Chapter 1702: A Study of Great Han

This true crisis, by any measure, was nothing more than an ordinary battle. Every emperor, whether from the Huaxia world or other regions, had endured desperate, grueling death-struggles and brushes with death since their earliest rise—all far more harrowing than what Zhao Jin faced this time.

In this ambush, Zhao Jin for the first time revealed superhuman courage and martial prowess; a handful of them faced over a hundred desperate, ruthless bandits and won against overwhelming odds.

We have seen far too many tales of divine prodigies in an emperor's youth, yet this battle outside Xuzhou City is no fiction. Both official and folk records provide ironclad proof—after all, the local government and literati of that time had no need to curry favor with Zhao Jin.

The valley where it happened now bears the illustrious name "Rising Dragon Valley," a must-visit site for idle men of wealth newly arrived in Xuzhou.

To researchers, the Rising Dragon Valley ambush, aside from proving that Zhao Jin indeed possessed the latent qualities of an emperor, also had a psychological impact on him—an impact negligible to the founding and consolidation of the Great Han Empire, yet a blessing for all its meritorious officials.

The purging of meritorious officials after an emperor's ascension has long been a common play in the game of power, reaching its zenith under the Ming Grand Ancestor Zhu Yuanzhang. Though this practice drew veiled and open censure and mockery, those who understood politics also deemed it necessary.

Among the meritorious officials who founded the Great Han, whether martial commander-in-chief Chen Sheng, civil chief Wang Zhaojing, or the veteran ministers in charge of every domain below them, all had long recognized this. Once the Great Han Empire was secure, they all expressed, through various channels, their wish to withdraw from the center of power and retire to a life of ease and wealth.

In any era, East or West, such voluntary withdrawal is likewise a common play in the game of power. As the sovereign, Zhao Jin ought to have obliged, crafting a harmonious, all-around happy situation both internally and externally. Yet every major minister who voiced such a wish was met with severe reprimands.

When Zhao Jin first made this stance, everyone took it for the standard ritual courtesy common on the Huaxia political stage. Only when the reprimands grew harsher each time and concrete measures were implemented did they realize Zhao Jin meant it in earnest.

This approach then stirred another worry. Looking across the world, not just Huaxia itself, excessive favor toward meritorious officials and close aides leads to power imbalances, causes the favored and their clans to abuse power without restraint, shakes the foundations of the state, and can even bring about its ruin. This is no alarmist talk—there are precedents aplenty.

Yet reality set everyone at ease. Zhao Jin maintained his trust in his companions and close aides, but it was not unbridled indulgence and permissiveness. Whenever anyone erred, they were punished according to the rules—a punishment neither excessively severe due to their ties with the Grand Ancestor, nor lightly dismissed because of those same ties.

Acting by the rules—strictly acting by the rules—is what sets the Great Han Empire apart from every prior Huaxia dynasty. Even so, within this very adherence to "rules," one can still discern Zhao Jin's affection and concern for his companions, even if such brotherly sentiment lasted only this one generation, with each succeeding generation trending ever closer to the traditional sovereign-minister relationship.

Words so warm as "affection" and "concern" should have no place in describing an emperor, least of all a founding emperor who built everything from nothing like Zhao Jin. The only explanation for this state of affairs can be traced to the psychological impact of the "Rising Dragon Valley Ambush."

Returning to Zhao Jin's methods and pace: in the social environment of that time, his first few steps were not particularly extraordinary. Across the vast territory of the Ming Empire, more than one person achieved the same. But such men either became local tyrants bleeding their districts dry, or semi-official gentry amassing wealth and land for themselves and their clans, chasing power, pleasure, or fame. Their ambitions were largely confined to their home regions—a single prefecture was the absolute limit.

Zhao Jin was entirely different. From beginning to end, he sought growth in strength, sought to make his group stronger in every respect—militarily, organizationally, economically. In a sense, he made the same demand even in thought and civilization.

In this process of pursuing growth and constant strengthening, Zhao Jin defeated and annihilated one enemy after another, each deemed similar to him.

These enemies came from varied origins and compositions: thugs of Xuzhou's underworld, religious organizations tantamount to regimes, legal and illegal alike, as well as merchant guilds and trade associations that held economic power. Among these various civilian armed forces, the shadow of the Ming Empire's government and military flickered in and out.

With victory after victory, Zhao Jin's strength grew ever greater. From ancient times to the present, countless men have lost themselves amid successive victories, ever-increasing wealth, and fame—some sank into indulgence, some grew arrogant and conceited, some lost their purpose. The very opponents Zhao Jin destroyed were exactly like that.

