novelAbuy Chapter 119: Public Opinion
Chapter 119: Public Opinion
April 18th, the thirteenth year of Shaoxing.
At the imperial edict posting location on the Imperial Street of Lin'an, several personnel from the Imperial City Guard were framing it with yellow silk and writing the contents in large characters with cinnabar.
"I hereby dispatch Prince Zhao Bocong of Pu'an to inspect the border on behalf of the Emperor and to oversee the annual tribute exchange." The document was signed with the official seal of the Ministry of Personnel and dated April 17.
The imperial edict was posted at Chenshi (7-9 AM), and within half an hour, everyone on the entire Imperial Street knew about it.
The name "Prince Puan" has spread to every corner of Lin'an City over the past year.
Some say he is a rising star among the descendants of Emperor Taizu, that he defended Hu Quan in court, and that the eight words the Empress Dowager spoke in the Imperial Ancestral Temple were to support him.
But most people only talked about the name over tea or in casual conversation.
Now, this person from the rumors is going to deliver the annual tribute on behalf of the imperial court.
The term "tribute" is an extremely complex one in the mouths of the people of Lin'an.
As they spoke, some frowned, some lowered their heads, and some slammed their teacups heavily on the table.
That was 250,000 taels of silver and 250,000 bolts of silk every year, loaded onto 30 oxcarts, and transported north to the Huai River, where they were handed over to the Jin people.
What was sent out was not silver or silk, but the face of the Song Dynasty.
But no one dares to say that in public.
Because Qin Hui's men were everywhere in Lin'an, anyone who said something they shouldn't could be taken away by the Imperial City Guard the next day on charges of "discussing peace talks recklessly."
These words were whispered and passed around in the closed teahouses, behind the wine stalls with their tents, and among the peddlers carrying their wares through the streets.
"Prince Puan is going to deliver the annual tribute..."
"Isn't that just sending money to the Jurchens?"
"The Emperor sent him."
"Your Majesty...isn't this just making a child lose face?"
"Keep your voice down."
Discussions were silently brewing beneath the surface of Lin'an City.
On the surface, the Imperial Street remained peaceful, with patrol soldiers every three steps and secret agents from the Imperial City Guard mingling among the crowd to gather information.
But if anyone ventures a little deeper, they can hear suppressed resentment emanating from the closed teahouses.
Qin Hui learned the full content of these discussions on the evening of April 18th.
Although Qin Keqing severed seven lines of his intelligence network, Qin Hui still had ears among the low-level teahouses, wine stalls, and peddlers.
What those ears heard back for him was not a specific name, but the sound of the wind.
The wind blew from the Imperial Street to the Ministry of Personnel, and from the Ministry of Personnel back to the back gate of the Qin Mansion.
Six characters were carried on the wind: "Prince of Pu'an, annual tribute."
Qin Hui sat in the signing room, with a copy of the imperial edict spread out in front of him.
He read the imperial edict once, then again, and then folded the copy and put it into the bronze box on his desk.
Wan Qixie stood opposite the desk, holding a stack of excerpts of public opinion collected from various neighborhoods in Lin'an. Each page contained a sentence or two of original words he had heard from teahouses and wine stalls.
"The discussions in the various neighborhoods of Lin'an regarding the tribute missions can be broadly divided into three categories."
Wan Qixie turned to the first page, "Category 1: The official thought that the emperor sent a member of the royal family and a prince to preside over the annual tribute exchange in order to give the Qin prime minister a break."
Such discussions mostly came from officials in the court, and were carefully worded, only saying that the emperor was considerate of his veteran ministers.
He turned to the second page. "Category Two: Those who believe that Prince Puan is too young to shoulder this heavy responsibility."
Such discussions mostly came from members of the imperial family and civil officials, who worried that the prince's mishandling of the border affairs would tarnish the court's reputation.
Then Wan Qixie turned to the third page, his voice lowering slightly.
"The third category... comes from the lower classes. This category has the widest discussion and is the hardest to suppress. They say that the annual tribute is just sending money to the Jurchens, and that the emperor sending a child to deliver it shows that the Song Dynasty has no one capable."
