Spring in Liaodong, and Spring in Luoyang (4)
I had already inspected the research institute, and I had managed to build some rapport with my daughter, who had grown unfamiliar after so long apart. All that remained was to check on the condition of the military units and confirm that the fortress line strung along the Bohai Bay was being properly maintained.
“Let’s give it our all, Tico the Third…”
Instead of Tico the Second, the ‘gift’ from my father-in-law, I mounted Tico the Third, his son, with stirrups on his back. Among the horses the northern nomads kept, Tico the Second had been the largest alpha specimen, so Tico the Third was a little smaller. Even so, whether by nature’s mystery or a mutation, he was still large enough to pass for a proper warhorse of the previous era.
The Second? That one had been a proper charger. In this age, he was the kind of horse that could handle a lance charge with ease. Was he the legendary Red Hare? Probably not—his coat was white, though it would turn crimson once it soaked up some blood. Among warhorses he leaned more toward the charger type, so his endurance was lacking. He could never manage the legendary thousand li, not even two hundred li at a stretch. Still, I wasn’t entirely sure.
I slipped a wild carrot into his mouth and spurred toward the military camp with my attendants. In truth, there was something more important than stirrups when it came to horsemanship: cavalry boots. Spurs on the heels allowed faster communication than reins, and the gap between heel and toe could lock into the stirrup for stability. Stirrups were simple enough that anyone who saw them once could copy the principle, so they would spread within a few years. Cavalry boots, however, were harder to grasp at a glance.
If you wanted peace, you had to prepare for war. Especially if you hoped to enjoy peace amid chaos… you needed to be ready to crush every warlord with nothing but your standing army. If some other warlord crushed me instead, well… I could always flee abroad and live quietly. Liu Bei seemed to have taken a liking to Liaodong; there was no sign she planned to strike out on her own. Something about that felt off, but it didn’t matter much. I had wealth stockpiled—probably equal to or greater than an emperor’s by the standards of this era. In this blessed land hidden by sea and mountains, trading salt across the known world with the people of Liaodong, who were treated as foreigners, it would have been stranger if I were poor. Moreover, I was being paid in iron ore rather than gold. If things went well, I might even be able to sap the strength of the Central Plains.
…No, that was unlikely. How much iron ore lay buried in the Central Plains? There was a reason the Han was still the strongest power by the standards of this age. Right now it was a complete mess, but if a superman like Emperor Wu appeared and stabilized the regime, it might even give peak Rome a good fight. Or not? I wasn’t sure. And had Rome even existed in this era? That, too, I didn’t know.
---
Though often underrated because of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms and the negative image butchers carried in Korea, He Jin, the Grand General of the Han, was an exceptionally capable man. Beyond being the emperor’s brother-in-law, he had been the only person who could mediate between the corrupt Dirty Stream faction and the Clean Stream faction and suppress the Yellow Turban Rebellion. He had also built the infrastructure to slaughter livestock—animals that would fetch millions of won apiece even in modern times—and sell the meat before it spoiled, all in an era without refrigerators. With the wealth and infrastructure he accumulated, he had been able to purchase the position of Grand General of the greatest power of the age and possessed the political skill to keep it. Maintaining that post for so long in the late Eastern Han, where selling offices, political struggles, and purges were daily occurrences, could not be explained by mere incompetence.
Because he was that kind of man, He Jin understood the inferiority complex and resentment Jian Shi, one of the Ten Eunuchs, harbored toward him. He also knew that, as the head of the Western Garden Army left adrift after the emperor’s death, Jian Shi might harbor dangerous ambitions. Furthermore, having been entrusted with Liu Xie’s welfare by the emperor’s will, Jian Shi was well aware that one wrong move could leave him in the same position as Lady Chi.
