Chapter 147: 145

Twenty years ago, Song Yingxing and his elder brother Song Yingsheng sat for the provincial examinations — one placed third in the entire province, the other sixth.

Third and sixth in the Jiangxi provincial examinations!

Regrettably, to this day neither brother has passed the jinshi examination.

Three years ago, Song Yingsheng was appointed by selection as County Magistrate of Tongxiang. To put it plainly, he went through connections at the Ministry of Personnel and filled an official vacancy as a juren. Silver certainly changed hands, or his turn would never have come up — Fei Yinghuan became County Magistrate by the same method.

The family spent a large sum of silver to buy the elder brother an official post, leaving them truly without the means to buy Song Yingxing a county magistracy, so they put it off two years and then helped him purchase a teaching instructor post.

A teaching instructor barely counts as an official — the head of the county public school.

Now already past forty, Song Yingxing had come to Fenyi County to serve as teaching instructor. This should have been the most important phase of his life; all his writings were completed during these few years.

Who could have known he would run into Zhao Han? He had just begun writing the Tiangong Kaiwu when a band of rebels seized him.

"Search the county school and bring every item belonging to this man here," Zhao Han said, glancing at Song Yingxing. "Especially any manuscripts and the like!"

Half a shichen later, soldiers carried a chest into the county yamen.

Zhao Han crouched down and leafed through it slowly. There were Song Yingxing's travel journals, and countless notebooks of technical material covering agricultural machinery, ceramics, bricks and tiles, metallurgy, gunpowder, textiles, mining, meteorology, and much, much more.

The Tiangong Kaiwu had already been started, but so far it contained only material on planting crops.

Zhao Han picked up those few pages of manuscript — they dealt with rice cultivation, and were richly illustrated with text and drawings of numerous farming implements.

After skimming through them, Zhao Han remarked, "In error. Rice planting divides into early rice and late rice, yet you have recorded only early rice. For late rice, one may sow foreign japonica varieties. Your data collection is incomplete."

"Hm?"

Song Yingxing had been wearing an expression of righteous martyrdom, but the moment his manuscripts and materials were brought out, the man grew somewhat afraid, terrified that the rebels would burn his drafts.

Yet to his surprise, the rebel actually began discussing rice-planting techniques with him. Song Yingxing frowned and said, "Is there truly a method for planting late rice?"

"Where are you from?" Zhao Han asked.

Song Yingxing replied, "Fengxin County, Nanchang Prefecture."

"To my knowledge, farming households in northeastern Jiangxi are already planting late rice, and the southern Jiangxi region has also begun planting it," Zhao Han said with every appearance of expertise — though in truth the information all came from that grain merchant.

Song Yingxing, heedless of the other man's rebel status, asked curiously, "One need only use foreign japonica seed to plant late rice?"

"Not so," Zhao Han corrected. "I had people try planting late rice in Luling County, and the harvest was not very good. Calculating carefully, it should be insufficient sunlight and heat. For crops to grow well, it comes down to nothing more than water and heat. The farther south you go, the more heat the whole year provides. I have heard that in some parts of Guangdong, they can grow two or even three crops of rice a year."

"Two or three crops?" Song Yingxing was greatly astonished.

Zhao Han said with a smile, "In many matters, one must know not only that something is so, but why it is so. Take rice planting: to harvest several crops, you must be in the south — which shows it is a matter of sunlight and heat."

Song Yingxing said, "If the opportunity arises, I shall go to Guangdong and see for myself."

Zhao Han crouched down again and continued searching, and indeed found materials on manufacturing weapons. There were crossbows, arrows, gunpowder, firearms, and so on — but regrettably, no catapult was to be found.

"Why is there no catapult?" Zhao Han asked.

Song Yingxing replied, "I have never seen one. Even the warships of the Great Ming navy use either cannon or crossbow engines — who still uses catapults?"

Well then, catapults had already been rendered obsolete.

Mealtime approaching, Zhao Han took Song Yingxing by the arm to go eat, and ordered men to guard the chest of materials carefully.

