sovbooks Chapter 340 Urgent Report from the Southwest Border!
Chapter 340 Urgent Report from the Southwest Border!
That man was a young captain under his command, surnamed Zhou, but he couldn't remember his given name.
He only remembered that face; it was young and clean-cut, with two dimples when it smiled, like the boy next door.
Last spring, Li Yang reinforced his troops along the river. When the eastern border was in dire need, he was ordered to lead 3,000 men to its aid.
On the day he was leaving, the young captain came to him and said, "General, my mother is not well. Could you please take care of her for me?"
He agreed.
Three months later, the captain's body was returned.
He had been shot in the chest with an arrowhead that emerged from his back; he had bled to death and his face was as white as paper.
He had someone send him back to his hometown and also sent a pension to his mother.
Later he heard that his mother went with him that very night after receiving the news.
Wang Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
The breath he inhaled, carrying with it the cold, stagnant air of the hall, chilled him to the bone.
He opened his eyes and looked at the moon-white figure on the throne, at that smiling, ever-composed face, and at those deep eyes that seemed to see through everything.
He suddenly felt that all his complaints and dissatisfaction with His Majesty over the years, and the grumbling he had made while drinking with his colleagues behind his back, had become so ridiculous.
He thought His Majesty was a foolish ruler.
He thought His Majesty only knew how to enjoy himself, and only knew how to play hide-and-seek and tag blindfold games with his concubines in the harem.
He thought that the Qin Dynasty was going to perish at the hands of this emperor.
But His Majesty did nothing and still managed to eliminate Li Yang.
Without firing a single shot, without using a single sword or spear, and without even leaving the imperial city.
And what about him? He fought half his life, lost so many brothers, and spent so much food and supplies, but all he managed to hold onto were a few cities in the eastern border.
They've never even crossed the Lancang River.
Wang Ben slowly loosened his hand from the hilt of the sword.
He stood there, head down, looking at his hands covered in calluses and scars, for a long time, so long that the sunlight moved from one end to the other.
He suddenly realized that his hands, apart from killing, seemed to have done nothing else.
He killed many people, and he also watched many people being killed.
He thought he was protecting his country and fulfilling his duty as a military general.
But at this moment, he suddenly became uncertain.
Standing in the ranks of civil servants, Zhou Bingwen listened to the suppressed, excited, and trembling voices around him, and his eyes also reddened.
He was an imperial censor, an advisor, the kind of person who specialized in finding fault with the emperor.
From the very first day Qin Mu ascended the throne, he never stopped impeaching officials.
They impeached him for his debauchery, for neglecting state affairs, for indulging in wine and women, and for his nightly revelry.
He wrote hundreds of memorials, each one citing classical texts, each one righteous and stern, each one seemingly wishing he could drag Qin Mu off that dragon throne.
He berated Qin Mu mercilessly, rendering him utterly worthless, to the point that even he himself felt—this emperor was truly a tyrant.
But now?
Liyang is gone; he swallowed it up without bloodshed.
Those things he thought were "incompetence," those things he thought were "inaction," those things he thought were "signs of national ruin"—it turned out that they were all part of His Majesty's scheme.
He had been criticizing the incompetent ruler for so long, but in fact, he was a wise ruler throughout the ages.
Then what is he?
What are his righteous and stern impeachments worth?
What are his memorials full of quotations and allusions?
What does his persistence over the past ten years amount to?
Zhou Bingwen lowered his head, looking at his fingers, deformed from years of holding a pen, and at the thick calluses on his knuckles.
He suddenly felt ridiculous.
Like a frog sitting at the bottom of a well, looking up and croaking at that small patch of sky, thinking that it is the whole world.
Little did he know that the sky was so vast, and he had only seen a corner of it.
Murong Zhan stood in the ranks of military officers, listening to Wang Ben's suppressed breathing, Li Si's suppressed sobs, and Zhou Bingwen's suppressed sighs.
He didn't make a sound; he just stood there like a silent statue.
He recalled three years ago, when Qin Mu had just ascended the throne.
He was drunk and said to his advisors in his residence, "The Qin Dynasty is probably doomed. The new emperor only knows how to play with women and doesn't even attend the morning court sessions. How many years can an emperor like that last?"
The staff members echoed each other, some saying three years, some five years, and some at most ten years.
Nobody said it could last a generation.
They all felt that the Qin Dynasty's fate was sealed.
A self-deprecating smile slowly curved the corners of Murong Zhan's lips.
Three years.
