In the end, they placed their hopes for turning the tide on a child who was not yet an adult and had no experience of the world.
How could he not feel that he, as an emperor, had utterly failed in his duty?
He slowly turned around, his body slightly hunched, no longer the dignified, solemn, and spirited man he usually was.
The few glaring strands of white hair on his head stood out conspicuously in the dim light of the council palace.
Those are the marks of time, and even more so, a testament to the years of managing national affairs and weathering storms.
His steps were heavy and slow, each step as if he were dragging a thousand-pound burden, as he walked dejectedly out of the palace.
Every step he took seemed to carry a sense of guilt towards the common people and a sense of disappointment with the court and his own incompetence.
That receding figure, lonely and desolate, seemed to have been forgotten by the whole world, leaving the ministers with endless vicissitudes and sorrow.
As the ministers watched the emperor's departing figure, a mix of emotions welled up within them, a bittersweet feeling instantly rising in their hearts, and their eyes involuntarily moistened slightly.
They knew all too well the Emperor's state of mind at that moment, even though the Emperor had not been insulted by anyone.
But the ancient proverb "a subject dies for his ruler's honor" now felt like a heavy shackle, tightly binding their hearts.
Several elderly ministers, their eyes reddening, couldn't help but sigh repeatedly, their sighs filled with self-reproach and regret.
Their steps were unsteady, as if all their strength had been drained, and they staggered away from the council palace, which was filled with oppression and helplessness.
Overwhelmed by shame, they were nearly drowned.
They recalled their youthful ambitions and aspirations when they entered the imperial court to serve as officials, and then looked at their helplessness in the face of natural disasters, filled with disappointment in themselves.
Qin Xiang and Su Xiang stood there, looking at each other with a look of helplessness, worry, and deep self-reproach.
They understood everyone's thoughts all too well, but at times like this, a thousand words seemed so pale and powerless.
Words of comfort simply couldn't be uttered in the face of this somber situation and overwhelming guilt.
After all, aren't they themselves struggling in this vortex of self-blame, unable to extricate themselves?
As a high-ranking official in the court, he should have stepped forward in times of crisis to share the emperor's burdens and relieve the people's suffering.
But now a child is being entrusted with this heavy responsibility, and this guilt and unease will haunt them.
At dawn the next day, before the sky had fully brightened, the capital city was already slowly awakening in the hazy fog.
In the dim morning light, the glazed tiles of the palace gleamed with a cool light, as if silently watching the rise and fall of this dynasty.
Inside the majestic Golden Palace, the flickering candlelight created an atmosphere of solemnity and reverence.
The ancient city walls, bathed in the soft morning light, exude a profound sense of history.
On the dragon throne, the emperor sat upright, his expression solemn. His gaze slowly swept over the assembled officials below, his heart filled with worry.
The morning bell tolled, its sound echoing through the palace buildings, solemn and dignified, seemingly recounting the dynasty's past.
Before the bell had even finished ringing, the officials filed in, dressed in magnificent court robes, each step taken with great weight.
In the past, there would be some quiet greetings and conversations in the court, but today, it was shrouded in a heavy silence.
The ministers' faces were filled with exhaustion and helplessness. They hung their heads and walked slowly, as if each step carried a thousand pounds of weight.
As the words "Speak if you have something to report, otherwise the court may adjourn" echoed in the hall, the meeting officially began.
If someone were to stand at the very front and look at those high-ranking ministers, they would surely find that their expressions were all equally solemn.
Everyone's brows were tightly furrowed, forming a deep "川" (river) shape, their eyes filled with worry and helplessness, as if they were carrying a heavy burden.
These ministers, who usually commanded the court with confidence and high spirits, felt an unprecedented sense of powerlessness in the face of the raging locust plague.
Unfortunately, in this rigidly hierarchical court, the rules were as solid as mountains, and no one dared to easily cross the line to try and discern the expressions of the ministers.
At the very front of the court, the only two people standing at the very front were Qin Qianluo and the Emperor.
However, at this moment, Qin Qianluo's thoughts had already drifted far away, and she was currently watching a TV series.
The captivating scenes and dramatic plot of the drama drew her in completely, and she was oblivious to the somber atmosphere around her.
Her gaze was somewhat unfocused, and she would occasionally purse her lips slightly, as if she were watching an interesting scene from a TV series.
The Emperor, of course, knew why his ministers were so solemn. He glanced sideways, his eyes sweeping over Qin Qianluo, and a sudden realization dawned on him.
However, the worry in his eyes grew heavier, as if shrouded in a layer of gloom that he could not dispel.
He knew that this locust plague was not only a test for the people, but also a huge challenge for him as emperor and for the entire court.
If a solution cannot be found quickly, the people will suffer greatly, and the foundation of the dynasty will be shaken.
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