Half a Spoiler Chapter 126

In the balmy March of spring, grasses grow and orioles flit through the air.

Nearly three months had passed since the rebellion in the east was suppressed. The north, untouched by the turmoil of war, had remained relatively stable – especially Wuzheng Commandery, which, thanks to Wen Hong’s many years of careful stewardship, could even be described as peaceful and prosperous.

Ever since Song Nanlou led his troops away that day, Wen Hong had kept a close watch on the situation in the east. Recently, as the winds of conflict gradually subsided, he managed to gather intelligence: after the war ended, the imperial court swiftly issued a series of commendations and rewards. Among the recipients, Tao Jia himself had already been promoted to General of Chariots and Cavalry. As for the higher position of Grand General, court conventions dictated that such titles were never granted lightly, leaving him no room for further promotion in official rank. As for noble titles, he had long been enfeoffed as Marquis of Fuze. This time, the Emperor merely increased his fiefdom, bestowed upon him fifty thousand kilograms of “red gold” – which in that era actually referred to yellow copper – granted him a mansion and official fields, and extended favors to the younger generations of his clan.

The remaining commanders were mostly young men, such as Song Nanlou, Chen Ming, and Shi Zhuhe, all of whom were still under twenty. After the rebellion in the east was subdued, they had yet to be enfeoffed as marquises. Instead, each received a reward of twenty-five thousand kilograms and a third-rank meritorious title.

Back when Zhong Zhiwei pacified the Western Tribes, she was directly enfeoffed as Marquis of Qu’an. Comparing these rewards, some believed the Emperor favored commanders with a background in the Imperial Guard, while others thought the emperor simply placed extraordinary trust in Zhong Zhiwei. After all, this commander of the Inner Guard had saved the Emperor’s life on multiple occasions, and over time, these accumulated deeds had transformed her into one of the emperor’s most trusted confidants.

The imperial court was filled with jubilation over the quelling of the rebellion, but sentiments in the northern regions were far more complex. Had the revolt dragged on unresolved, the central government would undoubtedly have summoned local officials to join the campaign. Men like Wen Hong could have seized this opportunity to bolster their reputations, consolidate military power, and lay the groundwork for regional autonomy. Yet, to their surprise, the Emperor had never once mobilized forces beyond the central territories. Through a series of calculated maneuvers, she had instead emerged with her authority at the center further strengthened.

After the conflict subsided, Wen Yanran, mindful of Song Nanlou’s earlier grain requisition in Wuzheng Commandery, took the initiative to send a letter. In cordial terms, she offered words of encouragement to Wen Hong – a man who, as a loyalist clansman, had long been amassing prestige in anticipation of potential turmoil across the realm. Now that the signs of upheaval had abruptly dissipated, he could not suddenly pivot and tread the path of a treacherous minister. Swallowing his grievances, he had no choice but to respectfully assure the emperor that his contributions were merely his duty.

After all, as a loyal subject, knowing that Song Nanlou’s cross-border troop movement and forced grain levy were aimed at hastening the restoration of peace, Wen Hong could hardly rise up in indignation and demand redress, even if he had endured certain hardships along the way. Instead, when the Emperor made a show of reprimanding Song Nanlou, he hastened to write a letter earnestly dissuading him from doing so.

Deeply moved by Wen Hong’s ideological awareness and loyalty, the Emperor issued a special edict praising both Wen Hong and Song Nanlou for their devotion to the state.

Wen Hong – loyal clansman, dutiful subject – could only respond with silent speechlessness.

Unable to articulate his true feelings to the emperor, Wen Hong channeled all his energy into gathering intelligence and analyzing the future course of the realm.

Since their lord had suffered a setback, it was only natural for his subordinates to strive to alleviate his concerns. The officials of Wuzheng Commandery mobilized their intelligence networks to collect information and soon achieved preliminary results.

In the private chamber, the advisors were reporting to their lord:

“…That young General Song has returned to the front camp, and Wen Xun has also gone back to the rear camp.”

Wen Hong waved his hand dismissively, a trace of impatience in his voice. “No need to elaborate – I am well aware that he has returned to the front camp.”

Thanks to the Emperor’s recent actions, he had no desire to hear anything concerning Song Nanlou for the time being.

