Chapter 12: Cross-Examination in Court

Such an astonishingly bold statement left not only Li Chengyun and the others stunned, but even the old emperor was momentarily at a loss.

A trace of anger flashed across Li Chengyun's face as he sneered, "Your Highness, let us set aside for the moment any discussion of Our Majesty or the fate of the Great Qin. I would only ask: if the realm is not well-governed, how is that the fault of us ministers?"

"Your words, Prince, chill the hearts of your loyal servants," Yang Rucheng lamented, pounding his chest in agony, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. His body seemed to shrivel, as if he had aged a decade in the blink of an eye.

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper: "Though I dare not boast of being a sage of governance or claim kinship with Xiao He or Zhuge Liang, I have devoted myself to the Great Qin, laboring day and night without rest. Does this not at least earn me the title of a diligent servant?"

As if utterly disheartened, he trembled all over and asked, "Your Highness, I only wish to know: in what way have I erred to deserve such words from you?"

A heavy, plaintive air filled the grand hall, and every gaze turned toward Crown Prince Zhao Su was tinged with confusion and reproach.

Setting aside party struggles, it was undeniable that in matters of state and service to the emperor, Yang Rucheng, Li Chengyun, and Yu Wenchengshun had always been conscientious and tireless, laboring daily over official documents—truly men of great merit.

Even Yuchi Wei felt that the prince's words were excessive.

Zhao Yu, unable to contain himself, protested, "Brother, you have gone too far. The deeds of these three ministers are plain for all to see. Over these years, they have assisted Father in governing Great Qin. To be frank, the peace and prosperity we now enjoy is not due solely to Father; they, too, have played their part."

Yu Wenchengshun, his face streaked with tears, fell to his knees with a thud and cried, "Your Majesty, I beg you to judge justly. If you too deem us so unworthy, we shall resign our posts at once and yield our positions to worthier men."

As he spoke, Li Chengyun and Yang Rucheng also knelt trembling and kowtowed to the old emperor.

Three men in their fifties or sixties, kneeling and weeping bitterly on the floor, made for a truly pitiful sight.

The old emperor hastily tried to comfort them, "You three are pillars of the court. How could I ever think you incompetent? Li Chengfu, help our beloved ministers to their feet at once."

Eunuch Li hurried forward, trying to help the three up.

But having just seized upon a failing of the crown prince, how could they let go so easily? They remained prostrate, refusing to rise, determined to force the prince to clarify why all blame should fall upon them.

Standing to the side, Zhao Heng sneered inwardly, "Brother, though your madness has abated, your mind is still not quite right. Offending all three at once, I am curious to see how you will resolve this."

Even the old emperor now felt some resentment toward the prince, wondering why he would provoke the three ministers without cause.

After bowing to the emperor, Zhao Su looked down upon the kneeling ministers and asked, "Honored Sirs, let me ask you: what is the duty of a minister?"

Yu Wenchengshun straightened his back and declared, "Your Highness, the duty of a minister is to assist the sovereign and care for the people."

"Grand Guardian speaks well," Zhao Su replied, "but let me ask further: in assisting the ruler, have you truly done well by the people?"

Without waiting for a reply, Zhao Su continued, "In the tenth year of Renhe, the Yellow River flooded. Several counties in the northwest turned to marshland, and hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians perished. Grand Secretary, do you remember?"

At the mention of the flood, Li Chengyun's face turned ashen. "Of course I remember, Your Highness," he replied weakly.

Zhao Su pressed on, "At that time, you were Prefect of Yingchang, responsible for hundreds of thousands. When rains fell for days and the Yellow River threatened to burst its banks, what did you do?"

Not allowing Li Chengyun a chance to answer, Zhao Su declared sternly, "You did not reinforce the dikes, nor did you evacuate the people, nor did you send patrols to check the riverbanks or prepare for flood defense. Instead, you wrote memorial after memorial, asking the court for instructions."

A sharp light flickered in Li Chengyun's clouded eyes as he looked the prince in the face and retorted, "If I had not petitioned the court, what else could I have done, Your Highness?"

Zhao Su replied crisply, "You should have led men to strengthen the dikes and evacuate the people. If the dikes could hold, hold them; if not, breach them where no one lived and let the waters flow."

At these words, Li Chengyun seemed to collapse, his body drained of strength as he sat on the floor, bloodless and mute. Why had he never thought of these measures? Had he done so, might those hundreds of thousands have lived?

Seeing Li Chengyun silenced, Zhao Su moved to Yang Rucheng and asked, "Lord Yang, in the eighth year of Renhe a great drought struck the capital, driving the people to destitution and even cannibalism. What did you do then?"

Yang Rucheng replied proudly, "Your Highness, at that time I was Prefect of the capital. When the drought came, I opened the granaries for more than ten days, saving tens of thousands."

His actions had saved countless lives. Though it was forbidden to open the granaries without imperial order, he had risked censure for the sake of the people. Even now, he felt no regret.

Zhao Su nodded in approval. "Indeed, Lord Yang, when disaster relief supplies had not yet arrived, you defied censure and opened the granaries, saving thousands. That is a merit none can erase."

But before Yang Rucheng could savor the praise, Zhao Su changed his tone: "But I must ask—those granaries held enough for half a million people for a month. Why, then, did you run out of grain after just ten days?"

"Well... the number of refugees was overwhelming..." Yang Rucheng began to protest.

Zhao Su cut him off. "Opening the granaries was right, but your methods were flawed. You set no limits on distribution; every refugee received two dou of grain. Did you know that many collected rations multiple times a day, amassing more than they could eat, while others, unable to enter the city, received nothing and starved? Many took their grain and sold it to powerful local families. Thus, enough grain for half a million for a month was squandered in just ten days, causing prices to soar and the people to resort to cannibalism."

Yang Rucheng's face turned ashen. He had saved tens of thousands—how had it become his fault in the end?

Stiffening his neck, he demanded, "Your Highness, it's easy to criticize from a distance. If it were you, what would you have done?"

Zhao Su answered, "First: send people to count the number of refugees. Second: set up four distribution points at each city gate. Third: distribute three days' worth of grain per household, based on the household register, every seven days. Fourth: anyone caught reselling grain would be executed without mercy. By these policies, the granaries could have lasted at least two months."

"Why only three days' grain every seven days, Your Highness? That’s not enough to eat," Yang Rucheng objected, still perplexed.

Zhao Su sighed, "In disaster relief, you can only keep people fed, not full."

"Why?"

"Because going hungry will not kill them, but having nothing will. As long as they can endure for two months, once the court’s relief grain arrives, all the people can be saved."