Chapter 1: The Locust Plague of the Zhenguan Era
Chapter 1: The Locust Plague of the Zhenguan Era
In the second year of Zhenguan, the capital suffered a drought, and locusts swarmed in great numbers. Emperor Taizong entered the imperial gardens to inspect the crops. Upon seeing the locusts, he picked up a few and cursed them: “People depend on grain for their lives, yet you devour it, bringing harm to the people. If the people have erred, the fault lies with me alone. If you possess any spirit, devour my heart instead—spare the people.” He was about to swallow them when those around him hurriedly dissuaded him: “It may bring illness—please do not.” Taizong replied, “If I hope to divert disaster onto myself, why fear sickness?” He swallowed the locusts. From then on, the locusts never again became a plague. — Wu Jing
“The locust plague—it has truly arrived!”
Li Tai stood in the vegetable garden of the Prince of Yue’s residence, watching as locusts appeared. He strode forward and crushed one underfoot.
With a grave expression, Li Tai turned to the maid beside him and said, “White Crane, please ask Chief Historian Yu to come to the pavilion. I have something to discuss with him.”
“As you command!” White Crane, taller than Li Tai by more than a head, her beautiful legs comprising half her stature, her skin like polished jade, turned and departed at his words. Raised in the palace, her every movement was dignified, each step nearly flawless.
Soon, a middle-aged scholar, dressed in crimson robes and girded with a green jade pendant at his waist, hurried to the fields. He gazed carefully toward Li Tai, and seeing White Crane precede him, he followed her to the pavilion.
Li Tai greeted him with a broad smile and said, “Chief Historian Yu, you’ve come. The pavilion is humble, I beg your indulgence.”
“Greetings, Prince of Yue!” Yu Zhining respectfully saluted Li Tai and took a seat without a hint of reproach.
“Locusts have become a grave disaster for the court. My father swallowed locusts to show his resolve, which moved me deeply. I wish to contribute to eradicating the locusts.” Li Tai produced a treatise and handed it to Yu Zhining. “Since opening my residence, I have cultivated the fields and gained some experience in combating locusts. Alas, my writing is unrefined. Please, Chief Historian, polish it and present it to my father.”
Yu Zhining took the treatise from Li Tai and read his clear, methodical proposals for combating locusts. Whether these measures would prove effective, Yu Zhining could not say—but he understood that the Prince of Yue before him was no ordinary idle prince.
How could the Prince of Yue be simple? Once, when Kong Yingda was serving as Professor at the Imperial Academy, he posed a question regarding the collapse of the Han dynasty: who was responsible for its downfall despite its strength? Others offered answers—Dong Zhuo, the aristocratic clans, land annexation—but only the Prince of Yue replied: “Confucianism.” For after the Han embraced Confucianism exclusively, all officials became Confucian scholars, and the dynasty’s troubles were those Confucianism could not solve. Thus, the Han perished because of Confucianism.
Hearing this answer, Kong Yingda spat blood and fainted. Upon awakening, he tendered his resignation, but the sage persuaded him to stay. Hence, after Li Tai was enfeoffed as the Prince of Yue, he was permitted to open his own residence.
Recalling this, Yu Zhining dared not underestimate the prince before him. After carefully reading Li Tai’s treatise, he asked, “Why entrust this matter to me? The sage is fond of you—your opinions will surely carry weight.”
Li Tai was momentarily surprised and replied, “Since Dong Zhongshu forcibly merged the Five Elements and Yin-Yang theories into Confucianism, and proposed the doctrine of Heaven’s response to human actions, he asserted: ‘When a nation is about to lose the Way, Heaven first sends disasters as a warning; if there is no self-reflection, strange phenomena follow; if still unheeded, calamity ensues.’ Though my father is a virtuous ruler, these years have been arduous... And after my dispute with Kong Yingda, many Confucian scholars despise me. Thus, it is best for you to submit this treatise. Otherwise, in court and among the officials...”
“You misunderstand Confucianism too deeply, Your Highness...” Yu Zhining chose not to pursue the topic further and said, “Prince of Yue, what benefit will you gain if I submit this treatise?”
“If it benefits Tang, it benefits Li Tai!” Li Tai answered earnestly.