Yet He Jin had no intention of making enemies of all the Ten Eunuchs. He had gone to Yuan Shao and displayed righteous fury, but that had only been to show Yuan Shao the face he wanted to see and firmly pull his faction under his own shadow. It had not been to add unnecessary variables to an already assured victory. The emperor’s will had more or less decided that the next emperor would be his own nephew. Moreover, the eunuchs and he both belonged to the royalist camp; regardless of personal likes or dislikes, they needed to work together. If Liu Xie had received a proper imperial education it might have been different, but all she had were scraps picked up from her grandmother, Empress Dowager Dong. Meanwhile, the Clean Stream ministers He Jin had cultivated all supported his nephew, Liu Bian. Therefore, both he and the eunuchs, treated as members of the Dirty Stream, could dream of maintaining their current prosperity under the next emperor’s reign. Since there was no plan to kill Liu Xie, Jian Shi could have kept his current glory as well.
But it was Jian Shi who crossed the line first. Whether out of greed or to avoid Lady Chi’s fate, he had come to resent He Jin, the head of the outer relatives, and sent assassins. Jian Shi was a master swordsman who had personally slain Dou Wu and Chen Fan; even the Grand General could not have faced him unarmed. If Ban Yin, Jian Shi’s adjutant, had not quietly warned him, He Jin would have had to test in live combat just how sturdy the Hosimgap he received from Yuan Shao truly was. The memory still made his teeth grind, yet this minor incident was not enough justification to wipe out the entire Ten Eunuchs faction.
‘I’ll only remove Jian Shi. The Prince of Bohai can simply be returned to his proper place. After all, Liu Yu, an imperial relative, is already Inspector of You Province, and Gongsun Zan, the Administrator of Liaodong, can sufficiently block any northern threat. Both men are loyal subjects of the Han. They are a thousand times better than an ambitious man like Yuan Shao or a thug like Jian Shi.’
“Is your friend Yuan Shao trustworthy?”
For that, he needed the new friend he had made this time—Cao Cao, Colonel of the Western Garden Army. Though Cao Cao was Yuan Shao’s childhood friend, He Jin’s instincts told him the two men wanted different paths. He could not be certain yet, but sowing a few seeds would do no harm.
“Yes.”
‘No, he isn’t.’
Reading a person’s true intentions from their face was something He Jin had done for a long time. From haggling over meat prices to the countless people he had met, befriended, and discarded at court, most of his life had been spent meeting people. Cao Cao claimed to be a loyal subject and genuinely felt loyal, but Yuan Shao did not. Cao Cao knew this too; though he denied it with words, his expression confirmed it.
‘Should I remove Jian Shi together with him? But the Clean Stream’s gaze…’
“Oh dear, I failed to see that move. Would you allow me to take back a move?”
“…If you insist.”
“It was only a joke. Victory and defeat cannot be undone. A triple-three invasion… How is it that an old man like me, with no experience, plays the same move as Master Yan?”
“Because I was soundly defeated. If I cannot overcome it, I must make it my own.”
“A fine attitude. It is a privilege of youth that an old man like me cannot imitate. I am almost envious.”
“Is that… praise?”
“Of course it is. I can no longer compensate for this difference no matter how many more moves I make, so it is as good as your victory… Do you want anything?”
“Do you intend to kill Jian Shi?”
“…I must.”
“Be careful. My only wish is that you remain safe, General.”
“That is only natural. Is there nothing else?”
“…There is not.”
“I see. I thought as much.”
Cao Cao belonged to the Dirty Stream. It was strange that he was childhood friends with Yuan Shao, the rising star of the Clean Stream, but his grandfather Cao Teng had been a great eunuch, and his father Cao Song had purchased the position of Grand Commandant through the Dirty Stream. Naturally, Cao Cao himself was swayed by the Dirty Stream’s influence, yet like He Jin he was also a politician who maintained ties with the Clean Stream.
“Then I shall give you the post of my adjutant. At my age, I must begin thinking about a successor.”
For some reason, Cao Cao resembled him. Though of the Dirty Stream, he could remain close with the Clean Stream and invest with an eye toward the distant future. Unlike He Jin, he possessed the flexibility to easily accept new things, though He Jin supposed he himself had been the same in his youth.
