Chapter 82: The Court and the Provinces

Crash.

A finely crafted jade paperweight fell to the ground and shattered into pieces. The official kneeling before Yang Guang did not dare lift a hand to wipe away the blood trickling from the wound at his temple, struck by the paperweight.

Yang Guang steadied himself with one hand on the table, standing behind it, and pointed at the prostrate official. “You pedantic scholars! Traitors to the nation! You deserve death at the hands of all. Day after day, you do nothing but impeach others, merely seeking to attract attention! Earlier you accused the Western Regions’ Governor, Li Wenyuan, of harboring bandits to bolster his own power, eliminating rivals and promoting only his favorites. Yet when I sent inspectors to investigate, and to question the common people, it was revealed that last year the Western Regions suffered a natural disaster. Had it not been for Li Wenyuan’s restraint in not deploying troops, my people of the Great Sui would have been left homeless and starving. If we had followed your advice and waged war on Li Gui last winter, it would not be just four districts in rebellion now—the entire eight districts of the Western Regions would have risen up! At this very moment, Li Gui would have led the steppe tribes to hold a saber to my throat! Day in, day out, you speak of your loyalty to the throne, your patriotism—yet is your so-called loyalty and patriotism to see my subjects starved into rebellion, so as to topple my reign?”

Having vented his anger, Yang Guang sat back down on the dragon throne. “You fail to investigate among the people, you impeach without regard for the facts. You are forever chanting that ‘the speaker is blameless,’ always urging me to emulate the wise kings of old who welcomed remonstrance. Yet you fabricate charges in court, seeking to force guilt upon my frontier commanders. Do you truly take me for a blind man? A deaf man? Since you claim to speak for the people and the state, then go to Lingnan and proclaim the benevolence of the Great Sui, and pacify the people there. Depart at once, let there be no delay. You may go.”

Watching the discomfited official withdraw from the court, Yang Guang leaned back on his throne and closed his eyes, pondering the recent currents among his ministers. All knew that, as emperor, his word was law, and he held the power of life and death over all who served at court. But how many understood the fierce rivalries among the court’s factions, or the tension between the provinces and the capital? One misstep could mean destruction.

No matter how wise or virtuous the emperor, even devoting his entire life, he could only hope to govern a few regions well. Now, the Great Sui ruled over dozens of commanderies, and had to rely on his officials to enforce his will. Yet he could not allow them to grow too close, to form cliques that challenged imperial authority. This was the greatest headache for any emperor—just as the official he had banished to Lingnan was but a scapegoat, sent by the aristocrats of Guanlong to test his intentions.

He thought back to his third campaign against Goguryeo, when laborers and soldiers fled, and the officers shirked their duties, and then, as he prepared for a fourth campaign, the Guanlong nobles joined forces to openly defy him. Yang Guang’s grip on the throne’s armrest tightened, the veins on his hand standing out, his knuckles creaking with strain. Considering the power of these aristocrats, who held sway over half the court, he suppressed his impulse to curtail Li Wenyuan’s military authority, and instead ordered his eunuch to summon Yu Shinan to draft an imperial edict.

The edict made it clear: Li Wenyuan was to suppress Li Gui within a set time. Yang Guang was well aware of the Turkic support for Li Gui, and after further thought, he granted Li Wenyuan two years. In those two years, not only must Li Gui’s rebel forces be eliminated, but the Western Turks must also be compelled to resume their tributary status, sending a hostage prince to the Sui capital as a sign of loyalty.

The edict departed the capital by night, speeding towards Li Wenyuan in Wuwei Commandery. But these were not the matters occupying Li Wenyuan at that moment. He was at the testing grounds, watching as his craftsmen unveiled their first cannon. This artillery piece was not his idea; rather, one of his craftsmen, inspired during the manufacture of flintlock muskets, conceived of a larger weapon to hurl massive iron balls—an innovation to replace the army’s long-used trebuchets. The cannon had a cast iron barrel, unlike the single-piece forged barrels of muskets. Its barrel was cast in sections, then assembled, with molten iron poured at the joints to bind them together.

The master who oversaw its creation claimed that the cannon could batter city walls from three hundred paces, destroying the defenders’ ballistae before they could be brought to bear. This intrigued Li Wenyuan greatly, and he came in person to witness its test firing. If such cannons could be widely adopted, he wondered, which city among all the agrarian civilizations of the world could withstand his army’s assault?

Soon, the target was set three hundred paces away, and the cannon loaded with gunpowder. Two soldiers carefully placed an iron ball, polished smooth, into the barrel. Suddenly remembering something, Li Wenyuan halted the ignition, and ordered Manager Jin to have the firing crew retreat to a hundred paces before lighting the fuse.

As the slow match burned down, a tongue of flame licked the cannon’s charge. In an instant, the cannon erupted with a blinding flash—thunderous as a storm, the blast wave knocked everyone within a hundred paces off their feet. The test ground was left in chaos. Later, Qiuniang recounted that even in Wuwei Commandery itself, it felt as if the earth shook—at first, she thought it was an earthquake.

Once the smoke cleared, Li Wenyuan pushed past his guards and hurried to the test crew sprawled on the ground, uncertain if they lived or died. Finding them all still breathing and without obvious injuries, he realized they had merely been stunned by the blast’s force, their chests winded but lives intact. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief. The medics rushed in and revived them all.

One of them, apparently the chief engineer, knelt before Li Wenyuan as soon as he regained consciousness. “I have fashioned such a crude and dangerous device, and have offended the Governor. I beg your forgiveness.”

But Li Wenyuan shook his head. “You are at fault, but not for offending me. Your failing lies in attempting such a test without proper preparation. Had I not intervened in time, would any of you still be alive? Yet you dared to innovate, and for that, you will be rewarded. Go to the garrison town and claim your reward money. But as merit must be balanced with punishment, you must also investigate the cause of this explosion and report to me when you have determined it.”

A thousand pieces of gold to buy a fine steed’s bones—though this incident was unplanned, Li Wenyuan used it to make his position clear to all the craftsmen present: unlike the nobles who had previously employed them, he was willing to invest great wealth to support their experimentation and innovation. After all, his own advantages were not so miraculous as to guarantee perfect knowledge. He could only encourage his craftsmen to innovate, for they were the ones in daily contact with such matters—and in the end, true knowledge comes from practice.