overlapping layers. The sound began softly, then grew heavier, then softened again, wrapping the tiles in a delicate stream that trickled down the grooves and eaves like wine spilling from a cup, weaving a dense network of tapping and sliding notes. When the white couplets were hung outside the gates of Qingyang Palace, the entire city of Liangzhou was stunned. Word spread quickly, and many elders bravely came to the foot of the mountain to witness the pale couplets with their own eyes. Within an hour, the city fell silent—no firecrackers, no bells or drums. White lanterns were hung, and white couplets replaced the red.

The main road of Liangzhou led directly to the Northern Liang Prince’s Mansion, where the streets were draped in white. The governor of Liangzhou, Hu Kui, wearing the coarsest sackcloth mourning attire, led all the officials of Liangzhou to the ceremonial gate. He did not step onto the stone steps but stood at the foot, facing the tens of thousands of Liangzhou citizens on the main road. After a moment of silence, he turned around and shouted with all his might: “First bow!”

The wind and rain darkened the sky, and a sea of white bowed low. One bow, three kowtows; the sound of the three kowtows echoed like spring thunder.

“Second bow!”

“Third bow!”

Three bows, nine kowtows.

※※※

In Taian City, it was the Beginning of Spring. Officials regarded the early morning court session as a burden. Many seasoned courtiers had long mastered the skill of arriving precisely on time for the morning assembly. Yet today, nearly all had gathered early outside the palace gates. The imperial road was filled with a joyous yet mysterious atmosphere, and no one dared to break the unspoken truth—everyone in Taian already knew that the old man of Northern Liang had finally died. Countless people clinked their cups in celebration, drinking themselves into a stupor, needing to be carried home.

According to the laws of the Liyang Dynasty, when a feudal prince died, the heir must send urgent news to the capital and the Imperial Clan Office. Xu Longxiang, being a prince of a different surname, was not under the jurisdiction of the Imperial Clan Office, but in principle, the news should still be conveyed swiftly to the Zhao family. However, the Ministry of Rites in Taian waited in vain, and the Emperor of the Zhao family magnanimously chose not to dwell on the matter. Instead, he decided that during today’s morning court session, the posthumous title of the Prince of Northern Liang would be discussed. The Ministry of Rites was to submit a memorial first.

Thus, the Ministry of Rites was thrown into chaos. The Minister of Rites, Lu Daolin, who was related by marriage to the Butcher of Men, feigned illness and refused to appear, completely abandoning his duties. The Ministry, leaderless, saw its two senior vice-ministers, both of the third rank, bicker and shift blame. The official in charge of memorial titles, Jiang Yongle of the Qingli Office, was of a lower rank and found himself caught in a difficult position. Normally, the Emperor’s thoughts on granting posthumous titles were not overly complex. For example, the late scholar of the Song family was given the title “Wenhuai,” and the elder of the Qing Party, Lufei Chi, was given “Wengong.” Both titles were relatively low in the hierarchy of noble posthumous names. According to the interpretations in the Book of Posthumous Titles, the character “Huai” had four meanings, and Jiang Yongle chose the meaning of “praising someone’s virtue,” fitting for the renowned scholar Song, who was famous for his monthly critiques. The character “Gong” for Lufei Chi meant “to serve,” and the Emperor approved both titles without objection.

However, when it came to the Prince of Northern Liang, Xu Xiao, attempting to bestow a posthumous title upon this Butcher of Men—how many Courages did Jiang Yongle possess? How many heads could be cut off? Even if he managed to guess the Emperor’s thoughts correctly, if it did not align with the opinions of the court or the tastes of the powerful ministers, or worse, if it angered the martial men of Northern Liang, he, a mere official of the Qingli Office, would be ruined by a single misstep.

Three days before the morning court session, Jiang Yongle received the imperial command. The left vice-minister of the Ministry of Rites, a man from the Zhanglu School, coldly suggested the title “Dai,” which was the second-to-last among the eighteen martial titles, roughly meaning “no merit, no fault.” Jiang Yongle’s lips trembled with anger. Such a title would invite criticism from all sides, and he would be the scapegoat. The right vice-minister, Pan Chunjian, a disciple of the Gulu School, was even more shameless, suggesting the title “Yang,” one of the worst possible titles. In this dynasty, there was no concept of neutral posthumous titles, and few were given outright negative ones; most were positive, differing only in degree.

Jiang Yongle spent three days like a man who had lost his wife, his face perpetually gloomy. He lost countless strands of hair, especially during the sleepless hours before the morning court session, when he nearly tore apart the Book of Posthumous Titles. Still, he could not bring himself to write. He even began to wish for death.