Song Yingxing followed in a daze, his mind entirely on that wooden chest. Even if Zhao Han released him, the man would not leave — inside that chest was the painstaking labor of twenty years of collecting.

There was wine and meat.

Today the whole army had meat to eat; after all, they had marched hard for many days and needed to replenish their bodies well.

Nor did they need to loot — they took the county magistrate's silver and went to buy from every butcher in the city, and the butchers dared not refuse to sell.

"Bring wine. I wish to entertain Mr. Song," Zhao Han called out.

Mr. Song said nothing, merely sat down and watched Zhao Han, wanting his manuscripts and materials back.

Zhao Han said with a smile, "Please eat, Mr. Song."

Song Yingxing said, "I had a personal attendant. We were separated while fleeing."

Zhao Han immediately ordered his men, "Post notices throughout the city. Say that Mr. Song is my honored guest, and have Mr. Song's attendant come to the county yamen at once."

"This — this cannot be done," Song Yingxing said, startled to his feet. Once such a notice was posted, would it not proclaim that he had already joined the rebels?

"It can be done, it can be done," Zhao Han laughed heartily.

Song Yingxing, utterly helpless against this, could only sit back down in a huff.

Soon, the fine wine hidden away by the county magistrate was brought to the table.

Zhao Han personally poured wine for Song Yingxing and asked, "Does the sir know the principle of the lever?"

Song Yingxing did not take the cup Zhao Han offered, but picked up his chopsticks and ate. He was genuinely hungry. Chewing his food, he said, "Never heard of it."

Zhao Han turned a wine cup upside down, placed a finger on the table as a fulcrum, and used a chopstick to pry the cup up. "This is the principle of the lever. From my finger to the wine cup, that length of chopstick is the resistance arm; from my finger to the point where force is applied is the effort arm."

Song Yingxing immediately showed disdain. "What a muddle of nonsense. That is simply the principle of biao and ben!"

"Biao and ben?" Zhao Han did not understand.

Song Yingxing pointed casually. "The front section is ben; the rear section is biao."

Very well — ever since the time of Mozi, the resistance arm of a lever had been called ben, and the effort arm of a lever had been called biao.

Zhao Han said with a smile, "Mr. Song, I have a discovery. The force I apply with my hand multiplied by the length of the biao equals the weight being pried multiplied by the length of the ben. I name this the lever principle."

Song Yingxing was instantly captivated by these words and wanted to go home at once to verify it.

He had already thought out the verification experiment — a simple large steelyard would do.

In fact, the Mozi had already revealed the lever principle and discussed the matter of proportions, but the description was very crude and had not formed a clear formula.

The two men said no more, each burying his head in his meal.

Having filled his belly, Zhao Han did not go for a walk, but had the chest brought over.

Zhao Han leafed carefully through the manuscripts, then suddenly laughed and read an essay aloud: "'When order reaches its extreme, disorder is longed for; when disorder reaches its extreme, order is longed for — such is the cycle of multiplication and division between heaven and earth… The calamities of the northwest have spread their flames across the Central Plains. Of those places where only the city walls remain, while villages, towns, and marketplaces have all been reduced to ashes, none can say how many there are. The common people die today at the hands of bandits, tomorrow at the hands of soldiers… This is precisely the moment when disorder has reached its extreme and order is longed for. The affairs of the realm may yet be salvaged; do not let the cycle of multiplication and division lead you to despair and confusion.'"

Song Yingxing sat on the wooden bench, turned to gaze at the scenery outside the room, his mind unknowable.

Zhao Han laughed with great delight. "Mr. Song, this essay of yours appears to be rousing yourself, hoping to save the dynasty. Yet apart from the final line, the entire piece speaks of dynastic change."

"Nonsense," Song Yingxing flatly denied. "In such chaotic times, it is precisely the moment for us scholars to rise to the occasion."

Zhao Han nodded. "Scholars ought to rise to the occasion. I am a scholar myself, and so I rise and exert myself, intent on remaking a bright and clear world!"

"That is rebellion!"

Song Yingxing suddenly came back to his senses and asked, "Who exactly are you?"

