Chapter 203: Zhao Yu: My Great Song Empire!

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Zhao Yu returned from a victorious campaign and, by rights, should have first gone to his Empress Zheng Xiansu to show affection, rewarding her for holding the household steady in his absence.

But first, Zheng Xiansu was now far along in her pregnancy and could not attend to Zhao Yu.

Second, Zheng Xiansu had privately told Zhao Yu that she and Zhao Shou wished to keep a low profile, not wanting to appear frequently before subjects and citizens due to their regency during his absence.

Zheng Xiansu was perfectly clear-headed.

She understood that Zhao Shou's early exposure to public view, with people scrutinizing him under a magnifying glass, would hinder his growth; moreover, if Zhao Shou became too conspicuous, he might provoke Zhao Yu's suspicion, leading to father-son rivalry. Conversely, if Zhao Shou remained sufficiently low-key, he would give others no opportunity to find fault with him or frame him, and Zhao Yu would surely spare no effort to cultivate him—only then could Zhao Shou grow steadily and inherit Zhao Yu's throne.

She felt the same about herself.

She was already Empress, and the one Zhao Yu had consistently supported; the Zhao Song Dynasty had no Empress Dowager yet, so in terms of both power and status, she had reached the absolute peak a woman could attain—there was no need to draw attention by being conspicuous, especially outside the palace, lest she make too many enemies and harm herself or drag Zhao Shou down with her.

Zhao Yu felt Zheng Xiansu's considerations were thorough and far-sighted; her wisdom and breadth of vision were no less than those of any virtuous empress in history.

To be honest, Zheng Xiansu's resilience and sacrifice for the greater good made Zhao Yu feel that, amid the treacherous struggles of imperial power, it was his supreme fortune to possess such a wise and discerning consort—and he had no reason not to protect Zheng Xiansu and Zhao Shou.

So Zhao Yu decided that, from now on, he would fully cooperate with Zheng Xiansu to keep Zhao Shou in cold storage, allowing him to receive adequate study and training before appearing before the public.

Based on the couple's agreement, upon his return, Zhao Yu did not rest in Kunning Palace but first stayed with Wang Yisu and Guo Ting.

That day, after court, Zhang Chun's five wives sent Li Shishi and Zhao Yuannu to invite Zhao Yu to their quarters.

The five wives had given birth less than a month ago and were all in confinement; Zhao Yu truly could not fathom what they wanted with him now.

But they were all old married couples; Zhao Yu guessed they weren't calling him over for mere marital matters. 'They five are seeking me—surely they have something important to discuss?'

Thinking this, Zhao Yu abandoned his prior arrangement to visit Zhang Nan and went instead to Zhang Chun's residence.

The five wives had clearly prepared thoroughly. Yuan Qingcheng, still in confinement, personally cooked a lavish feast for Zhao Yu. Ye Shi Yun brought a jar of imperial wine. Zhang Chun, Li Lin, and Seeing Ma Xiao Jiao were all noticeably more attentive than usual.

Zhao Yu saw their setup and thought, 'This looks like a Hongmen Banquet.'

The course of events unfolded much as Zhao Yu had anticipated.

The five wives took turns pressing wine upon Zhao Yu, who had little tolerance for alcohol.

Zhao Yu cooperated fully, drinking himself into a daze.

Only when he felt he was about to overindulge did he set down his cup and ask bluntly: 'Speak up—what scheme are you five hatching now?'

Zhang Chun knew they couldn't hide anything from Zhao Yu, nor did they intend to.

Now that the preliminaries were done, she cut straight to the point and laid out before him, carefully and fully, the plan they had agreed upon: that Zhao Yu should actively launch the Age of Maritime Exploration and later institute overseas enfeoffment.

In fact, the five wives had also considered hiding this from Zhao Yu, hoping to gradually guide him toward the Age of Maritime Exploration and only later push for overseas enfeoffment once the timing was ripe.

But this matter was too vast—so vast that even with Zhao Yu's full backing, success remained uncertain, let alone if he were kept in the dark or stood opposed to them.

More importantly, if they didn't tell Zhao Yu and he discovered it himself, he might become their greatest obstacle.

After much deliberation, the five wives concluded that success depended entirely on securing Zhao Yu's wholehearted support—otherwise, it was impossible.

Hence, this performance today.

After the five wives finished speaking, one after another, Zhao Yu fell silent.

As Zhang Chun had predicted, Zhao Yu had no need to expand outward; merely reclaiming the Han people's ancestral lands would place him on par with Han Wu Di and Tang Zong. Further expansion might easily backfire, earning him a reputation as a glory-seeking fool.

And that would be the best outcome.

