allonlinenovel 012 What gives them the confidence to "throw money at everyone they meet"?
012 What gives them the confidence to "throw money at everyone they meet"?
In the winter of the twenty-ninth year of the Kaiyuan era, An Lushan, the military governor of Fanyang, sent Khitan captives and an auspicious white deer to Chang'an, along with a silent underground icy river cast from melted copper coins. Zhen Xiaosi, in the gaps of old papers in the Honglu Temple, touched the frozen embankment of this "money canal".
An unusual atmosphere first emanated from the return gift accounts of the Balhae Kingdom.
According to regulations, the Fanyang Military Governor's Office was entitled to allocate 30,000 strings of cash annually for "pacification of barbarian envoys," used to entertain visiting envoys from various tribes. However, the account book she possessed from the first year of the Tianbao era listed 87,000 strings of cash for expenses related to entertaining the leaders of the Xi, Khitan, Shiwei, and Bohai tribes from January to August alone. Even more suspiciously, each banquet was accompanied by a voucher for the same restaurant in Youzhou—a cramped establishment that couldn't even accommodate a banquet for fifty people.
She took a lantern and entered the archives at night. Dust floated in the beam of light, as if countless dead secrets were awakening. In the twenty-fourth year of the Kaiyuan era, when An Lushan first served as the military commissioner of Pinglu, the "special expenditure" of Fanyang Town was only six thousand strings of cash; in the twenty-eighth year, when he was promoted to deputy military commissioner, the amount soared to forty thousand; now, in the first year of the Tianbao era, when he was appointed military commissioner, the accounts showed expenditures of ninety thousand, but the actual reimbursement records... She pulled out the thickest volume, her fingertips tracing the ink:
"On the seventeenth day of the first month, the twelve grooms accompanying the imperial censor on the border patrol were rewarded with eighty strings of cash for wine and meat."
The pen tip froze in mid-air. Eighty strings of cash was half a year's salary for a seventh-rank official.
As the curfew drums beat through the window paper, she pieced together the first clue: An Lushan's bribery was not a series of scattered gifts, but a well-budgeted, hierarchical, and performance-tested assembly line. It required three things: an inexhaustible flow of money, ubiquitous intelligence, and a scheme that silenced everyone.
Ten days later, she "coincidentally" met Du Youlin, a distant cousin of the newly appointed judge of the Fanyang agricultural surveying office. After several rounds of drinks at the Ministry of Personnel's office, the middle-aged official's tongue loosened:
"Miss Zhen, where do you think the military governor's money comes from?" He drew circles on the table with the remaining wine. "The Fanyang army cultivates 40,000 hectares of land. How much should their annual income be? The amount reported to the Ministry of Revenue differs from the amount actually deposited in the granaries by about 30%. Where did that 30% go?"
He leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and trembling: "Governor An set up an 'outer treasury' in Hebei, not in the government office, but in the cellar of the largest money exchange in the area. I saw it once on official business—it wasn't filled with copper coins, but with iron."
Zhen Xiaosi felt a chill at her fingertips. Hebei Province produced iron, and the imperial court permitted border garrisons to forge their own agricultural tools, strictly prohibiting the private manufacture of weapons. But what if that iron wasn't originally intended for plows and hoes?
“There are also ‘capture-the-live’ officers,” Du Youlin said in a barely audible voice. “They are a special unit responsible for capturing Khitan and Xi prisoners. According to regulations, prisoners should be escorted to Chang’an to present as a victory report, but the Jiedushi of Ke’an often intercepts a portion of them… and sells them to other tribes on the grasslands or to Bohai slave traders. A strong and healthy prisoner is worth thirty bolts of silk. Last year’s victory report claimed 800 prisoners, but in reality, there were at least 1,500.”
She suddenly recalled the memorial she had seen the day before: An Lushan requested that the silk for "compensating fallen soldiers" be exchanged locally for grain purchased in Youzhou, "avoiding the losses from long-distance transport." The document had been approved, and the Ministry of Revenue even praised him for "being considerate of the people's strength." At this moment, she suddenly realized—that fictitious "compensation for fallen soldiers," along with the embezzled ransom money for prisoners, hidden military farm assets, and falsely reported losses of military equipment, had all converged into that underground river of money.
The river water irrigates countless silent, outstretched hands within the city of Chang'an.
In the winter of the first year of the Tianbao era, Zhen Xiaosi accompanied the Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonies to Fanyang to investigate the newly attached Xi tribes.
She witnessed the assembly line in the side courtyard of the Jiedushi's mansion: in the left wing, three clerks were dedicated to transcribing gift lists, each with a register on their desk detailing the rank, origin, and hobbies of officials from various government offices in Chang'an; in the right wing, piles of "local gifts" awaiting dispatch were stacked, including sable furs from Youzhou, pearls from Bohai, and gold horse tack from Khitan, each with a wooden plaque bearing the surname of the recipient.
What suffocated her most was in the courtyard: twenty soldiers were stringing copper coins into strings, but not the usual thousand-coin strings—each string only contained eight hundred coins, tightly wrapped in red silk, making it look exactly like a full string. An officer smiled at her and said, “The nobles of Chang’an won’t actually count the money, but if it feels too light, they might think we’re dishonest. This is just right, seven parts weight, ten parts sincerity.”
