Volume One: The Dragon Hidden in the Abyss Chapter Seven: Emperor Ling of Han, Liu Hong

A few days later, within the Imperial Medical Bureau, Liu Heng lay prone on his bed, each breath tearing through his back with a burning, searing pain.

At this moment, a wave of melancholy filled his heart. Though he clearly heard the “system” speak, his mind was now a dead silence. No matter how anxiously he called out from the depths of his soul, it was like casting a stone into the sea—no response, no echo.

This saddened Liu Heng deeply. Could it be a hallucination? The pain was unbearable. He had been dreaming grandly of rampaging across the land with the system’s help, only to awaken and find there was seemingly no system at all.

His feelings were difficult to describe—like holding a piece of paper in his hand, only to have a message pop up: “Access terminated!” Was this not a death sentence? System, please, come back quickly!

“Lord Marquis, it’s time to change your dressing.”

A familiar voice sounded beside him.

Liu Heng struggled to turn his face; the sight that met his eyes was indeed Jing Bo’s worn, deeply lined face, etched with fatigue.

If he recalled correctly, this was the third time he had fainted.

Each time he awoke to see Jing Bo’s pitiful, wrinkled face, Liu Heng’s resolve to bring honor and wealth to the old man grew even stronger.

If the system was gone, so be it. Fortunately, the Marquis title remained, and his life was still intact.

Liu Heng nodded faintly. Though prepared, when the medicinal ointment touched the torn flesh, a sharp sting caused his whole body to convulse violently. It was excruciating.

“Lord Marquis... please endure.”

Jing Bo’s voice trembled slightly, but his hands did not falter. “The chief physician at the Imperial Medical Bureau said that for whip wounds, the greatest danger is internal heat and poison... cold? This ointment is most effective in clearing toxins.”

Just as Liu Heng was overwhelmed by the physical agony and the heartbreak of losing the system, a sudden, heavy rush of footsteps broke the stillness of the medical bureau.

A burly figure clad in the armor of the imperial guards appeared at the door, the clinking of his armor echoing sharply.

It was none other than Chen Junhou, the Marquis who had brought Liu Heng here that day. His gaze swept the room before resting on Liu Heng.

“Marquis of Yangwu, Liu Heng, hear the imperial decree!”

“By the Emperor’s command: Marquis of Yangwu, Liu Heng, proceed immediately to the front hall of Deyang Palace to see His Majesty!”

Several medicine attendants hurriedly lowered their heads, barely daring to breathe.

Liu Heng’s heart leapt violently, the pain in his back intensifying again.

So it had come! Was it about that book, “Essentials for Epidemic Survival”? Or had the fact that this imperial kinsman had been beaten nearly to death stirred the deep palace?

Damn it, could it be that Zhang Rang, that eunuch dog, was scheming behind his back again? Liu Heng was truly afraid.

But on second thought, Zhang Rang was bold, but not foolish enough to kill him within the palace—after all, the Emperor was no fool.

Seeing Liu Heng struggle to rise, Chen Junhou frowned slightly and ordered the guards outside, “Fetch the sedan chair! The Emperor summons him urgently—no delays allowed!”

His tone was firm and resolute, leaving no room for negotiation.

With Jing Bo’s assistance, Liu Heng painfully dressed, and escorted by the imperial guards, the creaking sedan chair passed through layers of palace gates, finally stopping before Deyang Palace.

Liu Heng felt as if every bone in his body was about to shatter. Each minor jolt was like needles stabbing into his back.

Supported half by Chen Junhou, he dragged his legs with difficulty, step by step climbing the jade stairs, each step towering like a chasm. Sweat trickled from his temple, down his cheek, falling onto the stone steps, darkening them with wet stains.

The palace doors swung open, a scent mixing fine spices and aged wood washed over him. This was a proper palace indeed—vastly different from the strange odors of the post house and the herbal smells of the medical bureau, which made his heart ache.

