Chapter 143: The Hidden Mysteries of the Scribe's Office

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Luoyang City awakened to the echoing chimes of the bell.

As the weather grew colder, dawn cast a faint mist over the city. Within this haze, Ye Chang and his companions traversed the bustling streets of Luoyang, heading toward the government offices.

The cacophony of roosters crowing and dogs barking filled the air, while early risers emerged from their homes. Gentlemen and ladies gathered in crowds, and merchants and travelers filled the thoroughfares.

Such a prosperous city, if history were to remain unchanged, would face ruin in just over a decade. First seized by rebels, then handed over by the Li Tang dynasty to foreign mercenaries. Countless scholars and nobles, like the blooming peonies that once adorned every street, would fall, trampled and crushed into the dust.

Barbarism always holds certain advantages over civilization. If internal strife further weakens the civilized, collapse is but a matter of time.

With such reflections, Ye Chang approached Yang Shenming.

“You handed me your card days ago—why only arrive today?” Yang Shenming’s tone was sharp. He had sent for Ye Chang urgently, hoping for immediate aid. Yet Ye Chang had been in the city for days before appearing.

Two whole days—precious time lost.

This morning’s frost was heavy, and already news had come: two disaster victims had frozen to death. Had Ye Chang come earlier, perhaps a solution might have been found to save them.

“I was caught up in mundane affairs upon entering the city, hence the delay,” Ye Chang admitted, feeling a pang of guilt.

“Mundane affairs? I heard you and the former Music Director Cao Shaokui apprehended a demon at Dafuxian Temple,” Yang Shenming said, locking eyes with him. “Do you know that Chancellor Li of the current court highly regards your talent? My elder brother, a councilor, once heard Li say, ‘Ye Eleven is remarkably intelligent, but has two flaws: frivolous behavior and sharp speech. These are paths to ruin. For the state’s sake, Ye Eleven must not hold a prominent office.’”

Over the past year, Ye Chang had accomplished much; even Emperor Li Longji and Yang Yuhuan were aware of his reputation, indirectly associating with him. Thus, it was unsurprising that Li Linfu knew of him.

What puzzled Ye Chang was Li Linfu’s candid evaluation—it was painfully honest.

Thanks to his knowledge from another lifetime, Ye Chang was naturally talented, but that past life had left him somewhat cynical, causing him to rarely show his true form and often speak harshly. These character flaws had caused him trouble since arriving in the Tang dynasty. Surviving an assassination attempt outside Chang’an had brought him perilously close to death, prompting introspection.

It was this reflection that led him to extend help to Yuan Zai.

Many knew of his shortcomings, but few openly spoke of them.

“Still, yesterday you shielded me from disaster; for that, I must thank you,” Yang Shenming added after his reprimand.

“What matter do you refer to, Lord Ming?” Ye Chang asked, curiosity piqued.

“The assassination attempt on Shen Xi,” Yang Shenming frowned, troubled. “Never imagined such troubles would arise.”

Though Shen Xi and others had left, two stewards remained to liaise with the Wuhou shop. Yang Shenming knew the attack occurred during the city’s curfew drum, when many pedestrians were still present, so many witnessed it. That Ye Chang was implicated was unsurprising.

Ye Chang pressed further, “Who is this Master Shen? What family does he hail from that an assassin would target him? Is the assassin’s identity questionable? Is this why you are troubled?”

“Troubled is an understatement. The assassin matters little; I know who orchestrates it but am powerless,” Yang Shenming glanced at Ye Chang, trailing off. “This concerns you not. The assassin will not retaliate against you. If they dare attack you, does our Tang army mean nothing?”

“Um…”

Yang Shenming never revealed Shen Xi’s identity, for reasons unknown. Without his word, Ye Chang could not inquire further. His attention shifted to the disaster victims’ resettlement.

“Currently, there are 2,319 victims—now reduced to 2,317. It was better some days ago, but the colder weather claims lives daily,” Yang Shenming sighed. “Ye Eleven, what solution can you offer? Speak quickly.”

