With two soft, muffled thuds, Liu Kangren was hauled over the wall by two guards and dropped onto the hard, dry earth, stumbling as he landed.
Before he could make sense of what was happening, he recognized the familiar outline before him. Shrouded by the night, it was none other than his residence in Mianzhou Prefecture.
Just as Liu Kangren was about to ask what was going on, a powerfully built young woman strode over. Without a word, she seized the back of his collar and lifted him as effortlessly as one might lift a chick, carrying him straight into the main hall.
Liu Kangren was still reeling from the girl's astonishing strength when, with a thud, she unceremoniously flung him to the floor.
The fall left his vision swimming. After a long while, he managed to brace himself against the ground and raise his head. The room was pitch-black, while the night outside seemed thick enough to congeal. He could only just make out two figures seated ahead of him.
"You... you..." Liu Kangren's voice was hoarse and dry as he murmured uncertainly from where he lay sprawled on the floor.
"Liu Kangren, someone should have informed you of my identity earlier." A clear, icy voice rang out from the darkness, devoid of the slightest warmth. There was no indication that its owner intended to help him to his feet.
At the sound of that voice, the image of a refined scholar involuntarily formed in Liu Kangren's mind.
He had never met Wen Zhuo in person. Wen Zhuo had not yet taken the imperial examinations when Liu Kangren was still serving at court; by the time Wen Zhuo entered officialdom, Liu Kangren had already been demoted to Mianzhou, unable to return home for years on end.
Yet Liu Kangren had long been well acquainted with the formidable reputation of the Director of the Hanlin Academy.
It was said that Wen Zhuo was the emperor's most trusted confidant. Though he held no seat in the Grand Secretariat and involved himself in none of the Six Ministries, he had accomplished little of note during his four years in the capital. His conduct was unrestrained, and he was known to frequent the entertainment quarters. Even so, he had risen four ranks in four years, becoming an imperial favorite without equal since the founding of Great Qian.
Others claimed that his beauty was as flawless as jade, that he was learned in all things ancient and modern, and that all who met him were utterly captivated, unable to forget him thereafter.
But to Liu Kangren, trapped in Mianzhou, Wen Zhuo had another identity as well: he was Wen Yingjing's son.
Liu Kangren had never thought much of Wen Yingjing, and by extension had always harbored prejudice against those who stood behind him. Now, after being imprisoned for two months, learning that the governor-general overseeing the southern tour was Wen Yingjing's son only deepened his despair.
He had no idea what these people intended to do with him, but he had already given up any hope for his own fate.
"I have heard that you are Governor-General Wen." Liu Kangren slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position, his gaunt back bowed and his head hanging low. His tone was calm and utterly flat.
Beneath his rough, filthy prison garb, his shoulder blades jutted out sharply, like blades pressing the fabric high around them.
The deepening night was bitterly cold. His hands and feet were red and swollen, yet he kept them pressed to the icy floor, utterly still.
Only one question remained in his mind: who was the person beside Wen Zhuo?
That person could actually sit on equal footing with a governor-general personally appointed by the emperor, and had not uttered a word from beginning to end. Liu Kangren could only vaguely make out a tall, straight-backed silhouette.
"Do you know why I had you brought here?" Wen Zhuo's voice lowered, carrying the pressure of someone looking down from above.
"...Was it by His Majesty's order?" Liu Kangren answered cautiously.
No matter how proud a person might once have been, ten years of grinding hardship and torment could leave behind nothing but humility and despondency.
And so, before this governor-general nearly twenty years his junior, he lowered himself as far as he could.
"No." Wen Zhuo's cold denial cut through the darkness.
“Of that criminal matter... I do not know,” Liu Kangren said quietly, his voice betraying no emotion.
“Liu Kangren, by the crimes you have committed, you should by all rights be beyond pardon. Once the imperial decree requested by Lou Changsui arrives, you will certainly be executed without reprieve. However, in my secret investigation of Mianzhou, I have discovered many peculiarities. I need someone familiar with the truth to answer my doubts.” Wen Zhuo paused briefly. Only after noticing the shift in Liu Kangren’s breathing did he continue at an unhurried pace. “This is your final chance to speak. If you attempt to deceive me, you know the consequences.”
