Chapter Ninety-Seven: Waiting (Part One)

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“I suppose so,” Li Wei said, though he was not entirely convinced.

But the military orders must never be revealed. Di Renjie was known for his flexibility, but that did not mean he was slick or scheming. Through Wei Yuanzhong, one could see the fierce side of loyal ministers. If things went awry, and he resorted to strangling someone, where would Li Wei find such a strategist again?

Di Renjie did not explain further. This matter was something he would have to investigate on his own, quietly piecing together clues. The fewer who knew, the better. Otherwise, if Xu Jingzong resorted to murder to silence witnesses, there would be no proof left.

He casually remarked, “Before I arrived, I heard that the young lady from the Left Jinwu Guard household, Miss Pei, was summoned by the Empress and spoke with her for quite some time.”

“What did the Empress want with her?”

“I am not sure—perhaps it was about the matter at Mount Zhongnan. How is this young lady from the Pei family?” he asked casually again.

“I am not very clear either, but when I saw her that day, she was very young yet remarkably strong-willed. Probably of noble birth, well-mannered, and quite worldly,” Li Wei replied.

That was it. Xu Li had told him to take note for two reasons: first, there was already interaction in the Eastern Market; second, the young lady was strikingly beautiful, leaving a deep impression on him. He was no saint—when one sees a beautiful young girl, a second glance is a natural physiological reaction. Didn’t the Book of Songs begin with: “A graceful and virtuous lady, a fine match for a gentleman”?

Besides, Xu Li was already fourteen. Since she flirted with Bi’er in the study hall, at fourteen, one could begin to accept such things. But Pei Yuhe was only thirteen, and each year younger felt like a burden on his mind. At thirteen, what could she do? In later times, that would be equivalent to just entering junior high. As for Shangguan Wan’er, so famed in history, she was now just a delicate beauty-in-the-making. Li Wei’s thoughts remained quite proper. Too young—if she were eight years younger, how could he entertain any feelings? If Shangguan Wan’er wanted to capture his heart, she would have to wait six or seven more years. If all went well in those years, his chance of rising to great power would increase infinitely. Perhaps then, he might consider his own affairs.

However, this was somewhat self-deception. Thirteen was roughly junior high freshman year; Bi’er was just fourteen, a sophomore in junior high. What difference did it make? It was like the pot calling the kettle black…

One could only say the backwardness of this era was truly lamentable for future generations.

“Yes, I have also heard that the young lady from the Left Jinwu household is both virtuous and accomplished,” Di Renjie added casually.

In truth, he thought, a good impression would make matters easier.

Before leaving Luoyang, Wang Cainian sent a secret letter for him to deliver to the Crown Prince. It said Xu Jingzong had submitted a memorial that made the Emperor and Empress consider dismissing the Crown Princess, and had summoned the Pei daughter—likely to replace the Yang family girl with someone from the Pei family.

Di Renjie had anticipated this long ago.

Rumors swirled in the capital—though often biased, was there truly smoke without fire? Families of high status strictly forbade their daughters from contact with outside men. Helan Minzhi, though a cousin, was not a direct blood relative. Unable to see the Crown Princess, might he have contemplated kidnapping her? Moreover, he had once treated the Crown Prince poorly but later changed; the Crown Prince’s health had improved as well. It was easy for people’s imaginations to run wild.

This was a storm of drought and wind, causing the Emperor and Empress great headaches, diverting their attention. Without these calamities, hearing such rumors would likely have led to the Crown Princess’s dismissal. Or, if someone else had enlightened them, the result would have been the same.

Because of the drought and wind, the Great Rainmaking Ceremony became a dilemma—it was unclear whether it should proceed. The marriage might be canceled, but the Emperor would likely delay the decision, postponing any resolution.

Di Renjie immediately sent a reply: under no circumstances must the Crown Prince be informed.

He did not know the position of the Yang family girl in the Crown Prince’s heart but had heard rumors she was extraordinarily beautiful, only fifteen years old, and her looks rivaled those of the two adopted daughters he had taken in. Xu Li’s young lady was seen with his own eyes—truly stunning. This comparison made things clear.

If the Crown Prince was reluctant to let go, and then another “fasting month” arrived—fasting was good, but if it was to bring the Yang family girl back to the Eastern Capital to handle affairs, then it was not just a case of loving the beauty over the realm but loving the beauty over his father, the Emperor. That was a serious problem.

In fact, some of the Yang girl’s behaviors were not suitable for a future mother of the nation. But the Crown Prince might have more than just the Crown Princess as a wife, depending on how things were managed. If handled well, it might be possible to have both fish and bear’s paw.