“The treasury is empty?” Ye Chang frowned deeply at this news.

It was only mid-October, yet people were already freezing to death. How many more would perish in the colder months?

For Luoyang, the Eastern Capital, to shelter over two thousand disaster victims should not be difficult for a city of over a million. Surely something else hindered this.

“The Emperor intends to tour east again,” Yang Shenming said, a single phrase that illuminated the situation for Ye Chang.

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Each imperial tour meant colossal expenditure. Beyond the obvious, tens of thousands of soldiers and officials accompanied the Emperor. Feeding their horses and men, plus the laborers supporting them, consumed vast resources.

Though Luoyang’s treasury held grain and funds, Yang Shenming lacked authority to use them freely. What he could use had to be reserved for emergencies.

“Absurd,” Ye Chang cursed inwardly.

At such a time, Emperor Li Longji still planned a tour eastward. Though summer floods had not been catastrophic, they had displaced thousands.

“At least the Hot Springs Palace is a definite stop,” Yang Shenming added with a weary smile. “Thus, I am powerless. I recall when you first helped, rescuing an entire village from the floods… I fully support you now. Can you manage these two thousand disaster victims?”

“I am no official…”

“I know your ambition lies elsewhere. But for convenience, I’ve petitioned the court to appoint you Acting Recorder of Luoyang, following Chang’an’s precedent.”

Ye Chang was speechless—Han Chaozong had set a precedent.

The Recorder was hardly a desirable post. Though ranked, it was intended for lower officials unable to rise through the imperial exams. Its status was awkward.

Adding “Acting” implied temporariness—appointed when needed, dismissed otherwise. In another life, it might be called a temp job. In either case, it was the perfect scapegoat position.

Yang Shenming was hardly generous.

Though Ye Chang grumbled, Yang Shenming continued, “I know your heart is elsewhere. The Acting Recorder role merely facilitates your work. Luoyang differs from Chang’an, but one thing is the same: the city is swarming with nobles. Without a title, even clerks and servants cannot be commanded by you.”

“Even with the Acting Recorder title, I doubt I can control them,” Ye Chang smiled wryly.

“I said: ask, and I will provide,” Yang Shenming said.

After pondering, Ye Chang proposed, “I stayed a day at Dafuxian Temple and gained insight. First, the victims outside the city should be relocated from the north to the east side, between Jianchun Gate and the Luo River. I see several fallow plots, harvested and unplanted. We can build wooden houses there to prepare for winter.”

“Those are private lands.”

“No matter. At worst, come spring, the victims will be resettled or return home to rebuild. The wooden houses will then belong to the landowners. Timber can be floated down the Luo River for transport.”

Accommodation was the first priority. Though Ye Chang had not visited the northern camps, he had heard they were mere thatch huts, unable to shield from wind or rain, let alone cold.

He outlined his plan; Yang Shenming nodded repeatedly. After the general framework, Ye Chang added, “This is easier said than done. I must visit the victims personally to decide the details… Essentially, it’s a work-for-relief scheme.”

“That’s the crux. Such a scheme needs funds and grain. Where am I to find such resources?” Yang Shenming sighed. “If funds existed, would I trouble you?”

“No rice, no cooking. You want the horse to run without eating—impossible,” Ye Chang grumbled. “You just said, ask and you’ll receive.”

“Except for funds.”

“Truly brother-like,” Ye Chang muttered.

Yang Shenming’s standing was notable: a descendant of the former Sui royal family, grandson of Emperor Yang of Sui. His father, Yang Chongli, was a steward of the treasury, known for integrity. His elder brother, Yang Shenjin, inherited his father’s prudence and financial acumen, prized by Li Longji.

Yang Shenming’s support was mainly verbal; he had assigned some servants to Ye Chang’s team. Ye Chang decided to visit the northern camps and took his leave.

As his figure vanished, a man stepped from behind a screen.

“Do you trust this lad?”

“What choice do we have? Brother, do you doubt him?” Yang Shenming greeted the newcomer.

