Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 36: How Much Did You Spend?

Master Yu’s anger was plain to see, but this time she didn’t say a word. Not even Wei Xuezheng took any schadenfreude from the situation; instead, he spoke up in her defense: “That disaster was brought upon them by those bald-headed monks who seized civilian property and oppressed men and women. It was the Emperor and the Cabinet who ordered the arrest and seizure of the Shaolin Temple—the troops were only mobilized because those bald-headed bandits had made the arrests!” The Shaolin Temple may not be renowned for its magical arts, but whether in the teaching of sorcery or martial arts, every “renowned orthodox school” within the empire can trace its roots back to it in some way. The Shaolin Temple’s status in the martial arts world is second to none; even the Beggars’ Sect, with its reputed 100,000 disciples, humbly acknowledges its inferiority. At the height of its power, the Shaolin Temple boasted 5,000 monk-soldiers and vast tracts of interconnected farmland—all tax-exempt. The monks had virtually monopolized the farmland and shops throughout Dengfeng County, and even the majority of the local population had become the temple’s tenant farmers. As a result, incidents of kidnapping pilgrims and extorting merchants were constantly coming to light. Eight years ago, the newly appointed “hothead” Magistrate Bai of Dengfeng County was kidnapped by several Shaolin disciples at the county office and beaten to a pulp for insisting on collecting taxes on “monastic property.” The Provincial Governor of Henan was furious and demanded severe punishment for the Shaolin Temple. To spare the governor any embarrassment, the Shaolin Temple handed over five scapegoats, 5,000 taels of gold, and 100,000 yuan in cash, intending to settle the matter. But in the end, it turned out that the real force behind the conflict wasn’t just Henan Province—it was the imperial government itself. The Emperor issued an edict, endorsed by the Cabinet, and General Yang Yi, the Grand Guardian of the State, personally led his troops in a direct assault on the Shaolin Temple. It is said that a martial arts convention was taking place at the time. On Mount Shaoshi, in addition to the Shaolin Temple’s own tens of thousands of monks, lay disciples, family members (yes, Shaolin monks have family members), and tenant farmers, there were also over a thousand disciples from dozens of “renowned orthodox schools” of the Central Plains martial arts community. And so, in full view of several thousand representatives from the martial arts community (many of whom were disciples of schools specializing in magical arts), the Sixth Field Army used cannons to blast open the gates of the Shaolin Temple. The Shaolin Temple itself did not dare to put up any real resistance against the imperial army; after taking a few cannon shots, they prepared to meekly accept their punishment, but the empire was not about to let them off that easily. The Provincial Governor of Henan personally presided over the proceedings, and within half a month, the Ministry of Justice handed down fifteen sentences of slow slicing, fifty-five public executions, one hundred and one hangings, and ninety-two beheadings. As for the rest—anyone registered as a disciple of the Shaolin Temple, whether monk or layperson—they were all exiled, and all monastic property was confiscated. Today, the Shaolin Temple—once the leading institution of the Empire’s orthodox faith—is home to little more than a dozen elderly monks who grow vegetables and raise pigs. In the wake of this incident, the imperial government imposed strict prohibitions on all major religions; neither Buddhist nor Taoist properties were to enjoy tax reductions or exemptions. The Shaolin Temple Seizure Case was the largest scandal since the founding of the Republic. However, it held that distinction for only three and a half years. In the twenty-sixth year of the Republic, the Cabinet ordered the dissolution of the Beggars’ Sect and simultaneously imposed a strict ban on begging. Any Han Chinese found begging was demoted to commoner status and exiled to the frontier. Non-Han beggars were enslaved. This crackdown was even more brutal: more than 500 members of the Beggars’ Sect were subjected to slow slicing, beheading at the public square, hanging, or decapitation. Nearly a thousand more were beaten to death on the spot by soldiers after being incited to resist, and over a hundred Beggars’ Guild leaders and elders were placed on the wanted list. Over the past few years, more than 120,000 beggars have been exiled, and even today, newly captured beggars are frequently sent to Lingxi. The Shaolin Case, the Beggars’ Sect Case, and the Duan Clan Case—in which the Duan family’s estate was confiscated after the deposed Prince of Dali failed in his attempt to assassinate a high-ranking imperial official with his followers—are collectively known as the three major cases through which Emperor Gonghe and his cabinet purged the orthodox martial arts community. In Master Yu’s eyes, Ou Yang’s mention of this matter was already a blatant threat. Even Wei Xuezheng, who stood by his side, felt that bringing it up was going a bit too far. After