Before dawn, Jiang Yongle slammed his teacup and the Book of Posthumous Titles onto the floor, scattering them. The Qingli official rose abruptly, nearly mad, his trembling finger pointing at the foggy darkness outside the window, cursing, “Xu Lao’er, even in death, you won’t let me rest in peace!”

A servant girl outside the door hesitated, then knocked timidly. She was shouted at by the official inside and dared not disturb him further. Jiang Yongle sighed, picked up the book, and wiped away the tea stains with his sleeve, carefully separating the pages that had stuck together. He placed the book back on the desk, his silver hair disheveled, his face pale. He combed his hair with his fingers, chuckled faintly, straightened his posture, and began writing furiously, scattering the forty-two noble titles and fifteen ignoble titles across a sheet of fine paper. When he finished, he was exhausted, gasping for breath. He turned to the servant girl outside and gave her an order. The bewildered beauty entered the room, saw the barely visible characters on the paper, and placed a copper coin on it as instructed. Jiang Yongle waved her away, pressed the coin with one hand, and flipped the paper with the other, as if to leave the decision to fate.

The character revealed was: “Li!”

Interpretation: He contributed to the nation but also slaughtered the innocent.

Jiang Yongle hesitated, murmuring, “So be it. Heaven’s will.”

As the eastern sky turned pale, the grand hall was filled with talents, the entire court assembled. Most wore purple robes, reserved for officials of the third rank or higher. Some elderly officials with titles of dukes or marquises wore embroidered Pythonrobes. The younger officials, such as the vice-ministers of various departments, wore crimson robes and stood further back. The only one wearing a yellow Pythonrobe was the Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan, who stood alone before the civil and military officials, closest to the nine-tiered throne. The Emperor sat high on his dragon throne, two large incense burners releasing fragrant smoke. On a clear day, he could even see far down the imperial road outside the palace gates.

The Emperor shifted his gaze. Few dared to lift their heads in the hall, except for the Prime Minister Zhang Julu and a few senior ministers, and a handful of generals. Only the old man Huan Wen, known as the Unswerving Elder, dared to stare directly at the Emperor, who wondered what the old man was looking at.

The Emperor scanned the hall. The Minister of Rites, Lu Daolin, was absent. The new Minister of War, Chen Zhibao, with a Kirinemblem on his chest, sat with his eyes closed. Gu Jiantang, who had long guarded the borders, was the most respected military official in the hall. It was said that the Gulu School, perhaps under the guidance of the old Minister Gu, had initially been obedient. Many military affairs were handled according to the new Minister’s instructions. Yet Chen Zhibao rarely interfered, appearing indifferent. He spent most of his days reading in the Gulu School. Later, the Gulu School, perhaps sensing that this young butcher had nothing more to offer, began to provoke him. The head of the War Department’s treasury, Huang E, was stripped of his official robes and thrown out of the Gulu School. The two vice-ministers of the Gulu School, Lu Baijie and Lu Shengxiang, merely watched with folded arms, not lifting an eyelid. Huang E, with his wide connections, sought help everywhere. The Censorate then began to attack Minister Chen relentlessly. But the Emperor lightly dismissed Huang E’s wife’s fourth-rank noble title, leaving Huang E too afraid to speak out in the capital. He fled to the border for “relaxation,” but even the great general Gu Jiantang refused to see him. Huang E remained a commoner, a laughingstock in the city.

If the morning court session of Liyang did not include the barking of the Censorate’s old men, sparking factional disputes, the various departments would usually present their matters concisely, for the Emperor was diligent, often working through the night. Policies were either approved or rejected by the Emperor and then disseminated throughout the land, benefiting the north and south alike.

Today’s court session proceeded unusually smoothly. The Minister of Revenue, Wang Xionggui, reported on the land survey and tax collection in the Jiangnan and Guangling regions, as well as the audit of grain reserves in local granaries. As the next leader of the Zhang Party, Minister Wang was outstanding in both scholarship and governance. His voice was smooth and clear, and his calm demeanor alone was enough to impress the younger generation in the hall.

The Minister of Personnel, Zhao Youling, also delivered a report, though it was somewhat routine. The Emperor then issued an edict allowing Zhao, a commoner by birth, to preside over the annual evaluation of officials across the empire, with the “Crown Prince’s First Aide,” Yin Maochun, no longer assisting. Last year’s evaluation was a deliberate move by the Emperor to let Zhao “use a butcher’s knife to kill a chicken,” paving the way for Yin Maochun. Everyone in the hall knew that if Minister Lu Daolin had not been absent, today would also have announced that Yin Maochun would preside over this year’s imperial examinations. Few officials could claim to have students spread throughout the empire—only the late scholar Song, and the Prime Minister Zhang.

