xymnovel Chapter 1 The Night of the Crown Prince's Investiture
Chapter 1 The Night of the Crown Prince's Investiture
The dead have no right to choose their own date.
Meng Xuanzhe—or more accurately, the unlucky modern guy who was called Lin Yan just a moment ago—the first thing he heard when his consciousness returned was not celestial music or system notifications, but crying.
The cries of many, many people.
Some elderly people cried like a bellows leaking air, some children cried like cats being choked, and some women cried until they lost their voices, leaving only the muffled thuds of their foreheads hitting the ground.
Then he saw a road.
It's not an asphalt road, not a highway, and not one of those poverty alleviation model roads in rural towns that were only half-built and then riddled with potholes by heavy trucks.
It was a dirt road.
Blood mingled with the mud, and the ruts were deep enough to swallow half a foot. People lined both sides of the road, emaciated to the bone, their clothes tattered as if gnawed by the wind. Further away were charred roof beams, collapsed walls, and the bare doors of the ancestral hall. Some huddled by the roadside boiling grass roots, some clutched corpses wrapped in tattered mats, and some stared blankly, as if their souls had already departed.
A prison van was creaking and groaning as it moved forward.
A young man sat in the prison cart. His brocade robe was torn, but his face was still relatively clean. However, the cleanliness made him look more wretched than being covered in mud, as if someone had forced the last bit of dignity onto a dead man.
The boy looked up and met his gaze through the wooden fence.
That face was so familiar it sent chills down my spine.
Because that is who he is.
"Shuping."
A sound descended from an extremely high and distant place, calm and even, like a stroke casually written when turning a page of history.
Two words, as light as ashes.
But the cries by the roadside, the emaciated bellies, and the corpses lying in the mud were clearly much heavier than those two words.
"Shu Ping——"
The sound rang out again.
The boy in the prison van suddenly laughed, a chilling laugh, as if he were laughing at a colossal joke.
"May your ancestors be wiped out..."
Lin Yan was cursing loudly in his dream, but before he could finish, a sharp, shrill scream suddenly pierced his ears—
"Your Highness! Your Highness is awake!"
He suddenly opened his eyes.
Above them wasn't the dim ceiling of a rented room, nor the ever-humming fluorescent light of an office nap room, but rather layers of hanging gauze curtains. The curtains were embroidered with gold-threaded cloud patterns, the bed frame was made of sandalwood, and the palace lanterns beside them glowed warmly, making the whole room seem as if it had been bathed in gold.
A row of people were kneeling beside the bed.
Old and young, palace maids and eunuchs, all bowed their heads, their sleeves neatly pressed down, not daring to even breathe loudly.
The head eunuch looked like he was about to cry: "Your Highness, you're finally awake! The auspicious hour was almost here, and we servants were terrified."
Lin Yan, or rather, the person who had been forced to change his name to Meng Xuanzhe, stared at that face as white as if it had been plastered with lime, with only one thought in his mind—
It’s over.
It wasn't because of a ghost.
It's because this house looks very expensive, so expensive that if he relied on legal income for his entire life, he would probably have to work from the time of Qin Shi Huang until the day before he was reincarnated and still not be able to afford to live there.
He, a lowly office worker who spent his life writing reports, making spreadsheets, revising plans, going to the countryside, attending meetings, and revising plans again, clearly did not have such good fortune.
That leaves only one possibility:
He died, and in a very elaborate way, he was sent directly to the most luxurious suite in the feudal dynasty.
Meng Xuanzhe closed his eyes, and a flood of memories, both strange and familiar, rushed in like dozens of work group messages suddenly exploding in the year-end summary report.
Later Shu.
Chengdu.
The 25th year of Guangzheng.
Tonight is the night he is officially named Crown Prince.
Emperor Meng Chang, his father, and Empress Li, were enjoying the music and singing in the Shu Palace and the lights of Chengdu. All the civil and military officials were dressed in ceremonial robes more colorful than peacocks, waiting in the main hall to congratulate him on the "establishment of the nation's foundation."
And he, Meng Xuanzhe—
Three years later, it will be taken away by the Song Dynasty along with the Later Shu.
Thinking of this, Lin Yan's last bit of wishful thinking—"Did I transmigrate into the body of a second-generation royal and finally be able to lie down and relax?"—died on the spot, even more so than in his previous life.
Prince?
fart.
This is a time-limited job.
After three years on the job, you might not even get a year-end bonus, but you'll be rewarded with a "Deceased Prince Experience Card" plus a prison cart tour of Bianliang.
