Chapter 35: The Iron-Faced Censor

They called it a mansion, but as he followed the servant inside, Lu Beigu felt he had entered a royal palace.

He quietly asked around, and sure enough, it really was converted from a palace!

Formerly, this was the office of the Tang Dynasty’s Jiedushi of Jiannan West Chuan; originally built as the Jiedushi’s headquarters, it featured tall structures like a hundred-foot tower overlooking the lake behind.

The lake was called Mohe Pool, named during the Northern and Southern Dynasties, when the Southern Dynasty’s “Bodhisattva Emperor” Xiao Yan vigorously promoted Buddhism, which took root in Shu; the name came from a foreign monk’s words, and was inherited through the Sui and Tang dynasties.

In the first year of Zhenyuan in the late Tang, the then Jiedushi Wei Niu first dredged Jieyu Creek and connected it to Mohe Pool; by the seventh year of Dazhong, the then Jiedushi Bai Minzhong opened Jinshui River, diverting river water from the city’s west into the city to join Mohe Pool, linking Jieyu Creek, and flowing eastward into Youzi River—thus making Mohe Pool a fully flowing body of water.

Later, the Later Shu transformed it into a royal palace, renaming Mohe Pool as Longyue Pool; they built palaces, pavilions, and terraces all around the lake, spanning ten li, with scenery of extraordinary grandeur.

Now the name has reverted, some of the lakeside buildings have been demolished, others have become merchant mansions, but the vast majority still belong to the Prefect of Chengdu himself.

“Isn’t this a violation of protocol?”

A question mark rose in Lu Beigu’s mind.

But he dared not ask.

Yet in a daze, Lu Beigu truly felt that Liu Yong’s “Looking at the Sea Tide” was pure realism.

Though this was not Hangzhou, he had seen with his own eyes what “smoky willows, painted bridges, wind-blown curtains, and green curtains” looked like; the autumn osmanthus might still be too early, but the sight of ten li of lotus blossoms was right before him.

Thus, as he walked, Lu Beigu began to wonder whether the central officials exiled here as Prefect of Chengdu even wanted to return.

And his understanding, after being refined by the experiences of Sichuan brocade and this palace, finally became truly real.

—The Song Dynasty truly pampered its scholar-officials!

One could only say that serving in the Song Dynasty was indeed pleasant, especially at the rank of Department Magistrate or Prefect.

Even if one couldn’t live in Zhang Fangping’s palace-turned-office, like Su Shi, just going out for a “thousand horsemen sweeping across the flat ridge” was plenty comfortable.

Arriving at a rare open stretch of water beside the lotus-filled Mohe Pool, they boarded a dedicated ferry; the willow branches along the shore nearly brushed the bow.

The boat slowly pushed through the lotuses and entered Mohe Pool.

Lu Beigu’s robes were lifted by the wind carrying the scent of fish; fish were everywhere, utterly unafraid of people—he saw a red carp leap from the water just inches to his right, its scales flashing crimson like cinnabar in the sunset, then plunging back with a splash into the cloud-reflected ripples churned by the oars.

A fisherman’s paradise.

Yet the Taihu stones once meticulously carved by Later Shu palace artisans now bore no trace of care: they were overgrown with algae, and withered lotus stems tangled in their holes, utterly devoid of beauty.

These stones, bought at great expense, now served only as half-submerged navigation markers for the boatmen.

Soon, the boat reached Huxindao; they stepped ashore.

There was only one courtyard; the hall held no one, not even servants or maids.

Li Pan had just guided Lu Beigu to a seat when a furtive shadow appeared at the hall’s entrance.

Li Pan, seeing the man, quickly told Lu Beigu: “I’ll step out to speak with someone; wait here.”

Lu Beigu nodded and watched Li Pan step out to whisper with the official-looking man beneath the corridor.

What they said, he could not hear.

The official whispered: “Squire Zhang is in good spirits today; he’s currently in conversation. You must wait a while—he’s nearly finished. Afterward, Squire Zhang must change his robes before seeing you.”

“Who is the senior official speaking with Squire Zhang?”

“Zhao Bian, Transport Commissioner of Yizhou Road.”

Hearing this, Li Pan froze.

“—Is it the ‘Iron-Faced Censor’?”

Zhao Bian, styled Yuedao, passed the imperial examination in Jingyou Year One; he once served as Palace Censor, impeaching without fear of power, and was known as the “Iron-Faced Censor.”

He was extremely famous in the Song court: he always carried only a lute and a crane, governed with simplicity and integrity, cultivated purity, and every night, dressed in full robes, he burned incense to report his deeds to Heaven—he was a virtuous gentleman whose actions were “nothing to hide from others.”

But Lu Beigu inside did not know any of this.

He had barely sat down when an elderly man with a lean face and slightly prominent cheekbones emerged from behind the screen; his hair and beard were streaked with gray, he looked about fifty, dressed simply in a brown robe, as if preparing to leave.

The old man, seeing Lu Beigu seated at the side of the hall, halted.

He scrutinized him sharply, then asked:

“Boy, how old are you?”

Out of politeness, Lu Beigu replied respectfully:

“I am seventeen.”

The old man clucked: “Younger than my youngest son. Why come to see Squire Zhang?”

“Because of an essay.” Lu Beigu answered succinctly.

“An essay?”

The old man seemed to recall something; he turned back through the screen into the inner chamber, and after a sound of rummaging, he actually returned holding a sheet of paper.

He came to Lu Beigu and brushed it off.

“‘Strategy Against Xia’?”

The old man asked: “Is this the essay you mean?”

Lu Beigu’s mind was flooded with questions—who was this man, rummaging through Zhang Fangping’s room so casually?

Was it Zhang Fangping himself?

But he didn’t feel like it.

“Yes.”

The old man read through it fully; his expression first relaxed, then furrowed.

“Now we must ban Qing salt from crossing borders, prohibit iron tools from leaving the realm, and establish a dedicated Tea-Horse Office in Qin Fenglu to monopolize trade with the Qing Tang Tibetans. When their treasuries are drained and their clans disunited, even a hundred thousand armored troops will be nothing but starving hawks and hungry tigers. Good idea—but do you know what the Qing Tang Tibetans are like today?”

“I’ve heard.”

Lu Beigu replied: “They control over three thousand li of land, more than a million households, bordering Song, Xia, Khotan, and Lu Gan Qiang, and seem to be reviving the power of the era of Songtsen Gampo.”

The old man nodded and said casually: “The Hehuang region is the essential route of the ancient Tuyuhun Road, lying south and north of the Western Regions; during the Northern Wei, Empress Dowager Hu sent the monk-official Song Yun westward. He could have taken the Hexi route, but due to local unrest, Song Yun and his party were forced to travel through the Tuyuhun Qinghai route, thus opening this trade path.”

“Now, with Xia’s growing power, they repeatedly plunder tribute merchants and detain travelers on the Western Routes, imposing heavy taxes to fund their military—so more merchants now take the ancient Tuyuhun Road, and cities like Qing Tang, Miao Chuan, and Lin Gu have gradually flourished.”

“But have you considered—if our court, like with the Liao and Xia, formally establishes border markets for trade with Qing Tang Tibetans, allowing them to grow ever stronger, might we again face the scene of the Tang-era Tibetan general Ma Chongying leading two hundred thousand Tibetan and Tangut troops to capture Chang’an?”

(End of Chapter)