Chapter 2099: Taizong Chronicles 41

It was already early autumn, and the common folk of the Western Capital were once again about to welcome a pleasant and delightful stretch of days. Yanyan Avenue remained as bustling as ever, thronged with traffic and noisy crowds, and the Taihe Tower still stood in the most prominent spot on the street, gazing into the distance at the Imperial City.

The atmosphere inside the tower remained as exclusive as ever. The guests were either high-ranking officials and nobles, sons of distinguished families, or renowned scholars. Its threshold was still so high that ordinary commoners could not cross it.

Compared to the clamor of the streets, the tower was far more elegant and quiet. The melodious sound of the zither was pleasing to the ear, captivating all the guests present. On the zither platform, deeply immersed in his playing, strumming the strings, sat a middle-aged man with handsome features but graying hair and a stubbled chin.

Of course, he had another identity that drew even more attention—the master of the Taihe Tower, Duke Wu, Liu Hui.

Liu Hui had been genuinely confined by the Court of the Imperial Clan for an entire year. Though his living conditions had not been neglected, the blow to his spirit and morale had been immense. One could tell just from the changes in his appearance and demeanor. That air of decadence always gave people a sense of melancholy. While in the Court of the Imperial Clan, Liu Hui had given himself an elegant sobriquet: the Melancholy Hermit.

After his release, upon returning to his ducal residence, Liu Hui transferred all authority over the household's affairs to his eldest son, Liu Wenyu. Were it not for the constraints of ritual propriety, he would even have passed on the title of Duke Wu ahead of time.

As for Liu Hui himself, he no longer concerned himself with those "worldly affairs," instead indulging in wine, women, and pleasure, devoting himself to drinking, playing the zither, and composing poetry. The Liuguang Garden, once so lively, had long since fallen into desolation, so Liu Hui shifted his venue to the Taihe Tower, which belonged to his ducal residence.

After years of development, the Taihe Tower had become a gathering place for the capital's elite and dignitaries. Of course, there were many similar establishments in the capital, but its most distinctive feature was that it also served as a place where the capital's officials and scholars could freely discuss politics. The freedom of speech there was even greater than at court, for the atmosphere of the Taihe Tower was not so solemn, and one need not worry overmuch.

And this characteristic was extremely alluring to many marginal figures who held no official position. Because as its reputation spread, many true dignitaries came to the Taihe Tower to observe and listen in. It was a platform for those whose talents went unrecognized to display themselves.

At this moment, in the main hall, three men were debating: Liu Yun, Compiler of the Historiography Institute; Yang Yi, Collator of the Hanlin Academy; and Zhu Qi, Editor of the Hongwen Hall. All three had passed the Mingjing examination.

In the Great Han, for practical officials, the older the better. By contrast, for those who studied classical scholarship, the saying "fame must come early" held sway. These three men were all under thirty, yet they had already surpassed tens of thousands of "mediocre" types—truly the cream of the young scholarly community.

Yang Yi in particular was a child prodigy. He could compose essays at age seven, and at eleven he wrote "Joy at the Imperial Capital" in the capital, which became legendary. Moreover, Yang Yi was the only person in the past decade to be granted the title of Presented Scholar without taking the examinations, relying solely on an interview at the Hanlin Academy—a true exceptional promotion. One could see from this his extraordinary talent and achievements in literary arts.

Liu Yun, unlike Yang Yi, had not dazzled everyone. After passing the Mingjing examination, he had performed unremarkably. It was only during his time as an editor that Li Fang discovered him and brought him into the compilation team for the *Finest Flowers of Literature*, whereupon his talent gradually emerged, and he became especially renowned for his poetry and lyrics.

As for Zhu Qi, to put it simply, he was a rising star of the Xiangjiang School. Years ago, when Shizu made his southern inspection tour, he had conversed with Liao Mingyong, the leader of the Xiang School, and greatly admired their philosophy of practical statecraft. He thus asked Liao to recommend some outstanding scholars to come north, which opened the path for the Xiang School to spread into the upper echelons of the Great Han.

