Chapter 151: Moral Blackmail

Fanyang County lies in the south of Wei Commandery, named for its location on the sunny side of the Fan River. Though it shares a commandery with Wang Mang's hometown of Yuancheng, it escaped disaster and was spared when the Xin Emperor, on a whim, renamed it "Jianyin" — a stroke of luck.

Near the county seat there was a hamlet, once called Feng Hamlet, now known as "Wanshi Hamlet" — Ten Thousand Bushels Hamlet — because green smoke rose from the Feng family graves, and during the Xuan, Yuan, and Cheng reigns of the Han, they produced nine officials of the two-thousand-bushel rank in rapid succession. But ever since Wang Mang took power, perhaps because Wei Commandery's fortune could only sustain one family's rise, Fanyang's Feng clan fell into decline, its descendants losing their offices.

Today, most of Wanshi Hamlet's inhabitants are Feng descendants, divided into eight major branches. Among the younger generation, Feng Qin alone is renowned for his filial devotion.

That day at noon, Feng Qin was, as always, keeping his mother, a woman in her forties, company. He stood eight chi three cun tall — nearly one meter ninety — yet before his mother he was as meek as a small child. They ate at the same table, and whatever dish she placed in his bowl, he ate with a smile, no matter how little he liked it.

When they set down their chopsticks, however, Feng's mother furrowed her brow, as if troubled by something, and said to Feng Qin, "Weibo, my son, the commandery Grand Governor sent a Retainer with earnest invitations to summon you, wishing you to take office in the commandery seat. Is it truly wise to refuse so flatly?"

How could a mother not know her son's talents? Feng Qin had been a prodigy since childhood, especially skilled in arithmetic — by eight he could calculate as if flying. His father died young, and in his teens he took over the family finances; no servant dared conceal anything from him. Before twenty, he had already served in office, acting as County Merit Officer, and was widely praised.

It was precisely because of this record that Diwu Lun directly summoned Feng Qin as Chief Accountant, hoping he would assist in managing the commandery's income and expenditure.

But Feng Qin had not stayed long in his county post. Before Li Yan's plot to rebel, he had been sharp enough to resign and return home. Now, Diwu Lun's summons was likewise politely declined.

Faced with his mother's worry, Feng Qin merely smiled and said, "In the past dozen or so years of this dynasty, Wei has seen several Grand Governors come and go. The longest-serving, Li Yan, even plotted rebellion. Had he succeeded, the court's armies would have crushed him, and all the officials in the commandery and counties would likely have been implicated."

"And this Diwu Gong — how long can he last?"

Feng Qin held no optimism whatsoever about Diwu Lun's appointment. Living in Wei, he had heard little of Diwu Lun's deeds, only that he was even younger than himself and a new favorite of the Emperor. Could he possibly handle Wei's tangled situation?

In Feng Qin's view, the Taishan bandits to the east grew ever stronger, while the imperial troops, brutal and unrestrained wherever they passed, were worse than the bandits. Although Li Yan's uprising had failed, the Great Xin was beset by troubles within and without, and its fall was inevitable — likely within three to five years.

Wei Commandery's situation was far from optimistic. Along the Taihang foothills to the west and the Yellow River marshes to the south, those who could not survive had gathered as bandits. The great clans of the commandery dominated the localities, each with their own agenda — nominally eighteen counties, in reality eighteen petty states. How could an outsider Grand Governor, parachuted in from elsewhere, possibly untangle this thousand-stranded knot?

To accept a summons now and join him in offending the commandery's power brokers — what was the point? In a few months Diwu Lun might well be transferred away. He could dust off his clothes and leave, but could the Feng family pack up and go? Better to stay in the old home, rally the clan for self-preservation, and watch how the situation unfolds.

"But if the commandery Governor takes offense and makes trouble for you, what then?"

Feng Qin laughed. "If that happens, his true nature will be exposed, and even fewer people will seek him out."

What age did they live in, to think that a two-thousand-bushel seal and cord could command instant obedience across the land? Feng Qin was not the least bit afraid. He knew these Grand Governors all cherished their reputations. By declining on the grounds of caring for his mother and supporting his clan, he gave them no fault to find.

But Feng Qin did not know Diwu Lun well enough. This man was a master of the art of declining honors, and against someone using the same tactics, he naturally had his own methods.

Do not do to others what you would not have them do to you. Diwu Lun knew that pressing the summons again would be useless. And resorting to the sort of spiteful retaliation some officials used when a recluse refused their call — that would only alienate the entire commandery, making everyone keep their distance.

