novelSusiti Chapter 5 Real Accounts and Fake Accounts
Chapter 5 Real Accounts and Fake Accounts
The few porridge pots by the city gate were kept cooking until late into the night.
After the elderly, the sick, the young, and the families of military households had all received their share, the situation finally stabilized. The amount of rice and grain that Gao Chengli brought from the Eastern Palace wasn't much, but it was like adding fuel to a stove that was about to go out, at least keeping the fire going tonight.
As for tomorrow?
That's for tomorrow.
The phrase that Meng Xuanzhe disliked the most was "Let's talk about it tomorrow."
Because many things in history have been resolved by simply "talking about it later."
By the time he returned to the palace from the city gate, it was already late at night, and the wind on the palace road was cooler than when he had come. Just moments before, it had been as lively as a New Year celebration, but now the songs and banquets had ended, and only the palace lanterns remained hanging, illuminating the long corridors, which were now quiet and empty.
When there are fewer people, the sound will be particularly clear.
The sound of boots hitting the stone slabs was clear, as was Gao Chengli's breathing. Even the rustling of the fabric as the two eunuchs behind him walked with empty rice bags was as clear as if someone were shaking an account book in his ear.
well.
What Meng Xuanzhe wanted to hear most right now was the account book.
Or to be more precise, who made the ledger into this pathetic state?
Gao Chengli followed behind him, looking as if he had just been pulled out of the water, his forehead still covered in sweat. He had helped the new crown prince pull off a big heist tonight, and on the way back to the palace, he hesitated several times before finally unable to hold back and cautiously moved closer.
"Your Highness..."
Meng Xuanzhe didn't turn around: "Speak."
"What happened tonight," Gao Chengli swallowed hard, "if it reaches His Majesty's ears—"
Meng Xuanzhe didn't stop walking: "What will happen?"
Gao Chengli choked.
He really didn't dare to answer that.
Are you suggesting that "His Majesty would think you're too much of a troublemaker"?
That's courting death.
To say that "His Majesty will be overjoyed"?
He himself didn't believe it.
So Gao Chengli had no choice but to resort to the ambiguity that the inner court officials were best at, and said tactfully, "Your Majesty is wise and will make a clear decision. However... tonight is, after all, the investiture ceremony. You personally went to the city gate, and publicly punished the servants, opened the soup kitchen for the Eastern Palace, and allocated rice and grain for the Eastern Palace... This, this show of force is a bit too much."
Meng Xuanzhe finally turned around and looked at him.
"Gao Chengli."
"This servant is here."
"Do you think the people at the hotpot tonight were annoyed by my loud presence, or that they weren't hungry enough to be respectable?"
Gao Chengli immediately shut up.
That's a really insensitive question.
Because no matter how he answers, he'll seem like someone with a conscience but who's afraid to use it.
Meng Xuanzhe didn't press him further, only saying calmly, "If we don't make a scene tonight, tomorrow there will be another urgent report, buried under other congratulatory messages. Since we're going to do it, we might as well do it clearly. At least let them know that the Crown Prince's Palace is not just for show."
Gao Chengli felt a chill run down his spine.
It’s over.
This prince not only really wants to get things done, but he's no longer satisfied with just "getting things done"; he's started to want "everyone to know that he's getting things done."
This was not a momentary impulse, but a clear attempt to make an opening in the imperial court.
Making an opening is usually categorized similarly to disturbing a hornet's nest.
As he was thinking, they had already arrived at the East Palace.
The palace attendants rushed to greet the Crown Prince upon his return. Meng Xuanzhe didn't even enter his bedchamber; he simply gestured and said, "Light the lamps, open the desk. Bring all the readily available books and registers from the Eastern Palace."
Gao Chengli was taken aback: "Your Highness, what time is it? Aren't you going to rest yet—"
"People are starving to death, why should I rest?"
These words, though not harsh, completely blocked Gao Chengli's second half of his advice.
Meng Xuanzhe stepped into the study.
The Crown Prince's study was even more spacious than he had imagined. A rosewood desk, antique shelves, incense burner, brush washer, and screen—everything was there. Even the jade paperweight on the desk was heavy and valuable. Normally, he might have remarked: "Being the Crown Prince in a feudal dynasty certainly provided a superior working environment; even overtime seemed more lucrative."
