SEHE Extra 3

Land

He had known all along that Tangxi Zhui was up to no good.

Pei Yanci pressed a hand to his forehead, his expression carrying a trace of drowsy laziness, the redness at the corners of his eyes not yet fully faded.

That infuriating little demon!

“Your Majesty?”

He looked up to find a flicker of concern cross Gu Wanchong’s upright, masculine face.

“Is Your Majesty feeling unwell?”

“No.” On the contrary, after being tormented by Tangxi Zhui’s fooling around, his body actually felt refreshed and at ease — the fatigue from the past several days of nonstop deliberation and decision-making had been swept clean away.

Only then did Gu Wanchong set his mind at rest, and proceeded to report on the military restructuring that had taken place during this period.

“The military commandery offices in various regions cannot recruit enough men, and the root cause lies in the household registration system,” Pei Yanci said. “A state cannot go a single day without soldiers, and the Great Xi has only just submitted to us — there are bound to be rebels stirring up trouble from within. Zhen has already had Tangxi Zhui expand the Elu Bureau to one hundred thousand men, to be distributed across all corners of the realm. The military conscription regulations you drafted earlier are very sound — implement them first and observe the results for a time.”

“Your Majesty, the Elu Bureau has never had a good reputation. With their numbers growing ever larger, I fear it may one day reflect poorly on Your Majesty.” Though Gu Wanchong’s maternal relatives had been released without charge, he harbored a deep loathing for eunuchs.

The sentiment was shared throughout the entire court.

“This is a time for heavy-handed governance,” Pei Yanci said.

Huo Cun stepped forward to report. “Several daren from the Ministry of Revenue and the Directorate of Agriculture have arrived.”

Huo Cun had since been promoted to the position of personal chief inner attendant at the Emperor’s side, responsible in ordinary times for managing the daily living arrangements of both Pei Yanci and Tangxi Zhui.

The Minister of Revenue, the Director of the Court of Agriculture, and several of their deputies had all come — Pei Yanci happened to wish to discuss the matter of land with them.

“Place all land in the realm under the ownership of the court?” Upon hearing this, the assembled officials were all momentarily taken aback.

Pei Yanci raised his teacup to his lips, watching the expressions of those present with a calm and unreadable gaze. “Do you have differing views?”

The Director of the Court of Agriculture quickly bowed and said he did not.

Liu Yan said, “If it is to be taken under court ownership, does that not mean the land would have to be redistributed to the common people?”

“At the founding of every new dynasty, the Ministry of Revenue re-registers the population so that land may be redistributed accordingly. Your ministry should have nearly finished compiling the figures by now, yes?”

Liu Yan’s expression grew awkward. “More or less.”

“Very well. Tomorrow Zhen will go to the Ministry of Revenue to inspect the household registration records.”

Liu Yan’s expression visibly turned more flustered. “Going directly to the Ministry, Your Majesty? With tens of millions of people across the entire realm, the household records for Great Xi have not yet been fully compiled by our ministry — it may still require some time.”

“No matter — Zhen is only going to see how your office goes about its work on an ordinary day. With so many household records, Zhen couldn’t possibly look through them all.”

Liu Yan thought about it and decided that was true enough, and simply agreed.

Gu Wanchong, seated to one side, let out a cold snort.

If this Liu Yan knew even the slightest thing about Pei Yanci’s temperament, he would know that Pei Yanci’s focus on population and land in recent times surpassed all else — there was not a shred of perfunctory intention behind it.

When he set his mind to accomplish something, he would see it through to the very end.

Perhaps Liu Yan knew this too, but lacked the capacity to do the work well — or perhaps the tangled mess of the Ministry of Revenue’s accounts had already gone beyond salvaging.

A faint, knowing smile played at the corner of Pei Yanci’s lips.

Gu Wanchong scratched his head and sat back to enjoy the show.

If Liu Yan still had some ability left in him, he might live a little longer.

But unfortunately, the reckoning was about to begin.

Some spoke of old loyalties and past alliances — others might hold back out of sentiment for those who had once supported them, unable to bring themselves to act. But Pei Yanci had no such concerns.

Liu Yan was likely to be the first.

The next day, Pei Yanci went to the Ministry of Revenue to inspect the household registration records. He had barely turned two pages before he was dressing Liu Yan down with a torrent of abuse.

Liu Yan endured it the entire time with the smile of a man groveling before his superior, so anxious on the inside that he had worked himself into several feverish sores, yet with no idea what to do about any of it.

