Chapter 2119: Taizong Chronicles 6: The Storm Against Lü

Ding Wei's impeachment memorial caused a stir in the court like a stone thrown into still water, sending ripples across a thousand waves. Over the years, attacks and criticism of the chancellor had been numerous, but a barefaced, name-naming, outright assault on the sitting chancellor and the Minister of Personnel—that was the first in over twenty years.

Ding Wei, Drafter of Edicts and the tanhua (third-place graduate) of the first year of Yongxi autumn examination, became famous overnight. Add to that Zeng Hui, formerly Prefect of Lübin and Pacification Commissioner of Haidong, now promoted to Grand Academician of the Jixian Hall and supervisor of the compilation of the *National History* and the *Veritable Records of Taizong*; and Yu Xianke, transferred to Deputy Administration Commissioner of the Liaodong Circuit—the second year of Pingkang seemed to be the year when the graduates of the "first year of Yongxi autumn examination" collectively burst onto the scene.

Hot on Ding Wei's heels, Emperor Liu Wenpeng returned to the palace from Shangyang Palace and convened an imperial council at Chuigong Hall to discuss the matter of "Ding Wei's impeachment of Lü Mengzheng." The Emperor—this too could be called "startling the world with a single cry."

In response to this matter, the entire court moved at the slightest hint. A fierce debate unfolded before the throne itself. Zhang Qixian, Li Hang, and Kou Zhun naturally stood firmly in defense of Lü Mengzheng. Ding Wei was merely a pawn; the true vanguard were Chief Censor Wang Xuanzhen and Minister of Justice Xu Shilian—one a diehard loyalist of Taizong, the other a solitary minister branded with the label "hound of the emperor."

Their attacks on Lü Mengzheng were, of course, not born of personal grudges. In essence, they opposed his "abolition of the Palace City Office" out of a desire to safeguard imperial authority. Wang Xuanzhen in particular, owing to his origins, was almost entirely at odds with the assembled ministers and chancellors; his stance could never fully align with the "power of the chancellery."

Back when he was Commissioner of the Wude Office, he had once clashed with the Palace City Office and even hoped it would disappear. But it was only after the "campaign against Wang" stirred up by Zhang Xun and Lü Mengzheng in the late years of Shizu's reign that Wang Xuanzhen truly understood the principle that the Palace City and Wude Offices opposed each other yet completed each other, and truly grasped the value and positioning of the two offices with respect to the Emperor and imperial power.

And as a former Commissioner of the Wude Office who had held power for many years, he was thus unwelcome among the assembled ministers, and on matters involving the two offices—especially the Wude Office—his stance was inevitably biased. Although Lü Mengzheng's target remained the Palace City Office, if the Palace City Office were abolished and disbanded, then what of the Wude Office? And what of him, the former Commissioner of the Wude Office?

Compared to Wang Xuanzhen, who had no choice, Xu Shilian took the initiative to attack, clashing with those senior ministers—especially Li Hang and Lü Mengzheng—on political philosophy. As a "disgraced" scholar who had endured over a decade of hardship and tempering on the northern frontier before rising again to become a pillar of Taizong and a key minister of the departments, Xu Shilian was the most steadfast practitioner and defender of the "Shizu–Taizong" policy philosophy.

In this regard, he was even more resolute than Zhang Qixian, the pragmatic chancellor who also rose from the provinces and weathered many storms. After all, Zhang Qixian was the Director of State Affairs and had to consider the whole picture and maintain the greater good.

In comparison, Li Hang and Lü Mengzheng, though possessed of considerable governing ability and following the general trend of Kaibao and Yongxi in administrative style, nevertheless held firm to their own convictions in thought and principle. They still harbored ideas of "Confucianism as the foundation," "governance by benevolence and virtue," and "the junzi ruling the state"—in simple terms, they wanted to walk the "road back."

A glimpse could be seen in the spring examination of the second year of Pingkang. This examination, overseen by Li Hang as chief supervisor, showed a notable shift in the ratio of successful candidates compared to previous sessions. The most conspicuous point was the number of "Classics" candidates—fully thirty-three people, the first time in decades. Meanwhile, the numbers for such categories as medicine, engineering, and agriculture had nearly returned to the levels of the mid-Kaibao period.

The less conspicuous change lay in the examination content. While retaining the existing foundational assessment categories of law, mathematics, practical affairs, and policy essays, a considerable amount of Confucian classics and sage teachings was added. And this added portion happened to become the factor that separated the scores of this session's candidates. Under the influence of decades of the Great Han's examination environment, there was always a portion of examinees with the problem of "shaky foundations."

Thus, the second year of Pingkang examination became the most controversial session in decades, comparable to when Shizu first proposed "practical affairs essays" and openly placed subjects like agriculture, medicine, and engineering on the examination stage.

