Chapter 10 The Crown Prince's Book
Two completely different atmospheres always permeated Li Hong's study.
One atmosphere belonged to the crown prince of the empire—strict and slightly oppressive. The scent of official documents wafting in and out of the Eastern Palace, the enormous map of the Tang Dynasty hanging on the wall, the mountains of copied memorials, Ministry of Revenue reports, and border military briefings piled on his desk, along with the repeatedly read and densely annotated "Essentials of Governance in the Zhenguan Era" and the newly revised "Commentary on the Laws" from the Yonghui era… all these silently spoke of the weight of his position and the responsibilities he would bear in the future. The air here was heavy, requiring him to navigate it with a clear mind and steady breathing.
Another aura, more subtle and more…vivid, emanated from an inconspicuous sandalwood box on the inner side of the study. The box was unlocked, but no one but Li Hong himself would open it. Inside were no rare treasures or ancient books, only a few simply bound, even somewhat crude, handwritten booklets, and some scattered manuscripts with varying handwriting.
These were the "private gifts" that his mother, Empress Wu Zetian, had given him over the years.
Li Hong first received such booklets when he was a child. At that time, he had just begun his formal education and was reading the "Thousand Character Classic" and the "Classic of Filial Piety." When his mother checked his homework, she would take out a thin, handwritten booklet with simple illustrations and plain words written in delicate handwriting. Some of the booklets explained the relationship between the twenty-four solar terms and agricultural activities, which was much more specific than the Grand Tutor's "following the seasons," and even included illustrations of field work during different solar terms. Others explained simple mechanical principles, such as how levers save effort and how pulleys change direction, accompanied by crooked but vivid and interesting diagrams. Still others were short, adapted stories that contained wisdom and choices, some sounding like fables and others like anecdotes from distant lands.
“Hong’er, what the Grand Tutor taught you was the path of sages and the foundation of one’s character.” His mother stroked his head, her eyes gentle yet firm. “But these little things are to help you understand that the world is not just about the principles in the scriptures; it is made up of grains of rice, objects, and living people. You must understand how they operate, how people think, so that when you sit in that position in the future, your words and orders will be effective and will win people’s hearts.”
As I grew older, the contents of the booklet became increasingly in-depth. Simplified accounting methods began to appear, showing how to discern the flow and problems of money and grain from complex figures; there were brief records of local products and customs, going beyond just the names of prefectures and counties, mentioning the reasons for the formation of certain specialties and the difficulties in transportation; there were analyses of the successes and failures of some famous historical policies (such as the salt and iron monopoly in the Han Dynasty and the equal-field system in the Northern Wei Dynasty), often from a different perspective than the grand narratives of historical and political discussions at imperial lectures, focusing more on the details of specific implementation and the obstacles encountered.
Later, there were "minutes" that my mother would privately compile for him after discussing certain political affairs with my father. Of course, these were edited and polished, omitting sensitive personnel matters and heated debates, retaining only the core issues, different solutions, and the factors considered in the final decision. My mother would write brief comments in red ink: "This proposal focuses on the long term, but it is likely to cause public resentment in the short term, requiring a policy of appeasement." "This method seems fair, but it overlooks the possibility that local officials might use it to cause trouble, so supervision needs to be strengthened." "Your father used drastic measures here because the time was right and the resistance was weak. If you encounter a similar situation in the future, you must first assess the situation carefully."
These booklets and manuscripts opened a window for Li Hong to the real world of politics. They showed him how national policies, repeatedly debated and cited in court, became entangled with factors like weather, geography, public sentiment, finances, and even the thoughts of petty officials when implemented in practice. They made him understand that a ruler must not only possess lofty ideals and decisive courage, but also the patience to perceive subtle nuances, the ability to balance the interests of all parties, and the pragmatic spirit to break down grand plans into feasible steps.
He was especially grateful for his mother's emphasis on "people." The booklet often contained analyses of the characteristics of various officials (of course, without naming names): some were good at financial management but too strict, some were proficient in law but lacked flexibility, some had extremely high prestige but might be rigid in their adherence to old rules... His mother told him that employing people is like employing tools; the key is to know their strengths and weaknesses, place them in the right position, use systems to restrain their weaknesses, and use trust to inspire their strengths. She also often reminded him to be aware of the joys and sorrows of ordinary people, where their bottom line was, what kind of policies were "subtle and effective," and what kind were "explosive and harmful."
“Your father and your uncle spent their entire lives almost shattering an old order,” his mother once said meaningfully. “They cleared away the biggest obstacle and built a stronger court. What you need to do is make this new order function better and more smoothly, so that the people can truly enjoy the benefits of this strength, rather than see it as a burden. This requires more refined skills, and even more so, a heart that… can simultaneously understand the joys and sorrows of both the court and the common people.”
Li Hong deeply engraved these teachings in his heart. When he began to engage in actual political affairs as the crown prince, assisting his father in handling memorials, and even acting as regent for some of the court affairs in his father's later years, he found that he was better able to grasp the key points of problems than many of his peers in the imperial family, and even some young officials. He was also better able to foresee the possible mistakes that might occur in the implementation of policies, and he was also better able to understand the practical experience and concerns that might be hidden behind the seemingly pedantic insistence of those old ministers in the court.
He was no longer the "standard" crown prince who was merely well-versed in classics and history and knew etiquette. Under the influence of his mother's "personal teachings," he grew into an "atypical" heir with a unique vision and pragmatic thinking. He admired the great talent and iron-fisted methods of his father and uncle, but he also knew that what the Tang Dynasty needed after the Yonghui era might not be a radical, radical reform, but rather refined governance, institutional improvement, and sustainable prosperity.
He would carefully review the Ministry of Revenue's detailed reports on the pilot areas of the new tax system, paying attention to whether the burden on small farmers had truly been reduced and whether local powerful families had new ways to circumvent it; he would inquire about the progress and difficulties encountered in promoting the new spinning wheels and waterwheels by the Supervisory Commission, thinking about how to make these beneficial technologies reach the people more quickly; he even began to pay attention to those capable officials who worked diligently in remote prefectures and counties but had no way to be promoted due to a lack of background, under his mother's subtle hints, thinking about how to reform the assessment and selection mechanisms to allow talent to truly flow.
The two distinct auras in the study blended perfectly within him. One was the composure and responsibility befitting an imperial heir; the other was the "skill" and warmth he inherited from his mother—a keen understanding of reality and human nature. He knew that he would one day be leading a vast empire honed by his father and uncle, a empire with highly centralized power, yet also facing new challenges. He needed both the authority to command from the center and the patience and ability to humble himself and solve specific problems.
Occasionally, when he looked up amidst the mountains of official documents and his gaze swept over the quiet sandalwood box, a deep sense of gratitude for his mother would well up within him. It was his mother who, in this unique way, paved a path for him unlike any of his predecessors, allowing him to avoid groping in the dark, to avoid repeating the bloody lessons of his fathers, and to prepare him with a clearer and more pragmatic attitude to take over that heavy rein of power.
Outside the window, the peaceful scene of the Yonghui era of the Tang Dynasty unfolds. Inside the study, the young crown prince, drawing upon the wisdom and vision inherited from his mother, is quietly sketching a more refined and stable blueprint for governance befitting his era. The future of the empire will continue to write its glorious and unique chapter through the fusion and inheritance of old and new thinking.
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