The Ministry of Revenue was, in short, one great mess of rotten accounts.

At its core, it was the consequence wrought by the great aristocratic clans.

From the Great Yu to the Great Xi and the Great Tao, and now to the present Great Tao dynasty — the old Zheng, Cui, and Xue clans had declined, but with each shift of power between dynasties, new noble houses surged forth in their place. Emperors, seeking to consolidate their greatest authority, had no choice but to rely on them again and again.

They were like dodder vines twined about the great tree of the imperial house, endlessly drawing nourishment and growing stronger, until at last they killed the tree — and then simply moved on to a new one.

After two or three rounds of reprimand, the moment was finally ripe, and Pei Yanci took the occasion at a court assembly to naturally and smoothly relieve Liu Yan of his post, reassigning Yue Ting to take over as Minister.

Yue Ting was of aristocratic clan background, but over this period he had thought things through clearly — he could never fully shed his clan identity, so it was better to adapt and go along. When Pei Yanci established his new dynasty, Yue Ting finally accepted his invitation and entered court service.

After Yue Ting took up the post of Minister, Pei Yanci also arranged for Xiao Yu to serve as his deputy.

Xiao Yu was Tangxi Zhui’s man. He was bold and outspoken — in plain terms, he would say absolutely anything without restraint.

The two of them worked together to overhaul the ministry for two months before the Ministry of Revenue was finally set in order.

Just in time, as the autumn harvest was approaching — and they were immediately busy with tax collection.

Pei Yanci looked at the tax revenue that had come in and furrowed his brows.

His hand suddenly felt light. Without knowing when, Tangxi Zhui had drifted over and plucked the memorial from his fingers.

“Great Xi was even larger than Great Yu — now that the two are merged into one, it shouldn’t yield such a paltry sum of silver,” the Dugong remarked with an air of perfect ease.

“Years of war and mutual slaughter — the number of able-bodied men was already greatly diminished.” Pei Yanci snatched the memorial back from his hands. “Next year we’ll have to spend carefully.”

As he spoke, he raised his eyes.

The smile faded from Tangxi Zhui’s face. He blinked with a wary look, slowly turned his body to the side, curled his fingers over his chest to cover the gem-inlaid archer’s ring on his thumb, and watched him with guarded eyes.

“Tangxi ah…” Pei Yanci smiled pleasantly.

Half an hour later.

“This lord’s beautiful clothes, this lord’s jeweled screen stand, this lord’s white jade bed…”

Huo Cun clapped his hands over his ears and ordered the junior inner attendants to hurry and carry everything away.

Pei Yanci couldn’t stand to look at his woeful expression and turned to leave, when someone suddenly threw their arms around him in a bear hug, pinning him firmly in place.

“…”

“Xiao Pei’er, I’m going to turn ugly.”

“…That’s not going to happen.” Pei Yanci offered a dry, hollow word of comfort.

“With no pretty jewelry to adorn me, no beautiful robes to wear, and no more melting down gold bars to embroider patterns on your garments… poor and ugly both.”

“…It’s truly not that dire.” Pei Yanci patted the back of his hand, torn between laughter and exasperation. “You are naturally blessed with beauty — even without adornment you are like a lotus rising from clear water, lovely beyond compare.”

“How could that possibly be true?” Tangxi Zhui sniffled, lifting his head with an aggrieved expression, lips trembling, the tip of his nose reddened, glistening teardrops spinning in his eyes.

My, my.

“Endure these hardships with Zhen for now — once we have money again, Zhen will have new robes made for you every single day.”

“Xiao Pei’er, the new robes are worn for you to see. If you don’t come to find me, even if I dress in the most magnificent splendor, I can only keep vigil in this vast empty room and let the days waste away.”

Pei Yanci suppressed a smile and said, “All right — from now on Zhen will come to find you every single day.”

“Not enough. Have to move into the palace.”

“Why not just say you want to sleep in the dragon bed while you’re at it.”

“That’s not out of the question either.”

“…” Truly — letting him sleep in the dragon bed so often had given him the audacity of a leopard.

“I’ll have nowhere to sleep,” Tangxi Zhui said, frowning as he looked at him.

“Fine, as you wish — is that not enough?” Pei Yanci shook his head helplessly, and had people carry all the belongings away to be sold off, the proceeds going into the national treasury. He told Tangxi Zhui to go to the imperial palace himself afterward and choose whichever bedchamber he fancied, to furnish however he liked.

Once Pei Yanci had left, Tangxi Zhui’s earlier small performance instantly dropped away. He took a sip of his tea.

