Chapter 38: Each Seeks Their Own Livelihood (Part 6)

At noon, the copper rings on the Xuande Gate had not yet been thoroughly chilled when they were startled by a chaotic rush of footsteps. News from the palace seemed to have sprouted wings, flying across the Imperial Street in the blink of an eye.

"The Daoist Emperor has abdicated!" Wang Er, the sesame pancake seller, struck his iron griddle until it rang, his spit flying out mixed with white steam. "The new Son of Heaven is the Crown Prince! I heard he ascended the throne at the Daqing Hall this very morning!"

A customer, overjoyed, asked, "Is it true? What about the Six Thieves? Can Cai Jing, Tong Guan, and their ilk still act so smug?"

"Smug? The hell they can!" spat Old Zhang, who was driving a cart nearby, the hemp rope on his cart handle worn smooth and shiny. "I was carrying a student from the Imperial Academy yesterday, and he said the new Emperor’s first order of business upon taking the throne would be to take the knives to those treacherous villains!"

These words were like sparks falling into a pile of dry kindling; the pancake stall was instantly swarmed by a dense crowd. Farmers carrying vegetable poles with mud still clinging to the radishes in their baskets, merchants in silk robes still clutching their freshly tallied ledgers—people jostled and shoved, shouting at the top of their lungs.

"This is truly the best news under heaven!"

"With a sage on the throne, the world shall be at peace!" Someone shouted, and immediately, thousands of voices joined in.

The common people had suffered long enough under the Six Thieves.

Especially in these precarious times, news of the Jin army moving south—burning, killing, and looting through Hebei and Hedong—had already reached Bianjing via fleeing refugees.

The refugees cried out, "The Jin dogs kill anyone they see; women are abducted, houses burned to the ground," and there were even rumors of "infants being skewered on spears for sport."

These reports plunged the people of Bianjing into profound panic, especially the lower classes, who knew full well that once the city fell, they would be the first victims.

In the silk shop across the street, the manager was directing his clerks to move bolts of fine silk into the cellar.

"Move faster!" he whispered, his abacus clicking frantically. "Hide the ledgers too. If they really break in, these are all death warrants!"

The clerks scrambled in a flurry. Amid the rustle of silk, the shouts of "Down with the Six Thieves" could be heard from the street. The manager’s face turned pale; he glanced toward the deepest part of the cellar, where a chest of broken silver was hidden—savings intended for a flight back to his ancestral home in the south. But now, it was impossible to find carts or boats; the powerful and wealthy had snatched them all up.

As the storm gathered, wealthy households and the children of officials scrambled for connections, either fleeing to the Jiangnan region or hiding in suburban estates. Every city gate saw a constant stream of traffic. In the half-month surrounding the abdication, thousands of carriages escaped through the south gate of Bianjing daily, most laden with the valuables of the elite.

Yet, every family had its own sorrows.

In front of a rice shop on the street, another argument erupted.

"Why has the price gone up so fast again? Wasn't it five hundred wen the day before yesterday?" A man brandished a carrying pole. On the price board, the "Five hundred per dou" sign had been half-covered, only to be torn open again.

The shopkeeper huddled behind the counter, holding his abacus and shouting, "That is the market price! If you find it too expensive, go elsewhere!"

But no one listened. In the chaos, someone overturned a rice bin, and the pristine white grains spilled onto the snow, trampled into mud.

At this time, the price of rice in Bianjing was rising three times a day. "A thousand coins for a dou of rice." Many brawls broke out over the scramble for food, and although the authorities sent troops to suppress the unrest, they could not stop it.

Furthermore, thefts and fights were endless; both the inner and outer cities were descending into lawlessness. Neighbors and local residents formed associations to protect themselves. Men from the "Neighborhood Societies" patrolled their alleys with wooden clubs, and one could see every door and window barricaded with planks.

Walking the streets, one could hear folk songs: "Break the Tube (Tong Guan), spill the Vegetables (Cai Jing), and the world will be a better place," and someone had posted an anonymous poem on the city wall: "The Flower and Rock Convoy wheels haven't stopped turning, yet the golden spears have reached the banks of the Yellow River."

