Whether grain sold for three taels or thirty, whether a single winter claimed fifty thousand lives or a hundred thousand — for the capital, all of it still felt terribly far away.

After Li Pin’s departure, autumn rain returned to the capital in a soft, continuous drizzle. But this rain couldn’t dampen the bustling, festive atmosphere of the capital; amid one gathering and banquet after another, it almost created the illusion that no raindrop had ever truly touched the ground. Word had spread throughout the capital that Guo Yaoshi had personally captured Grand Preceptor Alu alive, and recovered the seal and imperial credentials bearing the honorific title of Liao’s Emperor Taizong, Yelu Deguang. The common folk of the capital buzzed with talk of triumphant returns and the presentation of captives, wondering whether they were now unrivaled under heaven, speculating on when the ultimatum demanding the Jin fully return the Sixteen Prefectures would be issued, and so on.

Amid this atmosphere, the Right Chancellor’s residence hosted several grand banquets in a row, one or two of which even drew such capital luminaries as Grand Preceptor Cai, Military Commissioner Tong, Wang Fu, Liang Shicheng, and Li Gang — a lively affair indeed.

Meanwhile, the numerous pleasure quarters throughout the capital were also doing brisk business. The Alum Tower was extraordinarily busy; Ning Yi had originally wanted to arrange a meeting with Li Shishi, but had kept putting it off — mostly because there was nothing especially urgent about it. He later heard that Miss Shishi was busy running about on behalf of a case of injustice in the capital’s pleasure quarters.

The story went that a courtesan famed as the reigning beauty of the capital’s brothels, named Tong Shu’er, had once shared mutual affection with an impoverished young scholar, often using her own private savings to support his food and lodging. But the poor scholar had recently taken up an official post and stopped paying her any mind. This might ordinarily have been a fairly ordinary tale of betrayal — but recently, while entertaining a client, Tong Shu’er had encountered a hot-tempered supernumerary official from the Ministry of Personnel, and, for reasons unclear, had ended up struck dead by his hand. When the brothel sought out that old flame of hers to intervene, they discovered he had already betrayed her; meanwhile, the supernumerary official responsible had called in connections and was now attempting to shirk responsibility. Between the two, the whole affair had blown up into an enormous controversy. Both officials had aroused public fury — a group of courtesans had stormed the government office demanding justice, and numerous scholars and literati had joined in the outcry as well, writing essays after essays condemning the two officials, and for a time, the affair became the talk of the capital.

In the capital, the very heart of the realm, this kind of controversy tended to crop up every so often. Tragedies born of romantic entanglements, especially those that touched on deeper questions of human nature, resonated most easily with onlookers. Amid this bustling, prosperous chaos, the quiet, tightly-coordinated actions Ning Yi and his people were conducting in secret felt, by comparison, more like clandestine work carried out in society’s shadows.

Qin Siyuan had already carefully negotiated with Cai Jing and the others, and in some sense, had secured their tacit approval — though this “approval,” in a certain sense, held no real meaning at all. This was simply how the heads or representatives of great families operated. At most, Qin Siyuan had merely given a heads-up to those who absolutely needed one: on the matter of grain prices, I intend to act — whatever offense may come of it, please don’t take it personally. Once such words were spoken, the outward appearance of cordial relations between both sides could be preserved, while the true contest of strength would play out among those below.

Almost at the same time Li Pin departed, Yao Zunian, the monk Juemin, and others also left the capital, beginning their own tours of persuasion across the realm. Qin Siyuan, meanwhile, had already written south well in advance, informing Kang Xian of the entire plan. And Ning Yi gathered together the Bamboo Bookkeeper’s eighteen traveling carts all at once, then dispatched them to every region.

By now, the date was drawing near to the fifteenth of the eighth month.

…

The thirteenth of the eighth month. Heng County, a hundred and fifty li from Bianliang.