Inside, the light was dim. Massive golden columns carved with coiling dragons supported the vaulted ceiling. Civil and military officials stood on either side like statues, eyes lowered. The silence was so profound that even his heavy, labored breaths echoed.

Liu Heng’s gaze strained past the blurred crowns and robes before him, finally resting on the imperial throne where his somewhat infamous uncle, the Spirit Emperor, sat.

Emperor Liu Hong reclined in the wide throne seat, wearing a dark garment embroidered with intricate golden dragons.

His face bore the pallor and hollowness of one worn down by wine and women. Though under thirty, his eye bags drooped heavily, his eyes half-closed as if nothing before him could stir much interest, lacking the vigor expected of a man in his prime.

Yet, when Liu Heng’s battered form appeared at the door, a sudden flicker of sharp light flashed in those seemingly dull eyes. A hand, unnaturally pale and well cared for, rested idly on the gilded armrest, fingertips idly twisting.

“Your servant... Marquis of Yangwu, Liu Heng... pays respects to Your Majesty...”

His voice was hoarse, each word forced from his throat.

He gritted his teeth against the tearing pain in his back, trying to perform the ritual bow as he remembered, but his body swayed uncontrollably. His knees buckled, and he was about to collapse.

Chen Junhou beside him reacted swiftly, grasping his arm firmly, barely keeping him upright in a half-kneeling, half-leaning posture.

“Forget it.”

Liu Hong lazily raised his hand. “A weak, sickly man is exempt from formalities. Raise your head and let me see my nephew who authored the epidemic survival guide.”

He deliberately paused on the word “nephew,” drawing out the sound.

Liu Heng obeyed, lifting his head slightly. His gaze inevitably swept over the figure standing beside the throne—Eunuch Zhang Rang.

Dressed in deep purple court robes, Zhang Rang’s expression was calm as still water, even curling into a faint, serene smile. Yet beneath his half-lowered eyelids, his gaze was fierce and hostile, openly scrutinizing and warning Liu Heng.

“Boy,” Liu Hong’s voice broke the silence again, “I hear you conceived the ‘Essentials for Epidemic Survival’ in your illness? Is it truly effective?”

His tone was less of a question and more a casual probe, fingers still twisting the armrest, eyes roaming over Liu Heng’s face.

Here it came! A chill ran through Liu Heng’s heart, the whip wounds and near-death struggle at the medical bureau flooding back, fueling the resolve that kept him upright.

He took a deep breath, wincing at the stabbing pain, and spoke loudly, “Your Majesty! The method in the ‘Essentials’ was born from my desperate study of epidemic spread between life and death! I seek no credit, only survival! Your Majesty, do you know that this year, within and beyond Luoyang, even in Yan, Yu, Qing, and Xu, pestilence runs rampant—families suffer with the dead rising, homes filled with wails! This is no natural disaster, but a man-made calamity!”

The words “man-made calamity” thundered across the silent hall like a lightning strike.

The officials standing nearby, who had been indifferent, tensed slightly, their eyes flicking beneath lowered lids.

“Impertinent!”

A sharp rebuke burst forth from beside the throne.

Zhang Rang stepped forward, his false smile vanished, replaced by fury and scorn.

His voice was harsh and grating, “You insolent brat! Lucky to have survived the lash, yet you dare to speak such heresy before the sovereign, slandering the government! This is great disrespect! Your Majesty, this boy is rebellious and should—”

“Slander?”

Liu Heng cut him off sharply.

Ignoring Zhang Rang’s gaze, he summoned every ounce of strength to straighten his back, fixing his eyes on the eunuch's contemptuous face.

He continued, “May I ask, Eunuch: Last year, the price of rice in Luoyang was a hundred coins per shi! This spring, as the plague began, prices skyrocketed tenfold! A thousand coins could not buy a single shi of old grain! This is common knowledge in the markets! Grain hoarded by the wealthy, while the hungry perish in alleys! If not for man-made calamity fueling this, why such a spike in prices and disease? How else to explain the widespread death and deserted homes?”

