Chapter 622: Chapter 460: The Governor’s Diary
In the seventh year of Emperor Long’an’s reign,
the first month had just passed.
Emperor Long’an gathered his ministers and declared that the dynasty’s heavenly mandate had ended, and that since ancient tis the imperial throne should be occupied by the worthy, thus he ought to abdicate in favor of the King of Chu.
The Officials, empathizing with his will, unanimously praised the decision.
After three offers and three refusals, Zhou Ping’an ascended the throne as emperor, changing the state’s na to Zhou.
After his accession, he bestowed the title of Prince of Anle upon Emperor Long’an, and granted various rewards to the rest of the Daqing imperial clan, achieving a smooth transition almost without resorting to the sword.
...
All officials and bureaucrats praised His Majesty’s benevolence and virtue.
The following year,
the era’s na was changed to Ping’an, and nurous mbers of the Zhou clan were granted titles. Zhou Yi was honored as the Retired Emperor, and he ordered the construction of the Martial God Temple and the Ancestral Temple of the Holy Ancestor.
…
The sun rose and the moon set.
Spring passed and autumn arrived.
In the blink of an eye, it was the sixth year of Ping’an.
Emperor Ping’an’s throne grew ever more secure, and in the speech of the populace and the bureaucrats, there was only ntion of how things were in the Zhou, with no one speaking of the forr dynasty as if Daqing were a distant matter.
“So, forgetting happens this quickly!”
Zhou Yi sat cross-legged amidst a sea of clouds, his clothes rustling in the mountain breeze.
“Even the shortsighted mortals forget so easily, and as I have lived long, perhaps I might forget who I am.”
At this thought,
Zhou Yi beca vigilant, wary that the inexplicable martial talents and his gradually indifferent nature were not common occurrences, as if so terrifying change was underway within the unseen depths.
“I… cannot forget myself!”
He imdiately rose from the sea of clouds, descending the steps, each step blooming into a cloud lotus, and returned to the Palace of the Holy Ancestor atop the mountain.
The palace spanned dozens of miles, with towers every five steps and pavilions every ten, ornate carvings and painted beams, a majestic sight, where the palace maids and eunuchs who saw Zhou Yi would bow and kneel in worship.
This palace, employing one hundred thousand laborers, took five years to complete.
“If I’m becoming more detached and care less for extravagance, then I will deliberately do the opposite!”
Zhou Yi’s gaze was bleak as he approached the main hall, ordering a servant to fetch a blank register for him to begin writing.
“Sixth year of Ping’an, twenty-ninth of the third month, the sky is clear and the air is crisp. Contemplating the sea of clouds, pondering the martial path, I’ve gained so insights…”
He recorded in detail the events of the previous day, instructing the servants to place the diary in a side hall so that he could frequently review it in the future, to consolidate his personality through the restoration of mories.
…
In the twelfth year of Ping’an.
Autumn.
A sword light streaked across the sky, landing in the palace and taking human form.
“This poor Daoist… pah, pah, pah!”
Zhou Yi spat several tis in distaste, as he never worshipped Buddha or believed in Dao, yet for so inexplicable reason, he kept calling himself ‘this poor Daoist,’ which was not a good habit.
“Though I haven’t killed in ten years, my skills are as sharp as ever when I do take action.”
Half a month earlier, Emperor Ping’an had co to the mountain to ask Zhou Yi to strike down the King of the Northern Defense’s clan. When they were leaderless, the imperial army would take advantage of the situation and march northward.
Zhou Yi didn’t refuse, traveling to the Northern Border and splitting the Town of the North in half with a single sword strike.
“I intended to visit old friends in the Northern Border, reminisce about the past, but all I found was a graveyard.”
“No matter who plays with power, a hundred years later, they will be but a pile of dry bones. Whether it’s King of the Northern Defense or Prince of Pingxi, they’re only worth a few lines in the history books!”
…
In the sixteenth year of Ping’an.
Prince Wei passed away.
Upon hearing the report from a servant, Zhou Yi was silent for a long ti before opening his book.
“Twenty-ninth of the twelfth month, New Year’s Eve, my elder brother has passed away. In this world, I’m left with only half a relative…”
After writing in the diary, Zhou Yi went to the side hall and looked at the stacks of registers, casually pulling out a few to read.
In recent years, keeping diaries and reminiscing had beco part of his routine, and he hadn’t ditated on the martial path any longer, yet his terrifying and strange talent still increased his strength and realm constantly.
“Continuing like this, I must find a way to dissipate my power!”
…
In the twenty-third year of Ping’an.
The emperor passed away.
The Crown Prince ascended the throne, beginning his reign as Emperor Jingping.
Emperor Jingping was naturally gentle and, after his accession, reduced labor and taxes, giving the people rest.
