Chapter 629: Martial Spirit

Chapter 629: Martial Spirit

At this moment, Zhao Changhe was also dumbfounded.

Hadn’t she said, “I wish to be your concubine”? Hadn’t she claimed she wouldn’t vie for favor? Then why, as soon as dawn broke, was her behavior completely at odds with that?

It was like how, before I time-traveled, I’d swear every night to wake up early the next day, only to forget it all by morning—was that the gist of it?

Bringing it up openly at court was one thing, but the most treacherous part was that the new sovereign absolutely had to win over Chief Tang right now. Whatever reward she asked for, it should be granted without hesitation—let alone betrothing a man, which was hardly a big deal.

Zhao Changhe tried to put himself in Xia Chichi’s shoes and could find almost no solution. Was he supposed to start a public quarrel with his minister during the founding ceremony?

But he had no solution either!

Vermillion Bird’s mind was ablaze. If I were Huangfu Qing right now, I’d tear you apart. But I’m Vermillion Bird now—how can I compete? No, Huangfu Qing, as a former imperial consort, would be even less appropriate to speak. At least Vermillion Bird could mock!

With that thought, she could hardly contain herself. Xia Chichi was still calling for a pause when Vermillion Bird began firing off: “Oh, Chief Tang, pure as ice and clean as jade, everyone thought you were a lotus high on the mountain. Who’d have guessed you’d beg for a man in open court? The whole world will laugh at this.”

Tang Wanzhuang replied calmly, “Marriage between man and woman is a matter of human ethics. What is there to laugh at? I am twenty-nine this year, with only a little over a month left before I turn thirty. I have failed my parents’ hopes above and my own feelings below. Now that the new sovereign has founded a dynasty and everything is renewed, granting me the joy of marriage is also a celebration for the state. Vermillion Bird Venerable, you oversee religious affairs, so it’s natural that you don’t quite understand worldly ethics.”

It was too reasonable, too upright. No matter their stance, the officials listening all found it perfectly normal. Tang Wanzhuang had toiled for the state her whole life, and now she was still alone—could anyone bear to see that? For the new sovereign to grant her a marriage was only fitting, especially since she had brought it up herself.

But among the courtiers, there were plenty who understood the situation. The ambiguity between Tang Wanzhuang and Zhao Changhe, though kept behind closed doors and never made public, was something many had vaguely sensed. And now she had explicitly said, “He is no longer the crown prince,” which was almost a direct reference to Zhao Changhe.

And then? Who was this new sovereign? A survivor of the Luo Family Village who had been with Zhao Changhe from the humblest beginnings, sleeping together at Beimang. The late emperor, knowing full well that this one was not his son, had still been deliberately ambiguous, never clarifying, allowing Longque to be used by him and letting others misunderstand—wasn’t that because he recognized this one as his son-in-law, who also had a claim to succession?

So this was the first day of the founding, and the Chief and the sovereign were openly fighting over a man!

The courtiers kept their eyes down, noses to hearts, silently watching the drama. Meanwhile, Vermillion Bird was already retorting: “So is this a founding ceremony or a betrothal ritual for Chief Tang?”

Tang Wanzhuang said calmly, “I am a high minister of the state. My family affairs are state affairs. It’s understandable that a rustic person like you wouldn’t grasp this meaning. But from now on, as the Venerable of the state religion, you should learn more about such matters. Speaking of which, what does this have to do with you, Venerable? Why are you chattering on about it?”

Vermillion Bird was fuming.

Xia Chichi suddenly spoke: “Chief, calm yourself. I recall that one person was omitted from the rewards for merits. Let me arrange that first.”

Tang Wanzhuang was taken aback, and then she heard Xia Chichi say: “Zhao Changhe, a man of humble origins, has accomplished great deeds: pacifying Jiangnan, driving out the Northern Hu, securing Jingxiang, calming the Miao territories, and subduing the vast seas. His merits are illustrious, yet he has never received any reward. Why? The late emperor regarded him as the heir, so he was not treated as a commoner. Now that the new dynasty is established, Changhe’s merits rank first. He should have been the first to be rewarded, yet not a word was said. Why? Because he was meant to act as the heir, and private rewards would be pointless. Now let Changhe be the Prince of Zhao. If I should meet with misfortune, let the Prince of Zhao succeed me. So it is decreed.”

Tang Wanzhuang: “?”

Vermillion Bird: “?”

Zhao Changhe: “…”

Almost every knowledgeable courtier felt a flash of admiration. Brilliant—this sovereign was truly formidable!

In this chaotic age, with gods and demons lurking, no one could say they wouldn’t be assassinated or die suddenly tomorrow. Setting the succession early to reassure the people was indeed necessary—it was the foundation of the state. If there was anyone qualified to take over and steady hearts in the event of “my misfortune,” who else but Zhao Changhe? He was the only choice! Calling it a crown prince would have been too strange, so she deliberately avoided that term and used “heir,” softening the oddity. It could even be seen as following the ancient sage-kings’ practice of abdication.

This was far more elegant than declaring Zhao Changhe her husband, which would have turned into a minister vying for a husband with the sovereign—utterly disgraceful. And now, Tang Wanzhuang had just sworn she would not marry a crown prince or become an imperial consort. But now? He was the heir again…

This not only resolved the issue of Tang Wanzhuang snatching a man but also settled the state’s foundation. Even Tang Wanzhuang’s lips parted slightly, unable to refute this “arbitrary decree”!