Each word cut like a knife, every phrase stained with blood. The accusations of soaring prices, extortionate costs, and dead bodies in the streets struck the throne and every heart present.

Several officials known to oppose eunuchs visibly shuddered, bowing their heads lower. The atmosphere grew suffocatingly tense.

Liu Hong’s fingers ceased twisting the armrest. His half-closed eyes opened fully.

He did not look at Zhang Rang but fixed his gaze on the frail yet unyielding figure before him.

Rice prices... tenfold... Though dull, he was not ignorant of affairs beyond the palace walls. Yet never had these realities been laid so plainly before him.

“Your Majesty!”

A flicker of barely perceptible panic crossed Zhang Rang’s face.

The panic vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by sorrowful indignation. “This boy harbors ill intent! The fluctuation in grain prices is due to remnants of the Yellow Turban rebels blocking grain shipments, compounded by poor harvests in Yan and Yu this year! The palace eunuchs and I have labored day and night, employing every means to maintain order and prevent chaos in the capital! This boy ignores the Emperor’s compassion and ministers’ efforts, instead spreading rumors to slander loyal officials. His heart is vile! Your Majesty, please see clearly!”

Having spoken, Zhang Rang bowed deeply, his posture mournful.

Liu Hong’s eyes flicked between Liu Heng’s face and Zhang Rang’s bowed back. His fingers resumed twisting the armrest, faster now.

The hall fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by Liu Heng’s labored breathing.

In this standoff, Liu Heng took a deep breath. “Your Majesty, I do not seek glory. The ‘Essentials for Epidemic Survival’ is not my sole work.”

He paused, glancing toward the gloomy Zhang Rang beside the throne, speaking deliberately, “It was authored by Memorialist Liu Tao, who exhaustively researched classics and public sentiment, pouring his heart and soul into it. I was delirious during illness, only organizing, copying, and supplementing slightly! Liu Tao, devoted to the realm, suffered wrongful imprisonment for his frank counsel—this is the court’s failure and the people’s pain! I implore Your Majesty to grant a pardon and release him from prison!”

These words struck like thunder.

Zhang Rang’s eyes snapped up, disbelief etched deeply as he stared at Liu Heng. He never expected this brat to, in the face of his own peril, relinquish such monumental credit just to save the doomed Liu Tao. This completely upended his plans.

Several upright officials sharply raised their heads, shocked as they regarded the frail figure before them. Their eyes reflected a mixture of astonishment, respect, and concern.

Liu Hong was evidently stunned. His twisting fingers froze mid-air, his expression shifting.

Liu Tao? The one who had repeatedly submitted fiery memorials and was quite capable? Liu Hong recalled appointing him as Chamberlain and Minister, then as Prefect of Jingzhao. Afterward, Liu Tao claimed illness and neglected affairs, but was reappointed as Memorialist. Recently, he had been charged with treason and imprisoned.

Was it truly he who wrote this epidemic strategy, now offered by this boy in a moment between life and death?

Liu Hong glanced at the dark-faced Zhang Rang, then at Liu Heng. The scales of his judgment wavered noticeably for the first time.

He knew Liu Tao’s reputation and had valued his talent despite his forceful memorials. He had never planned to punish him severely.

If this credit was truly Liu Tao’s... then this nephew of his...

Leaning forward slightly, Liu Hong fixed his gaze on Liu Heng.

Then, drawing out his words slowly, he said, “Boy, you say epidemic control is urgent, and that Liu Tao contributed to the strategy... that’s good. But...”

He deliberately paused, eyes sweeping the assembled dignitaries.

“Controlling an epidemic is not mere talk. Medicines cost money, soup kitchens require grain, quarantines need requisitioned homes, personnel must be mobilized... Each and every one depends on the gleaming bronze coins of the treasury. The treasury is empty, as all know. Since you care for the people and vouch for Liu Tao, I ask you...”