The spread and development of any school or theory cannot be separated from the support of the political edifice, and the Xiang School was no different. After leaving the comfort zone of Hunan, its development in the capital region had not been smooth.

Although they had Shizu's final edict as endorsement, Shizu had after all been gone for many years. And although Emperor Yongxi, Liu Yang, appreciated their attitude of serving the sovereign and being pragmatic, he did not accept them wholesale. More importantly, within the political and academic factions of the capital region, the Xiang School was extremely unwelcome.

Even so, over the years the Xiang School had managed to spread to a certain extent and gain a foothold in the capital region. Moreover, Hunan officials and merchants had pooled funds to build a Xiangjiang Guild Hall, used to spread and teach Xiang School philosophy.

At its root, many literati and scholars had discovered that although the Xiangjiang School's approach was overly fawning toward the emperor and the powerful, it was nevertheless easy to gain approval from above and was theoretically helpful for official advancement. And becoming an official was the creed of nearly all educated men of the Great Han.

Since the Yongxi era began, Hunan had organized another group of scholars to come north. Zhu Qi was part of the second batch, and in the spring examination of the fourth year of Yongxi, he had placed first in the Mingjing category. He was a highly talented man, especially in eloquence—quick-witted and persuasive.

What the three young literary luminaries were debating at this moment was the perennial court topic of "agricultural officials." Since the Shizu era, regardless of whether in court or among the populace, there had been constant attacks in public opinion against the court's measures of establishing an agricultural category in the examinations and appointing agricultural officials.

Clearly, in the minds of a large portion of scholars, the court was putting the cart before the horse. This act insulted the dignity of letters, placing refined elegance on the same level as vulgarity, and forcing men of learning who harbored great ambitions and cared for the world to manage and study agriculture and sericulture—truly burning a zither to cook a crane.

In the simple understanding of some in the scholarly community, they did of course acknowledge the importance of agriculture and sericulture. But this acknowledgment was merely lip service, never put into actual practice, let alone personally going into the fields to study with dedication. Perhaps it was enough to not oppress the farmers, ensure the farming seasons were not missed, and collect taxes on schedule according to regulations.

But in the current political trend of the Great Han, there was an increasing demand for officials to possess knowledge of agricultural production and agricultural technology. From the emperor on down, many powerful figures with real authority were increasingly not relying on "poetry and classics" to govern the state. To traditional Confucian scholars, this was an extremely serious problem and had once caused panic.

Of course, there were those who clung to the old ways, but there were also those who adapted to the times and sought change—such as the Xiangjiang School, or the Min-Zhe School from which Yang Yi hailed.

Just this summer, at the proposal of Emperor Liu Yang, with Director of State Affairs Lü Duan and Finance Commissioner Zhang Qixian presiding, a resolution was passed to establish the Ministry of Agriculture, to oversee all matters of agriculture, animal husbandry, fisheries, and forestry throughout the realm, further strengthening the authority of the agricultural sector institutionally and reinforcing the governing philosophy of "agriculture as the foundation."

Of course, the establishment of a new ministry was accompanied by shifts in the court situation and the division of power. Regarding the organizational structure of the Ministry of Agriculture, the specific details were still in the stage of discussion and implementation, but what was clear was that its authority was essentially carved out from the Ministry of Works and the Ministry of Revenue, and like the Ministry of Revenue, it would temporarily fall under the Finance Commission.

It was easy to imagine that the Finance Commission's power would further expand, becoming the most powerful ministry in the Great Han's central government. No matter how long this situation would last, at least at this stage, Chancellor Zhang Qixian, who concurrently served as Finance Commissioner, would see his influence in the Hall of State Affairs further increase—which also meant the emperor's power was continuously growing.

And those with keen eyes were paying even more attention to the opportunities for positions and power that the establishment of a new ministry—a major ministry with real authority—would bring.

