Chapter 2089: Taizong Chronicles 31: The Newspaper, The Siege of Chengdu

"The new issue of the Xuanbao is out, isn't it?" Zhao Kuangyi asked.

"Yes!" Zhao Dechong replied.

"Bring it to me!"

As night fell, inside a brightly lit flower pavilion, Zhao Kuangyi, now in casual dress, sat upright behind a food table, holding a freshly printed Xuanbao in his hands, reading it carefully.

With the further research and application of movable-type printing, the Great Han's newspaper industry came into being—of course, with the impetus of Emperor Shizu. The dibao went without saying; it had existed since ancient times, but it was only in the Great Han era that it underwent a leap in refinement.

Basically published once every ten to fifteen days, important speeches by the emperor and ministers, major state policies, and interpretations of court decrees would all be selectively printed and disseminated throughout the realm. Essentially, the Great Han dibao was a digest of the Great Han's political essentials, and it had always been handled by the Grand Secretariat.

The Xuanbao, which stood alongside the dibao, was published by the Pacification Commission. It was likewise a serious publication, but the Xuanbao leaned more toward propaganda and education, while also assisting in the interpretation and dissemination of the court's various policy essentials, with emphasis on promoting loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness.

Its content was also broader in scope—whether official or commoner, anyone whose writings fit the core ideological needs of the Great Han's ruling class could potentially be published. Many major military and political events occurring within the realm, reform developments, and even local customs and practices from various regions and abroad were also recorded.

Unlike the dibao, which was exclusively for the nobility and bureaucrats within the ruling establishment, the Xuanbao was published more frequently—once every five to seven days—and was sold to ordinary scholars and commoners, making it more accessible to the people.

However, the price was not so accessible—each copy cost twenty copper coins, which was by no means affordable for the lower classes. Of course, the high cost of knowledge and information was not meant for the common rabble anyway.

But even so, from the moment the Xuanbao officially began publication, it had been extremely popular, with sales remaining high. To this day, each issue maintained a circulation of over one hundred thousand copies.

Of course, backward transportation causing delayed news was a common occurrence. Aside from sudden major events, many of the stories printed in the Xuanbao might have happened several months or even years earlier. But for the vast numbers of intellectuals and wealthy elites with limited horizons, it still held tremendous appeal.

For this reason, the newspaper workshop under the Pacification Commission had expanded its scale three times and increased its technical staff. The Xuanbao had also become a major source of revenue for the Pacification Commission—a veritable windfall—and for a long time, it could be said to be a monopoly business.

Running a newspaper was so profitable that it naturally attracted covetous gluttons into the fray. Over the past decade or so, various newspapers organized by officials and private citizens had appeared in the two capitals, but due to various reasons, none could achieve the same success as the Xuanbao.

However, five or six years ago, several highly competitive new papers did break through in the two capitals. In Luoyang, there was the Minbao; in Kaifeng, there were two—one called the Shibao and the other the Shangbao—both founded by wealthy merchants, with powerful nobles and relevant government departments backing them behind the scenes.

Their content became more diverse, especially the Shibao, which reflected the livelihoods of the common people. Its content was even more varied, and its price was lower—only half that of the Xuanbao—making it very popular among merchants and scholars alike. Sales increased year after year, workshops gradually expanded, and it even sold in Luoyang.

In the Great Han, commercial competition involving murder, poisoning, kidnapping, and threats was commonplace. Moreover, for a powerful department like the Pacification Commission, monopolizing everything was practically instinct. Seeing their interests challenged, the Pacification Commission had been actively pushing for regulation and management of this "emerging industry" of newspapers, with a strong justification: to prevent those with ulterior motives and conspiratorial rebels from using newspapers to stir up trouble.

After all, some tabloids, in order to grab attention, spread harmful content, deceived the public with wild talk, and used slanderous words to disrupt governance—this was a common occurrence that must be strictly cracked down upon. Using this as a weapon, they beat back the powerful nobles who were also in the newspaper business, especially after Imperial Uncle Guo Xin took office, when heavy blows were delivered.

Although the struggle was still ongoing, as far as Zhao Kuangyi knew, Guo Xin's victory in this matter was inevitable. Guo Xin had already prepared a complete set of restrictive regulations for newspapers. A total ban would be too crude, but placing them under the Pacification Commission's supervision through legal means was definitely going to be achieved.

Of course, lying back and sharing a portion of the profits from those new newspapers was the original intention of many Pacification Commission officials who actively pushed this matter forward.

Zhao Kuangyi also supported the second Guo brother's approach. He instinctively felt uneasy about matters of public opinion and believed that at the very least, it had to be controlled in one's own hands to feel at ease.

