Wen Yanran nodded. “Previously, the Ji clan was executed for treason, and the households that followed them also had their property confiscated… I recall that several of the families involved were all located in Jianzhou, not far from one another. Vice Minister Lu, I’ll trouble you to sort through and clear out the lands and hidden households they left behind.”
Lu Yuanguang answered respectfully in the affirmative.
She realized that although the Emperor before her was still very young, she was already beginning to handle state affairs on her own.
According to the original plan of the Secretariat, the new emperor was not to take the reins of government until after the age of sixteen. But personal prestige is a mysterious thing – after Wen Yanran executed her brother and quelled the palace rebellion, she had thoroughly overawed the court officials of Jianzhou. Naturally, the previous plan was set aside.
Lu Yuanguang also began to vaguely understand why, during the Imperial Guard’s mutiny, the Emperor had sought assistance only from the Tianfu Palace instead of contacting other ministers. On one hand, the State Preceptor of Tianfu Palace, being of the same bloodline, were comparatively more trustworthy; on the other, the less the young emperor relied on ministers from the former reign to resolve the crisis, the more those ministers would be compelled to submit to her wholeheartedly.
Lu Yuanguang said, “Once I have sorted out the lands and the unregistered households, I will record those commoners into the census and then redistribute the lands among them…”
Wen Yanran, hearing this, slightly shook her head. “Those commoners belonged to the rebels. They cannot be regarded simply as unregistered households.” He added, “The lands of the Ji family and the others are to be reclaimed by the state. As for the hidden households they harbored, they are to be sentenced to penal servitude. Let them continue living where they are, but they must submit seventy percent of their harvest or equivalent payment to the government, according to the amount of land they farm.”
In the Great Zhou, penal servitude was considered a harsh punishment. Those sentenced to it would be required to perform labor at the government’s command. He Tingyun, who was also present in the hall, had originally intended to advise the Emperor toward leniency – but upon hearing the latter part of the decree, she closed her mouth again.
Though the sentence sounded heavy, given the current circumstances, it was not an unreasonable resolution.
In today’s Great Zhou, powerful aristocratic clans and bureaucratic families possessed vast amounts of land and people, holding great influence and prestige in their regions. Small households could hardly survive in the cracks between such mighty lineages. Moreover, after several years of poor harvests, once these unregistered households were entered into the census, within a year or two most of them would inevitably fall again under the control of one clan or another.
By sentencing them to penal servitude, however, their legal status would effectively become that of government bondsmen. Such bondsmen were not permanently bound: after serving their required years of labor, or upon a general amnesty, they could regain their status as commoners.
Since government bondsmen were considered state property, they were exempt from paying head tax. If they were allowed to keep thirty percent of their harvest, their livelihood should not become unbearably difficult.
Lu Yuanguang, being the Vice Minister of Revenue, thought the matter through in finer detail.
The Ji clan and the other families had been trusted by the emperor, so their estates were located very near the imperial fields, making them exceptionally convenient to manage. Moreover, Jianzhou was a flat region with fertile soil – the lands occupied by those great families were the best of the best: the tools were already in place, the irrigation channels were already dug, and the oxen for plowing were already there. Even in years of disaster, each acre of land could still yield over a ton of grain; in years of abundance, the yield could exceed two tons per acre.
A grown man could farm roughly eight to sixteen acres per year, and his yearly ration needs amounted to about three tons of grain. Calculating at an average yield of one ton per acre, even after handing over seventy percent of the harvest, what remained would still be enough to feed five to ten people.
Thinking this through, Lu Yuanguang immediately bowed deeply. “Your Majesty is truly wise.”
Wen Yanran nodded, then asked the time. Seeing that it was still early, she rose to her feet and said with a smile, “The Ministry of Revenue’s documents require many formalities to be brought outside. Since I have some leisure today, I’ll go with you, Lu Qing, and pay a visit to the Ministry myself.”
As for the Emperor’s sudden wish to “take a walk” over to the Ministry of Revenue, Lu Yuanguang obviously had no room to object. Besides, an emperor who took an active interest in government affairs could only be a good thing.
Wen Yanran blinked and said, “No need to announce the imperial carriage. I’ll just follow along quietly with you, so as not to alarm anyone.”
Lu Yuanguang: “…”
If the new emperor were not usually so steady and self-possessed, Lu Yuanguang would have thought this was merely a bout of youthful mischief and whimsy.
