Chapter Ninety-Eight: Waiting (Part Two)

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PS: The third update is here. I haven’t rushed into the VIP version yet, continuing with the public edition. Desperately seeking monthly and recommendation votes to give Lao Wu some confidence.

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“Your Highness, the reason I speak so candidly is because I see your benevolence and magnanimity,” Di Renjie suddenly said out of the blue.

He was not the only one pondering this issue, yet none had found a solution. Speaking it aloud risked stirring trouble, and no one was willing to shoulder that burden. Were it not for Li Wei’s character, he would never have spoken up. Yet he did not expect Li Wei to find an immediate solution; this was merely a reminder, a form of guidance.

“Minister Di, you flatter me,” Li Wei felt deeply ashamed. He had focused only on preserving his own life, and if that failed, on escape routes. He had scarcely considered the wellbeing of the nation or its people. Had Di Renjie not brought it up today, he might never have pondered the systems of corvée labor or militia service.

“But Your Highness must not emulate Emperor Yang of Sui,” Di Renjie warned.

That remark caught Li Wei’s attention. He had carefully studied how Yang Guang ascended the throne—initially a good man, his mother Empress Dugu advocated monogamy, but Yang Yong had many wives and concubines. Yang Guang, however, had only one wife—Lady Xiao, who had been married to five or six kings. Yang Jian, his father, was frugal, while Yang Yong loved music and lavish banquets, surrounded by aging maids and dusty instruments. When Yang Guang met his parents during travels, he only wept. Di Renjie repeatedly advised him to cry whenever possible, or at least show sorrow, as even feigned grief was beneficial. While Yang Jian’s couple assigned eunuchs to watch Yang Yong, who responded with arrogance, Yang Guang and his wife personally greeted and saw off their parents. Before his ascension, aside from his southern campaigns, Yang Guang displayed virtues of frugality, simplicity, humility, open-mindedness, diligence in learning, respect for talent, disdain for debauchery, and competence in both civil and military affairs—embodying human virtues.

After reviewing that history, Li Wei’s eyes widened, cursing silently, “Damn, is this still the same tyrant?”

“Minister Di, rest assured, I may not be perfect, but I would never stoop to the level of Emperor Yang,” Li Wei replied.

In truth, Di Renjie’s reminder stemmed from Li Wei’s extraordinary kindness. While he could be affable to commoners, to show such warmth to servants and slaves was rare—even Di himself might hesitate. Moreover, Li Wei was not rigid or dogmatic.

What great achievements might this crown prince accomplish once emperor?

If not for multiple concerns and loyalty to the monarch, he would have long since overthrown Li Zhi and Empress Wu, installing Li Wei on the throne.

Yang Guang and Wang Mang’s flaws were somewhat contrived, but none could be found in Li Wei, especially his genuine emotion during the land tax ceremony—so sincere it was inconceivable to fake. This sometimes troubled Di Renjie.

Returning to the main topic, Di Renjie said, “The court has some plans. In the sixth year of Wude (623 AD), households were divided into three classes; by the ninth year, into nine classes. Some noble families lost their lands, which were reclaimed. Yet with population growth and new rewards, land has become increasingly scarce. When classifying households, officials often failed their duties, even accepting bribes to misclassify households—high-class as low, low-class as high. This is a chronic problem of the court. However, taxing by land must be strictly avoided.”

This was the second time he emphasized “must be strictly avoided.”

“Why?”

“Currently, large landholders include, first, the noble lineages preserved from the Sui-Tang transition, such as the Cui, Lu, Li, Zheng, and Wang families; second, families of meritorious officials and ministers; third, newly rising clans. These are the court’s elite. Taxing land would strike at the interests of the entire elite. Even Emperor Taizong would not dare act lightly. If they are not offended, and changes occur only on existing lands, the beneficiaries gain little while those who lose land complain bitterly. The cost outweighs the benefit. Moreover, taxing land requires re-measuring fields, which could incite unrest and possibly chaos. The current crisis is not severe, but it might occur in thirty, fifty, or a hundred years.”

These few words shut down Li Wei’s thoughts.

“This problem must eventually be resolved.”

Di Renjie fell silent in thought. There must be a way, but it eluded him. Even if found, the pain would be inevitable. Finally, he said, “Wait!”

These matters are beyond your current consideration or mine. Only when you ascend can we slowly devise solutions and gain the authority to act.

“Yes, we must wait.”

...

Yet how many years to wait, none could say; it might never come.

But they were not the only ones waiting.

The guards waited—not long—for Li Wei’s imposed “fasting month” to pass. Though they had few complaints, forbidding meat, fish, and hunting was unpopular.

Xu Yanbo waited for Li Wei’s return to Luoyang. Not only fasting, but being amidst this group was humiliating.

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The ministers in Chang’an and Luoyang also waited. In the midst of drought and strong winds, none were fools. They sensed a storm looming. Yet fearing the empress’s ruthless methods, most dared not speak, opting to observe.

Even Wu Zetian waited, her position precarious, pinning faint hopes on a few pools in Chang’an...

...

Bi’er bent over the green seedlings. Her family had been poor in childhood, so they cultivated vegetables and grains on vacant land in the neighborhood. Their knowledge was limited. Seeing Li Wei approach, she asked, “Your Highness, how is the sorghum growing on those imperial estate fields where you applied your methods?”

“Big brother, when did you plant sorghum?” Li Lingyue asked curiously.

“I didn’t plant it myself. The people of the Western Capital’s imperial estate did. I just had them use some techniques from the ‘Essential Techniques for the Common People.’”

But it was more than that! Even Di Renjie hadn’t noticed. The benevolent crown prince cared about agriculture—a natural thing.