But no matter how other "miscellaneous papers" rose and developed, for the Great Han's upper and middle classes—especially the nobility and bureaucrats—the dibao and Xuanbao were essential reading for studying their official careers. Content that many lower and middle scholars found dry and boring held unique value for them, and even a chancellor like Zhao Kuangyi was no exception.

What Zhao Kuangyi was focusing on at this moment was the matter of the southwestern rebellion. He had naturally long known about it at court, even in greater detail than what the Xuanbao disclosed, but reading the Pacification Commission's interpretation gave him a new perspective.

For example, the Xuanbao mentioned that the Tibetan tribal unrest had been suppressed by Yin Jilun; the rebellions in Yunnan and Qianzhong had also been completely pacified through the full cooperation of the imperial army and local chieftains; and the rebellion in the Chuandong Circuit had been eliminated one by one under the command of the veteran general Tian Zhongjin.

Therefore, it could be concluded that the large-scale unrest in the southwest, triggered by the Shu rebellion, was now under control. Once the rebel Li Shun's forces were destroyed by the imperial army, the southwest would return to stability.

Compared to the good news from other directions, the situation in Jiannan was somewhat more obscure.

Of course, it still mentioned that Cao Guangshi and Kang Jiying, one old and one young, had achieved victories over the rebels in Zitong and Baxi counties respectively, annihilating tens of thousands of enemies, dealing a heavy blow to the rebels' arrogance, and further compressing their area of activity.

Yang Yanzhao, the Southwest Pacification Commissioner and commander of the pacification campaign, had already led a large force southward. Although no specific date was predicted, the tone was firm and confident, expressing that the time for pacifying the Shu rebellion was not far off.

"Ding Wei." After finishing the southwest section, Zhao Kuangyi couldn't help but pay attention to the author. Seeing the byline, he thought for a moment and said, "Wasn't he the second-place graduate in last autumn's examinations?"

Only Zhao Dechong was accompanying him at the food table, and he answered with certainty: "Exactly so!"

"The first year's imperial examinations are truly something special—it's only been this long, and he's already able to have his name published in the Xuanbao!" Zhao Kuangyi remarked with emotion. "There's some cunning and scheming in his writing, but reading the content, he's quite a talent!"

"Yang Ye won't be staying in the position of Censor-in-Chief much longer!" Putting down the Xuanbao, Zhao Kuangyi couldn't help but sigh again, turning to look at Zhao Dechong: "Do you know why?"

Zhao Dechong thought for a moment and said, "Could it be because of Commissioner Yang Yanzhao?"

To this, Zhao Kuangyi did not answer directly, but stroked his beard and said in a tone of reflection: "Since Emperor Shizu's time, the Yang family has been held up as models of loyalty and filial piety, as if the Great Han had no loyal ministers besides the Yang family. Shizu even specially summoned Yang Yanzhao to be an Imperial Son-in-law—truly the utmost favor.

However, His Majesty is not Shizu. No matter how much he trusts the Yang family, there is ultimately some reservation. A son commanding over a hundred thousand elite troops outside, leading the suppression of rebellion, while at the same time the father sits at court, occupying the chancellor's seat and wielding great power—in such a situation, no one would feel at ease, especially not His Majesty."

Listening to his explanation, Zhao Dechong silently nodded. Zhao Kuangyi then said leisurely: "Moreover, the Censorate's power is growing heavier and heavier, and its affairs are becoming more and more complex—none of which Yang Ye can grasp.

When it comes to marching and fighting, Yang Ye is a capable hand, but in governance and administration, even if you gave him another ten years, he'd still struggle to do things well.

If Shizu had originally put me in charge of the Censorate, and I say this without modesty, the chaos of these past few years could have been halved, and His Majesty wouldn't be left to clean up the mess with such worry and effort now."

Hearing Zhao Kuangyi speak this way, Zhao Dechong could only go along with it. He also knew that his old father had been frustrated for many years, nursing a pent-up resentment and unwillingness in his heart.

Looking at Zhao Dechong, Zhao Kuangyi continued: "Your father has secured a position for you with His Majesty—Recorder of the Court of Judicial Review. Report to the Ministry of Personnel tomorrow, then take up your post!" Upon hearing this, Zhao Dechong looked taken aback, then said with great sincerity: "I would rather stay at home to serve you and manage the household affairs! Besides, being promoted so suddenly would hardly win public approval."

Hearing this, Zhao Kuangyi immediately showed displeasure: "If you don't do things, don't show what you're capable of, how can you win public approval? How can a man of ambition confine himself to his own household, trapped in trivial domestic matters!

You're nearly thirty, married for years—it's time to think about your own future! Otherwise, even if you inherit your father's title and rank in the future, how will you compete with your brothers of the same generation? Even your younger brothers may not accept you.

