Chapter 94 Policy Discussion

Chapter 94: On Policy

Serving as an ink-grinding servant was a light duty, not particularly taxing. By the afternoon of the next day, Xiao Shao saw Qi Yan in the study.

He lifted his robe and knelt, bowing as he said, "Your Highness."

Qi Yan had always been slender, but after falling ill, he appeared even frailer. The servant's robes hung loosely on his frame, as if they might slip off.

Xiao Shao found the sight oddly irritating.

He had seen Qi Yan before—before his downfall, Qi Yan had not looked like this.

Back then, Qi Yan had just been named Tanhua, in the flush of triumph. With an imperial flower pinned in his hair, he rode down the main street on horseback, heading to the Qujiang Banquet. Crowds of men, women, and children lined the streets, eager to share in the celebration. Young women tossed flowers at the newly minted scholars, and Qi Yan, being the most handsome, received the most. Soon, his sleeves were filled with peonies and lotuses.

At the time, Xiao Shao had been seated in the refined booth on the second floor of Xiangyun Pavilion, listening to a courtesan perform. Suddenly, a commotion broke out below, and he pushed open the window to look outside—his gaze landing immediately on Qi Yan atop his horse.

The young man’s face was finely chiseled, his demeanor elegant and scholarly. Xiao Shao arched a brow, clicking his fan closed as he remarked, "This year’s Tanhua is this pretty? Truly delightful."

Xie Guanghong shook his head. "That’s the son of Censor Xie. Don’t get any ideas, or his father might lodge a complaint with the Emperor, and His Majesty might just hurl the imperial seal at you."

Just then, Qi Yan happened to glance up, locking eyes with Xiao Shao. Xiao Shao mouthed with a grin, "Beautiful."

Clearly unaccustomed to such boldness, Qi Yan froze for a moment before looking away with a frown, hissing under his breath. Judging by his lips, the words were: "Shameless libertine."

With that, he jerked the reins, urging his horse to trot past the pavilion. But Xiao Shao noticed—his ears had burned red.

Xiao Shao had thought at the time, *How amusing that scholars curse—such a feeble, harmless insult, yet it made his own ears burn.*

Years passed, and the world had shifted. When they met again, Qi Yan had risen to the pinnacle of power, becoming the Lord of Nine Thousand Years.

Lost in memory, Xiao Shao drifted for a moment. Qi Yan, unable to hold his kneeling posture any longer, closed his eyes briefly and braced a hand against the floor.

Xiao Shao gestured. "Rise. Grind ink for me."

Truthfully, he had nothing to write—and even if he did, he wouldn’t do it in front of Qi Yan. He simply wanted to keep the man under his watch, inventing ways to hassle him.

So Qi Yan mechanically ground the ink once, and Xiao Shao said, "Too light."

He ground it a second time, and Xiao Shao said, "Too dark."

Once the ink was finally prepared, Xiao Shao ordered Qi Yan to pour tea. The first time, he complained it was too hot; the second time, too cold. In short, he sprawled in his chair like a spoiled noble, making Qi Yan dart around while observing his reactions.

Qi Yan showed no reaction.

He obediently ground the ink, obediently poured the tea. If Xiao Shao nitpicked, he simply started over—like a lifeless doll.

Teasing a puppet was no fun at all.

Xiao Shao narrowed his eyes slightly. "Oi, Qi Yan. In a couple of days, I’ll be attending lectures at the Royal Study Hall. I plan to take you with me."

"..."

Qi Yan continued pouring water without pause. "As you wish."

Xiao Shao leaned forward. "The Senior Tutor Song at the Royal Study Hall—wasn’t he once your teacher too?"

"Yes."

Born into an official’s family, Qi Yan had grown up among the distinguished literati. He had been one of Senior Tutor Song’s favorite students.

But now, this student had cut off from officialdom, with no chance of achieving fame anymore.

The upright faction and eunuchs belonged to entirely different systems. The former could stand with integrity, be remembered in history, and carry forward their learning. Countless scholars strove tirelessly, if only to earn the title of "loyal ministers" in later generations.

But eunuchs were different.

They were inherently at the bottom of the social hierarchy—hounds, villains, and sycophants, the targets of scorn and denunciation by scholar-officials. To suddenly fall to such a state, Qi Yan couldn’t possibly be free of anguish.

