Chapter 1422: The Ninth Year of Kaibao Is Already Half Over

In the height of midsummer, the Great Han Empire from top to bottom plunged into a new round of busy activity. People across the land began braving the scorching sun and sweltering heat to carry out the summer harvest and summer planting, while simultaneously raising grain and money, turning over the imperial grain levy, and paying their taxes.

Because of the great northern expedition, the Great Han's agriculture suffered an extremely severe negative impact, especially in the Central Plains and the north, where the damage ran deepest. The farther north the prefecture or county, the greater the amount of abandoned farmland, and in some places the yield was not even half of previous years.

Therefore, in the new round of harvest, the court displayed a high degree of attention. The Hall of State Affairs repeatedly issued clear decrees to the realm, ordering local governments at all levels to strengthen management and oversight of the summer grain and summer tax collection.

This was not merely out of concern for agriculture, but also because it represented a substantial new source of revenue for the court, to be used to make up for the still-ongoing fiscal deficit.

During this period, the court's many measures were basically all centered on "money" and "taxes," and few dared to be negligent in the matters involved. Especially Chancellor Zhao Pu — in these past six months or so, he had been extremely aggressive. Under his direction, in the two capitals, more than a dozen wealthy merchants and businessmen who had profiteered from the national crisis during the war had their old accounts raked up, to be settled after the autumn harvest.

Although the motives were somewhat impure, while confiscating and collecting a large portion of money into the state treasury, it also played a tremendous role in advancing the implementation of the court's newly proposed commercial laws. After all, it was a matter of cutting flesh for profit — even though under Emperor Liu's edicts the approach was not so ugly or nakedly bare, the deterrent effect was still obvious, striking fear up and down. Whoever dared to stick their head out would be targeted.

The Great Han was, after all, an empire of officialdom, where power and money colluded. But in the face of power, merchants still had little capacity for resistance, and the so-called deeply entrenched networks of connections were even less able to withstand the test when confronted by raw authority.

It was fortunate that Zhao Pu's intent was not to crush the merchant class, and with the imperial edict in place beforehand, Zhao Pu also knew when to stop. Otherwise, if every merchant felt endangered, the Great Han's commercial development would at best stagnate, if not regress.

Of course, this crackdown was also targeted. Violating the law was a given, but the most important factor was how solid one's backing was and how deep one's connections ran. For example, those mega-wealthy merchants who leaned on dukes, ministers, and nobles received differentiated treatment — as long as they showed some restraint and supported the court's policies, they could stand firm and continue to enjoy their wealth and status.

Compared to the turmoil in the commercial sphere, the official sphere was even less tranquil. The Ministry of Personnel launched an "anti-corruption and anti-graft" campaign, and the hand behind it was, of course, still Zhao Pu.

However, the anti-graft drive was ultimately just a facade. Under the banner of rooting out corruption and cleansing governance, the actual targets were those officials who obstructed the court's new fiscal policies.

Those who executed poorly were demoted; those who opposed and hindered were dismissed; and those who manipulated matters in between and sabotaged the new policies were investigated and prosecuted with the utmost severity. For Zhao Pu, such officials were the most detestable of all.

Thus, in the first half of the ninth year of Kaibao, officials and functionaries both inside and outside the court all felt the pressure. Zhao Pu had become a whip in Emperor Liu's hand — a whip of authority woven from thorns, used to spur on officials and ministers alike.

While Zhao Kuangyi was still managing Luoyang, building his reputation and gathering momentum, Zhao Pu had already truly taken command of the court and was lashing the realm. Through these past few years, tested by sitting in command and coordination during the northern expedition, Zhao Pu the chancellor had firmly established his footing at court, and through the new policies, his influence had begun spreading to the localities.

And after these several months, the bureaucrats of the local circuits and prefectures had also gained a basic understanding of this chancellor: this chancellor was not to be trifled with.