Qin Hui tapped his fingers twice on the desk, the rhythm neither too fast nor too slow.
Wan Qixie couldn't tell if this was contemplation or dissatisfaction; he didn't know what Qin Hui was thinking.
"Prime Minister, should we suppress these comments?"
"No need to press it down," Qin Hui said after thinking for a long time.
Wan Qixie was stunned.
"Not only should we not suppress them, we should let them spread even further." Qin Hui stood up and walked to the window.
It was late April twilight outside the window.
"You do two things for me. First, have the Ministry of Revenue make a detailed account of the annual tribute, including the purity of the silver ingots, the origin of the silk, the number of oxcarts, and the organization of the Imperial Guards. Make a complete copy, but don't post it publicly. Only let those who know how to copy it make a copy and let those who know how to spread it spread it."
Wan Qixie hesitated for a moment.
"Does the Prime Minister mean... to let the people of Lin'an calculate the amount of this annual tribute themselves?"
"Yes, let them calculate for themselves how much 250,000 taels of silver would be, how long 250,000 bolts of silk would stretch, and how many carts of silver and silk would take 500 imperial guards to escort 30 carts of silver and silk to Huaibei in 20 days."
Once they figure it out, they'll know where the money went, who it went to, and what they got in return.
Wan Qixie bowed his head to accept the order and was about to leave when Qin Hui called him back.
"The second thing is for you to have Tian Ruyi go to the teahouse at the corner of Yujie Street and find a storyteller."
The storyteller had been telling stories about Yue Fei ever since the winter solstice last year. I told him to change his story. Don't tell stories about Yue Fei, tell stories about the peace treaty.
It is said that after the signing of the peace treaty in the eleventh year of Shaoxing, how long was the border peaceful and how many fewer people died.
When telling the story, do not mention Qin Hui's name; let the listeners themselves believe that the peace treaty was the right thing to do.
After Wan Qixie left, Qin Hui stood alone by the window.
He recalled what Qin Keqing had said to him in the signing room last December.
"On the 29th day of the twelfth lunar month of the eleventh year of Shaoxing, the day Yue Shaobao died, did you have any dreams?" He said no at the time.
But as he stood by the window, watching the twilight slowly swallow the locust tree in the backyard, he suddenly felt that those words were like a thorn that had been stuck in his flesh for more than half a year.
It's not that he doesn't have dreams; he just never remembers what dreams he's had.
April 19th, Lin'an.
In the teahouse at the corner of Yujie Street, the storyteller's gavel struck precisely at noon.
"Ladies and gentlemen, today we will not discuss the History of the Five Dynasties, nor the story of loyalty to the country. Today we will talk about an old event—the peace treaty between the Song and Jin dynasties in the eleventh year of the Shaoxing era."
The teahouse was nearly half empty.
Since the winter solstice, Yue Fei's eight characters have become the hottest topic in Lin'an City. The storyteller has been telling the story for three months, and every seat is filled.
But today he suddenly changed the subject; some people lowered their heads to drink tea, while others got up and left.
But the storyteller didn't stop.
He said that after the peace treaty was signed, there was no major battle on the Huaibei border, the people of Jiangnan no longer had to flee south, taxes were reduced by 10%, and trade routes were opened.
He spoke plainly, without exaggeration or sentimentality, simply listing out the verifiable benefits of the peace agreement one by one.
After he finished speaking, the teahouse remained quiet for a long time.
Some people left their tea money and left, while others frowned, thought for a moment, and then left as well.
But a man in gray sat in the corner for a while longer. That man was Tian Ruyi's apprentice, who wrote down every word the storyteller said.
That evening, those words were copied into dozens of slips of paper and flowed from the back door of the teahouse into the taverns and general stores in various neighborhoods of Lin'an.
On April 20th, the talk of the town in Lin'an changed.
It was no longer "Prince Pu'an went to deliver the annual tribute," but rather "the annual tribute brought peace to the border."
The detailed accounts that Qin Hui deliberately released were repeatedly copied and circulated among the people.
