Chapter 104: How Can Reform Avoid Bloodshed?

…

Ye Shi Yun’s conduct puzzled Zhao Yu.

How to describe it?

Among the five women, apart from Yuan Qing Cheng, whose background Zhao Yu still did not fully understand, he had already experienced the other four.

In Zhao Yu’s view, Ma Xiao Jiao and Zhang Chun were the type who knew a little, but not much, and had zero practical experience; while Li Lin was a complete blank slate, ignorant of everything, yet bold enough to try anything.

Now came Ye Shi Yun.

Zhao Yu found that Ye Shi Yun seemed to understand everything. Judging by her knowledge base, he would never believe she had not been with dozens of men—but when observing her actual performance, she was no better than Ma Xiao Jiao, Zhang Chun, or Li Lin; at most, she was more aggressive, bolder, and more curious, nothing more.

‘This is truly strange.’

But soon, Zhao Yu put this odd matter out of his mind and went to court.

Lately, the court had been quite chaotic.

The reason? Nothing else—it was that the factional struggle between the New and Old Parties had grown fiercer.

Initially, Empress Dowager Xiang and many ministers believed both the Yuan You and Shao Sheng eras had made mistakes, and that prejudice should be eliminated, contradictions reconciled, and a moderate path pursued; now, this seemed unworkable.

Of course, Zhao Yu himself was partly to blame.

Zhao Yu ordered both parties to investigate corruption, but they treated it as a land grab.

Both parties became intensely focused on anti-corruption, striking with speed, precision, and ruthlessness—as if delaying even a moment would let the enemy seize their territory.

Shielding corrupt officials?

It was not entirely absent, but their method had changed: instead of helping corrupt officials evade punishment, they now warned them to quickly repay the state’s dues, for this time the court was serious—fail to plug their own financial holes, and they would suffer catastrophic consequences; better to preserve the green mountains than to worry about lacking firewood.

Moreover, voices had emerged in court suggesting that after each party completed its inspection of its assigned region, they would swap territories and re-inspect each other’s areas.

This was not a rumor spread by the Imperial City Office or the Eastern Depot—it was guessed by some clever men based on Zhao Yu’s modus operandi.

If true, any escaped corrupt official in their own region, once uncovered by the enemy during re-inspection, would not only embarrass them and give the enemy ammunition for attack, but also allow the enemy to plant spies in their territory, monitor their officials, and even influence their governance.

Thus, both the New and Old Parties were vigorously fighting corruption, eliminating corrupt and lazy officials, and replacing them with their own party members, leaving no opening for the enemy.

Local officials, unwilling to be punished, could only return the embezzled funds—even funds whose accounts could not be reconciled—or even if they committed suicide to avoid blame, their families would still be stripped of property and forced to repay the state’s losses.

What about squeezing the common people, plundering their wealth to make up for the stolen funds or to recover losses?

If you escape capture, consider yourself lucky.

But if caught, punishment is aggravated: immediate extermination of three clans—all male relatives of parents, siblings, and spouses executed; all females consigned to the Entertainment Bureau; all family property confiscated, not a single coin left.

Cruel?

How could reform possibly avoid bloodshed?

Yet, in this process, many corrupt and incompetent officials had been removed, capable and energetic ones had taken their place, and the court had recovered substantial illicit funds.

But this also caused a serious problem: the New and Old Parties, to defend their political ideologies, compete for more territory, and seize more official posts, were fighting even more viciously.

——Now, some within both parties even believed that only by utterly defeating the enemy could their own side achieve total victory and finally be free from such constraints and torment…

Zhao Yu arrived at Wende Hall.

At that moment, the murmurs and shouts of the ministers rose and fell like a surging tide.

Yet all those sounds ceased instantly the moment Zhao Yu stepped across the threshold, leaving only low breathing and occasional rustling of robes.

Zhao Yu walked slowly to his dragon throne and glanced downward.

On the court, the New and Old Parties were sharply divided—even when a New Party member sat next to an Old Party member, both consciously maintained absolute distance to demonstrate their unwavering political stance.

Of course, there were also many centrists, those firmly refusing to form factions, or those detached from the struggle—but they were fewer in number and lacked cohesion, so their influence was limited.

Once Zhao Yu was seated,

the ministers, led by Chancellor Zhang Dun, bowed and cried ‘Your Majesty,’ affirming Zhao Yu’s authority and status.

Then Zhao Yu began listening to reports from the chancellors and ministers.

First to step forward was still Chancellor Zhang Dun, who reported over a dozen major matters concerning politics, economy, military affairs, and people’s livelihood—his report alone consumed half an hour.

One representative matter was that signs of famine had emerged in Hebei, Hedong, and Shaanxi; Zhang Dun requested Zhao Yu issue an edict ordering regional commanders to open granaries and provide relief.