‘This friend is the best choice to assist my nephew.’
Yuan Shao’s ambition was too great; he would obviously try to manipulate the young emperor. Gongsun Zan, on the other hand, had too little ambition and would not properly support the imperial authority. Then Cao Cao, with just the right amount of ambition and loyalty, was the perfect fit. He Jin could already picture the arrangements for the next generation.
“I have learned much. Once the Western Garden Army is disbanded, report to my office.”
“I have learned much. And… it is an honor.”
The middle-aged man and the young man clasped hands. Though the Han was collapsing, it had not collapsed yet. Everyone knew it was doomed, yet there were still those who clung to the last straw.
---
In the research laboratory Gongsun Zan had left behind in Liaodong, a dangerous conversation was taking place.
“Let us grant the Administrator the Mandate of Heaven.”
“Wenhua, have you gone mad?! The Administrator is a sage ruler, which is why he has left us alone. Even if we were torn limb from limb, such words could never be excused!”
The speaker was Jia Xu, courtesy name Wenhua. Though from Xiliang, he had abandoned office and was returning home when he was abducted by the Di, then abducted again by the Xianbei who attacked the Di. Those Xianbei sold him to their great elder, Gongsun Zan, Administrator of Liaodong, in exchange for salt. The man who had lived this epic tale was surnamed Jia, named Xu, courtesy name Wenhua. A young genius praised by Yan Zhong of Hanyang as possessing the talent of Zhang Liang and Chen Ping, he was now merely a scholar who had abandoned office and a researcher at the institute.
“Emperor Xuanyuan was also of the Gongsun clan. Why would the Administrator lack the Mandate?”
“Wenhua!”
“Think about it! Unifying weights and measures can be done by anyone with power. But establishing the ‘standard’ for those weights and measures is something not just anyone can do. Am I wrong?”
Unifying weights and measures required only power. Acquiring that power was the difficult part—at least here in Liaodong, where the Gongsun clan held absolute authority, it was no difficulty at all. The truly difficult questions were ‘What shall be the standard of weights and measures?’ and ‘How shall the different measures relate to one another?’
The Qin Shi Huang’s system defined one chi as the length of a single millet grain. Considering that millet grains differed from village to village, creating a system of measurement usable anywhere, applicable to weight, volume, and length alike, was an idea no ordinary mind could conceive.
“Use water. Clean water is the same whether in Liaodong, Luoyang, Xiliang, or Bashu, is it not?”
“Pardon?”
“This land is round. You know that, yes?”
“Pardon?!”
In truth, people of this era already knew the horizon curved and that ships approaching from beyond it showed their masts first. But understanding that the land was a perfect sphere was another matter entirely.
“If you cannot believe it, simply assume as I say. The earth is round. Then how do we calculate its circumference?”
“Pardon???”
Gongsun Zan was not the sort of ruler who explained things one by one. He was closer to a third-rate twenty-first-century math cram school that demanded memorization with a curt “If you don’t believe it, just do as you’re told.”
“If you cannot believe it, just assume and calculate. Well… first, what is the circumference of a circle one chi in diameter? If we know that, might we not also know the circumference of this land?”
“How many chi is it?”
“I don’t know. That is for you clever fellows to calculate. It seemed roughly three chi and fifteen cun… Give it a try. You can do it, right?”
They were all intellectuals. Setting aside the absurd notion that the land was round, they believed that calculating the circumference of a circle would be simple for researchers who prided themselves on being scholars of their age. And that was where all the trouble began.
“Ah… no, why will this not end?”
Until now, every number had existed in a world with an end. The concept of infinity existed, but only as a word, something used by alchemists. In an age when ten thousand or a thousand were used to mean “a great number,” there had been no need to count anything larger.
“One chi and fourteen cun, and then the decimal…”
“Decimals! Let us use the decimal point the Administrator taught us!”