They are even less stable than contract workers.
He recalled the dream he had just had, and the light, airy phrase "Shu Ping," and a chill ran down his spine.
It wasn't a dream after all.
That is very likely the future.
"Your Highness?" The old eunuch Gao Chengli asked tentatively, noticing his face turning pale and then flushed. "Are you still feeling unwell because of the lingering effects of the alcohol? If so, I will immediately order the imperial physician—"
"Need not."
Meng Xuanzhe spoke, his voice still a little hoarse, but more steady than he had imagined.
Gao Chengli was taken aback for a moment, then grinned from ear to ear: "It's good that Your Highness is in good spirits! Tonight is a joyous occasion. His Majesty has personally said that the ceremonial arrangements for the Crown Prince will be of the highest standard. The Ministry of Rites just sent over a list of gifts for Your Highness to review—"
Gift list.
Ceremonial system of the Eastern Palace.
Everything is done to the best of our ability.
Meng Xuanzhe almost burst out laughing.
Three years later, the country was gone, and now they were already discussing how many layers of carpet to lay in the Eastern Palace, how many pieces of jade to inlay on the screen, and how many ceremonial objects to carry. It must be said that, in some ways, feudal dynasties were quite similar to certain modern formalistic performances, the only difference being that the former used gold and silver.
It's all just for show, all just for show; it's all about hanging a lantern for yourself under a collapsing roof beam.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed. As soon as his feet touched the ground, a palace maid knelt down to put his boots on, her movements as practiced as an assembly line. Meng Xuanzhe glanced down at them; the boots had intricate cloud patterns on the surface and were adorned with gold ornaments, exuding an air of nobility as if he were stepping not on the ground, but on the national treasury.
National Treasury...
A thought suddenly struck him.
In my memory, some things quickly connected.
Was Later Shu wealthy?
On the surface, they are rich.
Chengdu has always been known as the Land of Abundance, a bustling city with abundant salt and tea, and renowned for its Shu brocade. The palace was a place of daily indulgence and debauchery, and Lady Huarui wrote poems sweeter than honey. Even in later generations, many people only remember Meng Chang as a "romantic emperor."
But actually?
The border troops were in disarray, the generals were incompetent, powerful clans seized land, clerks and officials embezzled, granaries were depleted, and taxes were levied at every level. The court was not good at solving problems, but at pushing them off, preferably to the next person, the next year, the next administration. When it could no longer be suppressed, they would pretend they didn't see it.
It's not that this place lacks money; it's that the money hasn't reached the right people.
It's not that there's no grain; it's that the grain, once it leaves the granary, grows legs and by the time it reaches the people's mouths, it only has a musty smell.
It's not that there aren't enough soldiers; it's that there are more soldiers on the books than actually alive, and those who are drawing salaries without working are more energetic than those who are actually wielding swords.
This was the foundation upon which Later Shu collapsed at the first sign of trouble three years later.
He slowly exhaled.
Gao Chengli continued to ramble on, "Your Highness, today's auspicious attire was newly tailored according to His Majesty's decree. The Ministry of Rites said that an additional pearl should be added to the crown, symbolizing..."
"Symbolizes my ass."
Meng Xuanzhe casually added a comment.
Everyone in the room froze.
Gao Chengli's smile froze on his face, like a piece of white porcelain that had suddenly cracked.
Meng Xuanzhe also froze for a moment.
broken.
Modern slang has leaked out.
However, he reacted quickly and immediately replied: "No matter how beautiful the symbol is, if the country is not at peace, the people are not well-fed, and the army is not motivated, adding ten beads to the crown is nothing more than nailing gold trim to a coffin."
Gao Chengli: "..."
The palace maids: "..."
The room was so quiet you could hear the candle flame popping.
Gao Chengli was almost kneeling on the ground, his voice trembling: "Your Highness, on such a joyous occasion, it's not appropriate to say such things."
Meng Xuanzhe glanced at him.
This old eunuch was pale and beardless. When he smiled, it looked as if he had been smeared with oil; when he didn't smile, he looked like an old folding fan. He appeared respectful, but in reality, his eyes darted around faster than abacus beads. In the original owner's memories, this man was a trusted eunuch of Meng Chang, whose greatest skill was to turn a huge trouble into a small matter, a small matter into a happy event, and then tout the happy event as a sign of the emperor's wisdom.
There must be quite a few people like that in the palace.
Because a place that only loves to hear nice things will never lack people who know how to say nice things.
