Hoping They'll Publish My Biography

The internship system proposed by Sima Hui, conceptualized by me, and designed by Xun Yu was soon formalized into an official document and circulated among scholars throughout the State of Yan. Naturally, those high-nosed scholars had no intention of settling for a mere Low-level Clerk position, but even they struggled to cling to their lofty pride after reading the impeccably polite public notice that essentially read:

Five years had now passed since the realization of the chaotic era had settled over everyone. My titles had grown so long that the honorifics preceding “Duke of the State, Your Excellency” now required an entire extra sheet of paper, and no matter how arrogant the scholars were, they could not ignore those achievements. Having lost the battle of legitimacy, they arrived at government offices across the provinces with sullen faces and began learning the work of Low-level Clerks. As they grew familiar with the standard document formats I had created nearly ten years earlier, their lofty pride slowly crumbled, piece by piece.

“This here is what we call a table… and these are coordinates.”

“Is it a Go board?”

“Ahem! This is exactly why we can’t have nice things with you Confucian scholars! You ignore the beauty of numbers and spend all day spouting ‘Confucius said this’ and ‘Mencius said that’—”

“Weren’t you a Confucian scholar yourself, Magistrate?”

“Ah, and that’s precisely why I regret it so much! If you don’t want to suffer like I did, learn the standard formats first! Back in my day…”

There was no Excel, no calculators, but we did have counting rods and abacuses, and the human brain could somehow handle function-like operations. Of course, since most Confucian scholars leaned heavily toward the literary side, it was rather late to demand scientific thinking from them now. Still, the mathematical ability actually required of bureaucrats in this era was not particularly high. The real tragedy began from the fact that Confucianism itself was weak in logic and mathematics; thus most of these pretentious scholars lacked even that modest level of numeracy.

“Forget the abacus—you’re telling me you can’t even use counting rods?!”

The abacus had come from distant India, so ignorance of it could be forgiven. But for so-called educated intellectuals to be incapable of handling something as basic as counting rods came as a genuine shock to bureaucrats already accustomed to Yan’s administration. To the new Low-level Clerk interns, it became an enormous wall.

The job of a Low-level Clerk was simply to organize and summarize documents so Administrators and County Magistrates could read them easily. If one had the ability, it was possible to live a sweet life like I had. But if one lacked the skill, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was a post that swallowed its occupants in an endless swamp of overtime. The majority of scholars, deficient in mathematics, found themselves trapped in an infinite cycle: before they could finish organizing one document, another pile had already appeared.

It just so happened to be the exact moment when Yan’s population census was underway. It just so happened to be the exact moment when the Research Institute’s newly improved plows were being distributed. And it just so happened to be the exact moment when countless refugees were pouring across the Yellow Sea. Once the census ended, evaluations of the new plows from farmers came flooding in like a tidal wave. If one tried to filter out the useless information and catch a breath, fresh population statistics that included the latest wave of refugees would arrive. In the minds of the scholars drowning in this hellish swamp, one name rose again and again… and that name was Gongsun Zan, Duke of Yan.

“His Excellency the Duke finished all this in half a day?”

“He finished this and still found time to exercise and ride horses?”

“He finished this, exercised, rode horses, and still got married?”

Starting as a Low-level Clerk, marrying the daughter of an Administrator, studying under the renowned scholar Lu Zhi, and forging connections with the greatest talents of the age—Cao Cao and Yuan Shao (though Yuan Shao’s reputation had faded considerably by now). Of course, the workload ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for a Low-level Clerk before the chaotic era had truly begun was lighter than today, but peaceful times had their own duties. Thus the legend of the “Duke of Yan in the scholars’ imagination” grew more mythical with each passing day.

Anyway, manpower had been reinforced. Anyway, the workforce had increased. Anyway, the existing bureaucrats had gained a little breathing room. Anyway, more common people could now taste the opportunity of education. Anyway, the overall illiteracy rate was slowly declining. The hardships of those beneath could always be summarized in that single word—anyway. The interns were happy to learn practical skills. The officials were happy to have leisure time. The common people were happy to have time to learn to read. Everyone was happy.

Probably.

Spring had passed, and in the summer of 191 the hibiscus flowers—planted along the edges of the fields to deter pests—were in full bloom. Unlike the savory fragrance of dandelions, the rich, authentic scent of hibiscus now covered the entire territory of Yan.

Wang Yun in Luoyang had once again attached all sorts of excuses to his demands for military rations. I replied that he should stop talking nonsense and first stabilize the chaos in Luoyang. Sun Jian’s invasion of Yangzhou had been temporarily halted by the wall of weather. It was difficult to wage war in spring because seeds had to be sown, difficult in autumn because the harvest had to be gathered, and difficult in winter because of cold and hunger. Yet summer, with its heat and humidity that caused massive non-combat losses, was the most hellish season of the year for warfare. Of course, if men were desperate enough they would fight regardless of time or place, but at this stage—when the hierarchy of four strong powers (Yan-Yanzhou, Sili-Yongzhou, Yizhou, Jingzhou-Yuzhou) and four weak ones (Yangzhou, Xuzhou, Qingzhou, Jiaozhou) had largely been established—there were no warlords foolish enough to erode their own strength by fighting in the scorching summer. None, that is, except Wang Yun, who kept slamming his head against Hangu Pass in Yongzhou.

Maritime trade along the Yellow Sea route proceeded smoothly. Qingzhou and Xuzhou sent envoys expressing that they were gradually “interested in making things easier.” The Samhan states, excluding Goguryeo and Baekje, were still city-states, and bad blood between them had not yet accumulated to the point of warring through the summer. Even in this cursed age of chaos, peaceful seasons still existed.

“Come in, everyone. You’ve traveled far in this heat.”

