Chapter 48: Passing Away in a Foreign Land
“You are overcomplicating things,” Zhao Huan proposed, “My intention is not for the court to support these men as dependents, but for the government to establish a special institution to provide these wounded and disabled soldiers with a means to earn their own livelihood. If they cannot do heavy farm work, let them raise chickens and pigs—these are tasks within their reach.”
In later generations, there were countless welfare enterprises, and the state would grant them preferential tax policies. Now, Zhao Huan was inspired by this very idea.
Hearing Zhao Huan’s proposal, the two officials’ eyes brightened, especially Zhu Shengfei, who was delighted. So long as he did not have to spend any money, he was content.
“Your Majesty, I believe this is feasible. In this way, soldiers on the front lines will have fewer worries about their families, while at the same time, the treasury will see increased revenue—a true win-win situation,” Zhu Shengfei agreed.
Li Gang, as Minister of War, found nothing to object to; enabling his subordinates to receive such benefits was something he would support wholeheartedly.
“Very well, discuss the details among yourselves. What I have just given you is but a rough outline. Refine it further; assign different tasks according to the degree of disability. When your memorial is ready, bring it to me. If there are no issues, seek out Su Weikang for a parcel of land and begin your preparations,” Zhao Huan commanded.
Li Gang and Zhu Shengfei received their orders and withdrew.
It was only after ascending the throne that Zhao Huan truly realized how much efficiency depended on the attention of the leadership. When the emperor cared, matters proceeded with astonishing speed; but when subordinates attempted to push an initiative, the obstacles were almost insurmountable. Yet in these troubled times, Zhao Huan had discovered many ills within the Song administration—bloated bureaucracy, rampant buying and selling of offices—but had found no time to address them. All would have to wait until after the war, when there would be a reckoning.
Meanwhile, Cai Jing, having departed Bianjing, was filled with sorrow. Unwilling to accept his fate, he wrote a memorial in verse to Emperor Huizong, Zhao Ji:
“Eighty-one years’ memories, three thousand miles from home,
Alone, kin scattered to the ends of the earth,
Gazing toward the Divine Land, tears fall.
Five times prime minister in the golden hall,
Ten times honored in the jade chamber,
Recalling those days of fleeting glory,
Now they are but dreams.”
Cai Jing hoped this verse would elicit Zhao Ji’s sympathy, but alas, it never reached the emperor’s hands.
When a man falls from power, the tea grows cold. The news of Cai Jing’s retirement soon spread, and at the very next morning audience, a flood of censors and officials began to denounce him. The Censor-in-Chief, Sun Di, and others submitted memorials enumerating Cai Jing’s crimes. The scholar Chen Dong directly petitioned the throne, naming Cai Jing as “the chief among the six traitors.”
Zhao Huan gazed at the towering stack of memorials denouncing Cai Jing and shook his head with resignation. These men were truly skilled at sensing the changing winds. Where were they before? Now, when a man has lost favor, they leap to attack—such a talent for kicking a man when he is down.
“Look at this pile of memorials,” Zhao Huan addressed the assembled ministers, indicating the heap that stood half as tall as a man. “Do you know what this is?”
Every minister present was a wily old hand, and naturally understood what these documents contained, though they did not grasp Zhao Huan’s purpose in raising the question.
Sun Di, the Censor-in-Chief, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, these are memorials from your servants impeaching Cai Jing for his crimes.”
“So you know they are for impeaching Cai Jing?” Zhao Huan snorted. “I looked through them—some of the earliest accusations date back twenty years! Twenty years you waited to submit these charges. Where were you all then? How much loss have you brought upon the court and the people over those twenty years? Can you bear responsibility for that?”
He hurled a memorial heavily to the ground.
The ministers hastily knelt to confess their guilt.
“Guilty indeed,” Zhao Huan rebuked them sharply. “What does the court keep you censors and officials for? To eat your fill while doing nothing? You are my eyes and ears; you must report what you see and hear, and in doing so serve the court and the nation. Not this—waiting until a man has fallen to accuse him. Is that not too late?”
None among the censors dared protest. In truth, they suffered in silence. In the past, when Cai Jing held supreme power and the retired emperor Zhao Ji relied heavily upon him, there were those who impeached him, but nothing ever came of it. Instead, those who spoke out were suppressed and punished. Over time, no one dared challenge Cai Jing further.
Zhao Huan understood this as well; his words were not to lay blame, for when the top beam is crooked, the lower beams will follow. The root of the problem lay with his own father. What Zhao Huan wanted now was to make clear that it was the duty of the censors to supervise all officials faithfully.
Cai Jing journeyed all the way to Tanzhou, but could go no further.
Within the Chongjiao Monastery, the once-magnificent Cai Jing was a shadow of his former self—at eighty-one, he was little more than skin and bones.
“Cai Gui, have you found anything to eat?” Cai Jing’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Master, the common people refuse to sell to us when they hear it is the Cai family. Our last stores of dry food are gone—what are we to do?” Cai Gui replied helplessly. In their heyday, the Cai household had basked in glory, never suffering such indignity. Now, despite having ten carts of silver, they could not buy a morsel to eat.
Hearing this, Cai Jing could not help but laugh—then, laughing, he began to weep, and at last cried aloud, “I have lost the hearts of the people! How could it come to this? How could it come to this? Alas! Alas! Alas!”
He cried “Alas!” three times, closed his eyes, and died.
Thus ended the life of a treacherous minister, dying far from home, starving to death in Tanzhou—a fitting punishment for his crimes.
Afterwards, Zhao Huan issued an edict denouncing Cai Jing as the “chief among the six traitors,” confiscated all his family’s gold, silver, and jewels, and thus filled his own coffers. Of the six malignant tumors of his father’s era, three had now been excised.
The war between Song and Jin remained at a stalemate, but the Song forces were beginning to turn the tide. After a great victory at Zhendin, the Song army was at last equal in numbers to the Jin, if not yet in strength.