When they first learned the concept, they had thought it merely a hobby of a high-ranking official. Using a dot to express numbers smaller than one… As they had said, this era had no need for such a thing. Yet it proved useful for satisfying intellectuals’ thirst for knowledge and perfectly suited for solving the “problem” posed by the Administrator of Liaodong.
“3.14159… No, how far does this go?!”
Though Liaodong had a nominal Administrator, they all served Gongsun Zan as their true lord. His leadership and charisma demanded it, and the fact that the current Administrator lacked great ambition only reinforced it. Moreover, being of the same clan as Gongsun Zan, the man did not envy him; instead, he hoped to raise him well so he could enjoy a comfortable retirement on a pension. Far from restraining Gongsun Zan, he actively pushed him to rule the region like a king.
“Does it never end?”
“That cannot be! This is not Buddhism. Where in the world could infinity exist? There must be an end; we simply have not found it yet.”
And then the existence of infinity was proven.
“So… Administrator? Why did you ask us to calculate pi?”
“If we can find a way to calculate the circumference of a circle, we can calculate the circumference of this land as well, can we not?”
“Pardon?!”
“After all, if this land is a sphere, it should be possible.”
“…We shall look into it.”
“A fine attitude. In my opinion…”
If, as Gongsun Zan said, this land was the globe—a round earth—then its circumference was fixed. They did not know why people did not fall off a round world, but if their lord said so, then so be it. He was not a ruler who persuaded; the institute’s role was to “prove” whether his ideas were reasonable. Gongsun Zan himself had no intention of explaining everything to this era, and even by this era’s standards, proving all the knowledge in his head was impossible. Yet the shelves of the Liaodong Research Institute were steadily filling, and the intellectuals of this age knew how to “use” fragments of modern knowledge.
“Think about it. If the Administrator’s system of weights and measures is truly completed… our system will become the standard no matter where we go in the Central Plains. It will become an eternal, unchanging law.”
If the earth’s circumference was fixed, then a system of measurement based on that circumference could be used anywhere in the Central Plains. It would not vary like the size of millet grains from region to region. And if that fixed length were used to measure water and create a standard of weight, the same weight would apply everywhere. Finally, the concept of “temperature” based on water’s freezing and boiling points would greatly help the ironworks of Liaodong produce uniform steel. They had no instrument to measure that temperature yet, but if the Liaodong Research Institute fulfilled its role, they would surely create one someday.
“And when this thing is mass-produced, will it not be a greater achievement than any emperor’s?”
Though harvest season was still far off and the machine gathered dust in a corner of the warehouse, none of the researchers denied the usefulness of the threshing machine, the institute’s first creation. By passing grain between densely packed iron teeth like a comb and stripping it, the kernels separated with ease. It was a convenience on an entirely different level from the flails of the past. Easy to make and easy to use, it lightened the farmers’ workload. With less work, fewer mutual aid arrangements were needed, freeing up idle hands. Those idle hands could become scholars learning letters or craftsmen. Confucian scholars, bound by their duty to educate, gladly taught the farmers. Craftsmen, short on hands to meet Gongsun Zan’s demands, willingly hired farmers as day laborers. Day laborers would steal techniques from the masters over their shoulders, and the number of literate intellectuals in Liaodong would gradually increase.
“And I, Jia Wenhua, believe this is the Mandate of Heaven. He has already declared himself the Lord of Fire who inherited the flame of Emperor Yan, the Divine Farmer. He was born a Gongsun, inheriting the blood of Emperor Huang, the Yellow Emperor. Moreover, he has brought peace to the people’s lives and created time for gentlemen to cultivate virtue. If the seed of kings, marquises, generals, and ministers is different, then who besides the Administrator could have received the Mandate?”
“…?!”
The two characters “Mandate of Heaven” struck the men’s hearts. It was the same dangerous statement Jia Xu had once made before his lord and been confined to the institute for two years because of it, yet the researchers could not forget those words.
‘There is… logic to it.’
Everyone knew the Han had already fallen. Soon they began sending letters throughout the Central Plains. As expected, the fundamental ideology of intellectuals in this era was “We are all in this together.”