by Vivian Chak
***
“And so you'll see, Elder Brother Li, I may be able to purchase such lands through subordinates, while retaining this official post.” Li had not understood, but Lian seemed confident. He always did.
“Is this scheme of yours...legal?”
“That's the magistrate speaking in you,” laughed Lian. “Now, if one were to go through all of the Tang code in great detail, I am certain that one would find something against it. But we determined some centuries ago that the Tang dynasty land allocation schemes serve no one.”
“I believe that certain tenets are still applicable,” commented Li. “They prevent one from holding too much power.”
“What's power in land?” Lian mused aloud. “A plot to farm, providing a reaping to feed oneself, and perhaps others. There's a famine approaching. Is it wrong to gather up land in order to farm it more effectively?”
“If it is the will of Heaven for a famine to manifest its dissatisfaction with us, who are we to interfere? And is it not tasked to the Son of Heaven to avert such disasters?”
“You know as much as I do that those are empty words,” Lian said seriously. “Did Confucius not say that one needs to start with satisfying the smaller masses in order to run the ideal empire?”
“That's paraphrase.”
“What about it?”
Li picked up his wine, a dark red, and sipped it in silence. Lian followed in suit. After some time, Li voiced his concerns.
“Listen, Younger Brother. It's all well and good to be buying up such lands for the well-being of the people, but the Jurchen aren't part of the people. Buying up their land is going to be seen as some sort of traitorous funding scheme, seeing as the Jurchen belong to the state of Liao.”
“Brother Li, they are chafing under the rule of the Liao. What funds they receive will only go to harming our common enemy.”
“You sound confident of it.”
“I am. I've already met with several. They are affable enough.”
“What?” Lian struggled to maintain composure. “Why didn't you tell me before?”
“Don't worry about it,” Lian said, flippantly. “I'm prefect over these regions, and as far as I know, the Censorate hasn't found fault with me as of yet.”
They might soon, Li thought grimly to himself. The commissioners never had to tell the prefects what they reported to the capital, and it would be easy for any enemy of Lian to let slip the details of Lian's schemes to one of the commissioners. Schemes. That was the only word Li could find to describe his friend's plans. They certainly didn't seem allowed under the law.
“Lian, as your friend, I really think you should desist in this. Amassing all this land, having to handle its income, you could easily be accused of acting for your own interests.”
“Or enemy interests, the way you seem to be pointing it.” Lian sipped his wine casually. Li poured himself some more.
“I only say this because I know from experience that lesser men would be willing to use its income for their own purposes.”
“Please don't worry about such a calamity befalling me.” His friend smiled.
Li suddenly tired of such talk. Lian had always been overly casual, regarding government matters. He could afford to be. Already the son of a rich landowner, who had inherited thousands of tracts of fertile land upon his father's death, Lian commanded respect, or at least men's wills, by wealth alone. But in addition to land, Lian was intelligent as well. He had written the prefectural, provincial and Imperial exams all in quick succession, scoring the highest marks, and without the hiring of a tutor, as so many rich men could afford to do. His appointment to prefect had come quickly.
Li, on the other hand, had been poor since birth. The youngest son of twelve, his father had passed on the entire land to the eldest, adamantly stating that to split the already tiny plot into twelve pieces was to starve them all. Then his brother had died, and his sister had somehow briefly taken control. While the brothers shortly deprived her, Li was left with nothing, despite his integral efforts in getting their sister out of the way. Determined to then make his own way in life, he had written and passed all three exams as Lian had, albeit at a later age. In spite of this, he had not been given a prefecture, but instead appointed as magistrate.
The bitterness was still tasted, from time to time. Lian was his friend, but sometimes Li couldn't stand the easy way he went from post to post, climbing rank on rank, leaving nothing but a trail of satisfied superiors and subordinates. It seemed to him that if only he had the wealth of Lian, he might be able to carve a similar path. In Li's view, power, through will or wealth, was what men responded to.
“Let me tell you something, Brother Li,” said Lian, breaking into Li's thoughts. Li forced his criticisms from his head, face expressionless.
“What is it?”
