“Can strategists not ascend the throne?”
Chapter 367: Principles On The Rise and Fall of Dynasties
This decision is quite dangerous.
Even Guo Jia thought it suitable to curry favor with powerful families amidst the swirling rumors, but Qiao Yan decided to take the opposite approach.
What made this situation extremely perilous was Zhong Changtong’s age.
If Zhong Changtong were already a notable figure with established works, using “The Principles” as a timely book wouldn’t be much of an issue. However, having just turned eighteen, Zhong Changtong is still a baby in the eyes of many.
Of course, true geniuses don’t get bogged down by the limitations of their era, and being young might even free them from conventional language. But that also means if Qiao Yan pushes his views into the spotlight, he will face far more criticism than anyone else.
“Perhaps they’ll think every word comes from my command, not your own carefully written thoughts. Or worse, they’ll say that by choosing to voice these shocking statements on my behalf, you disgrace your scholarly background and contradict your principles. Even so, you still insist on my pushing ‘The Principles’ out now?”
Before Qiao Yan handed over the manuscript for printing, she threw this question at Zhong Changtong.
A few years back, Xi Zhicai had a fleeting encounter with him at Leping Academy. At that time, “The Principles” was nothing more than jumbled phrases. But last year, during the release of “The Urgent Pieces,” it had begun to take form thanks to Zhong Changtong’s years of travel and, after another year, the text evolved further based on the voices of Luoyang’s citizens in the tumultuous fourth year of Jian’an.
Zhong Changtong replied, “Let me address each point. You worry someone might question if the words were written by me. But I, Zhong Changtong, am not a coward; I’m fine with debating them face-to-face. After all, you made a name for yourself with your debates as the governor of Luoyang. Why can’t I do the same? Though, we might need to spruce up that site first.”
Luoyang had fallen into disrepair a few years back, and Dingzhong Temple wasn’t a gathering place for scholars anymore— it had become a shadow of its former self after years of wear and tear. Even Qiao Yan, stationed in Luoyang, hadn’t remembered it amidst her busy life.
Hearing Zhong Changtong mention the place caught her off guard for a moment.
But her thoughts quickly returned to his words.
Zhong Changtong was indeed no coward— this was not arrogance befitting a genius but a fact.
If someone else had written such “human affairs are more crucial than heaven’s principles” statements, they wouldn’t have had the guts to open with such a bold line in “The Principles of Order and Chaos.”
He wrote: “Those who claim divine right to govern possess no actual ownership of the world. Without such ownership, wars emerge. In these times, people cloak themselves in a sham divine mandate, seizing territories…”
This statement was basically a stab at the lungs of the previous emperors.
To put it simply, those who thus claim to become the “heavenly mandated” leaders actually have no legitimate claim to rule over the world, so naturally, no one is destined to be an emperor; hence everyone thinks they can fight to be one. In such a situation, each one pretends to have a divine mandate to dominate their land.
If this “warring spirits arise” refers to the Spring and Autumn period, then doesn’t the founder of Han, who cut a snake, fit that description too?
Even though he later claimed that the Liu family leaders were “holy rulers bestowed with divine mandates,” it’s hard to ignore the shockwave created by that opening statement.
He was not merely unafraid; he was audacious!
Yet Zhong Changtong clearly felt there was nothing wrong with the words he penned for personal expression, and Qiao Yan was certainly not the type to be shackled by conventions to limit his speech.
So he proceeded without hesitation, “You also mentioned concerns that people might think I am betraying my scholarly position. But countless words spring from people’s mouths; scholars merely dress them up, using eloquence and references to make them sound more reasonable.”
“I, Zhong Changtong, humbly take the courtesy name Gongli to stand on the foundation you laid and debate the ignorant!”
With this proclamation, he bowed deeply to Qiao Yan.
When he rose to meet her gaze, it was clear to her that she stood firmly against compromise with the powerful families, and Zhong Changtong’s resolve to print “The Principles” as a counter to the “red aura filling the imperial court” rumors was equally steadfast.
Gongli—what an apt courtesy name for him!
“When I made this decision yesterday, Xun Yu sought me out,” Qiao Yan continued.
If Guo Jia suggested Qiao Yan select this fourth round of prints for the collection of noble families, hoping to gain allies, Xun Yu’s attempt to dissuade her from pushing “The Principles” was entirely about his own stance.
“I asked him one question—after witnessing the reconstruction efforts in Luoyang, does Wenruo hope the ignorant remain isolated or encourages them to advance together?”
Zhong Changtong, already familiar with Xun Yu’s talents, responded, “What did Xun Yu say?”
Qiao Yan chuckled, “He said he hopes you can provide him an answer.”
But before Zhong Changtong could welcome the critiques and allow Xun Yu to see another possibility, it would be “The Principles” that appeared before the public.
In November of the fourth year of Jian’an, while Chang’an was still caught in the undercurrents sparked by the previous celestial phenomena, Qiao Yan remained in Luoyang, yet on one ordinary morning, every bookshop in the city was filled with copies of the freshly printed work.
