Chapter 22: The Wealth Gap

After realizing Diwu Lun was no simple man, Jing Dan couldn't help but observe him a bit more closely.

Though both were called "magnate families," the house of the Marquis of Qiongcheng and the Diwu clan were, without a doubt, one in heaven and one in the dirt.

Take where they lived, for example. Jing Dan had been to Diwu Lun's home — it was merely a small fortified courtyard, barely enough to shelter forty or fifty people.

But this Changping Lodge of the Marquis of Qiongcheng's family was a former imperial traveling palace, three li east to west and four li north to south, rivaling a small town. The courtyards were too many to count; the buildings all wound and linked together, with layered halls and long covered corridors. The compound walls were decorated with ornate paintings and cinnabar lacquer. Walking through them, one could not cover it all in a single day.

And at the center of the courtyards was a garden, with rushing streams channeled into ditches, flat ground dug out to form ponds, and stones piled into artificial mountains several zhang high. Rare trees and exotic plants were planted everywhere. It was the ninth month by the season, and all other flowers had withered, but the yellow chrysanthemums in the garden were blooming with abandon.

Jing Dan remembered how, the first time he was invited here years ago, he had been utterly awed. By all logic, a young man like Diwu Lun, from a humble household who had seen little of the world, should have been even more wide-eyed and dumbstruck.

Yet Diwu Lun's face showed not a trace of surprise. From the moment he entered Changping Lodge, he merely glanced left and right casually, without a hint of envy. Such composure was exceedingly rare in a young man of humble origins.

What Jing Dan did not know was that, for Diwu Lun, this sightseeing tour of the Marquis of Qiongcheng's estate was novel, but hardly awe-inspiring.

As a modern man, what he had seen most of were "grand scenes." Towering skyscrapers aside, he had visited plenty of ancient imperial palace wonders in his past life while traveling. What's more, this garden, meticulously built with the Marquis of Qiongcheng family's wealth, was, in Diwu Lun's eyes, quite mediocre in both design and upkeep. In later ages, any random county town's People's Park could easily outshine it.

But surveying the Marquis of Qiongcheng's assets from outside in, Diwu Lun did feel a touch of envy. Their servants alone numbered eight or nine hundred; add the clan members, retainers, and guest-attendants, and they had a force of two to three thousand. With Wang Yuan's status and prestige, should the realm fall into chaos, rallying over ten thousand people from the county under his command would be all too easy. Diwu Village was far too small. If he had such a vast foundation, he could do so much more, and save far more people in the future.

Jing Dan, traveling with him, observed Diwu Lun the whole way, seeing him mostly calm and untroubled. Only when they passed a small garden did Diwu Lun stop, his gaze flicking inside.

Jing Dan looked over as well and saw a few slaves — the male servants dressed in silk trousers and shoes, the maids also gorgeous and lavishly adorned. Had the young man's eye been caught by youthful stirrings?

But Diwu Lun was not looking at the people; he was looking at the dogs.

Several Di dogs with glossy coats were sprawled on fine cattail mats, noisily chewing fresh meat.

That was the kind of good meat an ordinary clansman in Diwu Village might eat only three or four times in an entire year.

Diwu Lun said nothing. This was another family's business; they could eat whatever they liked, it was not his place to interfere. His steps only paused briefly before he followed the group into the courtyard hall of Changping Lodge.

The guests were seated according to rank, below the hall, in the hall, and at the seats of honor. Diwu Lun was about to take a seat in the courtyard when the Marquis of Qiongcheng's steward hurried over and bowed to him: "This old servant is dull-witted and failed to recognize your esteemed name earlier. The master and Minister Wei have instructed that you and Scribe Jing be seated at the honor seats!"

Then he would follow the arrangement. Diwu Lun simply followed the steward further inside. The main hall was lofty and magnificent; bronze lamp stands branched like great trees with lush foliage. Though it was still broad daylight outside, the tallow candles upon them burned as if they cost nothing.

The hall's upper seats could accommodate over ten people, mostly "elders of the former dynasty" like Fan Zhu. Seeing Diwu Lun being led further in, they all cast looks of either envy or resentment.

At the innermost part was a small chamber connected to the main hall, divided into east and west seats. In the east seat sat the Marquis of Qiongcheng, Wang Yuan, along with a young man of refined, youthful features — likely his clan nephew Wang Long, famed in the commandery for his literary learning.

