Chapter 35: A Mine at Home

Loess is just loess — anywhere on the Guanzhong Plain, a single scoop with a tool and you have it.

The so-called "stone charcoal," however, was a black, grimy stuff: exactly what later ages would call coal.

Jing Dan and Diba Jiao had no idea what Diwu Lun meant to do with these things, and Diwu Lun did not explain. He simply picked out a few lumps and said to Diwu Fu, "Go and pound the stone charcoal into powder."

Diwu Fu's face was full of reluctance, but when Diwu Lun said that if he did a good job he could have rich, fatty meat with his evening meal, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

The whole business went back to the start of winter. In his previous life, Diwu Lun had been a southerner, and every winter he used to say he was "taking magic damage" — he found the cold unbearable and rather envied the north for having heating.

It was only after arriving two thousand years in the past that he understood: heating, in later ages, was the elephant in the room. It was so convenient that modern people had entirely forgotten how northerners managed to stay alive in an age without central heating.

Diwu Lun could not help but take it to heart and began to observe carefully.

In this era, the main fuels were firewood and charcoal, and charcoal, too, was produced by burning timber.

Back in Diwu Village, there had been woods and hills right beside them. As long as they did not cut recklessly, it could sustain a healthy cycle, and they were never short of firewood.

But after coming to Chang'an, Diwu Lun discovered that the population had poured into the capital from every corner of the empire. Whether it was the handicraft workshops and shops along the Nine Streets and Eight Lanes and in the Eastern and Western Markets, or the residents of the one hundred and sixty wards, the numbers were staggering — to say nothing of the palace women, government slaves, the Northern and Southern Armies, and the Imperial Academy students, who numbered over ten thousand.

Whether people ate two meals a day or three, they still had to light a fire to cook. Once winter arrived, the need for heating fuel doubled. What did these three hundred thousand or so people normally burn? And where did it come from?

His gaze naturally turned to the vast Shanglin Park southwest of Chang'an. This enormous imperial hunting park stretched southeast to Yichun, Dinghu, Yusu, and Kunwu; skirted the Southern Mountains; reached Changyang and Wuzha in the west; and wound north around Mount Huang, bordering the Wei River to the east. It covered several hundred li in circumference, and its forests were by no means sparse.

But Shanglin Park was the forbidden preserve of the imperial house and government offices. It was placed under the administration of the Yu Bureau (the Commandant of Waters and Parks), and the timber within was reserved exclusively for the palace, the official workshops, and the use of the various officials.

Every morning, a long train of carts hauled Shanglin firewood into the city. The best was sent into the palace, the next grade was distributed to the various government offices, and the remainder went to the mints, ironworks, and other workshops. The senior clerks of each office, according to their rank and salary grade, received allotments of firewood and charcoal ranging from three jin down to half a jin.

Beneath the covered walkways of the great mansions on the northern palace avenue, where the Four Advisors and Three Dukes lived, huge piles of firewood were always stacked. A low-ranking scholar like Diwu Lun was not entitled to such an allotment; like the common people, he had to buy his own.

"In Chang'an, firewood costs more than cassia." That was Diwu Xi's grumble. Every day, firewood carts passed by outside their ward gate, and if you went too late you could not even get any, while the price changed from one day to the next.

"Where does all this firewood come from?" Diwu Lun asked him.

When Diwu Lun had traveled from Changling to Chang'an, he had observed that no stretches of forest were visible any longer along either bank of the Wei River.

Through two hundred years of stability under the Han, the population of Guanzhong had been steadily accumulating. Although the court had issued the Ordinances for the Four Seasons, forbidding the felling of trees in spring and summer and encouraging tree planting, recovery could never keep pace with destruction.

The bans applied only to the common people; the imperial house and the powerful families acted without restraint. The construction of palaces and imperial tombs accelerated the depletion. Moreover, Guanzhong land was so expensive that one mu cost a single gold piece, and the profit from clearing new fields was enormous — man-made flames could never resist spreading toward the woodlands.

By the reigns of Emperors Yuan and Cheng, the forests along the Jing and Wei rivers were already exhausted, so that the loess tableland lay exposed and the Jing grew muddier by the day. The Confucian scholar Gong Yu had lamented bitterly: "Trees are felled without regard for seasonal prohibitions; floods and droughts may well arise from no other cause than this."

Another consequence was that the people of Chang'an, even if they went twenty or thirty li beyond the city walls, could no longer gather any firewood.