Yet his face remained expressionless as he bent to pour water, as if the two decades he had spent studying, the dreams of serving as an upright official, had nothing to do with him anymore.

Xiao Shao: "You don’t care?"

Qi Yan lowered his head to grind ink, his neck bending submissively. "If Your Highness wishes me to care, then I can care."

"..."

Xiao Shao got nowhere and dropped the subject.

He kept Qi Yan by his side to mess with him for fun, but Qi Yan remained utterly indifferent, making the whole affair pretty boring.

The next day, Xiao Shao indeed brought him to the study hall.

Yuan Yu and Xie Guanghong had arrived earlier. As a prince, Xiao Shao sat at the front, right under Senior Tutor Song’s watchful gaze. He slouched at his desk and began passing notes with Yuan Yu.

Qi Yan knelt beside him, pushing up his sleeves to grind ink.

Senior Tutor Song shot them a glare before starting his lecture, speaking with flying spittle, making Xiao Shao drowsy. Finally, Senior Tutor Song rapped his ruler, jolting Xiao Shao awake.

Throughout, Senior Tutor Song repeatedly glanced at Qi Yan, but Qi Yan kept his head bowed, silent.

Senior Tutor Song sighed faintly. "Since none of you feel like listening, I’ll assign you some homework to hand in tomorrow."

The students had no interest in learning, and the teacher had no enthusiasm for teaching. Yuan Yu and the others were true slackers who couldn’t understand, while Xiao Shao played dumb to avoid trouble. Often, Senior Tutor Song would give up halfway through his lecture and throw them a topic to write about.

These topics were usually complex issues of current court debates. Senior Tutor Song didn’t expect them to produce anything substantial—it was merely a way to pass the time.

With a flourish of his brush, he wrote: "Corruption runs rampant, the state is impoverished, the people suffer, and the triple taxes breed endless abuses—how to resolve this?"

Xiao Shao’s fingers paused on the note, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

This was the biggest problem facing Da Qian. The court had debated it for over a decade, from the Grand Secretariat down to the Six Ministries, yet even after Xiao Shao ascended the throne, no solution had been found.

Every dynasty, in its middle and late stages, faced rampant corruption. Da Qian inherited the traditions of its predecessor, where commoners paid taxes in goods—farmers submitted grain, weavers submitted silk. But the court struggled to monitor individual yields per acre, making it difficult to standardize taxation.

One practice at the time was called "kicking the hu." Officials collecting grain would demand a full hu of rice, then kick the container, causing some to spill out. The spilled grain was excluded from the official tally and kept by the tax collector, who then demanded the peasants refill it. Layer upon layer of such exploitation led to staggering losses.

Before Xiao Shao took the throne, his elder brother had attempted reforms, but they were cut short, with no results.

Xiao Shao narrowed his eyes slightly and pushed the brush and paper toward Qi Yan, smiling. "You do this assignment for me. Show me what you've got."

In their previous life, Senior Tutor Song had always praised Qi Yan as a rare talent. Unfortunately, before Xiao Shao could witness it, Qi Yan had become the Nine Thousand-Year Lord, hated by everyone.

Qi Yan lowered his brows. "...I dare not."

Xiao Shao shoved the brush into his hand. "Just write it."

Qi Yan hesitated, then accepted. After a pause, he lifted the brush, wrist poised.

Xiao Shao paid him no further attention, turning instead to fight crickets with Yuan Yu. By the time he returned, Qi Yan had already let the ink dry.

He placed the draft on Xiao Shao's desk and knelt back down with lowered eyes.

Xiao Shao picked it up and glanced at it—the writing was rushed, the handwriting sloppy, and the content utterly unremarkable, filled with empty sycophantic drivel. Submitting this wouldn’t even rank in the bottom of the top three, let alone earn him the title of *Tanhua*.

This couldn’t be Qi Yan’s true caliber.

Xiao Shao chuckled and suddenly snapped open a book.

Each of their desks was weighed down by seven or eight—or even ten—books: classics, histories, philosophies, and anthologies required for lectures. Xiao Shao never touched them, but Senior Tutor Song was obsessively particular, insisting on tidying them up before leaving with his hands clasped behind his back.