At the head of the west seats was Wei Ao, followed by the Marquess of Xiaoxiang's heir Xiao Yan, and then Jing Dan, who was conversing quietly with Wei Ao. Jing Dan looked up and glanced at Diwu Lun. It was clear Wei Ao seemed to appreciate Jing Dan quite a bit, and the fact that he was a trusted aide of the Commandery Governor had also elevated his seat.

Diwu Lun naturally took the last seat on the west side, thinking to himself, "That I can enter the seats of honor is probably thanks in large part to State Preceptor Liu Xiu's remark about my 'rare virtuous conduct from youth.'"

And at the banquet, Diwu Lun felt the wealth gap between the great magnate families and ordinary people even more viscerally.

The table before him was made of precious osmanthus wood, coated in black lacquer and carved with dazzling patterns. The mat was no ordinary one either — made of some unknown precious grass, it felt soft to kneel on, unlike the straw pads in commoners' homes that pricked the knees.

The servants had long since skillfully arranged the tableware — jue cups, shang goblets, zun vessels, zu platters — Diwu Lun could not name them all. At the center of the hall sat a great bronze cauldron, steam rising from it. A household where bells chimed and cauldrons feasted.

On the table were metal cups and plates with silver rims and yellow handles, wine pots carved with patterns and painted in red lacquer, and exquisitely crafted winged-cup lacquer eared cups from Yewang in Henei. Looking down, inside the wood-bodied, red-bottomed cup were three characters: "May You Enjoy the Wine."

Thinking of his own home, they had only a few lacquer pieces, used only when honored guests came. On ordinary days they used pottery and gourd ladles, not much different from farmers.

As for the food, there was little to remark on — simply dish upon dish of mixed delicacies, roasted meats covering the tables. Besides the everyday meats of pork, beef, lamb, chicken, duck, and goose, there were also fish, turtle, deer fetus, and quail, along with Chu oranges from the south and goji berry sauce traded from Shu lands. To Jing Dan and the others, it was a sumptuous feast of fine flavors.

Thinking back to how Diwu Ba ate — merely bean soup and yellow millet, often accompanied by just one sauce and one meat dish, with extra dishes only for celebrations or guests, and even then just sliced raw fish and cooked meat. Nothing like this, where everything that flew in the sky, ran on the earth, or swam in the water was gathered, and delicacies from all corners of the realm were simmered into fine dishes.

Diwu Lun could only sigh inwardly: this was the dull, flavorless life of the rich.

At this moment, the host Wang Yuan rose, raising his cup with a smile: "The Odes say: 'I have fine guests; the zithers and pipes play.' Today, the right-side eminent families of Liewei Commandery gather at Changping Lodge — how can we be without the pleasure of strings and bamboo, of drums and zithers?"

He clapped his hands. The musicians on both sides of the hall sat sideways on their heels and began to strike the clay pots and strum the zithers. A troupe of alluring dancers kept by the Marquis of Qiongcheng's house glided gracefully into the hall, waving their sleeves with unrestrained poise, performing the sinuous dance steps of Zhongshan in Zhao — the homeland of the former dynasty's "bewitching empress" Zhao Feiyan.

Diwu Lun stole a glance at Wei Ao. He showed no unusual expression, simply enjoying it all with a beaming smile, clearly long accustomed to such scenes.

The entire hall was filled with the clink of cups and joyful laughter. The governance of Confucius in Chang'an that Wei Ao had solemnly proclaimed outside before the banquet, the frugal conduct led by the Emperor Wang Mang, and the prohibition on group drinking — all had long been tossed to the back of their minds. Truly, the magistrates were allowed to set fires while the common folk were forbidden to light lamps.

This Xin Dynasty was indeed a bizarre one. Those in power slapped their heads and issued decrees on a whim. Those below pretended on their carriages and horses to comply with simplicity, but behind closed doors, everything went on as before. Did Wang Mang know of this lip service? And what expression would he wear if he did?

Nothing at the banquet was particularly worth mentioning. Wang Yuan first introduced Diwu Lun to everyone. At that moment, Diwu Lun noticed that the Marquess of Xiaoxiang's heir, Xiao Yan, seated second on the west side, kept a stiff face amid the hall's laughter and music. Occasionally, when his gaze met Diwu Lun's, he turned away with disgust.