He leaned forward, his gaze like a physical blow, each word deliberate: “This epidemic—how much will it cost? And you... how much can you provide for me, for the court?”

A naked demand, as if a merchant negotiating a price. Zhang Rang’s taut face relaxed imperceptibly, a mocking curl tugging at his lips.

Senior ministers like Situ Yuan Wei and Grand Marshal Yang Ci furrowed their brows deeply but dared not speak. This was no inquiry but a trap to block all paths for Liu Heng.

A boy without a mother, recently orphaned and newly titled, barely surviving a brutal whipping—what money could he possibly offer? The Emperor made it clear he had no intention of spending treasury funds, perhaps even seeking to profit himself.

Within Deyang Palace, all eyes—whether sympathetic, scornful, indifferent, or probing—felt like heavy shackles pressing down on Liu Heng’s frail, scarred shoulders.

Damn it, this old man’s mind was full of money. Was he terrified of poverty before becoming Emperor? Trying to profit off his own nephew? What was he thinking? Liu Heng hadn’t even had the chance to enjoy life—how could he spare money?

He felt speechless. His imperial uncle was truly despicable.

Fortunately, Liu Heng had prepared. Meeting Liu Hong’s calculating gaze, he spoke slowly, “Your Majesty, I will not take a single coin.”

“Hm?”

Liu Hong’s twisting fingers abruptly stopped, his brow raised high, his face revealing genuine surprise for the first time. Zhang Rang’s mocking smile froze, replaced by utter suspicion.

A faint, suppressed gasp echoed through the hall.

Liu Heng continued, “What I seek is only Your Majesty’s written decree, a single edict.”

He straightened his scarred back as much as possible. Though his body trembled from pain, his gaze shone brightly, fixed on the throne.

“I earnestly request Your Majesty proclaim to the world: anyone who donates the herbs, lime, strong liquor, or cloth listed in the ‘Essentials for Epidemic Survival’ may, with official receipts issued by their county or prefecture, offset a portion of their land tax and corvée this year. All local healers and epidemic prevention experts who respond to the summons shall have their families exempted from one year’s taxes and labor. Wealthy households and gentry who contribute money or grain to epidemic prevention shall be verified by prefects and ministers and reported to the court. Your Majesty shall personally bestow a plaque reading ‘House of Virtue and Goodness,’ honoring their righteousness!”

Liu Heng gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently. His back still hurt fiercely, but his words came faster, more urgently: “Your Majesty! The people’s will to survive is the greatest wealth! Using the court’s authority as a lure, Your Majesty’s benevolence as a summons, and tangible benefits as incentive, no treasury funds are needed—only Your Majesty’s edict. This alone will amass sand into towers and fur from many to clothe the masses! It is taking from the people and giving back to the people, saving countless lives! I implore Your Majesty... to rule wisely!”

As his words fell, Deyang Palace was engulfed in absolute silence.

Liu Hong was completely stunned. His fingers froze mid-twisting, his shrewd, merchant-like calculation replaced by a profound shock. He had never heard such a... cunning proposal!

No treasury expenditure? Using taxes and labor exemptions as currency?

This was inconceivable! Could it work? Instinctively, he glanced at Zhang Rang.

Zhang Rang’s face darkened almost to the point of dripping. He never imagined Liu Heng would propose such a strategy—one that struck at the very foundation of local power, even threatening the eunuchs’ grip on tax levies! The “House of Virtue and Goodness” plaque, though nominal, held irresistible appeal for status-hungry local elites!

Once issued, counties and states would vie to respond, especially lowly grain and medicine merchants—perhaps...

His hand beneath the purple robe clenched involuntarily.

Meanwhile, senior ministers like Situ Yuan Wei and Grand Marshal Yang Ci’s eyes sparkled with disbelief, turning toward the fragile boy before them with shock and renewed respect.

Though this plan seemed heretical, it struck at the heart of the matter. If implemented... perhaps... there was still a glimmer of hope.