Chapter 27: Noble Families

Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion, and before long, the registry was already in Li Shimin’s hands. Zhang Liang was dumbfounded. He came from a farming background, was adept at warfare, but nowhere near skilled enough in politics and intrigue. Now, under Fang Xuanling’s resentful gaze, he couldn’t help but avert his eyes.

“You gentlemen are truly pillars of the nation. In this time of crisis, your actions bring me great comfort,” Li Shimin said, beaming. The ministers hastened to declare this was nothing at all!

To some of them, a few hundred bushels of grain was hardly anything. Although they felt tricked, the loss was minor, so they didn’t care much.

“Master Li, I know your circumstances—years spent in study have left your household with little surplus, yet you still donated fifty bushels of grain. I am deeply unsettled by this. Look at Lord Wang—your loyalty is commendable. You just finished building a lavish mansion at the start of the year, yet you still managed to contribute a hundred bushels; it cannot have been easy. And Lord Lu, head of a great household with so many mouths to feed, yet able to donate two hundred bushels—truly remarkable.”

The “Master Li” Li Shimin referred to was Li Gang, tutor to Emperor Yang of Sui, Li Jiancheng, and in the future, Li Chengqian as well. Li Shimin’s unease was genuine, but the subsequent callouts were directed at the Wang and Lu families—two of the illustrious Five Surnames and Seven Clans.

Speaking of them, one must note that since the Han Dynasty, the great aristocratic clans had dominated the court. Their lineage stretched back a thousand years, no idle claim. Li Shimin’s own family was from the Li clan of Longyou. In these times, to marry into such a family, or wed one of their daughters, was the height of honor.

These families were fabulously wealthy. When it came time to collect rents, people flocked in their thousands, their granaries stretched as far as the eye could see—so much so that even a ten-thousand-household marquis could not compare. Now, the two families had produced only three hundred bushels of grain between them; this was treating Li Shimin as a beggar. It was also a testament to just how arrogant these ancient lineages had become.

“Your Majesty flatters us. We have only done what little we can. When it comes to the welfare of the people, we would never fall behind,” Lu Youxiu replied respectfully, cupping his fists. In truth, their families had already distributed grain in other places in their own names, letting the government set up porridge kitchens. When it came to opportunities to build their reputation, they would never let them slip by. As for the emperor—why should they go out of their way to please him?

“Very good, truly loyal to the throne and country. My heart is much relieved. All grain donations are to be handed over to Du Ruhui today. Lord Du, tally them up, and do your utmost to stretch them until the next grain shipments arrive.”

Li Shimin’s smile was hollow, his fists clenched tightly within his sleeves. These aristocrats, with their disciples spread throughout the court, clearly did not take him seriously as emperor. Even among his own ministers and favorite generals, many had married daughters of the Seven Clans.

“As you command, Your Majesty. I will give my utmost.”

“Then court is dismissed!” Li Shimin strode away, face darkened. These powerful families were simply too outrageous. In history, even two generations—his and his son’s—could not break their power. It wasn’t until the era of Empress Wu Zetian that their influence was truly shattered.

“General Zhang, you certainly are loyal to the throne—donating a thousand bushels just like that! You really are rolling in riches. Ha!” As soon as Li Shimin left, someone spoke with biting sarcasm. Who had grain blown in by the wind? Now, because of him, others had lost theirs too—so a few mocking words were only to be expected.

“What do you mean by that, Changsun Anye? I donated my own grain, I didn’t ask you to. You all tripped over yourselves to offer yours,” Zhang Liang retorted, thoroughly disgruntled. Every courtier who passed him had something snide to say, and now someone dared to challenge him openly. Did they take him for an easy target?

Hearing this, Changsun Anye gave a cold snort and swept away, flicking his sleeves. To be named outright—if it had been his younger brother, Changsun Wuji, who said such a thing, Zhang Liang would have bowed and pleaded his innocence. But with him, it was another matter.

Fang Xuanling strolled slowly by, only to be pulled aside into a corner by Zhang Liang. In a low voice he asked, “Prime Minister Fang, I did exactly as you advised—offered grain, eased the emperor’s worries. How did things end up like this?”

Fang Xuanling shook off his hand, face dark. “I never taught you anything, General Zhang. You are a master flatterer—one sentence, ‘not as good as the other ministers,’ and you’ve managed to praise the whole court. Truly, a single word from you is worth a thousand gold coins. For one word of praise, I’ve now given up eight hundred bushels of grain! Well done, well done indeed!” With that, Fang Xuanling strode away, not sparing him another glance. These old hands at court were consummate actors.