The advisors clasped their hands and bowed slightly, setting aside the topic of Song Nanlou to focus on matters in the south. “Now that Wen Xun has returned, Xiao Xichi will naturally have to go back to Chongchang Commandery as well…”

Hearing this, Wen Hong suddenly realized something. “Since both Wen and Xiao are commanding forces in the south, what is the situation between them?”

His curiosity was not unwarranted. Both Wen Xun and Xiao Xichi held military authority, shared similar responsibilities, and had overlapping jurisdictions – such arrangements inevitably led to friction. In fact, it could even be said that the commanders of the rear camp had always been positioned, to some extent, as a check on the local frontier forces. The frontier troops sought to expand their influence, while the rear camp was tasked with keeping them in check.

The advisor shook his head. “As of now, no clear information has emerged.”

Zhang Bingshan let out a disdainful snort. “Xiao Xichi is overly concerned about Qingyi, and Wen Xun, being of imperial clan descent, is hardly inclined to stir up conflict either.” He paused for a moment, then added thoughtfully, “And yet, despite being merely a frontier chieftain, she enjoys considerable trust from the young emperor.”

In this era, Wen Yanran’s appointment of Xiao Xichi was indeed remarkable – and deeply puzzling. The origins of the Qingyi tribe were complex. Originally dwelling near the Wuliu tribes, they were later relocated by the imperial court, which grew wary of the growing power of the northern frontier peoples. Settling in the south, the tribe gradually adopted a way of life that closely mirrored that of the Central Plains. Over time, even their chieftain’s lineage adopted surnames in the Central Plains style.

Like many southern tribes, Qingyi had long aspired to integrate into the Central Plains culture. Yet the Central Plains people persistently excluded and marginalized the frontier peoples, deepening the rift between them until reconciliation became nearly impossible. The previous chieftain of Qingyi had even attempted to rebel. The imperial court, however, paid little heed to their grievances; in the eyes of the central government, the frontier peoples of the south were too weak to pose any real threat – a mere flicker that could be snuffed out at will in the event of war.

In truth, if not for Xiao Xichi’s extraordinary prowess, the Qingyi tribe might never have amounted to much. Xiao Xichi could have carved out a separate dominion in the south, much like Wang You once did. Yet she remained deeply devoted to her people. In various alternate paths of fate, it was only when the world had deteriorated beyond repair, and refuge was no longer an option, that she emerged like a caged tiger unleashed – fighting fiercely to secure a chance for her tribe to survive – and in doing so, shook the very foundations of the south.

One of the advisors analyzed, “The young emperor has placed Xiao Xichi in command of the Chongchang frontier forces – what if nurturing a tiger ends up bringing calamity?”

Another advisor interjected, “Xiao Xichi is a deeply strategic person. To this day, she has shown no signs of rebellion. Not long ago, the young emperor specially dispatched guards to protect the children of the Marquis of Quanling. However, the rangers under Dian Wue’s command proved too formidable. When they realized they couldn’t abduct the children, they attempted to kill them outright. The imperial guards sent for protection were severely wounded. It was Xiao Xichi herself who intervened and slew all the attackers.”

Upon hearing this, Zhang Bingshan suddenly declared with conviction, “If that is the case, then Xiao Xichi undoubtedly harbors treacherous intentions!”

The other advisors exchanged bewildered glances. Wen Hong, however, leaned forward and said, “Pray, elaborate.”

Zhang Bingshan gave a cold laugh. “The descendants of the Marquis of Quanling might be of some use to Dian Wue, but to the young emperor – what value do they hold? The fact that she sent imperial guards, and that those guards just so happened to be ‘severely wounded’ while fending off the rangers, makes it clear that the so-called ‘protection’ was nothing but a pretense. The true purpose was simply to finish off Wen Jinming’s heirs under the cover of circumstance.”

Upon hearing this, Wen Hong’s expression turned contemplative.

For those vying for the throne, no scheme was too underhanded. Seizing an opportunity to eliminate the orphaned children of an enemy was, after all, only to be expected.

Zhang Bingshan continued, “Xiao Xichi, however, chose to intervene and save them -presumably hoping that, one day, the descendants of the Marquis of Quanling might raise the banner of rebellion once more, plunging the realm into conflict with the court.”

Someone raised an objection. “At that time, fighting was still underway in the east. If Xiao Xichi truly harbored rebellious intentions, all she needed to do was refrain from diligently suppressing the south – Jianping would have been plunged into dire straits. Why resort to such a roundabout approach?”

