The new silver coins were officially issued. The process had a few minor hiccups, but went smoothly overall.
The Ministry of War, working together with the Shuntian Prefecture Office, temporarily requisitioned the large and small money exchanges throughout the capital, and selected capable junior officials to weigh loose silver and assess its quality, exchanging it for the common people at an equivalent value in the new silver coins.
The meltage fees and wear produced during the minting process were borne entirely by the imperial court.
Using Pei Shaohuai’s method to mint the coins — with strict batch controls — the meltage loss produced was not much at all, far below ten percent.
Because the groundwork had been well laid beforehand, and the people bore no meltage fees themselves — making it a gain for them — the capital’s residents were enthusiastic. The exchange windows at money changers everywhere were packed with people jostling to be first to trade for the new coins.
The Ministry of War hastily borrowed yamen runners from the prefecture office to maintain order, and only then did things flow more smoothly.
When the people received the new silver coins, they found that the engraved designs on them were even more exquisite than the sample illustrations that had been posted. Some people tried to hoard the coins to speculate for profit, but as the court increased the volume of issuance, these crooked schemes fell apart on their own.
The Court of Imperial Stud escorted the newly minted silver coins southward, and the Southern Metropolitan Region’s Yingtian Prefecture simultaneously issued new silver coins as well. The Jiangnan region had always been prosperous, and the quantity of currency it required was more than three times that of Shuntian Prefecture. A wave arose of every household exchanging for silver coins.
A little over a month later, the new silver coins had begun circulating within the capital city.
On this particular day, Pei Shaohuai went out to attend to some business. At noon, he stopped at He Xiang Lou and ordered a few small dishes, drinking two cups of tea.
When settling the bill: “Sir, that comes to two hundred and seventy-eight wen in total.” Chang Zhou took out one two-qian coin and one one-qian coin from the purse and laid them on the counter.
The old proprietor cheerfully pinched the coins between his fingers with a casual, practiced motion, then immediately accepted them and gave Chang Zhou more than twenty copper cash in change.
Pei Shaohuai noticed the proprietor’s gesture of verifying the coins, and so he leaned against the counter and asked: “Does the proprietor not need to check the silver coins for authenticity, their purity and quality?”
The proprietor saw that although Pei Shaohuai was dressed in ordinary robes, his feet wore a pair of official boots. He smiled and replied: “In answer to the official’s question, the silver coins of this kind can only be made by the imperial court at present.” One could tell by feeling the relief of the design, he added: “The official need only look at this to understand.”
The proprietor took out a five-qian Taishan coin from the counter, then retrieved a counterfeit coin cast by sand-mold, placing them side by side. The contrast was obvious — distinguishable at a glance, without even needing to touch them.
Pei Shaohuai had originally wanted to ask “are these silver coins from the court convenient to use?”, but asking that so directly would put the man in an awkward position and the answer he received might not be genuine. So he changed his approach and asked: “Does He Xiang Lou still accept loose silver and silver ingots?”
“He Xiang Lou is in the business of serving customers, so naturally we still accept silver ingots. It’s just that customers like to use silver coins, and we who collect the money find it more convenient — so we prefer receiving silver coins as well.” The proprietor replied. He pointed to the scales and weights behind him, then smiled again: “Official, look — those scales haven’t been used in half a month, and they’ve already started collecting dust.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
There were only a few scattered customers at He Xiang Lou just then, and the proprietor was not busy, so he answered carefully: “One qian in silver coin equals one hundred wen. There’s no need to go to the trouble of assessing the quality of silver ingots, nor to cut and weigh loose silver — who wouldn’t prefer such convenient coins?” Being able to price things directly by denomination, who would want to keep weighing things back and forth?
In the old busy days, three people at the counter couldn’t keep up with collecting silver, and it was easy to get into arguments with customers over the quality and weight of the silver.
The proprietor wiped the Taishan coin with a scrap of cloth — the coin gleamed as bright as a mirror. He said: “Ordinary silver stored in a cabinet tends to tarnish and turn black over time, but these silver coins only need a casual wipe now and then.”