Zhang Liang stood dumbly in place. He realized he was in trouble—he’d pleased the emperor, but offended so many ministers. The days ahead would not be easy.

“What a mess this is!” Zhang Liang muttered, thoroughly at a loss. He was a superb commander, but politics baffled him; otherwise, he wouldn’t be swindled into rebellion by a charlatan later on.

Li Shimin was in a foul mood. Though he had solved part of the grain crisis, he had also seen just how brazen the aristocrats had become. Scowling, he automatically made his way to the empress’s chambers—his refuge. Changsun was his true love, his steadfast companion. At the beginning of the year, when Li Yuan suspected him of amassing power, it was Changsun who worked tirelessly among the concubines, speaking well of him and allaying the emperor’s suspicions with whispers at the pillow.

“Your Majesty has not eaten yet, I presume? No matter the affairs of state, you must not wear yourself out. Someone—inform the imperial kitchens to prepare a meal.” Years of marriage had taught Changsun how best to soothe him; only she could calm his irritation and get him to eat.

As they sat at the table, Changsun quietly pushed several of Li Shimin’s favorite dishes toward him, taking care not to serve him herself. He was too proud a man to accept such gestures at this moment.

“Is Your Majesty troubled by the grain crisis? I have already instructed the palace to cut back on food and clothing. All stipends are to be halved for now. It isn’t much, but it should free up two thousand bushels to help relieve the immediate crisis.”

This was Changsun’s greatest strength—she always thought of him first and never put luxury above all else. Hearing this, Li Shimin smiled, “There’s no need to go so far. Today the court managed to raise nearly ten thousand bushels. I think we can last until the next supplies arrive.”

It wasn’t that Li Shimin distrusted Changsun, but even a wall may have ears. He could not guarantee that those serving him weren’t in someone else’s pocket. To discuss the menace of the aristocrats openly would only make them more guarded.

“That is well, then. I heard that Cai Cong was imprisoned for beating the servant of the Duke of Changping?”

“If he’d only beaten Zhang Liang’s servant, who would dare touch him? He risked his life to save tens of thousands of people—I was planning to ennoble him. But then the boy took my decree and ordered Cheng Yaojin’s twenty thousand troops to stand by; if negotiations failed, he would have them slaughter the entire steppe. Such ruthlessness, such audacity! A few days in jail to cool his head will do him good.”

Li Shimin chuckled, but a cold chill ran through him. Even he did not possess such a desperate, do-or-die courage, but Cai Cong did—utterly mad, even terrifying. He was sure that if Jieli had refused that day, Cheng Yaojin’s twenty thousand troops would have stormed the grasslands, hunting down every Turkic woman and child like a deadly autumn hunt.

Changsun’s eyes were wide with shock. He was so young! If it were Li Jing or Hou Junji—seasoned generals—speaking of slaughtering cities, she would hear it without batting an eye; that was all in a day’s work for great commanders. But for Cai Cong, a simple country boy, to do such things was truly chilling.

“Perhaps Your Majesty has forgotten—Cai Cong claimed to have wandered through past and future in spirit. If what he says is true, then it’s no surprise he bears such hatred toward the foreigners. The chaos of the Five Barbarians is not so far behind us,” Changsun said, suddenly recalling this, her voice slightly agitated. In her heart, though, she still doubted Cai Cong’s words.

“That does make sense. China has always risen from disaster after disaster, time and again. If Cai Cong truly witnessed such calamities, his grudge against the Turks is understandable.” Li Shimin nodded slightly. Deep down, he hoped Cai Cong’s words were true—then perhaps there was still hope for immortality.

“Yan Dong, what has Cai Cong been doing since he was imprisoned?” Li Shimin suddenly asked.

“A report just came in—”

“What is it? Speak freely! Even if he’s cursing me for being ungrateful, it doesn’t matter.”

“Cai Cong wouldn’t dare go that far. He’s been telling the jailers how he fought four men alone and beat the Duke of Changping’s servants until they begged for mercy. The story is said to be extremely vivid; he’s cast himself as an upright official unafraid of power, and in the end, the jailers were so impressed they brought him books and even cleaned his cell for him.”

Yan Dong felt that Cai Cong’s persona was collapsing. Wasn’t he supposed to be a lofty sage, calmly reflecting on his deeds in prison, unmoved by joy or sorrow? How had he turned into such a shameless braggart?