That a group of powerholders represented by Li Hang would make such changes was clearly aimed at catering to—even buying off—those "traditional literati."

To be sure, the intellectual and academic world of the Great Han Empire had undergone great changes after decades of correction under Shizu and over a decade of unwavering persistence under Taizong, giving rise to all manner of new thoughts and new theories.

In the regions, a host of "new schools" had emerged—the Xiang school, the Min school, the Zhe school, Suiyang, Qilu, Yan-Dai, Guan-Long, and others. These new-style schools more or less catered to the will of the rulers, the most typical being the Xiangjiang school.

But it could not be denied that scholars who believed in traditional thought and adhered to the old learning were still not few in number. They were vast in quantity and still held very heavy discursive power over thought and the right to interpret knowledge. Moreover, a large portion of them came from humble or common backgrounds.

Someone like Li Hang had been in favor since the Shizu era, his official career smooth sailing with steady promotions—his own qualities were naturally sufficient. To be valued by two emperors, Shizu and Taizong, and even to become a testamentary assistant minister, his insight and ability must have been recognized. He could never be one of those who fed on decay and clung to the remnants.

The most fundamental reason he began to pry at the examination system and principles that the empire had practiced for decades was that he had long since discovered an extremely serious and increasingly serious problem under the current system: it was becoming less and less friendly to sons of humble families and lower-level scholars. Those categories and questions that emphasized experience and practical operation had requirements that were too high and increasingly harsh—simply not something ordinary scholars could achieve.

In the early years, the empire suffered a shortage of talent and genuinely needed a batch of pragmatic doers. Even scholars lacking experience could fairly easily obtain a "clerk" position from local governments, gain some training, acquire some experience, and then sit for the examinations—a natural progression.

But this situation had changed decades later. Being a clerk was no longer so easy. Gradually, many scholars discovered that in today's Great Han Empire, although the channels of upward mobility remained numerous, they were so for the sons of noble and powerful families. For scholars of ordinary background, the room for advancement was in fact limited.

For scholars of common origin, to make a name for themselves—apart from those prodigies born with innate knowledge who could leap the dragon gate of the examinations and ascend in a single bound—most people's ceiling was merely a government clerk, which itself required struggle and breakthrough. To continue rising, one had to attach oneself to the powerful, and many did exactly that.

If this continued—or rather, as it was already evolving—the outcome could well be imagined. The Great Han had, in fact, become an empire dominated by "the powerful and privileged."

This privileged class included not only the meritorious nobles and landlord-bureaucrats from the founding era, but also newly risen academic magnates and wealthy merchants. They had power, or fame, or money. How could the sons and students who had such people as their backing and patrons be compared with ordinary scholars?

In contrast, for scholars throughout the realm, only the sage's classical teachings were the fairest and lowest-cost path.

This was also the fundamental reason why Shizu, when he promoted his "prosper the state through practical affairs" approach, though subjected to much criticism from the scholarly world, was still able to implement it smoothly—after all, there was a large group of "silent" powerholders who supported him steadfastly.

The rapid solidification of class in the empire had already taken shape in the Shizu era. Shizu naturally saw it long ago, but first, he was loath to slap his own face, and second, compared to those bookish scholars, he trusted more in talents cultivated through elite education—which was beneficial to the empire's rule.

At the same time, under the Great Han Empire's system, the kind of aristocratic clans seen in the Wei-Jin period could not emerge, for the cultural soil had changed. Moreover, while origin was important, it was not the sole criterion—the core policy of the examinations was still preserved and even carried forward.

But regardless, the various contradictions and negative effects that class solidification would bring to the nation would still exist, and once accumulated to a certain degree, problems would inevitably erupt.

If Shizu was one who didn't bother to deal with it, Taizong was one who had no time—after all, throughout his entire reign he was busy patching Shizu's leaks and applying patches to the empire. Of course, Taizong was not entirely inactive on the examinations. He strengthened the system more strictly and comprehensively, especially in expanding the content and direction of assessment and in strictly preventing, blocking, and severely punishing fraud and favoritism.

At the same time, the great increase in the proportion of candidates selected in law, mathematics, agriculture, engineering, and medicine in the Great Han examinations truly emerged during the Taizong period. The law category in particular developed explosively, because Taizong firmly adhered to the concept of "governing the state by law." On this path, aside from various legal policies and their enforcement, the most important measure was cultivating and promoting a large cohort of officials who knew the law, understood the law, and could apply the law.

And by promoting the development of these "specialized subjects"—law, mathematics, agriculture, medicine, and engineering—Taizong also provided a means of alleviating the empire's class solidification. First, the empire genuinely needed such talents in various fields; second, for the broad mass of scholars, as long as they were willing to lower their sights and bend their backs, they could always achieve something in their studies. However difficult it got, could it be harder than the obscure teachings of the ancient sages?

