Chapter 67: Kill, Kill, Kill! Flow, Flow, Flow!

“Your Highness, come over here and take a look,” Beryl called out excitedly, pulling Li Wei along.

“What is it?”

“Little Black has flown out too, and there are several baby Little Blacks inside.”

Baby Little Blacks? Li Wei looked up and saw a few nestlings in the swallow’s nest, stretching out their heads and chirping noisily. Big Black and Little Black, upon seeing Beryl approach, flew down from the nest and circled around her without a hint of fear, as if displaying their affection for her.

Animals, after being fed for a long time, develop intelligence and become close as well.

Beryl brought out a small box of insects. Big Black flew over and ate the bugs right from her palm, while Little Black hesitated nearby. Beryl stroked Big Black gently. At first, it wanted to fly away but didn't, tilting its little head as if thinking, then resumed eating.

Beryl laughed with delight.

The other palace maids exclaimed together, “Big Black has become so clever, so clever!”

Li Wei was speechless. Even a lion would become “humanized” if fed like this, let alone delicate swallows.

Beryl continued, “Your Highness, look at how well Big Black and Little Black have grown.”

Indeed, they had grown well—fat and healthy, living off others all day on nutritious food. They were at least half again as heavy as when they first arrived. But this made Li Wei worry even more. When autumn came, how would this pair of swallows fly south? Even now, could they still fly well, or cover long distances?

Was this truly caring for them, or was it harming them?

Moreover, baby swallows grow very quickly. Big Black and Little Black had at least faced some challenges, but if these baby swallows were raised like this from the start, what consequences might there be…

Just then, Jiang Luo hurried over and said, “A decree has arrived from the Eastern Capital!”

…

Li Zhi, compared to Li Shimin, was in many ways inferior.

Yet he was not a tyrant; he was benevolent, modest, and frugal, did not favor grand construction projects, nor believe in the immortality of Daoist magicians, nor enjoy the hunt. During his reign, he conquered Goguryeo—though Silla was like an unkillable cockroach, hard to abandon yet tasteless to keep—so overall, his achievements on the frontier were decent. He executed many ministers, yet personally promoted worthy men like Xin Maojiang, Lu Chengqing, Xu Yushi, Du Zhenglun, Xue Yuanchao, Wei Siqian, Dai Zhide, and Zhang Wenguan.

But precisely because of the executions of Zhangsun Wuji, Shangguan Yi, and others, there were few ministers left at court who dared to admonish as Wei Zheng once had.

This was the real reason that, in the case of Helan Minzhi, all the major figures in the capital watched and waited.

Yet these grandees had risen through both virtue and talent. As one Helan Minzhi fell, another would rise. They knew Helan Minzhi’s end was near.

Moreover, the Crown Prince’s words were harsh.

Dai Zhide and the others understood that Li Wei did not demand they take sides, but his dissatisfaction was clear. “I don’t want you to depose my father, but in the matter of Helan Minzhi, you cannot just stand by.”

Being connected to the Eastern Palace, keeping a low profile would certainly please the Emperor, and when it came to choices, they would side with the Emperor. With even Zhangsun gone, who would dare support the Crown Prince against his father? Still, being associated with the Eastern Palace, their caution this time was excessive and amounted to neglect of duty—especially since the Crown Prince himself had pointed it out, making it impossible to brush aside any longer.

So, when they moved, it was with full force.

From the highest ministers to the ward chiefs, all listed Helan Minzhi’s crimes. In just two days, the accusations piled so high that if all the bamboo on Mount Zhongnan were cut for writing slips, it would be insufficient.

From Chang’an to the Luoyang post, ten reports arrived daily.

All these matters were memorialized to the throne.

It forced Li Zhi to take a stand. Just yesterday, the scandal involving the little princess had led to Helan Minzhi being castrated and more than a dozen deaths, yet Helan Minzhi still lived, with many servants remaining in his household. Although soldiers had been posted to prevent further incidents, the estate was so large that escape was still easy. What if something else happened?

Thus, the imperial edict arrived swiftly.

But the name of the eunuch bearing the edict gave Li Wei a pleasant surprise—it was still Wang Caiyan. Only after gathering the ministers did he begin to read the decree. This formality meant the imperial edict was of great gravity.

