Chapter 15: Jian at the Heart of the Empire
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A son-in-law by marriage?
Zhang Chulan, considering Su Ze's character, feared he would rather die than accept such a humiliating status.
In the Song Dynasty, a son-in-law by marriage held a very low position. Recently, due to tense conflicts in the northwest, the court established the “bandit conscription army,” and officials began arresting sons-in-law by marriage from the city to send them to the northwest front lines.
Besides these sons-in-law, local ruffians, hooligans, and prisoners were also conscripted into this bandit army.
This clearly illustrated that sons-in-law by marriage were regarded on the same level as criminals and scoundrels.
Zhang Chulan was anxious but had no better solution; she could only follow her father back home.
Zhang Daocheng, unwilling for his daughter to be further entangled in this matter, confined her at home despite her tears and protests. Yet, worried about Su Ze, the son of an old acquaintance, he sent servants to the Wang Anshi household to investigate.
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Imperial Palace, Chui Gong Hall.
Chui Gong Hall was where the emperors of the Northern Song handled state affairs and met with ministers.
The father-son emperors, Emperor Zhenzong and Emperor Renzong of Song, regardless of their governing abilities, were both known for their diligence, ranking among the most hardworking emperors in history.
Zhao Zhen sat on the imperial throne, reading memorials on the desk before him. Upon hearing that the palace commander Li Yonghe sought an audience, he immediately summoned his maternal uncle inside.
Zhao Zhen felt a deep sense of indebtedness to his maternal family. After recognizing Li Yonghe’s abilities, he entrusted him with important duties.
As the palace commander, Li Yonghe oversaw the imperial guards, the last line of defense for palace security; only entrusting this to his own uncle allowed the emperor to sleep peacefully at night.
His role as director of the imperial surveillance bureau, responsible for monitoring officials, was also given only to the most trusted.
Holding these two critical positions demonstrated the profound trust Zhao Zhen placed in Li Yonghe.
“Maternal uncle, what brings you here in such haste?”
In the Song Dynasty, “maternal uncle” was the formal term for one’s mother’s brother.
Zhao Zhen longed for the closeness of kinship and privately addressed Li Yonghe as such.
Li Yonghe, however, did not treat the emperor as an ordinary nephew but spoke with reverence, presenting a petition from Su Ze and saying:
“Your Majesty, by imperial order, I have been pursuing the mastermind behind the heretical book incident. Many clues point to Su Ze, a scholar from Bianjing. When I arrested him, Wang Anshi of Linchuan, Su Ze’s patron, intervened. The suspect has written this petition, requesting that I deliver it to Your Majesty.”
Zhao Zhen had reigned as emperor for twenty years.
Excluding the twelve years of Empress Dowager Liu’s regency, he had personally ruled for eight.
Though his governance was marked by benevolence, that did not mean he was naïve in politics.
He put down the memorial, took the petition from the attendant, and recalled:
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“Linchuan’s Wang Anshi—is he not the son of Wang Yizhi, former vice prefect of Jiangling? Scholar Ouyang once recommended his writings to me.”
Li Yonghe quickly responded:
“Yes, that is the man. Scholars in Bianjing say Wang Anshi is narrow-minded but fiercely hates injustice. A man he befriends wouldn’t be capable of secretly authoring a heretical text. The case has many suspicious points; I dare not decide alone. Thus, I submit this petition for Your Majesty’s judgment.”
Zhao Zhen also sensed the many inconsistencies in the heretical book case. Decades-old royal scandals suddenly resurfacing clearly indicated a political conspiracy, one that a mere scholar could not have orchestrated.
Even if Su Ze was involved, powerful hands must be behind him.
Unfolding the petition and seeing the calligraphy of Zeng Gong, Zhao Zhen’s eyes brightened.
Thanks to the flourishing literary culture, Song emperors were well-educated; many were master calligraphers themselves.
Zhao Zhen’s own handwriting was excellent, and he praised:
“Fine calligraphy!”
Reading the dialogue between the Wise Elder and the Foolish Elder, Zhao Zhen was even more captivated.
A petition could be written this way?
As he read on, Zhao Zhen was engrossed.
As expected, this emperor’s nephew always admired talent. With Su Ze’s extraordinary literary skill, his life was spared.
Zhao Zhen read attentively, absorbing the meanings behind the words, nodding as he went.
When he reached the phrase “Though lowly in rank, one must not forget the nation’s worries,” Zhao Zhen slammed the table and exclaimed:
“Excellent! Such a noble phrase: ‘Though lowly in rank, one must not forget the nation’s worries’!”
He then stepped down from the throne and paced the hall:
“To worry before the world worries, to enjoy only after the world enjoys—never thought a mere scholar from Bianjing could possess such sentiment!”
“Bring the imperial brush! Prepare the ink!”
The attendant hastily fetched the brush, but Li Yonghe had already approached the desk to grind ink.
Zhao Zhen took the brush, dipped it in ink, and moved to the screen behind the throne.
Li Yonghe and the surrounding attendants were startled.
Behind the throne hung a screen where Zhao Zhen recorded verses or names of favored ministers.
To be inscribed there was to be “held dear in the emperor’s heart.”
Li Yonghe, though recognizing the excellence of Su Ze’s writing, did not grasp its full significance.
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Indeed, those phrases by Fan Zhongyan were memorized in the school curriculum.
This discourse on concern for the state profoundly shaped the spirit of later scholars, cementing Fan Zhongyan’s reputation as “Wenzheng.”
And the phrase “Though lowly in rank, one must not forget the nation’s worries” was a timeless line by the Southern Song poet Lu You, all woven seamlessly into Su Ze’s article.
After copying the lines onto the screen and signing “Su Ze of Kaifeng Prefecture,” Zhao Zhen returned to his throne, still deeply impressed, and said to Li Yonghe:
“Su Ze’s words are sound. The heretical book case is sinister in intent, beyond the capability of any ordinary scholar in the capital.”
Li Yonghe tried to divine the emperor’s intent and asked:
“Does Your Majesty mean to halt the investigation?”
Zhao Zhen replied:
“Investigate, of course! Heretical books cannot shake the foundation of the realm, but these hidden evildoers surely wait for opportunity. However, the inquiry must not be public. Order the officials to dismiss the case, lift the ban on the heretical book, release all involved, and have the imperial surveillance bureau conduct a covert investigation.”
“And what of Su Ze?”
Waving his sleeve, Zhao Zhen said:
“This matter is unrelated to Su Ze. One who can write such a piece could never commit such acts.”
Li Yonghe thought to himself: As expected, writing well does not guarantee good character. Many brilliant writers are flawed men.
But this emperor was like that—cherishing talent above all, lenient toward gifted ministers.
The most typical example among the court ministers was Fan Zhongyan.
After Zhao Zhen began his personal rule, the first major political upheaval was the deposition of Empress Guo.
In that crisis, Fan Zhongyan boldly admonished the prime minister Lv Yijian outside Chui Gong Hall, silencing him utterly.
Though Zhao Zhen initially resented Fan Zhongyan, he calmly exiled him to Muzhou, recalling him to court in less than a year.
To be recorded on the imperial screen was to be deeply favored. Su Ze had turned misfortune into blessing.
Li Yonghe noted the name; though he had no use for Su Ze himself as a military relative, his own eldest son Li Zhang, currently deputy director of the cabinet, could perhaps cultivate a friendship with Su Ze.
Having concluded discussing Su Ze, Zhao Zhen suddenly dismissed the attendants nearby and asked Li Yonghe:
“The Empress has again brought up the matter of the Thirteen Militias.”