Now, if Xia Chichi amiably said, “My minister, whom do you wish to be betrothed to?” Tang Wanzhuang would have no way out. Fearing that Xia Chichi would press her advantage, she swiftly changed the subject: “Since Your Majesty recognizes the late emperor’s heir, the matter of the harem must also be addressed.”

Xia Chichi said leisurely, “Let Imperial Consort Huangfu be the Empress Dowager, overseeing the harem. I shall serve her morning and night. As for myself… the realm is not yet settled; why dwell on personal affairs? Let it be set aside for now.”

Tang Wanzhuang said, “Then what of the late emperor’s funeral and his posthumous title?”

Was the funeral to be that of a late emperor or that of a deposed ruler of the previous dynasty? These were entirely different concepts. If you recognized the late emperor’s consorts as your mother and his chosen heir as your own, then these matters had to be clearly defined.

This time, the courtiers no longer cared about the gossip of women fighting over a man. They breathed a sigh of relief, having held their breath for half a cup of tea, and joined in with booming voices: “Your Majesty, this is no small matter. It must be discussed in detail!”

The topic of whom Tang Wanzhuang wanted to be betrothed to was smoothly and completely diverted, no longer of any concern to anyone.

Xia Chichi gave her a deep look. The sovereign and minister exchanged glances, both sensing a malicious delight in meeting their match.

Vermillion Bird stood nearby with her mouth half-open, suddenly wondering: I’ve been fighting with this old woman my whole life? And I took this little woman as my disciple? Who am I? Where am I?

In truth, whether the funeral should follow the rites for a late emperor or for a deposed ruler of a fallen dynasty, no matter which approach Xia Chichi chose, it would be opposed—because there were reasons to oppose both. This would become a test and a disciplining of the new sovereign by the courtiers.

But unfortunately, in the face of Xia Chichi and Tang Wanzhuang, nothing could hide. The opposition and disciplining hadn’t even begun before Tang Wanzhuang blocked them: “In the past, Wu Zhao changed the dynasty to Zhou, yet it was still a new court. Taizong and Gaozong were still enshrined in her ancestral temple—this was virtue. Though Your Majesty has changed the dynasty, the bloodline remains. You must not bear the name of unfilial. The late emperor should be buried with the rites of a former emperor. Anyone who says otherwise is unfilial, seeking to burden the sovereign with infamy before the people—that is disloyal. Such persons should be expelled from court and never employed again!”

Lu Jianzhang: “…”

I haven’t even spoken yet… And the charges of disloyalty and unfilial behavior have already been pinned on me.

Forget it.

“‘Martial’ means quelling chaos and bringing peace; ‘Martial’ means preserving greatness and establishing order; ‘Martial’ means awe-inspiring strength and virtuous power… ‘Martial’ means repelling aggression and resisting insult; ‘Martial’ means punishing the people and overcoming them… The late emperor’s ‘Martial’ is beyond dispute.”

“… ‘Zhuang’ means dying in the wilderness; ‘Zhuang’ means constant warfare; ‘Zhuang’ means repeated campaigns and slaughter; ‘Zhuang’ means martial but unfulfilled…”

“‘Ling’ means chaos without loss; ‘Ling’ means not diligent but famous; ‘Ling’ means dying and showing divine power; ‘Ling’ means extreme knowledge of ghosts and spirits…”

“‘Min’ means encountering calamity in the state; ‘Min’ means causing harm to the people; ‘Min’ means the rise of disasters…”

“Each of these three has some merit. Let the gentlemen discuss it?”

Since the rites followed those of a late emperor, the posthumous title could hardly be a laudatory one. Otherwise, what was the point of changing dynasties? It would be self-deception and covering one’s ears to steal a bell. A relatively fair evaluation was still necessary.

Martial but unfulfilled, causing harm to the people… Zhao Changhe had gained some insight into ancient posthumous naming conventions. It was impressive how these people could pick out characters from so many to fit Old Xia, and yet they were perfectly reasonable. The character “Martial” was essentially uncontested. The court was now in a heated debate over whether the second character should be “Zhuang,” “Ling,” or “Min.” Even Xia Chichi and Tang Wanzhuang couldn’t reach a conclusion.

Zhao Changhe looked at “extreme knowledge of ghosts and spirits” and “dying and showing divine power.” Others might think this referred to Old Xia’s obsession with gods and demons, but Zhao Changhe suddenly thought of Old Xia’s final words about possibly returning as a soul. He stared blankly for a moment and, for the first time during the debate, offered his own opinion: “Let it be ‘Ling.’”

The debate suddenly stopped. Everyone glanced at him and fell silent.

Xia Chichi’s heart stirred. Zhao Changhe’s prestige was immense—greater than he himself realized.

This was not just because of his title as “Prince of Zhao” but because of his strength. In just over two years, he had risen to second on the Earthly List, slain gods and demons—no one in history had been so monstrous. More terrifyingly, he always gave the impression of a blood-soaked Asura, heavy with killing intent. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it meant he cared. And then, no matter how stubborn the opposition, they had to give face. No one dared openly contradict him, lest they test the sharpness of Longque.

Martial Spirit. Xia Longyuan’s posthumous title was thus decided, and he was to be buried with the rites of a former emperor.

To Zhao Changhe, this posthumous title wasn’t bad. King Wuling of Zhao, though he died ingloriously in his later years, had a rather positive image in textbooks. And the fact that he was divinely martial yet died without much dignity… was also quite fitting.