diymy Chapter 34 New Policies in Henan
Chapter 34 New Policies in Henan
On the 18th day of the twelfth month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, in Ruzhou,
The snow stopped, but it was even colder. The cold wind blew from the Songshan Mountains in the north, across the frozen surface of the Ru River, across the barren fields, and over the newly hung "Sun" banner atop the city wall of Ruzhou.
A high platform has now been erected on the open ground outside the city gate, which was originally a mass grave.
The platform was simple: a few thick wooden stakes supported a thick wooden plank, and two long poles were stuck next to the plank—one with the Ming Dynasty dragon flag hanging on it, and the other with the banner that read "Imperial Appointment Governor-General of Military Affairs in Shaanxi and Henan".
The audience was packed with people.
There were refugees in tattered cotton-padded coats, local farmers in sheepskin coats, timid peddlers, and gentry sons standing on the periphery of the crowd with stern faces.
Everyone craned their necks to look at the middle-aged general on the stage, who was wearing a mountain-patterned armor and a black cloak.
Sun Chuanting.
He stood in the center of the platform, his left hand on the hilt of his sword, his right hand holding a thick book. Three clerks stood beside him, one holding a pen and ink, one holding an inkpad, and one holding a stack of blank land deeds.
"Bring the criminals!"
Sun Chuanting spoke, his voice not loud, but like a hammer striking frozen ground, it resounded throughout the entire venue.
Four guards escorted an elderly man, bound hand and foot, onto the stage. The man wore a brocade robe and a sable hat, but the hat was askew, the robe was torn, and there was a bloodstain on his face. He was forced to kneel before the stage, and when he looked up, his eyes were filled with resentment.
"Liu Jizu," Sun Chuanting opened the booklet, "a native of Liujiawa in Ruzhou, whose family owns 12,300 mu of land and 476 tenant households."
In the thirteenth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, he concealed 8,000 mu of farmland and evaded 3,200 shi of grain taxes. In the fourteenth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, he colluded with the bandit "One-Zhang-Qing" and privately sold 800 shi of grain.
In the autumn of the fifteenth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, Ruzhou suffered a severe drought. You hoarded grain and refused to sell it, resulting in the starvation deaths of over three hundred people—was there any injustice done to you?
The old man hissed, "Sun Chuanting! You're spouting nonsense! Those fields... those fields were left to us by our ancestors! The grain... the grain belongs to our family; whether I sell it or not is my business! As for colluding with bandits, what evidence do you have?!"
"Evidence?" Sun Chuanting sneered, pulling a piece of paper from the booklet. "This is the confession of Wang San, the head of your estate. It has your own signature on it—'Received five hundred taels of silver, sold eight hundred shi of grain.' Do you want to read it aloud in public?"
The old man's face turned deathly pale instantly.
"And another one," Sun Chuanting pulled out another sheet, "this is the letter you wrote last year to the Henan Provincial Governor, requesting that he conceal your family's 8,000 mu of 'newly reclaimed wasteland' as 'mountainous land' and exempt it from taxes for three years—the letter is still on file at the Provincial Governor's Office, should we send someone to retrieve it?"
A murmur of disbelief erupted from the audience.
Someone shouted, "Kill this old dog!"
Someone cried, "My father starved to death last year!"
Sun Chuanting raised his hand, and the audience gradually quieted down.
He walked to the front of the stage and looked down at Liu Jizu, who was kneeling on the ground: "According to the Great Ming Code, concealing farmland is punishable by one hundred strokes of the cane and exile for three thousand li; colluding with bandits is punishable by beheading; hoarding grain and causing death is punishable by beheading. All three crimes will be punished together. You should know the outcome."
Liu Jizu suddenly looked up: "Sun Chuanting! You can't kill me! My son works in the Ministry of Revenue in Nanjing! My nephew-in-law is..."
Before he could finish speaking, Sun Chuanting drew his sword.
A flash of sword light.
Heads fell to the ground.
Blood spurted out, spreading a glaring red stain on the wooden platform.
The entire room fell silent.
Only the sound of the cold wind howling could be heard.