What Yang Yi, Liu Yun, and Zhu Qi were debating was precisely the issues behind the establishment of the Ministry of Agriculture: increasing the quota for agricultural examination candidates, and increasing the assessment of officials' agricultural affairs and knowledge.

Zhu Qi, coming from the Xiang School, did not blindly endorse every court policy, but he always interpreted them from various angles, holding an especially firm political stance.

As for Yang Yi and Liu Yun, they naturally did not dare to deny the court's major policies. At least on the politically correct attitude toward agriculture, they were quite firm. Their objections were concentrated on the agricultural examination and agricultural official matters.

Yang and Liu's viewpoint was clear: the court's emphasis on agriculture and encouragement of production was of course proper, but excessively elevating the power and status of agricultural officials would likely provoke dissatisfaction among the scholarly community, would not benefit the court's stability and harmony, and could not promote the words of the sages or practice the way of the sages. How could "mud-legged peasants" govern the country well?

In the final analysis, although they were willing to grant political status to agricultural studies and farmers, they were unwilling to share political power.

As for the arguments put forth by Yang and Liu, Zhu Qi saw through them completely, for he himself harbored similar concerns. But no matter what he thought inside, on the surface he was a firm "pragmatist," refuting their claims one by one.

For example: "In the Spring and Autumn period, there were a hundred schools contending. Why should the words of the Agricultural School not be considered the words of sages?"

Another example: "Between the words of today's sages and the words of the ancient sages, which carry more weight?"

And: "The court's original intention was to encourage scholars to study agriculture, promote farming, and protect the people's livelihood—not the reverse. How could the root and the branch be inverted?"

"If agriculture does not flourish, the state is not secure. A small farmer can at least observe the seasons and tend his fields, but those who cannot distinguish the five grains, who only know how to fiddle with scriptures and cling to outdated ways—how can they handle government affairs properly and implement the court's policy of 'revitalizing the state through agriculture'?"

When Zhu Qi went all out, especially when he started making "personal attacks," Yang and Liu naturally refused to be outdone, refuting him point by point, citing classics and authorities. Eloquence was also their forte. Once tempers were roused, the atmosphere grew heated.

Not only were the onlooking guests thoroughly engrossed, but even Liu Hui, playing the zither on the platform, quickened his movements. The melodious tune became urgent, as if he were cheering on both sides of the debate.

In a private room on the second floor, there was another special spectator—His Majesty, the current emperor, Liu Yang. He had long heard of the Taihe Tower's reputation. Previously, Commissioner of the Palace City Wang Yue had reported and requested whether a warning should be issued, for being located in the marketplace and so freely indulging in political discussion might have adverse effects.

However, Liu Yang had refused without the slightest hesitation. His reasoning was simple: he practiced the kingly way, walking the upright path of governance, with nothing that could not be spoken of to his ministers and people. His only worry was that the court's policies and guidelines were not being spread far enough or completely enough—why should he fear discussion?

Moreover, having such a venue was a good thing. It allowed him to hear dissenting views, draw analogies, and gain wisdom from listening to all sides. If there were outstanding talents with bold ideas, it would also be convenient to recruit them.

Liu Yang's views displayed the magnanimity of an enlightened ruler. Of course, this was also predicated on his sufficient confidence and ability to control the situation—otherwise, he could not have been so permissive.

Hearing the emperor speak so frankly, Wang Yue, after offering his flattery, raised another point: Duke Wu, being a member of the imperial clan and the master of the Taihe Tower—was that not inappropriate?

Liu Yang naturally understood the implication hidden in Wang Yue's words. But first, Liu Yang did not believe Liu Hui had any ambition or capability for rebellion; second, he believed that precisely because of Liu Hui's status, such a space for free discourse had been provided. Of course, had it been Prince Zhao Liu Fang, Prince Lu Liu Ai, or even Prince Yan Liu Zhao, Liu Yang would not have been so open-minded—after all, they were different.

