Chapter 2100: Taizong Chronicles 42: Three Appointments

"Your subject Wang Xuanzhen, having received the imperial summons, appears before you—may Your Majesty enjoy ten thousand blessings!" Inside Chuigong Hall, the former Commissioner of the Wude Office, Wang Xuanzhen, with a face full of solemn gravity, performed the great kowtow ritual toward Emperor Liu Yang, who sat high upon the imperial throne.

"Rise!"

"I thank Your Majesty!"

Looking down upon Wang Xuanzhen from on high, Liu Yang could not discern the man's inner thoughts, but his countenance was always composed. Liu Yang asked with an air of indifference: "You have been idle at home for over a year now, have you not?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty." Wang Xuanzhen's mind stirred slightly as he replied with reverence.

"Do you harbor any resentment?"

"Your Majesty sees clearly!" Hearing the emperor speak thus, Wang Xuanzhen immediately declared with solemnity: "Your subject was originally in a place of trouble and strife; Your Majesty's gracious dismissal was truly a rescue of your subject from the mire—a gesture of care and protection. Your subject is moved to tears of gratitude—how could resentment arise?"

Wang Xuanzhen's explanation drew a smile from Liu Yang, whose tone lightened somewhat: "During your time of leisure, what have you been doing?"

"To answer Your Majesty, your subject has purchased a few acres of thin farmland outside Longmen Town. In my spare time, I merely read books, hunt, till the fields, and grow vegetables." Wang Xuanzhen replied.

Longmen Town lay south of Luoyang, along the banks of the Yi River, not far from the capital. Wang Xuanzhen's choice of such a place for recuperation clearly showed that though his body was in the wilderness, his heart remained with the court.

Of this, Liu Yang was naturally well aware. His expression turning stern, he ceased his pleasantries and gazed fixedly at Wang Xuanzhen, saying: "Your handling of the penal labor camps was well done. I am most satisfied with the results!"

It was in the summer of the fourth year of Yongxi that, after more than three years of effort, Wang Xuanzhen had barely managed to complete the reform of the penal labor camps. The result was that the penal labor camps, which had once sprawled across all the circuits and prefectures of the Great Han, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, had undergone a great slimming down. Including the newly added Shu rebel prisoners, under Wang Xuanzhen's direction, in just over three years, the court had relocated more than four hundred thousand people to the northwest, northeast, and the various southern vassal states.

Setting aside how many exchanges of interest occurred in the process, or how much cruelty and tragedy unfolded, the penal labor camps—that "poisonous sore" on the body of the Great Han Empire—had in fact been reduced and alleviated.

A complete solution was impossible; as long as the penal labor camps existed, the problem could never be fully resolved. Even though, at Liu Yang's behest and under Wang Xuanzhen's reorganization, the system and its management had been infused with as much "humanity" as possible, so long as the institution existed, the problems inherent to it would remain—only the severity would vary.

With the emperor's attention fixed on the matter, the officials managing the penal labor camps across the various regions naturally restrained themselves somewhat, and the prisoners' days correspondingly improved. However, once the higher-ups' attention shifted, the fangs and claws would inevitably be bared once more.

As for abolishing the penal labor camp system entirely, Liu Yang had certainly considered it, but in the end he suppressed the notion. To be pragmatic, the penal labor camps were a major supplement to the Great Han's criminal punishment system. At the same time, the court needed this pool of cheap, expendable labor—building bridges, paving roads, quarrying mountains, mining, digging canals, reinforcing dikes—these bitter, exhausting, filthy, dangerous tasks would always be short of hands.

On the other hand, after so many years of development, the penal labor camps held not only criminal officials and commoners of the Great Han, but also numerous tribes, barbarian peoples, and heretical cultists who refused to submit to imperial rule and had risen in rebellion. To a certain extent, the existence of the penal labor camps was almost a concentration of all that was filthy, corrupt, sinful, and dark in the Great Han Empire—a shadow beneath the sunlight, a garbage dump behind the facade of a prosperous age. They played a tremendous role in maintaining imperial rule and preserving social order.

Through the machinations of Liu Yang and his ministers, it was merely a matter of "discharging waste" to the various vassal states. Once the scale of the penal labor camps was reduced, they became easier to control and manage, and the emperor no longer had to lie awake at night, constantly worrying about another penal labor camp uprising.