Some calculated how many bushels of rice 250,000 taels of silver could buy, others calculated how many winter clothes 250,000 bolts of silk could make, and some, while calculating, slammed their teacups on the table and said, "If this money were used to support the army..."
He stopped halfway through his sentence because he noticed the person drinking tea at the next table staring at him.
The man was dressed in an inconspicuous gray cloth short brown garment, but the outline of an iron ruler was visible at his waist.
Before he could finish speaking, the wind had already changed.
April 21, Ministry of Personnel.
Tang Situi sat in his small duty room, with a summary of public opinion gathered from various neighborhoods that day spread out in front of him.
He read it from beginning to end, then put down the paper, picked up the teacup on the table, and took a sip.
The tea had gone cold, so he swallowed it and then wrote a few lines on a blank sheet of paper.
"From April 18th to 21st, public opinion in Lin'an took a significant turn. The original discussion, which was about the loss of face due to the annual tribute, gradually shifted to the idea of peace talks to ensure safety."
The attitude of ordinary people towards the tribute mission changed from sympathizing with Prince Puan to questioning whether the trip was necessary.
Instead of suppressing the tribute, Qin Hui deliberately leaked the detailed accounts of the annual tribute to the common people, intending to let them calculate the heavy burden of the tribute themselves, thereby undermining the legitimacy of the imperial family's appointment of a member of the imperial clan to oversee the tribute transfer.
After he finished writing, he folded the paper, stuffed in a wax pellet, and then got up and left the duty room.
He didn't go to see Feng Yi because Feng Yi was in a period of silence.
He went to the East Gate of Deshou Palace and handed the wax pills to the old handyman who delivered vegetables every evening.
The old handyman took the wax ball, put it at the bottom of the vegetable basket, covered it with a handful of greens, and then pushed the wheelbarrow away.
That night, the wax pellets reached Zhang Quwei's hands.
Zhang Quwei did not open it immediately. He put the wax pill in his sleeve and waited until all the lights in Cining Palace were extinguished before opening it and reading it by candlelight in his night watch hut.
The next morning, while Consort Wei was doing her hair, Zhang Quwei stood behind her and repeated Tang Situi's words verbatim.
Consort Wei was combing her hair in front of a bronze mirror. After hearing this, she did not stop, but slowly inserted a silver hairpin into her hair bun.
"I'm going to Deshou Palace," she said.
At the exact hour of Chen (7-9 AM), Consort Wei's phoenix carriage stopped in front of the Deshou Palace.
She did not give prior notice or send anyone to relay a message; she simply had Zhang Quwei help her down from the palanquin and enter the main hall of Deshou Palace.
Zhao Gou was reviewing memorials when he saw the Empress Dowager enter. He put down his pen, stood up, and was about to bow when Consort Wei waved his hand.
"Your Majesty, I have not come today to pay my respects."
Zhao Gou gestured for the eunuchs to leave, and the palace doors closed behind them, leaving only the mother and son inside.
"I know why Mother came," Zhao Gou said.
"It's good that you know." Consort Wei sat down in the chair opposite Zhao Gou. "Have you seen the public opinion in Lin'an?"
"I saw it."
What do you think?
Zhao Gou remained silent for a moment. Today he was wearing a worn-out crimson Taoist robe, and his hair was tied up with a jade hairpin. He didn't look like an emperor, but rather like a scholar who was overwhelmed by the pressure of government affairs.
"I sent Bo Cong to oversee the handover of the annual tribute in order to let Qin Hui know that I could do without him."
However, Qin Hui released the detailed accounts of the annual tribute, allowing the people of Lin'an to calculate the weight of this sum of silver and silk themselves. If I insist on assigning this task to a young member of the imperial clan, it would appear that I disregard the people's livelihood.
Zhao Gou stopped speaking here because Consort Wei was looking at him, and that gaze made his words catch in his throat.
"Why does Mother view me this way?"
"I have been in the north for sixteen years," said Consort Wei. "The Jurchens have shown me the accounts of the annual tribute every year."
They deliberately placed the accounts in front of me, letting me watch as the silver and silk were transported from the south and piled up cart after cart into the Jin Dynasty's Marshal's Mansion's treasury.
