Chapter 50: Unsolved Cases of the State

This matter is somewhat complicated: back then, Emperor Renzong, after being slapped by Empress Guo, deposed her on the grounds of childlessness, and the current Empress Cao, hailing from a distinguished family and possessing both virtue and conduct, was chosen as his successor.

Yes, a genuine prestigious clan—she is the granddaughter of Cao Bin, a famed general of the founding of Great Song.

Initially, the emperor and empress got along well, but Empress Cao’s standing in Renzong’s heart was swiftly supplanted by Zhang Shi, whose beauty and dancing rivaled Zhao Feiyan of the Han dynasty; Zhang Shi enjoyed unparalleled favor, rising from Cairen to Xiuyuan and then to Guifei within just a few years.

Then, in the first month of Qingli Eighth Year, a palace rebellion broke out.

Four armed palace guards—Yan Xiu, Guo Kui, Sun Li, and Wang Sheng—suddenly set fire and raised a commotion inside the palace, then stormed straight toward Kunning Palace.

Empress Cao, daughter of a military family, remained calm under pressure, ordered palace maids and eunuchs to lock the hall doors and erect barriers, dispatched men to gather the palace’s standard water supplies to extinguish the flames, and held out until Wang Zhongzheng arrived with troops, killing three of the rebels on the spot, though one escaped.

Afterwards, Emperor Renzong ordered the Imperial City Office to conduct a full-scale search of the city, and after three days, they finally found the last fugitive.

Yet strangely, this man was killed on the spot by the Imperial City Office, leaving no survivors.

Officials such as Yu Zhouxun, the Vice Censor-in-Chief, believed a hidden hand lay behind the plot, but Emperor Renzong strangely chose not to pursue it further, merely dismissing the head of the Imperial City Office.

This case thus became another unsolved mystery of Emperor Renzong’s reign.

In this palace revolt, Empress Cao played the most crucial role, yet received neither gratitude nor reward from Renzong; instead, the emperor intended to credit Zhang Shi, the last to arrive, calling her “instrumental in escorting the emperor.”

At the time, ministers such as Xia Song proposed granting her “special honors,” and Renzong was delighted, ready to follow their advice—but Zhang Fangping, then Minister of the Three Departments, argued this violated ritual propriety, citing the Han dynasty example of Feng Jieyu shielding the emperor from a bear, and strongly urged against it.

In the end, Consort Zhang failed to be elevated; Empress Cao appreciated Zhang Fangping’s intervention, yet could not prevent him from being demoted over minor matters and appointed Prefect of Chuzhou.

Consort Zhang passed away last year, and despite Empress Cao still being alive, Renzong insisted on burying Zhang with full imperial funeral rites, sparking widespread debate across court and countryside.

“All these years, the emperor’s lingering resentment has long faded; moreover, Consort Zhang is now dead, and the state’s finances are on the brink of collapse—inside and outside the palace, whether Empress Cao or the two chancellors Han and Fu, who does not long for your return?”

“I’ve already told the chancellors plainly: I’ll return, but only if Fan Zhongyan comes with me.”

Zhang Fangping rose and said bluntly: “Otherwise, I won’t take the post—let someone else handle it.”

Zhang Fangping and Fan Xiang both belong to the Song court’s technical bureaucrats specializing in economics; their position can be summed up as “fiscally conservative”—emphasizing the protection of the people’s strength, prioritizing expenditure cuts, while acknowledging the necessity of rectifying the three excesses and developing the economy, yet opposing radical measures and rejecting short-term gains.

Precisely because of this, during the Qingli Reforms, when Fan Zhongyan, Ouyang Xiu, Han Qi, and Fu Bi launched their sweeping campaign, Zhang Fangping and his allies stayed out of it; after the reforms failed, Lü Yijian’s purge did not touch them either.

Yet to say Zhang Fangping was close to Lü Yijian and other conservatives would be inaccurate—he explicitly wrote in his letter to Chancellor Lü Xugong: “Though I heard of your reputation, I never managed to join your circle”—they merely coincided on fiscal policy, opposing radical revenue expansion.

In short, they were a neutral, prudent faction.

Zhao Bian thought for a moment and asked: “What are Liu Hang and Fan Zhen’s positions?”

The State Council currently has two Tong Pingzhangshi and two Canzhi Zhengshi—four chancellors in total.

Though Han and Fu temporarily hold power, Liu Hang and Fan Zhen, as vice-chancellors, still wield considerable influence.

These two vice-chancellors, like Zhang Fangping, are part of the current Song court’s neutral, prudent faction, advocating policy adjustments within the existing system rather than radical overhaul; though they do not actively form factions, they share basic understandings.

“It was they who suggested Han and Fu recall me to head the Three Departments,” Zhang Fangping said without reservation.

Hearing this, Zhao Bian said plainly: “But Han and Fu won’t hand you full control of the Three Departments—they fear imbalance. Without checks, the Three Departments Minister plus two Canzhi Zhengshi could rival them, especially now in this turbulent time, when the emperor’s stance is uncertain.”