Faced with his colleague’s eminently reasonable skepticism, Zhang Bingshan quickly offered a response that, on the surface, seemed plausible but was, in fact, completely at odds with reality. “Xiao Xichi has long resided in Jianping. Most individuals held as hostages tend to be suspicious by nature. When the young emperor placed her in command of the southern frontier, even our lord found the decision astonishing. Xiao Xichi herself must have been deeply unsettled. Fearing that the young emperor might merely be testing Qingyi, she dared not show any laxity in carrying out her duties.”

In short, according to Zhang Bingshan’s reasoning, Xiao Xichi’s vigorous suppression of the south was merely a performance staged for the young emperor’s benefit, while sparing the children of the Marquis of Quanling and thereby planting a seed of future unrest was her true objective.

Wen Hong pondered Zhang Bingshan’s words, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became of their validity. With a sigh of admiration, he remarked, “Were it not for you, Zhang Jun, I would truly be at a loss!”

The fact that Zhang Bingshan had, to this day, managed to maintain his erroneous reputation as “infallible in his calculations” was, in no small part, thanks to his not being employed by Wen Yanran…

In addition to gathering intelligence on the eastern and southern regions, Wen Hong had also been making inquiries about the official academies. His men had gone to great lengths, sparing no expense, and finally managed to obtain copies of the newly published teaching materials from the Imperial Academy.

Emblazoned on the cover of each volume was a title personally bestowed by the Emperor – “Selected Classics for Elementary Learning.”

Some had wondered why teaching materials intended for local village schools bore the term “elementary learning.” The Emperor’s response was simple: since the institution in the capital was called the “Imperial Academy” (Taixue), the local schools for children should accordingly be called “elementary schools” (Xiaoxue), so as to maintain stylistic consistency in nomenclature.

Wen Hong perused the contents but did not pay them much heed. The passages selected for the textbook were, of course, classic works – their phrasing and diction neither obscure nor abstruse, well-suited for enlightenment purposes. Still, considering that these teaching materials were the handiwork of the Erudites of the Imperial Academy, their quality was hardly surprising.

The only detail that gave him pause was the paper itself – exceptionally smooth and resilient to the touch.

This new type of paper was a creation of the Imperial Household and was referred to in Jianping as “palace paper.”

Upon reflection, it was hardly strange that the Imperial Household had been experimenting with such things.

Products, after all, are invariably shaped by demand. In earlier times, innovations in papermaking had also originated within the palace. Given the high cost of paper production, it remained a luxury item, accessible primarily to the court and its inner circles. Now, with the emperor setting forth new requirements, the Imperial Household had once again adapted and refined their craft.

Zhang Bingshan shook his head. “My lord, please take a look at this volume.”

Wen Hong examined the second copy of Selected Classics for Elementary Learning and suddenly realized something – the handwriting in this book was identical to that in the previous one, down to the very stroke.

A person’s handwriting is inevitably influenced by their state of mind and environment. Even if the same individual had transcribed both books, it was unlikely that every single character would be indistinguishable. The only explanation for such uniformity was that something had emerged in Jianping – something of which they were still unaware.

Zhang Bingshan lowered his voice. “It is said that the imperial court has already produced ten thousand volumes of these books.”

Selected Classics for Elementary Learning was only eight pages long, but even with such a modest length, amassing ten thousand copies was a remarkable feat.

Initially, the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy had intended to print only a hundred copies, seeking to avoid excessive expenditure of manpower. However, with the advent of block printing and a substantial supply of paper from the Imperial Household, they had thrown caution to the wind and printed a large batch in one go.

It was partly due to this endeavor that Hou Suo, a former inner court official from the reign of Emperor Li, had gradually seen his reputation rehabilitated.

Wen Hong pondered for a moment, then remarked, “The Sovereign is promoting inner court officials.”

As Zhang Bingshan’s lord, his deductive abilities evidently complemented those of his trusted advisor rather well.

Zhang Bingshan added, “Beyond that, the young emperor also hopes to win over the hearts of the people in the east through this.” He continued, “Yet she has already greatly offended the powerful families of the east. What use is winning over the common folk?”

One of the advisors chimed in, “Master Zhang speaks truly. After Dian Wue was executed, the young emperor sent people to collect fodder in the east as well – clearly with ulterior motives.”

Zhang Bingshan was taken aback. “The court sent people to gather fodder in the east?”

