Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Golden Age in Which the Monarch Was Revered and the People Counted for Little

Ouyang Rong suddenly realized something.

Something he had overlooked ever since coming here because he had kept his head down and worked without pause.

To begin with, the Great Zhou dynasty of the present day truly was an age of prosperity that might well leave its mark in the annals of history. Luoyang and Chang’an in the Guanzhong region were indeed magnificent capitals where envoys from every land came to pay homage. The empire’s border armies possessed such abundant martial power that even a campaign destroying a minor kingdom was hardly enough to earn one the title of “great general.” And the influence of Qian culture, forged from the convergence of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, swept across the surrounding foreign tribes.

The Empress of the Wei clan, skilled in strategy and statecraft, might not qualify as an enlightened ruler, but she could certainly be called a powerful one. She was by no means a foolish sovereign.

This young dynasty, founded barely eighty years ago and transformed from Qian into Zhou, was undeniably at the height of its power, its national fortunes surging upward with irresistible force. Its foundations were comparatively firm; it was still far from reaching the historical cycle of three hundred years.

Ouyang Rong had been reborn from an age that could be called prosperous into a dynasty that could likewise be called prosperous.

But he had overlooked one thing…

This splendid age of prosperity had nothing to do with the tens of thousands of disaster victims in Longcheng County at that very moment. Nor did it have much to do with the majority of the common people across the empire’s ten circuits.

Most of the wealth of this prosperous empire was concentrated in the hands of the imperial Zhou court, the aristocrats of Guanzhong and Longyou, the Five Surnames and Seven Houses, and the local magnates, gentry, and landlords. At most, one might also count the people of Guanzhong, who lived comfortably in the heart of the empire.

So what did this age of prosperity have to do with you?

To suffer amid a land of abundance was the most heartrending fate of all. Even the court historians would be unwilling to record a single line about you, lest you stain the glorious names of “the rule of so-and-so” or “the flourishing age of so-and-so.” Even later generations reading the histories would refuse to spare you a glance, afraid that you might shatter their fantasies and yearning for the magnificent dynasty founded by their ancestors.

And even if you exhausted every ounce of your strength, you still could not topple that prosperous age. It would remain standing there, perfectly intact…

Just think. How utterly despairing was that?

If even an age of prosperity was like this, Ouyang Rong never wanted to read another history book again.

Yet at that very moment, he himself occupied a line in some possible history book of the future. He was merely a lowly seventh-rank county magistrate, staring wide-eyed at the suffering that prosperity refused to acknowledge.

“What should I do, Ouyang Lianghan?”

Ouyang Rong had once more flown to the clouds, gazing at the ancient pagoda standing before him as he asked himself the question.

But no one answered.

After standing outside the pagoda for a long while, Ouyang Rong turned and left, returning to reality.

In truth, he had not entered the Merit Pagoda for many days. Ever since he had established disaster-relief camps and organized a system of labor in exchange for relief, the crisp sound of wooden fish had indeed reached his ears from time to time. He should have accumulated a considerable amount of merit. Yet Ouyang Rong had never gone inside to check.

He had been waiting. Once the relief efforts and flood-control works were more or less arranged, he would enter the pagoda and take a look. If he had accumulated ten thousand merit points, he would go straight to the Pure Land Palace, collect his blessing, and leave. If he had not, he would continue serving as magistrate of Longcheng County for a while longer. His term was four years, after all, and he might as well accomplish as much as he could.

And even if he reached ten thousand merit points before the relief and flood-control efforts were complete, he still could not bring himself to abandon everything and flee halfway through.

He had never had the habit of taking up a task only to walk away before finishing it, unless forced by circumstances beyond his control. That had been true when the Merit Pagoda app had banned his account and sent him back to Donglin Temple; it had been true when he had stubbornly returned to his “hometown” to sit the graduate entrance examination; and it was true now of the disaster relief and flood control in Longcheng County.

So why enter the pagoda before the work was done?

…

“Absurd beyond belief.”

It was once again that garden where plum petals drifted through the air. Within an elegant, tranquil waterside pavilion, a beautiful woman arrived wearing a crown and a sword at her waist. The moment she sat down, she uttered those four words.

“Who has provoked Sister Xie?”

Su Guo’er lowered her head and stroked the cat in her arms.

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She sat alone beside the water in a narrow crimson-purple skirt. The lazy cat in her lap was quite unusual: pure white from head to tail, with black markings at the corners of its mouth that made it resemble a butterfly.

Cats were called “li slaves” in the Great Zhou. They were rare, and many had come as tribute from foreign lands, such as Persian cats. Court noblewomen and princesses raised them in considerable numbers. The currently favored Princess Changle was a devoted cat lover, and was rumored to possess seven fine cats, each with an elegant name.

Thus, li slaves gradually became fashionable among Luoyang’s upper-class ladies. In the south, however, they were still exceedingly rare. Xie Lingjiang had seen only a few. She had encountered one in Black Robe Lane, carefully raised by an older lady of the Wang clan. The creature was indeed charming, but Xie Lingjiang considered it far too delicate. She disliked all things pampered and coddled.

“Filthy rats! Every last one of them! They even refuse to spare the grain in the People’s Relief Granary, grain meant to save lives… Absurd beyond belief.”

Su Guo’er raised her eyes and saw that, even after taking her seat, the young lady of the Xie family was still gripping the hilt of the sword across her knees. Her five fingers had gone pale with pressure, and the joints were cracking.

“With six generations of high-born ancestry behind you, Sister Xie, it is only natural that you find them absurd.”

Xie Lingjiang turned toward her. “And you do not?”

“Absurd, yes. Surprising, no.”