They wanted to tell me: "Your son spent so much money to buy you back, his mother."
Consort Wei paused for a moment: "You are now sitting in Lin'an City, trapped by Qin Hui using the same methods."
He laid out the accounts of the annual tribute to the people of Lin'an, letting them calculate the value of the money themselves. Qin Hui wanted you to retract your decision.
Zhao Gou lowered his head: "Mother, I can use other reasons—for example, Bo Cong is still young and it is not suitable for him to travel far—"
"And then what? Next time Qin Hui uses another method to force you, will you back down again? Emperor, how many years have you been backing down?"
The hall remained quiet for a long time.
"What does Mother want me to do?"
"Let Bo Cong go." Consort Wei stood up. "Let him set off with the tribute, so that Qin Hui knows you haven't backed down."
The people's opinions can be suppressed, diverted, or waited for, but the emperor's decree cannot be changed. If it is, Qin Hui will use the same methods to test you again next time.
Zhao Gou remained silent for a long time.
"Mother, what if something happens to Bo Cong at the border—"
"He will get into trouble at the border," Consort Wei said, "but not because of public opinion about Qin Hui, but because Qin Hui will take action there."
If you send a prince from the imperial clan to deliver the annual tribute, Qin Hui will only have two choices: either suppress his power in Lin'an and ensure his safe return, or prevent him from returning from the border.
Qin Hui chose the latter, which is why I said—let him go, but he must come back alive.
Consort Wei walked to the palace entrance.
"Your Majesty, you ascended the throne at the age of sixteen and were chased from Yingtian to the sea. You retreated too many times. Now it is time for someone to do something for you without retreating even a single step."
She pushed open the door and went out, where Zhang Quwei was waiting for her with an umbrella outside the palace gate.
Zhao Gou sat alone in the hall, with a copy of the imperial edict spread out in front of him.
He picked up the copy, read it through, and then picked up his vermilion brush and drew a very light horizontal line under "Prince Zhao Bocong of Pu'an" on the imperial edict.
April 22nd, Prince Puan's Mansion.
Zhao Bocong saw the note that Tang Situi had passed from inside the palace walls in his study.
He placed the note on the table, but instead of burning it, he slowly rubbed the edge of the paper with his fingers.
Qin Keqing sat opposite, a booklet spread out on her lap, while a cat curled up on the windowsill dozed off.
"The Empress Dowager has gone to Deshou Palace," Zhao Bocong said.
"I know," Qin Keqing said. "Zhang Quwei delivered the message this morning."
Will the Emperor change his decree?
Qin Keqing remained silent for a while, twirled the charcoal pencil between her fingers, and then placed it on the edge of the booklet.
"No, but there will be no additional support either. The Emperor will not shield His Highness from Qin Hui's blade, nor will he summon His Highness back from the border."
He left His Highness in that position and waited, whether His Highness returned on his own or not; either outcome would be acceptable to the Emperor.
Zhao Bozong nodded. He stood up and walked to the window.
"Miss Qin," Zhao Bozong said without turning around, "do you think Qin Hui released this public opinion simply to get the Emperor to retract his order?"
Qin Keqing's pen paused on the booklet for a moment.
"No," she said. "He was testing me too."
Zhao Bocong turned around.
"I lived in the Qin family for more than ten years, and he knew my way of doing things all too well."
If I were still in Lin'an, I would immediately try to suppress these public opinions and spread the opposite message through the old network of the former Shunhe Tea House.
But this time I didn't react. After he released the information, he waited for my reaction. I didn't react.
He probably already guessed that I was preparing to leave Lin'an.
The study remained quiet for a long time.
"Then let him guess right," Zhao Bocong said. "He thinks that when you leave Lin'an, you leave the game. He doesn't know that when you leave Lin'an, you bring the game to a bigger board."
Qin Keqing closed the booklet, stood up, and walked to the window.
"Your Highness," Qin Keqing said, "my father is probably impatient. The sooner we set off, the better."
"I know," Zhao Bozong said. "We'll depart the day after tomorrow, April 24th, at 5:00 AM."