A youth, a youth of no particularly noble birth, had achieved victories that, by any measure, could only be called brilliant, had amassed colossal wealth enviable in any time or place—yet he did not lose himself. He reined in the most vigorous desires of youth, kept accumulating, kept developing, made himself ever stronger. This was Zhao Jin's calm. No, calm cannot explain it. This was his plan.

Another astonishing thing in Zhao Jin's growth was his foresight. No matter how proud the people of the Great Han Empire and its dependencies are now, no matter how prosperous the Huaxia world, none can deny that in the era Zhao Jin grew up, the Ming Empire, as an empire, was riddled with holes—yet by the standards of an empire, it still passed muster. It remained the world's largest empire, had ruled stably for nearly two hundred years, and had even won several brilliant victories in wars both foreign and domestic, something that by the standards of the time could be called a "restoration." But this empire was decaying in every respect, already comprehensively lagging behind the Western world of that time. Had this trend continued, the total domination of Eastern civilization by Western civilization would have been an inevitable outcome.

As later researchers, we have exhaustive materials and can survey the long river of history from the vantage of near-omniscient beings. We can conclude that the Ming Empire was already riddled with holes by then; we can conclude that Europe's strength was rapidly growing. But people of that time did not know this. Zhao Jin, however, keenly perceived it.

How could he have the audacity to challenge a colossal behemoth that seemed invincible? How could he have the resolve to draw on what most people then considered heretical fallacies? It is hard to imagine. Regarding the details of adopting European technology and certain concepts, some historical researchers have put forward a conjecture. The present Church system is especially insistent that this conjecture is the truth—namely, that Zhao Jin once secretly detained missionaries or European merchant ships and gained much knowledge from these Westerners. Certain reckless dioceses have been covertly spreading the claim that Zhao Jin and those around him were baptized as youths by some saint and became believers. This narrative has always been strictly banned by the authorities, and judging by the authorities' comprehensive suppression of the Church, it cannot possibly be true.

On one hand, he absorbed the excellent parts of Western civilization; on the other, he carried forward the finest elements of Eastern culture—drawing on the strengths of both East and West to offset weaknesses, improving and innovating upon them. Here, one can only say that the capable are capable of anything. Zhao Jin's foresight manifested not only in the adoption of specific technologies but also in the innovation of specific details—one might even call it outright invention. Under his integration, the Great Han Empire's technology led the world. As the empire's culture, economy, and military erupted comprehensively, its science and technology likewise began to tower over the entire world, evolving from piecemeal improvements into a generational leap ahead of the era.

Among Zhao Jin's contemporaries, some perhaps also saw the coming chaos, some perhaps also saw the Ming Empire's outward strength and inner weakness, some perhaps were also strengthening their arms, some perhaps were making money while strengthening their arms—but among them all, only Zhao Jin used every conceivable method to make his own strength greater, far ahead of everyone else's.

Before obtaining official status, before raising a banner recognized by law and principle, Zhao Jin's organization and armed force were at best a staff, a militia, and tenant farmers. Yet examining their organization and mobilization capacity, they were far more regular than other underground forces, even far more regular and efficient than the Ming Empire's governments at every level. The advanced defeating the backward—once again, so utterly natural.

Many researchers focus on the brilliant victories, or the commercial miracles—for instance, how Zhao Jin personally created several enormous commercial cities, turned the pirates plaguing the Ming Empire into legitimate maritime shipping, and established massive state-run workshops and farms. These victories and miracles are certainly worthy of admiration and are important components of Zhao Jin's rise to the pinnacle.

But in truth, many of these victories and miracles do not carry such decisive significance. Once Zhao Jin had complete control of Xuzhou, the winning of the realm was already an inevitability.

The Ming Empire's territory was a thousand times that of Xuzhou, its population nearly a thousand times as well—to say nothing of Xuzhou having no fertile farmland, no precious mineral deposits. The Grand Canal, the main artery of Ming Empire transport, had already been rerouted elsewhere. The flood-prone Yellow River was a colossal danger. There was no defensible terrain to rely on. Because of several Yellow River breaches and the canal's rerouting, the local population was sparser than prefectures of comparable size. None of this could be called a foundation for a great enterprise.

Yet Xuzhou was not entirely without a base. It possessed one of the largest iron mines in the Ming Empire at the time. As is widely known, the mistress of that iron mine was the first empress of the Great Han Empire's Grand Ancestor Zhao Jin. At the time, because her family property was under threat, she took the initiative to establish contact with Zhao Jin. That iron mine and mining operation, colossal by the standards of the day, provided equipment for Zhao Jin's army, while the large numbers of miners proved far more suited than peasants to becoming professional soldiers.