Chapter 104: Letting Go of Liang

It was hardly surprising that a large number of displaced peasants appeared in Luquan County; after all, he himself was part of the land consolidation process. Farmers who lost their land could not immediately transform into independent workers. In the Tang Dynasty, with its relatively undeveloped commercial economy, the number of displaced peasants absorbed by industry and commerce was limited. There was no policy like the Song Dynasty’s military colonies, nor the more relaxed economic environment of the Song era. All they could do was watch as these displaced people wandered across the empire’s territory—a perilous sign indeed, yet the bureaucracy turned a blind eye.

“Even if I hire some of these displaced peasants, it won’t fundamentally solve the problem of their increasing numbers,” Zhen Qian lamented.

“There’s no time for that now. The Prefect has already met with many merchants and large landowners, hoping they will employ displaced peasants. Just as you said, it’s merely a drop in the bucket. But what other solution is there? We must first resolve the immediate crisis and take it step by step,” came the reply.

Zhen Qian was reluctant to employ displaced peasants; he preferred to spend a bit more to purchase slaves. The difference was clear—peasants worked on a hired basis, slaves were bound by master-servant ties. Hiring peasants would only make them grateful to officials, but slaves owed loyalty to him alone.

“The Xiantai Village can employ fifty households of displaced peasants. If more shops open next year, we can hire a few more. This is already my limit.”

“Fifty households is quite a number. Big Brother, I thank you on behalf of the Prefect for easing our burdens!”

Teaching a man to fish is better than giving him a fish—true help for these peasants must come from officials. Yet, officials forced displaced peasants onto local landowners, only worsening their plight—a truth Zhen Qian dared not voice.

The night passed quietly. The next morning, he realized the two young maids who usually attended him were gone, leaving him struggling to dress himself. In the Tang Dynasty, clothing was layered thickly, especially in winter—seven or eight layers from inside out—and Zhen Qian, sensitive to the cold, always donned a fur-lined robe when venturing outdoors.

Without the help of the maids, he had to make do. After washing, he practiced Tai Chi in the courtyard, followed by Sanda and Taekwondo—he did not neglect any discipline. For his own survival, he knew physical strength was paramount; in ancient times, even a cold or fever could be fatal. Zhen Qian was not about to die foolishly.

Life in the county was less convenient than in Xiantai Village; in the morning, he could still practice archery and horseback riding. Horseback riding was a required skill for every scholar-official; archery was not merely for physical and eyesight training—though he never imagined using it in battle—it was purely for his own survival. When the time came, no divine intervention would save him; only he could save himself.

In earlier days, Zhen Qian had been wealthy, so naturally he cared greatly for his health. He frequented gymnasiums and engaged in numerous recreational activities, even knew a bit of yoga; nurturing his body was a matter of course.

Despite his dissatisfaction with the quality of life in the Tang era, he considered himself fortunate at least not to have been born into the ranks of displaced peasants.

Calling upon Wang You, while Wang Peng had already harnessed the carriage, the three set out for the market.

Zhen Qian had yet to see the East and West markets of Chang’an City, unaware of their splendor. But having witnessed the colossal supermarkets of later eras, the market in Luquan County was hardly worth a glance.

Tang scholars occupied the upper echelons of the imperial hierarchy, devoting themselves to study and officialdom rather than production. Their lives were one of ease, with servants attending their every need. A scholar could not last a day without slaves; without maids and servants to handle household chores, chop firewood, cook, wash clothes, clean courtyards, and attend horses, their lives would collapse instantly. This was no exaggeration—Zhen Qian felt it keenly.

Why did the Tang Dynasty enact such a brutal, cruel slave and servant system? In a word: to consolidate and strengthen imperial authority.

In slave societies, war captives were the traditional source of slaves. But in the Tang Dynasty, slaves were not primarily war captives. Early on, a small number existed, but as wars ended, this source quickly dried up. Yet the number of slaves did not diminish; it expanded, with the new main source emerging from within society itself—from social conflicts and struggles. The imperial system required a slave class, and society itself perpetually produced slaves. The slave system was a product of the remnant slave society fused with imperial power.

The imperial social structure demanded a strict and terrifying hierarchy. Slaves were society’s lowest class, outcasts caught between human and beast, a being that chilled the spine at the mere thought. The emperor desired precisely this psychological effect. For commoners, having such a contrast made everyone wary. “Just behave and mind your place, be a good subject. After all, our lives are far better than a slave’s, aren’t they? Why be discontented? Better off than some, worse off than others—why stir trouble? Let’s live quietly, swallowing grievances. With a slave class at the bottom, the emperor’s rule becomes easier.”

For the upper classes—imperial relatives, nobles, and officials—the slave system was a powerful deterrent and intimidation. The emperor’s authority was unassailable. Anyone daring to rebel would face severe punishment. Even if you cared for nothing, think for your wife and children. Once conspiracies were exposed, they would be implicated, confiscated, and enslaved, condemned to a life of suffering and humiliation, with their descendants doomed to eternal servitude. The emperor’s supreme authority was largely built on this grim and fearsome institution.

Furthermore, the slave system also satisfied the emperor’s personal desires. The emperor was human, with the basest instincts and a strong need for revenge and cruelty. When enraged, what better punishment than consigning someone to servitude for generations?

Thus, the Tang Dynasty pushed the slave system to its extreme.

After the chaos of the late Tang and the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period, emperors finally realized the slave system was a ticking time bomb and could no longer be allowed to continue. Politics is the art of compromise, needing balance among social classes, never pushing any group to the brink. From this standpoint, Song Taizu was clearly a far more astute politician than the Tang emperors.

The buying and selling of slaves was akin to trading livestock, evident from the fact that slave markets were located alongside animal markets.

Slave trading was divided into official and private sectors. Private slaves mostly came from foreign traders or the households of powerful families, with uneven quality and limited numbers. Official slaves were different: property confiscated from Wang Ke and his family, numbering tens of thousands—there were hundreds for sale in just one region of Hengzhou alone.

Hao Ren had long awaited Zhen Qian at the market. Seeing him enter, Hao Ren immediately ushered him into a room.

Inside stood a row of slaves—exactly the four families Zhen Qian had specified yesterday—all artisans: kiln workers, tanners, shipbuilders, and an accounting household, totaling twenty-seven people. They were entire families, their faces expressionless, eyes filled with sorrow and numbness, bracing for an unknown fate.

Zhen Qian first inquired about their skills and found every detail matched the contract perfectly. He was very satisfied with the four families.

Hao Ren, trying to bolster his standing, spoke in a domineering tone: “In your past lives, you must have accumulated good fortune. Master Zhen is renowned throughout Luquan County for his benevolence. Work well under him, and each year you’ll have a chance at freedom. Did you all hear that?”

At the mention of the chance for freedom, a glimmer of hope flickered in the slaves’ eyes. Who would want to remain a slave for life? What a miserable fate that would be.

Though Zhen Qian disliked the slave system, as a practical beneficiary he was eager to use slaves. To give them hope, he planned to grant one or two opportunities for release each year. For someone who already owned hundreds of households and nearly a thousand slaves, this was no great sacrifice.