“If they do that, let whoever wants to clean up this mess take it—I’ll stay in Chengdu.”

Zhang Fangping chuckled.

At that moment, Zhao Bian suddenly gazed at the lake and asked: “Do you think the emperor might be fishing?”

“You mean?”

Zhang Fangping frowned, then shook his head firmly: “Unlikely. We’ve finally stabilized after years of turmoil—we can’t afford another upheaval.”

Zhao Bian said nothing.

Zhang Fangping turned to him: “What about you? The Censorate isn’t easy to endure—it’s riddled with factions.”

Zhao Bian smiled: “The Censorate’s duty is to advise and admonish: for major court failures, argue openly in court; for minor ones, submit memorials. Just act according to conscience—what’s hard about it?”

“You can still laugh?”

Zhang Fangping smirked: “Fan Zhen also serves as Director of the Censorate’s Miscellaneous Affairs—he oversees all Censorate operations. I worry you two will clash.”

“Enough of that,” Zhao Bian suddenly said. “If you’re truly reinstated as Minister of the Three Departments, will you reform the salt certificate system?”

“Of course.”

Zhang Fangping said matter-of-factly: “I sent Lu Beigu’s memorial through Hanzhong to Huazhou for Fan Zhongyan’s review. If the salt system must be cut open, only he can wield the blade—this is a task only he can handle.”

“Lu Beigu’s plan is ultimately sound.”

Zhao Bian said: “Every step rests on practical foundations, each linked logically—innovative enough to solve problems without being radical, far superior to reckless, abrupt reform.”

“Indeed, I admire it.”

Zhang Fangping said: “How can state affairs be handled by mere assumption? Even if we don’t follow Xiao’s rules and Cao’s precedents, we must build on existing foundations, changing gradually. Sudden changes leave everyone confused and inevitably cause chaos. I knew this during the Qingli Reforms—affairs of the world cannot be rushed.”

“You talk well, but I see you’re eager enough,” Zhao Bian teased.

“The state is in such a state—we can only watch helplessly.”

Zhang Fangping asked Zhao Bian: “What do you think of Lu Beigu?”

Song scholar-officials were keen to mentor and cultivate talented youths whose potential was immediately apparent.

This was because the centuries-old aristocratic clans had been shattered by Huang Chao’s rebellion—“If you can’t pass the exams to enter Chang’an, storm Chang’an”—and under the Song imperial examination system, no new aristocracy could form; social mobility among Song scholar-officials was extremely high.

The descendants of common laborers could rise to chancellor through study; the children of chancellors wouldn’t sink to common laborers, but if they lacked scholarly talent, their status would quickly decline.

This was common, since no one could predict their descendants’ innate ability.

So what to do?

Two methods: the famous “snatch a son-in-law from the examination list,” where high officials directly chose daughters’ husbands from the list of new jinshi; and the other, mentoring juniors and taking disciples.

Thus, it was entirely natural for Zhang Fangping and Zhao Bian to pay attention to Lu Beigu, a youth whose talent was plainly visible.

“Which aspect? Governance or scholarship?”

“Governance.”

“A promising talent—he always has his own insights, acts without rashness, prefers orderly, gradual progress; after some trials in officialdom, he will surely become a pillar of the state.”

“What about scholarship?”

Zhao Bian smiled: “He studies diligently, with the spirit of Fan Xiwén—he’ll surely pass the provincial exam. Whether he passes the palace exam depends on fate.”

Zhang Fangping nodded in deep agreement—Zhao Bian’s words weren’t a lack of faith in Lu Beigu; quite the opposite, they showed great hope.

Under Song’s brutal examination pass rates, no one could guarantee ultimate success, especially since Lu Beigu’s current scholarship still fell far short of jinshi level.

Yet saying “depends on fate” itself revealed Zhao Bian’s high expectations.

“In terms of statecraft and governance, Lu Beigu is truly a rare genius!”

Zhang Fangping laughed heartily: “If he passes the jinshi exam, better to bring him into the Three Departments—he’s no fit for the Censorate.”

Zhao Bian smiled in return.

But then he seemed to recall something and spoke up.

“By the way, there’s another matter about Lu Beigu I want to mention—I’m only speculating; no one’s brought it up.”

“What is it?”

“Do you remember the unsolved case near Hongqiao when Chen Xiliang built the bridge during Qingli?”

“Unsolved case.”

Zhang Fangping’s voice caught in his throat: “Could it be that coincidental?”

“Only possibly.”

“Let past matters stay buried,” Zhang Fangping frowned. “The state has too many unsolved cases. Even if he is the descendant of that person, what does it matter? Few even knew the truth back then—we’ve all only heard rumors.”

“But if it’s true, he’ll surely find out when he returns to the capital.”

“A true man must make choices in life,” Zhang Fangping relaxed his brow.

Zhao Bian gazed thoughtfully at the water—suddenly, the float sank. He reacted swiftly, jerking the fishing rod upward.

Indeed, a large fish was hooked.

(End of chapter)