Huo Cun was still directing people to carry things out. Seeing that he was no longer making a fuss, Huo Cun said, puzzled, “Adoptive father, are you no longer upset about those treasures?”

“The person is gone — who am I performing for?”

Seeing his adopted son’s utterly clueless expression, he looked at him with undisguised disdain and frustration. “The new dynasty has just been founded — would it be fitting for this lord to flaunt such extravagant wealth, sitting atop a mountain of gold and silver?”

“Even setting aside this lord’s own interests, I should be thinking of Xiao Pei’er — he spends his days keeping company with me, and it does his reputation no good.”

“But the Elu Bureau doesn’t casually take lives anymore,” Huo Cun said — even after entering the inner palace, he still considered himself one of the Elu Bureau. “The ones we arrest are all corrupt officials, and the ones we execute are all remnants of Great Xi. Isn’t that doing good?”

“Just because you say it’s good, that makes it good? A reputation is not something that changes overnight.” Tangxi Zhui sighed softly. “Perhaps a hundred years from now, posterity will be able to see the good we are doing today — but that time is certainly not now, and we are not doing this for the people of today.”

His tone carried a cold indifference suggestive of one who thought little of human life — yet when a certain person crossed his mind, a faint warmth rose in the depths of his eyes.

“For Xiao Pei’er’s sake, what does it matter if the world still misunderstands us? This lord will make the Elu Bureau great and powerful, and forge it into the sharpest sword in his hand.”

The Elu Bureau — above, it could oversee all officials, supervise the army, and control the generals; below, it could arrest rebels and execute treasonous remnants.

Pei Yanci had granted him absolute power beneath only the Emperor himself — how could he possibly let that be squandered?

“The false death last time failed to shake off the foul reputation. This time, using this opportunity, at least let some people change their impression of us,” Tangxi Zhui said.

“But you were shouting so loudly just now,” Huo Cun said, clicking his tongue. After following him all this time, he had still never mastered the art of his adoptive father’s lightning-fast face-changes.

“Blockhead.” Tangxi Zhui said with contempt. “That is called playing along — do you understand? Toss a copper coin and you still expect to hear it ring. This entire Dugong Mansion has been stripped bare — the very least he can do is remember your adoptive father’s kindness afterward. If I don’t make a scene, the heart of our cold-blooded little Emperor will long since have had no room left for your adoptive father.”

Huo Cun didn’t understand.

“When I was still at home, I only ever saw these tactics used by the concubines.”

“You’ll be the death of me!” Tangxi Zhui fumed and reached for the vase on the table, but his hand grasped empty air — he had only just remembered it had already been taken away.

Huo Cun wasted no time making himself scarce.

****

The next day, rumors spread through Anjing City that Tangxi Zhui had had his household ransacked once again.

To the common people, this was a cause for national celebration. Everyone said the new Emperor had a discerning eye and could tell loyal from treacherous.

Those within the court, however, understood perfectly — Pei Yanci was simply using this as a convenient pretext.

Sure enough, two days later at court assembly, the imperial decree came down: even this favored minister and imperial favorite Tangxi Zhui had been so thoroughly ransacked that he had no choice but to temporarily take up residence in the imperial palace. The entire court, from top to bottom, would tighten their belts — with tax revenue so meager, and a flood disaster having struck this year, everyone would work in concert: those with money would donate money, those with strength would lend their strength, to weather this hardship together.

Everyone in the court understood that Pei Yanci was doing this to win the hearts of the common people and build the reputation of a worthy ruler — so they made a token gesture of donating a thousand or eight hundred taels, no more, for donating too much would bring the Elu Bureau to their door the very next day.

At the time, no one took any of this particularly seriously.

Then, as early winter arrived, Pei Yanci promulgated an imperial decree.

All land in Great Tao would be redistributed to farming households according to the current household registration records.

At this point, the aristocratic noble families were not alarmed — this was standard procedure at the founding of every new dynasty.

Using the Elu Bureau’s dedicated relay network, the news was transmitted to every corner of Great Tao in fewer than ten days, and all across the realm a great tide of people queued up to receive their land allocations.

Pei Yanci dispatched the specialists who had previously gone out to survey the land and improve its quality to the northwest to implement soil amelioration. Simultaneously, he personally sought out talented minds from across the realm to undertake the improvement of rice and wheat strains.

Another month passed. Once the land distribution to the common people was complete, Pei Yanci issued another imperial decree.