But such methods ultimately had their limits. Thought patterns and cultural traditions developed and transmitted over a thousand years could not be truly reversed in just a few decades. However vigorously the "specialized examinations" developed, those scholars who performed enthusiastically were mostly just catering to the rulers—their aim was to become officials and enjoy power, a contingency measure to realize their personal ambition of "cultivate oneself, regulate the family, govern the state, and bring peace to the world."

Once the powerholders' thinking shifted and policies changed, it was no difficult matter for scholars to cast aside their identity and switch positions.

At the same time, neither Shizu nor Taizong could truly abandon the traditional scholar-official system—at least ideologically, it was extremely well suited to the Liu clan's rule over the realm.

Therefore, from examination selection and governance policy to the imperial system and even ideological concepts, the empire had always been in a state of tug-of-war—especially in the cultural and educational world and the political arena, where it was even more intense. Only, in the past, with strongman emperors like Shizu and Taizong, the situation was sufficiently controlled and contradictions suppressed. By the Pingkang era, circumstances were different. The assault on the existing examination system launched by a group of civil ministers represented by Li Hang and Lü Mengzheng was precisely predicated on the background of the empire's systemic contradictions and, under the configuration of collective governance by the chief ministers, barely possessed the conditions to be set in motion.

From an objective perspective, even Lü Mengzheng, who came from a humble family, belonged to the "privileged class"—he was a member of the ruling class who had truly achieved class mobility. Their ideas and policy positions were in fact a challenge to a large batch of vested-interest powerholders, and could even be said to be an act of betraying their own class.

It was precisely for this reason that Li and Lü could be distinguished from the ordinary bureaucrats who fought for power and profit. They had their own political platforms and basically upheld a public-minded heart in serving the state.

In the Hall of State Affairs, Zhang Qixian was the Director of State Affairs. His greatest duty was to maintain the stability of the court and the functioning of governance. He was an old minister of Taizong, and the Yongxi policies had absorbed much of his effort as well. Thus, Zhang Qixian devoted himself more to the continuation and maintenance of Taizong's various policies in the court, and in terms of personal ambition, he no longer had as many proposals as in his vigorous youth.

In comparison, Li and Lü were steadfast "reformists" and close political allies. Therefore, when Lü Mengzheng came under attack, Li Hang was also the most resolute in defending him.

Likewise, the strength of the "anti-Lü faction" was equally formidable. In the council chamber there were Wang Xuanzhen and Xu Shilian, and outside the court there was Liu Jichang, Administration Commissioner of the capital region. Of course, Liu Jichang's primary motive was consideration for his own position and power—after all, it was Lü Mengzheng who had overshadowed him and taken the top post in the Ministry of Personnel.

At the same time, Prince of Lu Liu Ai's attitude on this matter was also ambiguous. The main reason was that the political alliance of Li Hang and Lü Mengzheng held too much influence in the court—not just their own reputations, but also the added weight of the two powerful posts of Finance Commissioner and Minister of Personnel.

One controlled the money bag, the other controlled the official caps, and the two were of the same faction. They had already demonstrated tremendous power in a short time. If this continued, wouldn't the court soon be run entirely by these two? Therefore, the "Li–Lü alliance" had to be broken up. Just like Emperor Liu Wenpeng's calculation, Liu Ai also felt that Lü Mengzheng, stripped of the aura of a testamentary assistant minister, would be easier to deal with.

From the Emperor to the imperial clan, to the chancellors and senior ministers, one force after another stepped into the fray, joining the "anti-Lü" action. Under such circumstances, no matter how upright Lü Mengzheng was, no matter how powerful the "Li–Lü alliance" was, they could not withstand such pressure.

The outcome was predictable—it had been sealed almost from the moment Ding Wei submitted his impeachment.

However, Lü Mengzheng was a man who was virtually flawless in morality. His personal conduct and speech always emphasized the "righteous path"—full of righteousness, broad-minded and impartial, and he had always kept strict discipline over his family and relatives, who were prone to problems.

Therefore, finding fault with Lü Mengzheng himself was a very difficult matter. But "nothing in the world is difficult for one who sets his mind to it." When necessary, one could pick bones out of an egg—let alone find a few of Lü Mengzheng's shortcomings.

And the most aggressive point was the one Ding Wei seized upon: favoritism in appointments, which could be expanded into a charge of "deceiving the sovereign."

The crux lay in Lü Mengzheng's rehabilitation and appointment of the "Twenty-Eight Ministers" from years past. Nearly twenty years had passed. Of the "Twenty-Eight Gentlemen" who had been banished back then, seven survived besides Lü Mengzheng himself, and all had at least been promoted to prefectural-level posts.

And these men, twenty years ago, had been criminals personally designated by Shizu, demoted and exiled. Lü Mengzheng's actions were a betrayal of "Shizu's will"—if that wasn't deceiving the sovereign, what was?