Of course, what Liu Yang had always feared was never simply a penal labor camp riot—those were not easy to pull off—but rather the fear that pulling one hair might move the whole body, that it might combine with deep-seated local abuses and erupt together. The Shu rebellion had already provided an extremely profound lesson.

And through the reform and handling of the penal labor camps, Wang Xuanzhen, that spymaster, had finally earned Liu Yang's trust, or at least had his abilities affirmed.

This was a capable man—one who not only understood the imperial will precisely but also acted with swift decisiveness while retaining flexibility. It was thus understandable that, only a few years after his uncle Wang Yinwu's downfall, Shizu had once again appointed this man to the post of Commissioner of the Wude Office—a man with a "political blemish."

"You have served in the Wude Office for twenty-five years, always diligent, self-restrained, and devoted to duty, yet the court has never granted you any significant reward!" In the hall, gazing at Wang Xuanzhen, Liu Yang said slowly: "I grant you five hundred thousand in cash, one hundred bolts of fine brocade, two imperial horses, a set of imperial porcelain, and in addition the honorary rank of Specially Advanced!"

"Your subject bows in gratitude for Your Majesty's boundless grace!" Hearing this, Wang Xuanzhen immediately knelt and kowtowed once more to express his thanks.

These gifts from the emperor were truly nothing much among the powerful and noble, but the point was clearly not the material goods—rather, it was the emperor's recognition and attitude that guaranteed lasting wealth and honor.

Liu Yang continued: "Letting a capable man like you sit idle—I find it a waste. You have rested long enough; it is time you came out to serve the court!"

Hearing these words, even a man as deep as Wang Xuanzhen could not help but feel joy rising in his heart. Nothing was more substantial than official position and power. Thus he kowtowed once more, with an air of utter devotion: "Whatever Your Majesty commands, your subject will not refuse!"

At this declaration, there was not the slightest smile on Liu Yang's face as he said: "Fan Zhigu, the Administration Commissioner of Jiangnan Circuit, has passed away. You will go to Jiangnan to take up the post!"

Hearing this, Wang Xuanzhen could not help but be stunned. He had never imagined that Liu Yang would arrange such a position for him. But immediately after came wild joy. Setting aside the increasingly prominent importance of Jiangnan Circuit in the Great Han's economic landscape, the very transformation from Commissioner of the Wude Office to Administration Commissioner—the grace and opportunity contained in such a shift—was something others could not begin to understand.

If one said he bore not the slightest resentment toward Liu Yang, that would be nonsense—Wang Xuanzhen was no saint. But at this very moment, his "loyalty" was almost instantly maxed out.

However, his powerful psychological constitution kept Wang Xuanzhen restrained in his demeanor. He kowtowed and petitioned: "Your Majesty entrusts me with such a heavy responsibility, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. But I fear my talents and virtue are shallow, and I may not be equal to the task. Moreover, if I were to take up the post, I fear great controversy would arise at court, causing Your Majesty difficulty."

"Spare me your false modesty!" Liu Yang said with some forcefulness: "If you lacked the ability, I would not employ you! As for court controversy and whether I will face difficulty—that is my affair, and none of your concern!

Going to Jiangnan is not for you to enjoy the romantic scenery there! Jiangnan is the gathering place of the southeast, the starting point of the grain transport system. Its importance to the nation I need not elaborate.

At present, the court's many reforms still prioritize official governance, and have shifted from blanket implementation to targeted reform. Jiangnan Circuit is a key area for rectification.

As for the situation in Jiangnan Circuit, you likely know quite a bit from your time in the Wude Office. Corruption exists everywhere; it is simply easier in prosperous places. When you go to Jiangnan Circuit, on my behalf, carefully clean out the areas that the court has been unable to attend to in recent years.

Official governance and the rule of law must be constantly renewed! Additionally, commerce in Jiangnan Circuit is flourishing day by day, and commercial taxes increase yearly. But collusion between officials and merchants, and the entanglement of power and money, is also growing ever more rampant.

Among the common people, disputes over commercial competition leading to armed mob fights, killings, and harm to the populace are endless, seriously obstructing the normal operation of commercial order and disturbing the peaceful lives of the people. These must be severely punished.

Especially in the Shanghai County area—I have heard folk rumors that Shanghai has many merchants, many goods, and many corpses sunk beneath the Song River. For such a saying to spread, I do not believe it is without basis. There must be abuses hidden within. Also, the contradictions between Su and Xiu prefectures—rectify all of it thoroughly for me.

