Shedding the black dragon robe that belonged to the Prime Minister of Great Yan, Xu Yinhe walked alone toward the outskirts along the very road he had taken to enter the capital all those years ago. For the man who had devoted his entire life to the realm, this final journey lacked any miles-long crowd turning out to see him off; there was only a retreating figure quietly melting into the throng.
Scenes of the past surfaced before his eyes. Entering the capital on horseback through the thoroughfares, the gazes looking down upon him from the scions of noble houses lining Heavenly Street seemed like only yesterday. Decades had passed in the flick of a finger; the streets were as bustling as ever, the children who once dashed along the alleys had grown decrepit and old, and most of the buildings from those days had been renovated into unrecognizable forms, while the owners of those haughty gazes had long since turned into withered bones beneath his feet.
He had arrived at the center of power under the gaze of myriad eyes, and now departed quietly from a corner where no one took notice. Yet this land would ultimately remember that a spark had once traced the most brilliant streak across the curtain of an era.
Heading outward, looking back on a lifetime in the imperial court as his end drew near, the arguments that had once resonated with thunderous force and the tables banged in fierce dispute all turned to quicksand slipping through his fingers.
Victory need not rest with him alone. He had a confidant who had accompanied him through life, a beloved who had stayed true to the very end, children who brought joy to the family hearth, and the successor who had taken up the torch from his hand to press forward...
Xu Yinhe felt that this life of his had been more than enough.
With a smile, he left Di'an and headed for the nameless hill where they had first met.
The grassy slopes of the hill swayed gently, undulating with the wind. Beneath a fringe tree in perpetual bloom, two earthen mounds stood in quiet repose.
Xu Yinhe stood beneath the fringe tree, looking upon his two departed kin.
In a faint daze,
Xu Yinhe saw Chang'an—just as quiet and taciturn as himself—bowing respectfully to him.
He also saw the extraordinary woman who had offered him that bargain under this very tree so long ago, stretching out her slender hand toward him once more, her smile radiant like a blooming flower.
Smiling, he walked toward them.
The mountain wind swept past, the falling fringe tree blossoms drifting down like snow.
His figure gradually dispersed amid the sky full of petals.
The world had lost a Chancellor named Xu Yinhe, and the nameless hill had gained another mound resting beside his family.
An era had come to an end.
Great Yan did not use the Gregorian calendar; once the twelfth month drew to a close, a new year began. Yet the forty-eighth year of Jiajing was a year without a Spring Festival. Part of this stemmed from the tense atmosphere of civil war, but even more so from an obituary dispatched to the entire realm from within the red walls of the Palace City.
The news of Li Yaoxuan's death had finally been proclaimed after all.
The celebratory lanterns and ribbons put up for the New Year were taken down, replaced by strips of white silk hung across the entirety of Di'an.
The Emperor had passed away; the entire world was in mourning.
Soldiers belonging to the City Defense Bureau patrolled the quiet streets back and forth. All forms of entertainment were temporarily banned, and the lanterns of the usually boisterous brothels and gambling dens were dimmed. In truth, there was no need for patrols at all; as the soldiers marched through the silent residential alleys, they could even faintly hear weeping drifting out from within.
In a feudal dynasty, loyalty to the sovereign outweighed love for one's country, and the common people's personal veneration of the Emperor ran to their very marrow—especially within Di'an City, bathed as it was in imperial grace.
By Great Yan's etiquette, when parents died, their offspring were required to observe filial mourning for three years. Three years, however, was far too long for both the new monarch and the realm. Thus, under an expedient compromise, the Crown Prince and the entire realm needed only to mourn the late Emperor for thirty-six days to represent thirty-six months.
The old emperor had died, the realm was in mourning, and only after the mourning period concluded would the new emperor ascend the throne.
Inside Di'an City, everything proceeded smoothly in accordance with the ceremonial system of succession, but looking across the regions under the imperial court's actual control, matters appeared vastly more chaotic.