Liu Kangren was silent for a moment before asking softly, “Is the Governor-General the son of Wen Yingjing? If I tell the truth, is the Governor-General truly willing to hear it?”
“What is Wen Yingjing, that he would dare claim a connection to Director Wen? Liu Kangren, you are the son of a duke, at least. How can you believe whatever others tell you?”
The person beside Wen Zhuo finally spoke. His voice was several degrees deeper than Wen Zhuo’s, though his tone was casual and unhurried. He was clearly a young nobleman.
For this man to interrupt Wen Zhuo so freely, his status must have been far from ordinary. Yet there was also a hint of respect for Wen Zhuo in his words, and Liu Kangren could not make out his identity for the moment.
But he was evidently only here to listen, not to preside over the interrogation. After that one remark, he spoke no more.
Could it be that Wen Yingjing had merely been using Director Wen’s name to bolster his own authority?
“I have been ordered by His Majesty to investigate and purge Mianzhou. Wen Yingjing and I have no connection whatsoever. Even if we did, with the Emperor’s grace above us, should he break the law, I would have him executed without pardon as well.” Wen Zhuo had grown impatient with his hesitation and second-guessing. “If you have something to say, say it. Once Lou Changsui searches his way here, even if you want to speak, you will no longer have the chance.”
What a mild, indecisive temperament. He wondered how such a man had ever been chosen to lead an army.
Liu Kangren’s heart stirred.
The guards had previously told him that Lou Changsui had long intended to kill him. He had even bribed Liu Kangren’s former subordinates to set a deadly trap. Wen Zhuo had noticed that something was amiss and had risked himself to rescue him.
He was still alive only because this Lord Wen had saved him.
Slowly, Liu Kangren lifted his head. The disheveled hair over his brow slipped aside, revealing a pair of bloodshot eyes.
He drew a deep breath. His cracked lips moved as he forced down the unspeakable weight in his chest. “A man about to die has no reason to lie. Whatever you wish to ask, my lord, ask it.”
Wen Zhuo glanced toward the door. Judging by the time, Lou Changsui had likely already discovered that something had gone wrong. At this very moment, he was probably flying into a rage and gathering men to search the entire city.
Wen Zhuo withdrew his gaze and asked, “Did you truly steal the grain from the government granary?”
“Yes.” Liu Kangren admitted it without hesitation and offered no defense.
Wen Zhuo did not so much as furrow his brow.
It was exactly as he had expected. Liu Kangren had indeed committed a capital crime.
He closed his eyes briefly, thinking to himself that the law was strict. Whatever hidden circumstances lay behind it, once the law of the land had been violated, the sovereign could never make exceptions.
In Mo Shu’s case, they could still turn the situation around on legal grounds by invoking the principle that “a general in the field need not obey every command from the throne,” along with procedural errors in designating the rebel faction. But Liu Kangren’s case was different: the charge was irrefutably established, beyond any possible defense.
If sentiment were allowed to override the law, the foundations of the state would surely crumble. No matter how one looked at it, Liu Kangren was certain to die—unless he could render an achievement of unparalleled merit.
But for a man who had suffered a crushing defeat on the Southern Frontier and then fallen into a trap in Mianzhou, how difficult must that have been?
“Why break the law when you know it so well?” Wen Zhuo demanded sharply, his tone filled with the frustration of someone who could not bear to see another waste his potential.
He hated Liu Kangren for his incompetence on the Southern Frontier years ago. He hated him, too, for allowing Wen Yingjing and Lou Changsui to run rampant unchecked.
Liu Kangren gave a bitter laugh. His gaunt shoulder blades trembled twice with the sound.
“I didn’t want to,” he said. “But I couldn’t get past the obstacle in my own heart.”
He let out a dazed sigh. “Back then, my disastrous defeat on the Southern Frontier caused countless soldiers of Great Qian to die or be wounded, while the people were driven from their homes. By the grace of His Majesty, I have been allowed to live until now. But now I see the people of Mianzhou suffering once more, with hundreds and thousands starving to death every day…”
“Does the Governor know that the Guanyin temples throughout Mianzhou are packed with refugees kneeling and begging Heaven to save them? And yet they often die right there in the temples, beneath the feet of the statues of the gods. Those who come later see the corpses being dragged away with their own eyes, yet they still entrust their last shred of hope to those cold, indifferent deities.”
