Chapter 2106: Taizong Chronicles 48: The Ninth Year of Yongxi

In the autumn of the ninth year of Yongxi (1001 CE), nearly ten years had passed since Liu Yang ascended the throne. The new emperor had become an old emperor, and the Great Han Empire presented itself to the world with an even more stable and prosperous appearance of governance.

Over the past two to three years, under Liu Yang's urging, the court had further strengthened the construction of the rule of law and intensified its crackdown on those who violated laws and discipline, stole from the state, and abused the people. Every autumn at the time of executions, several hundred people—officials alone—were taken to the Southern Market in Luoyang and publicly executed by beheading.

Still, it had to be said that in terms of efficiency in killing officials, he could never match Emperor Shizu, because the latter tended to kill in great swaths—killing in droves, killing by the hundreds and thousands. But in terms of frequency of killing officials, Liu Yang surpassed his father. He pursued the rule of law, punished according to law, executed those sentenced to death, and killed rationally.

Some emperors who kill cause the people's hearts to scatter, court politics to fall into chaos, and the state to weaken; other emperors who kill make the people's hearts more united, politics more lucid, and the state more prosperous. Liu Yang was clearly the latter, because he did not kill indiscriminately.

At the same time, even under an official-management environment even harsher than that of Shizu, the powerful nobles and bureaucrats of the Great Han still maintained a fawning attitude toward Liu Yang as emperor—"Torture me a thousand times over, I still treat Your Majesty like my first love." The reason was simply that competition in the Great Han officialdom had become too fierce; positions were already saturated, and talent had already overflowed.

Especially in the autumn of the eighth year of Yongxi, Liu Yang began to focus on the problem of redundant personnel within the system. Through multi-faceted investigation, understanding, and listening to obtain the actual situation, he carried out a detailed determination of the number of officials at all levels—from the central ministries and bureaus down to the circuits, prefectures, counties, and even townships, villages, and hamlets. This undoubtedly stirred up another enormous wave in Great Han officialdom.

The empire's system of court officials and commissioned officials was already quite complete, including civil and military titular officials and merit-rank officials, all with established regulations and little change. In contrast, the "clerks" who thrived beneath the official system had never had a clear and definite positioning or management regulations.

Everything was in fact handled by local officials themselves. They possessed enormous discretionary power in the establishment and appointment of "clerks." It could even be said that this was one of the most important powers of local bureaucrats, especially chief officials—and the authority of many local officials derived precisely from this.

After all, the clerks, who outnumbered officials by several times or even ten times, were the ones directly responsible for handling affairs and managing the common people. They were also the tentacles by which the Great Han Empire's ruling system extended to the localities and to the people. And local commissioned officials often influenced the situation under their jurisdiction and determined the fate of their subordinate people precisely by controlling the career prospects and power paths of their clerks.

To be frank, for the emperor to deal with officials was very easy—a single imperial edict sufficed, because their most important source of legitimacy came from the imperial mandate, and their governing power was granted by the court.

But dealing with clerks was not as simple as one might imagine—not just because of their enormous numbers, but also because of their deeply entrenched networks of relationships, and the crucial linking role this group played in the Great Han Empire's social management model. For the state to be stable and the people to be governed, it was precisely this group of clerks that could least be done without.

Therefore, Liu Yang's rectification of the "Han clerks"—the reduction in numbers—was only one part. More importantly, on the basis of the old miscellaneous regulations, he produced a more detailed and standardized set of management measures. Simply put, it was to standardize the vast body of Han clerks. The most notable feature was that the court divided all clerks in the realm into twenty grades, roughly corresponding to levels from imperial relatives, nobles, and central ministry clerks down to ordinary village functionaries, with annual salaries issued according to grade.

This was another great project of the Yongxi reign, and naturally not easy to carry out. Not to mention the vast numbers of Han clerks facing "unemployment" under the court's rectification, even the chief local officials were highly resistant, because the court's hand reached too far—reaching into their "rice bowls" and poking at their "backsides."

Therefore, the progress of this work was exceptionally slow, comparable to tax reform, and it was not without its troubles. Nevertheless, the "New Clerk Regulations" were still established amid stumbling and commotion. Just as tax reform ultimately ended in compromise, so too did clerk reform. When the struggle reached a certain point, stability and balance still overrode everything. But in the course of this process, more than ten thousand redundant personnel were still cut nationwide.

Establishing a new clerk system while incidentally alleviating the problem of redundant clerks, ultimately reaching a consensus—this might not have been anything other than exactly the effect Emperor Liu Yang wanted to achieve.

And as large numbers of clerical personnel were dismissed, the Great Han's "talent surplus crisis" further intensified. The dismissed clerks rarely failed to find new paths or livelihoods—those capable of serving as clerks all had real ability, and at the very least they had accumulated a family estate and corresponding networks of connections.

However, getting these "capable clerks" who had struggled within or on the margins of the system to take up other careers was clearly not so easy—at the very least, their way of thinking was hard to change.

Thus, under these circumstances, another wave of "talent outflow" erupted. The vassal states in all four directions of the Great Han vied to exert themselves, recruiting talent from within the empire and offering all kinds of tempting conditions.