“…The general situation, then, is just as I’ve described. Hedong and Huainan and these other regions are all facing grain shortages now — a severe shortage — which is exactly why the Right Chancellor’s residence has taken the lead on this matter. Frankly, if Squire Hou is willing to provide grain and send along a steward to accompany it, once the first batch reaches its destination and is resold, it’ll fetch at least ten times its original price. The hope is simply to push the price down there, to give some people a chance to survive.”

In the reception hall of a landowner surnamed Hou, the young man speaking still looked rather youthful, though his words and expression carried genuine sincerity. He pressed his palms together lightly as he watched the elderly squire across from him nod along while sipping tea.

“…Our master is a man of compassion, and he knows Squire Hou is a man of compassion too — the memorial arch at the village entrance, the bridges and roads built in this area, all bear your name, which is precisely why we came to you early. You surely know Squire Fang Ji from the capital? When he heard about the disaster areas, he said he wanted to donate grain directly, sell it cheaply on-site, even give it away for free — but our master said that wouldn’t work, that it wouldn’t bring the price down. I believe you understand the reasoning behind that, sir. So the most important thing is still getting people to conduct proper business. The government has laid out several routes as follows…”

The young man produced a map. “From here, we’re relatively close to Hedong Circuit. Your side would first transport the grain to Qiaoxi, where the government will coordinate uniform distribution — the boats will be arranged by the government, and the transport fee will simply be the current market rate, based on however much grain you provide. First by waterway, then overland, with soldiers escorting the shipment the entire way, five hundred shi per shipment. This matter should already have an official notice posted over at Qiaoxi — you can inquire there yourself. We’re merely serving as intermediaries here…”

At this point, the squire nodded, a warm, sympathetic smile spreading across his face. “Little Luo, what you’re describing is a great act of virtue, and this old man will certainly provide grain. But you see, my family has lived in Heng County for generations — I have two stewards, three sons, and none of us have ever traveled to any great city. Hearing you describe it, this journey sounds quite long, and I’ve heard the disaster areas aren’t especially safe either. If something were to go wrong along the way, we’d have nowhere to turn to the government for help. Since, as you say, both north and south are short on grain, why doesn’t the government simply collect it directly themselves, and handle the unified transport that way?”

“Squire Hou speaks quite rightly.” Hearing this, the young man named Luo Luo nodded with a faint smile, recalling the talking points Ning Yi had taught him before leaving Bianliang. “But what we understand is that if the government took full charge of this directly, it would firstly damage its reputation, and secondly, as Chancellor Qin has said, relief work is both a great act of virtue and a great battle — the more supporters we have, the better our chances of winning. Frankly speaking, if the government intervened directly, the situation would change entirely…”

He lowered his voice. “There are also other parties who would inevitably get involved.”

Having spoken this in a hushed tone, Luo Luo glanced toward the door before continuing. “As for Squire Hou’s concern about something going wrong along the way — honestly, government offices open their doors reluctantly enough, and if trouble did arise, it would indeed be a headache. But this time is different, old sir. I’ll tell you this, and you’re welcome to send someone to verify it yourself. Before the first batch of grain departs, anyone who contributes a thousand shi or more will be personally received by the Chancellor at a banquet, and will receive a hand-written scroll bearing his own calligraphy.”

“Oh?” The old man’s expression stirred, then grew slightly troubled as he thought it over. “A thousand shi, eh…”

“Squire Hou, this thousand shi needn’t come from a single person — it can be pooled together. For instance, here in Heng County, if your entire Hou clan together gathers a thousand shi, one representative would receive the Chancellor’s personal audience. You’re welcome to spread word of this to others as well — it’s all in the spirit of doing good deeds, and if one person’s contribution isn’t enough, then a group’s combined sincerity counts just as much…”

They spoke in hushed tones, the sky outside overcast, carrying that lingering sense of rain about to fall but never quite arriving. Over an hour later, when Luo Luo and the tailor accompanying him emerged from the courtyard, the large cart marked with the Su-Ning insignia had already arrived as well, and his companion asked, “How did it go?”