“Across the entire realm, regardless of whether the landowner is a commoner or an official, anyone with land registered in their name must pay tax?” Discussion broke out throughout the court.

“That’s right — land up to ten mu carries a lower tax rate, but at twenty mu it doubles outright… and at a hundred mu, nearly one third of the grain yield must be surrendered as tax?”

“And not only that — even land granted as reward for meritorious service is subject to taxation, to say nothing of temple lands. Before the tax law, all are treated equally without distinction.”

“Your Majesty, this tax is far too heavy,” Gui Jingbo protested, unable to accept it.

As aristocratic nobles, they held tens of thousands of mu of prime land — calculated according to the new law, nearly half their grain yield would have to go toward taxes.

Who could possibly endure that?

“This year’s tax revenue was truly too meager, and the national treasury is empty. We asked you to contribute a little before, and as you saw, it barely made a dent,” Pei Yanci said in a conciliatory tone. “Worthy ministers, this is only temporary. Surely none of you wish to make a donation in the spring only to be asked to donate again when summer floods strike.”

The noble clans fell silent at that. Though they were itching to make trouble, the court was full of officials whose clan lands were far less extensive — those men were waiting and watching for someone to be the first to stick their neck out, and they would not allow themselves to be used as anyone’s weapon.

The ordinary officials, who had initially felt aggrieved at the sudden spike in their own tax burdens, saw that even the noble clans who stood to lose far more had not spoken up, and thus found it difficult to raise objections themselves. Besides — if they donated too little come spring and summer, Pei Yanci would accuse them of hoarding silver and failing the people, and have them suspended pending investigation. If they donated too much, the Elu Bureau would come looking. They had lived through that kind of nerve-racking existence once already — that was more than enough.

Paying a bit of tax wasn’t so terrible. Better to treat it as protection money for all the silver they had pilfered.

Not only did they keep quiet themselves — they also urged the noble clans not to cause a scene.

The aristocratic noble clans were, after all, a small minority. The Zheng family had built their vast web of allies over decades. Seeing that they could muster little support, the clans thought it wiser not to press the matter further — they would simply wait. In a year, perhaps two or three, the accounts of these new tax policies would gradually be smoothed over and forgotten.

Everyone present was a man well-versed in Confucian classics, and above all things valued the doctrine of the golden mean. When one disagreed with something, the prevailing approach was rarely to make an open scene. All of them were men of dignity — pillars of the court, the kind who might one day leave their names in the historical records. Making a spectacle was unseemly and damaging to one’s reputation. The most fitting course of action was to first acquiesce, then let the policy slowly lose its edge over time, until it quietly came to nothing.

And so, a decree that virtually everyone opposed was somehow, inexplicably, issued and successfully carried out to the provinces below.

Half a month passed. Another new year was approaching.

In early in the twelfth month, the imperial palace too began preparations — slaughtering pigs, stocking up on new year provisions.

The palace was sparsely populated; after his enthronement, Pei Yanci had dismissed two or three thousand palace maids and inner attendants, leaving the vast palace rather quiet and desolate. So he invited Wushu, Wuli, and the others to come into the palace to celebrate the Spring Festival together, to have at least some lively company.

On the fifth day, Pei Yanci received Wang Lingche in Ganchen Palace.

“Do you wish to avenge your younger sister?” He asked only this single question.

Wang Lingche froze.

On the thirteenth, at the court assembly, Wang Lingche formally impeached and accused his own father of concealing and underreporting his clan’s landholdings, and of conspiring with the former Minister of Revenue, the Deputy Minister of Revenue, and four other officials to cover it up.

The new Emperor was furious, and immediately ordered a thorough investigation. Within two days, the evidence was ironclad.

On the twenty-second, Gui Jingbo and the several individuals implicated alongside him were all executed at the Western Market’s execution ground.

Using this as the catalyst, Pei Yanci promulgated the final administrative decree before the new year.

All officials serving in the court would have a fixed quota for the amount of land they could hold, and any land holdings by members of their clans were required to be registered and reported to the relevant government office.

Sensing that something was very wrong, the Yue clan was the first to voluntarily surrender their excess clan lands to the court, seeking to protect themselves.

Before long, the resistant noble clans and aristocratic houses all gradually followed in the Wang family’s footsteps.

What struck them as strange was that after this, never again did Great Tao see the rise of any aristocratic clan powerful enough to threaten imperial authority.

Pei Yanci had, step by step, dismantled the very foundations upon which the great clans drew their strength — and never again allowed them to stir up wind and waves.