The Qin Dynasty didn't end; instead, it grew stronger and stronger.
The western border repelled Xiliang, the eastern border annexed Liyang, and the northern border—Xu Longxiang is in the northern border, but so what?
With Liyang gone and the Northern Territory isolated and helpless, what waves can they possibly stir up?
He suddenly realized how ridiculous the things he had said three years ago were.
Qin Mu leaned against the throne, looking at the ministers in the hall.
Seeing Li Si's tears streaming down his face, seeing Wang Ben bow his head in silence, seeing Zhou Bingwen's eyes redden, and seeing the self-deprecating curve at the corner of Murong Zhan's mouth.
Looking at those figures in purple, scarlet, and green robes, one by one, they went from shock to excitement, from excitement to worship, and from worship to awe.
He didn't speak.
He simply leaned back in his chair, propped his chin on one hand, and calmly swept his gaze across those faces.
That gaze was calm, as calm as a stagnant pool, but beneath that stagnant water lay unfathomable undercurrents, the depths of which no one knew.
The hall gradually quieted down.
The murmurs, sobs, and sighs gradually subsided.
Everyone stood up straight again, hands at their sides, facing the throne, facing the young emperor they once thought was a tyrant, but now had to look up to.
In their eyes, the disdain, doubt, and dissatisfaction they once had have all disappeared.
Instead, there was a complex radiance that they themselves couldn't quite explain.
The light contained worship, awe, and a sense of relief, as if one had survived a catastrophe.
Fortunately, the Qin Dynasty had such an emperor; fortunately, they did not choose the wrong side; fortunately, they are still alive.
Qin Mu's gaze swept across the faces of those people, and the smile on his lips deepened.
"Is there anything else?" he asked, his voice still soft and languid.
"If not—"
"His Majesty."
A voice rang out from the queue, old and hoarse, yet exceptionally clear.
All eyes turned in that direction.
An elderly man dressed in a scarlet official robe stepped out from the queue.
His steps were slow and steady, each step firm and solid, as if he were walking on mountains of knives and seas of fire, not gold bricks.
He walked to the center of the hall, stopped, and bowed deeply.
When he straightened up, there was a heavy, barely suppressed worry on his face.
"I have a memorial to present," he said.
Qin Mu looked at him.
Chen Yanjing, the Vice Minister of Rites, is a veteran of three reigns and is 67 years old this year, making him one of the oldest officials in the court.
This person was cautious throughout his life, never spoke recklessly, and never participated in factional struggles.
Every word he uttered was carefully considered; every action he took was in accordance with his conscience.
In the court, he wasn't the most outstanding, but he was the most reliable.
"Speak," Qin Mu said.
Chen Yanjing took a deep breath.
The breath he inhaled, carrying the heavy atmosphere of the hall, caused his chest to rise and fall slightly.
His Adam's apple bobbed, as if something was stuck there, something he couldn't swallow or spit out.
"Your Majesty, I recently received an urgent report from the southwestern border—" He paused, his voice growing deeper, "The Moon Goddess Cult is active in the southwest again."
The hall fell silent.
The silence was heavier, more oppressive, and more suffocating than before.
Like the sky before a storm, the dark clouds hung low, almost touching the roof of the palace.
The air seemed to freeze, making it difficult to even breathe.
Luna Cult.
These three words, like three giant stones, crashed into everyone's heart.
Everyone's expression changed.
Li Si's tears were still on his face, but they had stopped flowing.
His face went from flushed with excitement to deathly pale in an instant, like a piece of paper that had been soaked in water, wrinkled and devoid of any color.
Wang Ben pressed his hand on the sword hilt again, this time even more firmly than before, his knuckles turning white, and the veins on the back of his hand bulging.
His jaw was taut, like a fully drawn bow.
Murong Zhan's brows furrowed tightly, his eyebrows forming a deep "川" (river) shape.
Zhou Bingwen's lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but then he closed them again.
Chen Yanjing stood in the center of the hall, his aged face filled with solemnity.
His hands trembled slightly inside his sleeves, not from fear, but from anger.
"The Moon Goddess Cult—" he said slowly and deliberately, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth, "spreading heresies and bewitching people's hearts."
They set up altars in the southwestern border region, claiming to be "the incarnation of the moon goddess," and saying that "those who believe in the moon goddess will have eternal life, while those who do not believe will fall into the Avici Hell."
Many people were deceived by them, selling their possessions to worship the moon goddess.
