Chapter 226: Waking Up

Chapter 226: Awakening

Another five years passed, and Zhang Rongling was now forty-seven.

Under his torrent of gold and influence, the entire southwestern frontier had fallen into depravity, with grievances spreading like a plague. Peasant uprisings sprang up like weeds, but Zhang Rongling cared not a whit. The army at his command grew ever more formidable, its officers and men beholden to him alone. His word carried more weight than the Emperor’s decree within this private army.

Even the censors were in his palm. The imperial secret police, serving as the Emperor’s eyes and ears, had been bought off as well. Bound by shared interests, they formed a vast and powerful network.

From top to bottom, each member of this network praised Zhang Rongling without reservation.

More telling still, certain eunuchs within the palace began whispering his name into the Emperor’s ear, planting a seed in the sovereign’s mind regarding this distant Chief Secretary.

“Who painted this?” The Emperor’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as he gazed upon the scroll fresh from the Deer Park. He swiftly picked it up, his expression one of keen appreciation. Zhang Rongling had long known that the current ruler took pleasure in fine calligraphy and art. For five years, he had assiduously honed his skills in these arts, achieving mastery.

Indeed, great wickedness often walks hand-in-hand with great fortitude.

In Zhang Rongling’s time, his paintings had become highly sought after, with prices soaring to astronomical heights. He had even bestowed upon himself an elegant and distinctive title—the Green Bamboo Gentleman.

“It’s a painting by the Green Bamboo Gentleman,” the head eunuch chimed in, his voice smooth as he spoke. Over the years, Zhang Rongling had lavished this very eunuch with countless silver ingots, and at last, his investment was paying off.

“The Green Bamboo Gentleman?” The emperor’s brow furrowed as he tried to place the name.

“That would be the former Minister of Revenue, Zhang Rongling,” the head eunuch promptly interjected.

“Lord Zhang is currently the Governor of the Southwest, tasked with eradicating the wokou pirates and managing affairs in the region. Under his stewardship these past few years, the southwest has flourished. The annual remittances to the national treasury have always met expectations. I’ve heard from those below that Lord Zhang governs with great acumen. The common folk are deeply grateful to him, even gifting him what they call an ‘umbrella of the people’—a symbol of popular support,” the head eunuch elaborated.

“So that’s who it is!” The emperor’s mind instantly filled with memories of the man. His mood lifted as he gazed at the painting in his hands, his appraisal growing by the moment.

“A painting truly reflects its creator. One capable of such masterpieces must undoubtedly be a devoted servant of the realm. It’s such a wasting having such talent languishing in the provinces. Bring him back to the capital,” the emperor decreed with growing enthusiasm.

The emperor held the scroll in his hands, reluctant to let it go. The beauty depicted therein stirred his heart with uncontrollable desire.

In that moment, he felt a newfound anticipation towards the ‘virtuous minister’ Zhang Rongling.

Three months later.

Zhang Rongling once again returned to the capital, this time without anyone standing in his way.

The officials who had accepted his bribes, along with dissatisfied members of the New Faction, now clustered around him. With allies within the imperial court, he swiftly rose through the ranks. In mere half a year, he became Senior Grand Secretary, achieving the pinnacle of power as a minister.

This year, Zhang Rongling turned forty-eight.

Dressed in the scarlet robes of state, he stood at the forefront of the great hall. Now, only the Prime Minister remained as an obstacle between him and his goal.

“In three months, it will be the birthday of the Emperors of Donghua,” the emperor announced from his Dragon Throne. “We intend to renovate Donghua Hall as a gesture of gratitude for their continued blessings. What say you, noble ministers?”

The emperor outlined his plan, feeling that under his rule, the Holy Dynasty had reached its zenith. The realm enjoyed peace and prosperity, with all manner of nations paying homage to his court. As a ruler in an age of splendor, he believed it was his duty to honor the heavens and ensure his name would be remembered by future generations.