The ministers prostrated themselves as Wang Caiyan began to read.

The opening stated that Helan Minzhi was incorrigible and had been led astray by petty scoundrels.

This was likely the Empress’s doing, an attempt to save face. Originally, the banishment of the Wu brothers to Lingnan and the rise of the Helan family had been at Wu Zetian’s behest. Now that Helan Minzhi had committed such disgraceful acts, it reflected badly on Wu Zetian as well. Thus, it was claimed Helan Minzhi had been deceived by petty men.

But the tone quickly turned harsh: illicit relations with Lady Rongguo, kidnapping the Crown Princess, attempted assassination of the Crown Prince, debauchery during mourning, and other such crimes.

The officials were stunned, for most had never heard of the business with Lady Rongguo. They looked at each other in disbelief—Helan Minzhi’s appetite was truly astonishing! From elderly women of ninety to girls of five or six, nothing escaped his interest. Some officials, had it not been for the gravity of court and the seriousness of the case, might have laughed.

The edict also restored Helan Minzhi’s surname to Helan from Wu.

All eyes were bright with understanding—the scandal had been laid bare, proof that the Empress in Luoyang was so furious her anger must have reached the heavens. It was clear: between son and nephew, kinship is clear—why hesitate any longer?

But since Li Lingyue was so young, the incident was reframed as an attempt to violate the palace maids around the princess. The affair with Lady Rongguo could at least be mentioned—after all, she was an adult, no matter how old. But Li Lingyue was just a child—such a crime was beneath even beasts. This disgrace was exposed, but could not be spoken of openly.

Since it was claimed that Helan Minzhi had been led astray, the punishment was simple. A long list of crimes was sent to Luoyang, to be dealt with accordingly. All his retainers were sentenced to death, including an order for the arrest of Liu Lu, who had escaped. Whether he was caught or not, his entire family was seized and exiled to Mazhou.

In the Tang dynasty, the harshest place of exile was Jiaozhou in Lingnan (modern-day Vietnam)—hot, mostly rainforest, as forbidding as exile to the Arctic for later generations. Second was the southern part of Jiannan Dao (modern-day Yunnan and Guizhou), where Mazhou was located. Third were the other prefectures of Lingnan.

One exception: Zhang Bangyan, who had informed against Liu Rengui, was not punished, but in the Empress’s fury, was not rewarded either.

This was only the beginning. Soon, even innocent servants and maids were sent into exile.

As for Helan Minzhi, he was exiled to Fengzhou, northwest of Jiaozhou, near the Western Jiang (Red River)—a wild, sparsely populated land, with fierce people and dense rainforests, exceedingly harsh. Not sentenced to death, but for a northerner to survive here was unlikely—especially as Helan Minzhi was now a eunuch, his wounds still unhealed. Once he crossed the southern ranges and the weather turned hot, infection would likely claim his life. This was harsher than execution.

But it was not over; only a third of the long edict had been read. Wang Caiyan continued.

This time, the targets were Helan Minzhi’s cronies.

Not all were depraved; men like Li Shan and Liu Yizhi were usually of good character and talent, yet none escaped.

Their “crimes” were enumerated: for instance, Li Shan’s edict spared no ink accusing him: “Born of a noble family, a master of sacred texts, revered by all scholars, yet a petty villain in scholar’s clothing! Betraying expectations, failing to guide Minzhi to the right path, resorting only to flattery and intrigue, covering up Minzhi’s scandals, even slandering the Crown Prince to mislead the throne…”

Vicious words indeed: Li Shan was branded a petty man in scholar’s robes, abetting Helan Minzhi’s misdeeds, even daring to defame the Crown Prince.

In truth, he was wronged. When he memorialized the throne, it was out of concern for the Crown Prince, hoping he would not stray from virtue. Yet, in a moment of heated scholarly zeal, he submitted his memorial without careful investigation. Later he realized his error and regretted it deeply, drowning his sorrows in drink. He could have submitted another memorial to clarify matters, but the rigid pride of the scholar overtook him—having already wronged the Crown Prince, to speak up now would mean attacking Helan Minzhi, to whom he owed a debt. This was not the conduct of a true gentleman, so he chose to accept his own ruin.

Yet he was not a bad man—otherwise, when Di Renjie and Wei Yuanzhong discussed him, they would not have spoken of him with regret.