“I know sometimes that these lesser men, the ones you mention, envy me.” Lian smiled easily, as he sipped from the wine cup, and Li stiffened inside, though he was careful not to let it show. “But I don't detest them.”
“No?”
“To be in a position of wealth, in the trust of the Son of Heaven, or his appointed officials anyhow, begets its own woes. That's the price. And if you'll forgive it coming from me, nothing ever comes easily.” Li wondered where his friend meant to lead this conversation. Lian concluded for him.
“I bring this up because I know that the district inspector is coming soon to make his reports. Men murmur over my unorthodox plans to avert famine. In my position, what would you do?”
“I would pay for their silence.” Why did I say that? Li silently berated himself for the slip of tongue. Too much wine, perhaps. Lian grinned.
“Not bad, but I wouldn't have expected such a suggestion from the law-abiding magistrate.”
“You asked me what I would do if I were you,” Li replied pointedly, still cursing his slip internally.
“Ah. Sorry, Elder Brother. I don't actually work that way. One can't buy off one's enemies.”
“But one can buy the means to stop them.” Li thought of the men and horses that could be hired with a fraction of Lian's rumoured wealth.
“Not when you've too many. One needs to be realistic.” Lian finished his cup and poured more for both himself and Li. Li took only a sip for politeness.
“What I believe in is converting such men to my cause.”
“By what means?”
“Pardon the earnestness of my opinion, but when men envy, it is because they detest their own powerlessness. And they secretly desire to become like the men they envy. In such a case, there is nothing left for them to do but build their own strength, to challenge others, or to weaken others. Our bureaucratic system exists, with its numerous independents reporting on each other, primarily to combat this phenomenon. It spreads its powers thoroughly, in trying to safeguard against such men. And so, each man is left with an impression of power over others, and each is satisfied. At least until he realizes its illusionary nature.” Lian laughed. "That's power for you; lasts only as long as you do."
“Lian, I do not like the direction of this conversation,” said Li, warily.
“I'm not scorning the dynasty,” reassured Lian. “All I mean to say is that if one satisfies this petty need, one has a content friend.”
“Perhaps this friend then wants more. Even friends are not easily satisfied.” Lian responded to Li's remark with a sad smile.
“You're right, Elder Brother. Sometimes that friend wants more. In that case, there's only one thing to do.” Lian let the words hang, but Li was not about to ask. A few more sips of wine, and his friend broke the silence.
“You must allow the envious man to have all of you,” stated Lian, completely serious, and provoking Li's harsh laughter.
“How do you give up everything you have for such a man?” Li wondered if the strain of work had made his friend lose his wits.
“I already have. It was years ago, when I decided to marry Lady Hua.” Li fell silent at this. Li
an never talked about his family.
“My father was furious. I was going to marry the daughter of a merchant—me, from a respectable background as a gentleman farmer. Where was the honour in that? So I gave up my inheritance, gave up my land; returned everything to my father.” Lian drew a breath. “Even my family name.”
“Why?” Li asked quietly.
“He was afraid of losing respect. When your hands become powerless, your influence at court weak, what power do you have but the respect you've earned in younger days?” Lian chuckled. They were both still young, though Li's hair was greying prematurely. “So I let him keep it. And I made my living as a lowly merchant, until I could write the exams.”
Merchants may have been scorned, for making money only off the labour of others, but many were quite wealthy. That was how Lian must have afforded his land.
“You've never said any of this,” Li accused.
“Well, I must confess that I wanted to keep at least some degree of respect.”
“You paid for your lands through the produce of others!” Li was seething. Lian looked anything but contrite.
“I had no one to support me then, and now I've family to feed. And I'm determined not to leave them in the position my father left me. Why do you think I chose the family name Lian? We're a bound family.”
“So, you want the Jurchen lands to feed your family and a high governmental post, all to show your father that you've lost nothing in ceding to him?” To Li, it sounded as if Lian's sole driving force in life had been to regain the power he had lost to his father.
“Brother Li, this is a strange twist of logic, even for you. The loss of face is nothing.”
“You said you wanted some degree of respect.”