The proprietor of He Xiang Lou had a quick tongue, and went on without pause, rattling off seven or eight benefits in one breath — some of which were advantages that even Pei Shaohuai had not thought of.
A customer came to settle their bill, and Pei Shaohuai took his leave with Chang Zhou.
Walking along the street, Pei Shaohuai noticed there were many small stalls selling purses on either side of the road, in a great variety of styles. Curious, he picked one up from a stall, and discovered it held something clever within — the interior was divided into many small compartments sized precisely for the silver coins, so the coins could be held securely in place and would not slip out easily.
He also saw many women on the street who had drilled holes through their one-qian silver coins and were wearing them as earrings, the silver gleaming brightly.
Novelty for its own sake — that was understandable enough.
Pei Shaohuai felt pleased. At this pace, it would take no more than two or three years for the new silver coins to circulate freely throughout all of Da Qing. Even faster than he had originally imagined.
Pei Shaohuai had already joined the Six Offices of Scrutiny, but he still needed to appear at the Hanlin Academy from time to time to check in, and every month or so it would be his turn to attend court on duty as a recording scribe.
This was part of a compiler’s responsibilities.
On this particular day of duty, the Emperor was in the Imperial Study discussing important matters with his officials. There was much debate and many voices. Meanwhile, Pei Shaohuai was in the side chamber writing furiously, so busy that a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead.
After the officials had withdrawn, Pei Shaohuai seized the moment while the impressions were still fresh in his mind to quickly organize the scattered draft notes, so as not to omit any important content.
He had only written a few sentences when he heard the Emperor in the Imperial Study ask Eunuch Xiao: “Is Beloved Official Little Pei the one on duty as recording scribe today?”
Eunuch Xiao replied: “Your Majesty, it is Compiler Pei.”
“Summon him quickly.” Excitement was evident in the Emperor’s voice. Just as Eunuch Xiao was about to set off, the Emperor said again: “Never mind, never mind — he can hear me, no need to make another trip.”
So the Emperor called out directly: “Beloved Official Pei, come here quickly. We have something to discuss with you.”
Pei Shaohuai looked helplessly at his scattered draft notes, but had no choice other than to set down his brush, rise and adjust his official robes, then stride into the Imperial Study to pay his respects.
“What was Beloved Official Pei busy with?”
“Your servant was recording Your Majesty’s words from the discussion just now.”
The Emperor said dismissively: “The matters discussed just now are nothing important — you can go back and write them up however you like.”
These words gave Pei Shaohuai a momentary pause. What did he mean, “write them up however you like”? These were to be compiled into a volume and entered into the archives.
After the matter of the coin minting, the relationship between sovereign and official had grown considerably closer. The Emperor no longer regarded Pei Shaohuai merely as a bold young official who dared to speak frankly and remonstrate — he now understood that Pei Shaohuai possessed genuine talent and ability.
Then the Emperor continued: “The first time Beloved Official Pei was on duty as recording scribe, he told Us that Da Qing should open its seas to trade in order to replenish the national treasury, and that royal estates and official estates should be returned to the Emperor and officials as salaries so the land could be restored to the people. After careful consideration, We believe there is indeed merit in this approach.” He paused, then continued: “But what of those estates and farmlands that were not granted by the court — how should those be handled?”
Beyond the royal estates and official estates, there were many privately owned manors as well — some opened through land-clearing with hired labor, some bought and sold privately, some land transferred under another person’s name by the common people, some seized by local strongmen… When truly tallied, such manors were no fewer in number than the royal estates and official estates.
It was clear that what Pei Shaohuai had said last time had not merely been heard and forgotten by the Emperor — he had given it genuine thought afterward.
Only through deep reflection could one discover deeper problems.
Pei Shaohuai understood that the Emperor was a person skilled at managing factions, weighing pros and cons, and consolidating his own position. Yet in matters of land policy, one had to acknowledge that while the Emperor was stabilizing the court’s authority, he was also considering the welfare of the people. He did not indulge in frivolous pleasures, did not treat court affairs as a game — he was not a foolish sovereign.