And when Jing Dan, seated beside Xiao Yan, raised his cup to toast him, Xiao Yan only lifted his jue cup with one hand, leaving Jing Dan somewhat embarrassed.

It made sense. The Xiao family, who had held their fief since the time of Han Gaozu, with over ten generations of nobility, were still atop the human pyramid even after the dynastic change — they could practically be considered an "aristocratic lineage." How could they be willing to share a table with a humble-born son like Diwu Lun? To him, this was a utter disgrace. Were it not for the need to save face for Wei Ao and Wang Yuan, Xiao Yan would have nearly flicked his sleeves and stormed out.

Diwu Lun's family were small landowners, declining generation by generation, their feet already touching the mud, ranked alongside village commoners. The Xiao clan, however, had been marquises for over ten generations, long soaring high in the clouds, utterly disconnected from the earth below.

After eating for a while, when everyone was well-fed and content with wine, Wang Yuan rose and invited all to partake in the most important activity of the Double Ninth feast — wearing zhuyu and ascending the heights.

What they ascended was not a mountain, but a high terrace within Changping Lodge. The terrace was built atop a small loess plateau and could hold several dozen people.

Once atop the terrace, the autumn wind swept across the plain, bringing not only a chill but also the scent of chrysanthemums from the garden. All the guests wore zhuyu in their hair, following Wei Ao and Wang Yuan to gaze down from the height, looking out over the boundless Marquis of Qiongcheng estate to the west and south, and offering up flattering words of praise.

Diwu Lun, however, was drawn by the scene to the northeast. His steps moved there involuntarily, and then he stood at the edge, eyes widening.

This was the first time since entering Changping Lodge that Jing Dan saw Diwu Lun reveal a look of shock and awe.

He saw a world torn apart!

If the better part of the day had been spent wandering a world brimming with precious luxury, now, standing atop this magnificent, towering terrace, he witnessed the truth of the world's other half.

East of Changping Lodge, beyond a high embankment, had once surged the main current of the Jing River. But now it was completely dry, leaving only a riverbed cracked under the blazing sun, like a twisted, ugly scar dividing heaven and earth in two.

This muddy great river, born of the Loess Plateau, had always been known for its fierce floods and heavy silt load. Two years ago, it had been blocked and changed course, veering off to the northeast.

Diwu Lun had heard his grandfather speak of this, but it had not struck him deeply at the time. Only now, seeing it with his own eyes, did he realize how violent that flood had been.

To the northeast had once been a stretch of fertile farmland and villages, but they were ravaged by the diverted Jing River. When the great waters struck, dozens of hamlets and thousands of qing of land were destroyed in an instant. All Diwu Lun could see now was a wreckage of broken walls and fields submerged in mud. Only the reeds by the river had grown tall.

At that moment, Jing Dan also came over. Seeing Diwu Lun's expression, he knew he had never been to the northern part of the county, and said: "In the autumn the year before last, great rains fell, and the waters around the capital region stood over a zhang deep. The Jing River overflowed greatly, and several counties in the north of the commandery were stricken."

He lowered his voice: "However, the Marquis of Qiongcheng and the eleven other families, like the Xiao and Fan, suffered no damage. It was only because they had built earthen embankments along the river in advance. The great waters could not enter, so they swept away the poor villages and households that had no dikes for protection. Over ten thousand people were displaced."

"At that time, Governor Zhang had just arrived in the commandery. His predecessor had left a deficit, and the commandery granary had less than five thousand shi of grain remaining. He had to go door to door, pleading with the magnates, persuading them each to contribute some fodder and grain, but..."

"Even with the Grand Governor personally intervening, he couldn't get any?"

Jing Dan nodded: "The Marquis of Qiongcheng's house gave one thousand shi, the Xiao clan gave five hundred, and the other families mostly gave two or three hundred. As for the Fan clan, they were only willing to part with a little over a hundred shi — not even as much as Boyu's family charity granary."

A little over a hundred shi — a single garment of Fan Zhu's was probably worth that much!

This grain was, of course, a mere drop in the bucket. A huge gap in relief remained. Just as the starving people were stripping bark from trees and preparing to flee as refugees, the various magnate families seemed to have a sudden awakening of conscience. One after another, they sent men with grain to move among the stricken poor, expressing their willingness to lend grain to them.

Diwu Lun understood: "That grain... was usurious loans, wasn't it."

