As the Cao family carriage departed, Han Qi stood in place watching it leave, his eyes filled with concern, unwilling to depart for a long time.
He hoped the Crown Prince would grow up safely, so that disputes in the court would be greatly reduced.
A servant approached and reported, "Lord Han, the farming family returned the copper coins we sent yesterday."
The worry on Han Qi's face stiffened.
He turned around and said urgently, "Why? Do they insist on killing their newborn son?"
The servant replied, "They didn't kill him, nor did they accept the money. They said they were afraid they couldn't raise him, and that it might anger Lord Han, bringing misfortune upon them later. Moreover, they don't lack money—they lack grain."
Han Qi's lips trembled, his many thoughts turning into a sigh: "Lack of grain… I didn't think it through properly. Take some millet and deliver it to them."
The servant didn't understand: "Lord Han, such things are common. Even if you can help one case, what use is it?"
Han Qi clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky: "No use at all."
The Eastern Capital was prosperous, and many villagers from the surrounding areas came to the city to work, earning decent wages. If it were an official who only concerned himself with trivial matters, he would surely wonder why infanticide still occurred in the suburbs of the Eastern Capital.
Having served in various regions for many years, Han Qi was well-versed in practical affairs. He would not wonder.
The people of the Eastern Capital did not lack money—they lacked grain. After three years of war between Song and Western Xia, wealthy households might have vast fortunes but could not buy new millet.
According to historical records, grain shortages should lead to soaring prices. But as everyone knew, those who still had surplus grain to sell during a famine were all backed by powerful officials and nobles. The Eastern Capital was filled with Taijian Guan, and no one dared to hoard for speculation. This was originally a good thing, but with no profit to be made, merchants simply stopped selling grain.
It was absurd, but it was reality.
At such times, the government should open its granaries. But with the Song-Western Xia war and consecutive years of natural disasters, the official granaries also had little surplus grain, making the famine inevitable.
Now that the Song-Western Xia war had ended, perhaps the people would fare much better, and at least infanticide in the capital's suburbs would no longer be necessary. Han Qi closed his eyes, feeling a moment of confusion.
During the Song-Western Xia war, he was a staunch advocate for war. Now that the war had ended and the Qingli Peace Agreement had been signed, as long as the Song Dynasty granted Western Xia 255,000 each of silver, silk, satin, and tea annually, Western Xia would renounce its imperial title. His goal had been achieved.
But with the people suffering domestically and more than half of the border elites lost, was advocating for war truly correct?
If giving Western Xia a nominal title could have avoided so many losses later, would it have been better to negotiate peace from the start?
After a moment of confusion, Han Qi quickly reaffirmed his conviction.
Western Xia had attacked the Song Dynasty first, and the Song Dynasty had no choice but to retaliate. He was not wrong.
"I know it's of no use," Han Qi said. "But when I encounter it, I cannot ignore it."
The servant replied, "Yes, Lord Han."
Han Qi gazed into the distance again. Only when he could no longer see the dust raised by the Cao family carriage did he turn and leave.
Not long after the Cao family carriage left Han Qi's sight, it was stopped.
A servant knocked on the carriage door to report that someone ahead was burying a child, which was inauspicious, and they hoped the noble officials would take a detour.
The Zhang family coachman knelt in fear and explained that he had left the capital with General Cao many years ago, and before his departure, this place was not a burial ground for children.
Cao You quickly covered Cao Tun's ears and frowned, saying, "Be quiet! Take a detour immediately!"
Had the people sent by his uncle been in the military for too long that they couldn't distinguish what was important? How could such words be spoken in front of Tun'er!
Fan Zhongyan snapped out of his shock over Cao Tun preparing for the Child Prodigy Examination and quickly reached out to lower the carriage window curtain.
Cao Tun patted Cao You’s hand, which was covering his ears: “Little Uncle, I heard everything. What’s the use of covering them now? Your surname is Zhang, right? I’ve heard others call you Old Zhang. Old Zhang, an unintentional mistake is not a fault—just go around it. Don’t be nervous; I’m not scared.”
Cao You lowered his hand: “Drive immediately. Don’t waste any time.”
The coachman scrambled to his feet and took another path into the city.
Cao You’s expression was grim.
He had stifled Cao Tun’s curiosity yesterday, but he still hadn’t managed to block this. How inauspicious!
Fan Zhongyan said worriedly: “Langjun, are you truly all right? After resting at home for a while, you must go to Xiangguo Temple to light incense and bathe with mugwort.”
Knowing the superstitions of people at this time, Cao Tun did not refuse: “Yes, Master.”
Fan Zhongyan observed Cao Tun and saw that he indeed showed no fear, but also no pity. He couldn’t help but worry, unsure whether Cao Tun was simply too young to understand or truly lacked compassion for the common people.
He wanted to ask, but feared that Cao Tun, being so young, might have his fragile spirit disturbed by dwelling on the matter.