If, due to natural disasters—earthquakes, floods, plagues—Zhao Yu were defeated by the Crusaders or others, his historical judgment would not surpass Li Longji's; he'd likely be condemned with lines like: 'Overseas, he heard of nine more lands; his next life, uncertain—this one ended. The tiger troops' night watches echoed hollowly; no more rooster-crows heralded dawn. On this day, six armies stood still; then, on Qixi, they mocked the Cowherd. How, after forty years as Son of Heaven, could he match the commoner Lu's peace with Mo Chou?'

Rationally speaking, Zhao Yu's wisest course was to reclaim Han and Tang ancestral lands, and extend Zhao Song's territory no further than the Qing Qianlong era: west to the Pamirs, northwest to Lake Balkhash, north to Siberia, northeast to the Stanovoy Range and Sakhalin, east to the Pacific, southeast to Taiwan and its islands, south to the South China Sea islands—totaling roughly 13.16 million square kilometers—enough to rival Han Wu Di and Tang Taizong.

If Zhao Yu were more greedy, he might extend Zhao Song's territory to match the Yuan Dynasty's: east to the Sea of Japan, west to the Tian Shan, north to Lake Baikal, south to Siam—slightly larger than the Qianlong era.

Anything larger would likely exceed the control capacity of a feudal dynasty.

Unless Zhao Yu could develop advanced technologies—trains, automobiles, ships, even airplanes and telephones—that drastically shortened distances.

Well, since Zhao Yu had Seeing Ma Xiao Jiao, this wasn't impossible.

But even so, immense uncertainty and risk remained.

Crucially, to accomplish great deeds—especially the kind of monumental undertaking Zhang Chun described—one must act in accordance with the tide, not defy it with sheer will.

Yet Zhao Yu carefully considered: from the perspective of these time-travelers, Zhang Chun's arguments held merit.

First, Zhao Yu had many sons. Keeping them all confined within the imperial palace, as Zhao Song currently treated its clan members—restricting power, granting generous stipends, intensifying education and surveillance—certainly prevented internal strife over succession, curbed regional warlordism, and preserved the stability of Zhao Song's rule, reinforcing central authority to some degree.

But conversely, this approach rendered clan members useless when the state faced crisis, unable to fulfill their duty to defend the imperial house or support the court; it also bred corruption and complacency among some, leading them to indulge in luxury and contribute nothing to state or society, potentially sparking public resentment; further, overly strict restrictions on clan members' political participation prevented talented and ambitious ones from serving on the political stage, wasting royal talent and harming state governance and development.

Historically, the Jingkang Humiliation occurred largely because clan members were all trapped in Dongjing Bianliang, making the catastrophe so devastating that Zhao Song's imperial bloodline nearly perished.

Suppose, instead, Zhao Song's clan members had been scattered outside the capital—not just the coward Zhao Gou escaping—and had organized effective resistance; how could the Jin army have advanced so swiftly?

Even if the Jin still reached Dongjing Bianliang and breached its walls, the presence of numerous clan members outside would have forced them to exercise restraint—at least enough to prevent the full horror of the Jingkang Humiliation.

Thus, imprisoning clan members entirely, treating them like pigs to be fattened, was not wise.

In comparison, the Qing Dynasty—the pinnacle of feudal society—handled its imperial princes with far greater wisdom and flexibility.

Qing princes underwent rigorous education and training from childhood: mastering poetry, literature, rites, and music, while excelling in horsemanship and archery, cultivating comprehensive ability and unyielding will.

Unlike Song princes, confined to the inner palace, they were granted practical opportunities—accompanying armies, participating in governance—to hone their statecraft skills.

Many of them, through outstanding performance in military and administrative affairs, became the emperor's indispensable aides.

For example, before ascending the throne, Emperor Yongzheng had overseen audits of the Ministry of Revenue's treasury and managed flood control, accumulating rich bureaucratic experience; Prince Yi, Yin Xiang, managed the Ministry of Revenue and northwest military logistics under Yongzheng, greatly enhancing administrative efficiency and fiscal management, solidifying imperial rule.

In contrast, in the Song Dynasty, even when gifted imperial or clan members emerged, institutional constraints prevented them from fully exercising their abilities.

If Zhao Yu's sons could emulate Qing princes—participating in military affairs, defending frontiers, training troops—they might swiftly organize regional armies to resist or rescue when enemies arrived, rather than, as in the Jingkang Humiliation, being trapped in a lone besieged city, helpless and awaiting death.

What Zhang Chun and the others desired—enfeoffing some of Zhao Yu's sons overseas—was, upon reflection, essentially the Yuan Dynasty's model of imperial clans and the Four Khanates.

Its advantages: expanding Zhao Song's influence while easing internal power struggles.