Zhang Dun also estimated that grain reserves in Hebei, Hedong, and Shaanxi would be insufficient for relief, and proposed the court appoint six senior and deputy officials to oversee relief efforts in each region, purchasing grain as necessary.

Then Zhang Dun recommended six capable New Party officials to handle this task.

Zhao Yu generally approved Zhang Dun’s proposals outright.

Of course, on some matters, Zhao Yu would inquire into the reasons—or even reject them.

Overall, however, Zhao Yu still heavily relied on Zhang Dun as chancellor, harboring no resentment despite his prior service under Zhao Xu rather than being Zhao Yu’s own appointee.

Next, Privy Councilor Ceng Bu gave Zhao Yu a detailed report on border military intelligence.

Since the Song Dynasty’s relations with the Liao and Xia were now tense—Song troops remained in constant conflict with Xia forces in the northwest and had assembled in Hebei, ready to march north—Ceng Bu’s report was lengthy.

Then Vice Chancellor Han Zhongyan reported on reforms under his charge in education and people’s livelihood.

In education, soon after ascending the throne, Zhao Yu vigorously expanded school education, establishing a nationwide network of schools to replace the old imperial examination system.

In people’s livelihood, Zhao Yu, soon after ascending the throne, approved the establishment across the realm of welfare institutions: Juyangyuan to aid widows, orphans, and the lonely; Anjifang to treat the sick who could not afford care; and Luezeyuan, government-designated burial grounds for the poor unable to afford funerals.

This was not charity—it was an innovative, universal public welfare project unprecedented in Chinese history.

Both initiatives were first proposed by Cai Jing, and logically should have been entrusted to him.

But Zhao Yu felt Cai Jing carried too many burdens, so he assigned Han Zhongyan to lead them—perfectly suited, as these were areas where the Old Party excelled.

Then came Cai Jing, whose authority had grown significantly due to his oversight of the economy, who submitted reports on ‘Salt Policy Financialization Reform,’ ‘Religious Concession Auctions,’ ‘Overseas Trade Options System,’ and progress in reforms of tea, salt, and alcohol.

Following this, Cai Jing reported to Zhao Yu on his management of waste recycling and the issuance of ‘Salt Certificate Bonds.’

After working with Cai Jing for some time, Zhao Yu found him truly useful.

Not only was he capable, but his energy was boundless—no matter how many tasks Zhao Yu assigned him, as long as he was given authority and personnel, he delivered.

Crucially, Ye Shi Yun had calculated: all matters under Cai Jing’s charge were progressing as planned, and all costs remained within controllable limits.

Thus, Zhao Yu simply assigned Cai Jing to assist Zhang Dun in managing the economy, personally naming Cai Jing to lead key projects.

Everyone could see Zhao Yu was promoting Cai Jing—his future was limitless.

From Zhao Yu’s appointments alone, it was clear he still followed the path of reform and change; in fact, he had chosen to continue Zhao Xu’s governing strategy—the overall orientation of the Song Dynasty had not changed.

This was vital.

For orientation determines strategy, strategy determines tactics, tactics determine action, action determines outcome, outcome determines success or failure, success or failure determines direction, and direction determines trend.

Yet Zhao Yu was not as hasty as Zhao Xu.

Moreover, Zhao Yu confronted all problems openly, daring to let the Old Party expose flaws in the New Policies.

Crucially, Zhao Yu, together with Zhang Chun and Ye Shi Yun behind him, often devised solutions during the New and Old Parties’ endless quarrels and pushed reform forward.

This rhythm was truly good.

Yet factional strife remained unavoidable.

After Cai Bian and Su Zhe reported their respective anti-corruption progress, and Zhang Shangying, Li Qingchen, and Su Shi reported their official evaluations,

came the most heated phase: free reporting.

The first to speak was Han Zhongyan: ‘When Emperor Zhe ascended, he summoned the realm to submit sealed memorials; thousands responded. After Zhang Dun became chancellor, he established a bureau to classify these memorials, labeling those with similar phrasing as slanderous—most who responded to the imperial summons were punished. Now Your Majesty has again summoned all to speak frankly of court deficiencies; if we again classify them, those who dare to speak will be filled with doubt and fear. I humbly beg Your Majesty to immediately abolish the bureau and collect all classified documents into the inner palace.’

Secretary of the Central Secretariat Ceng Zhao echoed: ‘Since the founding emperors, ministers’ memorials were never compiled… Now compiling them violates ancestral precedent and imposes arbitrary time limits. Why are memorials from before April 1085 up to the dynasty’s founding, and those after April 12, 1094 up to today, excluded—why only these ten years? I do not understand. I beg Your Majesty to order the dismissal of all clerks in the Central Secretariat and Privy Council involved.’