If Wen Yanran had known what was going through her minister’s mind, she would surely have thought that Lu Yuanguang truly deserved her reputation – reaching the rank of Vice Minister before the age of thirty, she was indeed someone highly adept at grasping the intentions of her superiors…
She herself, confined every day in Western Yong Palace to study and handle affairs of state, often worried that she might develop a habit of diligent governance – and that such a habit could seriously undermine the personal purpose of her transmigration.
When Wen Yanran said she would “quietly go to the Ministry of Revenue,” she didn’t mean going there alone with Lu Yuanguang, but rather that she would go without the emperor’s ceremonial retinue. She had never liked to carry around the symbolic emblems of imperial authority anyway, and didn’t even bother changing clothes before leaving the palace – though Chi Yi and the others did need to adjust their attire a little.
Lu Yuanguang, having no choice, led the way ahead, while He Tingyun – figuring that her own work for the day was more or less finished and that she might as well join in the fun – tagged along as well.
Many of the senior officials in the Ministry of Revenue had long since lost their heads during the late emperor’s reign. The remaining ones mostly lacked the rank to attend court sessions, let alone the privilege of meeting the emperor up close. Because Lu Yuanguang was acting cautiously, it wasn’t until they were nearly at the door of the records office that they happened to run into a minor seventh-rank official.
Han Shijing, who had just come to look up some documents: “…”
Her rank was indeed quite low, but since the ministry was short-staffed, she often accompanied her superiors on errands. Having a good memory, she immediately realized that the person following behind the vice minister looked rather familiar.
Lu Yuanguang reacted quickly, grabbing Han Shijing by the arm and pulling her over with a smile. “Since you’re also heading to review the documents, Shijing, we might as well go together.”
As she spoke, she subtly signaled to her subordinate with her eyes.
Han Shijing immediately caught on, let out an awkward laugh or two, and could only follow along with them.
When the group reached the entrance, they were stopped by the clerk in charge of managing the archives – though the one leading them was a senior official of the Ministry, the clerk still insisted that everyone record their names before entering.
The clerk bowed and said, “Whether superior or subordinate, anyone entering the records office must register their name. This is a rule the Vice Minister has emphasized time and again – how could you be the first to break it yourself?”
Lu Yuanguang frowned slightly, but before she could say anything, Wen Yanran smiled and said, “He’s simply following protocol – how could that be a fault? Don’t blame him.”
At her words, the clerk froze for a moment, then suddenly realized who the young lady in the dark outer robe standing behind the Vice Minister must be. He immediately stepped forward and bowed deeply.
Wen Yanran approached, took up the brush, and wrote down her name. Then she praised, “You do not fear authority – truly a clerk worthy of serving under Vice Minister Lu.” After giving Lu Yuanguang a brief glance, she walked leisurely into the room.
Though there had been no trace of anger in the Emperor’s gaze, the calm understanding within it made Lu Yuanguang’s back go cold. She had indeed neglected to remind the Emperor of the Ministry’s rules beforehand, harboring a private wish to demonstrate her own strict command over her subordinates.
The more time Lu Yuanguang spent in the Emperor’s presence, the more she felt the piercing sharpness of this sovereign’s insight.
No wonder the people of Tianfu Palace said that Her Majesty was one born under Heaven’s mandate!
Lu Yuanguang deliberately fell a few steps behind. Once the Emperor had gone inside, she walked up to the clerk and quietly warned, “Do not repeat anything you hear from within the palace – remember that. Remember it well.”
After speaking, she was about to go in herself, when she caught sight of Vice Commissioner Chi standing ahead.
Their gazes met briefly; Chi Yi gave her a slight nod, then turned and walked in the direction of the Emperor.
Lu Yuanguang almost wanted to lift a hand to wipe the cold sweat from her brow. The Emperor was so skilled at managing people – it was no wonder that, even having only just ascended the throne, the palace was already running with such discipline and order.
Wen Yanran stepped into the archive room and looked around. Perhaps because it was winter – and even snowing outside – the air inside was heavy with a damp, musty smell.
She had never understood why people in ancient times liked to study incense, but now it made sense: it was a necessity of life.
Lu Yuanguang had an excellent memory; no matter what the Emperor asked, she could recall a general impression. She retrieved the records concerning snow disasters and presented them with both hands. “Please review, Your Majesty.”
Wen Yanran did not reach out, but Chi Yi took the records forward on her own.
“Are these records organized by year?”
Lu Yuanguang replied, “Your Majesty is truly wise.”
Her quiet judgment of “wise” made Wen Yanran smile. She stood by the bookshelf, examining the records for a while, then said, “Later, send two people over from the Secretariat. Sort the records by weather and geography, and compile an index.”