"Give me the gift list," Meng Xuanzhe said.
Gao Chengli felt as if he had been granted a pardon and quickly took several scrolls of documents from the table.
Meng Xuanzhe took it and flipped through it casually.
The front was indeed filled with celebratory text: how many ceremonial objects, how much gold and silk, what halls, pavilions, offices, and officials would be set up in the Eastern Palace, all written in a lavish style, as if this was not the establishment of a crown prince, but the preparation of a top-level celebration for Later Shu that could be included in the "World's Most Luxurious Weddings Directory".
The more he looked at it, the more absurd it seemed.
The country will perish in three years; tonight, let's expand the Eastern Palace.
The way this country prioritizes its resources is truly astounding.
When you turn to the bottom page, a color different from the congratulatory message suddenly appears in the corner of the paper.
It was an express mail tucked under the gift list.
The sealing wax on it had already been removed, as if someone had seen it but didn't want him to see it, so they casually pressed it under a thick stack of congratulatory letters.
Meng Xuanzhe paused, then pulled it out.
Gao Chengli's expression immediately changed: "Your Highness, that's just a trivial matter from the local area, not worth sullying your eyes tonight—"
"A small matter?" Meng Xuanzhe looked up.
Gao Chengli chuckled, "It's just that the spring famine in several counties outside Chengdu Prefecture hasn't been fully resolved, and there's been a slight gathering of refugees. Also, the monthly rations for the border troops are being disbursed a little late. The Ministry of Rites is thinking of this joyous occasion tonight and doesn't dare bother Your Highness with these trivial matters, so..."
Meng Xuanzhe unfolded the urgent report.
The handwriting was hasty, the ink varying in freshness and age, clearly indicating it had been reviewed and approved several times. The content, however, was glaringly simple:
Rice prices in counties such as Xinjin and Huayang rose again for the third consecutive day.
— Outside the city, refugees have gathered, and disputes over food have already begun.
—Transportation from Lizhou was disrupted, and the border troops were short of monthly rations.
—Please, Imperial Court, quickly distribute grain from the granaries to reassure the people.
The few lines of text made Meng Xuanzhe's eyelids twitch.
Fighting for grain outside the city.
The border troops are short of food.
Meanwhile, what was happening in the palace?
While celebrating the crown prince's investiture, they were also researching what kind of wood to use for the screen in the Eastern Palace and adding a few more beads to the ceremonial crown.
Good guy.
The common people are starving, the border troops are running out of food, and the imperial court is giving them a luxurious renovation.
He suddenly wanted to ask: Are you all here to govern the country or to hold an exhibition?
Seeing his expression, Gao Chengli quickly smiled apologetically, "Your Highness, rest assured. There are always some minor disturbances in the local areas every year. The officials below are very good at exaggerating. We've seen plenty of these kinds of reports; they're nothing to worry about. Tonight is a joyous occasion. His Majesty is still waiting to see Your Highness in Hanyuan Hall. Let's go there first—"
"Not worth anything?"
Meng Xuanzhe gently placed the urgent report on the table, his voice very soft.
But the lighter it is, the more unsettling it becomes.
"Rice prices have risen again for three days, refugees are gathering and fighting for food, and the border troops are not getting enough monthly rations. What do you mean by 'worthless'?"
Gao Chengli was sweating profusely, forcing a smile: "Your Highness, the world is at peace. We can't let a few troublemakers ruin the national celebrations..."
"Kunimoto?"
Meng Xuanzhe suddenly smiled.
This smile wasn't festive at all; it was even a bit cold.
"The people are barely able to feed themselves, and you're talking to me about the foundation of the nation?"
He took two steps forward, stood by the table, and reached out to lift the scrolls of gift lists. The thick stacks of congratulatory letters, gift books, and reward lists rustled open, their gold-flecked pages scattering across the table, making the urgent report appear even more shabby and glaring.
But it was precisely on this shabby piece of paper that the fate of a living person was written.
Meng Xuanzhe stared at it, and suddenly felt the fire in his chest burning even brighter than the prison cart in his dream.
In his past life, he came from a poor family and had truly experienced poverty. When he was a child, his family farmed, and in good years they could barely make ends meet. But in years of famine, the porridge his elders ate was so thin you could see your reflection in it. Later, he went to school, relying entirely on subsidies, part-time jobs, and sheer luck. After graduation, he went to work at the grassroots level, running around townships and villages, checking records, and chasing projects. He saw people standing at the window all day for a few hundred yuan in subsidies, and he saw elderly people carrying their welfare cards in their innermost pockets, their hands trembling when they took them out.
