Chapter 6: The Devil’s Temptation

Whoever dares to snatch his position as chief editor, Qian Weiming would fight them to the death.

This position was purchased with an investment of three thousand guan, a prize he earned by giving up the imperial examinations at the Grand Academy. Even Su Shi, Su Zizhan himself, would not be allowed to take it.

Since he had boarded this sinking ship, he saw no reason not to be its captain.

Four years ago, Li Chang’an burst onto the scene, rising from a prodigal to become the intimate friend of Bianliang’s literary idol, Su Zizhan.

Together, they roamed various literary gatherings, striking fear into their rivals with a hundred lines of “Heaven’s Questions.”

How high is the sky? How vast is the earth? How large is the moon? How bright is the sun?

Why does water flow downhill? Why do apples fall to the ground? Why are wheels round and houses square?

What determines the price of rice in Bianjing? Why can gold and silver serve as currency? Does the gap between rich and poor always widen? Does free commerce foster prosperity?

These two rascals even concocted a “Genius Ranking of the Great Song.”

The result was a collective backlash from the Grand Academy scholars, who expelled them and barred their entry to all refined gatherings.

If it weren’t for his righteous intervention, the two would have long been drowned by aristocratic clans.

A few months ago, he again invested three thousand guan to give this hapless fellow a second chance.

That “Great Song Financial Weekly” must be his — and his alone!

Su Shi? Has his family ever produced an emperor? Do they have thousands of male heirs? Millions in family wealth?

The chance to etch one’s name into history, even for a genius, only comes once or twice in a lifetime. He had tried; literature and governance were not his talents. This was his only shot.

To surpass Guan Zhong and Sang Gongyang and become the world’s foremost economist.

Qian Weiming’s eyes glowed red, his nostrils flared like an enraged bull.

“Good brother, just joking, don’t take it so seriously, okay? Fine, the chief editor must be you. If Su Shi shows up, let him be your underling stacking papers!”

Li Chang’an stopped teasing his partner—where else could he find such a gullible and wealthy friend?

He resealed two boxes, then pulled out a business card.

Gripping Qian Weiming’s hands, their eyes locked as if pledging their lives and families.

“Ten thousand guan, no less. Any lower and the weekly will fail this year, and Wang Anshi will fully implement his reforms!

“This isn’t just about money; it’s about our principles. Do we have a chance to save the world?”

Huh?

Who am I? Where am I? What am I supposed to do?

In an instant, a flood of questions overwhelmed Qian Weiming’s mind.

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Not talking about the chief editor’s position, how did he suddenly become a world-saving hero?

Before he could think it through, Li Chang’an pushed him onto the carriage.

Halfway there, he suddenly understood.

He’d been fooled again by that scoundrel. Wasn’t Li Chang’an the one who lost the country with Wang Anshi’s reforms? Why was the task to stop Wang Anshi now handed to him?

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Wang, the young noble, hurried back to the Wang residence and plunged into the study, rifling through Wang Anshi’s personal archives.

“Northern Tang,” “Later Shu,” “Minyue,” “Wuyue,” “Southern Han,” “Huchu”...

The Great Song was a lame empire. After Zhao Da and Zhao Er unified the nine provinces, they never had time to consolidate local powers, leaving noble families scattered everywhere.

These archives contained his father’s collected materials on southern aristocratic families.

This plan must succeed!

The young noble grew increasingly confident. The people of the Great Song were astonishingly wealthy. Any aristocratic family he picked had fortunes worth millions of guan.

If he could persuade Wen Yanbo and secure the support of the Imperial Army, there would be no shortage of funds to borrow.

Before Wang Anshi ended his day, the young noble calmed his mind, carefully analyzed the pros and cons, and finally drafted a “Petition to Borrow Funds for Relief.”

At last, the young noble lived up to his reputation—who says young people can’t govern?

Prime Minister Wang endured another vexing workday. With Sima Guang and Ouyang Xiu constantly stirring trouble, life as a chancellor was no easy feat.

Entering his home, servants brought tea and water. Washing his face and rinsing his mouth eased thirty percent of his fatigue.

Time to rest well. Tomorrow’s imperial council would see Wen Yanbo raise the issue of arrears in the northwest once again.

Just as he closed his eyes, drifting toward sleep, Wang Pang shook him awake.

Seeing his son’s eyes shining bright, face beaming with joy, and noticing ink stains on his usually immaculate sleeves, the old Wang grew curious.

There was no way Li Chang’an had given up, making the chancellor’s son this happy, right?

“Father, please take a look at my petition. I’ve thought of a way to solve our immediate crisis!”

Old Wang mustered his strength and sat up as Wang Pang handed him tea and massaged his shoulders.

“Hmm... you came up with this yourself?”

“Partly inspired by Li Chang’an!” Wang Pang, a genius, scorned stealing others’ sparks of insight—true skill lay in turning inspiration into a perfect plan.

Old Wang felt comforted; his son was truly growing into a statesman.

Given time and position, the Wang family would remain unshaken for thirty years, becoming another top-tier noble house in the Great Song.

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Holding the petition in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, old Wang’s thoughts drifted afar, bitterly regretting he hadn’t been a contemporary of Fan Zhongyan.

Otherwise, how could anyone have precedence over his “Wenzheng” title?

After reading the petition, he closed his eyes in thought and spotted several flaws.

“Eating tomorrow’s grain today has always been common; advance taxation has always led to chaos. How do you expect to silence the people with this borrowing scheme?”

Old Wang was not unacquainted with borrowing. Since the Qingli era, the court had already begun borrowing from civilians.

Using summer and autumn grain taxes as collateral or pawning horses—his Zhao family had done it all. But now, borrowing on a mere contract, how could that quiet the endless complaints?

Wang Pang was ready. “We’ll offer generous interest! Previously, court loans carried one percent interest every three months. I plan two percent. Large lenders get no more than twenty-five percent, and all loans require collateral, management, and risk of default.

“Our borrowing is secured by revenues from the Three Departments and Two Taxes—stable at two percent interest, a benevolent policy.”

Wang Anshi asked again, “Drinking poison to quench thirst—if taxes don’t increase, and this season’s grain is consumed early, will you borrow again next season?

“Furthermore, do you think wealthy aristocrats won’t curse the court despite interest? They hoard their wealth thinking it safe. Lending to the court makes them feel like fattening prey.

“This plan is incomplete. Think it over once more.”

At night, Wang Pang tossed and turned, unable to sleep, leaving his wife with red eyes and burning fever.

After much thought, he moved alone to a soft couch in the outer room.

Borrowing was the fastest way out, appeasing northwest generals and winning the support of the Privy Council—prerequisites for smoothly implementing further reforms.

This debt was unavoidable. The question was how to execute it elegantly.

Another restless figure was Wang Anshi himself, the prime minister who had also fallen into the poison of borrowing.

Poison? What of it? Which policy of the Great Song was not toxic?

The key was that it quenched thirst, stabilized the situation, and allowed him time to tackle more pressing matters.

This debt was necessary. The question was how to borrow without stirring public outrage.

A night owl flew across the branches, howling twice, as if some eerie force had entered the world.

Father and son simultaneously thought of Li Chang’an.

That crafty trickster, always full of schemes. If the plan was his, he must have a solution.

But did they really want to introduce this wild card into the court?