Chapter Nine

After finishing his annual leave, the Han military government was immediately confronted with two major affairs. Given the gravity and seriousness of these matters, Prime Minister Li Guangdi of the Han Kingdom strongly demanded the return of Lin Feng, who was inspecting the troops in the field, and Lin Feng had no choice but to hurry back to Beijing.

For local officials in this era, their competence was usually assessed from two aspects: governance and scholarship. Governance generally referred to "money, grain, punishment, and law," meaning the local revenue and judicial security situation. Scholarship, on the other hand, related to the moral education and influence over the hearts and minds of the people they governed. This latter aspect was more abstract; after all, one can never truly know what another person is thinking. Therefore, performance evaluations were often based on the encouragement of learning—that is, the condition and number of scholarly students in the region.

Now, these two significant issues were placed on the government’s agenda by Li Guangdi’s administration. In fact, as soon as various local government offices posted notices regarding the new policies, they were immediately met with criticism from local landlords. Under the landlords’ instigation and provocation, numerous peasants in various regions began a “nonviolent non-cooperation movement,” which manifested as blatant disregard for government decrees or outright defiance. In other words, it was a matter of “you say your piece, I’ll do as I please.” When officials came to enforce orders, the peasants would claim illiteracy, saying they could not understand the proclamations.

From a traditional perspective, the Han government’s administrative actions this time did verge on exceeding their authority. Generally, the government’s involvement in agriculture was limited to projects like irrigation construction or the major renovation of the Dragon King temples. As for how the peasants actually farmed, that was considered beyond official jurisdiction. Naturally, the peasants felt bewildered when suddenly officials began to dictate terms about their fields. As an oppressed class, their instincts told them something was amiss, though they could not precisely grasp the nature of the new troubles the government sought to impose.

The landlords’ opposition was even more justified. In northern China, the staple crops were traditionally millet and wheat. Although last year’s observations saw sweet potatoes and potatoes becoming less unfamiliar, these were still relatively new crops, and their cultivation rules were not yet well understood. Thus, planting them was seen as a kind of “venture capital” investment, fraught with risks that could lead to significant losses. More critically, from last year’s grain market trends, although sweet potatoes and potatoes yielded abundant harvests, they were classified as coarse grains, and most people were unaccustomed to eating them. Consequently, their prices remained low and sales were sluggish. In contrast, wheat and other fine grains were considered true “cash crops.” From the landlords’ self-interest perspective, they strongly opposed promoting the planting of these new crops.

After understanding the true situation, Lin Feng grew somewhat frustrated. Last year’s experience had proven that grain was the ultimate deterrent—a veritable atomic and hydrogen bomb of the era. Without grain, nothing could be done. Yet agricultural production matters could not be solved through brutal force. Up to this point, Lin Feng had never intervened forcefully to dictate what others should grow. What made the situation more difficult was that even if he wished to use force, it was hardly feasible. The opposing peasants numbered in the hundreds of millions. It was impossible to station troops in every field to monitor them.

Spring plowing could not be delayed; the harvest of the year depended on these few days. No one, including Lin Feng, had the courage to put this matter on hold. After intense debate, the Han government was compelled to compromise with the landlords and peasants. The order to plant was changed to “voluntary planting,” and a proclamation was issued across the realm stating that this year’s government grain requisition would primarily focus on coarse grains such as sweet potatoes and potatoes, and the quantities would be increased accordingly. The government left it to the people to decide, making clear that it was not responsible if the quotas were not met.

Lin Feng had originally expected this news to ignite a storm among the scholarly community. After all, these scholars had labored for decades, and suddenly their efforts were rendered worthless. Lin Feng himself thought that if, after years of hard work to enter Tsinghua University, the state suddenly declared the college entrance examination invalid and downgraded all university diplomas to the level of junior high school certificates, he would be furious beyond measure. For this reason, he had long prepared numerous arguments and secretly mobilized large numbers of military police and secret agents from the Censorate and Military Intelligence Bureau, ready at any moment to suppress any unrest.

This series of activities left Lin Feng exhausted. So-called “sacrificial rites to the sages,” “respect for the worthy,” and “school openings” were all superficial formalities but physically taxing. Apart from endlessly running around in circles, the long-winded and foul sacrificial texts made Han King’s Majesty kneel for hours, and he was absolutely forbidden from showing any sign of complaint. He had to appear genuinely enthusiastic and sincere; otherwise, it would be seen as disrespectful and insincere. Any slip-up would ruin all prior efforts to win the hearts of the people.

While the Han military government busied itself with promoting scholarship, Nurkan took decisive military action. After General Ma Ying cleared local bandits and rebels, he seized the opportunity of the frozen Yalu River to launch a massive raid into Korea, plundering gold, silver, cloth, grain, and people from multiple border districts. The Korean forces stationed along the frontier were weak to the extreme. The border troops at Uiju, Sinuiju, and Changseong lines were routed after a single battle; tens of thousands fled in disarray. The Han cavalry roamed freely, and several hundred horsemen of the vanguard nearly reached Pyongyang. Initially, Ma Ying took the threat seriously and arranged his troops to prepare for a Korean counterattack. However, after waiting more than half a month, not a single enemy soldier appeared—only an envoy from King Lee Soon of Korea arrived.

This was a profoundly awkward situation. When the Korean envoy inquired about the reason for the invasion, Ma Ying was at a loss for words. Though he had a background as an outlaw—robbery and looting were commonplace for him—in his capacity as a general, he understood that warfare between states was quite different from banditry. Moreover, China had always prided itself as the “Land of Etiquette and Propriety,” so even if they were going to plunder, they needed at least a plausible justification.

Faced with the envoy’s pressing questions, Ma Ying pondered long and hard before deciding to shift responsibility to his lord. After all, this was a matter of national diplomacy, and he was merely a general. Such “foreign relations” were best handled by higher authorities. Furthermore, Lin Feng’s instructions had been vague, and much time had passed; it was hard to gauge his current thoughts. Since careless words could bring disaster, prudence was necessary. Accordingly, Ma Ying promptly ordered the troops to withdraw to the Yalu River side and told the Korean envoy to take his grievances to Beijing.

Puzzled and bewildered, the Korean envoy An Jixing set out for Beijing.