all, on the surface, the Shaolin Case had been ruled a charge of treason. Master Yu dared not respond, but slapping such a heavy accusation on them actually failed to intimidate anyone—to suggest that disciplining a lowly squad leader could be linked to treason? Give me a break. Ou Yang sighed deeply; everyone in the room was staring at him as if he were an idiot. Did they really not understand the reason behind the Empire’s string of major cases? He didn’t dare keep up the act of being profound any longer; if she misunderstood his intentions, she might actually strike him hard. This Master Yu looked to be in his thirties, not yet forty, with rosy lips and fair skin, in the prime of his beauty—in his previous life, online, he would have been a textbook example of an ageless beauty. But after all, she was a Grand Sorceress; in her eyes, his actual martial prowess probably didn’t even qualify as entry-level. Not to mention, she was the tutor (perhaps one of several) to General Zuo Helin’s own granddaughter—someone who could openly argue with an education commissioner right in the commander’s residence. Judging by Zuo Yunyi’s reaction, he didn’t seem at all surprised; in fact, he was listening with great interest. Who knew what their relationship really was? What if she was his lover? To humiliate his lover in front of his boss’s boss’s boss—could there be anything more foolish than that? If he kept up this act, he’d end up looking like a complete fool. “Minister Wei, what do you think is the real cause of the Shaolin case?” Ou Yang didn’t dare provoke the female Taoist priestess, who was in a rage, so he had no choice but to ask the education commissioner, whose stance aligned with his own. Of course, it wasn’t a real rebellion—those debauched monks, steeped in the five poisons of alcohol, meat, wealth, and lust, would never have the guts to rebel. “Those thieving baldheads don’t engage in productive labor yet extort vast sums from the people. There are even rumors that a horse died running on monastic land, and that nine out of ten shops in Dengfeng County are run by monks—such actions are no different from rebellion!” This was the standard official off-the-record response. It was also the answer most people today considered correct. “Young man, are you implying that we’re also plundering the people’s wealth!?” Master Yu sneered, baring a row of silver teeth, looking as if he were ready to tear Ou Yang apart if he didn’t receive a satisfactory explanation. Ou Yang, however, completely ignored her and continued to ask Wei Xuezheng, “Do you know, Minister Wei, how much the state allocates to the Magical Arts Society each year?” Wei Xuezheng looked at Ou Yang with puzzlement. The Magical Arts Society was recognized by the Cabinet and considered a semi-official organization; its funding was approved by the Ministry of Revenue. From this perspective, magical arts sects were indeed different from martial arts sects. He wasn’t sure what the point of this question was, but he still provided a partial answer: “I’m not sure about the total for the entire country. However, for the provinces and circuits under the jurisdiction of Xijing, it’s around one million annually.” The Huaxia Empire now had three capitals—the current Imperial Capital, Xijing, the late Emperor’s Capital, and Jinling in the south. For administrative convenience, both Xijing and Jinling each administered several provinces and circuits, though ultimately all were coordinated by the Imperial Cabinet in the Imperial Capital. Most of the fiscal approval authority for the northwestern provinces and circuits falls under the jurisdiction of Xijing. As one of the top three civil officials in Lingxi Circuit, Wei Xuezheng knew that such figures were not unusual; in fact, the Imperial Gazette publishes these statistics annually, and it is not difficult for those interested to compile them. Take Ou Yang, for example—he was particularly fond of collecting such information: “Last year, the figures published by the Capital were 3,975,000; Jinling’s were 2,055,000; and Xijing’s were 930,000. That’s a total of 6,960,000!” Only then did he turn back to ask the female Taoist priestess, “How many masters and apprentices were there in the Magical Arts Society last year?” These figures were also published in the Magical Arts Society’s journal. No one in the room was stupid; by this point, they had a pretty good idea of what Ou Yang was getting at. Everyone was now looking at Master Yu, but the Grand Sorcerer had fallen silent, unable to utter a word. So Ou Yang provided the answer himself: “Not counting the unregistered recluses, there were thirty-nine masters and three hundred thirty apprentices. On average, each person spent nearly 20,000 yuan—the price of two 30-gun cruisers.” The Imperial Navy had no direct rivals, so cruisers were more popular than battleships. The latest-model cruisers had a displacement of nearly 3,000 metric tons, featured three gun decks, and were armed with thirty-six guns firing shells ranging from ten jin (equivalent to twelve-pounder) to thirty jin (equivalent to thirty-six-pounder). Each ship cost roughly 11,000 yuan to build. Ou Yang shouted, “Isn’t this nothing but the people’s hard-earned money!?”