Front row was the first print of the literacy book “Urgent Pieces,” in the middle was the second round of geography atlas “Records of Mountains and Rivers,” and at the back was the third round of miscellaneous essays aimed at elevating the statuses of agriculture, industry, and medicine—ordinary folks hadn’t a clue that new books after enduring the recent drought would pose any issue.
But discerning readers flipping through this book quickly realized this was no simple guide!
This was a treatise!
A treatise delivered in such mass-printed form was like the Grand Marshal thrusting what she deemed a necessary perspective into everyone’s faces.
“What does she mean by this?” Liu Yang flipped open the book, and his expression instantly darkened.
The recent celestial anomaly, along with the rhetoric he’d promoted in Chang’an, made him suddenly aware that many covetous eyes were watching to pull Qiao Yan down, even if not everyone could challenge her directly; those plotting murder could enlist plenty more he hadn’t previously considered.
But before he could solidify these rumors into blows against Qiao Yan or savor what seemed like a gift from the heavens for long, he was suddenly hit with a counterstrike.
Everyone knew Qiao Yan’s past push for book printing under the guise of seeking survival for the common people had widened the team of literate individuals and increased those willing to spend on books.
Once this book launched, it would undoubtedly spread far and wide in no time.
And when the complaints against certain individuals emerged within its pages, it was like a finely honed dagger making a surprise attack.
Indeed, in Liu Yang’s eyes, this was a denunciation.
Just after the jaw-dropping statement about “heroes and their divine mandate” came the discourse on dynasties’ downfall.
The text clearly etched a passage: “Afterward, the foolish rulers, seeing that no one dared oppose them, assumed they were indestructible like heaven and earth. They indulged their private desires, pursuing their wicked whims, leading to a shared depravity from the emperor to the subjects…”
“They drained the essence of the world, shortening the lives of people. Grudges flared and calamities arose, China fell into chaos, foreign tribes rebelled and invaded, the nation crumbled in a day.”
Upon reading that, Liu Yang was furious: “Who is being referred to here?”
If it was a critique of the former Ling Emperor, known for idolizing bronze statues, trusting eunuchs, levying harsh taxes, and indulging in pleasures—ultimately leading to the Yellow Turban Rebellion and planting the seeds for Dong Zhuo’s chaos—there seemed to be a solid argument.
Especially the elaboration on private desires matching the actions of Emperors Huan and Ling.
But know this, such words cannot come from Qiao Yan’s mouth, nor could Zhong Changtong, who penned the book with her authorization, logically use such lines to indict the Han Ling Emperor.
“After all, her initial guardian’s title came from Emperor Ling of Han.”
Of course, Liu Yu doesn’t fit this statement at all.
Everyone knows that while this Son of Heaven may not be as capable as the Grand Marshal who roams the land conquering foes, he is indeed a benevolent ruler, with no fault to be found in his character or morals.
So, in Liu Yang’s eyes, the only one who could fit into this role is—
Himself!
The so-called foolish monarchs of later generations, responsible for the dynasty’s “collapse and demise,” were actually the target of Qiao Yan’s counterattacks after receiving unfounded criticism based on celestial phenomena.
Once he stepped into this line of thought, Liu Yang found it hard to break free.
He lingered on the phrase “four barbarians invading,” automatically thinking of the current siege facing Chang’an, feeling it was almost a literal representation, or perhaps a direct threat issued by Qiao Yan.
Chunyu Jia arrived just in time to hear Liu Yang’s sudden question: “How dare she be so impudent!”
“Why call it impudence?” Chunyu Jia replied immediately. “She’s clearly very smart.”
Liu Yang turned to Chunyu Jia in confusion and asked, “Why do you praise her so?”
Chunyu Jia shook his head, “I am not praising her, I’m stating a fact. This ‘Changyan’ is quite insightful; just look at the comments that follow, and you’ll know it’s not a rash act born of anger, but a well-structured rebuttal.”
Just as Qiao Yan guessed, Chunyu Jia and others felt that this “Changyan” was Qiao Yan’s viewpoint expressed through Zhong Changtong.
No matter if it’s Zhong Changtong’s own words or Qiao Yan’s; it is indeed an incredibly structured rebuttal of the rumors.
While claiming the emperor’s position has the scent of divine mandate, what follows is the true origin of the Han dynasty’s “sage ruler,” which leads to the conclusion of “human affairs come first, heaven’s way is secondary.”
“The brilliance of this statement lies in its shift from the highborn to the common people,” Chunyu Jia sighed. “Your Highness, consider this—obviously, those who can read this book are mostly from the upper class; but who makes up the largest group among those who possess it?”
Liu Yang offered no reply, but he already had the answer in his heart.
It was the vast populace enlightened by “The Urgent Exposition” and “The Book of Songs,” along with the Leping Monthly Report.
He followed Chunyu Jia’s words and read on.
He saw that the subsequent assertion of “heaven’s way is secondary” was indeed written to match the habits of the people.
What does it mean for human affairs to come first? Start with a discussion on “the right way to longevity.”
For those living in disasters and sickness, hardly anyone wants to live any shorter.