Unfortunately, everything he sees now seems to be defined by two words: waste.
If such a large room is used to store genuine accounts and records, then it's not a bad deal; the real problem is that half of it is just for show, and the other half is just to fool people.
He sat down, and the first thing he did was not to drink tea or change his clothes, but to spread out the few notes he had jotted down by the city gate that night.
The handwriting above is messy; it was all jotted down on the spot.
Xinjin, Huayang, military households, soldier tags, soup kitchens, fire tax, mismatched numbers, the granary isn't empty...
These things were like a bunch of seemingly random needles, each one piercing his brain.
He must string them together as soon as possible.
Before long, several eunuchs filed in carrying books and filled half of the desk.
There were reports from the Crown Prince's archives over the years, monthly reports from Chengdu Prefecture, warehouse inventory figures copied from the Ministry of Revenue, and summaries of border troop pay and rations from the Ministry of War. It looked like a lot, but when you actually flipped through it, it had a familiar, perfunctory feel to it—many kinds, but very few essential ones.
It's just like some reports from my past life, with a three-page table of contents, but the really useful data is hidden in the footnotes, and nine times out of ten the footnotes are fake.
Meng Xuanzhe turned two pages, and his lips twitched.
"Huayang County enjoys favorable weather and peaceful lives..." He read a line, then looked up at Gao Chengli, "That pot of porridge by the city gate, so thick it's practically headfirst into it, could it be the 'Peace and Prosperity Porridge'?"
Gao Chengli lowered his head and smiled obsequiously: "When lower-ranking officials write things, they always... prefer to write the ones that sound nice."
"willing?"
Meng Xuanzhe chuckled and said, "I think it's not that they're willing, it's that they'll do it."
As he spoke, he opened another book.
This is the warehouse report.
The county's official granary holds a certain amount of grain; the public granary holds a certain amount of grain; there is a certain amount of rice and grain for disaster relief; and some grain is en route for transport.
The numbers were written so beautifully, as if they had just been polished on an abacus beads.
Meng Xuanzhe glanced at it twice and suddenly remembered what the clerk by the city gate had said—"It's not that there's no grain in the granary, it's just that it's not their turn."
He tapped the table surface lightly with his fingers.
There is a problem with the numbers.
Or rather, it's not that there's a problem with just one number, but rather that when these numbers are put together, there's absolutely nothing wrong with them.
Too neat, too symmetrical, too much like it was deliberately shaped this way to make the upper part look pleasing.
He seems to know me too well.
In his past life, when he worked at the grassroots level, what he feared most wasn't ugly numbers, but rather numbers that looked too good. Because ugly numbers at least indicated that someone was too lazy to embellish them; numbers that looked so good they seemed unreal often meant that from the moment the form was filled out, the person had no intention of speaking like a human being.
"Raise the lamp higher," he instructed.
The eunuch hurriedly stepped forward to adjust the lamp wick.
The study suddenly became even brighter, so bright that even the old creases pressed into the edges of the pages were clearly visible.
Meng Xuanzhe picked up a pen and began listing items on a blank sheet of paper.
Rice price.
Grain in the granary.
Charitable granary.
Distribute porridge.
Military pay.
Military Manual.
Refugees.
Gao Chengli, standing to the side, was completely bewildered.
He had spent so many years in the palace, watching princes study, practice calligraphy, and memorize classics, and he had also seen the emperor write imperial edicts and concubines copy scriptures. But he had never seen a newly appointed crown prince stay up late at night, making lists and comparing his work under the lamp.
This scene is unfamiliar.
The unfamiliarity gave him an absurd feeling that the Eastern Palace Study was about to lose its noble air and begin to resemble a county government office.
Meng Xuanzhe was already fully engaged.
He first extracted the counties of Xinjin and Huayang mentioned in tonight's urgent report and compared them with the archives of the Eastern Palace.
The first mistake was quickly noticed.
The number of people receiving porridge at the city gates was significantly greater than the number of people listed as "temporarily gathered in exile" in the registers.