I give you three more years. After three years, I want to see results!" With the emperor having spoken thus, Wang Xuanzhen naturally ceased his feigned reserve. He immediately prostrated himself and made another round of vows and assurances—that he would surely fulfill his duties with loyalty, rectify the chaos in Jiangnan, and not fail Your Majesty's trust and commission, and so on.

And one could well imagine what reaction the announcement of Wang Xuanzhen's appointment provoked at court—an uproar, a clamor of shock. From top to bottom, almost no one failed to voice opposition or objection. For all the various factions, it was not merely that such a plum post as Jiangnan Circuit had been lost; more importantly, it was the matter of Wang Xuanzhen's background.

Since when could the hounds and talons of the Wude Office don robes and caps of office, appear openly in the Great Han court, receive appointments as provincial governors, and stand shoulder to shoulder with the many worthies?

However, no matter how great the controversy, the imperial decree had already been issued and could not be altered. Liu Yang had no intention of rescinding his command. No matter how much dissatisfaction there was, it all had to be swallowed back down.

Throughout the entire process, one person found himself in a somewhat awkward position—the chancellor and Minister of Personnel, Murong Defeng. From whatever standpoint one took, Murong Defeng opposed Wang Xuanzhen's appointment as Administration Commissioner of Jiangnan Circuit. But from beginning to end, he had no real voice in the matter; the emperor even ignored his opinion entirely.

Perhaps it was simply a matter of addressing the issue rather than the person. But for a Minister of Personnel—the heavenly official of appointments—even if this were merely an isolated case, he absolutely could not let down his guard. If even the power over personnel organization were weakened, that would be equivalent to the erosion of his most important authority as chancellor. It was not a good omen.

In the tenth month of winter in the fifth year of Yongxi, in the remote Annam Circuit on the Great Han's southern frontier, a major event occurred. On the third day of the tenth month, Chenla troops suddenly invaded the border, breached the small frontier town of Wenyang, then crossed the Luolun River to the east and took Riluo County.

By the fifteenth day of the tenth month, Chenla forces had broken through Wushi Ridge, raided the southern coastal areas of Annam Circuit, and seized Huan Prefecture, nearly cutting off Annam Circuit from the southern prefectures and the kingdom of Linyi by land.

At the same time, in the central-northern regions of Annam, cave barbarian tribes rose in successive rebellions, wreaking havoc on prefectures and counties. Among them were many indigenous tribal chieftains who had long been dissatisfied with Great Han rule and now raised revolt one after another—clearly with Chenla's instigation behind them.

This Chenla had seemingly lost its mind, thoroughly picking a fight with the Great Han.

At the sudden invasion by the kingdom of Chenla, the court was naturally furious. With little dissent, consensus was quickly reached at court: a severe strike was mandatory. How many years had it been that only the Great Han attacked others? When had a foreign state ever dared to provoke first—and a "barbarian" kingdom on the Indochinese Peninsula at that?

Though the Great Han of the Yongxi era was focused inward, the moment it suffered external invasion, the war machine could swiftly be set in motion.

A strike was certainly necessary, but how to strike, whom to send, and to what extent—these matters required careful deliberation. Mere Chenla was not worth excessive attention from the Great Han; it was only its brazen provocation that had suddenly drawn the court's gaze.

Because when deliberating on the choice of commander to suppress the rebellion, one person volunteered—the eldest imperial prince, Liu Wenhuan, Commandery Duke of Ruyang. If this were connected to the struggle for the succession, then even a "minor conflict" on the southwestern frontier could become a major affair at court, a wrestling ground for the various factions.

The Murong faction naturally opposed this resolutely. Their reasoning was simple: war is a great matter of state and must not be taken lightly. The eldest prince had no experience leading troops, and the southwestern disturbance was minor—sending a capable general would suffice. Why should so precious a person be placed in harm's way?

In direct opposition, the Zhao faction strove to win the point with a different set of arguments: Liu Wenhuang had undertaken a journey to Anxi and had observed and trained within the military. As for his lack of experience, a senior general could assist him. Moreover, having the eldest prince lead the campaign would boost morale and demonstrate the court's regard for Annam.