"Exactly. Borrow one, repay two, or even three!"

Jing Dan said, "At the time, the court was campaigning north against the Xiongnu, striking south at Gouding, and quelling the Qiang rebellion in the west. Two hundred thousand troops were stationed on the borders, and grain prices in Guanzhong were sky-high. The commandery Grand Governor did everything he could to manage, but relief grain and fodder never arrived. To keep from starving, the disaster victims had no choice but to borrow grain from the various great families."

"The floodwaters had already destroyed their fields and homes. Led by the Marquis of Qiongcheng, the families were unwilling to pool manpower and funds to restore the river to its original course, afraid that changing the river's path again would affect their own lands. The Grand Governor memorialized the court, but he could not overcome the Marquis of Qiongcheng's connections. The situation remains as it was, and to this day the north of the commandery still suffers frequent flooding."

"And so the common people, having lost their homes and fields and burdened with debt, could only sign contracts with the various powerful families and become their tenant farmers and retainers."

They were not slaves, of course — this was a way to circumvent the Wang Tian Private Retainer Edict. No buying or selling took place, yet it allowed the covert annexation of people. After all, the Marquis of Qiongcheng and the Xiao clan held vast expanses of land, easily hundreds or thousands of qing. Tenant farmers were a consumable resource — a dozen or more could be worked to death every year and had to be constantly replenished. And in the end, the disaster victims and the commandery governor still had to thank these powerful families for their "righteous deeds"!

No wonder they refused to release relief grain. They were planning to profit from a national calamity.

As for those farmers who were old, thin, weak, or ill — no one took them in. They could only cling to life in their ruined homes. In the distance, Diwu Lun could make out figures moving through the Marquis of Qiongcheng's already-harvested fields, bending over to pick up something.

They were gleaners. With not enough grain at home to stave off hunger, they had brought their children to the fields to search for millet ears accidentally missed during the harvest. With luck, a whole day's work might yield a single meal's worth of food.

But after only a moment, the field-guarding slaves set dogs on them to drive them away. One short figure, who seemed to be a child, fell to the ground. A vicious dog pounced and savagely bit at them. Watching this, Diwu Lun could not help clenching his fists, wanting desperately to rush over and kick the dog away — but he was too far off.

Fortunately, the child managed to stand up in the end, though they limped away. Who knew if they would survive.

Having witnessed this scene, Diwu Lun looked back at the opulence of the Marquis of Qiongcheng's manor, its pavilions and high terraces rising above the compound walls, and he could not help but be deeply shaken.

It was just the same — high towers and great mansions next to slums, here the most extravagant luxury, there a desperate struggle on the brink of death.

The ancients said: the rich have fields stretching across the horizon, the poor have not even ground to stand an awl on; dogs and swine eat human food and no one checks them. Now he had truly experienced this firsthand.

Annexation and expanding one's own wealth were the instincts of the powerful families — even the Diwu clan wanted to do the same. But he felt that, as a person, one must still retain a sliver of conscience and a bottom line. To be rich and heartless — that must never be!

"Does Boyu know why I was so surprised after I went to Diwu Village?"

Jing Dan said, "In this world, it is very hard to find a village-head family as benevolent as yours. The community granary charges no interest, and you are willing to lend plow oxen and iron tools to the poor. The land rent for your tenant farmers is not high either. It is truly rare."

To his shame, Diwu Lun's original intent had actually been to buy people's hearts. It was only after that autumn sacrifice, as he gradually integrated further into this era and into the lives of those around him, that as he kept doing these things, even he himself began to take them seriously.

After all, in this life, he was the foolish grandson of a landlord family — a member of the exploiting class.

But in his previous life, he had been nothing more than an ordinary working man.

His generation had been fortunate, living in an era full of hope. Immersed in certain things, their core values had largely solidified. The history learned from books, those stirring and impassioned slogans, had imperceptibly imprinted themselves deep in his soul. So much so that while he acted and spoke as a realist, at his core he was an idealist.

Jing Dan was still sighing with emotion: "If all the great families were willing to act like yours — sharing grain, lowering interest rates, taking goodness in the village as beauty, and treating the common people kindly — why worry that this commandery could not be well governed? Why worry that the realm would not be at peace?"

Hearing this, Diwu Lun blurted out without thinking: "If they are unwilling, then you must make them willing!"

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