Lu Yuanguang noted it down and decided that when selecting personnel, at least one spot should be reserved for those sent from the Tianfu Palace, so that the leadership could more comfortably place their trusted aides.
Wen Yanran had just ascended the throne, and most records related to snow disasters this year occurred during the reigns of the late Emperor Dao and the late Emperor Li.
Chi Yi noticed that the Emperor barely glanced at the pages before quickly turning them.
In truth, Wen Yanran’s reading speed was not particularly fast. However, her previous experience as a diligent student had helped her accumulate a certain level of work expertise. She did not read through the entire text thoroughly but instead skimmed for key sections, allowing her to take in large portions at a glance. From time to time, she even chatted and laughed with those around her.
“Look, Ah-Yi – although these two regions are adjacent to each other, when one suffers a disaster, the other is often spared…”
Wen Yanran thought for a moment, then said to Lu Yuanguang, “Is there a mountain range spanning across this area?”
Lu Yuanguang bowed her head and replied, “Indeed, Yong Province and Yu Province are separated by the Xin Mountains. Yu Province has a relatively warmer climate, while Yong Province tends to be colder.”
Unconsciously, her attitude toward the Emperor had grown increasingly respectful day by day.
Wen Yanran nodded. For a considerable period, Chi Yi and Zhang Luo would serve as her secretaries. She made a conscious effort to influence them with her way of thinking in their daily interactions.
Some behaviors that slightly transcended the conventional boundaries between ruler and subject also helped foster a sense of closeness between individuals. Wen Yanran had the intention of appointing Lu Yuanguang as the Minister of Revenue and naturally sought to ensure that this future minister would align with her as much as possible.
Although Lu Yuanguang was surprised, deducing the existence of a mountain range between the two provinces was not particularly remarkable in itself. Despite Wen Yanran’s background in science and engineering, China’s nine-year compulsory education had firmly ingrained in her the understanding that mountain ranges significantly weaken cold waves. However, for a “young and uneducated Ninth Princess,” such knowledge appeared somewhat unusual. Moreover, the dynasty was already in its late period, and many emperors, having been born and raised within the confines of the imperial palace, had limited exposure to the outside world – even if they were literate. Describing them with the phrase “Why not eat meat if there is no rice?” would be an understatement. [1]
Against the backdrop of her peers, Wen Yanran’s originally unremarkable image instantly grew more impressive.
Wen Yanran picked up another volume of records, flipped through a few pages, and remarked with a smile, “Although these two places also experienced disasters in one area while the other was spared, they are located within the same province – different from the previous case.”
She then retrieved the records for the following year – both places had experienced snowfall for two consecutive years. In the first year, only one area was affected by disaster, but in the second year, both were hit. Moreover, the area that had been spared in the first year suffered even more severely than the other in the following year.
Suddenly, a spark of insight struck Chi Yi. “Could it be because the officials in charge were replaced?”
Wen Yanran smiled and nodded. “You’ve grasped it, Ah-Yi.”
In truth, a snow disaster had occurred in both places during the first year, but the official in one of the locations had chosen to suppress the report. It was only after a new official took over the following year that the full extent of the disaster came to light.
Standing nearby, Lu Yuanguang was filled with boundless reflection – the Emperor was not merely reviewing records of snow disasters, but was truly examining the state of public welfare and the effectiveness of governance.
Moreover, Lu Yuanguang gained a clearer understanding of the importance of data.
In this era, where the transmission of information relied primarily on human and animal labor, communication between the central government and local regions was often inefficient. Yet, as long as records remained accurate, even without being physically present, one could still attain a certain level of understanding of far-off places.
As the Vice Minister of Revenue, Lu Yuanguang had initially believed that adhering to established practices and standardizing the conduct of subordinates already made her a competent official. It was only after serving the new Emperor that she truly began to comprehend what it meant to be truly capable and virtuous.
Translator’s Note:
[1] This saying comes from the era of the Jin Dynasty (around 290 AD). The story goes that the emperor, Emperor Hui of Jin, was told that a famine had left the common people with no rice to eat. In response, he allegedly asked this naive and bewildering question: “Why not eat meat if there is no rice?” The emperor, having lived his entire life in the extreme luxury and isolation of the imperial palace, was so utterly detached from the reality of his people’s lives that he could not comprehend that if people couldn’t afford basic rice, they certainly couldn’t afford meat. Therefore, this phrase is used to describe someone who is too privileged to understand the basic problems of those less privileged.
