Chapter 41: The Fall of the Shu People (4k)

Traditionally speaking, the position of Grand Master of the Household of the Crown Prince was a highly coveted official post.

Though ranked at the fifth rank, which was not exceptionally high, it was nevertheless respectable, and its crucial political significance lay in its weight. The Grand Master was the principal official of the Eastern Palace and a trusted confidant of the Crown Prince. Historically, any official holding this position only needed to wait until the emperor passed away and the Crown Prince ascended the throne to achieve sudden prosperity, rising to power alongside the new ruler. Looking back at Sima Yi’s bureaucratic career, his pivotal leap in official rank began with his service as the Grand Master of the Household of the Crown Prince.

Then why did Chen Shou feel insulted when the Emperor intimated and bestowed this exact post upon him? In truth, one had to judge each matter on its own merits. The reason was none other than the well-known fact that Crown Prince Sima Zhong was, to put it mildly, excessively simple-minded and entirely devoid of the normal capacity to handle political affairs and govern state matters.

Under such circumstances, the subordinate officials of the Eastern Palace naturally lost their intended function. Aside from the Grand Tutor of the Crown Prince, who still had to offer some instruction, the Emperor had no intention of delegating any real power to the Crown Prince or allowing him to manage state affairs like previous heirs apparent. Officials holding titles such as Grand Master of the Household of the Crown Prince, Household Administrator of the Crown Prince, or Scribe of the Crown Prince held little more than nominal titles with no substantive duties whatsoever. Furthermore, it was plainly visible that when the Crown Prince eventually ascended the throne, the regency and actual political power would rest in the hands of the empress’s faction, headed by the three Yangs, and would have nothing to do with these Eastern Palace subordinates.

It was hardly surprising that Chen Shou felt indignant when the Emperor bestowed upon him an office entirely devoid of practical responsibilities and future prospects.

Five days later, an imperial envoy was dispatched to the Chen residence bearing a formal decree. Yet upon receiving the imperial mandate, Chen Shou not only had no intention of assuming office, but even disdained to go through the motions of formally declining it. From that day onward, he began to detach himself entirely from worldly affairs, holing himself up in his estate like a hermit to painstakingly compile his historical works. As for Chen Shou’s failure to assume office, the Emperor presumably recognized his own mishandling of the matter; thus, the post of Grand Master of the Household of the Crown Prince remained vacant for nearly half a year, and the imperial court not only refrained from issuing any punishment, but simply acted as if nothing had happened at all.

During this same period, Liu Xian’s period of mourning came quietly to an end.

On the very day his mourning ended, Liu Xian took leave of his teacher and returned once again before the tomb of Zhang Ximiao at Bian Mountain. By now it was late autumn; the chrysanthemums Liu Xian had planted had all withered, and the hills and fields were blanketed with withered, fluttering grass and fallen foliage. Wild beasts had also vanished, leaving nothing between heaven and earth except the desolate howling of the wind. Gazing at Zhang Ximiao’s stele, Liu Xian recalled all the varied sounds of his mother’s voice and her smiling countenance while she was alive, falling into a momentary trance.

To this day, he still occasionally harbored a lingering doubt: had his mother truly left him like this, never to return? He clearly felt as though she remained right by his side, keeping him company.

Perhaps this was the nature of human souls! It was his mother’s soul watching over him, anticipating that he would fulfill the promises he had made to her. Liu Xian reminisced for a long time until every detail had faded into paleness, and only then did he bid farewell to his mother, whispering:

"Mother, I will surely accomplish great things!"

At that moment, a gust of wind swept past, as though someone had spoken words to another. Liu Xian slowly opened his eyes to see thousands of colorful clouds filling the firmament, too dazzling to behold, while the withered and dreary landscape around him flickered with renewed radiance under the glow of the setting sun. Suddenly, a white deer bounded out from among the mountain woods, running unhesitatingly right past Liu Xian like a white rainbow slicing through shimmering ripples, before vanishing into another grove of maples.

In that fleeting instant, the white deer seemed to cast a glance at Liu Xian. Feeling as though he had received some form of revelation and response, Liu Xian felt his heart grow as resolute as iron.

Upon concluding his mourning, Liu Xian returned to the Estate of the Duke of Anle and began discussing matters of his capping ceremony and marriage with his second uncle, Liu Yao. The outcome, however, left him disappointed; his second uncle advised him that he still needed to wait a bit longer.