"The firewood nowadays mostly comes from the Zhongnan Mountains," Diwu Xi replied. "Every year, during the farming off-season, peasants pour into the Zhongnan Mountains in Xinguang County, Jingwei Commandery, by the hundreds and thousands. They fell the trees on the mountain, sort and bundle them, and then haul them into the capital on large animal-drawn carts."

Wang Mang's Six Monopolies edict also covered the famous mountains and great marshes: going up the mountain to cut timber was taxed. The Zhongnan Mountains lay over a hundred li from Chang'an, and the firewood sent from there carried the added costs of the Six Monopolies tax, transport fees, and transit duties — naturally, it was outrageously expensive.

Diwu Xi shook his head. "Expensive or not, you have to grit your teeth and buy it. You can't observe the Cold Food Festival every day."

When the group brought the subject up again now, Diba Jiao, who normally buried himself in bamboo slips and knew nothing of such matters, said in astonishment, "No wonder I've heard people say that in the Former Han there was a man named Zhu Maichen, who in his humble days often cut firewood and sold it to make a living. So chopping firewood really can be a trade."

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Jing Dan, however, said, "I do know that some people don't go all the way to the distant Zhongnan Mountains, but instead find good places to cut timber close by."

"Where?"

"The tombs of the Former Han emperors."

From west to east, they lay in sequence: Maoling, Pingling, Yanling, Kangling, Weiling, Yiling, Anling, Changling, and Yangling — strung out like a string of pearls north of Chang'an. Together with Baling and Duling southeast of Chang'an, the eleven emperors of the Western Han were buried beneath these mountain tombs, and beside them were the accompanying graves of many empresses dowager, empresses, and high ministers.

The tomb precincts were thickly planted with trees — fine pines and cypresses, no less. During the Han, they were strictly guarded, and each tomb had personnel assigned to watch over it.

Now the Great Han itself had perished; the living could scarcely clothe and feed themselves, let alone the dead. Although Wang Mang had decreed that "the funerary temples in the capital shall not be abolished, and the sacrifices shall continue as before," apart from the especially significant tombs of Emperors Gao, Yuan, Cheng, and Ping, the incense at the rest had gradually faded. As the Xin Dynasty's finances grew strained, the officials and guards of the tombs were successively dismissed, and so the tombs came to be visited not only by grave robbers but also by woodcutters.

Even with the trees growing over the heads of the Han emperors to help, firewood in Chang'an remained expensive. Diwu Xi said, "Some households can afford to buy grain but cannot afford firewood or charcoal. Good thing there's chugao."

Chugao was crop stalks and straw. Just as under the Han, when the Xin Dynasty collected land rent, it also collected a separate "chugao tax," which had to be paid in kind, to serve as winter fodder for livestock or as fuel for post stations and private homes. Shrewd merchants often carted surplus dry stalks into Chang'an by the wagonload to sell. But the stuff did not burn long. In spring, summer, and autumn it was adequate, but in winter it still fell short of what the three hundred thousand-plus residents of Chang'an needed.

Hence the scene Diwu Lun had witnessed in the city: because fuel could hardly meet demand, every winter, whenever rain or snow fell, the city's inhabitants could not escape cold and hunger.

"It's only the middle of the tenth month by the lunar calendar, and already it's this cold. What will it be like in two more months, when the frost and snow descend? I fear we will see a scene of wine and meat rotting behind vermilion gates while frozen bones lie on the roads."

So Diwu Lun muttered to himself, but he also knew that he had glimpsed a business opportunity, and so he asked a single question.

"Why not burn stone charcoal?"

…

This was no "Let them eat meat." Diwu Lun had seen large lumps of coal being hauled on oxcarts back in Changling; some places had clearly already begun mining it.

But when Diwu Lun asked Diwu Xi about it, he thought it was sheer fantasy. "Young master, the Diwu clan has a small coal mine north of the Jing — an open-pit mine, so digging it out is not hard. But once it's mined, it's generally only used for burning lime, making pottery, or firing bricks and tiles. Even for iron smelting it's considered poor."

"Let alone for household cooking and heating. It's expensive, hard to light — some people have tried it, and the smell is foul!"

Diwu Lun understood. High price, inconvenient to burn, and harmful fumes when burned — those were the reasons people of this age did not use coal. But the biggest reason, he suspected, was simply that their thinking had not yet shifted.

If the first two drawbacks could be solved and the third mitigated, then in a situation where no firewood or charcoal was available, coal might well be a good choice.

So he ordered Diwu Fu to go to the pottery workshops inside the city and buy the leftover coal that they used for firing their kilns.