Li Wei was pondering this carefully.

Meeting Di Renjie was a great fortune for Li Wei. Though the old Di had endured much hardship and sought to rise, he had contributed greatly—offering advice to Li Wei, plugging gaps, challenging the formidable Xu Jingzong, and from Xiangxue’s paintings to Yang Min, acting as Li Wei’s caretaker.

Di Renjie’s mind was truly capable. Anyone else would have been overwhelmed.

…………………………………

The guards were few—just over a dozen—but were spread out in all directions, perfectly positioned to block Li Wei from every angle. Xue Ne walked directly ahead, neither too close nor too distant.

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Di Renjie nodded discreetly.

Though they were protecting the Crown Prince and the princess, the guards were thoughtful. If danger arose—say, arrows shot from the mountains or marshes—the first volley would not hit the Crown Prince.

This was because the Crown Prince himself had done little, just two words: magnanimity.

In this era of strict hierarchy, Li Wei had not completely changed from his past life, where he was a refined scholar and peaceful to others. This life was no different. But in this time, such magnanimity was extraordinary and naturally earned the guards’ loyalty.

Di Renjie did not expose this. Every matter had two sides. The Crown Prince had once angered the Emperor with words inside the palace. Why was he not deposed? Because of his reputation among the people. The same applied now. This was not a matter of buying off the guards, so there was little fear. But the guards’ loyalty—who knew when it might be called upon? Moreover, the Emperor must have some caution. As long as the balance was maintained and the Emperor did not feel seriously threatened, having some caution was better than none.

If there was no caution at all, and the Emperor could dismiss at will, that would not be good either.

They gradually entered the farmland district.

Barley and wheat had been harvested and stored. The fields were green with sorghum, millet, beans, as well as mulberry, hemp, and kudzu. But because of the long drought, many seedlings were wilting, growing poorly. Farmers were carrying water, irrigating continuously.

“This is not good,” Li Wei said.

The group’s expressions were heavy. Di Renjie said, “This is Henan; it’s even worse in Guanzhong.”

Even though the crops were struggling, they were still growing. But in many parts of Guanzhong, the soil was cracked and dry, impossible to plant.

Yao Yuanchong suddenly said, “Look over there.”

He pointed to a small river in the distance. Because water was plentiful on both sides, the crops were flourishing.

The group walked over and saw an old farmer hoeing the fields. Li Wei approached and struck up a conversation.

“Sir, your crops are doing well.”

“Young sir, these fields are not mine—they belong to Governor Zhang’s family. I am just a tenant farmer,” the old man replied. “Mingfu” was an honorific for county magistrates, so these were lands belonging to a county official.

Di Renjie shook his head.

“Why the shake, Minister Di?”

“Your Highness, come here,” Di Renjie led Li Wei aside and said, “Do you know the system of rent, labor, and regulation?”

“Yes,” Li Wei replied, having only learned about it after arriving in the Tang Dynasty.

When the Tang was founded, the equal-field system granted each male adult one hundred mu of land. This included paying a light rent—two shi of grain per mu annually. It was a small tax. Small farmers cultivated and wove on their own. Since the state had no large-scale textile production, each adult also had to deliver silk or cloth—two zhang of silk or three liang of cotton silk. In places without sericulture, they delivered two and a half zhang of cloth, mostly hemp or kudzu, three jin of hemp.

This cotton was not cotton as we know it—cotton was rare in the West Regions or Lingnan. Because of backward looms and the difficulty of removing seeds, and because cotton production was more laborious than hemp or silk, its use was limited and expensive. Li Wei had inquired about this at the Eastern Market but did not know what a loom looked like, nor about Huang Daopo’s innovations. He only knew planting methods might improve production, but fearing his parents’ disapproval, he dared not mention it.

This “cotton” was actually silk cotton.

It was still quite light in burden.

The state also required labor service for public projects like irrigation and transport—twenty days per adult per year, unpaid. Those unable to serve could pay a substitute tax of three chi of cloth per day.

To Li Wei, this seemed straightforward and reasonable.

Other taxes were less so. Under his father’s administration, with more officials, usury flourished among the common people. The government offered official loans at higher interest than private lenders. The people resisted and were forced to pay. In some areas, interest reached 150% or even 300%. Fortunately, these extreme cases were few. The government lent around a million strings of cash annually to pay officials' salaries, but much of this surely ended up in officials’ private pockets.