He knew all too well the weight that words like "grain," "salary," "tax," and "account" carried when applied to people.
So rather than the dramatic notion of becoming a crown prince, the Eastern Palace prince, or waking up to find himself a top-tier official's son in ancient times, he now felt more inclined to curse.
He cursed the entire court, the whitewashed peace, and this absurd world that suppressed urgent reports of survival under congratulatory memorials.
Gao Chengli continued, forcing himself to speak, "Your Highness, if I may be so bold as to say something I shouldn't, you are the Crown Prince, the one who will sit on the throne in the future. These trivial matters will naturally be handled by your subordinates. Tonight is your special night, why bother—"
"Why spoil the fun, right?"
Meng Xuanzhe turned to look at him.
"But if I don't even sweep this kind of thing, then in three years, someone else will be sweeping it for me."
Gao Chengli looked blank, clearly not understanding what "three years later" meant.
Meng Xuanzhe did not offer an explanation.
He knew no one would believe him.
At least for now, nobody will believe it.
In their eyes, Later Shu was prosperous and peaceful, and Sichuan was naturally fortified. No matter how strong the Song Dynasty was, it might not be able to invade so quickly. Even if some people had a vague sense of unease, it would be suppressed by the readily available wealth and glory and the layers of whitewashed peace.
Humans are never best at solving problems.
They're pretending the problem hasn't reached them yet.
He folded the urgent report, put it in his sleeve, and walked to the window.
Outside the window, countless palace lanterns illuminated half the imperial city, making it appear as if it were bathed in golden water. In the distance, the faint sounds of ceremonial music and the melodious strains of stringed instruments created a truly peaceful scene. Had it not been for the urgent report and the thought of being imprisoned three years later, this night would have been almost perfect.
But Meng Xuanzhe only felt it was blinding.
Because he knew that there was already a crack beneath the light.
In the cracks there are starving people, fleeing households, and border troops running out of food; there is a nation whose fate has been hollowed out and ravaged, yet it still stubbornly insists that "nothing is wrong."
But he woke up that very night.
It's truly a divine retribution; it seems to choose the most unlucky time for someone to take up their post.
He stood silently for a moment, then suddenly chuckled softly.
Laughing at his own miserable fate.
They also laughed at their lucky fate.
If he had arrived a year earlier, perhaps he wouldn't have grasped the situation; if he had arrived three years later, he would have been left only cursing in his prison cart. But it was tonight, the night of the crown prince's investiture, at a time when everyone was immersed in "great joy," that he opened his eyes.
What does this look like?
It's like someone kicked him in from outside the history book and then pointed at this mess and said:
Come on, stop sighing.
If you're so good, then you do it.
Meng Xuanzhe leaned against the window frame, gazing into the depths of the night.
He recalled the prison cart in his dream, the cries by the muddy road, and those two light, airy words—Shuping.
A night breeze blew in, stirring the corners of the curtains and making the gift list on the table rustle.
The urgent report was placed on top, no longer obscured by any gold-flecked pages.
Meng Xuanzhe looked at it for a long time, then suddenly reached out and slowly unfolded the map of the Great Shu Kingdom beside the table.
Bashu, Hanzhong, Lizhou, and Kuimen—the mountains, rivers, and waterways unfold under the candlelight, like a sleeping giant beast.
He spoke softly, as if to himself, or perhaps to the picture:
"If I'm just to be a prince who enjoys a life of luxury, then God is thinking too highly of me."
"But what if we could only save Later Shu..."
He paused, the initial fear in his eyes slowly transforming into a cold, hard fire.
"Then why did I even bother coming here?"
Outside the hall, the master of ceremonies announced loudly—
"Your Highness, please proceed to Hanyuan Hall for the investiture ceremony!"
This sound pierced the night and resounded throughout the Eastern Palace.
Meng Xuanzhe quickly tucked the urgent message into his sleeve and stepped outside.
As he stepped across the threshold, a remarkably clear thought suddenly occurred to him:
From tonight onwards, he will not become some kind of crown prince.
He went to take over a pot that was about to collapse.
Moreover, this pot wasn't just one; it represented an entire dynasty.
well.
In the past life, one can change materials; in this life, one can change the fate of the nation.
The promotion was a big one, but the work was absolutely grueling.
But we're already here.
Then let's not let the prison van take the same route again three years from now.