It was precisely for this reason that he had allowed it to continue until now. Even today, Liu Yang's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had personally left the palace to inspect the place. Having seen it for himself, he was quite satisfied—it truly lived up to its reputation.

Of course, Liu Yang did not care much about the debate among the three men in the hall. It held little meaning for him—what they were discussing was argued even more fiercely at court.

By contrast, Liu Yang was more interested in the three debaters themselves. Whether Yang Yi, Liu Yun, or Zhu Qi, they were all outstanding young talents of the Yongxi era. It was precisely because such young and learned men continued to emerge that the literary path of the Great Han flourished.

His gaze fell upon Zhu Qi, who was holding his own against two opponents without losing ground. A slight smile appeared at the corner of Liu Yang's mouth as he remarked with emotion: "Zhu Qi is sharp, Yang Yi is forthright, Liu Yun is discerning—all are talents! Hearing them debate makes me feel years younger and greatly invigorated!"

Wang Dan, attending at his side, heard the emperor's remark and said: "The Great Han gathers the finest talents, with men of ability emerging in abundance. This is a sign of prosperity, and also a credit to Your Majesty's diligent governance!"

"I dare not claim such merit!" Liu Yang shook his head and said calmly: "Even now, I can barely say that the governance of the state is gradually on the right track. Yet those who start well are common, but those who finish well are few. This is far from the time to relax." Hearing Liu Yang speak thus, Wang Dan felt a surge of emotion. Looking up and noticing the few strands of white hair at Liu Yang's temples, his eyes grew slightly hot. As a close minister of the inner cabinet, he knew all too well how hard the emperor had worked since ascending the throne.

"Give each of the two debating sides ten strings of cash!" Liu Yang instructed the palace eunuch Zheng Yuan, then waved his hand and said: "Alright, it's time to leave. Otherwise, I'm afraid someone might recognize me!"

At this moment, there were quite a few court officials in the Taihe Tower, and those willing to show themselves were mostly politically active types with keen eyes and sharp noses.

"Yes!" the attendants replied.

In a good mood, Liu Yang came in low-key and left low-key. But before leaving, he could not help taking another look at Liu Hui, who was performing a one-handed zither performance while enjoying fine wine. He was clearly quite intoxicated with it.

At this, Liu Yang could not help but sigh slightly. In those days, how favored Liu Hui had been by Shizu, regarded as the literary star of the imperial house. And how spirited Liu Hui had been, with astonishing natural talent and outstanding literary brilliance.

It had to be said that Liu Hui and his mother and sister all carried a certain tragic quality. Liu Hui's mother, Pure Consort Zhou, had lost favor in her early years and died of melancholy; his sister Liu Xuan, stubborn in nature, had taken her own life over an unworthy imperial son-in-law.

Now, he himself had fallen into such a "living corpse" state. Liu Yang felt quite saddened when he thought of it.

However, even so, Liu Yang had no intention of doing anything for Liu Hui. At least during his lifetime, there would be no further political treatment.

————

At Guangzheng Hall, Emperor Liu Yang arrived, but the busy ministers of the central government did not stop their work, merely stealing a glance. The Emperor had long established a rule: his inspections of the various departments were official business, requiring no welcome ceremonies that would delay official duties.

Of course, ceremonial reception was still necessary, but that task was the exclusive preserve of the grandees of the Hall of State Affairs. Those on duty in the hall at this moment were Lü Duan, Zhao Kuangyi, and Zhang Qixian.

The duty rotation system of the Hall of State Affairs was rather "reasonable" — ordinarily some three chancellors were maintained on duty, while the rest either handled affairs in their respective departments or traveled on behalf of the Son of Heaven to inspect the various regions.