"Gold belts, silver belts; the Zhao family's world, ruined by the Zhu family," a proverb directed at Zhu Mian, one of the "Six Thieves."

...

The scent of dragon-saliva incense in the Daqing Hall had yet to dissipate. Zhao Huan sat on that dragon-carved throne, his backside feeling as if it were pressed against a red-hot iron.

The echoes of the "Long live the Emperor" from the rudimentary coronation ceremony were still buzzing in his ears. Staring at the sea of official caps below the steps, he felt a tightness in his throat. The great empire of the Song had just been dumped into his hands.

Since that was the case, he had to do what needed to be done.

"Transmit my decree."

"Sima Guang, Wen Yanbo, Su Shi, and all other gentlemen who were unjustly treated in the past: all are to be posthumously exonerated and their reputations restored."

There was a moment of silence below the steps, followed by a low ripple of commotion. An old official removed his cap, pressing his forehead against the floor tiles, his shoulders trembling slightly.

Zhao Huan watched, knowing he had taken the right step. The New Party and the Old Party had fought for decades; now that the Jin had reached their doorstep, infighting would only lead to certain death.

Chen Guoting, the Right Policy Advisor, stepped forward, his robes trembling with excitement: "Your Majesty is wise! This is a move to stabilize the hearts of the scholars!"

Zhao Huan pressed his hand down, and the commotion in the hall gradually subsided.

He looked at the faces below—some excited, some cautious—and said: "Furthermore, from this day forth, students of the Imperial Academy and scholars among the people who possess strategies to secure the nation or insights on resisting the Jin may submit memorials. The Office of the Petition-Drum must not procrastinate and must present them for my review on the same day."

At these words, the stir below intensified. Some young officials’ eyes flashed with surprise, while some old ministers looked worried. Zhao Huan ignored them. He knew the Great Song was on the brink of destruction; only by opening the channels of speech could he gather collective wisdom and find a way to repel the Jin.

Indeed, Chen Dong, a student from the Imperial Academy, led hundreds of scholars to kneel outside the palace gates, petitioning with a loud, unified cry: "Kill the traitors, reject peace, resist the Jin, and protect the capital!" Their voices shook the court and the wild.

Standing atop the palace wall, listening to their shouts, Zhao Huan felt a complex mix of emotions.

Though he hesitated, fearing this might trigger unnecessary instability, he looked at the passionate faces of the students and gave orders to accept their petition.

As news spread, the fervor of the scholars and people of Bianjing to resist the Jin was ignited. In every street and alley, people discussed how to fend off the invaders, and many scholars took up their brushes to write down their strategies, sending them into the palace.

With the issue of public opinion addressed, Zhao Huan turned his attention to the treasury.

The mess left by the Daoist Emperor had left the treasury empty. Without sufficient military funds, resistance was empty talk. Who would fight on an empty stomach?

"Transmit my decree: abolish the Office of Imperial Supplies, the Office of Construction, and other such agencies," Zhao Huan announced in the court. "These agencies consume the people's blood and sweat; now that the nation is in peril, they are of no use."

The Office of Imperial Supplies and the Office of Construction had been established by Cai Jing to satisfy Zhao Ji’s extravagant lifestyle, responsible for scouring the land for rare flowers, exotic stones, and exquisite crafts at a staggering cost.

Abolishing them saved some money, but it was a drop in the bucket compared to the massive military expenditures needed.

Zhao Huan was not discouraged. He ordered an end to the Genyue project—the imperial garden that had cost Zhao Ji vast fortunes and housed countless treasures. Stopping this project won the hearts of both the people and the army.

Next, Zhao Huan began to adjust military deployments. To resist the Jin, he needed a strong army.

"Transmit my decree: draft an imperial edict and send it by fast horse to the cities of Hebei—Zhending, Hejian, and Qingyuan (Zhao Prefecture). All defending generals must hold their cities to the death! Not an inch of territory is to be yielded!"