Then, Chen Zhibao, who rarely spoke in court, opened his eyes. When he stepped forward, the entire court turned to look. A purple-robed official who had been clearing his throat hastily retreated. Chen spoke coldly, discussing the dissolution of the Liaodong military garrisons and the rebellion of sixteen tribes in the Huai region of Nan Zhao due to the struggle for imperial timber. This cooled the festive atmosphere in the hall. However, the senior ministers quickly glanced at the Emperor’s expression, which remained unchanged. He smiled gently and said that after court, he would discuss these matters further with the ministers in the Cabinet, with the record keepers present.

Then, Han Lin, the vice-minister of the Ministry of Justice, who had clashed with Minister Wang Xionggui last year, reported on some affairs. Two cabinet ministers also added a few trivial matters.

Then, when the one-grade minister Huan Wen, the Left Vice Chancellorof the Gate of the Underworld, finally withdrew his gaze and coughed, everyone perked up. The show was about to begin.

Zhang Julu, with his blue eyes and purple beard, stood beside the old man Huan but ignored him, gazing instead at an empty space near the Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan. Two years ago, there had been a chair there for the old Grand Secretary Sun Xiji of the Western Chu, but since the old man took over the Gate of the Underworld and resigned as Left Vice Chancellor, he had been “demoted” to the position of Governor of the Guangling Circuit, and now the chair was gone. Zhang turned his head to look behind him. His protégé Wang Xionggui and many other ministers were watching Jiang Yongle. The Minister of Personnel, Zhao Youling, happened to be looking at the back of the Prime Minister and was caught red-handed. Zhao, who had risen to prominence during the Spring of Yonghui, quickly turned his head away.

From Yonghui Year 1 to Year 4, when the current Emperor ascended the throne, Zhang Julu became the Prime Minister and presided over the imperial examinations for four consecutive years. Zhao Youling, his fellow townsman Yuan Guo, and Yin Maochun, Wang Xionggui, and Han Lin were all promoted during this time, all considered disciples of Zhang. But in the end, Yuan Guo of the Ministry of Works left the Zhang Party in despair. Then Yin Maochun entered the Hanlin Academy and established his own school. Soon after, Han Lin was expelled from the Zhang Party by Zhang Julu and never returned to the Zhang Mansion. The Ministry of Personnel, which held great power in the Six Ministries, had been regarded as Zhang Julu’s personal domain, but in recent years, it had become merely a façade. Zhao Youling felt some guilt but no regret. He refused to be second to anyone, even under Zhang Julu. But why was Wang Xionggui, who had only ranked third in the imperial examinations, the one most favored by the Prime Minister and the then Director of the National Academy, Huan Wen? Not him, Zhao Youling?!

A trembling voice interrupted the Minister of Personnel’s thoughts. Jiang Yongle, the official of the Ministry of Rites, stepped forward with a pale face and slowly knelt down: “Your Majesty, I have something to report.”

When Jiang Yongle gritted his teeth and announced the proposed posthumous title for the Prince of Northern Liang, the court erupted in uproar. The military officials openly scoffed, while the civil officials wore strange expressions.

Zhang Julu frowned, and the old man Huan began staring at the beams of the hall again.

Yang Shenxing, an old general of the Spring and Autumn period, was the real-power-holding Grand General of An Guo, over eighty years old. Despite his age, he outlived many generals younger than him by seven or eight years, even ten. After those old generals died and received their posthumous titles, their families rarely had descendants capable of upholding their legacies. The successors who inherited the titles of the generals were of a younger generation and lacked the military achievements and prestige to rival Yang Shenxing. In the military ranks of Liyang, aside from Gu Jiantang and two other generals, Yang Shenxing’s words carried weight. No one dared not to listen. When no one responded to the old general’s words, he stepped forward boldly. He had knelt upon entering the hall, but now he spoke without kneeling. He first saluted the Emperor with a fist, then turned to Jiang Yongle and sneered, “Xu Xiao has committed countless sins. During his lifetime, he was the Prince of Northern Liang and even received the title of Grand Pillar of the State. That was already the Emperor’s grace. Now that he is dead, how can he deserve the eighteenth martial title? Choose a slightly better negative title, and the court will still be treating him generously!”

As soon as the old general spoke, Jiang Yongle dared not breathe, his head bowed so low it nearly touched the ground. The Larkemblem on his fourth-rank robe was visibly soaked with sweat.

The Emperor leaned back in his dragon throne, smiling faintly.

Lu Shengxiang, the vice-minister of the Ministry of War, stepped forward calmly and said, “I believe Xu Xiao should be given the title ‘Kang.’”

The entire court erupted in shock.

This title was one of the worst among the negative ones, implying rebellion and betrayal, almost equating Xu Xiao with a traitor to the Liyang Dynasty.