In this regard, you really should learn from Deming!"

"I never intended to compete with my brothers." Zhao Dechong muttered.

"Above you is the emperor's favor, below you is your father's command—do you dare to defy them?" Zhao Kuangyi said angrily.

"Yes!" Seeing Zhao Kuangyi lose his temper, Zhao Dechong naturally dared not refuse again.

Compared to Zhao Kuangyin, Zhao Kuangyi had many more children, but his favorite was still his eldest son Zhao Dechong, who closely resembled his father, and whom he regarded as the heir to the family.

In contrast, his other sons, having realized there was no hope of inheritance, mostly began seeking their own development once they grew up. Especially his second son, Zhao Deming, who at twenty-eight years old was already County Magistrate of Jiexiu—though of course, he hadn't taken the orthodox path of a court-appointed County Magistrate.

In the third month of spring, a season when warm flowers bloom and all things thrive, the once prosperous and bustling Chengdu Plain was instead wrapped in desolation and ruin. Everywhere one looked was the devastation left by war—killing, hunger, and disease, chaos and disorder, becoming a shadow that hung over the Land of Abundance.

Chengdu, the greatest metropolis of the southwest, was steeped in a suffocating and cruel atmosphere throughout the city. The city walls bore the scars of war on all four sides, and the buildings along the city's perimeter had mostly been destroyed in the fighting. The few remnants that survived had become shelters for the rebels to hole up in.

Looking down from the city walls, below was a scene of chaos. Dense piles of bones had replaced the hibiscus flowers that once made the southwest famous, stacked at the base of the walls, and long stretches of the moat were clogged with the corpses of both attackers and defenders.

And from the city outward, along roads, across plains, in forests, and by rivers—whether densely packed or scattered—countless bones lay piled, ignored by all. The Chengdu officials and soldiers did have the intention of cleaning them up, but every time they tried to leave the city, they were driven back by the rebels outside, who fought with reckless abandon—a spirit of mutual destruction.

It was only because the weather hadn't fully warmed up yet; otherwise, in such conditions, a large-scale epidemic would have already broken out.

And atop these bones, hundreds of thousands to over a million men on both sides of the siege were locked in bitter struggle and desperate combat. Over the past two months or more, there had been fighting almost every day, with an assault on the city every few days.

The rebels outside the city—well, let's call them rebels for now—were like ants with no end in sight. Even after suffering over a hundred thousand casualties, they could quickly replenish their numbers. In the words of the city's chief defender, Shangguan Zheng, that rebel leader Li Shun had stirred up every mud-footed peasant and low-born wretch in Shu, and no matter how many you killed, there was no end to them.

The matter had to be traced back to last year's Battle of Shuangliu. After Wang Xiaobo was killed in battle, his remaining forces scattered and fled. Logically speaking, pursuing and exterminating the remnants should have been a straightforward matter. Even with some setbacks and time spent, eventually Chuanshu would have returned to peace and its former order.

But the scale of the setbacks exceeded everyone's imagination, and the great wave stirred up anew by the rebel army nearly drowned the entire Chengdu Plain.

Among the causes, the excessive pressure from the government forces was a very important direct factor. Many generals, seeking military merit and promotions, refused to accept rebel surrenders, and some even killed prisoners. As for looting and plundering, that was practically considered gentle behavior.

Although the rebel army had failed at the Battle of Shuangliu, the anger of Shu's tenant farmers and low-born commoners had not yet fully dissipated. With the government and military pressing even harder, in an atmosphere of fury and fervor, the "Second Uprising" erupted, led by none other than Wang Xiaobo's brother-in-law, Li Shun.

After the Battle of Shuangliu, he gathered the remnants along the way and fled back to Qingcheng. Subsequently, leading several thousand men, he attacked west toward Qiongzhou and captured it in one stroke.

Qiongzhou was certainly poor and isolated, but the sharper social contradictions there actually made it a fine ground for expanding his power. As early as when Wang Xiaobo first rose up, Han and barbarian commoners there had already responded, only to be quickly suppressed. And before Li Shun launched his great western offensive, the impoverished people dissatisfied with the status quo there had long been itching to move.

Thus, Li Shun's army entering Qiongzhou not only temporarily escaped the imperial army's pursuit and got to rest and regroup, but as his continuation of Wang Xiaobo's "equalize wealth and poverty" doctrine unfolded, they also gained a massive source of recruits. The poor commoners of Qiongzhou eagerly joined to resist the harsh governance together. Within a few days, over twenty thousand righteous army soldiers had gathered under Li Shun's command.

