11. The Price of Power

The grand red lacquer coated the massive beams, each several times larger than a person, adorned with gilded dragon sculptures that coiled around them, vivid and lifelike. The palace gates stood wide open, flanked by motionless eunuchs who bowed their heads in servitude. From the entrance to the layered steps, a luxurious and extravagant carpet stretched across the ground. On either side of the carpet stood enormous bronze incense burners, their fires releasing wisps of fragrant smoke meant to sharpen the mind and awaken the senses.

Dressed in a vermilion robe, the new emperor sat reviewing memorials. His face, marked by deep cunning and unshakable composure, remained expressionless and silent, causing the attending eunuchs to lower their heads even further.

With a vermilion brush, he annotated the memorials. Rising from Prince Ren to Emperor, it was not merely a change in title or status; power was the true intoxicant.

After finishing the final memorial, Ren set down his brush, allowing the attending eunuch to solemnly place it into a locked cabinet. Only then did a trace of weariness flicker across his face.

His victory had come swiftly, and he was no simple figure. Endowed with natural brilliance and profound shrewdness, he had sensed something amiss with the founding emperor, Ming, even during his prime. Ming, a figure of martial valor and apparent omniscience, seemed benevolent and generous toward the crown prince and the succession.

Yet beneath that facade lay a man who would never relinquish power, a ruthless soul who spared no one, not even kin, for the sake of control. Recognizing this, Ren had bided his time, keeping a low profile while quietly amassing wealth and influence. Now, with a decisive strike, he had secured the throne and stabilized the realm.

A change in imperial rule meant more than just a new emperor and new courtiers; it was an invisible political war, one far more grueling than facing his younger brother, Tao, on the battlefield.

At the thought of Tao, the defeated yet defiant "good brother," a shadow crossed Ren's face.

Tao had colluded with the demonic sects.

Ren had long known that contenders for the throne were backed by various factions; he himself was no exception. He had sent his eldest daughter, Qing, to the Xian Sect, partly because she was born with an aura of immortality and divine talent, and partly to forge covert ties with the righteous sects, exchanging subtle gestures of alliance.

If he could do so, it was hardly surprising that Tao would consort with the demonic sects.

But "suspected collusion" and "proven collusion" were worlds apart, especially now that Ren had emerged victorious. Were it not for his desire to present himself to the world as a "benevolent, brotherly" ruler, he would have long since sent Tao to join their father, Ming, in the afterlife.

He had even considered that, should Tao ever settle down peacefully, he would still arrange a quiet end, perhaps "succumbing to illness from unfit water and soil."

But it seemed Tao was more impatient than he was, fleeing back to the capital midway through his reassignment to a fief.

The matter was neither trivial nor grave. On a small scale, it was a family disgrace, giving Ren the perfect excuse to execute Tao under the guise of "righteous fratricide," shedding crocodile tears as he did so.

On a larger scale, it strained the trust between the righteous sects and the court.

If Tao could consort with the demonic sects, why not the emperor? Why not the court itself?

The righteous sects stood aloof from worldly affairs, boasting ancestors who had truly ascended to immortality. Any conflict with the court would leave both sides devastated.

The new dynasty's dragon aura rose like the dawn, and as emperor, Ren was shielded by the will of millions, a human sovereign of the mortal path. Bound by the clash between dragon aura and immortal qi, he could not pursue longevity, but even a true immortal descending from the heavens could not harm him.

Yet without the support of the righteous sects, ruling Bright Hua would become an arduous task. Ming, the time-traveling founding emperor, had once sought to cast off the immortal sects and govern alone, only to discover that in a world teeming with demons, ghosts, and malevolent spirits, such cultivators were indispensable. In the end, he had compromised.

Without the righteous sects, the emperor's throne would tremble.

"Sigh…" At that moment, Ren thought of his eldest daughter, Qing, now a direct disciple of the Xian Sect. He turned to his trusted new chief eunuch, Qian, and asked, "Where is the eldest princess?"

Qian, who had replaced Ming's appointee, Kai Sun, had served Ren loyally since his days as the fourth prince, then Prince Ren, and now emperor.

At the emperor's question, Qian bowed his head and replied, "The eldest princess visited Marshal Jun's residence. She seemed upset. She's been wandering the palace and even went to Yong Row…"

"That old man, he doesn't even give me a face!"

Ren immediately guessed that Qing had clashed with Marshal Jun. He chuckled and cursed lightly.

Qian dared not respond. The emperor could joke about Marshal Jun, but he could not.

Ren then frowned and asked, "Yong Row? The place where Kai Sun, under Ming's decree, carried out the killings?"

Kai Sun had slaughtered over a hundred people in the palace; a eunuch wouldn't dare spill blood there without Ming's explicit command.

But why had Ming ordered the massacre of that group of old, weak, and infirm just before his death? Was there a deeper reason?

"Master, shall I investigate?" Qian asked in a soft, cautious tone.

