Chapter 3: Struggles in the Imperial Court

The Golden Imperial Hall lived up to its name—gilded jade columns, white jade floors, intricately carved jade dragons, all majestic and imposing, dazzling in their splendor.

Upon the dragon throne sat Qin Xiao, alert to every corner, accepting the homage of the hundred officials as their voices rang out in unison, extolling his longevity.

Qin Xiao had never imagined that scenes from television dramas would one day happen to him: that he would sit high above, overlooking the masses, receiving their reverent gazes. In this moment, the intoxicating allure of power swelled within him—this, surely, was the destiny of a man: to recline upon a beauty’s knee and to grasp the reins of the world upon awakening.

This throne—he would have it, no matter what. Even if Jesus himself descended, it wouldn’t matter; he cared nothing for the title. All that mattered was to grow stronger, to live boldly and grandly!

“Sire, for three consecutive years, torrential rains have battered Shanhai Pass; mountain floods have displaced the people, crops have failed, and now a mass of refugees is streaming toward the capital!” cried an elderly man in a blue official robe, tears and grief mingling in his voice.

Qin Xiao was taken aback—the flood had grown so severe? If this continued, the realm would surely fall. He paused, then his eyes flashed with a commanding brilliance, and he spoke in a clear, resonant voice: “Send grain! Send funds! No matter what, we must settle the refugees!”

“Where are the Ministry of Revenue officials? Are they dead? Listen well—they are to allocate funds immediately, to aid the displaced!”

“And the Ministry of War—don’t sit idle! Troops are raised for moments such as this. Dispatch soldiers to Shanhai Pass to help the refugees rebuild their homes!”

At his words, the civil and military officials exchanged bewildered glances. The treasury of the Great Qian was so depleted, even the mice would weep at its emptiness.

At this moment, a portly, aged man stepped forward—his face piled with sagging flesh, his eyes narrowed to a thin line, shrewd and calculating. This was Tang Sicheng, the father of the favored Lady Li and Minister of Revenue, leader of most of the officials—a master manipulator of power.

His jowls trembled, and he spoke awkwardly, “Sire, the Ministry of Revenue is powerless. The treasury is as clean as this old minister’s face—there is simply no money. Two years ago, Your Majesty’s construction of Yongle Palace consumed most of our savings, and this year, your plans for the Wuji Hall emptied it further.”

“Forget providing for the refugees—even the officials’ salaries are in arrears, so much so that this old minister cannot eat, Sire!”

Unable to pay even the officials’ salaries?

Qin Xiao was shocked. According to his predecessor’s memories, the Great Qian kingdom was vast, with countless mines, endless grasslands, and fertile fields beyond measure. How had it come to this, where even salaries could not be paid?

His first instinct was that there were powerful corrupt officials—embezzling and stealing.

“Bring me the treasury records from past years, immediately. I want to see how we have become utterly destitute!” His brow furrowed, his tone icy.

Tang Sicheng noticed the Emperor’s tightly knit brows and was puzzled. What had come over His Majesty today, suddenly interested in the treasury’s accounts? Though surprised, he was not overly concerned and promptly ordered the records brought forth.

Within fifteen minutes, the ledgers reached Qin Xiao’s hands. He examined them carefully, his expression growing darker, and he exhaled deeply.

Damn it! This was how the money had been squandered—his predecessor truly was reckless. If it wasn’t constructing Yongle Palace, it was building Wuji Hall; every few days, he would take Lady Li on southern tours, wasting labor and resources.

Yet, it should not have come to this. Even with two new palaces and frequent tours, the treasury should not be so empty as to be unable to pay salaries.

No, it shouldn’t be this dire.

Beneath every towering tree, there are rotten roots.

He sneered inwardly. If there were great thieves in his realm, he would root them out. But newly arrived, with no trustworthy allies, acting rashly might alert the conspirators and provoke backlash. Clearly, he would have to make careful plans.

After long contemplation, he spoke solemnly: “Cease construction of Wuji Hall. All extra expenditures are to be cut. All entertainment projects are to be halted.”

“Starting with myself, all expenses for food, clothing, and supplies will be halved. As for Yongle Palace in the outskirts, sell it, or lease it as a vineyard—whatever it takes, I want to see money within three days! Funds must be allocated for Shanhai Pass in three days!”

At his decree, the hall fell silent; the officials’ jaws nearly dropped to the floor, eyes wide with shock.

Was this truly their Emperor? The disaster at Shanhai Pass had been reported for three years, and he had never responded. What had happened today?

A flicker of doubt crossed Tang Sicheng’s narrow eyes within his mound of flesh, but he remained impassive, choosing silence.

“Heaven bless Great Qian! The Emperor is wise and valiant!”

“Shanhai Pass is saved; the refugees have hope, and the displaced need no longer wander!”

“Long live the Emperor!”

The elderly man in blue, who had spoken earlier, prostrated himself and wept aloud; all were deeply moved.

Qin Xiao recalled him—he was Bu Qingyi of the Hanlin Academy.

True to his name, he had been a common scholar, rising from the lowest ranks to the Hanlin Academy for the sake of the common people. For three years, he had petitioned about the disaster at Shanhai Pass, but Qin Xiao’s predecessor, lost to wine and women, had repeatedly refused him, even imprisoned him several times, causing him much suffering.

A bittersweet sorrow mixed with resentment toward his predecessor grew within Qin Xiao. Yet, he resolved that this man, devoted to Great Qian, was someone to be trusted and must be employed in the future.

Meanwhile, Minister Tang Sicheng’s gaze swept the hall, lingering on a particular official.

That official, perfectly attuned, stepped forward and bowed. “Sire, I have urgent matters to report.”

“Speak!” Qin Xiao commanded with authority.

“Bandits have long plagued the Tea Horse Road, growing from dozens to tens of thousands, committing every imaginable crime. The local residents suffer greatly, and wealthy merchants are constantly harassed!”

“If measures are not taken soon, it could threaten the very foundation of the realm!”

Qin Xiao rubbed his brow, sensing now that Great Qian was riddled with wounds, on the verge of collapse.

“There’s nothing to deliberate—send troops to deal with them!” His intent was clear: such threats to the realm’s foundation could not be tolerated.

His sharp gaze swept across the officials. “Who among you will lead the campaign to exterminate these bandits for me?”

The civil officials looked on as spectators; the military officers glanced at each other, none daring to volunteer. Everyone knew that any military merit in Great Qian must go to the Tang family—whoever competed would face trouble, perhaps even lose their lives.

Suddenly, among the civil officials, one stepped out and declared, “Sire, Grand General Tang Shanhu is more than capable of undertaking this mission!”

At once, others echoed.

“Yes, General Tang is young and accomplished; these bandits are nothing to him!”

“General Tang is loyal and patriotic; his virtue shines brighter than sun and moon. He is a valiant commander, skilled in military strategy. No one but General Tang should lead the campaign on the Tea Horse Road!”