Of course, such an argument did not really hold water, and the charge was somewhat forced and far-fetched. But none of that mattered. Shizu's will from back then didn't matter, and Taizong's re-promotion and appointment of Lü Mengzheng wasn't worth mentioning either. What mattered was that there were so many people, so many powerful forces, determined to crush Lü Mengzheng.

And so, twenty years later, the renowned minister Lü Mengzheng fell once again over the "abolition of the Palace City Office." He was not stripped of everything, but demoted to Prefectural Administrator of Taiping Prefecture in Jiangnan—a gesture that maintained a modicum of basic dignity. However, given Lü Mengzheng's age (sixty-four) and his none-too-healthy constitution, this almost announced his complete exit from the stage. Even with a prefectural post, his political future had utterly withered.

The victorious "anti-Lü faction" was not yet satisfied. Some turned their spears toward Li Hang, pinning on him the charge of "forming cliques for private gain." With this, the situation escalated another level beyond the "Lü Mengzheng case." After all, Li Hang was a legitimately appointed testamentary chancellor of Taizong, ranked among the top four in Guangzheng Hall.

When this proposal was raised, the shock was naturally even greater. However, when those signs began to show, the Director of State Affairs stepped in. He resolutely defended Li Hang—or rather, he resolutely defended Taizong's testamentary decree and the Yongxi policies. Under the Director of State Affairs' forceful intervention, the dispute was prevented from blowing up and dragging Li Hang in as well.

Nevertheless, losing the most important political ally was the heaviest blow to Li Hang and the faction of civil ministers he led.

This "anti-Lü" storm, which occurred in the winter of the second year of Pingkang, had a major and far-reaching impact on the Great Han Empire.

From a personal perspective, first, Emperor Liu Wenpeng for the first time voiced a voice truly his own. Imperial power began to revive continuously; the "dust-covered" emperor gradually awakened. After all, with a single move he had taken down a chancellor.

At the same time, from Liu Wenpeng's perspective, he seemed to have imagined the chief ministers as far more powerful than they were—not to mention the contradictions and frictions among themselves. More importantly, the Emperor discovered a problem: to pry at the court situation, he seemed to need only a single edict.

Even if the assistant ministers personally designated by Taizong could not be lightly touched, what about the others? Only then did Emperor Liu Wenpeng truly begin to realize what the word "Emperor" meant, and what the power the imperial system vested in him truly was.

For Wang Xuanzhen and Xu Shilian, it meant preserving the Palace City Office, safeguarding established institutions, and defending imperial power.

Liu Jichang, the Administration Commissioner of the capital region, finally ascended to the chancellorship and was promoted to Minister of the Ministry of Personnel. This time, no one stood in his way.

There was also Ding Wei, the drafter of edicts, who was sent out to Kaifeng Prefecture to become an Administrative Assistant of the Eastern Capital, wielding judicial authority over a prefecture of nearly two million people.

Of course, for Ding Wei, the greatest significance lay in having his words reach the emperor's ears, and in once again witnessing firsthand what the fierce struggles at the heights of the court were truly like. For Ding Wei, who in his later years could only sit cautiously and watch the great powers clash, recognizing his own insignificance even as he harbored boundless longing for greater power—

Viewed from a macro perspective, the "Ousting Lü" affair dealt a violent shock to the regency structure that had sustained the Great Han for nearly two years. The original arrangement, with the passage of time and the growth of popular discontent, became increasingly difficult to maintain.

At the same time, the struggles between political ideals and power among the empire's upper echelons grew ever more complex and fierce.

On the fourteenth day of the twelfth month of the second year of Pingkang, Chief Inspector Wang Xuanzhen was pushed out of the chancellery. The one who made the move was Li Hang, and the one who facilitated it was Director of State Affairs Zhang Qixian, on the pretext that Mobei was unsettled (the Naiman tribe and the Khitan of Mobei were clashing with increasing frequency and ferocity), requiring a senior minister to take up residence in Shanyang to oversee and mediate.

Wang Xuanzhen was assigned the posts of Shanyang Pacification Commissioner and Mobei Pacification Commissioner—at least locally, his real power remained considerable.

But at the same time, Wang Xuanzhen's departure from court also meant another irregular exit by an imperially appointed regent—the most conspicuous sign of the political shift.

Hot on its heels came the scramble by all factions for the heavy post of Chief Inspector. The entire Yongxi era was one of great expansion for the empire's supervisory system; by the end of Yongxi, it had become the third-largest office among the administrative departments, after only the Ministry of Personnel and the Finance Commission.

And for this position, the various factions fought bloody battles, to the point where even the combined efforts of Prince Lu Liu Ai and Director of State Affairs Zhang Qixian could no longer suppress the struggle.