…
In the third year of Jingping.
Tomb-Sweeping Day.
Fine drizzle tirelessly deepens one’s sorrow.
Zhou Yi, holding a black paper umbrella, walked unhurriedly along the mountain path.
“Those unworthy descendants of the Zhao family, not even daring to sweep their ancestors’ graves, rely on our family to offer tribute… I still rember how, in those years, our family was held in high esteem by the forr emperor, horses trotting across the land. Now, weeds in the forr emperor’s mausoleum stand three feet tall!”
For more than twenty years, Grand Zhou has enjoyed peace and prosperity, and the hearts of the people have aligned with it.
The descendants of the Zhao family live cautiously, fearing that any action might provide grounds for them to be purged by the Imperial Clan.
True Qi circulated, and from within his robes, paper and writing brush flew out, hovering in mid-air. With his right hand, he briskly recorded the day’s grave-sweeping activities, concluding with a rembrance of the forr emperor and a reflection on the impermanence of the world.
Zhou Yi’s steps were light yet swift, quickly arriving at Baishi County at the foot of the mountain.
“I heard that Xiao Xiang Pavilion has opened a branch here. It just so happens that my mood is gloomy, and I need to listen to so music to ease my mind…”
…
The sixth year of Jia Ping.
Spring.
Zhou Yi awoke from his slumber and inquired of the attendant beside him.
“Xiao Lu Zi, how many days have I slept?”
“Replying to the Holy Ancestor, it has been three days already,” answered Xiao Lu Zi with the utmost respect and admiration. In his eyes, the Holy Ancestor of Grand Zhou was a true immortal, far surpassing the painted clay statues in the temples by hundreds and thousands of tis.
“It has been that long.”
Zhou Yi ordered the attendant to bring several stacks of books and casually flipped through them, comparing each with his mory.
Looking back on the past was a suprely boring affair.
Three or four hours passed in the blink of an eye, and diaries were scattered all over the floor. Especially in recent years, there was nothing left to write, mostly entries like “nothing happened today” and “listened to music in the brothels.”
Perceiving the Holy Ancestor’s thoughts, Xiao Lu Zi bowed and said, “Holy Ancestor, Bright Moon Pavilion has introduced a young lady known as Miss Xian Xian, claid to be the best guqin player in the capital.”
Zhou Yi’s eyebrows raised, and with a flick, the Daoist robe transford into the attire of a scholar.
“Bright Moon Pavilion dares to boast such claims, I must personally verify and ensure they don’t deceive the custors!”
Xiao Lu Zi asked, puzzled, “Holy Ancestor, what is a ‘consur’?”
“…”
Zhou Yi stood silent for a long while, shook his head with a sigh, and gestured for the attendant to leave.
“I am weary today, I will go tomorrow!”
…
The seventh year of Guangxi.
Winter.
The snow had fallen for three days, yet the skies remained unrelenting.
At the hour of Zi.
Zhou Yi erged from Spring Breeze Building, the whistling cold wind a stark contrast to the warmth inside, as if the two were worlds apart.
Several shadows huddled in a corner stretched out their hands as he passed, their eyes dead and numb. They mumbled auspicious words through unclear speech.
“Get lost, get lost…” The guard at the entrance, without waiting for Zhou Yi to speak, pounced like a rabid dog, beating and kicking the holess people away to ensure they didn’t disturb the pleasure of the distinguished guests.
Zhou Yi strolled along the streets, occasionally stepping on the bones of those who had frozen or starved to death.
“Has Grand Zhou, barely a hundred years established, already decayed to such a state?”
He made his way to the imperial palace and dragged Emperor Guangxi out of bed, promptly breaking his neck.
The identity of a distant descendant of the Zhou family ant nothing to Zhou Yi, no different than that of a passerby. The attendants and palace maids who rushed over saw the emperor dead and were shocked into varying shades of horror.
Holding Emperor Guangxi’s head, Zhou Yi declared coldly, “I will be the emperor!”
Upon hearing these words, none dared to oppose, and they all knelt and hailed his long life.
…
The following day.
Zhou Yi assud the throne and renad the era to Orthodox.
Upon ascending to power, he conducted a massive purge of the Imperial Court, executing half of the officials and using their confiscated wealth to rebuild the Eastern Depot.
The Eastern Depot monitored the whole empire, asured fields, and redistributed land evenly.
Anyone who resisted was killed without rcy, and any leader who rose in rebellion would be struck dead within a few days, quelling disturbances with ease.
Zhou Yi sat upon the Dragon Throne, his eyes flickering with an indeterminate gaze, looking out upon the empire through the palace gates.
It was as if he reminisced, as if he was indifferent.
“The unaccomplished tasks of the forr emperor shall be completed by !”
Ten years later.
Grand Zhou was revitalized.
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