Chapter 2086: Taizong Chronicles 28: Jiannan

With a complex and heavy heart, Liu Yang intended to venture further afield—the empire was vast, and he wished to see more distant places.

However, this notion was vigorously dissuaded by his close attendants. Traveling incognito across the river, over a hundred li from the capital, had already left them fraught with anxiety; how could they dare let the Emperor venture farther? If anything went wrong, no one could bear the responsibility.

If he wished to travel far, it was necessary to prepare the full imperial procession, with attendant ministers, officials, and soldiers—the safety of the imperial carriage had to be absolutely guaranteed. This was being responsible to the Emperor, and also responsible to the state and to the people of the realm. These words left Liu Yang with no easy rebuttal, so he could only suppress the stirring enthusiasm within him and return to the capital for the time being.

Of course, there was an even more important factor: a piece of news had arrived from the Jiannan Circuit—a piece of grievous news. Pan You, the Administration Commissioner of Jiannan Circuit, was dead, and not from natural causes. According to the death report, Pan You had been assassinated by riotous commoners.

Jiannan again, and again involving Administration Commissioner Pan You. The moment he received this news, Liu Yang recalled Wang Shongrui's earlier impeachment of Pan You. And this death report contained implications even richer than the last time.

Although it was quite complete, describing in detail the causes and circumstances of Pan You's death and the assassination, it gave Liu Yang an even stronger sense of something amiss. There were too many points worth scrutinizing—what kind of riotous commoners would think to assassinate a dignified Administration Commissioner, a principal official of an entire circuit, and actually succeed at it!

Even without delving into the hidden circumstances behind it, on the surface alone, an Administration Commissioner being assassinated was unprecedented in the forty-seven years since the founding of the Great Han. It was simply sensational, utterly outrageous—a naked provocation against the court.

If it truly was, as the memorial claimed, the work of a band of riotous commoners, then their power was too great and their audacity too bold! Therefore, regarding the Jiannan memorial, Liu Yang believed only one thing: that Pan You was dead. As for everything else, it was all open to question—indeed, before any investigation was conducted, he harbored doubts about all of it!

After hastily returning to Luoyang, Liu Yang went straight to the Hall of State Affairs to discuss the assassination of Pan You. He was in a towering rage, his imperial majesty shaken—this was a necessary attitude, and also, given the many vexing matters of late, a venting of Liu Yang's frustrations upon his ministers.

Of course, the chancellors could understand. The death of Pan You was simply too momentous an affair; even these seasoned old ministers who had weathered countless changes were stunned and deeply horrified upon hearing it. No matter how gravely one viewed this matter, it could not be overstated. Whatever hidden circumstances lay behind it, this was a blatant challenge to the empire's rule—something absolutely intolerable, with zero room for tolerance.

Therefore, on the matter of Jiannan, the chancellors were in complete agreement with the Emperor: the authority of the central government must be resolutely upheld, the court's rule must be maintained, and Pan You's death as well as the governance of Jiannan must be thoroughly investigated.

On the spot, an imperial edict was swiftly drafted and issued, directing the relevant offices to select key officials and capable functionaries to proceed to Chengdu for investigation, while also ordering the Jiannan Circuit to submit a more detailed account of the situation. The court demanded a clear and definitive explanation.

On another front, Pan You's death inevitably stirred a power struggle within the court. For instance, after the court deliberation concluded, men like Zhao Kuangyi kept casting glances toward Fiscal Commissioner Zhang Yong.

The chancellors of the Hall of State Affairs each had their own "base of support," and Zhang Yong—from the Chengdu prefectural office to Administration Commissioner of Jiannan Circuit to Fiscal Commissioner of the Southwest—had spent some fourteen or fifteen years in the southwest altogether.

If a major problem had arisen in Jiannan, how could Zhang Yong's protégés, former subordinates, and disciples there avoid being implicated? Ordinary matters might not shake this veteran minister of the late emperor and meritorious official of the Kaibao era, but this time, any discerning eye could see—the problem was grave!

A dignified Administration Commissioner, a principal official of an entire circuit, brought down in such a manner—it was utterly lawless. More than anyone else, Zhao Kuangyi was convinced that Pan You's death could not be separated from certain people and forces in the Jiannan Circuit.

Adopting such a method was certainly foolish, but it also illustrated from the side how tense the situation in Jiannan was, how irreconcilable the contradictions had become. And as for Pan You—given his actions in the metropolitan circuit, it seemed not so strange that he had pushed the powerful families of Jiannan to such a point.

Pan You, that iron-hard copper pea, had truly rigid backbone, and he was a man devoted to getting things done. But when one does things too conscientiously, one inevitably offends people and infringes upon others' interests. And Jiannan was not like the metropolitan circuit—without the direct deterrent authority of the court, its relatively remote and isolated geography had fostered a complex political atmosphere. It was chaotic, it was dark.