Then there were tariffs. The state shamed commerce, so tariffs were vague. Some customs posts charged heavy taxes but accepted bribes. This amounted to disguised smuggling. At Guangzhou port, Hu Ying had once spoken of this. The Maritime Trade Office could have brought substantial revenue, but heavy tariffs led foreign ships to unload goods illegally before entering port, arriving empty. Officials were helpless against this flawed system.

These latter two might have enriched many officials and soldiers but did little for the treasury. The main source of state revenue remained the rent, labor, and regulation system.

Di Renjie continued, “At the founding of the state, from noble families to commoners, the population had decreased by two-thirds, leaving much land without owners. The rent-labor system was still feasible. Even in densely populated areas, each person had thirty, ten, or even five mu of land. As the state stabilized and population grew, permanent land stayed the same, but one person became three or five, increasing the burden.”

Li Wei’s face darkened. The rent-labor system was good in principle, but it was based on one person per hundred mu. If one had only a few mu and still had to pay these taxes, it was very heavy. With two or three mu, paying two shi of grain plus planting mulberry and hemp at current yields meant bankruptcy.

But that was not all. Di Renjie added, “At the founding, land was abundant and often granted as rewards—princes received hundreds of mu, first-rank officials sixty, down to ninth-rank officials two. There were exceptional cases—for example, Emperor Gaozu once granted Chancellor Pei Ji a thousand mu. This was extraordinary, but now land was scarce, though rewards continued.”

Li Wei’s expression grew even graver. Land was already insufficient, and such rewards made it worse. One mu was not the modern hectare, but roughly a hundred mu, so granting Pei Ji a hundred thousand mu at once! How many such large estates existed in the Tang?

Di Renjie pressed on, “Now most court rewards are honorary; little land remains to give. But the problem is this: according to court law, the Empress Dowager, Empress, and close relatives above the third rank, first-rank inner palace women, princes and fifth-rank or above grandfathers and brothers, official office holders, those with titles down to county lords and their sons, National University and Imperial Academy students, exemplary scholars, filial children, obedient grandchildren, righteous men, and chaste women of the same registration are exempt from taxes and labor. Also, any official of ninth rank or higher is exempt. Those without official registration are taxed at the local level. These exemptions include servants and tenant farmers.”

As a skilled judge familiar with law, Di Renjie recited this effortlessly.

Pointing to the old farmer, he said, “Many commoners cannot bear the state’s burden and transfer their land to tax-exempt landlords and officials to evade rent and labor. Most good farmland is thus owned by landlords. Including myself—I have several hundred mu, not many, but no taxes or labor. Hiring some peasants, my family barely gets by.”

Without corruption or other income, even a few hundred mu could only provide subsistence. But how many like Di Renjie were there in the Tang?

“Now about the military households. They originally had sufficient tax-exempt farmland and were granted 25,000 strings of cash at state founding, so their fighting strength was strong. But their land is shrinking; even tax exemption no longer feeds whole families. And because of land scarcity, when soldiers die in battle, their land is reclaimed after small compensation. Not to mention the defeat at Dafeichuan, losing Tuyuhun and parts of the Western Regions. I have come from afar, hearing that horse prices have risen sharply. Iron and other materials have long been rising. Twenty-five thousand strings cannot buy even a feeble horse in tight markets. This is worrying for the soldiers.”

This reminded Li Wei of Lu Ma. The court forbade private horse trading, but it was a gray area. Farmers needed horses for farming. The state sold old and weak horses to farmers yearly, but officials were rigid, so they turned a blind eye to private horse dealers.

Allowing merchants to trade horses openly might not be bad. The Tang was wealthy; opening the market could bring in horses from the Turks, Khitans, and Tibetans. The ingenuity of these merchants should not be underestimated. But his father’s harsh scolding forbade such talk. Every reform had loopholes, like usury. Opening the market might cause uncontrollable price spikes, which Li Wei could not bear responsibility for.

Ultimately, it all came down to taxation.

He wondered why he had not studied more history books before!

Later, better tax laws appeared, like the Two-Tax System, the Single Whip Law, and the Population-to-Acreage Tax, but he remembered them unclearly.

The military household system and rent-labor system were the foundation of the Tang state. Damaging these meant grave danger, even if he ascended the throne. And the more stable the country and the larger the population, the greater the crisis.

Tentatively, he asked, “Minister Di, what if taxes were levied by acreage rather than households?”

Di Renjie’s face darkened. “Absolutely not.”

PS: Today’s fourth update—urgently requesting recommendation votes!

Recommending two thrilling novels by friends: “Sweeping Across the World,” book number 2071162; “Dominating the World,” book number 2070990. Everyone compare which one is better.

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