The Most Powerful Young Master of the Northern Song Dynasty

Chapter 46: A Day and Night of Conviction

As evidenced by Nong Zhigao’s recent rebellion, it’s clear just how laughable the Song Dynasty’s inland armies are—aside from the Western Army. Yet it is precisely this group that is consuming seventy percent of the Song Dynasty’s fiscal revenue. The Song Dynasty’s current fiscal foundation is far from sufficient to withstand major risks; once such civil unrest breaks out, the imperial court will find itself in as dire straits as those in later generations who maxed out their credit cards. So, to a certain extent, there was a reason why Ouyang Xiu and his ilk looked down on military men. The history of the Song Dynasty is the most embarrassing chapter in history, just as pathetic as Di Qing’s tenure in office. The Song Dynasty lacked the kind of army that could sweep away thousands of troops, as seen in the early Tang Dynasty under Emperor Ming; it wasn’t that the Song lacked emperors like Li Er or Zhu Ba Ba who were dedicated to governing with diligence. Rather, it was because Old Zhao didn’t leave such a political legacy for future generations—he had already neutered the military right from the founding of the dynasty. This wasn’t Old Zhao cutting off his own limbs; it was because he didn’t trust this army himself. These weren’t battle-hardened elite troops forged in mountains of corpses and rivers of blood—they were, in fact, little more than a gang of warlords. Military strength is inherently tied to lineage, and this was the lineage of the Song army. While lineage is influenced by innate factors, it has been proven that acquired influences also play a role. Thus, to a certain extent, the commander’s character determines the soul of the army. It was for this reason that Di Qing was able to lead an army devoid of faith to defeat Nong Zhigao. It was also why Fan Zhongyan and Han Qi were able to forge the Western Army into a force of considerable combat prowess. On this point, Xiao Suanbang held Di Qing, Han Qi, and Fan Zhongyan in the highest regard. These facts proved that the Song army was not beyond redemption; they simply needed a leader to mold and inspire them. Wang Bang was deeply concerned with the development of the Song army. After all, he planned to expand his business worldwide and turn Song paper currency into something even more vulgar than the U. S. dollar of later generations. Such endeavors would inevitably require the backing of the military. This was what Wang Bang had been endlessly fantasizing about ever since he’d been suspended in the courtyard for a day and a night. The Great Demon King was truly that ruthless—he had hung Wang Bang, a ten-year-old boy in poor health, for a full day and night in the dead of winter. And he’d left him starving, too. Since Erya and Xiaobao were both idiots, after Xiaobao ran off angrily to the donkey stable, Erya couldn’t get down on her own. Erya was used to fending for herself and didn’t call out for help. So the little girl just sat there on the donkey’s back, holding the jar, waiting—cold, hungry, and sleepy. Yet Erya never even thought to drink the porridge from the jar in her hand. She held out until the donkey Xiaobao came to his senses and returned to feed the cold porridge to Wang Bang. Wow, she’s a foolish girl with unwavering faith. But Wang Bang adores her. If the Song Dynasty’s army were anything like her, they’d surely conquer the Mediterranean within thirty years—collecting navigation taxes from those European savages, and maybe even a “breathing tax”… In December, heavy snow fell in Shuzhou. Zhang Fangping felt hot as he stood with his hands behind his back in the heated room of the “Shuzhou Incubation Center,” his eyes fixed intently on the shenanigans of Ma Jinsi and his gang of thugs. It was freezing outside, but inside it was sweltering. Ma Jinsi and his gang of tattooed thugs were following the procedures to the letter, working much harder than usual and treading as if on thin ice. These guys were terrified—as local thugs, they’d never imagined they’d be watched so closely by someone as formidable as Zhang Fangping, especially from such a short distance. Zhang Fangping’s eight bodyguards narrowed their eyes, their hands gripping the hilts of their knives, staring at these tattooed thugs with the same expression bandits might use when eyeing a fat pig. The heater rumbled on and off, maintaining a suitable temperature inside the box. Zhang Fangping twirled his mustache as he watched, finding the process as complicated as cooking rice. Old Zhang’s analogy was spot on. Before the advent of fully automatic rice cookers, cooking rice was truly a skill—many people would ruin their rice because they couldn’t control the heat properly. Zhang Fangping watched with unflagging interest, wondering how exactly they could turn a large number of eggs into chicks without relying on a mother hen. Never mind how highly that young man had praised the chicks. In reality, the chicks didn’t need to be exceptional—as long as they could survive and were comparable to traditional chickens, that was enough. In Zhang Fangping’s eyes, this was a wildly lucrative business. It generated wealth directly, and right now, as the steward of the Great Song Dynasty, Zhang Fangping needed money—money, money, money, money, money. There were simply too many people hounding him for money at the moment. A moment later As soon as the door to the heated