Sun Chuanting sheathed his sword, took a notice from the clerk, unfolded it, and read it aloud:
"Liu Jizu's entire property was confiscated. It included 12,300 mu of farmland, three houses, twelve shops, 4,000 shi of grain, and 8,000 taels of silver."
According to the "Regulations on Land Allocation under the New Policies of Henan": 40%, totaling 4,920 mu, was allocated to Liujiawa and the surrounding landless migrants, with each household receiving 10 mu, which was permanent land and exempt from taxes for three years;
Thirty percent, or 3,690 mu, was designated as a military settlement and managed by the Henan Garrison.
Two-tenths, or 2,460 mu, will be sold at a price, with the proceeds going to military pay; one-tenth, or 1,230 mu, will be awarded to the soldiers who have distinguished themselves in this battle.
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the dumbfounded refugees below the stage:
"Now, those whose names are called, come up to receive your land deeds."
The clerk opened another booklet and began calling out the names:
"Wang Shuan!"
A young man in his early twenties hesitated for a moment, then stumbled onto the stage amidst the shoving of those around him. He wore an ill-fitting old military coat, and his face was covered in frostbite.
Sun Chuanting looked at him: "Wang Shuan, a native of Ansai, Shaanxi, fled to Henan during the famine of the fourteenth year of the Chongzhen reign, where both his parents starved to death. He joined the army last year and is now the son of Wang Laoshi, the garrison commander of Tongguan—is that you?"
Wang Shuan knelt down with a thud: "It's...it's me."
"You have rendered meritorious service in defending Tongguan, and you should be rewarded according to the rules." Sun Chuanting took a land deed from the clerk. "This is ten mu of high-quality irrigated land, right by the Ru River."
The land deed bears the official seals of the Governor-General's Office and the Ruzhou Prefecture. From this day forward, this land is yours. No taxes are payable for the first three years; after that, taxes will be levied at one-thirtieth of the usual amount.
Wang Shuan took the paper with trembling hands.
The paper was thin and light, yet in his hands, it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
He was not very literate, but he recognized his own name, the characters "Shi Mu" (十亩), and "Yongye" (永业).
"My lord..." He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, "This field... is it really for me?"
"Yes, I'll give it to you." Sun Chuanting nodded. "But there's something I need to say beforehand—once the land is given to you, you have to cultivate it. If it's left uncultivated, the government has the right to take it back. If you cultivate it well after three years, you can apply to reclaim more wasteland, up to a maximum of thirty mu."
Wang Shuan clutched the land deed tightly to his chest and kowtowed three times, pleading, "I...I will definitely farm well! I will!"
"Next up, Li Ergou!"
"Zhao Shitou!"
"Widow Zhou—"
One after another, ragged refugees went up on stage to receive the piece of paper that would change their fate. Some burst into tears, some bit and kissed the land deed, and some knelt on the ground and kowtowed to Sun Chuanting until their foreheads bled.
The local farmers who had initially been watching the spectacle gradually changed their expressions.
Envy, jealousy, and a hint of... longing.
An old farmer tugged at his son's sleeve and whispered, "See that? Ten mu of irrigated land, tax-free for three years... We rent land from Master Liu, paying six dou of rent per mu per year, so ten mu is six shi. Three years, that's eighteen shi of grain..."
The son swallowed hard. "Dad, how about... we sign up for some wasteland too?"
"Are you stupid!" the old farmer glared. "That's for migrants! We have household registration, so we're not migrants."
"But are our five acres of meager land enough to feed us?"
The old farmer fell silent.
Looking at the jubilant refugees on the stage, and at the still-dry bloodstains on the wooden board, he felt a mix of emotions swirling within him.
That evening, at the former Liu family mansion in Ruzhou City.
This house has now become Sun Chuanting's temporary residence. It has three courtyards: the front courtyard is for offices, the middle courtyard is for living quarters, and the back courtyard has been converted into a temporary granary.
Sun Chuanting sat in the main hall of the front courtyard, a map of Henan spread out in front of him. On the map, Ruzhou, Nanyang, and Luoyang were circled in red – these were the three pilot areas where he had been implementing his new policies for the past two weeks.