In the past, Emperor Liu had vigorously pursued centralization of the Central Plains, subjecting the localities to heavy supervision and urging. In former days, many local officials stood in awe of imperial authority and feared the central government. But now, many people feared Chancellor Zhao instead. Between the third and fourth months, across the Great Han, four Prefects and more than a dozen County Magistrates had been dismissed, removed from office, or prosecuted, and high-ranking circuit officials were likewise not lacking those who received reprimands or were demoted and transferred.

Zhao Pu was making a great stir, all fire and fervor, but accompanying it naturally came no shortage of criticism and attack. During this period alone, Emperor Liu received no fewer than twenty impeachments and denunciations against Zhao Pu.

As for these impeachments, Emperor Liu naturally kept them shelved without response. He even had Yan Tuo specially find a small box to store them in and lock it away. News inevitably leaked into Zhao Pu's ears, and Zhao Pu put on a show of trepidation, going to Chuigong Hall to beg forgiveness. Emperor Liu naturally understood his intentions. Who was Zhao Pu? How could he be nervous over such matters? What he wanted was merely an attitude from the emperor, a word of reassurance. Emperor Liu generously obliged him, expressing confidence in him and urging him to continue with redoubled effort and govern boldly.

However, this still did not stop the attacks and criticism. Direct remonstrations decreased, but secret memorials were no fewer than before. As for those who submitted these memorials, Emperor Liu quietly took note of them. Those pure-stream remonstrance officials could be let pass — whether they sought fame or substance, their influence was limited.

The key issue lay in the fact that among them were no few senior ministers and meritorious nobles. Toward these people, Emperor Liu had to carefully ponder their motives. Some might genuinely act out of fear and concern over Zhao Pu's power, but others — they could hardly be attacking Zhao Pu, the reigning chancellor, and the most powerful substantive chancellor in the Great Han, for no reason at all.

Politically, though storms continued to brew, the operations surrounding the new fiscal policies proceeded normally, and the overall environment remained stable. Economically, recovery was also ongoing. Whether the reforms of commercial law, the salt administration, or the currency, all had entered the trial implementation stage, under review and adjustment. There might be growing pains, but the stimulative effect was obvious.

Militarily, things had also completely stabilized. The Bureau of Military Affairs' adjustments to the imperial army and the frontier forces had concluded. As for external military affairs, aside from matters concerning the Khitan, all swords were sheathed and blades hidden.

The peace negotiations with the Kara-Khanids of the Western Regions also reached a definitive conclusion with the arrival of the Kara-Khanid envoy in the capital. Both sides reached a consensus: taking the territories currently actually occupied by each state as the baseline, they achieved peace in both fact and name — reducing stationed troops, repatriating prisoners, each guarding its own cities and governing its own lands.

Territory was the fundamental issue, and once this problem was resolved, all other problems became easy to solve. With the peace treaty concluded, for the Kara-Khanids it meant that their eastward expansion of more than a decade had reached a relatively definitive outcome — having expanded eastward nearly a thousand li, the vast region centered on Kucha and Karashahr was formally annexed by them.

But they had paid a bloody price. Tens of thousands of Kara-Khanid soldiers and civilians had perished in the process, their blood nearly drained dry, and because of the years of warfare, this vast land had been reduced to near ruins. Occupying was one thing; rebuilding was another.

At the same time, both sides agreed to open border markets, strengthen grassroots economic exchange, relax restrictions on commercial trade, and each provide protection for the other's merchant caravans. Such matters beneficial to both sides' development had no reason to be refused.

This also meant that the Silk Road, severed for more than a decade, would be reopened, and economic and cultural exchange between East and West would recover. Those goods so favored by foreign peoples — silk, porcelain, tea, and the like — would flow westward in an unending stream, creating wealth for the Great Han's officials and people alike.

Beyond this, the Kara-Khanid envoy had a sudden inspiration — he wished to bind the two states in marriage, seeking a Princess of the Great Han as a bride for his monarch. To this, the court naturally gave a tactful refusal. Not to mention whether Emperor Liu could bear to send his own daughter far away to be defiled by the mongrels of the Western Regions, the Kara-Khanids were simply unworthy. In this regard, Emperor Liu's attitude was extremely arrogant.