These words struck Yu Zhining’s heart like a resounding bell, reminding him of the man who once changed his name to Shimin, and at twenty, vowed to bring peace and prosperity to the world—then step by step fulfilled that vow.
“Zhining will submit this treatise tomorrow and will not fail Your Highness!” Yu Zhining replied solemnly, suppressing his excitement. He respectfully took Li Tai’s treatise and hurried off to his own quarters.
White Crane, seeing Chief Historian Yu depart, could not help but voice her confusion: “When Chief Historian first came to our residence, he always said Your Highness’ farming was a disgrace to scholarship, or a distraction from your duties. Why now does Your Highness grant him such credit?”
“He is different from you,” Li Tai replied candidly to White Crane. “You were sent to me by my mother when I opened my residence, and you follow my will. But Chief Historian Yu was appointed by my father, and he oversees the affairs of the Prince of Yue’s residence. What can I do with him? He is a Confucian scholar, and it is natural for him to look down on farmers—my father often scolds others as ‘farm boys.’ Rather than mutual dislike, it’s better to send him a gust of good fortune, so he may soar high. If he rises from a fourth-rank historian to a full fourth-rank official, he need not linger in my residence. It is good for him and for me!”
Li Tai spoke openly to White Crane, without a hint of concealment. He felt helpless, remembering how his casual remark about the Han’s demise being caused by Confucianism nearly killed Kong Yingda. He had underestimated the power of Confucianism.
The Han dynasty, after venerating Confucianism and suppressing other schools, went through the Chaos of the Five Barbarians, the Northern and Southern Dynasties, and the turmoil of Sui and Tang. The scholarship that survived was naturally dominated by Confucianism. Although he was only seven when he made that remark, it forever estranged him from Confucian scholars. Anyone who approached him knew well that he had little interest in Confucianism—even Yu Zhining, upright and honest, could only maintain a passable relationship with him.
Thus, he gave Yu Zhining the treatise, letting him borrow the wind to cross from deputy fourth-rank to full fourth-rank.
“Let’s not concern ourselves with him for now,” Li Tai said, waving his hand. “Let’s go inspect the crops in the fields and see how they’re growing today!”
“Other princes’ gardens are planted with peonies, osmanthus, lotuses, and peonies; only your garden is filled with wheat, millet, and cucumbers—there’s not a hint of beauty. People don’t even think it belongs to a prince!” White Crane remarked.
“I remember planting a whole acre of white dittany. Someone cared so much they watered it excessively, nearly killing it!” Li Tai replied, teasing.
“White dittany is pure as snow—a symbol of noble scholars. That’s what should be planted in a prince’s residence!” White Crane insisted.
“Fine, fine!” Li Tai nodded. “Keep them alive. These white dittany are not just for show—one day, they will prove useful!”
Li Tai gazed over the entire garden. Since establishing his residence, he had devoted his efforts to farming. He knew people outside called him the ‘Farmer Prince,’ especially those tedious Confucian scholars.
But so what? He could not compete in Confucian scholarship, nor could he hope to rebel against Li Shimin militarily. All that remained was to do the dirty, laborious work and see if he could carve out a different path.
His greatest wish was simply: may this life be leisurely and smooth, free from disaster, reaching the skies. At least, being a prince in Tang was comfortable—especially as the second legitimate son of Li Shimin, he was greatly favored.
Though he held a nominal entitlement to ten thousand households, only a thousand were real, which he could freely command for labor and taxes. In early Tang, each household (of five people) was allotted eighty acres, paid two bushels of grain in rent per able-bodied adult, two lengths of silk, three taels of cotton; those with hemp fields paid two and a half lengths of cloth and three pounds of hemp. Two-thirds of this went to the prince—a thousand households amounted to significant wealth, not to mention an official stipend from the court.
If he wished to idle away his days in Tang, this fortune would suffice for a carefree life—at least, he could buy laughter with gold. But, upon accepting the identity of Li Tai, he had to strive for more.
If he did not, even with Li Shimin’s paternal love and his care for Li Zhi as a good elder brother, he would be a carefree prince. But if he survived Li Zhi, what of Wu Zetian? As long as his status as Taizong’s legitimate son remained, if he did not actively change history, he would never escape the butcher’s knife.