The advisor hastened to explain, “Back when Dian Wue was preparing for war against the court, he had the locals plant large quantities of fodder to supply his forces. After his death, the fodder became useless, and the farmers who had grown it lost their livelihood. Later, it is said that the young generals submitted memorials requesting that the emperor reduce the taxes on these farming households.”

In response, not only were the taxes reduced, but the court also purchased all the remaining fodder at full price. Yet, what perplexed those in the northern regions was that the young emperor ultimately did not bring the fodder back. Apart from the portion used by the imperial army, the rest was simply left in the fields.

The advisor shook his head. “The Sovereign is young and knows only how to spend money. Having bought all that fodder, she had no idea what to do with it – and simply abandoned it.”

What they did not know was that Wen Yanran had done this for a single purpose: to deplete the imperial treasury…

Upon hearing this, Zhang Bingshan finally breathed a sigh of relief and said to Wen Hong, “This is excellent news. Since the young emperor has no great need for fodder, it seems unlikely that she will take the initiative to start a war!”

Wen Hong, too, felt a measure of his anxiety ease.

Since the Emperor’s ascension, the southern, western, and eastern regions had all been pacified in quick succession. Not only had these campaigns been resolved with remarkable speed, but each had ended in decisive victory. As one who harbored ulterior motives, Wen Hong found this deeply unsettling.

People of this era could not help but be superstitious. The Emperor herself had emerged victorious from every battle, and having been chosen by the Tianfu Palace, there had been talk from the very beginning of his accession that she ruled by heavenly mandate. Wen Hong grew increasingly fearful – if he were ever to stand against the Emperor, he might well meet a miserable end with no place left for his bones to rest.

At this thought, Wen Hong felt a surge of relief. Though his original intention had been to encourage the Emperor to undertake grand construction projects, thereby draining manpower and resources, his efforts had ultimately taken the form of tribute – sending vast quantities of materials for canal construction to Jianzhou.

Recalling this, Wen Hong once again spoke with genuine gratitude. “I truly owe much to your assistance. Were it not for you, I would truly be at a loss.”

Zhang Bingshan bowed and said, “My lord, I fear you must send more timber to Jianping.”

He had learned that the Liubo Canal was nearing completion, but after the eastern campaign, the Emperor had ordered a massive relocation of populations to the Central Plains.

Due to the dismantling of fortified manors, a great number of people previously hidden by powerful clans had been uncovered. According to official records, the registered population in the east numbered over 1.5 million households, with an average of five to six individuals per household. Yet beyond these figures, there were also over a million unregistered households.

Anyone with even a passing understanding of the state of the world would realize, upon learning the number of hidden households, that unrest in the east was inevitable – peace, in fact, would have been far more surprising. As local magnates steadily annexed land and population, regions like Gu Province and Cheng Province had reached a point where the destitute literally had no ground to stand on.

The sudden emergence of such a massive population presented a dilemma: although large swaths of land in the east had been confiscated as official fields, there were still people with no land to cultivate.

Dispatching settlers to open up wastelands was one possible solution, but results would not come quickly or easily. When the matter was reported to Jianping, the Emperor swiftly made a decision. Since powerful southern clans had already been conscripted to dig canals, a similar approach could be applied to certain surrendered troops from the east – and to those stubborn magnates who had refused to dismantle their fortified manors until the very end.

When the news reached the east, Chen Ming and the others felt a weight lift from their shoulders. Some of the powerful clans had been so obstinate that, unless their entire lineage was eradicated, they would inevitably rise again once the imperial forces withdrew. Sending their able-bodied men to labor in the central regions, at the very least, facilitated centralized oversight.

One detail, however, gave them pause. Approximately two hundred thousand able-bodied men from the east were to be relocated, yet the Liubo Canal was already in its final stages and required no great number of laborers.

Zhang Bingshan speculated that the Emperor intended to construct palaces and halls. He did not, however, state this definitively, instead offering a cryptic remark laden with pretended profundity. “Where there is labor, there must also be materials. If my lord begins preparations now, when the young emperor has need of them, you will be well-supplied and without worry.”

Wen Hong had always been receptive to Zhang Bingshan’s reasoning. Having already sent stone materials for the Liubo Canal, supplied fodder to the front camp, and submitted memorials insisting that his contributions were entirely voluntary and that the emperor should not blame General Song, he now, with the dual aims of “reassuring the Emperor” and “subtly steering her toward a life of leisure and indulgence,” once again devoted himself to contributing to the empire’s infrastructure projects.