In truth, compared to ancient rituals, the people of the present era performed these two rites much earlier.

The *Book of Rites* stated that at twenty one received the capping and was given a courtesy name; the capping ceremony signified the coming-of-age ritual, marking adulthood. Yet following the massive upheavals and wars at the end of the Han dynasty, the population across the nine provinces had withered to an alarming degree. Countless youths barely in their teens were forced to rush off to the battlefields, perishing before they reached twenty. Even someone as distinguished as Cao Cao’s son was no exception: Cao Cao took Cao Wan southward on campaign when he was only ten, and Cao Zhi joined the expedition to the East Sea at fifteen.

Under such circumstances, people had no choice but to alter customs, advancing the capping ceremony to around the age of fifteen. Following the capping, marriage usually took place within a month or two in the hope of securing descendants to carry on the family line.

By the present day, the custom of the capping ceremony at fifteen had been preserved, but attempting to advance it any further was likely unrealistic. After his birthday this year, Liu Xian would only be fourteen; he still required at least another year before he could truly be considered an adult.

This left the eager-for-independence Liu Xian somewhat dissatisfied, yet he also understood that in the face of time, mortals had no choice but to wait. Therefore, after brief consideration, Liu Xian took Xi An and Zhang Gu and returned first to Dongwu, intending to spend the final period of waiting before his adulthood in this familiar place.

Come to think of it, upon arriving in Dongwu, Liu Xian made a startling discovery: he found that he was suddenly free. Following his mother’s passing, Liu Xun, the Duke of Anle, showed little inclination to manage him, his uncles had no grounds to do so either, Ruan Xian had gone to Guanzhong, and Chen Shou was entirely absorbed in compiling his history. As a result, Liu Xian was completely master of his own itinerary.

With such favorable conditions, Liu Xian resolved to indulge in some unbridled behavior. No longer spending long hours sitting indoors reading, he frequently arranged with Shi Chao to take a band of friends hunting in Mount Wan'an. After all, swordsmanship and scholarship could be refined at home, but horsemanship and archery could only be honed by galloping wildly across the wilderness.

For the next two months, Liu Xian lived by flying across the backs of fine steeds.

The flock of youths raced back and forth across the mountain forests like plunging dragons; their bows twanged like thunderbolts, arrows whistled like screeching owls, and blades rang out like the cries of wild geese. When thirsty, they drank from mountain springs; when hungry, they sliced up their freshly shot game along the ribs and shared it among themselves. With the wind rushing past their ears and fire coursing through their veins, they felt utterly joyous! They fancied that such days were truly akin to those of immortals. The bustling prosperity of Luoyang and the clamor of the imperial capital were cast behind them in the blink of an eye.

Just as Liu Xian intended to keep up this lifestyle until his capping ceremony, Chen Shou suddenly arrived to seek him out.

When Chen Shou entered, Liu Xian was shoveling fodder for his horses. He had recently purchased two mares from Longxi, intending to breed them with his own stallion to see if they could foal a few colts. Hearing Chen Shou call his name, he promptly handed the wooden pitchfork to Zhu Fu standing nearby, then rolled up his sleeves and hurried forward to greet him.

Chen Shou’s complexion was still poor, and he appeared not to have emerged from the shadow of his career setback. Yet seeing him clad in meticulously neat cyan-white Confucian robes, wearing a scholar’s cap, and shod in hemp sandals, Liu Xian instantly realized that some major event must have occurred.

Without engaging in excessive pleasantries, Chen Shou looked Liu Xian up and down and bluntly declared, "Change into some better clothes; we are leaving immediately."

"Where to?"

"To pay respects at someone's funeral."

Not daring to ask further questions, Liu Xian immediately changed into a passable military tunic, gathered his hair up, wrapped it in a plain headscarf, slipped into a pair of deerhide boots, and hurriedly mounted his horse alongside Chen Shou to embark upon a journey of mourning.

Along the way, a mild curiosity stirred within Liu Xian’s heart. This was the first time his teacher was taking him to attend a funeral, and moreover with such solemnity. This indicated that the deceased was unquestionably an extraordinary figure, but why bring him along? Chen Shou rarely let his own affairs intrude upon his disciples' lives; whenever he did so, it meant he believed it would benefit Liu Xian. Yet Liu Xian genuinely could not fathom whose funeral could possibly require his personal attendance.