“Ugh, ugh, ugh.” Luo Luo rapped his forehead. “Same as always — said he’d think it over, though he did buy over thirty taels’ worth of goods from me… You know how it is, same as the last few — they want to just sit at home and have someone come collect the grain, then settle the payment on the spot. Sending their own people to transport it to Hedong or Huainan themselves — they’re just not that willing. These people aren’t short on money… but this one actually seems like he might come through.”

“So how did you manage to talk him around, Brother Luo?”

“Heh heh.” Luo Luo laughed. “He’s got three sons. I told him this was a chance to let the family go out and broaden their horizons — you know the old saying, something about reading ten thousand books not being as good as traveling a thousand li. And along the way, they’d get to know some officials too — that line, our master taught us as well. Anyway, I told him I’d come back in a few days.”

As he spoke, he pulled out a small notebook from his robe, along with a piece of charcoal pencil, and made a mark among the crooked handwriting already scrawled across the pages. As he tucked the notebook away, he turned back and sighed.

Three days out of the capital now, and he’d managed to sell quite a bit of pricey merchandise along the way, but on the matter of persuading people to actually sell their grain, he had yet to make any real progress. Before this, he had been considered the most outstanding of the shopkeepers their master had trained, and now, in his heart, he found himself worrying that others might soon overtake him…

In truth, in these first few days, all any of the persuasion teams could manage to secure were mere expressions of intent. This wasn’t necessarily a bad start — the real trouble was cropping up elsewhere. As a dozen-odd teams fanned out from Bianliang, gradually spreading persuasion and cultivating various intentions along the way, Luo Luo very nearly lost Squire Hou’s business entirely.

It happened a few days later, when Squire Hou personally traveled to Qiaoxi to inquire further, only to find that the matter of the government uniformly collecting and escorting grain shipments had never actually been implemented — a clerk at the county office drove him out directly. “My county office is an instrument of the state — how could it possibly involve itself in such foul, profit-chasing business as yours! You’re already an old man, and clearly not a fool — how could you suddenly lose your senses and get mixed up in this kind of merchant trade! Are you not afraid of losing your good name!”

Though the practice of trade had already become quite widespread by this time, and great merchants existed in every region, within the pages of classical texts and in official circles, the status of the merchant remained exceedingly low. Squire Hou, having built bridges and roads locally, held a status somewhere between the scholarly and farming classes — and to suddenly be scolded as a profit-chasing merchant nearly made him ill on the spot with rage.

Over at Qiaoxi, the county magistrate there had actually already received notification from the Right Chancellor’s residence. This magistrate was a fairly cultured scholar with some ties to Qin Siyuan. Since Qin Siyuan couldn’t allow the influence of these arranged trade routes to grow too visible, he had assigned this magistrate to the plan, trusting that the man would understand and cooperate. But upon returning to his post, the magistrate mulled it over, consulted with his clerk, and ultimately decided not to comply — going so far as to write a letter of admonishment back to Qin Siyuan, sternly arguing that state resources should never be used as instruments for personal gain, that merchant profiteering was a base and vulgar practice contrary to the teachings of the sages, and that the court’s relief efforts should proceed through proper, dignified means instead.

Feedback of this sort came flooding back to the chancellor’s residence from more than one location in these first few days. The first wave of resistance had begun. And the chancellor’s residence’s response, over the following days, came down swift and decisive!

Ning Yi’s proposed strategy of combining economics with administration was, in essence, similar to macroeconomic regulation in later ages. The initial concept had come up almost offhandedly during a gathering, but Ning Yi himself understood full well the difficulties it entailed. It had taken Qin Siyuan and the others over a month, after recognizing the true severity of the grain price surge, before officially deciding to adopt it — and throughout that process, there was no telling how much mental preparation Qin Siyuan himself had needed to undergo.

This elder statesman understood Confucian principles better than anyone, but for that very reason, once he had finally raised his hand and made his move, he was no longer the sort of man to be swayed by such minor obstacles.

At this same moment, Li Pin had already arrived in Hedong Circuit.

The carriage rattled along, clattering over the uneven dirt road, the scenery on either side bleak and desolate. Occasionally, ragged travelers could be seen heading in the opposite direction from him, toward the south. As they approached Shangdang, such travelers grew increasingly numerous — some trudging along the road, dragging their families behind them, moving like walking corpses. Seeing the carriage approach, they would stretch out their hands to beg, some crying out, some murmuring a few words, though most made no sound at all.