“Your Majesty, the eastern region suffers from severe drought, and the national treasury is all but empty,” the Chief Grand Secretary spoke up. “We simply cannot spare the silver for such a palace restoration.”

The Minister of Revenue knelt before the emperor, his brow drenched in sweat. He cast an pleading look at the Prime Minister. As an official within the Prime Minister’s faction, he held the purse strings of the imperial court. His position was akin to standing at the mouth of a volcano—safe enough when the nation’s coffers were full, for all he need do was open his hand. But now the court’s treasury was empty; many officials had not received their salaries for half a year. With barely enough to patch the leaks, where would they find funds to repair the palace?

“Your Majesty,” the Prime Minister stepped forward, “to assuage the Emperor, animal sacrifices and prayers to heaven suffice. There’s no need for costly repairs. As sovereign, one must prioritize the welfare of the realm over personal indulgence, lest we burden the people.”

This rebuke left the emperor deeply displeased. He fumed at the thought that, as the ruler of the nation, he couldn’t even muster the funds to repair his palace.

These court ministers are nothing but gluttonous rats, the emperor thought to himself, feasting on the nation’s wealth while treating their sovereign with disdain.

Standing to the side, Zhang Rongling had remained silent throughout the scene. His eyes flickered subtly—his chance was at hand.

Once the court session ended, Zhang Rongling sought an opportunity to enter the palace and paint for the emperor.

Seizing this opportunity, Zhang Rongling aggressively promoted his reform agenda. He openly declared that the emperor should rightfully rule over the realm and criticized the prime minister for being a useless parasite. Already dissatisfied with his prime minister, the emperor resolved to make a change. After two years of political maneuvering, the ‘Old Faction’ prime minister was successfully forced into retirement, and Zhang Rongling, representing the ‘New Faction,’ ascended to the position of prime minister. Finally, he stood on the very stage he had long dreamed of.

That year, Zhang Rongling was fifty years old.

Chen Luo was seventy-three.

Zhang Rongling’s hair began to gray at the temples, and his face developed deep creases. His wife, Junru, was forty-seven, and their children had grown into adulthood, starting to make their mark in the political arena. As prime minister, Zhang Rongling wielded his power to the fullest, paving the way for his two sons through the imperial examination system. Through blatant cheating, he ensured they passed with flying colors in their early twenties, inscribing their names on the golden tablet of honor.

Under Zhang Rongling’s ‘New Policies,’ the Great Liang Dynasty embarked on a path of reform. Unlike the debates between the New and Old Factions, the foundation of Zhang Rongling’s changes was simple: money. With this as his guiding principle, the powerful families across the realm rejoiced. Land was aggressively consolidated, leading to widespread sales of children as debtors scrambled to meet their obligations.

Compared to the dire conditions in the regions, the capital city thrived with prosperity, blessed with peace and harmony.

Under Zhang Rongling’s influence, the Emperor’s thirst for pleasure only intensified. His constantly fawning entourage made him believe he had surpassed the Great Ancestor and matched the Three Emperors in virtue.

Three years passed.

Zhang Rongling had extended his authority in all directions: civil officials, military officers, and imperial attendants alike were all loyal to him. By now, Zhang Rongling’s power had reached its peak, while his Dao foundation crumbled. Finally, his aura dropped to the Qi Refining realm, as dark flames consumed his chest and head.

Just as Zhang Rongling stood at the pinnacle of life, ready to savor its pleasures, the Aliens invaded.

The border army, severely weakened by Zhang Rongling’s “New Policies,” proved no match for the Aliens. Within months, vast territories had been lost. The Alien’s blade marched straight toward the city of Jiangzhou. In a moment, the Emperor awoke from his dream of becoming the “Emperor of the Ages” only to find himself fleeing in panic alongside his ministers.

The nation lay in ruins; its future uncertain.

Among the fugitives was Prime Minister Zhang Rongling, now seventy years old. He had become separated from his two sons and was escorted only by a small group of loyal servants.