The answer, however, was soon revealed. When Liu Xian followed Chen Shou up to a residence draped in white mourning banners and gazed up at the silver-hooked, iron-drawn characters of the "Mansion of the Marquis of Xiangyang" hanging above the gates, sudden comprehension dawned upon him: it was none other than Lord Wang Jun, who had led the forces in the subjugation of Wu!

He still remembered when he was eight years old, the imperial court had divided its forces into six routes, dispatching an army of over two hundred thousand to conquer Wu. Among them, the one with the greatest merit and the most legendary color was the contingent commanded by Wang Jun. Leading seventy thousand naval forces from Yizhou, commanding towering warships capable of racing horses, he had charged unrestrained and invincible across the Yangtze River. Within a mere three months, he captured successive strategic strongholds of Eastern Wu's river defenses—Xiling, Jingmen, Yidao, Xiakou, and Wuchang—and finally sailed straight down the current to breach Stone City, terrifying Sun Hao out of his wits and forcing him to open the gates in surrender.

Over the course of three months, Wang Jun had flown six thousand li, fighting all the way from Zigui to Jianye. Since ancient times, there had never been such a naval force, nor had there ever been such a campaign. Consequently, idle enthusiasts hailed him as the foremost military commander of the current dynasty, ranking even above Du Yu, Wen Yang, and others. Later generations, too, had the popular poem by Liu Yuxi in his praise: *"Wang Jun's towering warships descended upon Yizhou, / The royal aura of Jinling was dimmed and extinguished. / A thousand fathoms of iron chains sank to the river bottom, / While a single banner of surrender emerged from Stone City."*

In poetry, Wang Jun was often portrayed as a figure of towering spirit and vigor. Yet reality frequently contrasted with poetry: when Wang Jun served as naval commander, he was already seventy-four years old. His official post and heavy responsibilities were hard-won through his advanced age and seniority, to the extent that his beard and hair were completely white and he was frail and doddering. Even before the Wu campaign, some had deemed him too elderly and petitioned the Emperor to replace him. Unexpectedly, he had stubbornly endured until today, only passing away from illness at the age of eighty.

Upon the departure of such a renowned general, Liu Xian felt no sorrow, but rather a sense of envy. Having studied historical texts for so many years, he understood well the principle that an outstanding tree in a forest stands out and struggles to be tolerated. Military affairs involved power; over thousands of years, how many famous generals had fallen victim to factional strife, how many to cold calculations? To return wrapped in a horse’s hide and die on the battlefield could already be considered a stroke of fortune. Yet a general like Wang Jun, who not only enjoyed nationwide renown and wealth, but ultimately died peacefully in his bed of old age, could truly be counted as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. Moreover, to have lived to such an advanced age—it was no exaggeration to say he had lived a life without regrets.

Entering the estate, observing the expressions of Wang Jun’s descendants, they indeed shared this sentiment. Although sorrowful, they felt no grief-stricken regret, and their conversations betrayed a genuine, heartfelt pride in their patriarch. It could be said to be the rarest joyous funeral since the founding of the Western Jin.

To Liu Xian’s puzzlement, however, while the hosts within the estate chatted and smiled with ease, the atmosphere among the guests was exceptionally heavy. Many visitors wore gloomy expressions, staring blankly at the sky or choking back sobs before the coffin, as though it were not merely Wang Jun who had died, but their own very souls. This strange atmosphere was by no means baseless, for he noticed that these guests with abnormal expressions had all greeted his teacher, and they were all more or less acquainted with one another.

After a short wait, an elderly man walked over to converse with Chen Shou. Liu Xian recognized him as Wang Chong, whom his teacher had invited to his residence not long ago. After exchanging pleasantries and turning to the subject of Wang Jun’s death, Wang Chong sighed, "Lord Wang’s passing this time will have a massive impact on the court politics!"

Chen Shou let out a cold laugh and scoffed, "Youyou thinks too much; in my view, nothing will change at all."

"Do not speak so recklessly!" Wang Chong rebuked him. "I know you harbor deep resentment right now, but you must still show respect to Lord Wang! Without Lord Wang’s twenty years of governing Shu, how could the common folk of the two provinces have peace and happiness? Without Lord Wang’s patronage and recommendations, how could we have our standing in the imperial court today!"

Chen Shou glanced at the coffin nearby and, rather than refuting directly, remarked with sarcastic irony, "Yet truly, I fail to see what impact Lord Wang’s death could possibly have on court politics."