However, Zhao Kuangyi did not raise these points, merely voicing some perfunctory pleasantries in agreement. First, since the matter had not yet been investigated and clarified, it was not convenient to say more; second, he also wanted to see how this affair would develop, how Jiannan would wrap things up, and how the Emperor would ultimately handle it.

Perhaps there were not a few people who harbored thoughts similar to Zhao Kuangyi's. They were all thousand-year-old foxes; even if they could not see through every problem at a glance, they could always sense something amiss.

When the deliberation dispersed, Zhang Yong's expression was especially grim. Without even greeting anyone, he returned directly to his office, then sent letters flying to Jiannan to ascertain the situation. Clearly, the Fiscal Commissioner had also been caught off guard.

At the same time, many ministers turned their attention to Emperor Liu Yang, watching his every move and change. Some sighs were inevitable—had it been Emperor Shizu facing such a situation, he would likely have already raised the butcher's knife, waiting only for the chief culprit to show his head before chopping it off cleanly.

Of course, it was even more likely that, had Emperor Shizu still been present, such a thing would never have happened at all. At the very least, a regional magnate of the rank of a circuit's principal official would not have met such an end.

Clearly, Emperor Liu Yang was once again facing a war to establish his authority since ascending the throne—and this time, there was even less room or justification for any compromise whatsoever.

Liu Yang naturally had other moves as well. In urgent matters, one acts expediently; he was not so pedantic as to insist on following standard procedures under such circumstances.

After returning to Chuigong Hall, he summoned Lin Te, Deputy Commissioner of the Wude Office, and charged him with arranging an investigation to thoroughly clarify the Jiannan incident and Pan You's death.

Over the past year, Wang Zhenxuan, the Commissioner of the Wude Office, had focused his energy mainly on rectifying the penal labor camps across the realm. Many places required his personal presence to maintain order and direct arrangements, while the daily affairs of the Wude Office were managed by Lin Te, the deputy commissioner.

Without a doubt, this was a process of power transition. Lin Te was the man Liu Yang had chosen to take over the Wude Office.

Lin Te was a thoroughly orthodox old official of the Eastern Palace. According to popular rumor, Lin Te's experiences were rather legendary. Back when Liu Yang had campaigned south to pacify the south and entered Jinling, Lin Te—then twelve years old—had brought an essay he had written to request guidance from Li Fang, who was serving in attendance. Li Fang found him quite remarkable.

After all, child prodigies were not rare—Li Fang had seen those who could recognize characters at five and compose essays at eight—but one so adept at seizing opportunities and proactively seeking self-improvement was truly uncommon.

Later, Li Fang took Lin Te into his tutelage, and when he was a bit older, recommended him to the Crown Prince as a reader-in-waiting of the Eastern Palace, successfully completing this splendid transformation.

And Lin Te served in the Eastern Palace for over twenty years, previously holding the post of Junior Steward to the Crown Prince. When Liu Yang ascended the throne, his fortunes naturally rose with the tide. Being arranged to succeed as Commissioner of the Wude Office was a testament to his outstanding ability and the deep trust placed in him.

At the tail end of the Mid-Autumn Festival in the first year of Yongxi, the entire court was preoccupied with Pan You's death. More importantly, around the position of Administration Commissioner of the Jiannan Circuit, a struggle of overt and covert contention had already begun. After all, Jiannan Circuit was not merely Jiannan Circuit—it was the core of the five southwestern circuits, its influence radiating across the entire southwest, including the Tibetan regions. This position was worth fighting over for every powerful family.

But there was a precondition: Pan You's death required a conclusion, and the process of reaching that conclusion was itself a process of struggle.

However, before long, an even more shocking piece of news arrived—one that shook the court and indeed the entire realm. A rebellion had broken out in Qingcheng County. A bandit leader named Wang Xiaobo had raised a following in revolt, storming prefectures and counties, and killing officials.

Even if it had been merely a disturbance like that in Fengcheng County of Jiangxi, with troops dispatched to quickly suppress it, the court would still have had to assign blame. But this was not all—this was a great disturbance, a great rebellion.

At first, although the court took it seriously, its attention remained mostly on dissatisfaction with the military and civil administration of the Jiannan Circuit. Edicts were issued with stern reprimands, ordering suppression of the revolt, pacification of the people, and restoration of public order—this was also routine procedure.

The subsequent development of events greatly exceeded the court's expectations. Military reports came pouring in, urgently presented to the civil and military halls. The unrest in Jiannan grew increasingly intense. By the time the rebels had swept through prefectures and counties, successively breaching over a dozen prefectures and counties around the Chengdu prefecture, with numbers reaching over a hundred thousand, the court finally realized just how serious the situation in Jiannan truly was.

In a conversation with his son Zhao Dechong, Zhao Kuangyi could not help but quip that some people had "played it loose and lost it." Since the pacification of Shu in the Qianyou era, Chuanshu—which had walked through the entire Kaibao era in "prosperity and stability"—was once again welcoming a heaven-shaking, earth-overturning great upheaval.