Xie Lingjiang stared at her. “Nor are you angry.”

“What use would my anger be? Everyone has their own fate.”

“If… you were given the authority to deal with them?”

“Execute them all.”

Xie Lingjiang turned back and gazed at the night beyond the pavilion. She said nothing more, her eyes somewhat lost.

A round-faced young maid had been waiting quietly outside the door. Seeing that her mistress and the lady of the Xie family were no longer arguing, she carried tea into the room and served Xie Lingjiang tea and refreshments. She then brought in a book chest and placed it beside her mistress.

Su Guo’er called, “Cai Shou,” and handed the li slave in her arms to her personal maid. The cat was named Butterfly-Bearing Slave. It had been given to her by a distant aunt—though the aunt had originally sent a pair, and one of them had already died.

Unlike Xie Lingjiang, Su Guo’er liked things that were gentle and obedient toward her.

The round-faced maid named Cai Shou happily accepted Butterfly-Bearing Slave and ran to one side to stroke the cat for her mistress. Only then did Xie Lingjiang notice that the white cat, whose mouth markings resembled a butterfly, was lame in one leg.

But such a minor detail was not what occupied her attention at present.

“But… even if they were all executed, that would not solve the immediate shortage of relief grain. What does Senior Brother intend to do about the floods afterward?”

Su Guo’er lowered her head while taking books from the small chest.

“He can simply follow the methods used by the previous county magistrates.”

“What methods?”

The woman, whose brows were adorned with floral makeup, replied indifferently, “Ask your Senior Brother. He should know. Even if he does not, someone will tell him.”

Xie Lingjiang frowned as she watched the plum-blossom-painted woman leaf through a poetry collection once more.

This younger sister of the Su family was indeed extraordinarily clever. She had heard that her father and elder brother often came to consult her, asking for her opinions and advice. Many matters in the Su household were casually decided by her while she remained within her chambers.

Yet compared with the refined manners and modest temperaments of her father and elder brother, this daughter of the Su family was far too proud. She treated most things with indifference. Sometimes Xie Lingjiang even wondered whether there was anything—or anyone—in this world that she truly cared about, aside from her father and elder brother.

Xie Lingjiang did not press her further. She merely drew a deep breath and said, “And what is even more absurd is that the court’s first thought was not disaster relief, but stabilizing the local region and preventing the refugees from causing disorder! They refuse to give the people food, yet forbid them from causing unrest. Forgive me, but I truly cannot understand—what are the common people to those men?”

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“Water.” Su Guo’er nodded and recited the words as though she knew them by heart. “The Great Ancestor often said: The ruler is the boat, and the people are the water. Water can carry the boat, but it can also overturn it.”

“When the Great Ancestor said that, was he not speaking of the principle that the people come first, the state second, and the ruler last? Do those men truly fear the people?”

“They do. But the words ‘the people come first and the ruler last’ were spoken by a Confucian sage, not by the Great Ancestor.”

“What difference does that make?”

“To Confucian scholars, the Great Ancestor was speaking of the people’s supremacy over the ruler. But to me… to the descendants of the Li clan, what he taught was the art of kingship. A ruler must always consider danger. When the water is calm, the boat is steady. Issuing a decree commanding the local authorities to maintain order and making the people suffer a little longer—is that not one way of keeping the water calm? Merely the worst possible method.”

Xie Lingjiang turned back and asked stubbornly, “Then which is it in the end? Are the people more important, or the ruler?”

“If you asked my father or my elder brother, they would earnestly give you the answer you wish to hear. But I am not them. You will not like my answer, Sister Xie.”

“No. Say it. I will listen.”

“Very well. I too believe that the people come first, because all the people beneath heaven, taken together, are naturally more important than a single ruler. After all, that vast body of water is enough to overturn the boat.”

Su Guo’er nodded, then asked again, “But what if it is only one-tenth of the people beneath heaven? What if it is only one percent? What if it is merely one ten-thousandth? Or even… just one person? Compared with the ruler, who is more important? If that person is more important, then he is the ruler, and the ruler is the people. In the end, is it not still the ruler who is more important? And if you say they are equally important, can he still be called the ruler?

“Even Confucian scholars acknowledge a distinction between ruler and subject. Everyone tacitly accepts that there are differences of rank and worth. So why ask who is heavier and who is lighter?”

Xie Lingjiang asked coldly, “So the ruler may simply make his own heart the hearts of millions?”

Su Guo’er shook her head.

“Of course not. The last person to try was that mad emperor of the Sui dynasty. The first was the First Emperor, who sought the elixir of immortality a thousand years ago. Both solitary tyrants eventually died beneath the bronze swords. That is why the Great Qian dynasty, when it was founded, no longer squandered manpower and wealth casting bronze swords. That is why the Great Ancestor warned that water could carry the boat but also overturn it, and that a ruler must not become a solitary tyrant.

“But the question now is: how much water is needed to overturn the ruler’s boat before it can be considered a great body of water? If it is merely a small splash at the bow, must one pay it any mind? Every ruler keeps a set of scales in his heart.

“If all the people beneath heaven were compared to a lake, then all the disaster victims in Longcheng County of Jiangzhou, taken together, would not even amount to a splash. At most, they would be a small spoonful of water. The boat… does not care.”

Xie Lingjiang fell silent.

The room grew quiet. Su Guo’er resumed calmly turning the pages of a poetry collection she often read, while the round-faced maid puffed out her cheeks and secretly teased the cat.

Then, without warning, a woman rose to her feet.

She stood before the coolly composed woman with plum-blossom makeup and said, each word distinct:

“The ruler does not care. But someone does.”

Xie Lingjiang turned and walked away.

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