“Those households in Mianzhou that still have food to spare must splash cold water over the steps outside their doors every night. Otherwise, by morning, they will be surrounded by starving, freezing refugees…”
He paused, his voice growing heavier with sorrow.
“Have you ever heard of a ‘camp riot’? It is what happens when sudden chaos erupts in a military camp—when the soldiers lose control, become agitated, order collapses, and they turn on one another. Those of us who command troops fear nothing more than such a riot. Yet half a year ago in Mianzhou, this happened every day, at every hour, among the refugees who had banded together for warmth and protection. The dead and wounded were beyond counting…”
“There were also vile, utterly monstrous people who would throw a basket of steamed buns into the middle of the refugees and let them fight over it. Only the one who ‘won’ would receive enough food to survive. They called it ‘Playing with the Dogs.’ And the person who invented that game was Wen Yingjing’s younger son, Wen Xu.”
At this point, Liu Kangren’s voice seethed with hatred, and his entire body trembled with rage.
“I am a man burdened by sin. What happened on the Southern Frontier is a nightmare that torments me every night. I wanted to protect myself and live out the rest of my days in peace, but I simply could not bear to watch the people fall before my eyes again while I stood helplessly by, doing nothing…”
Tears poured down his face, running through the ravines carved by suffering in his filthy cheeks before striking the icy floor with a heavy, unbroken dignity.
“I am a foolish man. I gave everything I had back then, and still caused such disastrous consequences. But even a man like me cannot bear to face innocent people and do nothing—nothing at all…”
He could think of no better way—one that would allow him to escape unscathed while still saving the people.
In the end, he could only choose this clumsiest, most uncompromising path: stealing grain to provide disaster relief, casting aside his own life, and trading it for a chance at survival for countless commoners.
The main hall fell into utter silence. The only sound was Liu Kangren’s muffled sobbing.
Shen Zheng had long since put away his careless manner. His tall, lean figure stood ramrod straight, faintly tense.
Wen Zhuo remained silent. His fingers slowly curled inward, gripping the edge of his sleeve.
He was unwilling to tell Liu Kangren that, through Lou Changsui’s careful machinations, the common folk he had risked his life to save now hated him to the bone, wishing they could devour his flesh alive. Meanwhile, Wen Yingjing, who had merely sat back and reaped the benefits, was showered with their gratitude and hailed as a “living Bodhisattva.”
For a foolishly straightforward, mild-mannered, and kindhearted man like him, the reality was simply too cruel.
A short while later, sparse curses from servants rang out in the streets and alleys, while the glow of fire faintly illuminated the window paper.
Liu Qiying slipped out soundlessly to investigate. Wen Zhuo lowered his voice even further and continued, “Since the disaster in Mianzhou has grown this severe, why didn’t you immediately report it to the imperial court? Why take the dangerous step of stealing grain instead? Your father is Duke Liu. Even if the Ministry of Personnel and the Ministry of Revenue tried to obstruct you, your memorial would certainly still reach His Majesty’s ears.”
Liu Kangren shook his head, then remembered that Wen Zhuo might not be able to see him clearly in the darkness and hurriedly explained, “The governor-general should know that under the Great Qian’s disaster-relief regulations, two crucial steps must be completed. First, officials must conduct an on-site survey to determine the proportion of farmland affected. Second, they must count the actual number of people in each household. As for assessing the farmland: when half the farmland is affected, or the actual harvest falls to half its usual amount, it is classified as a five-tenths disaster. Only when six-tenths of the farmland is affected, or the harvest falls to four-tenths, is it classified as a six-tenths disaster. This difference between five and six tenths is the line between life and death. By court decree, five-tenths disasters receive no relief, while six-tenths disasters must be provided with relief.”
Wen Zhuo had overseen disaster relief before, so he already knew what Liu Kangren was about to say.
Although Shen Zheng knew about this regulation of the Great Qian Dynasty, he had never studied it in depth and was largely unaware of its flaws.
Upon hearing this, he could not help frowning. “According to what you just said, the devastation in Mianzhou has long since far surpassed the six-tenths threshold. Why has relief still not been granted?”