A few days after Feng Qin declined the summons, Grand Governor Diwu sent a minor clerk from his office again, this time with great fanfare, to bestow on behalf of the commandery a banner honoring Feng Qin's mother as a Chaste Woman and Obedient Wife!

The tradition of honoring virtuous women dated back to the Qin dynasty and flourished even more under the Han. After the Biographies of Exemplary Women, compiled by Liu Xin and his father, circulated widely, it became a fashion. But such honors were still rare and precious, not yet so common as to be worthless. For a hamlet to receive a memorial arch was a matter of glory. The emphasis varied, however — sometimes it celebrated chastity and martyrdom, sometimes it praised skill in raising sons. For Feng's mother, it was mainly the latter.

This was something the Feng family could hardly refuse. Feng Qin could not very well decline, saying, "My mother is unworthy."

And that was not the end. The next day, no sooner had the minor clerk departed than an Inspector from the Governor's office arrived, bearing several pigeon-staffs and a quantity of silks — these were gifts for several septuagenarian elders of Wanshi Hamlet.

To this, too, the Feng family could only offer profuse thanks.

Was that all? Not yet. On the third day, a Counselor from the Governor's office arrived, bringing a book that Diwu Lun had sent specifically for Feng Qin. It was a copy of the Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art that Diwu Lun had transcribed in the Stone Canal Pavilion while serving as Grand Palace Grandee at court. To a lover of mathematics, it was a treasure. Feng Qin could scarcely bear to put it down, yet at the same time he felt the gift was scalding hot in his hands.

For Diwu Lun clearly had no intention of sending gifts quietly. Every time he dispatched someone, they made a point of proclaiming it through Fanyang's county seat, then had the County Magistrate and Assistant Magistrate lead the way to Wanshi Hamlet, so that the Feng family had to turn out in solemn welcome each time.

Three personal visits are meant to move a man to gratitude. Diwu Lun knew that would be difficult, so he used a different tactic: you wish to decline using the moral standards of this age? Then I shall use those very morals to bind you!

On the fourth and fifth days, more clerks from the Governor's office arrived, presenting Feng Qin with a carriage and a canopy respectively. The meaning was plain: Feng Weibo, you said you must care for your mother — I have honored her as a Chaste Woman. You said you must look after the elders of your clan — I have bestowed pigeon-staffs upon them. You said your learning was insufficient — I have given you the Nine Chapters. Now the carriage and horses are ready. When do you set out?

It was just like Diwu Lun. After these five rounds of gifts, public opinion in Fanyang County reversed entirely. Everyone praised the new Grand Governor for cherishing talent and treating Feng Qin with extraordinary kindness. Feng Qin was left as if roasting over a fire, unable to refuse, yet unable to accept.

"This is the very method Yan Zhongzi used on Nie Zheng!"

Gnashing his teeth, he felt that Diwu Lun was bent on luring him to Yecheng, stopping at nothing to achieve it.

If he refused now, he would likely be seen throughout the commandery and county as an ungrateful wretch who could not recognize kindness. What mattered most in this age? Reputation. Once a scholar's reputation was ruined, his life was essentially over.

Feng's mother also urged him, "The Grand Governor only wants you to serve as Chief Accountant, calculating goods, money, and grain. He is not asking you to go to your death like Nie Zheng. Go and see — there is no harm in it. At worst, you can resign later."

It had to be so. But before his departure, as Feng's mother prepared his clothes and bedding, she gave him one more warning: "If the commandery Grand Governor is a false worthy, then feign compliance. But if he is a true worthy — your mother is still here, my son. Do not lightly pledge your life to him!"

Feng Qin assented and set out with his servants for Yecheng. Along the way, he made a point of questioning the Governor's clerks traveling with him about Diwu Lun's deeds. He had not known before asking, but once he did, he learned of Diwu Lun's "filial righteousness" in Guanzhong and his many acts of declining honors. Feng Qin secretly regretted it at once.

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"I have been playing at declining honors before Boyu — carrying a cloth drum past Thunder Gate!"

…

By early September, a comical scene appeared in the commandery office.

Huang Chang, the Clerk Attendant who had been with Diwu Lun for many days, was a dwarf, standing less than five chi tall.

And the newly summoned Chief Accountant Feng Qin stood eight chi three cun — a giant of a man at one meter ninety, nearly twice Huang Chang's height.

The two, one tall and one short, stood side by side in the hall. The contrast was so stark that the clerks passing by outside could not help but laugh.

Before Diwu Lun arrived, Huang Chang looked up at the tall, handsome, and wealthy Feng Qin and struck up a conversation: "Neihuang borders Fanyang. I have long heard of Feng Weibo's name."