“It is an honor to meet you. I am Gao Yanyu, younger brother of the King of Goguryeo.”

“Gongsun Zan, Duke of Yan.”

He was the younger brother of King Gogukcheon of Goguryeo and also the younger brother of my bodyguard Gao Balgi. In appearance alone, Gao Yanyu was simply a slightly younger, less-scarred version of Gao Balgi. Of course he possessed a more cunning personality than his brother, who was closer to a born soldier, but the way he sat in a Slavic squat on the chair was identical to how Balgi had sat before becoming accustomed to Han culture.

“We caught a large quantity of herring along the eastern coast and brought some with us. They have been heavily salted and should remain good for a month.”

“My thanks. This time a shipment of lapis lazuli arrived from Palchia, so I will settle the price of the herring with that stone.”

“We are grateful.”

Lapis lazuli—a blue stone with few practical uses beyond pigment—was surprisingly one of the most valued treasures of this era. It arrived frequently as gifts, but since I had little interest in jewels and Lady Jinjeong preferred the subtle, traditional hues of jade and pearls over bright primary colors, the stones simply accumulated in the warehouse. Trading a few cartloads of herring for lapis lazuli was technically a small loss for us, yet maintaining world hegemony required accepting some trade deficits. Besides, if I could improve interstate relations by distributing a mineral that had no real use anyway, it was hardly a bad deal.

The chaos in the Central Plains showed no sign of ending, and Yan shared borders with both the Samhan states and Goguryeo. A two-front situation was something no nation welcomed, and for Yan—where every single soldier was precious—maintaining friendly relations was diplomatically advantageous even at the cost of a modest trade deficit.

“You have traveled a long way. Rest and spend some time with your family.”

“Thank you for your consideration. Brother Balgi! It has been too long!”

“Use my family name when you address me, you brat!”

The nearest envoy from Goguryeo had arrived first, with the Samhan representatives scheduled to follow one after another. Yan’s southeastern border now extended to the vicinity of Hwanghae Province; Samhan lay south of that line and Goguryeo to the east. It was necessary to maintain proper relations with our neighbors. The Central Plains belonged to the vast ideology of Han, but the Samhan states followed the ideology of Grandfather Dangun, and Goguryeo—while not strictly Gojoseon—treated the legends of Grandfather Dangun as something close to religion. Mass brainwashing campaigns that worked in the Central Plains would have little effect here.

Of course I had no desire to strike my heart’s homeland. With the grand strategy to end the chaos triggered by the Yellow Turban Rebellion already in place, strengthening friendship with my old countrymen was the natural next step.

In Nangnang Commandery, where the borders of Yan, Goguryeo, and Samhan converged, we had constructed a large pavilion and designated it a mutual demilitarized zone. Each side would bring fewer than a hundred guards to guarantee minimal safety. It resembled a simple social gathering for now, but if the custom took root… it seemed many interesting things might follow.

“Your Excellency, the representatives from the seventy-eight Samhan states have arrived.”

Loose borders… one economy… one community… If it succeeded… Hmm. They might even publish a biography of me back home. I really hoped they would.

At the point when the situation in the Central Plains had settled into four strong and four weak powers, the position of Qingzhou and Xuzhou—sandwiched between Yan and Yanzhou and thus blocked from advancing into the heartland—was nearly the worst possible. The wounds left by the Yellow Turban Rebellion had not yet healed. The young men who should have been farming had either been executed as Yellow Turbans or turned to banditry, and the flow of migrants into the stable lands of Yan showed no sign of stopping. As the population shrank, security vacuums appeared; as security vacuums appeared, more people fled. Various measures had been attempted to break this despairing cycle, but since they could not dare sink Yan’s ships, the population outflow was inevitable.

“Lord Tao Qian… let us simply proceed comfortably from now on.”

“…Yes, I suppose we should.”

Even after surrendering to the Duke of Yan, Governor of Yanzhou Cao Cao had retained his post. Although the right to collect taxes had been stripped from him and more than half of his nearly one hundred thousand troops disbanded, the steady supply of grain and salt from the plains of Ji and You provinces had prevented the people from leaving. Young men who had fled their hometowns returned to till the fields. Bandits who disturbed the peace were pierced by Yeongangno bolts and vanished one by one. Once security was restored and the Research Institute’s farming tools distributed, the remnants of the Yellow Turbans quietly discarded their yellow headbands and exercised their job-change rights to become farmers again. The enriched scholars recommended by Xi Zhicai and Xun Yu divided the land while minimizing complaints from the increased farming population. Although the number of soldiers had decreased, the elite troops and officer corps remained intact, and with no immediate wars on the horizon, the reduction was not a serious problem.

“I acknowledge it. The Mandate of Heaven of this era has passed to the Duke of Yan. Before it is too late, I must at least secure a path to save my family’s lives. Did you extend the same proposal to the Governor of Qingzhou?”

“Of course. His Excellency has no objection to retaining officials so long as they are not corrupt. If you simply acknowledge his superiority, very little will change.”

The man before Tao Qian’s eyes had a striking appearance. Dressed entirely in black from head to toe, he could vanish easily into darkness. The horse he rode ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was likewise covered in black hair from head to hoof; something seemed to muffle its steps, for the sound of hooves was nearly inaudible. It truly looked as if he rode a ghost. He would appear from time to time to urge surrender, vanish into the shadows when scolded, and reappear when forgotten to urge surrender once more.

In truth, Tao Qian had already realized he could not emerge as the victor of this chaotic age. He was too old to pacify the realm and unify the world, and his two sons were merely scholars without the qualities of warlords. If he could not unify the world himself, the best course was to surrender to one who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could and thereby protect his children’s safety.

“Tell the Duke of Yan that I wish to meet him in the near future.”