The direct trigger was, of course, the frequent disasters that had struck Chuanshu in recent years, especially the spring drought of the first year of Yongxi, which was adding frost to snow for the common folk of Chuanshu. Crop yields had decreased, and there were not a few who harvested nothing at all.

But even as output decreased, life went on as usual, and taxes were collected as usual. The livelihoods of the common people—especially the attached households who depended on the powerful and wealthy gentry—became even more difficult.

All along, the tax burden of Chuanshu had basically been borne by small farmers and attached households, while the powerful families, bureaucrats, and landlords who held the primary means of production mostly lacked any awareness of sharing the tax burden or relieving the people's hardship. Not excessively squeezing them was already considered having a conscience.

Against this backdrop, when disasters struck repeatedly, it was hardly surprising that small farmers went bankrupt and could no longer sustain themselves. When one cannot survive, one either wanders off in search of food or rises up with a bamboo pole as a banner.

In the final analysis, the problem lay in the land contradictions of Chuanshu—sharpened to the extreme, deepened to the extreme—especially on the crowded Chengdu Plain where land was scarce and people were many. It inevitably called to mind the upheaval that followed the pacification of Shu thirty-five years earlier, except that the direct trigger that time had been man-made calamity.

That time, due to the wanton misconduct and large-scale looting by the soldiers who had pacified Shu, tremendous destruction had been wrought upon the production operations, production relations, and even the social structure of Chuanshu, especially the Chengdu Plain region.

Of course, it was precisely because of that upheaval that a large portion of the poisonous legacy of the Meng Shu era was cleansed. Although recovery had consumed no small amount of time, it was in fact beneficial for the court to establish new rule over Chuanshu.

However, thirty-five years was enough to produce earth-shaking changes, and over all these years, the problems that had existed in the Meng Shu era had inevitably reemerged under the Great Han Empire.

On the crowded Chengdu Plain, land annexation grew ever more severe, the burdens on the middle and lower classes, gentry, and small farmers grew ever heavier. Though complaints might not have filled the roads, popular sentiment was nearly at a boil.

The geographical environment of Chuanshu predetermined its peculiar customs and social conditions. The complex and difficult transportation rendered it isolated, and also made it a breeding ground for powerful families and local strongmen, making its people easier to deceive and exploit.

Over the years, the soldiers, meritorious officials who had entered Shu, and the bureaucrats who served long terms in Chuanshu, while filling the power vacuum left by the Meng Shu elite, had gradually merged with the local strongmen, jointly forming an exploiting class even more powerful and more entrenched than that of the Meng Shu era.

In fact, given the people's capacity for endurance, as long as a stable social order was maintained, a relatively clean political environment was ensured, and there was less meddling, then aside from the barbarian disturbances, it would be difficult for any major upheaval to arise in Chuanshu.

But under the rule of the Great Han Empire, the first two could be guaranteed—as for the third, that was truly too difficult. One must remember that after Chuanshu was pacified, the realm was not yet unified; the southeastern and south-central halves had not yet submitted.

At the end of the Qianyou era, for the sake of unification, entering the Kaibao era, the campaigns westward to take Hexi, northward against the Khitan, southward against Dali, including the past decade-plus of offensives against Anxi and the Tibetans—the Jiannan Circuit had borne no small burden in manpower and taxes. And these burdens and pressures, layer upon layer passed down, naturally fell upon the broad masses of small farmers in Chuanshu.

And as the core, the Jiannan Circuit, besides supplying the court, also had to support the powerful families, bureaucrats, and military forces of its own circuit. Additionally, it had to fulfill its duty as the "big brother" of the southwest, coordinating annual support for the poor neighboring circuits.

Add to that the disasters that struck from time to time—with all these layers of pressure piled on, the fact that the people of Chuanshu had held out so long without a major upheaval was already a testament to their endurance.

In fact, as early as a few years prior, when the court had dispatched troops into Tibet to suppress unrest, disturbances had already erupted in places like Rong and Qiong in Jiannan. But the unrest had been minor, and with Emperor Shizu still on the throne, everyone from top to bottom had been especially diligent in maintaining stability and control, and the situation had been quickly quelled.

But this time, the situation was different. The decline in the court's deterrent power after the late emperor's passing was one factor; the severe drought disaster was another; and on top of that, the infighting among the upper echelons of Jiannan Circuit and the unrelenting exploitation by the powerful families, bureaucrats, and landlords jointly brought about this great upheaval that swept across all of Chuanshu.

The rebel leader Wang Xiaobo came from a background as a tea merchant. Tea, being one of the three treasures of Shu, had most of its profits shared by the court, the powerful families, the bureaucrats, and the big tea merchants. As for the lowest peddlers and porters in the tea trade, they could only scramble alongside the myriad small tea merchants and tea farmers at the very bottom of the profit chain, fighting over scraps and leftovers. Even filling their stomachs was difficult, let alone anything else.

Like tea, the salt and silk industries were the same. It could be said that this great rebellion in Chuanshu was a total eruption of the lower-class common people across all trades and industries of Shu.