Feng Qin looked down at the small man and politely said that he, too, had long admired Huang Chang's great name — though in truth he had never heard of him and could not even recall his courtesy name.

Seeing through Feng Qin's inward disdain, Huang Chang smiled and said, "I have heard that the Feng uncles and grandfathers were all tall of stature, and that only your own grandfather and father, sir, stood less than seven chi?"

It was true. Feng Qin's grandfather had always been ashamed of his short stature and feared his descendants would be short like him, so he had arranged for his son to marry a very tall wife, who then bore Feng Qin.

Huang Chang was not one to suffer a verbal loss. He merely said, "It seems that if I wish for tall descendants, I should emulate your honored father and marry more tall women!"

If you can talk like that, say more!

Feng Qin caught the sarcasm. This Huang Chang clearly resented him. He flew into a rage and turned his face away, ignoring the little dwarf.

At that moment, Diwu Lun, wearing a traveling cap of distant journeys, entered the hall. He bade Huang Chang and Feng Qin dispense with formalities. He had summoned them to handle the most important matter of the ninth month.

"The annual reports from each county are about to be submitted. This commandery's harvest for the year, and the budget for next year — all must be calculated in the ninth month."

The annual reporting system dated back to the Warring States period. Under the Han, the great mathematician Zhang Cang had strengthened it. At the end of autumn and the close of the year, each county's households, cultivated land, money and grain income and expenditure, and the number of bandits all had to be turned into figures and reported up to the commandery or kingdom, which in turn reported to the court, so that the state could grasp the empire's disasters, anomalies, and harvest conditions.

Though Feng Qin had taken this post reluctantly, once he picked up the work he excelled at, he proved highly adept. He reported to Diwu Lun: "Since the Xuan and Yuan reigns, the annual reports have gradually fallen into disorder. Emperor Xuan issued an edict in the first year of Huanglong, saying: 'Now the realm is at peace, corvée labor is reduced, war chariots stand still — yet the people grow poorer and bandits never cease. Where does the fault lie? The annual reports are mere formal documents, full of deceit to evade assessment.'"

In other words, the localities had begun failing to report honestly to the central government, often pleading hardship and claiming disasters to dodge the grain and money levies from the center. Nor was this entirely the commanderies' fault, for the counties frequently deceived the commandery's two-thousand-bushel officials as well. Those Governors whose orders never left their offices had no way to verify the actual figures.

For this stubborn ailment, Wang Mang had prescribed his own remedy: he linked the annual reports to the salaries of each commandery's officials. If a commandery reported disasters and shortfalls, the salaries of officials at every level would be slashed. Let's see you underreport then!

At first, the commanderies and counties were dumbfounded. But minor clerks, true to form, soon found a way out, and thus a vicious cycle formed: if the clerks did not want their own salaries cut, they had to make the annual report books look good. But that meant the court's grain levies increased, while the commandery granaries could not produce the full amounts. Not daring to squeeze the powerful families, they could only turn once more on the common folk, imposing ever more frequent taxes and surcharges. This crushed the fragile smallholders, forcing them to become slaves, sell their land, or turn into refugees and bandits, and the realm grew ever more rotten.

Of course, there was a counter-scheme as well: minor clerks would report severe disasters, reducing the grain and money sent up to the commandery, while in fact lining their own pockets — far more profitable than that pittance of a fixed salary.

But the Grand Governor and County Magistrates could not use the latter method. After all, minor clerks held iron rice bowls, often passing their posts down through several generations, while the two-thousand-bushel and six-hundred-bushel officials were transient. If their annual reports were too poor and their assessment rankings fell too low, they stood a high chance of being dismissed.

This year, Wei Commandery's harvest had been very poor — or rather, the entire Guandong region had fared badly. So Feng Qin was quite curious: how would Diwu Lun handle it? Would he slap his face to look fat and report full figures, or would he truthfully report the disasters, risking dismissal?

But he never imagined that Diwu Lun would resort to a move that pulled the firewood from under the pot!

Just skip the annual report, and that's that!

"Scribe Feng has only just arrived, so he doesn't know yet. To avoid panic in the commandery, we haven't dared let word of this spread."

Diwu Lun struck his chest in anguish. "This year's annual report — I fear there's no time left to submit it. I've already begged His Majesty's forgiveness in my memorial."

"The previous Reporting Scribe was Li Yan's diehard accomplice. Every account book — when they rebelled, the traitors burned them all, along with the documents!"

……

PS: Sorry for the late post — I write and publish on the same day, getting up at five in the morning to work, and I'm starting to wear out.

(Chapter 2 at 18:00.)