Chapter Ninety-Eight: The Silhouette of a Flourishing Era

Peng Le was fond of the gold and silver coins from Zhen Qian’s money exchange and kept quite a few at home. He was very intrigued by Zhen Qian’s self-sacrificing way of doing business and simply couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it.

Holding thirteen gold coins in his hand, Peng Le’s face was beaming with a smile. “Master Zhen, isn’t this a bit too much?”

During the Tang Dynasty, the exchange ratio between gold and silver was roughly one to eight. Thirteen gold coins could be exchanged for one hundred and four silver coins, which, even at the money exchange’s rate, would amount to one hundred and four strings of coins—clearly more than the one hundred strings he had been charged. If exchanged on the open market, each gold coin could fetch an extra five hundred wen, totaling an additional six thousand five hundred wen. Adding the four strings extra, it came to over ten strings. “How could I let Peng Household Chief make a trip for nothing? The surplus is naturally your reward… Please don’t refuse.”

Peng Le chuckled heartily, tucking the gold coins into his bosom. “I am undeserving, truly undeserving!”

“Oh, by the way, I heard you’re planning to venture into the medicinal herbs and brick kiln businesses. Although the Peng family may not have much experience in these fields, please don’t hesitate to utilize our resources when the time comes. I hope there will be opportunities for cooperation between our families in the future!”

Opening a herbal medicine shop made sense, as Zhen Qian possessed recipes for golden wound medicine (Yunnan Baiyao) and cosmetics. Moreover, substances like niter and sulfur were sold exclusively by pharmacies in the Tang era. As for the brick kiln, it not only produced bricks but also cement, glazed tiles, and porcelain—each a highly profitable product. One could not afford to neglect preparation in these ventures.

Fame breeds trouble, and Peng Le had now set his sights on Zhen Qian’s enterprise. There was no such thing as a free favor in this world. Zhen Qian smiled and said, “Since Household Chief Peng is so enthusiastic, I will surely trouble you when the time comes!”

“Then it’s settled.” Peng Le left the parlor, as if recalling something. “Master Zhen, are you heading to the county seat? Why not accompany me?”

Peng Le must have noticed the carriage at the door. Zhen Qian, however, had no desire to travel with him. The Peng family’s notorious reputation was well known—ruthless, ungrateful, and heartless. Not only their slaves but even the tenant farmers who worked their fields were treated without mercy. It was precisely such people one wanted to avoid—any association brought misfortune.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step; a river is formed by countless small streams.

Talk is cheap, and without practice, one never knows the difficulty of the task. Forging iron and steel was no easy matter. While it was understood that special steel required alloying elements, in the Tang Dynasty, lacking a scientific system, all this was mere wishful thinking.

A simple four-wheeled carriage suspension spring proved a vexing challenge for Zhen Qian. Riding in a carriage without shock absorption was akin to torture; springs made from ordinary steel snapped after only a few jolts. To produce steel with the right hardness and toughness required years of experimentation—no shortcut existed.

The lost Han-Tang hemp steel technique, said to have been brought back from the Western Regions by Zhang Qian during the Han Dynasty, combined Damascus steel forging with repeated hammering and was renowned for its superior qualities. Even today, it remains the finest material for making sniper rifles. Sadly, this treasured technique was jealously guarded within the imperial palace, and its complete process was lost to posterity.

Seeing Peng Le depart for another village to gather grain, Zhen Qian immediately took his gifts and set off for the county seat.

Luquan County was established in the sixteenth year of the Sui Emperor Kaihuang era, named after the Deer Spring water source, and was only twenty or thirty li from Xiantai Village. A one-hour bumpy ride in the carriage brought them there.

Zhen Qian made one or two trips to the county monthly. Now, with less than a month until the New Year, he had not brought along the two little girls, Xiao Zhu and Xiao Mei, who were sulking. These two young maidservants were now formidable figures. Without a matron in the household, they reigned as the ladies of the backyard, commanding respect and inviolability—even Zhen Qian dared not scold or reprimand them. Few servant girls could reach such a status; they were truly exceptional.

Jealousy is inherent to women, as it has always been. Since Zhen Qian treated them not as mere servants, they naturally watched closely who he favored among women.

Beside Zhen Qian sat his boy scholar, Wang You, while the carriage was driven by the old servant Wang Peng, who also served as his personal bodyguard.

Though this was still a prosperous era, traveling was far from safe. The Tang Empire spanned about eleven million square kilometers, with a maximum population of eighty or ninety million—averaging fewer than ten people per square kilometer. By comparison, modern America covers just over nine million square kilometers with more than three hundred million people, where even outside cities one seldom finds crowds.

In the Tang era, killing was not a grave matter; there was no internet or rapid communication. Criminals who murdered or plundered often fled to remote, impoverished regions. It was embarrassing to travel without a few bodyguards.

Wang Peng leaned against the carriage, a broad sword hanging from his waist, with a quiver of arrows and a curved bow at his side, his body swaying with the carriage. “Master, this morning I heard that several families in a nearby village have fled in desperation. The recent conscription of corvée laborers to transport grain to the northern provinces will be harsh—many will surely perish in the bitter cold.”

Some matters were beyond Zhen Qian’s control. Large-scale conscription for corvée labor in winter was always grim, especially to the frozen north. The laborers were poor farmers, poorly clothed and fed; many died from exposure during their service.

This reminded Zhen Qian of Du Fu’s poem “Remembrance”—“I recall the glorious days of Kaiyuan, when even small towns housed thousands of families. Rice was as rich as cream, millet as white as jade; public and private granaries were full.” The Tang Dynasty was a golden age for scholars and nobles, not for the common peasants. Du Fu’s lines in “From the Capital to Fengxian County”—“Rich gates reek of rotting meat and wine; on the roads lie frozen bones”—vividly depict the harsh realities before and after the An Lushan Rebellion.

As the saying goes, “The nest is not unfinished, but what it clings to is.”

After a century of development, by the Tianbao era the Tang Empire was fraught with crisis. Beneath the prosperous surface, dark currents flowed—though the idle and corrupt nobility chose to ignore them.

The realm was fractured by military governors, the court was in chaos, treacherous officials rose to power, land was monopolized, and aristocrats colluded with officials. The common people were destitute, stripped bare by heavy taxes and forced labor, oppressed by landlords and elites. “Clouds rise by the creek as the sun sets behind the pavilion; the mountain rain threatens and the wind fills the tower.”

Some say that rise and fall are superficial; the true cause lies in how bureaucrats pursue their interests. At the dynasty’s founding, “those who rejoice in the people’s joy share their happiness; those who worry for the people share their sorrow”; “power is used for the people, sentiment is bound to the people, profit is sought for the people.” But as decline set in, “rulers became arrogant and ministers sycophantic,” wealth was concentrated in vast estates while the poor had no place to stand—the dynasty’s doom was sealed.

“Courtesans know not the grief of a fallen kingdom; across the river, they still sing ‘The Flowers of the Rear Courtyard.’” Amidst this elegy, the golden age of an empire vanished forever.

The dynasty was torn apart from within, corruption rampant, military neglected, emperors decadent and indifferent to governance. Personal ambition swelled unchecked, making the outbreak of the An Lushan Rebellion inevitable.