Pei Shaohuai said: “Your Majesty, how is it that wealthy households and powerful strongmen are able to hoard land everywhere, with tens of thousands of acres falling under a single person’s name? Your servant believes it is because the more land one owns, the more profit one gains, and the court has posed no obstacle to this — which is precisely why it has come to be.”
No obstacle — the court had no restrictive policies in place, and had essentially allowed wealthy households to “freely buy and sell” land as they pleased.
Over time, more land meant more profit, with all gain and no loss. How could one not be tempted by crooked schemes?
Pei Shaohuai continued: “Though a wealthy household may hold a thousand acres, they are counted as only one household, and need only fulfill the obligations of one household. Poor commoners numbering a thousand households, with less than an acre of land among them, must still fulfill the obligations of a thousand households. Is it not the case, then, that the wealthy bear no responsibility, while the poor have no means of survival?”
He added: “Your servant has also heard that to escape the suffering of imposed service duties, the common people would rather flee and become unregistered wanderers, fending for themselves — how then can one speak of them living in peace and contentment?… Without the nation, the people cannot survive; without the people, there is no nation.”
“These are your servant’s observations.” Pei Shaohuai concluded.
The Emperor, who had been sitting upright, unconsciously leaned slightly forward to listen, his expression attentive. The hall fell into a long silence.
After a good while: “Is Beloved Official Pei suggesting that We use the burden of service obligations as a constraint, to limit wealthy households and noble families from acquiring farmland?” the Emperor asked. Without waiting for Pei Shaohuai to respond, he murmured to himself: “While acquiring farmland may be profitable, if it comes with a great cost, they will naturally think twice before purchasing, and the number of manors they buy will naturally decrease… Beloved Official Pei speaks well!”
The Emperor had grasped the crucial point.
In truth, this approach could be explored in much greater depth, with many complementary policies. But Pei Shaohuai was in no hurry to lay it all out at once. Any new policy must break through layer upon layer of obstacles before it can be enacted. If the time was not yet ripe, rashly speaking everything aloud would only expose his intentions and draw greater resistance prematurely.
He planned to first guide the Emperor toward the idea of implementing new policies, and then proceed step by step. After all, the Emperor was still in the prime of his years.
Setting aside the protection of his teachers and elders, with his current strength alone, Pei Shaohuai was indeed still somewhat weak. He needed to rely on his teachers, his elders, and the Emperor to bring what he envisioned into reality.
“Your servant suddenly thought of ‘every gain must entail a loss, and only then can balance be achieved,’ which is what prompted those words just now.” Pei Shaohuai explained.
Sovereign and official conversed for more than half a shichen before the Emperor let Pei Shaohuai go, sending him back to the side hall to organize his notes.
Pei Shaohuai thought to himself: from now on, whenever he was on duty as recording scribe, he was afraid being summoned would be unavoidable.
Those on duty remained in the outer court of the palace for three consecutive days. At night, if the Emperor had no urgent military matters to discuss with the grand ministers, those on duty had time to themselves.
As it happened, Grand Secretary Lou was also residing on duty within the palace that night. Lou Yuxing dispatched a minor official to summon Pei Shaohuai to Wuying Hall.
Pei Shaohuai thought to himself: although Grand Secretary Lou would not make any overt moves within the palace, this was most likely not a visit with good intentions — he clearly had some purpose in mind.
Not going would also be improper. If the Chief Grand Secretary had expressly “guided” a junior official and he refused to appear, it would be spun as him being arrogant — too proud even for the Chief Grand Secretary to move.
The night was already deep. In Wuying Hall, Grand Secretary Lou’s head was entirely white-haired, yet he was in vigorous spirits — not at all like a man past sixty. He was still wearing his crimson official robes, and on his desk were stacked piles of documents and memorials. Regardless of whether the Emperor would personally annotate them, all of them would first pass through the Grand Secretariat, coming to the Chief Grand Secretary first.
Pei Shaohuai bowed: “Your subordinate pays his respects to Grand Secretary Lou. Might I ask what matter Grand Secretary Lou has summoned your subordinate for?” His manner was neither servile nor haughty.
Grand Secretary Lou set down his brush and looked up at Pei Shaohuai, speaking directly: “You are impressive — full of ideas, and talented as well. You rendered great merit in the matter of the coin minting.”