Chen Zilong, an advisor, stood aside and reported, holding an account book: "Commander, today a total of 4,920 mu of land was distributed in Ruzhou, involving 492 households of displaced people. The military farmland has been allocated to the Left Thousand Household Office of Henan Guard. The auction of the land will begin this afternoon, and seventeen local wealthy households have already bid for it, expecting to receive about 8,000 taels of silver."
"Eight thousand taels," Sun Chuanting rubbed his temples, "is not enough. Zhou Yuji has urged for grain three times at Tongguan. Huang Degong of the Beijing garrison is also asking for pay. And then there's Hanzhong... Zhang Xianzhong has captured Hanzhong, Qin Liangyu has retreated to Jianmen Pass, and the governor of Sichuan is in dire need of money and grain."
Chen Zilong smiled bitterly: "Commander, the silver we have is only enough to last until the end of the year. The second batch of pay for the troops in Jiangnan was supposed to arrive before the 20th of the twelfth lunar month, but it's already the 18th and there's still no news."
"I can't wait any longer." Sun Chuanting stood up and walked to the window. "We're going to Nanyang tomorrow. The Tang Prince and the Fu Prince of Nanyang occupy 40% of the land in Nanyang Prefecture. We must take action against these two families."
Chen Zilong was startled: "Commander-in-Chief, that's a vassal king..."
"So what if he's a prince?" Sun Chuanting turned around, a cold glint in his eyes. "Tang Prince Zhu Yujian was demoted to a commoner in the ninth year of Chongzhen's reign for 'leaving his fief without permission,' and is now just an idle member of the imperial clan."
Prince Fu, Zhu Yousong, whose father, the old Prince Fu, was boiled alive by the rebel Li Zicheng in Luoyang, fled to Nanyang. He neither sought revenge nor cared for the suffering of the people, spending his days in a drunken stupor—what use is such a useless person?
"But...but they are, after all, of noble birth."
"Imperial descendants?" Sun Chuanting sneered. "Mr. Chen, you've read history books, you should know what 'if the skin is gone, what will the hair cling to?' If the Ming Dynasty falls, these princes will be the first to be beheaded by the rebel Li Zicheng as a sacrifice to the flag. Making them bleed a little now is for their own good."
Chen Zilong remained silent.
He knew Sun Chuanting was right. But the methods were too cruel. Killing Liu Jizu today, threatening a vassal king tomorrow… how many enemies would this create?
"Commander-in-Chief," he whispered, "the gentry in Henan are already making arrangements. I heard they are gathering in Xuchang to jointly submit a memorial accusing you of 'arbitrarily killing gentry, seizing farmland, and undermining the foundation of the nation.'"
"Let them sue." Sun Chuanting didn't care at all. "Every step I've taken is in accordance with the Great Ming Code and is authorized by the Emperor's secret decree. I'm not afraid of them suing me to the ends of the earth."
He walked back to his desk, picked up his pen, and wrote down a warrant:
"We will break camp at dawn tomorrow and head to Nanyang. Anyone along the way who obstructs the new policies or incites a popular uprising, regardless of their status, will be executed without mercy."
After writing it down, he stamped it with the governor's seal.
"And another thing," he said, remembering something, "how are the refugees who received land from Wang Shuan being taken care of?"
"As you instructed, they have been incorporated into the 'Reclamation Camp'," Chen Zilong said. "Ten households form a Jia, with a Jia head; ten Jia form a Bao, with a Bao head. The Jia and Bao heads are selected from among the refugees and are responsible for supervising cultivation and mediating disputes. In addition, each Bao has a 'literacy class' where literate soldiers teach characters for one hour every night."
"A literacy class..." A hint of warmth flashed in Sun Chuanting's eyes. "That's good. Did Wang Shuan go?"
"He went. He got his plot of land today and went to the literacy class this afternoon. The soldier who teaches him said he studies very diligently, even drawing characters on the sand with his hands cracked from the cold."
Sun Chuanting nodded.
He walked into the courtyard. It was already dark, and the north wind was howling, making the branches of the old locust tree in the courtyard tremble violently.
The faint sound of reading could be heard from afar—it was the neighboring courtyard, where a literacy class had started.
"...Heaven and earth were dark and yellow, the universe was vast and boundless. The sun and moon waxed and waned, the stars and constellations were arrayed in the sky..."
