Chapter 12: A Letter of Sincere Feelings Known Throughout the World (Please continue reading, please vote)
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Su Ze was looking at Li Yonghe, and Li Yonghe was also looking at Su Ze. Judging by his appearance, Su Ze was a handsome and refined scholar, not the shabby, shifty-faced bookworm that Li Yonghe had initially imagined. Upon seeing his own military commissioner, Su Ze did not panic or lose composure; such demeanor was commendable.
However, it was unfortunate—this matter involved the demon book case, and it was uncertain whether Su Ze could even keep his life. Wang Anshi and Zeng Gong followed out as well. Su Ze stopped them and said to Li Yonghe, “Today I have come to visit a friend, and this has nothing to do with you two. If you intend to have me follow the Imperial City Office, Military Commissioner Li must not implicate others.”
The stout chief immediately said, “Prisoner Su Ze, do you admit to being involved in the demon book case?”
Su Ze snorted coldly, “Naturally not. You corrupt officials bungled your duties and framed me to cover your tracks. I merely do not want to entangle my friends!”
The Song Dynasty valued literature over military affairs, and the Imperial City Office’s main responsibility was to monitor ministers and do the emperor’s dirty work, so it was always despised by the common folk of Bianjing. The stout chief, seeing Su Ze’s extraordinary bearing, dared not say more despite Su Ze being an ordinary citizen.
Li Yonghe nodded and said, “This case temporarily involves no one else. As long as you comply, this military commissioner will not implicate others.”
Su Ze added, “When the authorities arrest someone, suspects are allowed to defend themselves and seek redress. I have grievances and wish to write a petition. May I ask Military Commissioner Li to deliver it to the court?”
At this, Wang Anshi and Zeng Gong were shocked. Writing a petition to the emperor? Was that even possible?
Su Ze looked at Li Yonghe; he was taking a gamble. If this were another dynasty—say, the Ming, where the Embroidered Uniform Guard could seize people at will—he would have long fled to a hidden refuge. Even if another emperor ruled, Su Ze would not take such a risk.
But this was Emperor Renzong of Song.
Historically, emperors who earned the posthumous title “Ren” (Benevolent) were universally recognized for their kindness.
Emperor Renzong of Song truly lived up to this title.
The previous Empress Dowager Liu, who ruled from behind the curtain and oppressed the emperor, even concealed the death of Renzong’s birth mother. She was not even blood-related to Renzong. Under any other emperor, she would have been thoroughly denounced.
Yet Emperor Renzong did not diminish her honor, and even continued to employ her family members in important positions.
Another reason for the gamble was this Military Commissioner Li Yonghe.
Li Yonghe was both a relative by marriage and a military general, but his reputation in Song history was excellent.
Even the harsh scholars of the Song praised him as a military figure of outstanding personal character.
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“Cautious and silent, avoiding power struggles”—this is how the historical records evaluated him, indicating he was a prudent official who wished to steer clear of court factional strife.
Given this, the demon book case involved palace secrets; Li Yonghe certainly did not want it to escalate. Besides, the two main figures—Empress Dowager Liu and Consort Li Chen—were already deceased, so pursuing the matter further held little meaning.
Sure enough, after a moment’s thought, Li Yonghe immediately said, “Very well.”
Su Ze cupped his hands in salute, “Please wait a moment, Military Commissioner Li.”
After these words, Su Ze returned with Wang Anshi and Zeng Gong to the small courtyard.
Su Ze sincerely and solemnly thanked Wang Anshi.
Their acquaintance was still fresh, but Wang Anshi standing up for him already spoke volumes about his character.
Su Ze then said to Wang Anshi, “I have not studied the art of calligraphy. May I ask Brother Wang to write the petition?”
He understood his own handwriting was poor. The emperors of the Northern Song were highly cultivated in the arts; if he submitted a scrawled letter, the emperor might not even glance at it.
Wang Anshi readily agreed.
But the ever-silent Zeng Gong said, “Brother Jiepu, your handwriting is too hurried; let me write instead.”
Su Ze looked at Zeng Gong. Ordinary people would avoid such matters like the plague, yet both Zeng Gong and Wang Anshi were willing to step forward.
