ITIEQ C35

Chapter 35 – Educational Enlightenment

Never before had Shen Qinghe felt the weight upon his shoulders so real, so visible, so heavy. He could clearly sense its crushing heft, dragging down from his chest together with all the dusks of ten-odd years past.

From his height, he gazed down upon the thousands of people, their sorrow and grief filling the earth.

“People of the village!”

His steady voice rang across the open field, causing those lost in their weeping to glance up. But when they saw it was merely a youth speaking, they only dropped heads again, tears still falling.

“I am your Governor!”

Among the crowd, native villagers and famine-fleeing refugees had long since mingled. Most cared only for their own survival. Information rarely spread. For the majority, they only stared blankly at this boy claiming to be governor. What was a governor? To them, it was only another “big official”—the kind who came every ten days demanding grain, who flipped their rice jars bare, then walked away without concern if they lived or starved.

So the reflex response was ingrained: upon seeing an official, one dropped to knees and kowtowed, mumbling pleas for mercy and compassion.

Only those who had received favors from Shen Qinghe—working at the charcoal kilns or earthen furnaces for wages and food—recognized him as the master who had fed them, as the benefactor who paid their coin. Their faces lit up briefly with joy.

The maker of those vast, towering structures, like a god upon earth, was their governor himself!

Shen Qinghe’s voice deepened:

“I know the world grows harsher, survival ever harder. We each suffer our own miseries. Since the heavens no longer care for the people of Qiuquan, then we must seek our own way of salvation! I am your Governor—when faced with calamity, I shall advance and retreat together with you!”

But the people still only hammered foreheads against ground.

He spoke a few more lines, but their blank faces, their repetitive kowtows and pleas, showed him the truth—words of morality meant nothing. These people could not comprehend them. They were caught in the endless downward torrent, long ceased thinking. They simply clutched at whatever floated by—be it plank or reef, god or official—they would worship it for survival.

All they wanted was life.

This is not my original age. They did not understand public debate or collective consultation. For Shen Qinghe, in one’s seat, fulfill one’s duty. Use the highest efficiency to resolve the pressing crisis.

He lifted his robes and ran back to the command office, the ruins of collapsed stalks and broken stems blurring past.

The youth governor ran faster still, the harsh winds hissing behind him. Once inside the threshold, he immediately summoned each bureau head. He ordered county clerks to assess disaster: crop and field losses, records of any injuries or deaths. He dictated memorials petitioning the provincial capital for tax reduction and food price stabilization, funds for relief to prevent upheaval.

Then he remembered the deficit-choked ledgers—and winced with pain.

Fortunately, the command office had been disciplined under his reforms. Orders now flowed through fixed processes, generating reports in measured time. Compared to before—chaotic roles, everyone shirking, a single petition dragging for years—this already felt like progress.

By the time he strode across the courtyard, several directives had already been dispatched.

Summoned officials assembled, pale with lingering dread from the storm.

“The situation is urgent. You all witnessed it. Speak—any proper methods you have,” Shen Qinghe cut straight to the heart.

The Registry Chief stammered: “Such disasters descend every year. Impossible to correct… my lord has already ordered tax relief. In my view, this suffices. Wait some days, sow anew, soon all returns as before…”

“You have learned well the doctrine of doing nothing!” Shen Qinghe sneered. The man shrank instantly. “Why do you think the court grants you office? You read more books than farmers, yet when the time comes, you serve only as useless scholars?”

The room fell silent. In richer provinces, there might have been resources. But here… what more could they do?

Shen suppressed his frustration, swallowing the bile. “Since you have no answers, you shall follow mine. Each county shall choose five people and send them here. They must have tilled fields, but also studied, at least enough to recognize written words. The agricultural and census bureaus shall tally damages carefully. As for you, Military Chief Zhang—double patrols in the city, especially nights. Should riots arise from your negligence, have your resignation ready!”

He rattled off names, appointing responsibilities clearly. Then, just as he moved to conclude the session, someone suddenly spoke his name.