Now, in a corner of the courtyard beside the vegetable patch, Diwu Fu had been working away with a wooden pestle for a while and had pounded all the coal lumps into powder.

In his previous life, when Diwu Lun was small, his old home had still used a little coal stove, and sometimes, when they were reluctant to buy coal, they would make their own. He too rolled up his sleeves and set to work, mixing the coal powder and loess together with Diwu Fu, adding a bit of water and stirring it evenly.

The only step in the whole process that could be considered at all technical was the ratio of coal powder to loess. This was no great puzzle either. Diwu Lun mixed three piles according to different ratios, spread and smoothed them flat on a level patch of ground in the courtyard that caught the sunlight, then used a wooden bowl as a mold — one bowl, one coal cake. He also rolled some small coal balls.

At first, Diwu Lun had thought of making honeycomb briquettes, but on reflection, why bother?

There was no technical barrier to this stuff at all. Loess was everywhere, and coal was widely available. Anyone who saw it could learn it, and once they learned it, they could do it. In Chang'an, competition was fierce in every trade; if it sold well, you might make money this year, but next year you would probably face countless competitors.

In business, you had to learn from some game companies. If you perfected the product all at once, how would you sell next year's DLC? Make it rough to start, improve it a little each year, just stay ahead of your peers — wouldn't it be sweeter to earn money several times over?

The ultimate goal, after all, was to sell the honeycomb briquette and the small coal stove together.

So Diwu Lun stopped there, contenting himself with simple little coal cakes and balls.

The rest could be left to the sun and the wind. Turning around, he saw Diwu Xi crouching at the kitchen doorway, watching with a face full of incomprehension. "Stone charcoal mixed with water and dirt — can that even still be used?"

To him, Diwu Lun was simply playing — like a child pissing in the sand.

And when Jing Dan returned that evening and saw the pile of grimy black coal balls in the courtyard, he too was quite astonished.

The next day was another bright, clear one. The moisture in the coal balls gradually diminished, and Diwu Fu gathered them up and stacked them neatly in the kitchen. After Diwu Lun sent Diwu Xi out on an errand, he prepared to do a test burn.

Diwu Lun had brought over forty thousand cash with him; combined with Jing Dan's contribution and the sponsorship of the local tycoon Wang Long, the kitchen saw meat every day.

Fish and joints of meat hung from the roof beams. The brick stove, blackened by smoke and fire, was not much different from those in the countryside of later ages. The only difference was that what sat on top was not an iron wok, but cooking vessels with strange names like yan, zeng, and huo — just think of them as a boiling pot, a steaming pot, and a large cauldron.

Diwu Lun selected coal cakes mixed in different proportions, stuffed them into the stove, struck a flint, and tried to ignite the straw — starting a fire, this too was a new skill he had learned after crossing over, and he was growing more and more practiced at it.

Just as Diwu Lun had expected, with too little loess the coal balls were brittle and utterly unusable; with too much loess, it impaired the quality of the burn.

Only the batch with exactly the right amount burned smoothly in the stove. Diwu Fu and Jing Dan, who had come rushing over at the news to watch the excitement, also widened their eyes, discovering that these coal balls mixed with earth and water actually burned no differently from firewood, and their heat was superior to firewood.

And the smell and smoke also seemed a bit less than burning the coal directly.

"It's done."

Diwu Lun broke into a smile. Based on the price of coal in Chang'an, compared against firewood and charcoal, he had done the sums. Mixed with loess, even if the coal balls were priced lower than charcoal of the same weight, there would still be profit. If he could get the city's households of middling means to buy them, it would be a decent path to wealth.

Diwu Lun walked out of the kitchen and raised his head, and he could see the curling green smoke rising from ten thousand households in Chang'an as they burned firewood and charcoal to cook.

No matter the era, fuel was a rigid necessity — no household could do without it. Even better, the Xin Dynasty's ban on carrying copper and coal, enacted to stamp out coin counterfeiting, had been abolished under pressure a few years ago.

Diwu Lun now lacked only one thing.

"Lack a mine."

The Diwu clan had no mine, but the Disi clan, as the industrial and commercial magnates of Changling, owned a small open-pit coal mine north of the Jing River, which they used as fuel for lime-burning. Last time, Disi Xian had been complaining about it, saying lime was getting harder and harder to sell and he no longer wanted to keep at it.

"Two paths."

"Transfer the coal mine to my family to operate…"

"Or cooperate."

Diwu Lun had Diwu Fu gather up all the remaining coal balls and load them onto the cart, then clean the courtyard until it was spotless, as if nothing had ever happened.