Either refugees suddenly appeared tonight, with a group of disaster victims randomly appearing at the city gate; or the reported numbers were suppressed.
He trusts the latter more.
Because the former sounds like a tale of the supernatural, while the latter sounds like everyday life in officialdom.
The second mistake is in the price of rice.
The archives in the Eastern Palace state that "rice prices have risen slightly," by only ten or twenty percent, the wording quite restrained, as if the market had merely sneezed. But the reactions of those people by the city gates tonight cannot be explained by a mere "slight increase." If it were only a ten or twenty percent increase, ordinary people could grit their teeth and bear it; but forcing them to sell their daughters and scramble for porridge indicates that prices have risen to a level that ordinary people can no longer afford.
The third place is incorrect; it refers to military households.
The border troops' insufficient monthly rations, taken in isolation, might seem like just a matter of slightly delayed transport. However, when considered in conjunction with the soldier's token that the old woman brought tonight and the fact that the soldiers' soup kitchens were demanding extra money, the problem becomes much more serious.
The compensation hadn't arrived, the military rations were insufficient, the soldier's badge was still there, but the man had died three years earlier.
This means that the accounts on the military household line are likely to be in disrepair, just like those on the warehouse line.
If the military household registers are corrupt, then the military registers will almost certainly be corrupt as well.
With the military records ruined, it's no wonder that the Later Shu was easily defeated by the Song army three years later.
Thinking of this, Meng Xuanzhe suddenly looked up: "Does the Eastern Palace have supplementary registers of soldiers from the counties near Chengdu?"
Gao Chengli hurriedly replied, "There should be some. This servant will have someone search for them right away."
"It's not 'should,'" Meng Xuanzhe looked at him, "it's 'bring it now.'"
Gao Chengli was startled and quickly turned around to urge the person.
A moment later, two more wooden boxes were brought in. Inside were copies of military registers compiled by county; they were incomplete, but enough to reveal some information.
Meng Xuanzhe opened the first volume and soon began to sneer.
it is good.
well.
very good.
A certain county has a military quota of 120 soldiers, and each soldier receives a monthly ration of 120 portions.
Another distribution book listed only ninety-odd recipients;
Further down the list, several more people who had already died in battle appeared, their names still neatly displayed on the ration list.
The dead receive food, while the living starve.
The process is so sophisticated it's truly admirable.
If he hadn't personally witnessed the old woman clutching her military token and weeping by the city gate tonight, looking at this booklet alone, one might have thought that the Later Shu's military and political administration was well-organized, only unlucky enough to encounter a few "individual delays".
Some of your ancestors.
It's almost turned into a sieve due to slowdown.
Meng Xuanzhe rubbed his temples, just about to turn the pages again, when someone outside the door announced softly: "Your Highness, Gu Chengyan, the scribe of the Eastern Palace, requests an audience."
Meng Xuanzhe paused.
coming.
He recognized the name earlier; in his previous life's memories, this person was an insignificant official in the Eastern Palace. Born into poverty, he had failed the imperial examinations and possessed some talent but lacked connections. His daily work mainly consisted of meticulous tasks such as copying, organizing, and proofreading books—in short, he was a high-ranking clerk.
In the eyes of important people, such people are "neither essential nor superfluous"; but in the eyes of those who actually do the work, they are often of great use.
Because he reads case files every day, his mind is filled with real things that others find dirty, messy, and too lazy to touch.
"Let him in."
A moment later, a young man lifted the curtain and entered.
He looked to be around twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, with a somewhat thin face. He wore a common blue robe from the Eastern Palace, the hem of which was washed very clean, yet its wear was still visible. His eyebrows and eyes weren't particularly striking, but his eyes were very bright, as if he had been holding back his words for a long time, but hadn't found the right opportunity to speak.
He bowed as he entered, saying, "Your subject Gu Chengyan greets Your Highness."
Meng Xuanzhe glanced at him and asked, "It's so late, you're still up?"
Gu Chengyan paused slightly, then answered steadily, "The Crown Prince suddenly requested the calligraphy scrolls. I thought that Your Highness probably didn't intend to look at the scrolls tonight."