"Zhao Yan of Luling — ever heard of him?" Zhao Han asked with a smile.

Song Yingxing said in alarm, "You are that rebel Zhao! What brings you to Fenyi?"

Zhao Han did not answer, but went on reading Song Yingxing's manuscript. When he came to the "Discourse on the People's Wealth," his smile grew even broader.

The gist of Song Yingxing's "Discourse on the People's Wealth" was this —

That the Great Ming had fallen to such a state came down to four words: "the people are destitute, wealth is exhausted."

Wealth does not mean silver alone; all the goods under heaven are wealth. The Great Ming has wealth in abundance; it is merely concentrated in the hands of a few. The common people are so exploited that they have no means to live, and therefore the court cannot collect taxes. The more desperate the finances become, the more pressing the tax demands, leading to a vicious cycle. Not only that, but the bandits across the realm rose in rebellion only because they could not survive.

In his essay, Song Yingxing directly used the word "exploitation."

There were also essays such as "Discourse on Military Colonies," "Discourse on Tax Collection," "Discourse on Military Pay," and "Discourse on Troop Training" — all pointing straight to the court's core problems, only without offering the correct solutions.

Or rather, no solutions could be offered, because the Great Ming's roots had rotted through.

Zhao Han offered his appraisal: "All fine essays. You, sir, are a man of great talent. A pity the Chongzhen Emperor cannot make use of you."

"It is because I failed to pass the jinshi examination; otherwise I would certainly have accomplished something." Song Yingxing knew the truth in his heart, but before a rebel he had to keep up a bold front.

Zhao Han asked, "How do you compare yourself with Mr. Li Meng'an?"

Song Yingxing thought for a moment and said, "Mr. Meng'an is a talent for ordering the age and benefiting the state. I am naturally not his equal."

Zhao Han laughed. "This talent for ordering the age and benefiting the state was demoted by the Emperor and sent home — and now he is serving under me."

"You must have threatened him with the lives of his entire household!" Song Yingxing sneered.

Zhao Han shook his head. "From beginning to end, I have never coerced Mr. Meng'an. When he came over to me, none of his clansmen were under my rule. It was after observing how I govern that he offered his service of his own accord. I have said too much; you will not believe it. In a few days, come back with me and see for yourself."

After reading Song Yingxing's essays, Zhao Han no longer wished to argue principles, for the other man already understood those principles.

Between the lines, all Zhao Han read was despair — there was even a whiff of smashing the pot because it was already cracked.

Song Yingxing was arranged to stay at the county yamen, and his household slave soon hurried over to see him.

"What is it like inside the city?" Song Yingxing asked.

The household slave answered, "These rebels are very good. They haven't killed anyone or set any fires; on the contrary, they're keeping order. Inside and outside the county seat, things are better than before. All the criminals and troublemakers have been scared into hiding."

Song Yingxing was stunned, and for a moment did not know what to say.

He was keenly aware of the Great Ming's present condition. That essay "Discourse on the Fortunes of the Age" was written very strangely. The entire piece expressed, in veiled terms, the view that the dynasty was in its final days, and then at the very end it suddenly added a line saying that although they were in chaotic times, scholars must not despair, but should rouse themselves to save the situation.

It was nothing but self-deception.

What solution could Song Yingxing possibly have?

Although he came from a great clan, even the money for his elder brother to purchase an official post had been scraped together from all sides. And that elder brother, after serving only two years as County Magistrate, had already sent home quite a bit of silver.

The money Song Yingxing had paid to purchase his own post as Instructor at Fenyi County also included silver his brother had embezzled!

He was inside the system, saw it clearly, and could do nothing.

Ah, let us speak no more of politics, and lose ourselves instead in these heterodox minor arts.

The next morning, Song Yingxing took the initiative to call on Zhao Han, wanting to get hold of a steelyard to test the principle of the lever.

The guard watching the county yamen said, "Mr. Song, you will have to wait a few days. The Regional Commander is not at the yamen at present."

Song Yingxing said in alarm, "He has marched on Yuanzhou Prefecture?"

(End of chapter)