76 Streamlining Administration

Luan Yi could never forget the look on Liu Wu’s face when he handed back the kingdom’s great seal and the tiger tally symbolizing military command. Surprise, joy, disbelief… The king, who had been separated from power for twenty years, actually wept, uttering heaps of grateful words, declaring Luan Yi a loyal servant of the Han, and a faithful subject of the Kingdom of Jinan!

Yet, scarcely two days had passed before the newly restored king tried to wield his authority for the good of the country and its people, only to discover things were nothing as he’d imagined. Though Luan Yi had returned the royal powers intact, every important post in the kingdom was occupied by members of the Holy Mother Church. Compared to his royal seal, Luan Yi’s order as the Grand Master of the Church carried far more weight. More accurately, the reason the officials of seventeen counties obeyed his commands was entirely out of respect for Luan Yi as the supreme leader of the Holy Mother Church.

Fortunately, Liu Wu had little ambition and no great longing for power. Led now by his concubine Honglian, he had developed a fascination for the Holy Mother Church. Influenced by its teachings, he began to wish to use his royal power for good deeds, hoping to amass enough merit to ascend to heaven and enjoy the freedom of a celestial king.

Later, Honglian assured him that even without doing good deeds, he could still be rewarded. As long as he allowed the church room to grow and the gospel to spread, the Holy Mother would favor him and grant him blessings in heaven.

With that, Liu Wu found himself able to achieve his desires without lifting a finger, and delighted in his newfound leisure. He withdrew from all affairs of the Kingdom of Jinan, spending his days studying scripture and enjoying himself, attending services at the Saint Nüwa Cathedral every Sunday, and occasionally visiting remote farms to distribute clothes and grain to the poor. Thus, the governance of Jinan passed into Luan Yi’s hands, undisputed and legitimate.

The Kingdom of Jinan was neither large nor small: seventeen counties, over sixty thousand households, not an easy realm to manage. Luan Yi toiled day and night, attending to matters great and small. The root problem was a lack of capable aides; those he promoted from among the church’s followers left him uneasy with their handling of affairs.

After much deliberation, he decided to seek help from childhood friends. He asked Cui’er to bring him brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, composed his thoughts, and dipped his brush deeply. “To my brother Guo Jia, greetings. It has been since the first day of last year that we parted, and I have missed you dearly…” The letter flowed on for ten thousand words, beginning with inquiries about Guo Jia’s well-being and studies, and reminiscing about their days together at school.

Then, he shifted tone, describing his accomplishments in Jinan: “Now the people of Jinan live in peace and prosperity, a scene of harmony. This year, the rains have been plentiful, the fields lush, promising a bountiful harvest…”

He went on to depict the scenery of Jinan: “Rivers and lakes abound, springs burst forth with thunderous sounds. Azure waters and clouds, a landscape of the water country.”

At last, he mentioned, “Though your elder brother remains a commoner in his twenties, he acts as a governor, beset by myriad affairs and tangled threads. I hope, dear Jia, for the sake of our years of camaraderie, that after reading this letter you will come to Jinan and lend your aid!”

After finishing, Luan Yi reread the letter again and again, feeling the ending too forceful, as if he were threatening Guo Jia with their friendship. He tore the letter to pieces and began anew.

The new letter’s first three sections were the same, but at the end, he replaced the request for aid with a warm invitation for Guo Jia to come and enjoy the beautiful scenery of Jinan. He reasoned that once Guo Jia arrived and witnessed the greatness of the Holy Mother Church, he could gently persuade him to stay and help.

Satisfied with the new version, Luan Yi nodded and wrote six more letters in the same style, sending them by swift horse to Yingchuan for Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, Shan Fu, Xun Yu, Xun You, and Cheng Yu.

Three months later, the messengers returned. Luan Yi, full of confidence, believed his modest reputation would surely bring his old brothers to Jinan.

But reality proved harsh—he had not succeeded in recruiting a single one. It was not for lack of sentiment; rather, when the messengers reached Yingchuan, they found no sign of the friends, delivering the letters only to their homes. The brothers themselves had gone traveling for study.

Guo Jia was said to be in Youzhou, Xi Zhicai and the Xun uncle and nephew had gone to Yangzhou, Cheng Yu to Yizhou. As for Shan Fu… he had reportedly left Yingchuan with his elderly mother after seeking justice for a friend and committing murder and robbery, his whereabouts now unknown!

In the vast sea of people, with communication so difficult in the Eastern Han, how could he ever find them?

Helpless, Luan Yi could only wait until their travels ended, hoping they would return home, read his letters, and consider his request.

Unable to recruit talent, the complex official business remained before him. He had no choice but to simplify administration, beginning with streamlining official documents.