Ye Chang never expected that behind the screen stood Yang Shenjin, Yang Shenming’s elder brother.

Among the three Yang brothers, Yang Shenjin bore the best reputation—sharp-eyed and adept at finance. He had been appointed steward of the treasury, succeeding their father.

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“This young man reformed the western market in Chang’an with notable success. The cement venture brought great revenue to the Jingzhao Prefecture,” Yang Shenjin, tall and imposing, raised an eyebrow. “Too bad Han Chaozong watches closely; even the treasury cannot intervene. Brother, since we invited him, you must win his favor and put his financial skills to use.”

He paused, then added, “Chancellor Li intends to promote me to Vice Censor-in-Chief.”

Though the treasury steward was a noble post, it remained a finance minister’s role. Vice Censor-in-Chief was a step toward becoming chancellor. Yang Shenjin’s voice trembled slightly at this prospect.

Yang Shenming understood his meaning instantly.

For the Yang brothers, this was a pivotal step. Success meant a chance at the chancellorship. Failure meant their family’s limit.

Earlier, Li Longji had considered appointing Yang Shenjin as Vice Censor-in-Chief, recognizing his efforts in fiscal restraint to fund the Emperor’s extravagance. But Yang Shenjin, fearing Li Linfu, declined. Subsequently, he sought to curry favor with Li Linfu, especially through his nephew Wang, who gained Li’s approval. Li Linfu then again intended to promote him.

Yet intention and action differ. To truly earn Li Linfu’s support, Yang Shenjin needed to act.

Yang Shenming’s petition on post-disaster relief was ignored by Li Longji, opening an opportunity for Yang Shenjin.

“My foolish brother does not understand why you place hope in Ye Eleven.”

“You have not been in the capital. Rumor says that Transport Commissioner Wei Jian may become chancellor,” Yang Shenjin said delicately.

“Wei Jian?”

Yang Shenming grasped the context immediately.

Wei Jian owed Li Longji’s favor to his control of grain transport—essentially supplying the Emperor’s treasury. If Yang Shenming could succeed in Luoyang, proving the Yang family’s capability rivaled Wei Jian’s, they would surely gain Li Longji’s favor.

Though not directly opposing Li Shizhi or Wei Jian, this indirectly aided Li Linfu, who welcomed financial allies. Perhaps this explained the capital’s muted response to Luoyang’s disaster reports.

Hence, the seemingly minor task of resettling Luoyang’s disaster victims was in fact a move in the delicate balance of power at the Tang center.

“Moreover, Ye Chang is close to Han Chaozong,” Yang Shenjin smiled. “Strangely, Han has never promoted Ye to an official post, preferring to use him as a temporary strategist. Ironically, Han, famed for recognizing talent, missed both Li Taibai and Ye Eleven.”

When Li Bai sought office, he wrote the famed “Letter to Han Jingzhou,” but Han deemed him exaggerated and did not recommend him. Yang Shenjin mocked Han behind his back, unaware of Han’s true intentions.

Ye Chang’s closeness to Han, and Han’s ties to Li Shizhi, meant bringing Ye to their side weakened Li Linfu’s political enemies.

A move with multiple gains—how could one not pursue it?

“Now we wait to see if Ye Eleven lives up to his reputation or if his talents are genuine,” Yang Shenming sighed, recognizing the plan’s true significance.

Ye Chang possessed some real skill. Yang Shenming and others waited to see; so did the disaster victims beyond the city.

These victims came from counties around Luoyang. When Ye Chang arrived, it was time to distribute morning porridge.

The ragged victims huddled, watching the dozen large pots in the porridge tent with wary eyes.

“Watch closely,” a clerk barked, plunging a long chopstick into the pot.

The chopstick wobbled but did not fall—proof the porridge was thick with rice, light on water, prompting faint sighs: today’s meal would fill their bellies.

Distribution was orderly, no scrambling—Ye Chang had stressed in his post-disaster strategy that order was paramount. Yang Shenming, familiar with the text, valued this. As a competent official himself, Ye Chang found the scene cautiously optimistic.