Liu Kangren let out a weary sigh, his voice filled with helplessness. “The regulations are clear enough, but in practice, the local authorities have limited manpower and cannot inspect every plot of affected farmland. Yet this matter cannot be entrusted entirely to the people’s claims, either. Disaster victims often exaggerate the extent of the damage in hopes of reducing their taxes and receiving relief grain. But if every prefecture and county did the same, the national treasury would be drained, and the Great Qian realm could not survive.
“Besides, the severity of the damage to the farmland can change from moment to moment. A report takes a full month to reach the capital, and by then the disaster may have changed beyond recognition. The people exaggerate their losses partly because they fear that, if they report honestly, the disaster will worsen before aid can arrive.”
Shen Zheng’s brows drew together even more tightly. This truly was an impossible dilemma.
“Now, as for the population census…” Liu Kangren continued. “The court’s taxes are burdensome, and Mianzhou also bears the heavy pressure of supplying tribute spices. Every year, a great deal of the tribute is rejected for failing to meet the required standards, leaving the prefectural coffers in deficit. Since the people are taxed by headcount, they would rather hide themselves than be registered by the authorities. In ordinary times, this is manageable enough. But when a year of disaster arrives and the court needs to provide relief, the number recorded in the household registers differs vastly from the actual number of disaster victims. The grain in the reserve granaries is nothing more than a drop in the bucket. And if the population must be counted all over again, there still aren’t enough officials to do it. By my estimate, Mianzhou’s actual population has probably multiplied several times over the past decade.”
Shen Zheng said, “So you mean—”
Liu Kangren had been holding himself back for a long time. Now that he had the chance, he could not stop himself from launching into a torrent of words. “What I mean is, whether you look at the official household registers or the disaster assessments, Lou Changsui had done nothing wrong. On paper, Mianzhou had suffered only a Level Five disaster. By law, that did not warrant relief. Whether it was you, Governor-General, or even His Majesty himself who came to investigate, the evidence would be genuine and beyond dispute. Under such circumstances, how could I submit a memorial without proof and drag my father into it as well?”
“He calculated it all rather shrewdly,” Wen Zhuo said with a cold laugh. “Go on. How did you decide to steal the grain?”
“The disaster was already imminent, yet Lou Changsui turned a blind eye. I knew that where there is disaster, unrest is sure to follow. Time and again, I begged him to open the reserve granaries and the prefectural granaries for relief. In truth, so long as the state granaries remained untouched, his offense would have been far less serious. But he was unwilling to take even the slightest risk.” Liu Kangren paused, his voice edged with resentment. “Then the prefectural granaries suddenly reported a rat infestation. They said a nest of rats had run out of the storehouses, all of them fat and content from feeding well. I simply could not bear it. There was rice, yet they would rather feed it to rats than to people.”
Wen Zhuo pressed on. “So you took the risk?”
Shen Zheng, recalling the histories of Qian, said helplessly, “I doubt it was that simple.”
Surprised by the keen insight of this man whose identity he did not know, Liu Kangren nodded. “That is right. I had originally discussed with others the possibility of secretly replacing the grain with sand. That way, no one would notice immediately. If fortune favored us, perhaps we could endure the locust plague, wait for next year’s harvest, and then quietly replace the grain. But when I opened the prefectural granary—”
Shen Zheng picked up the thread. “You found there was scarcely any grain inside.”
“Exactly!” Liu Kangren’s voice trembled. “I was utterly dumbfounded. Not only was there little grain left in the storehouse, but what remained was old grain, spoiled grain, and chaff. It had all been replaced long before. The moment I opened that granary without authorization, I lost all claim to innocence. I could no longer submit a memorial to His Majesty with my head held high.”
“The matter of the fat rats in the granary was a trap deliberately laid by Lou Changsui.” Wen Zhuo truly had nothing more to say to Liu Kangren. “He wanted to provoke you into secretly opening the granary and stealing grain. The moment you acted, the blame for the empty storehouse would become yours.”