He had no choice—the so-called carefree prince was impossible for him.
“To establish my own foundation, I need opportunities to work… The military is my father’s foundation—touch it and you die, and even if I won them over, I’d be under his thumb. The Confucian ministers are Li Chengqian’s base; as long as he doesn’t err, those committed to loyalty will back him. The aristocrats of Longxi can sit back and watch—so long as their roots aren’t threatened, they won’t intervene. As for the Five Families and Seven Clans, even my father disdains them—would they care for me? Might as well bury them all and profit from their downfall.
So, my options for a foundation are truly few!” Li Tai mused to himself. “Let’s see what Yu Zhining decides. A small probe—if he fails, I’ll try again. After all, I’m only eight years old; there’s still time!”
He let Yu Zhining probe the way, while he remained in the gardens, recording his experiences in cultivation.
“White Crane, give orders: I do not wish to see locusts in my residence. Have the staff form patrols during the day—crush any locusts that enter. At night, light bonfires in empty spots in the vegetable garden to attract and burn insects. I cannot control other places, but if the crops in my residence are devoured by locusts, someone will be held accountable!” Li Tai instructed White Crane seriously.
“Yes, Your Highness!” White Crane replied promptly.
She did not understand why Li Tai cared so much for the vegetable garden, but since he commanded it, she would execute it diligently.
Li Tai surveyed the garden, thinking silently: “Once Yu Zhining submits the treatise, whether he mentions my help or not, I believe my father will quickly realize it’s from me. Its content is mostly agricultural, while Yu Zhining, from a noble family, is a pampered aristocrat unfamiliar with farming. Every suggestion requires practical experience—only a hands-on farmer could devise such methods. Once the treatise is submitted, my father will surely notice the prince who has been farming all along. No need for self-praise—my cultivated garden is the best calling card!
This is my best opportunity. Even if my father doesn’t let me take charge, joining the campaign against locusts—even as a mere mascot—will earn me political credentials for the future! There’s no shame in early fame.”
Of course, the worst would be if Yu Zhining’s treatise stirred no response at court. Yet for Li Tai, he’d only lose an opportunity—he could wait for the next.
In truth, when Yu Zhining received Li Tai’s practical proposals, he felt he had found a treasure. Li Shimin had just performed the act of swallowing locusts—whether true or not, the current political imperative was to combat the locust plague.
Any official with enough political sensitivity, even if ignorant of real solutions, must burn midnight oil and write a dazzling essay on combating locusts, like a student cramming for exams. Naturally, the essay must praise Li Shimin’s act as a tear-jerking, joyous display of the sage’s virtue!
In fact, Li Shimin patiently reviewed the memorials from his ministers. After discarding heaps of “Sire, have you eaten?” “Sire, did you sleep well?” “Sire, after eating locusts, do you need a day’s rest?” and other trivial memorials, he found very few that dealt with concrete measures against locusts.
Even those that mentioned combating locusts mostly insisted the sage must cultivate virtue, and through Heaven’s response, the plague would vanish. In a sense, these essays were indirectly blaming him for lacking virtue.
Li Shimin grew angrier as he read these memorials, finally sweeping them off his desk in a rage.
“Thousands of words, not a single practical solution—cultivate virtue, cultivate virtue—what more must I do?” he thundered.
Faced with his wrath, all around knelt in silence, and the Eastern Palace fell into peace.
At that moment, a eunuch outside announced, “Duke Xing requests an audience.”
“Let Xuanziling enter,” Li Shimin replied, restraining his temper.
Fang Xuanziling entered and saw memorials scattered at Li Shimin’s feet, the servants busy reorganizing them. He inquired, “Why is Your Majesty so distressed?”
“It’s the locust plague!” Li Shimin pressed his temples. “Thousands of words, none ease my worries!”
“If so, I’ve brought a remedy that may cure Your Majesty’s ailment,” Fang Xuanziling said calmly.
“Oh?” Li Shimin was both surprised and delighted.
He took from Fang Xuanziling a scroll—the memorial Yu Zhining had labored to produce overnight.
(End of chapter)