And when word spread that Li Shun had rekindled the rebel army in Qiongzhou, Wang Xiaobo's remnants—who had been pressed by the imperial army until they could surrender nowhere and flee nowhere—also flocked into Qiongzhou to join him. In a flash, the rebel army's momentum surged once more.

As for the imperial army, they finally sobered up somewhat from their excitement over scooping up military merits and money. Shangguan Zheng ordered Zhang Qi, the four-prefecture Patrol Inspector who had performed well previously, to lead troops on a punitive expedition.

This time, perhaps committing the old fault of underestimating the enemy, Zhang Qi was ambushed by Li Shun on the march. Not only did he lose several thousand men, but he himself was shot dead by the rebel army. After defeating Zhang Qi's punitive force, Li Shun thoroughly took up the great banner of the Chuanshu rebel army.

Mindful of the lesson of Wang Xiaobo's failure, Li Shun dared not linger in Qiongzhou—it could not sustain an army, and the main force of the imperial army was still in nearby Shuzhou.

So Li Shun adopted roving-bandit tactics, beginning mobile warfare from Qiongzhou, looping southward all the way, and waging struggle against the imperial army around the Chengdu plain. The southern Jiannan regions—Mei, Jia, Ling, Rong, Zi prefectures and the like—were all raided by him.

Wherever he went, he fought when he could win, and if a city was not taken within two days, he moved on. At the same time, he massively mobilized the local poor commoners to struggle against the landlords and seize rations. His ranks grew ever larger, and the commotion grew ever greater.

The imperial army, meanwhile, was somewhat run ragged. From winter to spring, they were almost constantly locked in combat with the rebel army. Though they caught up with them several times and inflicted no small casualties, they never struck at the root. Compared to the rebels, the imperial army's burden was ultimately much heavier—they had to not only suppress bandits but also recover territory and pacify the people.

After reaping benefits from roving-bandit warfare, Li Shun's army grew even more energized. They dispatched subordinates to various parts of Chuanshu to develop and incite uprisings, which in turn triggered great turmoil across the entire southwest region—after all, even Yunnan, upon hearing the news, saw several disturbances break out.

In late December of the first year of Yongxi, Li Shun suddenly raised troops and advanced east, breaking through Pu Prefecture and Fu Prefecture in succession, intending to merge with the rebel army in eastern Sichuan. At Luzhou he encountered Tian Zhongjin, the Eastern Route Commander-in-Chief of the punitive army that the court had urgently activated. Under Tian's army's forceful interception, Li Shun's forces suffered heavy casualties and had to retreat, pulling all the way back to Fu Prefecture before stabilizing their position.

Back in November of the first year, seeing that the Shu rebellion dragged on without resolution, the court had completely lost patience, and the Emperor had utterly lost trust in the civil and military officials of Jiannan. He formally issued an edict to form a punitive army, with Yang Yanzhao as commander-in-chief and Tian Zhongjin as deputy commander, mobilizing 150,000 elite troops from Guannei, Shannan, Jingxi, Huguang, and the capital region, entering Shu from the north and east in two routes to suppress the rebellion.

When Li Shun advanced east, it was precisely when Tian Zhongjin was hastily taking up his post, and the eastern route army had not yet fully moved into position. But relying on his solid military command ability and strength, he still gave Li Shun a good lesson.

Hitting a wall at Luzhou, Li Shun quieted down for a while—probably sensing that powerful strangling force of the imperial army. Under crisis, after spring began, Li Shun pulled off another big move. Concentrating all his strength, he suddenly turned around and attacked Zi Prefecture again. After taking it, without resting, he led his troops straight to attack Jian Prefecture, and regardless of casualties, captured the prefectural seat of Yang'an.

After that, things spiraled out of control. Heading north all the way, he broke Han Prefecture, took Peng Prefecture, and attacked Mian Prefecture. Facing the rebel tide surging in like a flood, while local commoners poured in like ant swarms, the entire Chengdu plain fell into utter chaos. A single spark started a prairie fire; beacon smoke rose everywhere; the Shu rebellion sank into a festering mess.

And even more terrifying, Chengdu city—the very heart of the entire great southwest—was thus surrounded by several hundred thousand rebels and rioters.

At that time, the court's punitive army was still on the road. Aside from the vanguard units that had moved out swiftly, some were even still being assembled. And Yang Yanzhao, the commander-in-chief of the punitive army, who personally led the two main Imperial Guard forces, Husheng and Fengguo, had only just entered Guannei Circuit.

Had it not been for the decisive handling of Xiang Deming, the Administration Commissioner of Jiannan, at the moment of crisis, what Emperor Liu Yang received at the Lantern Festival imperial banquet in the second year of Yongxi might well have been the dire news of Chengdu's fall.