Many eyes turned to the Pythonrobe ahead—Minister of War Chen Zhibao. Unfortunately, his upright back revealed nothing.

Zhao Youling seemed to notice the Prime Minister’s shoulder twitch slightly.

Then, Yan Jiesi, a former official of Northern Liang and now a royal relative, stepped forward. Last year, the newly appointed Grand Secretary of the Dongyuan Pavilion, Yan, knelt and said solemnly, “Your Majesty, I believe the opinion of the Grand General of An Guo is more appropriate.”

This disappointed many officials who had hoped he would insist on giving Xu Xiao a noble title.

But soon, the disappointed officials exchanged knowing smiles. Jin Lanting, the Right Sacrificial Wine Official of the National Academy, leisurely stepped forward and declared, “Your Majesty, I support Vice-Minister Lu’s proposal. Xu Xiao usurped Northern Liang and committed countless treasonous acts. Granting him the ignoble title ‘Wu Kang’ would pacify the hearts of the people!”

The Emperor’s lips curled slightly, but he remained silent.

Then, the great Confucian scholar of the day, the Left Sacrificial Wine Official Yao Baifeng, coldly snorted. He not only stepped forward but also deliberately jostled Jin Sanlang with his shoulder before speaking: “General Xu Xiao made unparalleled contributions to this dynasty. No one can match his military achievements. The titles ‘Yi’ and ‘Lie’ both fit him. If we use the title ‘Huan,’ meaning ‘to pacify the distant with martial strength,’ that would be most appropriate!”

This caused even more uproar. Even the most composed ministers began whispering among themselves.

Jin Lanting sneered, “Xu Xiao did have military achievements, but they were all opportunities granted by the court, merely following the tide of events. He received favors but showed no gratitude. How can such a man deserve the titles ‘Huan,’ ‘Yi,’ or ‘Lie’? It’s laughable! Master Yao, are you not afraid that this title will cause the people’s hearts to turn cold?”

With Jin Sanlang as the first to break the ice, three cabinet ministers who had conspired beforehand stepped forward in unison, supporting Lu Shengxiang and Jin Lanting’s proposal of the title “Kang.”

Several elders of the Censorate also voiced their support.

In an instant, the hall was filled with fierce debate, and many sharp words were spoken. The great scholar Yao Baifeng was so angry his face turned pale.

Throughout, the Minister of War, who should have spoken most in defense of the crippled Xu, remained silent. The Prime Minister Zhang, who should have taken the opportunity to stir the pot, also remained quiet. At one point, Zhao Youling of the Ministry of Personnel and Wang Xionggui of the Ministry of Revenue almost stepped forward simultaneously, but were stopped by a glare from the old man Huan, and they both smiled bitterly and withdrew.

Finally, the Emperor stood up, his expressionless face gazing down at the assembled ministers, and softly said, “Let the court be dismissed. Let Xu Xiao’s posthumous title be ‘Wu Li,’ balancing his merits and faults.”

As the ministers filed out of the hall, many of the senior officials looked at Jiang Yongle with warmer eyes. This young man was clearly about to rise in fortune. No one expected that such a great misfortune would turn into such a great blessing for him.

Surprisingly, Huan Wen did not leave with his old friend Zhang Julu. Instead, he quickened his pace and walked ahead of the departing ministers, smiling as he approached Jin Sanlang, who was about to descend the white jade steps. He patted Jin’s shoulder and said he had something to discuss. The two, one old and one young, walked to a corner of the corridor outside the hall. Jin Lanting thought it was because of his suggestion during the morning court session that the Zhang Party would accept him, and he secretly rejoiced, thinking he might soon become the new rising star of the Zhang Mansion.

But then, the old man Huan suddenly punched Jin Lanting in the face and cursed, “How many times have you taken advantage of me with your refined calligraphy paper? I’ll repay you every bit of it!”

Jin Lanting, holding his face, stared in disbelief at the old man’s retreating figure, as if the sky had fallen.

On the steps above, the Left Sacrificial Wine Official Yao Baifeng and Zhang Julu, who rarely interacted, stood side by side today. Huan Wen approached, and the three old men looked toward the imperial road outside the palace gates. Among the retreating figures of the ministers, none stood out more than Chen Zhibao.

The ministers and generals discussed the matter, all waiting to see the young Prince of Northern Liang’s reaction when he received the imperial decree, imagining the absurd scene and unable to suppress their laughter.

As Chen Zhibao stepped out of the palace gates, he turned back to look at the roof of the hall.

On the steps above, Huan Wen, still fuming, said, “What a Beginning of Spring season!”

Zhang Julu sneered softly, “All things emerge from the Shock, and the hibernating insects are startled into movement.”