Gao Chengli, who was listening nearby, felt his eyelids twitch.
That takes some guts to say.
But Meng Xuanzhe laughed.
well.
This person is eloquent, and not in the kind of empty, pretty words, but in a way that gets to the point.
"Come and take a look." Meng Xuanzhe pushed a few booklets over. "When you organize these things, have you noticed anything amiss?"
Gu Chengyan, who had been standing properly, clearly had a flicker of emotion in his eyes upon hearing these words.
It wasn't surprise, but the kind of brilliance that instinctively wells up when you realize that the person on the other end might understand what you've been holding back for too long.
He approached the desk, first reading the urgent report, then the comparison papers Meng Xuanzhe had spread out, his expression growing more and more solemn as he looked at them.
After looking at it for a moment, he said softly, "If Your Highness wants to investigate the true accounts, you can't just look at one route."
Meng Xuanzhe raised an eyebrow: "Go on."
Gu Chengyan pointed to one of the granary ledgers: "This one is from the granary office." He then pointed to another, "This one is from the county." Next, he pointed to the military register, "This one is a copy of the military register. If you only look at one source for a matter, anyone can make it sound plausible. But if you combine the granary, household, and military records..."
He paused, then looked up. "It's very difficult to achieve a perfect balance."
Meng Xuanzhe's smile deepened.
Not bad.
This isn't just someone who knows how to copy; this is someone who understands the intricacies of the process.
"You also think the three sets of accounts don't match up?"
"It's not that I think so," Gu Chengyan said softly but firmly, "it's just that they don't match up in the first place."
Upon hearing this, Gao Chengli almost reached out to touch the threshold to see if some poor scholar had been bewitched by the darkness and dared to be so blunt in front of the Crown Prince.
But Meng Xuanzhe wasn't annoyed at all; instead, he leaned back and said, "Fine. You tell me where to start."
Gu Chengyan took a breath, as if he had finally waited for this sentence.
"Look at the rice first."
"Rice is the least likely to lie."
He took a blank sheet of paper and quickly wrote down three lines:
Grain stored in the official granaries.
Grain was distributed from the granary.
Market rice prices.
"If the granaries are truly full, and the charitable granaries are open, rice prices shouldn't have risen this high." He pointed to the first line, "If the granaries are full but no rice is being distributed, then the problem lies in the distribution." He then pointed to the second line, "If distribution has been done, yet the people are still scrambling for porridge, then the problem lies in the middle." Finally, he pointed to the third line, "If both the granaries and the charitable granaries claim they've done their best, and rice prices are still rising, then that means—"
Meng Xuanzhe casually added, "That means someone is moving the grain elsewhere."
Gu Chengyan looked up at him.
It was much brighter than when I first entered.
It's like someone who originally only intended to cautiously test the waters, only to suddenly discover that the other person not only understands but can also directly continue the sentence.
"Yes," Gu Chengyan said, "and there's more than one layer."
"Let's look at the military pay." He flipped to the soldiers' register. "The border troops' monthly rations are insufficient. In principle, if the transport is delayed, the soldiers' families should be the first to be registered and receive advances. If the soldiers' families can't even get into the soup kitchen, it can only mean two things: first, the military household register is fake, and second, the pension system has not been properly implemented."
"To investigate further, we'd have to look at the heads of people."
"How many living people, how many dead people, how many vacancies, how much is in the accounts."
"Once a single person is identified, many secrets will become impossible to hide."
The study was very quiet.
Under the lamplight, the sound of pages being turned was exceptionally clear.
Gao Chengli stood to the side, feeling as if he had overheard something extremely ominous. Because what these two men were saying wasn't "there might be a problem in a certain county," nor "the subordinates might not be handling things properly," but rather—
The granary is leaking, the soldiers are fake, and the accounts are falsified.
This is no longer a minor issue involving just one or two people engaging in bribery and extortion.
This is about following the trail to find a string of vines that can strangle many people.
He couldn't help but chuckle dryly, trying to soften the tone: "Aren't you two thinking a bit too deeply? It's normal for things to be a little careless in local affairs. It doesn't necessarily mean—"
"Gao Chengli," Meng Xuanzhe suddenly spoke.
