Chapter 125: Weak Nations Have No Diplomacy

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The assembled ministers had been eating with great relish. After all, a locust feast was something they were tasting for the first time in their lives—and the flavor was truly extraordinary.

It was worth remembering that the Heavenly Dynasty had only begun cooking with oil during the Song Dynasty. Fried grasshoppers such as these were practically unheard of. Who would have thought that locusts could be eaten this way? The ministers had certainly broadened their horizons.

Zhao Huan was making a contribution to the culinary arts of the Heavenly Dynasty.

Yet when a courier carrying a black wooden chest entered the main hall of the Drunken Immortal Tower, Zhao Huan suddenly felt an ominous premonition.

“Where did this urgent dispatch come from?” Li Gang asked.

“It is an eight-hundred-li emergency dispatch from the border. It was sent by the Jin,” the courier replied.

“Bring it here!” Zhao Huan ordered Cheng Dafu, who was standing beside him.

Cheng Dafu hurried over, picked up the black wooden chest, and carried it back. A letter rested on top, bearing the words: “To be opened by Zhao Huan personally.”

Zhao Huan noticed dried blood in the cracks of the chest.

He opened it slowly. Inside was the severed head of Wang Lun.

Crash!

Zhao Huan immediately hurled his cup to the floor.

The ministers had no idea what had happened, but they knew it could not be anything good. One by one, they knelt on the ground, trembling in fearful silence. The cheerful, harmonious atmosphere of the feast vanished in an instant.

“How dare those Jin barbarians humiliate me so!” Zhao Huan roared. “Do they truly think that our Great Song fears them?”

Li Gang cautiously stepped forward and opened the chest. He, too, was shocked.

“In war, emissaries are never killed,” he exclaimed. “The Jin barbarians have shown utter contempt for propriety. They actually dared to murder our Great Song envoy. It seems this round of peace negotiations has failed.”

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Zhao Huan shot him a glare. As though he needed to be told that.

He rose to his feet and declared, “Convey my decree. Zong Shidao, Zong Ze, and Yue Fei are to divide their forces into three armies and attack the Jin forces. I will make them understand that our Great Song is not to be trifled with.”

“Your Majesty, you absolutely must not!” Li Gang hurriedly stood. “Our army is not yet suited to launching an offensive against the Jin. If we defend our cities from behind their walls, we may still be able to hold back the enemy. But if we attack, our forces—composed primarily of infantry—will be pitted against the Jin cavalry. We are certain to lose.”

“Then you expect me to swallow this humiliation?” Zhao Huan demanded, his eyes blazing as he swept his gaze across the ministers below.

The assembled officials remained silent and terrified. Yet the situation was overwhelmingly against them. If they refused to endure this insult, what else could they do?

“Your Majesty, Sichuan is currently suffering from drought and a locust plague as well,” Zhao Ding said as he stepped forward. “This is truly not the time to wage a major war against the Jin. It would be wiser to swallow our anger for now and wait until the court is wealthier next year before making further plans.”

Zhao Huan tore open the letter before him. He was so enraged that he could not help laughing bitterly.

This was simply too outrageous. A weak nation had no diplomacy.

Wanyan Zonghan, a great general of the Jin, had dared to address Zhao Huan by name. The letter’s wording was even more cutting: if Zhao Huan wished to negotiate peace, he had to go personally to the Jin camp for the talks. Otherwise, the Jin cavalry would launch a full-scale invasion.

Zhao Huan casually tossed the letter onto the table. Though he was unwilling to endure such humiliation, Zhao Ding’s words were reasonable. He had only recently taken power, while the strength of the Song had been squandered by his incompetent father. The kingdom could not withstand a large-scale war.

“Deliver my decree,” Zhao Huan said to the assembled ministers. “Posthumously appoint Wang Lun as Junior Guardian and grant him the posthumous title Zhonglian. Zong Ze and Yue Fei must recover Wang Lun’s body, no matter the cost. Give him a grand funeral.”

The sudden bad news had ruined the meal. Zhao Huan simply returned to the palace, his spirits heavy and the pent-up anger in his chest impossible to release.

“Your Majesty, are you troubled?” Zhang Yu asked softly. He had appeared before Zhao Huan at some point without being noticed.

“A weak nation has no diplomacy,” Zhao Huan said. “Our court is weaker than the Jin, so even when one of my subjects is wronged, I have no way to seek justice for him.”

He paused, then sighed. “I hope that one day, wherever the sons of Great Song may go, they need only shout, ‘I am a citizen of Great Song,’ and everyone will hold them in awe. No one will dare bully them. When that day comes, my mission in returning here will be complete.”

Zhang Yu seemed to understand only half of what he meant. She shook her head.

“I do not really understand what Your Majesty is saying,” she admitted. “But if Your Majesty is unhappy, this humble woman does know one way to help.”

“Oh? What way? Tell me,” Zhao Huan said.

He had noticed that ever since Zhang Yu became his personal guard, she no longer seemed as cold and distant as before.

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“My master once taught me a passage called the Pure Heart Mantra,” Zhang Yu explained. “Whenever I encounter a bottleneck in my training and become troubled, I recite it several times. I feel much better afterward. Your Majesty might try it and see whether it helps.”

Zhao Huan nodded, so Zhang Yu taught him the Pure Heart Mantra.

Zhao Huan’s soul was twice as powerful as an ordinary person’s, and his memory was astonishingly keen. Zhang Yu only recited the mantra for him once, yet he had already memorized it. After chanting it several times, he found that it truly seemed to work.

“Your Majesty possesses extraordinary talent,” Zhang Yu praised him. “I taught it to you only once, and you already know it by heart.”

Zhao Huan laughed heartily. The Pure Heart Mantra did indeed have a certain effect. It reminded him of the Buddhist teaching that one could lay down the butcher’s knife and attain enlightenment on the spot.

At that thought, inspiration suddenly struck him.

“Yu’er, I recall you once saying that you are a Daoist,” Zhao Huan said. “Who is the current leader of your faith? Have him come and see me.”

Zhang Yu nodded.

“This humble woman is the eighteenth-generation disciple of the patriarch Li Er.”

In later ages, the world’s three great religions would be Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism. Daoism, the native religion of the Heavenly Dynasty, had never managed to spread beyond its borders. This had always been a source of regret for Zhao Huan.

But now, was this not an excellent opportunity?

The missionaries of later times had served as a means of exporting Western culture abroad. The Heavenly Dynasty had never understood such methods before, but Zhao Huan did. He could seize this opportunity to spread the native religion of the Heavenly Dynasty to other nations.

Daoism would surely be delighted. After all, this would allow it to flourish and multiply. If Daoism eventually became the world’s greatest religion, the thought alone was exhilarating.

Naturally, Zhao Huan had another purpose as well: espionage.

Were these missionaries not essentially networks of spies? They could become the eyes and ears of the Heavenly Dynasty. If Zhao Huan ever wished to attack a particular nation, these Daoist missionaries could be used to transmit information.

Thinking of this, Zhao Huan could not help asking Zhang Yu, “Yu’er, who is the current head of your Daoist sect? Have him come meet me.”

Zhang Yu looked at Zhao Huan with some confusion.

“Your Majesty is not planning to move against our Daoist sect, are you?”

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