Moreover, by enfeoffing his sons overseas, they would rely on the suzerain state to establish vassal regimes, actively spreading Chinese culture, institutions, and advanced production techniques—making Chinese characters, Confucian thought, porcelain, and silk objects of emulation and admiration among overseas vassals, extending Zhao Song's prestige far and wide, and constructing a vast tributary trade system centered on Zhao Song.

Strategically, these overseas vassals could serve as Zhao Song's strategic footholds. Should the homeland face invasion, they could harass enemy supply lines from the rear or coordinate with Zhao Song's navy for pincer attacks. If their lands held rich resources, they could continuously ship them back to Zhao Song, replenishing the treasury and strengthening national power.

For Zhao Yu's sons themselves, overseas enfeoffment would grant them vast space to act, freeing them from palace intrigues and allowing them to expand territory and build achievements on new lands, fulfilling their political ambitions.

In this way, Zhao Yu, as a father, would have fulfilled his duty to his sons, fully discharging his paternal responsibility.

Most importantly, if Zhao Yu's descendants were scattered across the world, his bloodline would never be extinguished, no matter what historical changes occurred.

In short, although Zhang Chun's proposal was wildly imaginative and might even cast Zhao Yu as a foolish ruler, Zhao Yu was still swayed by it.

After an unknown length of silence, Zhao Yu spoke under the watchful, anxious, and hopeful gazes of the five women: "This matter must not be made public, or it will surely ruin its success."

The five women rejoiced! They knew Zhao Yu had agreed.

Zhang Chun pressed on: "We wish to first shift inland river transport to maritime transport, to spur the development of ocean-going ships—what is your imperial opinion?"

Zhao Yu immediately understood: Zhang Chun and the others wanted to change the way grain was transported annually from the south to the north.

This seemed merely a change of route, but in reality, it touched upon many matters and interests.

Let's set other things aside for now.

The Song Chaoting set the annual grain tribute from the six southeastern circuits at six million shi; according to the standard of one laborer per forty shi of cargo, and the Song Dynasty's gangyun system, transporting this tribute required over 151,430 haulers along the Huainan Canal, Bianhe, the Two Zhe Canals, and the Yangtze River.

Additionally, transporting grain via the Guangji River and Huimin River required haulers—these two routes alone needed at least 34,500 more.

In total, about 190,000 haulers were needed for grain transport entering and leaving Bianjing, not counting those required to move grain from various prefectures to the canals and the Yangtze—so the actual number of haulers needed for tribute grain transport exceeded 200,000.

Besides haulers, ships required helmsmen. If we apply the historical Southern Song ratio of one helmsman to 8.5 haulers (sailors) on the Sichuan River's 700-dou horse ships, the number of helmsmen in the Song Dynasty was also substantial.

Add to this the crews of official and civilian vessels not part of the gangyun system, as well as those working in commercial transport and fishing.

The total number involved here should reach tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands.

If inland river transport were switched to maritime transport, these tens or even hundreds of thousands would either lose their livelihoods or suffer reduced incomes.

If not properly resettled, this would not only threaten the survival of tens or even hundreds of thousands of households, but might even spark popular uprisings.

Another problem: previous dynasties' three attempts to redirect the Yellow River caused its lower reaches to split into northern and southern channels, resulting in massive shifting and siltation—rendering navigation impossible. Thus, no waterway currently connects the sea directly to Kaifeng, making maritime transport of tribute grain unfeasible.

Zhao Yu explained his views to the five women.

But the five women had already prepared a plan.

Zhang Chun smiled slightly and said: "We need not disturb the existing tribute routes—just open a new maritime route directly to Jizhou for trade with the Mongols, and this alone will spur ocean-going ship development…"

Zhao Yu quickly realized: Zhang Chun and the others had truly set their sights on the grain—no less than two million shi annually—that he had promised to sell to the Mongols.

Clearly, these two million shi could also be shipped from Jiangnan to Yanjing.

This raised the question of transportation.

Currently, since Song and Liao were still separate nations, no direct inland waterway connected Jiangnan to Yanjing.

—The true Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal, the section linking Jiangnan to Yanjing, was not opened until the Yuan Dynasty.

Maritime transport was thus the optimal choice for delivering grain to the Mongols.

Of course, this assumed one condition: no grain would be shipped from Hebei or Yun Di's Nine Provinces to Yanjing.

This was the point requiring Zhao Yu's decision.

Zhao Yu looked at the five women and thought: 'These five women don't just stir up trouble—they can solve problems too. Hmm… with their help, perhaps my Great Song Empire need not be inferior to the Great Mongol Empire or the British Empire…'

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(End of Chapter)