Previously, the paperwork between Jinan’s government offices was endlessly complicated. Matters of livelihood, agriculture and industry, and criminal justice all followed the same tedious format, arriving daily in carts full, with no way to discern what was urgent or trivial. Each document was nearly ten thousand words long, filled with archaic phrases, leaving one unable to grasp the writer’s true intention. Only at the very end did the subject appear: for instance, that Li San from East Village had stolen Wang Ermazi’s cow, and sought the Grand Master’s judgment.

“Must I decide such trivial matters myself? What are you officials for?” Luan Yi was always infuriated by such documents, tempted to burn the whole pile. But he dared not, for among the many papers there might be one or two of great importance needing his personal attention.

To address this, Luan Yi put much effort into simplifying the paperwork.

First, he required all Jinan officials to write documents in a three-part format: What is the issue; Why does it exist; What should be done—each official was to provide a feasible solution based on their local situation. The completed documents were submitted to Saint Nüwa Cathedral for Luan Yi to review. If he found the reasoning sound and the solution workable, he would mark approval. If not, he would mark rejection, send inspectors from the Jinan government to investigate, and review anew until a viable plan was presented.

This way, Luan Yi could shed much of his daily workload, distributing authority and responsibility to local officials.

Second, he required all documents to be categorized upon sealing: red for emergencies requiring immediate action, yellow for urgent matters, green for agriculture, brown for industry, blue for education, black for criminal justice. Each color corresponded to a department, allowing each office to respond appropriately.

Thus, the streamlining of paperwork was officially accomplished. The effect was remarkable—Luan Yi no longer needed to spend every day hunched over documents, freeing his time for greater tasks.

With the paperwork simplified, Luan Yi began to establish an official hierarchy for church clergy. Rather than modeling after the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers, he leaped a millennium forward, implementing the later Three Departments and Six Ministries system.

Of course, he did not adopt it wholesale. Beneath the Grand Master, he created twelve Red Cardinals, whose rank was signified by their robes. The Office of Secretariat Cardinal executed important state decrees; the Office of Chancellery Cardinal reviewed them; the Secretariat Cardinal drafted and issued imperial edicts; the Cardinal of Crafts oversaw artisans; the Cardinal of Personnel managed appointments; the Cardinal of Welfare handled people’s livelihood; the Cardinal of Justice managed domestic cases; the Cardinal of Discipline handled internal defense and military affairs; and the Cardinal of Rites oversaw doctrine and external relations. These nine Red Cardinals corresponded to the highest authorities of the secretariat, chancellery, and gate departments, as well as the ministries of works, personnel, households, justice, military, and rites.

Beyond these, Luan Yi added the Cardinal of Insight for intelligence gathering; Cardinal of Revenue for church enterprise management; and Cardinal of Supervision for oversight of all power structures.

Regrettably, nearly all twelve Red Cardinal posts were vacant, save for Mao Jie, who led the Welfare Cardinal and handled daily affairs for Jinan’s church followers.

Below the Red Cardinals were one chief and one deputy Provincial Cardinal in charge of church affairs in each province; beneath them, one chief and deputy County Cardinal for each county or kingdom; under the County Cardinals, the District Cardinal for each county; and below them, the Area Cardinal for smaller regions, with numerous priests and servants under their command.

With this structure, the Holy Mother Church ceased to be a mere religious organization, becoming a true governing power! Yet the greatest challenge Luan Yi faced remained the lack of capable people.

His brothers would not see his letters for some time, and cultivating talent through the church academy required patience, leaving no quick solution. Helpless, Luan Yi could only let things take their course.

In his leisure, he spent more time with his two fiancées, Cai Yan and Diao Chan, taking them to see famous springs, drink tea, and stroll by the Bright Lake, enjoying a happy life.

Especially at night… Sometimes Diao Chan and her maid Cai Yun would sneak into his room; sometimes he would slip into their beds. Three nights together, two girls at once… and since both had studied books on the subject, their skills… their pleasure… left Luan Yi with weak legs for days.

He had to drag his exhausted body to work each morning, sweating from fatigue. Only after Cui’er bought several old ginseng roots and brewed them for him did he recover.

Once, seeing Cui’er’s sour look as she brought his soup, Luan Yi asked why.

Cui’er wiped away a tear. “Young master and Miss Diao Chan make such a racket every night, I can’t sleep! Tell me, should a maid be angry or not?” With that, she darted away.

“A racket?” Luan Yi was mortified. He thought he’d already had Diao Chan keep her voice down—how could anyone still hear? Ancient architecture… the soundproofing was simply atrocious! Wait… didn’t that mean Cai Yan had heard everything too?

Suddenly, Luan Yi recalled that day when he and Diao Chan were caught together in the men’s restroom, and Cai Yan’s silhouette flashed before him.