Echoes of My Heart Throughout the Court

Chapter 175: Am I the Kind of Emperor Who Cant Tolerate Useless People? (2 / 2)

Xu Yanmiao seemed to catch sight of something, his pupils slightly widening.

[I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have underestimated pigs. At least pigs can charge forward. But if the leader itself is a pig, then there’s truly no saving it.]

Before the officials from the Ministry of Personnel could even snicker at how sharp-tongued Xu Lang had suddenly become, they heard him say:

[Having soldiers fight according to a battle formation is one thing—there is a rationale to proper deployment. But for the Prince of Jibei himself to “personally take to the battlefield”… Does sitting on a high vantage point with a telescope, sending orders through a messenger, truly count as being “on the battlefield”?]

The officials visibly grimaced, their expressions difficult to describe.

Ah, well…

You either relinquish control entirely and let your frontline generals act freely, or you take full command yourself and stay in the central tent. Trying to micromanage while prioritizing your own safety? What kind of nonsense is that?

And relying on messengers to relay orders? Sure, they can signal using flags in an organized army, but if you’re far from the action… by the time the messenger gets there, the battlefield would have changed entirely!

If His Majesty had conducted battles this way back in the day, his head might have ended up on the enemy’s table in no time.

The Ministry of Personnel officials were full of sarcastic complaints, but none dared say them aloud in front of Xu Yanmiao. They felt utterly stifled.

[Using a telescope to spot soldiers and giving absurdly specific orders, like telling the fifth musketeer from the left in the third row of the right flank to lift his rifle by an inch—what even is this?]

[If this doesn’t end in failure, what will?]

[And to think I suspected the imperial secret police had intervened early. Turns out they didn’t even get the chance—they must’ve been utterly baffled.]

[“I haven’t even made my move yet, and you’ve already lost?”]

The Ministry officials were left in awe.

After hearing so much inner monologue from Xu Yanmiao, they’d started to adopt his expressions, even feeling the urge to tut in disbelief.

No wonder the Prince of Jibei needed thirty years to prepare. With his level of command ability, without that much time, he’d probably be captured within an hour of announcing his rebellion!

Having overheard this entertaining analysis, the officials were satisfied. One casually patched up the earlier conversation: “So, Xu Lang, want to join the bet?”

Seeing the hesitation on Xu Yanmiao’s face, the officials burst into laughter. One said, “No rush, take your time deciding, Xu Lang.” Another added, “The stakes aren’t even that high—win or lose, it’s no big deal.”

Xu Yanmiao smiled faintly. “Alright, I’ll guess one month too.”

The officials looked at him in surprise.

The official who had also guessed “one month” grinned and threw an arm over Xu Yanmiao’s shoulder, pulling him further into the group. “Great choice! Exactly! Two or three months is too long—what’s the Prince of Jibei done that’s so impressive? But a few days is too dismissive. A month is just right!”

Although everyone had listened to Xu Yanmiao’s inner thoughts, none of them used it to bully him. They all made their bets jokingly, picking random durations.

When the Prince of Jibei was finally paraded into the capital in a prison cart, it had been only a little over ten days since his rebellion began. Hearing how quickly he had been defeated after raising his army, the officials pretended to be shocked, brushing the small bet under the rug.

The Prince of Jibei, shackled and disheveled, was brought into the imperial court. The old emperor fell silent for a moment, then asked, with a mix of incredulity and derision: “With this level of skill, you thought you could rebel?”

The Prince of Jibei raised his eyebrows. Even as a prisoner, he maintained a haughty air, as if he still possessed a commanding presence. “Gao Jianyi, I have the aura of an emperor. A temporary setback means nothing. You, however, are merely a usurper who stole the throne.”

The old emperor instinctively glanced at Xu Yanmiao.

Then, realizing that in this context “throne” could also refer to the empire itself, he quickly straightened his expression.

“…Anyway, we’re on the golden platform, so no one noticed I turned my head.”

The old emperor calmly finished his thought and clapped his hands. Moments later, a group of imperial guards escorted a Daoist priest into the hall.

“You speak of an emperor’s aura—did this person tell you that?”

The Prince of Jibei’s eyes widened in shock as he saw the priest. “Sir?!”

The Daoist priest gave the emperor an ingratiating smile. “Your Majesty, this was all his doing. It has nothing to do with this humble Daoist. I was merely trying to earn a meal.”

The Prince of Jibei immediately understood the meaning behind the priest’s words. His emotions flared, and if not for the guards pinning him down and covering his mouth, his outburst would have polluted the solemn air of the imperial court.

The old emperor smirked faintly. “Heavenly aura of an emperor? Care to elaborate?”