Some even—" His voice grew deeper, like an echo from the ground, "abandoning their wives and children, running away from home to become 'protector disciples' in the Moon Goddess Cult."
Qin Mu's fingers paused on the armrest for a moment.
He didn't speak, he just looked at Chen Yanjing.
Chen Yanjing continued, "The urgent report I received stated that the Moon Goddess Sect has now established branch altars in sixteen counties across three prefectures in the southwest, with over ten thousand believers."
They not only misled the people, but also—" He paused, took a deep breath, "and colluded with local chieftains and officials."
Some officials accepted their bribes and turned a blind eye to their actions.
Even some officials—have converted themselves.
A collective gasp filled the hall.
Colluding with government officials.
Officials converted to Christianity.
These words are more chilling than the "Moon Goddess Cult" itself.
A cult itself is not scary; what is scary is when it has official backing.
When cults collude with the government, and when officials also become believers, it is no longer a simple case of "spreading heresies and misleading the public."
That is—the foundation is shaken.
Qin Mu leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrests again.
"Tap, tap, tap," one note after another, unhurriedly, as if he were playing a tune that only he could hear.
The sound was exceptionally clear in the deathly silent hall, like a needle dropping onto a porcelain plate, striking the heart of everyone present.
"The Moon Goddess Cult," he began, his voice soft, "who is its leader?"
Chen Yanjing shook his head.
"Your Majesty, I do not know. The urgent report only stated that the leader of the Moon Goddess Cult calls himself the 'Messenger of the Moon Goddess' and never shows his true face."
Each time he appears, he wears a mask and is dressed in white, arriving on the moon and departing on the moon.
The people all said he was a celestial being from the moon palace, and they worshipped him.
His voice carried a hint of disdain, "It's nothing but a charade. But the common people are too ignorant to see through these tricks."
Qin Mu nodded.
"Anything else?"
Chen Yanjing frowned even more deeply.
"And—" He paused, his voice lowering, "The Moon Goddess Cult widely recruits disciples in the southwest region, regardless of background or origin. As long as you pay enough silver, you can join the cult."
The more you pay, the higher your rank.
Some people sold their fields and mortgaged their ancestral homes to convert to the religion, becoming destitute and losing their families.
His voice trembled slightly with anger, "Your Majesty, this is not proselytizing, this is—profiteering! It's sucking the blood of the people!"
Qin Mu paused for a moment, then continued tapping.
"I understand," he said, his voice still very soft, devoid of any emotion.
Chen Yanjing was stunned.
He thought His Majesty would be furious and would immediately order the extermination of the Moon God Cult and send people to the southwestern border to thoroughly investigate the matter.
But His Majesty simply said, "I know."
"Your Majesty," Chen Yanjing stepped forward, his voice urgent, "the Moon Goddess Sect is causing great harm. If it is not eradicated soon, it may become a major threat."
Your Majesty, I humbly request—
"I understand." Qin Mu interrupted him, his voice still soft, yet carrying an undeniable authority.
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting from Chen Yanjing to the assembled officials in the hall, sweeping over their faces filled with worry, anger, and fear.
"Regarding the Moon Goddess Cult," he began, his voice calm, "I have my own arrangements. The most urgent matter at hand is my wedding to Empress Li Yang. All other matters will be postponed for now."
Chen Yanjing opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but when he saw Qin Mu's deep, calm eyes that showed no emotion, the words stuck in his throat, and he couldn't say them no matter what.
He bowed deeply.
"I obey the order."
He returned to the queue.
Qin Mu's gaze swept over the assembled officials in the hall.
"Is there anything else?" he asked.
No one speaks.
No one moved.
They even suppressed their breathing to a minimum.
Qin Mu nodded.
"Then let's adjourn the court."
He stood up, his moon-white robe cascading down his shoulders, the hem trailing on the ground, stirring up a faint breeze.
He strode towards the back of the palace.
After taking two steps, he suddenly stopped without looking back.
"Chen Yanjing," he called out.
Chen Yanjing's body trembled slightly.
He stepped out of the queue, walked to the center of the hall, and bowed deeply.
"Your subject is here."
"Regarding the Moon Goddess Cult," Qin Mu's voice drifted from the front, very soft and faint, as if seen through a thin veil, indistinct, "Continue your investigation."
Report any new information to me immediately.
A light suddenly shone in Chen Yanjing's eyes.
The light surged from the depths of his pupils, dispelling all the gloom, all the worries, and all the unease.
He bowed deeply, his forehead almost touching the ground.
"Official—I obey the order!"