After this scathing condemnation, he was exiled to Xiangzhou.

Wang Caiyan read for a long time, his throat parched, almost wishing for water—but there was more.

A string of executions and exiles followed. More than thirty people were executed, and over five hundred implicated and exiled—not only servants, but many renowned scholars like Li Shan, sons of noble families, and children of officials. Any who had even slight dealings with Helan Minzhi were swept up.

Half of them, like Li Shan, were innocent victims.

The ministers broke out in cold sweat.

Some stole glances at the remaining edict—just a small roll left.

As it was unrolled, the focus shifted from individuals to a reprimand of the capital’s officials: for remaining in the capital, presiding over state affairs, yet allowing such a monstrous event to grow unchecked. “Did you not know that I, the Emperor, am in poor health? If so, why have a Crown Prince to oversee the realm?”

A storm of scolding left the grandees stripped of all dignity. The message was clear: for letting things get so out of hand, you too are responsible.

One by one, the ministers acknowledged the rebuke, but in their hearts, they grumbled—if the Emperor truly punished them, he would only become more upset. But the scolding over, the matter was finally resolved.

At the very end of the edict came a brief list of commendations for the guards, including Xu Yue and others. Dozens of guards were transferred out of the capital—Xu Yue, for example, was sent to serve as a brave officer under Liu Rengui, with a minor cavalry post.

The grandees all understood the message: these men were loyal to the Crown Prince, and now were being posted elsewhere—so who would defend the Crown Prince now?

At last, the deadly decree was finished, and the ministers thanked the Emperor for his mercy.

Wang Caiyan said, “At ease, gentlemen, I must now proceed to the Eastern Palace to proclaim the edict there.”

They looked at each other—if the Emperor was so furious, what good news could there be for the Crown Prince? Those few ministers who favored the Crown Prince grew ever more anxious.

PS: Thanks to “The Abandoned God” for becoming the second Hall Master of this book.

Three chapters delivered—I can now eat dinner in peace.

And a little trivia: in the Tang dynasty, the shipping industry began to flourish. Records describe wooden ships of over ten thousand tons on the Yangtze—a staggering figure. But riverboats grew larger, even if they could not enter smaller canals (being able to run aground on the Grand Canal already shows their size). Thus, riverboats did not enter the Wei River, and cargo had to be transferred at Taicang. River transport was so difficult that, when the Guanzhong region was populous, in years of plenty, the cost of moving grain was so low as to be worthless, while in bad years, it was exorbitant and famine ensued. In the Tianbao era, Emperor Xuanzong levied six hundred thousand strings of cash from each circuit for grain purchases, and later Lu Zhi also advocated for this. In a good year, the rice thus transported would last two years. But lack of persistence or inefficiency meant the fundamental problem was never solved. Calculations show that, in normal years, the freight from Jianghuai to Guanzhong was ten to fifteen wen per dou. In years of famine, when urgent transport was needed and ships were scarce, Lu Zhi reported that a dou of rice cost one hundred and fifty cash in Jianghuai, but two hundred by the time it reached Dongwei Bridge—a fifty-wen jump in transport cost. Hence, in years of disaster, famine in Guanzhong was especially severe.

Salt was initially very expensive, but as salt production expanded, by the Tianbao era it cost ten wen per dou. Today, a jin is 220 grams, so a dou is over ten kilograms—the affluence of the Tianbao era is hard for later generations to imagine. Still, in the early Tang, times were tough; I set the price at three wen per jin, five for good salt. Later, for taxation purposes, the government heavily taxed salt; by the Zhenyuan era, salt cost three hundred and seventy wen per dou. Thus, private salt was rampant, law enforcement could not stop it, and people, unable to afford salt, simply ate plain food.

Taxation in the Tang initially relied on the equal-field and labor tax system, later shifting to the two-tax system. In Emperor Daizong’s time came the Green Sprouts loans; during the Jianzhong era, the framework tax—effectively a property tax—and taxes on bamboo, tea, and lacquer. In Daizong’s reign, the monopoly liquor tax; in Qianyuan, the salt tax; and the granary tax. The authorities also legally lent money at high interest. Still, in the early period, taxes were fewer and the people’s burden not too heavy.