The Daoist priest looked as if he were about to cry. “Your Majesty, I merely saw that he wasn’t the kind to settle down peacefully. Hoping to earn a meal, I told him his bone structure was extraordinary, that he had the visage of an emperor. If he’d raised an army shortly after, I would have accepted it. But who could have guessed—it’s been thirty years! He’s still clinging to the idea!”

[Well, of course. Thirty years spent hoping the crown prince would cough himself to death—seriously, though. Trying to rebel like this, does he genuinely think he’s destined to be emperor, with Heaven feeding him everything on a silver platter?]

[Any normal person, realizing after a year or two that their schemes hadn’t worked, would’ve tried something else. Like hiring an assassin! Isn’t that more effective than waiting for him to cough blood?]

The crown prince, overhearing, nodded in agreement.

The others: “…”

Wait—you’re disappointed the Prince of Jibei didn’t successfully kill you, aren’t you?

[Honestly, someone like him couldn’t succeed at anything, let alone founding a dynasty. It’s baffling—how did a person like the Prince of Jibei ever become a vassal Prince in the first place?]

Some ministers who hadn’t followed the emperor in his early campaigns instinctively glanced at the Prince of Jibei. Those stares bore into him, making the man—who had been furiously struggling—slowly, gradually quiet down, as though he could sense the chill creeping over him.

The ministers’ thoughts: We’re curious too—how did this man become a vassal Prince?

[Ah, I see. Back when the emperor’s power base was still weak, he was just a local leader around Mount Tai. He surrendered to the emperor with his territory, claiming his uprising was solely for self-preservation and that he had no ambition to conquer the world. He promised his lands in exchange for wealth and protection.]

[At the time, the emperor was just starting out and desperately needed territory. The Prince of Jibei was the first local leader to pledge allegiance. So the emperor agreed—if he became a viscount, he’d petition for the man to be made a baron; if he became an Marquis, he’d petition for him to be made a viscount. Sure enough, after ascending the throne, the emperor kept his promise, granting him the title of a vassal Prince, and he was enfeoffed in the Mount Tai region.]

[Huh? That actually sounds pretty smart. He made a decisive bet and should’ve spent the rest of his life enjoying his success.]

The old emperor couldn’t help nodding in agreement.

Exactly! Even I am not intolerant of useless people! Look at this man—he’s been the Prince of Jibei for over thirty years, and I’ve never moved to strip his title!

[Oh, I see! He’s spent too long resting on his laurels, surrounded by sycophants who flattered him into thinking he was indispensable to the emperor’s rise. He probably convinced himself that without him, the emperor wouldn’t have had a stable foundation, let alone conquered the world.]

[And then he started thinking that if he’d been a bit bolder back then and directly seized the emperor’s lands, he’d be the one on the throne today.]

[He likely thought the emperor hadn’t given him enough. Worse, he probably idolized the founding emperor of the previous dynasty, who borrowed troops from allied forces with grand promises of kingship, only to be persuaded by his advisors to offer an even bigger carrot: a promise to divide the empire if victorious.]

[What a joke—he even believed that if the emperor had agreed to share the empire with him, he wouldn’t have rebelled. Classic case of greed knowing no bounds!]

[At least the founding emperor of the previous dynasty reneged on his promise after winning, stripping those allies of their power while giving them nominal titles. But at least he painted the bigger picture!]

[The current emperor’s fault lies in being too stingy? If you’re going to make promises, you might as well make them grand—even if they’re fake. After all, they wouldn’t cost you anything and would let him dream happily for decades.]

“Pfft—”

“Haha—”

Several officials couldn’t suppress their laughter.

Many ministers couldn’t hold back their laughter and burst out laughing.

The Prince of Jibei’s face turned bright red.

He couldn’t hear Xu Yanmiao’s inner thoughts, so from his perspective, the sequence of events went like this: the Daoist had just finished saying, “He hasn’t given up for thirty years!” and then, immediately, the ministers mocked him with their laughter, ridiculing his overconfidence.

Laugh, laugh, laugh! What are you laughing at? Without the Mount Tai region I brought to him, how could Gao Jianyi have had the chance to build his foundation and unify the world?

Author’s Note:

“I haven’t even made my move, and you’ve already fallen?”

— Possibly inspired by a tear-jerking moment from “The Sequel to Journey to the West.”

Excerpt:

“Borrowing troops from allied forces and promising kingship, only to have advisors on both sides step in and urge a revision: ‘Kingship is too stingy; if we succeed, we’ll split the world with you!’”

“The founding emperor of Zhou borrowed troops, promised to split the world, and after conquering the empire, reneged on the deal, granting only a kingship and then suppressing the vassals—but at least he painted a grand enough picture.”