For the vast majority of clerks, leaving their hometowns to struggle in foreign lands clearly required overcoming a great psychological hurdle. Some were unwilling to take the risk, but others wanted to gamble on it. Especially when one might be only a minor clerk at home but could directly become an official in a vassal state—this kind of contrast was, for long-serving Han clerks, simply a dimensionality-reduction strike.

Thus, over the past two years, the various vassal states had recruited a large batch of talent from the Great Han. Setting aside the question of varying ability, they were all clerk-officials who had been tested by the Great Han system—ready to "fight" the moment they were deployed.

And in this process, the biggest winners were precisely the Three Kingdoms of Anxi. In the seventh year of Yongxi, in less than half a year, the Three Kingdoms of Anxi jointly breached the city of Puhualuo and destroyed the Samanid Dynasty, which had dominated the Transoxiana region for over a hundred years.

After dividing up the legacy of the Samanid Dynasty, the three kingdoms immediately began, on the basis of military conquest, to establish Han rule. And this process was clearly more difficult than fighting wars.

Even though the camp-system's aggressiveness and assimilative power were strong enough, promoting "Hanification" still required large numbers of talented people—precisely what the three kingdoms lacked, especially Anxi and Kangju, which had obtained vast territories of the Samanid Dynasty.

Where to find talent when there wasn't enough? The mother country, the Great Han, had everything one could want. And compared to the south, which had still not completely shaken off the impression of "barbaric wilderness," Central Asia—which had given birth to splendid civilizations, possessed a glorious history, and maintained close communication with China—held greater appeal for Great Han officials, especially those from the central and western regions.

The talent outflow phenomenon that occurred in the seventh through ninth years of Yongxi had one obvious difference from the past: this time, the proportion of voluntary choices was very high.

In the past, there was imperial guidance, or the court issued decrees and made arrangements. Many people were in fact passively accepting arrangements, and inwardly they were not necessarily willing.

But this time, the situation had changed—the change began with ideology and concepts. Within this change, the concepts of the Great Han's upper-class nobles were also quietly transforming—a transformation that had never appeared in any previous imperial dynasty.

Setting aside other matters, at the very least they had further recognized the "wonderful uses" of the various vassal states. Blocking external enemies and shielding the central empire was only the most superficial—even the most negligible—function, because a powerful Celestial Dynasty feared no external challenge.

In comparison, the "flood-discharge theory" that Emperor Shizu had proposed in his early years was becoming increasingly prominent in the current Yongxi reign.

Rebellious commoners—killing them harms heavenly harmony, keeping them breeds deep resentment—so divert them outward; officials who committed crimes but did not merit the death penalty—exile them outward; people displaced by natural disasters—they too could be migrated outward; including the surplus clerks produced by this "clerk system" reform—they could still be exported outward.

It seemed that any problem arising within the empire had found a solution. After all, all problems originated with "people"—once the "people" problem was solved, then the problem was solved.

And as for the carrying capacity of the various vassal states, perhaps even a hundred years would not reveal the ceiling. Their hunger for Han people and for all kinds of talent was visible to the naked eye.

At this point, a summary could be made: the Great Han Empire entering the Yongxi era possessed a characteristic that no previous imperial dynasty had possessed, and this characteristic, originating from Emperor Shizu, was very likely to bring a certain uncertainty to the future of the Great Han Empire and even the direction of world history. The future world—at least an Asian world under the shadow of a "Han orthodoxy"—would see even more splendid historical development. In the ninth year of Yongxi, many major events also occurred in the Great Han Empire, such as the completion of a new round of "population census work." The court issued an edict requiring all circuits, prefectures, and counties to investigate and verify the populations under their jurisdiction—the court wanted to understand the Great Han's population figures.

Since the completion of tax reform, local governments had in fact not been so concerned about population figures—at least not so concerned about the numbers themselves, since taxation was no longer based on population.

Therefore, the population statistics that had once been imprecise but always had some rough framework had gradually fallen into neglect. At the same time, over the past decade, the Great Han had experienced another wave of baby boom, casting an even thicker fog over the population figures.

This had even caused damage to the Great Han's household registration system—and how important was the household registration system to the empire's rule? It was a position that absolutely could not be abandoned. Especially during Liu Yang's western inspection tour, he discovered that in some places, the household registration system had become a dead letter—government offices did not investigate local conditions and could not distinguish adult males.

But ironically, some local tyrants and gentry in the townships and villages had a crystal-clear understanding of the local population situation—clans had genealogies, villages had registers.

As for why this situation occurred, and why the gentry and tyrants were more proactive than the government—the answer went without saying. Did anyone really think that when the government restrained itself, the lowly commoners at the bottom could shed their burdens, devote themselves to production, and live happy, joyful lives?

In view of this, as early as the eighth year of Yongxi, the imperial edict on nationwide population statistics had been formally issued, with each requirement for the population census clearly and explicitly marked in the edict.