By the time grain prices had begun to rise, the autumn harvest hadn’t even yet arrived; the areas truly affected within Hedong Circuit weren’t actually that extensive. But the sudden spike in grain prices had thrown the autumn harvest into carelessness and disorder — in some places, it was said, people had even been beaten to death over it. By now, the inflation of grain prices here had already persisted for two months, rising from an original two and a half guan per shi to thirty guan per shi, and everything had come to look like what lay before him now. According to what Ning Yi had said, prices would likely stabilize somewhat going forward, without inflating quite so rapidly — a situation that would persist all the way until winter, when the truly deadly moment would finally arrive.

He occasionally lifted the carriage curtain to look out at this scene.

As they neared the city, ahead on the road, a faint disturbance could be heard — cries, shouts, sounds of striking and quarreling. The carriage came to a stop nearby, and Li Pin looked out from within. By the roadside, a ragged, beaten man lay bleeding on the ground; a pushcart had overturned, and beside it, a man dressed somewhat better than the others — evidently the cart’s owner — stood surrounded by three or five men wielding clubs, glaring in all directions, while the cart’s owner himself wept.

Watching for a moment, Li Pin finally understood: the cart had been carrying goods bound for the city. Given the unrest of these recent times, the owner had hired a few men to accompany him, to avoid being robbed. But upon reaching this spot, a wheel had suddenly given way, and the cart had overturned, spilling the modest amount of vegetables and grain it carried. At that, people along the roadside had rushed to snatch what they could; the hired men had first tried to hold them back, then taken up their clubs and started beating people — but even so, most of what little the cart had carried had still been snatched away.

Some of the roadside scavengers, having grabbed what they could, fled after being struck; others were beaten bloody and, knowing themselves in the wrong, didn’t linger to argue, only collapsed by the road, weeping. As they wept, the cart’s owner wept as well. His wife at home suffered from a serious illness, and this cartload of goods had originally been meant to sell at a high price in the city, with the proceeds used to fetch a doctor — now that plan too had come to nothing.

Li Pin, along with the clerk and guards accompanying him, watched this scene unfold. Not far from the carriage, a filthy, emaciated little girl lay collapsed on the road; her mother held her, sobbing and wailing. The girl had been struck and was already bleeding from the head, clutching two rotting cabbage leaves in her hand. She seemed famished beyond measure, and wounded on top of it — her mouth opened, but no sound of crying could be heard.

Clerk Chen, accompanying him, seemed on the verge of saying something several times but held his tongue. Li Pin watched for a while, then finally, his voice dry, gave the order for the guard skilled in treating injuries to hurry down and tend to the wounded. The surrounding crowd’s attention shifted partly toward this scene.

Li Pin sat there, recalling a brief exchange he’d had with Ning Yi before leaving the capital: “For this relief effort, will you be heading south or north, Liheng?”

“I’m not going. That’s your business — I’m staying in the capital.”

“Ah, of course, Liheng understands this best of all — it’s only right that you remain here, holding the center.”

“Ha. Not quite. It’s more that out of sight, out of mind.”

“Hm?”

“Because…” He remembered Ning Yi pausing for a good while before continuing. “Because this time, when you go there, you’ll see a great many people. You’re going in order to help them survive. But the very moment you see them, you’ll understand that many of them will, in the days ahead, be starved to death right before your eyes. There will inevitably be… some among them that you’ll be powerless to save…”

At the time, he had sighed over these words, but only now did he truly understand what Ning Yi had meant.

He watched for a while longer. Clerk Chen urged him not to get out of the carriage, worried it might stir up some kind of disturbance, but in the end, Li Pin stepped down anyway. He looked at the little girl, her head now bandaged, and quietly tucked two steamed buns into the folds of her clothing, then returned to the carriage. In that moment, he understood it meant nothing at all.

The carriage then rattled and clattered forward once more, heading into the city…