No wonder, despite his political enemies constantly attacking Wang Anshi’s New Policies, no one could slander his character.
Even Sima Guang, Wang Anshi’s lifelong political rival, ultimately acknowledged Wang Anshi as “a true gentleman of antiquity.”
Wang Anshi’s brother spread out the paper, Wang Anshi ground the ink himself, and Su Ze watched as Zeng Gong raised his brush, thinking to himself that Zeng Gong’s calligraphy surely carried the breath of literary tradition.
It was worth noting that a later work penned by Zeng Gong, the “Situation Report,” once sold for an astronomical price.
The literary men of the Northern Song were extraordinary: excellent writing, excellent calligraphy.
Under pressing circumstances, Su Ze quickly drafted the petition’s opening: “In the prefecture of Kaifeng, there are two elders—one wise and one foolish.”
This was the petition’s style. Zeng Gong, though puzzled, continued writing.
Zeng Gong’s brush strokes were square and upright yet carried his own style, already a calligraphic school founder.
Su Ze continued, “The wise elder said: ‘I hear that in the capital there is a demon book causing chaos; the scholar Su Ze suffers injustice—crying out for justice? Crying out in sorrow?’”
“The foolish elder said: ‘It is injustice and disaster. Yet this is not the misfortune of one alone, but that of the entire Song dynasty, the entire realm!’”
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Starting with such alarming words was the essence of Song literary rhetoric. In his previous life, Su Ze had studied and even imitated Song political essays.
Wang Anshi and Zeng Gong understood Su Ze’s cleverness: he was not begging directly but using the voices of the fictional “wise” and “foolish” elders to speak, thus maintaining dignity and balance.
Su Ze went on, “The wise elder said: ‘The foolish elder speaks alarmingly!’”
“The foolish elder said: ‘It is more difficult to control the people’s tongues than to guard the rivers. The Imperial City Office has mobilized troops; the prefecture of Kaifeng is destroyed day and night. Rumors only grow stronger as they are suppressed—such is human nature.’”
Zeng Gong paused his brush. Su Ze’s words were masterful.
The more the government banned a book, the more it spread. Many books unknown to the common folk would become instant bestsellers once forbidden.
Banning the book was essentially advertising the demon book, which only confirmed the rumors of a switched heir.
If the court were not guilty, why ban it?
Wang Anshi admired the insight. From this, Su Ze’s talent was evident.
Instead of begging for mercy through his own plight, he elevated the demon book case to a matter of national significance, which would make the court more cautious in arresting people.
Su Ze knew he was innocent. If the case was thoroughly investigated, his innocence would be proven.
Plainly put, if the case were muddled and concluded hastily, the clerks might fabricate a solid case for their own credit.
But if the truth was fully exposed, any doubtful evidence would keep Su Ze safe.
This was far more effective than simply pleading.
Su Ze continued, “The wise elder said: ‘How can Su Ze’s innocence be proven?’”
“The foolish elder said: ‘At this time, the northwest suffers calamity; the northern barbarians run rampant; domestic disasters arise; and there are demon books disturbing the land, besmirching the royal house’s honor. The celestial omens warn of danger; the enemies’ desire to destroy Song remains unextinguished. How could Su Ze, a scholar of Bianjing, possibly betray his heritage and side with the barbarians?’”
Wang Anshi was nearly ready to applaud!
These two sentences linked the demon book case to the Western Xia and Northern Liao, implying it was the work of enemy spies intending to disgrace the Zhao Song royal family and incite internal strife.
Su Ze was an innocent scholar of Bianjing; how could he be involved in such a plot? This was a subtle yet well-founded self-defense.
Su Ze then listed examples from ancient emperors who welcomed open discourse before shifting to reasoned argument.
“The foolish elder further said: ‘The emperor stabilizes the realm, his reign inherited from his ancestors. The two palaces’ statuses are already established; the demon book cannot undermine the foundation of the state. Rumors end with the wise—why create unnecessary trouble?’”
Upon finishing this line, Wang Anshi and Zeng Gong looked at Su Ze.
Brilliant! Truly brilliant!