This was of course also a cumbersome and difficult task, but the court had reasons it could not avoid pursuing it. Although almost everyone in the Great Han placed great importance on land, in the eyes of the rulers, population—especially a population willing to be subjugated—was the most precious wealth.

Counting the population was also a process of inventorying the empire's "wealth." At the very least, once the population was clear, conscription for military service and corvée labor could be better planned. On the other hand, just as when Emperor Shizu privately visited Luoshan County in those years and Liu Wenhuan debated with that ignorant commoner, being registered was also a protection of the people's rights—especially in the present era when taxation was not based on headcount.

Although for ordinary people, if they did not encounter an upright official, lawsuits were generally hard to win—but if one's name was not on the register, then winning a lawsuit was absolutely impossible.

By the autumn of the ninth year of Yongxi, the Ministry of Revenue had already aggregated the data reported from all regions and arrived at an approximate figure. This figure might not be entirely accurate, but the fact that the total of registered and unregistered households nationwide exceeded 100 million people had already become a reality.

Counting from the Kaibao era alone, nearly forty years had passed. The overall stable social and public security environment, the rapidly advancing grain production, and the growth of three generations had jointly spurred this population explosion of the Great Han Empire.

And this result, while astonishing Liu Yang, also brought him deep worry—so many people to feed, how difficult that was!

Fortunately, there were also the various vassal states. It was also from the ninth year of Yongxi that the Great Han no longer placed any obstacles on outward migration and commerce—indeed, it adopted an encouraging attitude and policies.

But it was still the old problem: not many common people were willing to leave. Unless they could not survive, who would be willing to drift abroad? But in the flourishing age of Yongxi, how could the common people be allowed to not survive?

But no matter what, the Great Han Empire of the Yongxi era had already gradually climbed to the peak of feudal empires over the past thousand years, surpassing any previous era.

By the ninth year of Yongxi, another enormous change had occurred in the upper power structure of the Great Han Empire—and this enormity was embodied in the change of the Director of State Affairs.

Lü Duan, the old minister who had served as chancellor for over thirty years since the Kaibao era, had passed away. He died a mere half month after stepping down from the post of Director of State Affairs.

For an old minister like Lü Duan, the funeral affairs were naturally handled with great splendor, and his posthumous reputation was extolled to the utmost. But compared with the deceased old chancellor, the living were more concerned about the power vacuum Lü Duan had left behind.

Even more decisive than his handling of the Commissioner of Military Affairs selection back then, Liu Yang directly appointed the new Director of State Affairs: Zhang Qixian.

At this point, Zhang Qixian—the humble scholar who had once intercepted the imperial carriage in Luoyang and "drawn maps and presented strategies"—was able to push all the meritorious officials and nobles behind him and ascend to the pinnacle of a minister's position, also completing a "fine tale of ruler and minister" with Liu Yang.

Of course, this achievement had not come easily—merely in terms of time, it had taken nearly forty years. At the same time, it was his thirty years of diligent, hard-working, and suffering service that had laid the solid foundation for the "rapid advancement" of the most recent ten years.

From Yulin to the Metropolitan Circuit, then to Right Vice Director of the Chancellery and Finance Commissioner, and finally to the summit of Director of State Affairs—these three great leaps had been accomplished within ten years. Such fortune was truly difficult to replicate.

Setting aside others, take Lü Duan: he had served as chancellor in the central government for over twenty years before becoming Chief Chancellor in the new dynasty. Chancellors and the Chief Chancellor often deliberated on affairs in the same hall, and even in rank and treatment there was no excessive disparity—but the gap between the two was sometimes truly a heavenly chasm.

Zhang Qixian's appointment as chancellor inevitably involved a series of personnel changes throughout the court. Especially the post of Finance Commissioner—this powerful and substantive position was unquestionably reserved for the emperor's faction. Liu Yang chose Li Hang, in recognition of his merit in pacifying the southwest.

The one who succeeded Li Hang was a man almost forgotten by the Great Han's upper echelons: Lü Mengzheng. The "Downfall of Wang" incident back then had had too great an impact on his official career. However, as emperor, Liu Yang had not forgotten him, and so he was still able, at an age approaching sixty, to become a regional commander—and of the Jiannan Circuit, no less.

At this point, the once-youthful "Three Talents" had all become hoary-haired old ministers, and also the truly dazzling stars of Great Han politics.

While the court situation was constantly changing, a series of meritorious old ministers and prominent figures from the Shizu era—Duke of Henei Han Tong, Duke of Pingyuan Sun Li, Marquis of Zhending Cao Bin, Marquis of Yangyi Zhang Yongde, Marquis of Mayi Dang Jin, Marquis of Hongjiang Qin Zaixiong, Earl of Gaoyang Liu Tinghan, Earl of Dongyang Li Chongjin, among others—passed away one after another.

With the passing of these meritorious officials and old nobles, the traces belonging to Emperor Shizu further faded, and that bygone era completely receded, lingering only in the memories of the elderly and preserved beneath the brushes of historians and literati.

The most noticeable change was that in recent years, few people still styled themselves as old ministers of Shizu. Even Yang Ye, on ordinary days, would only quietly reminisce and pay homage in the privacy of his own home.