These words deeply deflated Wang Chong, who sighed mournfully, "Chenzuo, you know full well what I mean. For these past twenty years, although Lord Wang was not a native of Shu, he has been our leader. Now that Lord Wang has passed away, we Shu people have lost our banner. All the more reason for us to unite as one and share weal and woe. Complaining here as much as you like will be of no benefit to the greater picture!"

Hearing this, Liu Xian began to understand. Casting his gaze about, he observed once more the guests who had come to pay respects to Wang Jun, comparing them with the figures from his memory of Wang Jun’s triumphal grand ceremony, and sure enough, he spotted several familiar faces.

Combining this with the conversation he had just overheard, Liu Xian roughly guessed the truth: following the fall of Shu-Han, most of the surviving Shu-Han bureaucrats were retained by the Western Jin court; however, as surrendered ministers of a fallen state, they were perpetually marginalized within the Western Jin officialdom. Under such circumstances, the Shu people chose to forge a path into the centers of power by co-opting a select few high-ranking Western Jin officials and scheming for influence. And Wang Jun was the exact person they had chosen.

The Shu people helped Wang Jun achieve the monumental feat of conquering Wu, while Wang Jun helped the Shu people enter the Three Ministries of the court. For twenty years thus, both sides cooperated happily and lived in mutual peace. But as Wang Jun grew old and finally died of illness, the Shu people had failed to find a second collaborator capable of replacing him. This resulted in the Shu people suddenly losing their influence at court upon Wang Jun’s death.

Even his teacher, despite compiling the *Records of the Three Kingdoms*, was unable to gain high office—most likely influenced by Wang Jun's critical illness.

Deprived of a leader and lacking the exemplary value that existed because of Eastern Wu, the Shu people were currently losing power across the board in the imperial court. No wonder these people looked as distressed as if they had lost both parents during the mourning rites. Even putting himself in their shoes, Liu Xian could not fathom any strategy for them to break this impasse. The descendants of Luoyang’s aristocracy were simply too numerous; how could there possibly be room left for the Shu people to carve up official posts?

Just as he was lost in thought, another person approached and greeted Chen Shou, "Chenzuo, the Emperor has bestowed upon you the post of Grand Master of the Household of the Crown Prince; why have you not assumed office?"

Chen Shou glanced at the newcomer and sneered, "If I surrender this fine position to you, Du Lie, you would certainly go, wouldn't you!"

Du Lie was evidently also an official of the former Shu-Han. Yet his self-restraint was exceptional; acting as though he had heard no sarcasm, he stroked his beard and laughed, "Regardless of everything else, this is a position of utmost importance. Although it lacks real power, there is still an opportunity to approach the Crown Prince and the Emperor. As long as there is an opportunity, and as long as you are there, there is still a turning point. Chenzuo, we cannot let slip a single chance."

"Me? You overestimate me far too much. I only know how to compile history; apart from that, I am utterly useless."

"How can that be? Chenzuo, back when the six of us entered the capital, your literary talent was the highest, and General Du Yu also held you in high regard back then. As long as you are determined, you will certainly not stop here..."

Losing patience to debate further with Du Lie, Chen Shou waved his hand and said, "Let us stop here. Today is Lord Wang’s funeral procession; let us not quarrel here."

Yet Du Lie wished to make one final attempt. Catching sight of Liu Xian standing nearby and mistaking him for a younger relative of Chen Shou, he said, "Chenzuo, if you do not consider yourself, you must consider your clan. When the late matron insisted on returning your burial to Beiman, was it not in hopes that you would bring glory to the lineage? And what of your junior relatives—can you bear to watch them suffer?"

Turning his gaze toward Liu Xian, he sighed, "Lad, persuade your elder here. Wealth and glory—how can they be obtained by sitting idly and waiting?"

Chen Shou quickly intervened, turning to Du Lie to say, "Zhongwu, you have mistaken the person; Huaichong is not my junior kinsman." Pausing slightly, he continued with a mocking, half-smiling tone, "He is my disciple, and the current Heir Apparent of the Duke of Anle, Liu Xian, Huaichong."

As his voice fell, dozens of gazes simultaneously shot across the courtyard, focusing directly upon Liu Xian, each pair carrying a different expression.

It was only at this moment that Liu Xian fully realized: in terms of sovereign-minister relations and lineage, he was the former master of the vast majority of the people present.