room swung open, Wang Bang—a little brat shivering so hard his feet were tapping—ran inside. He wasn’t here because he liked to lead from the front, but because it was too cold elsewhere. Coincidentally, the Great Demon King’s punishment had ended that morning, so he hurried over here to enjoy the warmth. Upon entering and seeing a sleazy-looking middle-aged man peeking at their process, Wang Bang snapped, “What kind of old man dares to spy on this young master’s secret recipe?” “This old man is Zhang Fangping,” he said, turning around and twirling his mustache. Wang Bang felt awkward; he didn’t want to come across as the type to immediately suck up to a big shot just because he’d heard the man was a big deal. So he let his eyes dart around, figuring an important figure would appreciate a show of backbone—the kind of confrontation that leads to friendship. Wang Bang said, “I’ve never heard of anyone named Zhang Fangping. What old man dares to spy on my family’s secret formula? Come on, grab these good-for-nothings and hang them outside for this young master to see.” If Ma Jinsi or anyone else had said something like that, they would’ve been beheaded on the spot. But since this kid was a child prodigy recognized by the emperor—and the son of Wang Anshi, head of the Granary Bureau—Old Zhang’s guards couldn’t help but chuckle to themselves. This little brat sure was a real troublemaker. Unexpectedly, Zhang Fangping had a terrible temper. He reached out, grabbed Wang Bang by the ear, and dragged him over, snapping, “Kid, did a donkey kick you in the head again? Not long ago, you had your father pass a message to this old man, and now you’re pretending not to recognize me?” Wang Bang couldn’t help but feel deeply embarrassed—he’d made a mistake. This slip-up wasn’t a matter of miscalculation; rather, his mind was genuinely a bit foggy. After being kept hanging by the “Great Demon King” all day without sleep, he was both cold and exhausted, so his brain just hadn’t caught up yet. “Oh, I remember now—it’s Uncle Zhang. As they say, if you’ve never met Zhang Fangping in your life, serving as an official is all for naught. Your Excellency’s aura of dominance is truly unmatched.” Wang Bang chuckled. “Heh heh, I know you’re just making stuff up, but you’re pretty quick on your feet.” Zhang Fangping’s expression finally softened slightly; he stopped tugging on Wang Bang’s ear, twirled his mustache, and continued watching as he said, “I wasn’t trying to pry—I was just curious. How did you conjure that chicken?” No amount of talking would do any good, and there was no way to shoo this guy away, so he had no choice but to wait and see. While waiting, Da Bang slyly turned his head to size up Old Zhang. The man was very thin, with a refined and scholarly appearance, yet he was a legendary hardliner—and a rather stubborn one at that. However, the historical Zhang Fangping’s stubbornness differed from that of Wang Anshi. He was a pragmatic man with a touch of wit. Wang Anshi wasn’t as ruthless or as clever as Zhang, but he was a man of conviction—a stubborn statesman who kept fighting despite repeated defeats. The phrase “returning to court for the second time” refers to Zhang Fangping. This man passed the imperial examinations twice, but, dissatisfied with his performance, wanted to take them a third time. The emperor said, “Are you out of your mind? Stop taking exams and get to work.” So he appointed Old Zhang to the Academy of Literary Excellence (Jixian Yuan) while also making him head of the Censorate (Jian Yuan). At that time, the administrative reforms had not yet taken place. The Jixian Academy was responsible for managing classics, history, rituals, and religion—similar to the later Ministry of Rites. Although the Censorate was on par with the Censorate of the Imperial Court in prestige, the nature of their work differed somewhat. Censors generally addressed the emperor, and their words constituted “impeachment”; since impeachment implies a degree of culpability, the Song Dynasty’s Censorate of the Imperial Court functioned more like a “Ministry of Justice” targeting officials. Indeed, under the Song dynasty’s system, officials were rarely punished. The Ministry of Justice did not handle cases involving officials; rather, it was the combined functions of the Ministry of Personnel and the Censorate that constituted the body responsible for determining the fate of officials. As for the so-called “Tai-Jian” (Censorate and Advisory Council), the Advisory Council ranked one level lower than the Censorate; it was an independent department under the Chancellery and the Privy Council. “Advising” and “impeachment” are, of course, distinct. While censors addressed the emperor directly, the Advisory Council primarily offered recommendations to the chancellor and bore the responsibility of holding other officials accountable—making it somewhat akin to a “National People’s Congress with limited authority.” As a result, given Zhang Fangping’s outspoken personality, he was clearly unsuited for such a position. Later, the emperor also realized that Zhang was not cut out for scholarly pursuits, and so he was finally assigned to a substantive administrative post. “Do I have a flower on my face?” Zhang Fangping asked when he noticed the youngster staring at him. The little brat replied, “I’m just a kid—I’m curious about everything.” Zhang Fangping accepted this logic and didn’t take the boy’s remark as disrespectful.