“By then, Mianzhou had been sealed off by Lou Changsui. I could not send word out, and I had no legitimate standing myself.” Liu Kangren lowered his voice. “I could only accept my fate. I boiled the old rice into thin gruel, hoping more common people might survive. Lou Changsui did not stop me. What he wanted was to make my guilt undeniable, so that everyone in Mianzhou would know it was I who had stolen the grain. Four months passed like this. Only when the reserve granaries, prefectural granaries, and state granaries had all been emptied, when not even chaff remained, did Lou Changsui finally arrest me.”
“I admit every one of those charges. The only thing I cannot accept is that Lou Changsui, that verminous rat, remains safe and sound. Otherwise, I would never have followed Wang Six and the others in ‘breaking out of prison.’” There was no self-pity in Liu Kangren’s voice, only a deep sense of guilt. He seemed to believe that his eventual path to death was only right, only Heaven’s will. At last, he could atone for the soldiers of the southern frontier.
After hearing this, Wen Zhuo twisted the edge of his sleeve between two fingers. “Think harder. I don’t believe Lou Changsui is without fault. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be afraid of my coming here.”
Liu Kangren initially shook his head, but when the matter was pressed, a sudden thought struck him. “If I must name something, there is one matter. Several years ago, Lou Changsui suddenly launched a harsh crackdown on public order in Mianzhou. No matter how large or small the offense, everyone was thrown into prison. Before long, the jails throughout the region were packed to bursting, and there was not even enough room for the prisoners to lie down. They had to sleep standing up, crammed shoulder to shoulder.
“Our dynasty has long followed the tradition of ‘paying grain to redeem one’s crime.’ In order to secure their release, the common people had no choice but to sell their land and hand over grain to the government. Those fields eventually fell into the hands of the incense merchants. Of them, the one who acquired the most land was Wen Yingjing.”
At this point, Liu Kangren’s voice held a note of mockery. “Wen Yingjing claims to be Your Excellency the governor-general’s biological father, and even has villagers from Liangping to testify on his behalf. As a result, every official, great or small, in Mianzhou treats him with the utmost respect, while the common people both revere and fear him.
“After acquiring the land, he hired the landless peasants to work it, planting storax trees everywhere. The court requires a minimum acreage of grain fields, so they exploited a loophole: beside every storax tree, they planted a single rice seedling and falsely declared the land to be farmland. Lou Changsui has always turned a blind eye to this. Wouldn’t that count as one of his faults?”
Shen Zheng understood at once. The disaster in Mianzhou was, in truth, a chain reaction.
Prince Xian regarded Mianzhou as his purse and ordered the Commissioner of the Prefectural Granary to inspect tribute goods with excessive strictness, causing large quantities of incense to be deemed substandard.
The court then set a deadline for tribute delivery. As the prefect of Mianzhou, Lou Changsui would be the first to bear responsibility for any delay. Under pressure from Prince Xian, he had no choice but to force the incense merchants to offer better goods to the imperial court.
With their profits squeezed dry by Prince Xian, the incense merchants were unwilling to labor for an entire year only to come away empty-handed. Thus, they turned their attention to the people’s good farmland.
Converting rice paddies into incense plantations allowed them to increase production, reap enormous profits, and even export their goods overseas. So they colluded with Lou Changsui to seize the people’s fields through trickery and coercion.
The people were reduced to tenant farmers, growing and selling incense for them. Yet after a year of labor, they could barely keep themselves fed, let alone pay their taxes. They had no choice but to conceal their existence during the population censuses.
After ten years, countless people had fallen outside the household registers. This, in turn, led officials to underestimate the severity of the disaster when relief was distributed, preventing the court from releasing grain according to regulations.
All these consequences piled atop one another, creating the devastation Mianzhou now faced.
Liu Kangren had been caught between a rock and a hard place. He had risked stealing grain to provide disaster relief, taking all the blame upon himself, only to fall into Lou Changsui’s trap and become the scapegoat.
Wen Zhuo asked softly, “Your Highness, what do you think?”
Liu Kangren froze.
Your Highness? Could the man before him actually be a prince?
In the dim light, Shen Zheng helplessly pinched the bridge of his nose. “Recheck the farmland and population records. If what Liu Kangren says is true, Wanshan, don’t hold back. Kill whoever needs killing.”
Liu Kangren froze again.
The prince addressed the governor-general so familiarly as “Wanshan.” Judging by his tone and position, could he be… Prince Xian?