The two factions each held stubbornly to their positions, with such momentum that it seemed the fierce succession struggle of the first year of Yongxi might replay itself. This behavior of using matters of state and military as a battlefield for the succession struggle clearly angered the emperor. A thunderous round of blows came down, and both sides quieted once more.

However, regarding Liu Wenhuang's voluntary request to go to Annam to suppress the rebellion and repel the enemy, Liu Yang, after careful deliberation, ultimately decided to let Liu Wenhuang give it a try. Perhaps Liu Yang was thinking of the story of how Shizu had once sent him to the battlefield as commander-in-chief.

On the twentieth day of the tenth month of winter in the fifth year of Yongxi, the emperor issued an edict appointing the eldest prince, Commandery Duke of Ruyang, as Grand Marshal of the Southern Expedition, mobilizing fifty thousand troops from the four circuits of Yunnan, the Two Guangs, and Annam to suppress the Chenla rebellion.

With the issuance of this edict, in that winter of the fifth year of Yongxi, nearly the entire Indochinese Peninsula was plunged into a state of war and turmoil. For it was not merely a contest between the court and the kingdom of Chenla—the surrounding states of Linyi, the coastal vassal kingdoms, and even those resisting Liu Wenhai's invasion, as well as the remnants of the destroyed kingdom of Zhitong, all became involved.

They could basically be divided into two major camps: one was naturally the Great Han; the other was the indigenous states of the Indochinese Peninsula with Chenla as their alliance leader.

Even as time passed, the turmoil spread to the South Seas—at the very least, Prince Qi Liu Yun's Beijinzhou saw several indigenous uprisings.

"Kou Zhun, speaking frankly, I truly do not like you very much!" In Chuigong Hall, Liu Yang stared coldly at Kou Zhun, the Prefectural Administrator of Xiangzhou, who knelt prostrate before the throne.

Since that political gamble in the first year of the reign, Kou Zhun had essentially spent an entire term of office in Xiangzhou. This time, returning to court to report on his duties, he had passed the reviews of all other departments and had also endured questioning from several chancellors—yet here at the Emperor's place, he had been left waiting for days.

Now, having finally been granted an audience, he faced such words from the Emperor. Even Kou Zhun could not help but tremble with fear, knocking his head to the ground repeatedly: "Your subject is terrified!"

"Do you know why?" Liu Yang asked calmly.

Kou Zhun bowed his head deeply and said: "Your subject is shallow of talent and thin of virtue, unworthy to meet His Majesty's gaze!"

"Heh! Every man has strengths and weaknesses—how could I judge by such things?" Liu Yang sneered, then said: "Moreover, if you, Kou Zhun, lacked ability, would I have agreed to make you Prefectural Administrator of Xiangzhou? I have heard your assessment report. Five years in Xiangzhou—you reformed long-standing abuses, brought political harmony and popular contentment, and lost articles lay untouched on the roads. Could a mediocre talent have accomplished that?"

"It's just that you, as a person, are too calculating in your schemes and too bold in your daring!" Liu Yang said with a sigh: "I both appreciate your uprightness and decisiveness, your willingness to take on responsibility, and yet despise your lack of restraint, your pushing for more once you've gained an inch!"

"Your subject is terrified!" Kou Zhun bowed again. His words and his body both showed this, but what he truly thought in his heart was hard for anyone to know.

Liu Yang, however, showed no intention of discussing the matter further, and said directly: "Regarding your next appointment, I imagine you've already heard of it. Don't be surprised—it's the Annam Circuit, and you will concurrently serve as Provisions Commissioner for the Southern Expeditionary Army.

Annam has its current chaos, certainly due to the surprise attack by Chenla, but the long-standing negligence of the local military and civil officials, their loss of vigilance, is also an important cause.

You have always been swift and resolute. I hope that once you arrive at your post, you can bring a fresh wind to Annam, and return to the Great Han's southern skies a lasting peace and stability."

"Your Majesty's trust is heavy; your servant can only repay it with utmost devotion. I shall bend my back and exhaust my strength until death. Your subject will not fail Your Majesty's commission!" When the final appointment was confirmed, Kou Zhun knocked his head heavily to the ground.

In the winter of the fifth year of Yongxi, the 37-year-old Kou Zhun became the youngest Administration Commissioner of the Great Han—even if it was only the Annam Circuit, the lowest-ranked circuit in the Great Han.