Ren pondered for a moment before replying, "No need. Ming was gravely ill; such a decree might have been issued in a delirious dream. Or perhaps Kai Sun fabricated it…"

Though he said this, Qian knew Ren harbored resentment toward Ming.

Ming had exiled the eldest prince to the frontier, "killed" the second prince in the southern province under the guise of illness, and stripped the third prince of his title for "treason," executing his followers and confining his wife and children to the cold palace.

As the fourth prince, Ren had been the monkey in Ming's "kill the chicken to scare the monkey" game. Even rabbits mourn their kin; how much more so for brothers? During those days, Qian knew Ren had lived in constant fear, outwardly gentle and compliant by day, trembling in dread by night, terrified of being caught by the increasingly tyrannical Ming in his later years.

Now that he had outlasted it all, to say he bore no grudge would be a lie. Any bond between father and son had long eroded.

Thus, when Ren spoke, Qian lowered his gaze in obedience. As the chief eunuch, he was merely the emperor's servant. To survive long, he followed orders unquestioningly.

Unlike civil officials or martial nobles, tied to vast interest groups, a servant was disposable; Ren could remove one with ease.

Kai Sun was proof of that.

Compared to whatever Tao might be plotting, Ren faced a more pressing issue, one that truly gave him a headache.

The treasury was empty.

By all accounts, a newborn dynasty should be vibrant, perhaps not overflowing with talent or pristine in governance, but at least brimming with energy and a full treasury.

The blame lay with Ming. A formidable founding emperor, he was both a martial and literary genius, with grand ambitions: subduing the southwestern tribes, conquering the northern barbarians, reopening the western regions, and commanding tribute from eastern nations.

The world marveled, and the people swelled with pride, exuding the air of a supreme nation.

But the cost was astronomical military spending, with the treasury's expenditures climbing year after year. In his youth, Ming had balanced this with care for the people, enduring for the nation's sake.

In his middle and later years, however, he grew willful, launching wars at the slightest provocation.

Fortunately, Ming knew how to sustain wars with plunder and bolster commerce. In just over thirty years, Bright Hua's army swelled to the peak of the previous dynasty, without leaving the people starving.

The treasury wasn't yet so bare that rats roamed it, but it was depleted enough to force Ren to scale back even his coronation ceremony.

"Where's the head of the Gold Yuan Chamber?" Ren asked.

Ming had placed great emphasis on commerce, nurturing trade guilds and merchants as his personal coffers, occasionally extorting them to refill the treasury with considerable success.

These merchants, though constantly squeezed by the crown, were fat sheep before imperial power. Many were butchered by the increasingly volatile Ming in his later years.

Yet as long as profit beckoned, they'd bite even the poisoned bait laced with honey, risking ruin and execution.

The Gold Yuan Chamber stood out among them. Wealthy and well-connected, they met Ming's excessive demands diligently, bleeding heavily to curry favor. Far from fading, they had grown into a colossal trade empire spanning the nine provinces.

Desperate for funds, Ren couldn't overlook his father's moneybag.

"In the capital… visiting brothels," Qian replied.

As Ren's eyes into the shadows, Qian had countless informants in the capital and knew well what the chamber's head was up to.

"A lecher?" Ren mused, his frown easing.

As emperor, he didn't fear wealthy men with clear desires, only those with power and wealth yet no apparent wants, inscrutable and unpredictable.

Merchants who hid every flaw and left no leverage couldn't ease the paranoid, temperamental Ming in his later years; their heads rolled. But the Gold Yuan Chamber, with its dirty origins and willingly bared vulnerabilities, had thrived under Ming's grip.

They'd even aligned with Ren during the succession struggle, providing much of the wealth he used to win hearts as Prince Ren.

"The righteous sects…"

Thinking of dealing with those lofty cultivators again, Ren felt a headache brewing, tempted to summon Qing for advice.

But then he recalled Qing's tangled emotions with Feng Wei, and the messes that boy kept stirring. Feng had exposed Tao's ties to the demonic sects and his flight back to the capital.

Ren knew of Feng's ambiguous bond with Suya Jun, too.

Marshal Jun, ever forthright, openly praised Feng, not just for healing his old wounds but for the widely known affection his granddaughter bore him, a topic buzzing through the capital.

Qing's foul mood likely stemmed from that old man deliberately riling her up.

"Once a daughter grows up, she won't stay!"

Ren sighed at the thought, but unlike the magnanimous Marshal Jun, he felt more a pang of dismay, like his pristine cabbage was about to be rooted up by a wild boar from the hills.

"Li is better, Li is good!"

Compared to Qing, who'd left home young to cultivate and returned only every few years, Ren naturally dotted more on his youngest daughter.

Qian watched the wistful emperor, hesitating to speak.

He knew Li skipped lessons regularly, far from obedient, always tormenting servants and sneaking out to roam the streets every few days.

But could Qian tell Ren the truth?

No.

Ren knew it all anyway. He'd fume and punish Li for a few days, but once his anger faded, she'd remain his darling. Anyone who snitched, however, might not fare so well.

A charge of "sowing discord in the imperial family" could ruin anyone.