While Fan Zhongyan hesitated, Cao Tun spoke first: “Little Uncle, you refused to tell me yesterday why Councilor Han clashed with the villagers. Was Councilor Han trying to stop them from drowning their children?”
Cao You immediately replied: “No.”
Cao Tun said irritably: “I heard a few words. Though I didn’t catch them clearly, running into this right after leaving the village—it must be the case.”
Seeing Cao Tun bring up the matter himself, Fan Zhongyan no longer hesitated and asked: “Tun’er, how do you understand that in this age of prosperity, there are still people who kill their own children?”
Cao Tun was puzzled: “Age of prosperity?” What age of prosperity? Where did that come from?
Cao You gently tapped Cao Tun’s head, reminding him: “This is indeed an age of prosperity.”
Now that they had returned to the capital, they could not speak carelessly.
Cao Tun understood and quickly said: “Uh, all right, an age of prosperity. Understanding… well, the people can’t afford to raise them, so they kill their children?”
Fan Zhongyan sighed, realizing that Cao Tun did not acknowledge this as an age of prosperity. He didn’t dwell on the term “age of prosperity” and asked directly: “I noticed Tun’er doesn’t seem surprised. Have you seen this before?”
Cao Tun nodded: “In the villages of Jiangnan, child-killing is also common. People often keep only two children; any extra, whether boys or girls, are drowned.”
Feeling the carriage was too stuffy, he directed his little uncle to hang the curtain back up.
Although they had taken a detour, the carriage was already close to the city and would soon glimpse the towering gates of Dongjing.
Outside the gates, commoners were already lining up to enter the city.
An official shouted for the people to make way, escorting a group of girls about Cao Tun’s age into the city.
The people stood on tiptoe to watch, their expressions filled with envy.
Cao Tun also turned his gaze toward the group of anxious young girls.
Fan Zhongyan, judging Cao Tun by his father’s temperament, assumed the boy was already fond of feminine beauty at a young age. Sighing inwardly, he explained to Cao Tun: “Those are maidservants being purchased by high officials and nobles.”
Cao Tun said: “Maidservants? They should be new performers for the music houses who sold themselves, right? I just heard the official shouting.”
He felt quite helpless. Whether it was Little Uncle or Teacher Zhu, why did they all think he was blind and deaf?
Cao Tun withdrew his gaze and continued the previous topic: "Compared to the Jiangnan region, the capital is somewhat better—they only kill the extra sons, not the daughters. If someone gives birth to a daughter, they are overjoyed. 'In the capital, boys are lightly regarded; with a daughter, poverty is no more. One family serves princes and marquises, another attends to high ministers.'"
Fan Zhongyan asked, "Who wrote this poem? Was it Tun'er's former teacher?"
"I read it in a history book," Cao Tun lied. "It speaks of the old affairs of the Six Dynasties."
The poem was written by Wen Tianxiang, and it was about the Great Song Dynasty.
The Great Song was a golden age for literati and officialdom, with the flourishing commodity economy rooted in bureaucratic consumption. For the officialdom, talented and versatile women were among the most sought-after commodities.
The Jiangxing Zalu records that the high-ranking officials and nobles in the capital would purchase maidservants—"personal attendants, skilled performers, serving maids, seamstresses, hall attendants, theatrical performers, laundry maids, lute boys, chess boys, kitchen maids… none of which could be done without by the extremely wealthy and noble families"—at great expense.
The courtesan culture of the Great Song, which served the bureaucratic literati, was also the most outstanding of all dynasties.
In other dynasties, visiting brothels was seen as self-degradation by down-and-out scholars, but in the Great Song, it was considered refined elegance. In other dynasties, redeeming a courtesan was seen as turning to a virtuous life, but in the Great Song, young and beautiful courtesans redeeming themselves was considered a waste of their talents. Officials only allowed aging and fading courtesans to redeem themselves.
Thus, in the dreamlike prosperity of Dongjing, the poor and lowly, as Bai Juyi wrote in Song of Everlasting Sorrow, "value not the birth of sons but the birth of daughters."
Cao Tun knew as much about the killing of sons and selling of daughters as Fan Zhongyan did, and was even more worldly-wise than Fan Zhongyan had anticipated.
Yet Fan Zhongyan's heart sank.
At the city gate, the new recruits of the music troupe wore expressions of anxiety and hope.
The five- or six-year-old girls already showed glimpses of budding beauty. After another five or six years of careful nurturing, they would reach the age of budding youth, most cherished by the literati and scholars of the Northern Song.
Dressed in plain, unadorned robes, their hair tied up like raven feathers, their only adornment was a touch of rouge on their lips—a splash of vibrant crimson amidst the stark black and white—they entered the city quietly.
Behind the carriage, though they had already left the original road, the soul-soothing sound of the suona was so loud that the mournful music and cries could still be heard.
The parents who had drowned their own children with their own hands were wailing heart-wrenchingly, "My child!"
