Chapter Thirty-Four: In Audience with the Emperor

The next afternoon, three quarters past the hour of Si.

Ganlu Hall.

Li Shimin sat before Li Kong, a troubled look on his face. As for what Li Kong had just handed him, he pressed it firmly beneath his palm, pinning it down as if it might escape.

His lips twitched, and with every spasm, his beard danced along, resembling two prancing goats against the windswept expanse of a black prairie—albeit a rather small one.

No one knew how long the silence lasted. Just as Li Kong was about to drift off, Li Shimin suddenly let out a furious grunt. “You little brat, I’ll deal with you later!”

Li Kong felt a thunderous shock in his mind; judging by Li Shimin’s expression, his worst fears had come true.

“You bastards really think I never get angry, don’t you?” he muttered inwardly, grinding his teeth and cursing those Black Armored Guards. Of course, he kept his head bowed; if Li Shimin had seen his face just now, who could say what would have happened?

When he finally raised his head, his face had rearranged itself into a sycophantic smile. “Uncle Emperor, what’s going on? Even if you want to teach me a lesson, shouldn’t you at least let me know the reason?”

Li Shimin was exasperated by Li Kong’s shamelessness, but he was in no mood to argue. The timing was wrong, and besides, Changle’s persistent pressure weighed on him. Most importantly, if he overlooked Li Kong’s occasional fits of eccentricity, the boy was, in truth, a rather suitable son-in-law.

At this moment, Li Kong’s earlier deeds began to shine—none more so than his single-handed repulsion of the Turks. Coupled with the Empress Zhangsun’s recent improvement, Li Shimin found Li Kong more pleasing by the day.

Yet, he shook his head, trying to banish such absurd thoughts, muttering to himself, “Changle is only eight, Changle is only eight, Changle is…”

With this self-hypnosis, Li Shimin managed to quell his anger for the time being and unfolded the document Li Kong had presented.

As he read, his expression shifted from anger to astonishment, then shock, and finally, even terror.

He cared little for glassmaking, nor was restaurant management of much interest to him. But the methods of salt refining and the technology for gunpowder threatened to shatter the very foundation of his worldview.

In addition to these techniques, the last pages contained some proposals regarding papermaking, though they were immature and Li Shimin failed to see their value.

Even so, it was enough to leave him reeling.

“Is everything written here… is it all true?” After closing the proposal for a long while, Li Shimin still found it hard to believe. Not to mention gunpowder, something unheard of—but salt refining was a matter that concerned the empire itself.

The current methods of salt production were primitive, and the salt fields were monopolized by a handful of noble clans. The court controlled less than a tenth. As a result, salt on the market was exorbitantly expensive.

This meant countless people throughout the realm could not afford even coarse salt, let alone refined salt.

If what Li Kong wrote was true, then Li Shimin could quickly use refined salt to win the hearts of his people—including the army—and even destroy the noble clans’ salt-based businesses. When that time came, however unwilling the nobles might be, they would have no choice but to endure.

Besides, Li Shimin had long been searching for an excuse to crush these people.

And then there was gunpowder—he had never seen it, but since Li Kong described its power in such detail, Li Shimin’s heart longed for it. With such a weapon, the Turks would be no threat, and even Goguryeo would fall with ease; after all, before gunpowder, even the sturdiest walls were no better than paper.

“Of course it’s true. I wouldn’t dare joke with you, Uncle Emperor. However, some of these techniques may threaten the interests of existing powerholders, so…”

Li Kong left the rest unsaid, but Li Shimin understood his concern.

Previous emperors had challenged the noble clans before, but most had failed; successes were rare. Li Kong was clearly doubting whether he, as emperor, could withstand the blowback.

“I believe now that you can provide two million strings of profit for the court in a year. So… go ahead and do as you will. If anything happens, I’ll bear it.”

That was exactly what Li Kong had wanted to hear. Yet, to ensure Li Shimin’s resolve, he played another card. “Your Majesty, if all these plans are carried out, I can guarantee that, within a year, including taxes, the court will receive ten million strings.”

Li Shimin gasped sharply. Ten million! That was three years’ worth of tax revenue for the entire Tang empire. But then, his eyes widened further. Had he heard right? Taxes?

Li Kong shot Li Shimin a knowing look and then bowed his head, falling silent. He was confident Li Shimin understood, but whether the emperor would make the final decision was not something he could control.

As Li Kong expected, Li Shimin did understand. Of the four classes—scholar, farmer, artisan, merchant—only the farmers paid taxes. The scholar-nobles had enjoyed tax exemption since the Han, when Liu Bang declared he would rule the world with the scholar-gentry. Thus, the nobles became the elite, beyond the court’s control.

As for artisans and merchants, they were despised professions. Taxing them was seen by the nobles as competing with the people for profit—a tyrant’s act. As a result, even when the Ministry of Revenue was empty and dynasties teetered, no emperor dared to tax them.

The most vivid example was the late Sui. Emperor Yang dug the Grand Canal, campaigned three times against Goguryeo, and repeatedly struck against the Turks—his military exploits were legendary. Had the court not gone bankrupt, perhaps history would remember Emperor Yang not as a despot but as a sovereign for the ages.

But Li Shimin was keenly aware that the nobles’ opposition to taxing commerce was not out of concern for the people, but because the greatest businesses in the land belonged to them. They merely sought to protect their own interests.

After a long silence, Li Shimin sighed deeply. “The time is not yet ripe.”

“Indeed, it isn’t. But that doesn’t prevent us from making preparations.”

“Enough, let’s not discuss this further. I approve your plans, but you’ll have to handle the rest yourself. As for the land you requested: south of Chang’an, in Changle County, there is an imperial estate. From now on, that will be your domain.” With these words, Li Shimin rose and left the hall.

Watching his retreating figure, Li Kong was dumbfounded.

Changle County? That was Li Lizhi’s fief. What was Li Shimin playing at?