Chapter 32: Prince Shen Could Serve as Chancellor

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The Zhao Song dynasty had long been in decline.

Fortunately, there were still upright and passionate ministers like Fan Zhongyan and Wang Anshi, who stepped forward to call for the elimination of corrupt practices and the implementation of new policies, proposing reforms that could address some of the problems.

Both Zhao Xu and Zhao Xi were not corrupt; they wished to restore the Zhao Song dynasty’s prosperity.

Thus, the Zhao Song dynasty began its reforms, halting and resuming intermittently.

But reform means taking cake away from entrenched interest groups.

Many state parasites—present in both the New and Old Parties—could not solve problems, yet excelled at eliminating those who raised them.

——Now, the New Party no longer equates to reformers; the Old Party no longer equates to conservatives. Within both parties, there are upright, passionate ministers who wish to reform the state; the difference lies only in whether they support Wang Anshi’s new policies or oppose them. Both parties also harbor parasites who care nothing for the state’s welfare and seek only to protect their own interests. Today’s struggle between the New and Old Parties is merely factional infighting, unrelated to reform or legal change.

These selfish parasites used conspiracy to attack reformers and manufactured public opinion, accusing the new policies of collusion and factionalism.

In an era of imperial autocracy, factionalism was seen as demonic, monstrous, a venomous serpent or ferocious beast; anyone branded as forming a clique was deemed to have committed a crime of cosmic proportions, a threat to imperial authority.

They then bribed reformist officials, ordered subordinates to forge letters, and twisted evidence to claim the reformers sought to depose the emperor and seize power.

And emperors, raised deep within the palace under the protection of their fathers and ancestors, were most wary of ministers seizing power and forming factions—inevitably, they wavered, and the reforms ultimately failed.

Throughout history, Song dynasty reforms nearly all met this fate.

Thus, to achieve reform, one must have an emperor with unshakable will.

Like Yongzheng.

During the Qing Yongzheng era, Yongzheng launched a far-reaching land reform from the top down: it abolished feudal landlords’ monopoly on land, redistributed land according to peasants’ actual cultivation capacity, abolished head taxes, and levied taxes based on land holdings—historically known as “Land Tax Merged with Head Tax.”

This nationwide transformation inflicted severe damage upon the interests of the banner people and landlords.

Yaozhidao ， Zuoweifengjianwangchaodediyidaliyiqunti ， Zhexiejideliyijituankeshiyouzhunanyixiangxiangdepohuailiheyingxiangli 。

Despite this, “Land Tax Merged with Head Tax” was ultimately implemented, amassing substantial reserves for Qianlong and providing him with ample capital to become the “Ten-Perfect Elder.”

Even if Zhao Yu merely followed Yongzheng’s path without improvement, he could still complete the reform of the Zhao Song dynasty and accumulate enough wealth to dominate the realm.

Thus, for Zhao Yu, solving the Zhao Song dynasty’s problems is not the issue—the real issue is how to become emperor.

To achieve his goal of becoming emperor, Zhao Yu launched a Fengkuangsongli mode.

Of course, Zhao Yu did not gift gold, silver, or jewels—things that would invite criticism—but instead leveraged the popularity of soap, gifting his own factory’s soap to imperial consorts, female officials, and eunuchs in the inner palace.

In fact, except for Liu Qingjing, Zhao Yu had gifted soap to every prominent figure in the inner palace.

Before Zhao Yu began gifting soap, due to cumbersome transactions and Cengcengjiajia , soap in the inner palace had been inflated to over ten guan per bar—and even then, supply was insufficient, making it priceless despite demand.

Merely by gifting soap, Zhao Yu amassed immense goodwill; even those close to the Empress Dowager and Zhao Xi spoke highly of Zhao Yu, praising him without exception.

Not long ago, a massive earthquake struck Taiyuan, and Zhao Xi used the last of the state treasury’s funds for disaster relief.

By late September, the court could not pay the salaries of the capital garrison troops; several garrison units stationed near the capital were rioting, and some even faced the possibility of mutiny.

Just as Zhao Xi and his ministers were nearly driven to despair over this crisis, Zhao Yu came to pay his respects and volunteered: “Your humble brother has recently earned modest profits from selling soap; I wish to donate one million guan to ease the court’s urgent needs.”

This was all the money Zhao Yu had earned from selling soap (including many advance payments he had received)—in truth, Zhao Yu had truly staked everything.