But when Disi Xi returned that evening and saw that not a single coal ball remained in the courtyard — all of them gone — he was immediately delighted.

"Young master, wasn't I right? Coal mixed with water and earth won't burn — you threw it all out, didn't you?"

Jing Dan smiled without speaking. Diwu Fu, having been warned, also kept silent and gave no reply. Diwu Lun simply said, "The day after tomorrow is our rest day. I need to return to Changling."

……

The Xin Dynasty's official leave system was the same as the Han's: one rest day every five days. Tomorrow was the second rest day of the tenth month, and the faces of the probationary Palace Gentlemen from the various commanderies and kingdoms were all brimming with cheerful spirits.

After all, several straight days of brainwashing… no, of assemblies and lectures extolling the virtues of the New Policies — even they couldn't take it. No matter how dull-witted a man was, hearing too much singing of praises for Wang Mang and the Xin Dynasty would eventually cloy.

All the more so for a subversive element with treacherous intentions like Diwu Lun.

Even Jing Dan was looking forward to getting today over with quickly so he could go home and reunite with his wife and children. He turned back and joked with Diwu Lun.

"Has Boyu heard the story from the time of Emperor Cheng of the Former Han, about Zhang Fu voluntarily giving up his rest day to work at the government office?"

Oh? The great Han also had a wage-earner who willingly and gladly practiced 996?

Diwu Lun shook his head, and heard Jing Dan say with a smile: "Zhang Fu was a Bandit Section Clerk of the Left Pingyi, the same commandery as us. Once, on a rest day, he still refused to leave and insisted on sitting in his office handling affairs."

"His superior, Xue Xuan, the Left Pingyi, counseled him, saying that officials observing the prescribed leave at the solstice had been established for a long time. Although there were public duties in the office, the family at home also longed for the affection and love of private life. He suggested that Zhang Fu follow the common practice, go home and keep his wife and daughter company, set out wine and dishes, invite the neighbors, and share laughter and joy together — that, he said, was fitting for the occasion."

"And then?" Diwu Lun pressed. Had Zhang Fu righteously and sternly refuted his superior?

Jing Dan said, "Xue Xuan's words made Zhang Fu ashamed, and all the officials approved of Xue Xuan's words."

Diwu Lun broke into a smile: "I approve of them too." Same here!

Beside them, Wang Long rarely chimed in: "We've caught a good time. During the reigns of Emperor Zhao and Emperor Xuan of the Former Han, rest days for Palace Gentlemen were not easy to come by."

"Back then, the timing and order of Palace Gentlemen's rest days were all determined by how much money they paid to bribe their superiors. Some Palace Gentlemen went over a year without a single rest day."

"It was Yang Yun, the Pingtong Marquis and General of the Palace Gentlemen under Emperor Xuan of Han, who rectified this, ensuring that Palace Gentlemen's sick leave, leave requests, and rest days were all handled according to law — and so it has remained to this day."

Diwu Lun nodded. He truly had to thank that man named Yang Yun — though he had heard that his end was not a good one.

Aside from their three-man Liewei squad, the Filial and Incorrupt Palace Gentlemen from the other commanderies and kingdoms also could not hide their delight. Diwu Lun overheard several people nearby discussing where to go and play during tomorrow's rest day.

"Zhangtai Street, of course!"

A young Palace Gentleman tilted his head up in excitement, his cap nearly falling off. Having spent these days learning dialects from old Yang Xiong, Diwu Lun had a rough grasp of the basics and could tell that these few Palace Gentlemen's accents belonged to the Zhao-Wei line from north of the Yellow River. He just didn't know which commandery — Handan or Julu.

As for Zhangtai Street, it was Chang'an's notorious red-light district. They must have been holding it in for a long time. Diwu Lun looked down at his eighteen-year-old body — shamefully, he had been holding it in for quite a while too.

Just as the crowd's voices were growing somewhat clamorous, an angry shout rang out.

"Gentlemen, silence!"

Sun Ji, the Left General of the Palace Gentlemen and Qiwu Marquis, who was in charge of managing the outer gentlemen, strode into the gentlemen's office. Today, departing from his usual style of showing his face and then leaving, he spoke with a stern expression.

"All gentlemen, bow! The State General and Duke of Meixin arrives!"

……

PS: The earliest coal cakes were discovered at an Eastern Han iron-smelting site.

Recommendation for a new book: "Emperors Chatting in a Group", an emperor chat-group type story — those interested can take a look.