Although Li Zhaoyuan had deliberately and gradually leaked word over the past month, the death of a supreme leader had an unparalleled impact on a country in wartime. On a smaller scale, it bred treacherous ambitions among opportunists; on a larger scale, it struck panic into the hearts of everyone who had pledged allegiance.
The achievements of the old emperor, Li Yaoxuan, were simply too brilliant, making it inevitable that people would harbor doubts about Li Zhaoyuan, an unfamiliar new emperor.
Not to mention that civil war had already erupted across the board.
Under these circumstances, the attitude of the Prime Minister became the focal point for most people, including many stalwarts of the imperial faction. To them, Xu Yinhe was a traitor who stole the state, a disloyal subject. Yet in times of peril, human nature invariably said one thing while desiring another.
Decades of serving in the same court had made them intimately aware of his capability and stature. With the Sect Alliance advancing aggressively and the old emperor deceased, rather than placing their trust in this unknown new emperor, they were far more willing to believe that Xu Yinhe—the Prime Minister who had held supreme power over the realm for decades—could guide them through these dark times.
Li Zhaoyuan had foreseen this trend. The prestige accumulated by the previous generation weighed too heavily in people's hearts, and during wartime, such prestige would be magnified beyond measure. Therefore, he had to harness the overarching momentum of the realm to force Xu Yinhe to his death.
Broadening the perspective to the entire realm, the shock brought by news of Li Yaoxuan's death was even greater. The civil war between the imperial court and the Sect Alliance was not confined to the battlefield; the economy, public opinion, and ideological thought were all arenas of contest between the two sides.
Having raised their troops under the righteous banner of purging the treacherous courtiers flanking the throne, the Sect Alliance naturally would not miss such a prime opportunity. They pinned the crime of regicide squarely on the Prime Minister's Manor and loudly propagated that the new monarch was merely a puppet of the manor. To the court's highest echelons, this was obviously nonsense, but the grassroots were another matter.
Loyalty to the sovereign was deeply ingrained in the people, and at this moment, it was exploited by the Sect Alliance. The infamy Prime Minister Xu had borne over the past several decades made it easy for most lower-ranking imperial soldiers to swallow these conspiracy theories. Passing upward step by step from the bottom ranks, this generated a chain of adverse consequences.
Yet regarding this, the soon-to-be enthroned new emperor, Li Zhaoyuan, made no move to stop it; in fact, he deliberately allowed these rumors to spread unchecked.
Compared to his eldest brother Li Yucheng, who had served as regent for decades, Li Zhaoyuan's foundation in the court was ultimately too shallow. Because of Li Yaoxuan's vacillation in his twilight years, the vast majority of high-ranking imperial faction figures had never expected the one claiming the throne of the Nine-Five to be him. Consequently, he needed time to appease and unify the imperial faction, thoroughly digesting the legacy left by his imperial father to turn it into his own right-hand strength.
This transitional void of authority was Li Zhaoyuan's most vulnerable period. He had to ensure that the Chancellor's Manor remained docile and quiet throughout this time, and the regicide accusations broadcast by the Sect Alliance happened to become the second wave of momentum he could exploit to cement his position upon the throne.
In contrast to the clamor outside, the core of power within the Prime Minister's Manor maintained an eerie silence during this period. As if honoring the longstanding tacit understanding between emperor and prime minister, they watched in quiet stillness as the new emperor consolidated his authority throughout the mourning period.
The only noteworthy detail was that long before the obituary of the Emperor's demise was issued, the entire Prime Minister's Manor had already hung strips of white silk. From the Third Young Master down to mortal servants, all had donned mourning attire well in advance.
Some speculated that the late Emperor's obituary had been forced upon the new emperor by the man in the Prime Minister's Manor. Others guessed that the uncrowned emperor of Great Yan residing in the manor had followed the late Emperor in death, for he had not shown his face in a very long time. But these were mere conjectures in the end, soon forgotten when set against more pressing, tangible events.
The northern part of Hongnong under court control fell.
The Sect Alliance army was bearing down directly on the imperial court's Great River defense line arrayed along the Tianhe River.
Chapter 798