Zhao Xi’s eyes flickered with surprise and emotion. He had never imagined Zhao Yu could earn so much, nor that he would be so generous.

Know that princes were forbidden from participating in governance, serving in the military, or interfering in state affairs; yet the court had always turned a blind eye to princes engaging in commerce, for even officials did such things—how could the imperial clan be denied the chance to profit?

Thus, Zhao Yu could have easily kept the money he earned through legitimate business.

Look around: how many imperial clan members, some with fortunes of hundreds of thousands or even millions of guan, have ever dipped into their own coffers to aid Zhao Xi?

Zhao Yu’s gesture was thus truly a gift in the snow.

Yet as an emperor, suspicion was his universal affliction.

Zhao Xi was no exception.

Amidst his emotion, a quiet doubt arose in Zhao Xi’s heart: “Does Prince Shen truly seek nothing by giving all he has?”

In Zhao Xi’s view, though Zhao Yu was his brother, in the vortex of power, kinship was often swallowed by interest—he could trust no one fully.

Zhao Xi asked slowly: “What does Prince Shen seek?”

Zhao Yu smiled gently, his expression utterly sincere: “Your Majesty overthinks. Your humble brother merely saw the state in peril and could not stand idly by. If I must name a request, I only wish for the Great Song to enjoy peace and prosperity, and for Your Majesty to remain in good health.”

Zhao Xi’s doubts deepened. He knew well that in this world, there were few acts of kindness without cause—especially when imperial power and interests were involved.

Yet Zhao Yu’s sincerity and earnest words left Zhao Xi momentarily unable to find a flaw.

At that moment, Zhao Yu added: “By the way, I do have one small request.”

Zhao Xi thought: “Here it comes—how could anyone give such a vast sum without seeking something?”

Zhao Xi remained impassive: “Prince Shen, speak freely.”

To Zhao Xi’s utter astonishment, Zhao Yu’s request was: “I only ask that Your Majesty not tell anyone this money came from me.”

Zhao Xi froze. “Why?”

Zhao Yu smiled: “I fear they will come to borrow it.”

Zhao Xi knew Zhao Yu was joking—but he could not tell if this was also a way to block future requests for loans from Zhao Yu.

After a long pause, Zhao Xi finally spoke: “I shall remember this. When the court overcomes this crisis, I shall repay you handsomely.”

Zhao Yu replied warmly: “The Great Song is our Zhao family’s realm. The imperial clan shares its fate—if the great house collapses, how could I alone survive?”

Though Zhao Yu had said this, Zhao Xi still doubted his motives—but he still praised him: “Prince Shen’s noble act is truly a blessing for the state; I am deeply moved!”

Then Zhao Xi questioned Zhao Yu about the “Memorial on Land Reform,” forcing him to reveal his true thoughts.

Under the pressure Zhao Xi applied, Zhao Yu temporarily set aside the rule forbidding princes from interfering in politics and honestly told Zhao Xi everything he wished to know—including why past reforms had failed.

Zhao Yu even made clear to Zhao Xi that implementing the “Memorial on Land Reform” would make him an enemy of every high official, scholar-gentry, and powerful family in the realm.

Finally, Zhao Yu clearly summarized for Zhao Xi: to implement the “Memorial on Land Reform,” two prerequisites were essential: first, the emperor must have unwavering resolve; second, a stable and powerful centralized authority must be perfected.

Zhao Yu repeatedly emphasized: “Even if both conditions are met, such reform remains perilous beyond measure.”

Zhao Yu also gave Zhao Xi a sincere suggestion: “Before you decide to adopt my plan for reform, Your Majesty must not speak of it—otherwise, success is impossible.”

Thinking of Zhang Dun, Han Zhongyan, and Ceng Bu’s attitudes toward the “Memorial on Land Reform,” Zhao Xi realized Zhao Yu’s warning was sound.

After this heartfelt exchange, Zhao Xi finally understood Zhao Yu’s true talent and insight. He looked at Zhao Yu and thought: “Prince Shen could serve as Chancellor.”

Then Zhao Xi felt a pang of resentment: they were both sons of the same father; he was nearly ten years older than Zhao Yu—how could their vision and ability differ so greatly?

Finally, Zhao Xi blamed Gao Taotao entirely: “All is her fault—that scheming old fox. Had she not manipulated me for eight years, wasting my time, would I be like this?”

Then Zhao Xi looked at Zhao Yu and thought with regret: “Too bad you are a prince—if only you could help me reform, perhaps the Great Song might be revived…”

…

(End of Chapter)