The voice was young and hesitant, yet it carried an almost devout seriousness.
Sun Chuanting listened quietly.
He recalled many years ago when he studied diligently. Back then, he did the same, repeatedly reciting "Heaven and Earth, Black and Yellow," dreaming of one day passing the imperial examination with flying colors and governing the country and bringing peace to the world.
He has now achieved it. He is now the Governor-General of Shaanxi and Henan, holding the highest position in the court.
Governing a country and bringing peace to the world is far more difficult than studying.
"Commander," the captain of the personal guards walked over and whispered, "there's a secret report from Xuchang."
"explain."
"The Zhou, Zheng, and Wang families, three gentry families in Xuchang, joined forces to incite the displaced people who had taken over the land, saying... saying that the land deeds were 'decrees to the King of Hell,' and that if they took the land now, the gentry would retaliate once the court left, and all those who had taken the land would be purged."
Sun Chuanting's eyes turned cold: "Does anyone believe that?"
"Yes," the captain of the personal guards said in an even lower voice. "Of the 492 households that were to receive land in Ruzhou today, 37 households ran away overnight, leaving their land deeds in their shacks. There are also 54 households that, although they didn't run away, hid their land deeds and dared not let anyone know."
The cold wind grew even stronger.
Sun Chuanting stood in the courtyard, his black cloak fluttering in the wind.
He gazed northward—that was the direction of Xuchang.
"Issue the order," he said slowly, "to send a battalion of soldiers to Xuchang tonight. 'Invite' the heads of the Zhou, Zheng, and Wang families to Ruzhou. Remember, 'invite,' not arrest. Invite them politely."
"What if they don't come?"
Sun Chuanting smiled.
The smile was faint and cold.
"Then tell them," he said, "that I am going to Nanyang tomorrow to deal with the vassal king. If they don't come, I will assume they are in cahoots with the vassal king. We can deal with them all at once then, which will save us trouble."
The captain of the personal guards' hearts skipped a beat: "Yes, sir!"
Sun Chuanting turned and went back into the house.
Before entering the house, he glanced one last time at the neighboring yard. The sound of reading continued, and at this moment they were reciting "The cold comes and the heat goes, autumn harvests and winter stores."
Autumn harvest and winter storage.
Yes, seeds are hidden in the soil during winter so they can sprout in spring.
What he is doing now is planting the seed of "field" in the hearts of these displaced people.
As for whether it can sprout or grow...
It's up to fate.
On the same night, thirty miles outside Ruzhou City, there was a military reclamation camp.
Wang Shuan sat in the shack, writing on the sand table by the light of a small oil lamp.
The sand table was provided by the literacy class; it was a wooden board covered with fine sand. The pen was a sharpened little wooden stick.
He wrote slowly and carefully. First he wrote "王" (Wang), then "束" (Shuan), then "田" (Tian), and finally "十亩" (Shi Mu).
The shack was very simple, with a few wooden sticks supporting a thatched roof, and drafts came from all sides. But Wang Shuan didn't feel cold—the land deed he carried in his arms felt like a burning fire inside him.
Zhao Shitou, who was in the same shed, came over and said, "Brother Shuanzi, you're actually learning this?"
"Learn." Wang Shuan didn't even look up. "Lord Sun said that only by being literate can one understand the terms on the land deed and avoid being cheated."
"But...but the people in Xuchang say that these land deeds are the root of all trouble..." Zhao Shitou lowered his voice, "They say that once the imperial troops leave, those gentry and nobles will return and take away all those who have received the land..."
"Kill them all?" Wang Shuan stopped writing and looked up at him.
Zhao Shitou nodded, his face pale.
Wang Shuan was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Shitou, how did your father die?"
Zhao Shitou was stunned: "Starved...starved to death. In the fourteenth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, there was a severe drought in our hometown of Shaanxi, and there was nothing to eat..."
"My father starved to death too," Wang Shuan said softly. "My mother too. My sister... was sold to human traffickers, and I don't know where she is now."
He put down the wooden pen, took out the land deed from his pocket, and carefully unfolded it.
The dim light of the oil lamp shone on the paper, illuminating the two characters "永业" (Yongye).