“Perhaps privacy would have been the better word. A man should not be held back by his previous faults, nor by the faults of others.”
“Then why, Younger Brother Lian, are you so determined to deal with rebels, buy their lands; increase your reaping and wealth, if not to gain absolute power?”
“So that everyone, those under my jurisdiction and rebels included, can have some piece of power currently denied to them, in the form of salary and a steady supply of food.” Another downing of wine by Lian. Li sipped his mechanically.
“Power should be left to those who merit it.” As a magistrate, he had handled enough legal cases of rich men who had illegally bought their way to a pass in the Imperial examinations, and then wrecked havoc in the counties assigned to them, in their ignorance—though it should have been expected—of basic law.
“Do we merit power?” Lian bent forwards with a sober look.
“Yes.”
“I must disagree, Elder Brother. I don't think I really merit anything.”
“Then you should give up your position. Stop with these plans.” Li cut straight to the point.
“I would. If I had no more dependants.”
“Your family?”
“Everyone. Farmer, merchant, Jurchen, Han—they all want a measure of security, and I plan to share mine with them.” Lian spread his arms wide. Li was beginning to find Lian's insistence on treating everyone as equals infuriating.
“You can't please everyone, Lian. And I would suggest that you concentrate your efforts on avoiding the legal line you're about to cross. The Imperial censors won't be pleased with what you're doing. Neither will your friends, when you bring them down with you. They will care nothing for your efforts to help your extended 'family.'”
“Friends with such concerns would be sure to distance themselves, in such a case. Maybe even help bring me down.”
“I'm glad you've realized that, Brother Lian,” said Li dryly. Perhaps his friend was still thinking properly.
“Those would be the friends with power insecurity issues,” said Lian laughingly, breaking Li's impression. Li let him finish laughing.
“Those would be the envious men,” Li pointed out. Lian's face sobered.
“Correct. I'll have to give such men all of me then, Elder Brother.” Lian stood, to bow his farewell. With a final incline of his head to Li, he left.
Li reached for his coins to pay for the wine. They had drunk a lot, he realized. He wouldn't be able to afford it, if they drunk like this every time. His earnings were not spectacular, and they certainly weren't supplemented as Lian's were. Putting forth a tael, Li wondered again whether or not Lian was actually allowed by law to hold lands in conjunction with his position. The clink of metal pushed into his hands returned him to the present. For today, he wouldn't worry. Lian had paid.
The next day, Lian announced, among other things, successful dealings with the Jurchen and proposed a marriage contract between his eldest daughter and Li's eldest son. Upon his death, his lands would pass on to Li's son.
Li was, at first, pleased. But then he recalled their conversation the day before, about Lian recognizing the need to appease the most dissatisfied; the men who were envious of him. His friend's offer was a veiled insult. How long had Lian known his thoughts, without ever acknowledging it? When had he actually concluded his land purchases, before choosing to divulge them to Li? And what good was having his son bequeathed this land, if Lian's buying of it was possibly treasonous?
Li pushed the thoughts from his head. The process of arriving at the conclusion didn't matter. What mattered in the end was that Li could never again trust Lian. Hadn't he known that from the way his friend had insisted on pressing forwards with his business deals?
But even those hadn't happened. As soon as the engagement had been confirmed, and the marriage date set, Lian's eldest had disappeared. Lian had been in a flurry of panic, and suspected bandits; he had ridden out personally to search for his daughter, armed with sword, even though Li knew that he couldn't use it.
It had been a convincing show for the townspeople. However, Li hadn't believed Lian's actions, and had let him know. It no longer mattered if Lian realized that Li could recognize the marriage as a false attempt at appeasement. Similarly, it merited no thought that Lian was riding off to gather his newly-bought Jurchens. Li had brought the Imperial guard with him from the nearest capital, Bianjing, in case Lian had made this very move. He had divined such an occurrence immediately, upon reading Lian's reasons (discussion of his schemes to buy up Jurchen land) for summoning him to Luoyang.
What mattered was that Li had known this would happen. Lian's actions had simply validated the mistrust sown on the winter day that the two men had sat down for warmed wine.