Moreover, as between Zhao Kuangyi and Murong Defeng, the Heavenly Official of the Ministry of Personnel, the whole court knew the two were at odds, so when Lü Duan arranged the duty roster, he did his best to keep the two apart to avoid collisions. Thus at this moment, Murong Defeng had received an imperial edict to proceed to Hedong, Hebei, the two circuits of the Yan Mountains, and the Liaodong Circuit to conduct supervisory guidance work on official governance.

"Ministers, pray take your seats!" Before these chancellors whose authority reached the heavens, Liu Yang behaved with ever greater ease, carrying a forceful air amid his composure. He sat down first, crossed his legs, and said: "Knowing you ministers labor at governance, I have come specially to Guangzheng Hall to sit a while."

"We thank Your Majesty for your concern!" Lü Duan led the others in expressing this to Liu Yang.

A slight smile appearing at the corner of his mouth, Liu Yang asked as if casually: "Is there anything of pressing importance?"

"I was just about to report to Your Majesty!" Lü Duan's expression turned solemn: "Chengdu memorializes that Yin Jilun, the Grand Minister Resident in Tibet, has died of illness in Luoxie."

Hearing this, the faint smile on Liu Yang's face vanished without a trace. After a moment of silent deliberation, he said with considerable grief: "The snowy plateau — how many loyal servants of the Great Han has it devoured!"

When the Emperor finished speaking, Lü Duan and the others also lowered their heads, as if expressing silent mourning. After a brief silence, Lü Duan spoke with some emotion: "Counting back and forth, including pacification campaigns, raids, and disease, more than four thousand officers, soldiers, and officials lie in eternal rest on the plateau, and nearly half of them died from acclimatization failure and incurable pestilence!"

"Casualties so heavy!" Liu Yang's brows were nearly twisted together.

Lü Duan sighed: "The geography and climate of Tibet are out of the ordinary; for most of the stationed officers and men, it is truly hard to adapt!"

"What solutions does the central government have?" Liu Yang asked immediately.

Lü Duan replied: "We ministers have already deliberated on this matter and believe that the rotation of troops stationed on the plateau could be made somewhat more frequent, with a term of two to three years. In addition, regarding the selection of troops for the garrison, the proportion of soldiers from the Sichuan border, Longxi, and Hexi should be increased, as they are relatively better able to adapt to the climate.

At the same time, we must make every effort to guarantee the supply of provisions and equipment to the troops stationed in Tibet, and raise their pay and treatment, so as to comfort the morale of the army!"

Hearing this, Liu Yang nodded in approval. After a brief moment of thought, he said again: "Issue an edict: posthumously confer on Yin Jilun the title of Count of Zhenxi, to reward his extraordinary merits; additionally grant his family one hundred thousand cash and fifty bolts each of brocade and silk; and for his sons and grandsons, the Ministry of Personnel shall, as circumstances warrant, promote them and grant them hereditary office!"

"Yes!"

"As for the matter of a successor, let us also discuss it for now!" Liu Yang instructed again, his tone unavoidably heavy: "I wonder whether there is still anyone willing to go and take up residence in Luoxie."

This question, if placed before the officialdom and military circles of Chuanshu, would be beyond doubt — no matter how bitter the cold on the plateau, it was still a regional command, holding the garrison troops, and those Tibetan tribes had always been at one's beck and call. Look at Yin Jilun: among many Tibetan tribes, he was secretly called "King Yin," showing his prestige.

Authority was one thing, and there was also the plainly visible profit — the tea-horse trade remained thriving and prosperous; the cattle, horses, furs, and cordyceps from the plateau were all commodities of high value, and the Grand Minister Resident in Tibet clearly had a fixed share in this chain of profit.

But equally, this position was not one anyone could take, or was qualified to take. At least in the central government, when the court deliberated on candidates, many generals and officials expressed rejection, unwilling to go far away.

It was not that they lacked experience, but truly, that place was a "land of ill omen" — in less than ten years, two grand ministers had died, and even a man of such blessed fortune as Jin Wang Liu Xi, of imperial lineage, had failed to withstand it. Then what of others — would they not simply be going to their deaths? The garrison soldiers who had died of illness on the plateau were all too real.