His tone was condescending.
Perhaps he had grown so accustomed to people coming to seek his patronage that even when he was the one doing the recruiting, his manner remained the same.
Or perhaps he felt he needed to project the dignity of a Chief Grand Secretary, so that his words would carry more persuasive weight.
In his view, no matter how much potential the young man before him possessed, he was still merely a junior official of the sixth or seventh rank. It was as though the Grand Secretary’s personally opening his mouth to recruit him was already more than sufficient honor.
Grand Secretary Lou continued: “But having ideas and talent is not enough to succeed as an official. No matter how good an idea is, if no one supports it, no one helps to implement it, it will always remain merely an idea.”
He added: “Many in court speak ill of the Western He faction, uttering slanderous words. Yet despite their relentless criticism and fault-finding, the Western He faction has remained standing in court — do you know why?”
“Because from the moment the current Emperor ascended the throne, the scholars of the Western He faction were standing on His Majesty’s side.” Grand Secretary Lou said.
Pei Shaohuai understood the implication behind Lou Yuxing’s words: the Emperor had ascended the throne with the support of the Western He faction, and no matter what, the Emperor needed to rely on them.
Before entering officialdom, Pei Shaohuai had already learned about the reigning Emperor’s history from his elders.
The reigning Emperor’s name was Yan Ze. The character in his name carried the meaning of the mulberry tree — resilient and enduring. Although he was the eldest legitimate son, he had not been favored by the late Emperor. This had nothing to do with Yan Ze’s appearance, ability, or competence — it was simply because the late Emperor doted on and favored the Third Prince, Yan Song, and wished to pass the throne to him.
Yan Song had long since passed the age for being enfeoffed in a separate territory, yet the late Emperor had delayed the matter indefinitely and kept him in the capital.
Time and again the late Emperor had deliberated with the Grand Secretariat, wishing to depose Yan Ze from the position of Crown Prince and instead install the Third Prince, Yan Song, as Crown Prince — declaring that he wished to enthrone the most capable as ruler.
At that time, two members of the Western He faction had seats in the Grand Secretariat, one of whom was Lou Yuxing.
Four of the Grand Secretaries in the Secretariat insisted on adhering to ancestral precedent — establishing the eldest legitimate son, following the principle of primogeniture — and refused to allow the order of succession to be disrupted. They argued that otherwise it would incite conflict between uncles and nephews, discord among brothers, and cause endless trouble for generations to come.
The Grand Secretariat refused to yield an inch.
Only the Eastern Pavilion Grand Secretary stood on the late Emperor’s side.
For several years in succession, the court quarreled every day and every month over the matter of the Crown Prince, neglecting both governance and the people’s welfare.
In the end, the late Emperor had no choice but to pass the throne to his eldest son, Yan Ze, and enfeoff the Third Prince, Yan Song, in a separate territory.
The late Emperor had wished to bestow the fertile lands around Lake Tai as Yan Song’s fief, with the title of Prince of Su. But the Lake Tai region — Suzhou and Hangzhou — was the economic heartland of the realm, its granary, and the center of the Southern Metropolitan Region. How could such a place be given as a fief to a prince of a separate territory? The court erupted in yet another endless quarrel.
Lou Yuxing led the Western He faction in a steadfast remonstrance unto death, holding firm over the Lake Tai and Suzhou-Hangzhou region. The late Emperor ultimately enfeoffed Yan Song as the Prince of Chu, granting him the area around Yichang Prefecture as his fief, and only then was the matter put to rest.
One could say this: for Emperor Yan Ze to have ascended and succeeded to the throne, the contribution of the Western He faction — and of Lou Yuxing in particular — was indispensable.
Had Yan Song truly been enfeoffed in the Lake Tai and Suzhou-Hangzhou region, with two centers of power — one south, one north — Yan Ze’s position as Emperor would likely have been impossible to maintain with any security.
And so, from the time Yan Ze ascended the throne to the present day, he had consistently shown Lou Yuxing and the Western He faction sufficient tolerance, respect, and trust in important appointments.
Lou Yuxing had come to regard this as his personal bargaining chip.