“Oh, I want to visit the Western Capital to see it too.”

Could one simply go back and forth at will?

Li Wei was indeed somewhat indulgent. Though he also enjoyed leisure, he never abandoned his studies; but daytime companionship was limited. So he had guards take her on tours. Influenced by Li Wei, seeing poor people sparked her desire to help. That was easy—unlike Chang’an, filled with disaster victims but few poor people visible to her.

After some time, growing tired of the mountains, they decided to visit Dengfeng County.

Here, the poor were more numerous. The county magistrate tried to hide unpleasant realities, but some were evident. She didn’t quite understand but judged them bad and inserted herself as a righteous defender. The worst part was her failure to distinguish right from wrong, blaming all the rich. That wasn’t entirely accurate—though the poor were pitiable, not all were good; some idle, spoiled scoundrels sought opportunities, and hearing of Li Lingyue’s travels, deliberately troubled the wealthy.

Soon, many affluent families and major households in Dengfeng dared not leave their homes.

County officials were at their wit’s end, torn between laughter and tears.

Fortunately, she didn’t know how to handle things. Seeing the problems, she compensated with money and grain—no corporal punishment or lashings. Misfortune victims could only pay to buy off trouble.

Overall, these efforts near Shaolin Temple earned her a good reputation, somewhat like a female version of the legendary Judge Bao for children.

When Wu Zetian and Li Zhi heard this, they smiled wryly and wrote a letter to Li Wei, mildly reprimanding him. “Mildly” was in the letter, but the reprimand was firm, so Li Wei stopped.

Patting Li Lingyue’s head, he said, “For now, let’s return to the seedlings. When autumn comes, we should head back to the Western Capital, and I’ll take you to see them.”

Wu Zetian had hopes for the bamboo paper but remained skeptical. Li Wei was confident about it; the process was not complicated, though yields were uncertain. Fertilizer was no problem; they even worried about over-fertilizing causing negative growth, so different amounts were tested. Their methods were no different from later times, even more meticulous.

The key was the seed, which was evolving. The current seed was surely not the best. Without this, a thousand-kilogram yield per mu was unrealistic, but a thousand jin might not be a dream!

How much would be harvested could only be seen in autumn.

As they talked, an old farmer grew suspicious, approached respectfully, and asked, “May I ask, are you the Crown Prince?”

“Yes.”

“The humble subject pays respects to the Crown Prince and the Princess.”

“No need for formalities.”

“The Crown Prince is a benevolent prince, and the princess a kind-hearted one.”

Here it came again—but Li Wei was delighted. Bringing his sister along finally brought maximum benefit. All the praise was directed at them—though it was a double-edged sword, praising both himself and his sister mitigated the trouble somewhat. Perhaps he should bring out all three brothers in the future? Five siblings, always together?

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But once recognized, crowds of people gathered. Even if a county magistrate’s fields grew well, it failed to draw much interest. So they left and returned to Shaolin Temple.

Along the way, Li Wei pondered Di Renjie’s words. He knew these matters were beyond his current power. Yet as a time traveler, he found no solution. He thought hard but had no ideas, only a vague sense that meddling with land would yield no good results. After all, farming was hard work. Even before his time, farmers received some subsidies but remained the hardest-working class. Industry? Commerce?

Recalling his father’s scolding, he dismissed those thoughts. Best to stay content. Besides, small workshops hardly counted as industry.

Back at Shaolin Temple, Wei Yuanzhong whispered to him, “A letter from the Western Capital arrived. Since Your Highness left, the workshop’s income has totaled over five thousand three hundred strings of cash.”

He spoke guiltily. A scholar and government official mentioning profit was unusual—even if the amount was modest.

Di Renjie looked at them suspiciously.

Li Wei explained, “Minister Di, the workshop is actually established by me. The Eastern Palace’s finances are tight. Sometimes seeing the common people’s poverty but feeling powerless, I improvised a bit.”

Di Renjie’s expression turned odd. He had assumed it was a subsidy to the Jiang family. Though Bi’er’s two elder brothers were officials, such facade operations were common among great clans and even some officials. This workshop was still controlled by the Jiang family.

The crown prince engaged in commerce?

After a long pause, he said, “This is not ideal.”

Li Wei’s head ached. Even Di Renjie said that, revealing society’s disdain for merchants. He could only say, “Minister Di, I know it’s not proper, but if it helps some good deeds and aids commoners, I don’t mind tarnishing my reputation.”

“It’s not ideal, not ideal,” Di Renjie muttered, shaking his head and pondering.

He then turned to Wei Yuanzhong, “Why such profit?”

Though people were assigned to assist the prince, hearing “profit” made Wei Yuanzhong frown and hesitate before answering, “Merchants believe the workshop belongs to Lady Jiang’s family. Hearing the emperor and empress’s favor, they bought goods recklessly to curry favor, so profits soared.”

Li Wei suddenly had an idea and asked, “What if the court imposed a salt tax?”

“Your Highness, that would be unwise,” Di Renjie hurriedly replied.

The five essentials—firewood, rice, oil, salt, and vinegar—were fundamental. Salt was already expensive, and taxing it would immediately affect people’s lives.

“But what if there were abundant salt, and production was cheap and fast?”

“That’s unlikely.”

“Suppose, simply, salt was plentiful and the cost per dou was less than one wen. What then?”

Less than one wen per dou—transported even from Lingnan to Luoyang, the freight wouldn’t exceed fifty wen. Even a small dou weighed fifty jin, about twenty pounds in later measures—still much cheaper than current salt prices. Then a tax might be feasible.

But Di Renjie shook his head, “Impossible.”

Suddenly suspicious, he looked at Li Wei again, “Could it be that, Your Highness...”