The world was in chaos, and Zhang Rongling, already advanced in years, had been abandoned after a long and arduous journey by his own slaves. Now, he, Chen Luo, and Junru, his wife, were marooned in the wilderness.

The landscape, as far as the eye could see, was strewn with corpses and a sea of destruction.

Two days later, Zhang Rongling’s wife, Junru, succumbed to illness.

“Junru? Junru,”

Zhang Rongling, now seventy, sat amidst the ruins, cradling the woman in his lap as tears streamed down his face. He couldn’t understand; he had already come to this point, so why had he ended up like this? He had spent his entire life chasing after things, but in the end, he had gained nothing.

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“She’s already passed away.”

Chen Luo stood nearby. At ninety-three, he was considered a living god in this era. Yet, he still stood tall and straight, with white hair and beard, resembling an immortal being.

“Why?”

Feeling the woman in his arms grow colder by the second, Zhang Rongling looked up at Chen Luo, finally voicing his confusion.

“I truly don’t know either.”

Chen Luo spoke from a place of genuine ignorance. The mummy’s brain had told him that severing the Jensen would set him free. But what exactly was this ‘Jensen’? He couldn’t even see it, so how was he supposed to sever it? Surely, he couldn’t sever himself, could he? He didn’t believe that killing Chen Luo would free him from this plight. This so-called ‘Jensen’ had to be an abstract concept, something tangible yet unseen.

“Ha!” Zhang Rongling laughed. Gently, he laid the woman in his arms on the ground, then retrieved a stone from nearby to slowly dig a hole.

He began to bury her in the pit, carefully covering her body with dirt.

Chen Luo stood to the side, watching without assisting. He knew that Zhang Rongling’s life was coming to an end, for the Demonic Heart Tribulation was about to conclude. As one who had also cultivated the Demonic Heart Art, he could sense this.

As the woman was buried, Zhang Rongling’s vitality was nearly depleted.

He lay in the wreckage, ravished by hunger. It had been two days since he last ate; the household slaves had stolen all his food when they fled. Chen Luo sat down beside him, just as he had during all the years they had spent together. From the moment Zhang Rongling passed the imperial examination, Chen Luo had been his constant companion, witnessing how the young man with such high spirits and ambitions had arrived at this final conclusion.

“I’m so thirsty…”

Resting against a withered tree, Zhang Rongling gazed up at the circling vultures and spoke with parched lips.

Just then, a farmer passed by with a flatbed cart, upon which sat an elderly woman with hair white as crane feathers and skin as wrinkled as a melon. Sensing their presence, the old woman on the cart turned her head, and her gaze met Zhang Rongling’s.

In that instant, Zhang Rongling’s memories began to flow backward, as if time itself were rewinding.

He recalled the woman. The woman from many years ago who his Second Uncle had forsaken for wealth and power. Even now, her eyes held that same smile towards Zhang Rongling’s gaze.

His eyes shifted to the farmer pulling the cart ahead. Hang from the man’s chest was a talisman of peace.

“Ah, so it’s about that kind of trouble, trouble! I see, I see,” Zhang Rongling suddenly laughed.

With this laughter, he briefly returned to his peak form as if in a dying glow. He stood up straight next to the withered tree. The colors around him began fading, and a mist rose around the world. The sounds of war receded.

“Second Uncle?”

Zhang Rongling’s gaze landed on Chen Luo. Only now did he finally remember who he was and what he was doing.

He was Zhang Rongling!

Currently crossing the Demonic Heart Tribulation.

“Do you regret it?”

Chen Luo looked at the newly awakened Zhang Rongling and suddenly asked. Many years ago, he had once hinted at him to “let go.” At the time, Zhang Rongling was unwilling, and even declared that if there really was another side, then let the Zhang Rongling over there never wake up.

“I do not regret it.”

Zhang Rongling looked at Chen Luo, his voice full of conviction.