Thus, Jiannan was out of reach yet yearned for, while the central government was within reach yet none would go — this situation infuriated Liu Yang greatly. Of course, a candidate was ultimately produced: Kang Jiying, Commander of the Chengdu troops, was promoted because of his outstanding performance in pacifying the Shu rebellion. As the son of a military family, and of three generations of loyal servants, he possessed both the qualifications and the ability.

Though the result had come out, the Emperor was extremely dissatisfied with the process — after all, those proposed for the post of Grand Minister Resident in Tibet were all senior ministers and veteran generals with certain seniority and military merit, yet they seemed to have lost their ambition.

Thus, taking this matter as an opportunity, Liu Yang once again launched a rectification of the military, especially the imperial army and its senior generals.

Of course, Liu Yang's rectification was relatively mild, and the due dignity was still preserved. It was merely that from various places, especially the border regions, a batch of outstanding rising stars was selected to fill out the imperial army, adding fresh blood and accelerating the pace of the army's generational renewal.

If one were to speak of the intensity of the rectification, it lay mostly in the land-sea dispute. In recent years, the navy had unquestionably been gaining momentum, growing wealthier, and steadily rising in status — which naturally provoked opposition, suspicion, and even suppression from a great number of the land army's marshals and generals.

The interior needed no further mention, but in the coastal regions, wherever the navy was stationed or wherever there were ports, disputes were endless. How to put it — the land army was somewhat envious of the profits the navy had seized overseas, but the navy would never agree to share; that was wealth they had earned through desperate struggle.

Once entangled in a conflict of interests, friction was inevitable; but in a conflict of interests, the final reconciliation must also focus on the interests themselves. Under Liu Yang's stewardship, a hefty bite was naturally taken out of the navy — a portion of the wealth the navy earned overseas had to be turned over, and this portion ultimately went not to the Finance Department, but as "special funds" of the Bureau of Military Affairs, to be used for the land army.

In the Great Han, when all was said and done, the land army had the final say. But equally, those military strongmen and marshals of the land army were also severely reproached, especially in the building of military conduct and discipline — many generals who had even neglected and delayed their training were even brought up on charges.

In this dispute, or rather transformation, although the navy lost a certain amount of economic benefit, in political status it showed a clear trend of rising. One must remember that once upon a time, there was no land-sea dispute at all — it was merely the big brother land army lording it over the little brother navy; now it had risen to the point where the Emperor and the Bureau of Military Affairs were needed to arbitrate and mediate.

Such progress was breakthrough in nature. On the other hand, the land army also began to take the initiative in proposing to strengthen its overseas garrison (money-grabbing) operations.

Although for a long period there had been disturbances everywhere, and the Shu rebellion had occurred, the Great Han army could hardly avoid contracting some of the common ailments of a peacetime army, and the concrete manifestation was concentrated at the upper levels of the military — and if the upper levels grew lax, the officers and men at the grassroots could hardly avoid being affected.

Although Liu Yang's governance focused on cultivating internal strength, he did not dare relax on military construction either — after all, nurtured under Shizu's influence, he deeply understood the importance of the military to national stability, and the Great Han's domain was so vast that it would forever need the army to consolidate and maintain it. Anything could be thrown into chaos, but the army could not — that was a basic bottom line.

As fresh faces appeared one after another at the upper levels of the Great Han army, the marshals and generals who had once followed Shizu withered and disappeared from the Great Han army one by one. Even those who still lived and retained a certain influence were, amid this transformation, being stamped with the mark of the Yongxi Emperor, which began to further overlay and even erase the residual influence of Shizu.

Of course, this could never be fully erased — it was only a matter of more or less, for there would always be those who used Shizu's banner for political activities, and that banner would never fall, unless some future sovereign dared to defy the world's condemnation and commit the act of forgetting his ancestors.