The noise was chaotic, yet like the chirping of insects at night, it made the present moment feel even more silent.
The Cao Family produced their token and, after the officials left, cut in line to enter the city.
The silent music troupe women did not take the same path as the Cao Family, and the city gate also cut off the cries of the parents burying their children. The carriage proceeded onto the official road.
Elm and willow trees shaded both sides of the official road. Shops along the way set up stalls facing the road, selling steamed buns, meat pies, salted fish, various pickled vegetables, fruits soaking in cool water, freshly roasted pork offal, sheep intestines… Commoners in short, coarse robes and literati in wide-sleeved gowns jostled shoulder to shoulder amid the eager calls of the shopkeepers. Merchant boats crowded the Bian River, stretching from the outer city all the way to the inner city.
Outside the city, the famine had not yet passed, but inside the city, food seemed plentiful.
After entering the inner city, the roadside remained lively, but the shops had changed.
To the south of the official road were shops selling falcons and hawks, while the rest sold pearls and spices, silks and satins, gold, silver, and jewels… The storefronts were tall and spacious, and those entering and leaving were dressed in luxurious brocades, using carts to transport goods and payments.
From the smoke of cooking fires to the intoxication of opulence, the carriage seemed to travel through a scroll painting of the Qingming Festival by the River.
The splendor of the Eastern Capital was captured entirely within this scroll.
Yet Cao Tun, moving from silence to bustle, maintained his weary expression throughout. His eyes held no ripples of emotion—no pity earlier at the sight of human suffering, nor curiosity now at the lively hustle and bustle of the city.
Like a stagnant pond.
Or like gazing upon a murky, muddy puddle.
He had no interest whatsoever.
"Tun'er, we're almost there. Get ready to get off," Cao You said.
"Oh," Cao Tun yawned, rubbing his sore, jostled bottom.
Fan Zhongyan withdrew his gaze from observing Cao Tun, his worries deepening.
The young master is indeed precocious, but isn't he too indifferent?
Perhaps I'm overthinking it. The young master is simply young. Although he has gained knowledge from books, he hasn't experienced things firsthand, so he cannot empathize yet.
Author's Note:
2,000 nutrient solution debt +1, currently owe 9 chapters.
Random Thoughts:
Among middle and lower-class households in the capital, they do not value sons. Whenever a daughter is born, she is cherished like a precious jade or pearl. As she grows up, she is taught skills according to her talents, preparing her to be selected and entertained by scholar-officials. The roles vary, including personal attendants, skilled performers, service providers, seamstresses, hall attendants, drama performers, laundry maids, qin players, chess companions, and kitchen maids. The hierarchy is clear and orderly, with kitchen maids being the lowest rank, only used by the extremely wealthy and noble families. — "Jiang Xing Za Lu"
People in the capital disdain sons; having a daughter means never being poor. One family serves princes and marquises, another serves high officials and nobles. — Wen Tianxiang, "Ode to Famous Beauties"
Both descriptions refer to Lin'an, the capital of the Southern Song Dynasty. However, these preferences of the Southern Song scholar-officials were inherited from the Northern Song.
The Eastern Capital, Bianzhou, was even more prosperous than Lin'an. In "Dreams of the Eastern Capital," recalling Bianjing, nearly half the streets near the city gates were occupied by brothels.
But dear readers, don't envy the Song Dynasty's "valuing daughters over sons." Leaving aside how they were treated as commodities or how poverty was mocked but not prostitution, these "commodities" had to be women of exceptional talent and beauty. Ordinary women had no way to survive; there was no scenario where a woman traveling back to the Song Dynasty could live well. And those with both talent and beauty—if they already possess both, wouldn't they have even brighter prospects staying in modern times? In short, never impulsively travel back in time!
The story about not allowing young and beautiful courtesans to redeem themselves comes from the Northern Song work "Mian Shui Yan Tan Lu."
When Su Shi served as an official in Hangzhou, a courtesan named Zhou was exceptionally talented and beautiful, the finest in the region, and wished to leave the profession. Su Shi, reluctant to see her go, wrote a judgment refusing her request: "Admiring the transformation of Zhou Nan, this intention is praiseworthy; but leaving the group of Ji Bei, the request should not be granted."
The allusion of "Zhou Nan" refers to "Guan Guan Ju Jiu" (the opening poem of the Classic of Poetry), and the allusion of "Ji Bei" refers to Bole selecting horses.
The full meaning is: Although your desire for a normal marriage and to redeem yourself is understandable, do not disappoint the Bole (patrons) who appreciate your beauty and talent. It is better to continue as a courtesan. You are not allowed to leave.
This story is told by the author to praise Su Shi's wit and humor, representing the common values of Northern Song scholar-officials—a reflection of their "historical limitations."
Most of the descriptions of the Eastern Capital's layout come from "Dreams of the Eastern Capital," with a small portion made up by me, so don't scrutinize it too closely.
Don't scrutinize! (Shouting hoarsely!)