But just as Xi Zhicai remarked when he first met Zhong Changtong, in his notes—
“What use is digging nine feet into the ground for water, chiseling a hundred paces into a mountain for gold, entering the forest to cut wood regardless of the day, or mowing grass in the fields at the wrong time? When building and using these things, how can you avoid misfortune?”
“To worship the altars and insult ancestors, defy the seasons, go against good order, and yet expect blessings from ominous entities, trusting the foolish—doesn’t that sound like insanity?”
Disregarding agricultural seasons and human reasoning while seeking fortune from unwholesome things and ignorant people, what a ridiculous scenario!
If you want health and a prosperous career, you ought to harmonize your vital energy, clear your thoughts, regulate your diet, and enjoy moderate desires.
If misfortune should arise, you shouldn’t turn to the Yellow Turban Bandits for Talisman Water; rather, seek the established medical offices for remedies. Keep your demeanor and behavior upright, enjoy virtue, practice benevolence, and be honest, for that is the so-called “beneficial path.”
None of these things are determined by some so-called “celestial phenomena,” but rely entirely on human decision and execution.
So if that’s the case, why be troubled by the dictates of such celestial fancies?
“Previously stated words were merely a starting point; this is the true first response,” Chunyu Jia commented.
Over the years working under Qiao Yan, Zhong Changtong’s travels through the land were not simply passing time, but truly rooted in this area heavily influenced by Qiao Yan since the moment he crafted his statements.
He even returned to summarize key points back to observable actions suitable for the times, allowing those who found the obscure comments hard to grasp to reconnect with familiar phrases seen in the monthly report and daily life, finding some sense of familiarity.
Chunyu Jia was right; this was indeed the first meaningful response.
The second response, however, was neatly tucked several chapters away, discussing the way of governance.
This was certainly not familiar ground for the common folk, but Zhong Changtong used a somewhat sly approach to illustrate this point.
He said that some local officials, in their quest to show their integrity, traveled on a skinny horse with a dilapidated cart, not bringing their wives and children to their posts, refusing rewards and promotions, and not serving guests food and drink, and such behavior earned them a reputation for being noble and upright.
Like that “Suspended Fish Prefect,” a typical example.
He wasn’t criticizing such behavior necessarily, but he felt such actions were overly extreme, straying from human decency.
People praised them because there hadn’t been justice between court and public before; they needed to seek a model that stayed untainted by secular filth. But think of it another way: if governance were fair and integrity achievable, wouldn’t it suffice not to demand such extreme integrity?
He wrote—
“Thus, through its proper path, people don’t consider it extravagant; through its proper acquisition, people don’t deem it laborious. When disaster strikes, opening the storage warehouse to distribute aid—doesn’t that show benevolence? When clothing and food are plentiful, cutting down on luxury to distribute widely—doesn’t that show righteousness?”
Just like the much-criticized Grand Marshal, whose subordinates all use the finest military horses from the Western Regions and wear the latest cotton clothing, she can still open warehouses for disaster relief during drought years and keep grain prices at a level the common folk can bear. Why should she be blamed for indulging after attaining high authority?
This is merely one form of benevolence that can exist under the law of justice.
He even ended the second response with—
“Some say: Governance rests on one person, with considerable power. I say: Such people are hard to find. What is there to be wary of?”
“These people are hard to find, what is there to be wary of…” Liu Yang couldn’t help but grind his teeth at this point.
This statement almost bluntly told everyone that the Grand Marshal is indeed that highly powerful individual, yet she does all she should, especially in a time desperately lacking talent. How could anyone think her authority too high?
In the territories under the court of Chang’an, at least half the people, suffering from two consecutive years of drought, have a particularly clear understanding of “opening warehouses for distribution.”
This interpretation, filled with empathy, is undoubtedly more convincing than the baseless criticism of “red-eyed energy piercing the purple palace.”
“Your Highness, we’re in big trouble.” Chunyu Jia spoke up, forcing Liu Yang, who was ready to explode with anger, to hold back.
Indeed, rather than being enraged at this sharp critique, they should be more concerned about how to counter it.
Implying Qiao Yan’s rumors spread only within Chang’an, this “Changyan” certainly cannot be limited to just Chang’an.
Given the efficiency of the printing houses under Qiao Yan’s command, even with transportation hiccups, these books should have made their way throughout the north by now!
As they suspected, this is certainly not an isolated case in Chang’an; it exploded everywhere.
In Leping, the true base of Qiao Yan, this book had become a must-have for everyone.
From students to teachers, no one was left out.
Even those disciples guarding the spirit of Xun Shuang in the Taihang Mountains received a copy.
In this seamless net cast, even Lu Zhi, whom Wang Yun suggested Liu Yang should meet before the arrival of “Changyan,” received his copy long ago.
Having now flipped through “Changyan” three times, Lu Zhi found himself deep in thought over the last passage.
There, Zhong Changtong wrote—
“Polish the jade wall, dye the tin gold, manifest benevolence to the people, and let the decree be heard across the world. Let us encourage each other, my friends.”
Lu Zhi couldn’t help but murmur, “That’s crystal clear, a mirror reflecting the heart.”