That night, under the lamplight of the inn, she sketched out An Lushan's outline:
Upstream: intercepting military pay, falsifying troop numbers, smuggling prisoners of war, and monopolizing border markets. This is the source of water.
Midstream: "Youzhou iron" privately cast in military camps (actually of inferior quality), stale grain falsely reported in military farms, and fictitious pensions for fallen soldiers. This is the tributary.
Downstream: Based on the bribery records customized by the officialdom of Chang'an, the system is divided into the "Censorate Line," "Eunuch Line," "Prime Minister Line," and "Imperial Guard Line." Each line is maintained by a dedicated person, and the "effectiveness" is evaluated every quarter—for example, whether a certain censor spoke up for Fanyang during court discussions after receiving a sable fur, or whether a certain eunuch could promptly transmit palace news after receiving pearls.
This was no ordinary embezzlement; it was a parasitic reconstruction of the entire financial system. An Lushan had secretly connected another vein to the blood vessels that flowed from the Tang Dynasty to Fanyang, channeling the pus and blood back into the heart of the empire.
On the eve of their return journey, in a tavern run by foreign merchants in the western market of Youzhou, the conversation of two drunken grain merchants drifted into my ears:
“When Zhang Jiedu was in power, we had to bribe the grain transport office to transport grain to Chang’an. Now? An Jiedu’s men go straight to the dock to collect ‘protection fees,’ taking 20% of each ship, but from Youzhou to Luoyang, all the checkpoints are cleared.”
"More than that! Last month, when I was transporting iron to Taiyuan, I simply stuck a military license plate from Fanyang on the vehicle, and the garrison soldiers along the way not only didn't check it, but also added water and fed the horses. This is called a pass bought with money, which is more effective than official documents from the imperial court."
Zhen Xiaosi's wine cup trembled slightly. She suddenly saw the most terrifying part: An Lushan had corrupted not only officials, but the entire empire's governance logic. When merchants realized that military tokens were more effective than official documents, when border generals recognized that private treasuries were more reliable than the Ministry of Revenue, and when the powerful and wealthy in Chang'an discovered that "tribute from Fanyang" was more punctual than salaries—this system began to self-propagate.
Just as cancer cells build their own blood network and compete with normal tissues for nutrients, the body will eventually mistakenly believe that the tumor is the heart that should be given priority for nourishment.
On the day I returned to Chang'an, heavy snow was falling.
At the gates of the imperial city, she encountered a group of envoys returning from Fanyang. The carriages of the officials in scarlet robes were loaded with huge trunks, causing the axles to groan under their weight. A young attendant slipped and fell into the snow, causing the trunks to burst open and spilling out dozens of black fox furs—a far cry from the "return gifts" expected by the court.
No one reprimanded them. Several imperial guards silently stepped forward, stuffed the fox fur back into the box, and even patted the servant on the shoulder, saying, "The snow is slippery, be careful."
Standing in the wind and snow, Zhen Xiaosi suddenly understood the answer she had been searching for since Niu Xiantong's death:
An Lushan's wealth was never "from where".
Rather, the entire empire had long tacitly accepted an unspoken rule: the military pay, provisions, and even the safety of the nation's border towns could all be converted into a lubricant for maintaining the balance of power. While Zhang Shougui clumsily falsified accounts, An Lushan directly opened a power-money shop—he wholesaled and sold information about peace on the border, the heads of prisoners, and the authenticity of military intelligence, while the shareholders in Chang'an received monthly dividends.
The censor was not deceived; rather, he had become a shareholder.
The emperor was not unaware of the situation; rather, he was waiting for this bribe to bring him a longer period of peace.
She turned and walked towards the Court of State Ceremonial. Snowflakes fell on her shoulders, like countless pages of an account being altered.
Perhaps one day, when An Lushan feels that the cost of buying Chang'an is higher than the price of directly occupying it, this river of money he dug himself will flow back into the Danchi (palace steps) of the Daming Palace.
At that time, all the pens that have dipped their ink into this river to write and present their works will suddenly forget how to write the words "loyalty and righteousness".
Zhen Xiaosi pushed open the door to the archives. The room was still filled with the familiar scent of ink, and the scrolls piled up like mountains.
She sat down and began transcribing the volume of "Examples of Tributary Affairs of Various Foreign Nations," a volume destined to be read without close examination. In the margin of the eighth volume, she added a note in tiny characters:
"In the first year of Tianbao in Fanyang, the 'Pacifying the Barbarians' envoy's money actually amounted to 90,000 strings of cash, equivalent to 250,000 bolts of silk and 150,000 shi of millet. If it were used to cast Modao (a type of long-handled sword), it could make 9,000 swords; if it were used to recruit warriors, it could support an army of 30,000."
After writing, he blew the ink dry and put this page, along with those falsely reported victory reports, altered account books, and watered-down lists of beneficiaries, into the same black lacquered wooden box.
The sound of the lid closing was extremely soft, as soft as the first nail being driven into the coffin of this prosperous era.