This was simple: Zhang Dun had suppressed public opinion to force through the New Policies. He likely feared Zhao Xu, seeing so much opposition, would abandon reform—so for ten years he enforced this repressive policy to compel change.

Now Zhao Yu had ascended, permitting all to submit memorials—and even secret ones.

Han Zhongyan and the Old Party naturally seized this chance to dismantle Zhang Dun’s control of public discourse.

Zhao Yu spoke without hesitation: ‘Granted.’

Seeing this, Zhang Dun did not even lift his eyelids—he knew Zhao Yu understood everything; he no longer needed such disreputable methods.

The Old Party officials were greatly emboldened; someone immediately rose to impeach Vice Censor-in-Chief An Dun for colluding with corrupt ministers, repeatedly instigating major trials, and inciting nationwide resentment.

Currently, society spoke of ‘Two Duns, Two Cais’—meaning Zhang Dun, An Dun, Cai Bian, and Cai Jing were all traitors.

Of these, An Dun was the easiest to target.

The Old Party clearly intended to use An Dun as a breakthrough to topple the New Party.

Indeed!

Next, censors Chen Guan, Feng Ji, Chen Cisheng, and others attacked Cai Jing, accusing him of befriending Xiang Zongliang and his brothers, the nephew of Empress Dowager Xiang, and of consorting with eunuch Pei Yanchen, charging him with colluding with imperial relatives and communicating with palace eunuchs. They also accused Cai Bian and Cai Jing as co-conspirators, misleading the state and corrupting the court, and claimed they were glory-seeking—if promoted, they would overturn old policies and plunge the realm into chaos, destroying the ancestral foundation.

Next, Old Party officials accused Zhang Dun and Cai Bian of seizing power, forcing Emperor Zhao Xu into moral failure, and deposing Minister Meng in the Yaohua Palace.

After the Old Party finished their accusations, Zhao Yu said plainly: ‘Denied.’

Zhao Yu did not waste words with these Old Party ministers—he directly and clearly rejected their impeachment requests, stating his position succinctly and firmly.

Zhang Dun glanced at the Old Party ministers who had impeached them and sneered coldly: ‘The Emperor needs men who act, not dogs barking—do you think I’ll let you have your way?’

Wise Old Party figures like Han Zhongyan and Su Zhe understood: only those who could get things done would be valued in Zhao Yu’s court. Did they not see that Lü Huiqing, despite his terrible character, had been recalled and entrusted with great responsibility?

After all censors and inspectors had finished their accusations, Zhao Yu gave a unified response: ‘Those who act are prone to error; those who occupy posts without doing anything never make mistakes.’

This was Zhao Yu’s stance: if you have ability, use it—don’t fear mistakes. If you truly work, I will bear the blame for your errors.

The current situation was clear: the New Party solved problems but constantly erred, big and small; the Old Party advocated conservatism, rarely erred, but solved nothing.

Thus, Zhao Yu’s remarks clearly favored the New Party.

The Old Party felt profound helplessness.

Fortunately, the personnel appointment phase arrived.

Chen Guan stepped forward and said: ‘I humbly request the recall of Zou Hao to resume his post as censor.’

Originally, when Zhao Xu sought to make Liu Qingjing empress, censor Right Zhengyan Zou Hao submitted a vehement memorial opposing it—and was exiled by Zhang Dun.

Seeing the Old Party seek Zou Hao’s return, Zhang Dun objected: ‘If Zou Hao is reinstated, it will expose the former emperor’s faults.’

Zhao Yu replied bluntly: ‘Choosing an empress is a great matter. The Vice Censor-in-Chief remained silent, yet Zou Hao alone dared to speak—why not reinstate him?’

Seeing Zhao Yu cared nothing for Zhao Xu’s reputation, Zhang Dun could only withdraw sullenly.

The old-party officials, seeing this, regained their confidence.

Chen Guan seized the opportunity to add: “Your Majesty seeks to open the righteous path and revive the virtues of the past; Dun has misled your hearing and pursued his own interests. If you wish to clearly show favor and disfavor, it must begin with Dun.”

Unexpectedly, Zhao Yu replied with just two words: “Denied.”

When the ministers had mostly finished speaking, Zhao Yu said: “I intend to reform the currency system. Who is fit for this task?”

Upon Zhao Yu’s words, many turned their eyes toward Cai Jing.

Even Cai Jing himself felt another great task had fallen to him.

This thrilled Cai Jing, who prepared to further repay Zhao Yu’s trust and favor.

In truth, Zhao Yu’s own choice was Cai Jing, for Cai Jing was likely the most skilled in issuing currency of this era.

Unexpectedly, at that moment, one stepped forward and volunteered: “I humbly request to try…”

……

(End of Chapter)