"This servant is here."
"What did you see with your own eyes at the city gate tonight?"
Gao Chengli choked.
What did you see?
He saw a woman holding a child almost selling her daughter, saw a military widow holding a soldier's badge but unable to get porridge, saw a constable wasting money collecting firewood, saw the pot in a mess, and saw the new crown prince forcefully holding up a nearly burnt-out pot.
Of course he saw those things.
Being able to see something does not mean daring to admit it.
The first principle for those who survive long in the palace is: to be confused when necessary.
However, this was the last thing Meng Xuanzhe was buying tonight.
He said calmly, "If all you can tell me is 'occasionally there are some rough edges below,' then leaving you here is no different from leaving a breathing screen."
Gao Chengli: "..."
This statement isn't very offensive, but it's highly insulting.
But he couldn't refute it.
Tonight's game cannot be simply dismissed as "careless".
He had no choice but to bite the bullet and whisper, "This servant... sees that things are indeed a bit chaotic over at the city gate."
"A bit chaotic?" Meng Xuanzhe raised an eyebrow.
Gao Chengli's lips twitched, and he resignedly changed his tune: "It's chaotic. There's not enough porridge, too many people, and the constables are... taking the opportunity to extort money."
"Anything else?"
"The military household pensions... are probably really in arrears."
"Anything else?"
Gao Chengli gritted his teeth: "The granary... may not be as full as the accounts show."
Meng Xuanzhe then withdrew his gaze.
"See, that's more like it." His tone was surprisingly gentle. "Say what the facts are. If the court can't even admit how many grains of rice are in its own pot, what kind of country can it govern?"
Gao Chengli lowered his head, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth.
This prince really doesn't intend to leave much room for "ambiguity" for everyone.
Gu Chengyan watched silently from the side, his gaze growing increasingly solemn.
He had spent all those years in the Eastern Palace, and he had seen those who recited scriptures, those who wrote calligraphy, those who put on airs, and those who were impeccably polite but mentally empty. But the Crown Prince tonight—who first went to the city gate to see the situation clearly, then immediately returned to check the records and accounts, and even managed to force the palace servants to reveal the truth, word by word—
No.
At least the Crown Prince's Palace didn't have one before.
Meng Xuanzhe lowered his head again and wrote a line on the paper:
It's not that there's no food in the granary, it's just that it's not their turn.
After he finished writing, he put down his pen.
"Gu Chengyan".
"Your subject is here."
"Starting tonight, you're not going to do any more transcriptions."
Gu Chengyan was taken aback.
Meng Xuanzhe looked at him: "You will check the accounts for me."
"Take apart and compare the granary accounts, household accounts, and military accounts of the counties near Chengdu for the past three months. I don't want fancy words, just numbers that match up; I don't want reports of merit, just reports of who is embezzling funds, who is swallowing rice, and who is collecting pay from the dead."
"Is it possible?"
The study was quiet for a moment.
Gu Chengyan bowed deeply, his voice low but carrying immense force:
"My lord, I can."
Meng Xuanzhe nodded: "Okay."
"Then, starting tonight, I will first take a look—"
"How many of the accounts in this Great Shu are actually true?"
He had barely finished speaking when a series of hurried footsteps suddenly came from outside the door.
A eunuch rushed in, knelt down, and said, "Your Highness, a new report has just arrived from outside the palace—the Chengdu Prefecture is requesting instructions regarding the distribution of porridge at the city gates. Should the number of participants be reported as lower than usual, following the old practice?"
The study fell silent instantly.
Gao Chengli's expression changed.
Gu Chengyan slowly raised his head.
Meng Xuanzhe stared at the eunuch for a long time, then actually laughed.
But that smile wasn't warm at all.
"OK."
"Before I even started investigating, they've already taught me how to falsify accounts."
He reached out and slowly took the newspaper.
The lamplight reflected on the paper, making the words on the paper exceptionally clear, yet also exceptionally glaring.
Meng Xuanzhe tapped the paper lightly with his fingertips, his voice as soft as if he were saying something completely ordinary:
"It seems that tomorrow's court meeting——"
"We've got plenty to talk about."