Shao Chengzhang, an old hand from the Eastern Palace, was stunned for a moment before hastily replying, "This old servant will see to it at once!"

"Wait," Zhao Huan called him back, his brow furrowed. "Tell them I await their reports of victory in Bianjing. I will allocate provisions and ordnance as quickly as possible. Anyone who retreats in the face of the enemy shall be executed!"

Shortly after, several fast horses charged out from the north gate of Bianjing. Their hooves shattered the thin ice on the road, the spray of snow covering the riders' faces. The lead rider carried a sealed imperial decree, the yellow wax seal softened by his body heat. It was bound for Zhending Prefecture. The defending general, Liu Ge, was a veteran who had fought the Western Xia in the northwest; Zhao Huan placed high hopes on him.

"Faster! Go faster!" The rider cracked his whip, the horse whinnying as it accelerated. The ice on the bridge was treacherous, and the horse nearly lost its footing.

Zhao Huan summoned his ministers for three consecutive days. When Li Gang first entered the hall, his robes were still stained with snow. He began immediately: "Your Majesty, the most urgent priority is to defend Bianjing! The city walls must be reinforced, provisions must be stockpiled, and we must summon troops from across the land to defend the capital!"

"Granted!"

"Appoint Li Gang as Vice Minister of the Ministry of War, in charge of Bianjing’s defense," Zhao Huan’s voice carried a new sense of resolve. "Summon Zhong Shidao to the capital, appoint him to the Privy Council, and order the armies of the realm to come to the rescue."

Li Gang and Zhong Shidao were both prominent members of the war faction. Their appointment gave the soldiers and people of Bianjing hope.

Subsequently, Zhao Huan ordered the urgent mobilization of garrisons from Shaanxi and the south to reinforce Bianjing, and commanded the reorganization of the Imperial Guard to strengthen the city's defenses.

That afternoon, Li Gang climbed the north city wall with craftsmen, pointing at the loose bricks and cursing, "Is this the defense we bought with the Daoist Emperor’s Flower and Rock Convoy?"

Curse as he might, the work did not stop. Notices were posted to conscript laborers, and within half a day, thousands had gathered at the foot of the wall—farmers carrying hoes, carpenters wielding axes, even street performers from the markets arrived, offering to perform to lift the spirits of the garrison soldiers.

"The new Son of Heaven is a man of action!" Wang Er, the pancake seller, squatted at the base of the wall, handing out pancakes to the workers. "Look at Minister Li, he’s moving stones himself!"

Upon receiving their orders, the people and the Imperial Guard of Bianjing swung into action. They worked in unison to repair the walls, heighten the parapets and barbicans, and dig trenches.

Busy figures were seen everywhere. Some citizens voluntarily brought their iron tools to the blacksmiths to be melted down for siege weapons, catapult stones, and crossbow bolts.

To raise an army, Zhao Huan issued a call for "National Rescue," urging local garrisons and militia to rush to the aid of Bianjing.

Provisions were also a major problem. Zhao Huan forced the wealthy of Bianjing to donate grain, "requisitioning the stores of the capital," while simultaneously opening the government granaries to provide relief to the poor. Only by stabilizing order within the city could the soldiers and civilians be united to resist the Jin.

Though the wealthy were reluctant, they had no choice but to tearfully surrender their grain in the face of national crisis.

The poor, receiving relief, were filled with gratitude toward the new sovereign, and their resolve to resist the Jin became even firmer.

After Zhao Huan’s ascension, all of Bianjing was shrouded in an atmosphere that was tense yet orderly.

Ending party strife, employing the war faction, and preparing defenses—a series of measures showed signs of reversing the Song’s decline.

The morale of the Bianjing soldiers and civilians to resist the Jin was indeed greatly boosted.

Sitting on the dragon throne in the Daqing Hall, Zhao Huan watched the busy figures of the officials below and listened to the sounds of drilling echoing from outside the palace. His heart felt a little more at ease.

The wind in the city of Bianjing did not seem quite so cold anymore.