"Stone, look," Wang Shuan pointed to the two characters, "This is 'Yongye,' meaning this land will always be mine. Lord Sun stamped it with his seal, and the Emperor also issued an edict. No matter how powerful those gentry and nobles are, can they be more powerful than the Emperor?"
Zhao Shitou opened his mouth, but didn't say anything.
"I know they're afraid." Wang Shuan carefully folded the land deeds and put them back in his pocket. "They're afraid that if we peasants have land, we won't be their tenants anymore, and we won't let them bully us anymore. So they're trying to scare us, to make us throw away the land deeds and continue to be their beasts of burden."
He stood up and walked to the door of the shack.
Outside the door was a pitch-black night, with the distant lights of the reclamation camp scattered like stars on the ground.
"But I, Wang Shuan, am not afraid." He spoke slowly and deliberately to the darkness, as if addressing unseen gentry and nobles. "When my father starved to death, no one gave him a single land deed. When my mother died of illness, no one gave her a bowl of medicine. When my sister was sold, no one gave her a way to survive."
He turned and looked at Zhao Shitou, his eyes flashing frighteningly bright in the oil lamp light:
"Now, the imperial court has given it to us. They've given us land and a way to survive. I'll fight anyone who tries to take it away."
The shack remained quiet for a long time.
Zhao Shitou slowly stood up and walked to the door. Gazing at the distant lights, he suddenly said, "Brother Shuanzi, tomorrow... tomorrow you teach me to read. I want to understand land deeds too."
Wang Shuan smiled: "Okay."
The two stood side by side at the entrance of the shack, gazing at the darkness and into the distance.
Further away, the outline of Ruzhou City was faintly visible in the night. On the city wall, torches formed a winding ribbon of light.
Those were Sun Chuanting's soldiers.
That was their backer.
Three hundred miles away, in Nanyang City.
Inside the main hall of the Tang Prince's Mansion, the charcoal fire burned brightly. Prince Zhu Yujian of Tang sat in the main seat, his face grim. Below him sat Prince Zhu Yousong of Fu, along with several prominent local gentry from Nanyang.
"Sun Chuanting has only been in Ruzhou for five days," a gentryman said in a trembling voice, "and he already killed Liu Jizu and seized over ten thousand mu of land from the Liu family. Now... now he's on his way to Nanyang!"
Zhu Yousong, who was as fat as a ball, trembled with fear: "He...he wouldn't dare to touch our vassal kings, would he?"
"Why wouldn't you dare?" Zhu Yujian sneered. "This Governor Sun dares to defy even the Emperor, would he be afraid of us disgraced princes? Haven't you heard? He even dared to touch the Prince of Qin's fields in Shaanxi!"
"Then... what should we do?"
Zhu Yujian remained silent for a long time before slowly saying, "Prepare the gifts."
"Prepare gifts?"
"Yes, a generous gift." A ruthless glint flashed in Zhu Yujian's eyes. "A thousand taels of gold, ten boxes of antiques and paintings, and twenty beautiful women—deliver them to Sun Chuanting's residence tomorrow when he arrives. If he accepts them, everything will be fine. If he doesn't…"
He didn't finish speaking.
But everyone understood.
If they don't accept it, it means we've broken off all relations.
And the consequences of a complete breakdown in relations...
Zhu Yousong, with a mournful face, said, "But... but where are we going to get so much money?"
"No money?" Zhu Yujian stared at him. "Your Highness, the treasures your father, the old Prince Fu, amassed in Luoyang were enough to support an army of 100,000 for ten years. When you fled to Nanyang, you brought with you at least two hundred boxes, right? And you're still reluctant to part with them now?"
Zhu Yousong opened his mouth, but ultimately lowered his head in dejection.
Outside the flower hall, the cold wind howled.
Further away, on the official road leading to Nanyang, a cavalry unit was galloping through the night.
Horse hooves shattered the ice, splashing up cold mud.
Sun Chuanting took the lead, his black cloak billowing behind him like a flag.
Before him lay the myriad lights of Nanyang.
Behind him lies Ruzhou, where seeds have just been sown.
Beyond that lies Tongguan, a place engulfed in flames of war, and the crumbling Ming Dynasty.
He must see this path through to the end.