Qi Yan’s breath hitched, his tension palpable.

His body stiffened; he didn’t dare lift his gaze to Xiao Shao, but his fingers gripping the desk tightened until veins stood out on the back of his hand. By the end, even his lips had lost their color.

Finding it amusing, Xiao Shao deliberately flipped through the books one by one, slowly. Qi Yan grew increasingly tense until, finally, Xiao Shao pulled out another sheet of paper from the very bottom of the stack.

Another answer to the assignment.

Given Qi Yan’s usual writing speed, such sloppiness was uncharacteristic. And Senior Tutor Song wouldn’t assign such a challenging question to these blockheads. Clearly, the question hadn’t been meant for Xiao Shao and the others—Senior Tutor Song had used Xiao Shao’s brush to pose it to his prized student, Qi Yan.

Xiao Shao shook out the paper and skimmed it casually. It read: *"Consolidate the taxes and labor duties of an entire prefecture, survey the land and tally the adult males..."*

He raised an eyebrow.

His imperial brother’s reforms from his past life bore an uncanny resemblance—eight or nine parts out of ten—to what was written here.

Since collecting grain was inconvenient to tally and prone to systematic exploitation at every level, the solution was to switch to silver. The crucial mechanisms were succinctly laid out in the brief text. Without exaggeration, the very marrow of his brother’s policies was condensed here, even filling in many previously overlooked gaps—though crushed by time constraints, many details were omitted.

Back then, Xiao Shao had still been in his fief but had heard of the affairs in the imperial court. As the imperial treasury dwindled and tensions between officials and commoners escalated, reform became urgent. After days of noisy arguments, his brother had suddenly produced a policy proposal and ordered the cabinet to deliberate.

No one knew the author or origin of the proposal. When ministers pressed him, his brother claimed divine inspiration—that a celestial being had imparted it to him in a dream.

Xiao Shao snorted in disdain at the time.

But now, could it be that the author of that proposal was...?

At this thought, he glanced at Qi Yan.

Qi Yan remained silent, eyes downcast, not uttering a word.

As a eunuch, he couldn’t submit policy proposals. His literary brilliance and lofty aspirations found no outlet, while his brother, hungry for glory and grandiose achievements, had taken full credit, presenting himself as a sagely monarch lauded for eternity. As for Qi Yan—a filthy mutilated thing—what use was fame to him?

Now that Senior Tutor Song had asked, Qi Yan had written. Even if the proposal could never bear his name, as long as his thoughts and knowledge could benefit the realm in some small way, that was enough.

Who the author was no longer mattered.

The more Xiao Shao thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. His gaze as he studied Qi Yan took on a scrutinizing edge. He idly toyed with the book, unconsciously radiating the imperial majesty of his past life.

After a tense pause, Qi Yan closed his eyes slightly, took a step back, and knelt in formal submission, sweeping his robe aside. "Your servant begs forgiveness."

Xiao Shao withdrew his gaze. "What is your crime?"

Qi Yan clenched his teeth. He understood Xiao Shao’s attitude these past two days—his Master was at odds with him and would find fault both openly and covertly. Not daring to slack, he exaggerated his wrongdoing: "Presuming to discuss state affairs, Deceiving my Master..."

In black and white, that was "presuming to discuss state affairs." Writing two answers but submitting only one—that was "deception." Each and every charge was undeniable.

Xiao Shao gave him a long look. "By your own words, how should this crime be punished?"

*...*

Qi Yan clenched the hem of his robe, his tone flat: "Twenty lashes."

Xiao Shao scoffed.

He looked Qi Yan up and down with amusement, scrutinizing him from head to toe—from the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye to his pale neck, then to his face, still pallid from lingering illness. "Twenty? You think you can handle that?"

"..."

The palace’s punishment rods were no joke. A single strike could bruise flesh, two would draw blood, and twenty had been known to kill men outright.

Xiao Shao crumpled the paper and stuffed it back into the book. "Get up. What kind of garbage did you even write? I can’t make sense of it. Let Old Man Song clean up this mess."

With that, he rapped his knuckles against the desk behind him and called out cheerfully, "Hey, Yuan Yu! Let’s go duck hunting!"