The youth paused, turning.

It was the Changshi of the commandery—surname Xue?

Shen Qinghe barely recalled him, only from personnel notes as a “relation appointment.” By rank, he was essentially Shen’s top aide. Not belonging to the greatest aristocratic clans, yet child of a minor but reputable family. Low-key, rule-abiding, neither brilliance nor blemish, though infamous for late arrivals and early departures. His evaluations always sank in the middle.

Neither troublemaker nor scapegoat, Shen Qinghe usually treated him politely.

“In such hardship, as an official of this land, I too wish to lend small aid,” Xue Bufan spoke.

“Oh?” Shen slowed, studying him properly for the first time. Then nodded. “Very well—then you may oversee dispatch within the palace. For these days I cannot remain here, and the court must rest under your steadiness.”

It was a token assignment compared to others’ real tasks. Officials friendly to Xue frowned, wanting to speak, but Shen had already swirled away, his robe trailing behind.

From now, real power lay with Shen Qinghe. Officials turned toward him, not toward the quiet Changshi. Combined with new workloads and strict rules, even the lively gates of Xue’s quarters grew utterly cold.

One friend remained, frowning. “Bufan—lately, I fail to understand you. The Emperor himself sends aid here, a chance such as this! Why do you persist in gloom?”

“You too think—I should bow and serve this new master?”

“I know your ambitions soar high—you resist any man above. But in these weeks, I have watched—this governor is not an empty puppet. He brings clever policies. Perhaps Qiuquan yet could shine anew. Would that not benefit us all?”

Xue Bufan sighed cold: “So autocratic, so unorthodox—without imperial edict or emperor’s personal favor, a chorus of slander could destroy him a hundred times already!”

“You…” His friend stared, aghast.

Xue rubbed his brow, muttering, “Forgive me.”

The friend withdrew, words sharp: “We are each busy men. Think carefully, Brother Xue.”

Alone, Xue clenched fists, slamming the desk timber until it shuddered.

—

From twelve counties, men soon arrived. Due to recent reductions clearing out idle clerks, many spare quarters lay open, and they were lodged temporarily there.

At first anxious, they slowly grew calmer living together. Each had taken exam attempts for positions if not successful, so all were at least somewhat literate. They wondered: were they summoned to assist the needy? To receive stipends for further studies?

But their supervising clerks calmly shook heads. “Not told.” The suspense gnawed, keeping these men sleepless as days passed.

At last, news came. They were led into a yard before side chambers. Each given a straw mat, they knelt awkward, restless as though performing offerings.

Shen Qinghe, having just finished a stack of public documents, strode in quickly. Eyes darted at him—youth in brown robe and cap, an elegant figure, accompanied by a tall young man. Their identities unclear, but once the youth announced himself as Governor, all started, hastily bowing.

Shen waved casually. “No need for such formality. Sit as comfortable.” He scanned—then frowned lightly. “Which counties have not convened?”

Twelve counties, five men each—should be sixty. He had even prepared contingency, fearing over-numbers needing the outdoor yard. Yet here he saw merely thirty-some people?

His aide—the same clerk who had led him to iron ore—now promoted to his side, answered promptly:

“My lord, all counties have sent men. But some could only find one or two with letters, not five. Still, they dared not send random peasants.”

So—though every household tilled fields, none could meet the other condition. Few in a county could even read.

Shen Qinghe, struck momentarily silent, gained new clarity of Qiuquan’s backwardness in education.

The hush of his pause made men below uneasy. They peered at their broken sandals, ashamed in patched garments, feeling their unworthiness keenly.

A blackboard leaned nearby, hung low. Written in clean exact strokes—surely the system’s hand. Its writing remained after class; apparently today’s duty student had failed to wipe it clean.

Xue Bufan had accompanied him to the gathering. Shen said simply: “Changshi, if you please, wipe the board.”

Xue Bufan turned—and froze slightly. The “board” differed from any parchment scrolls he knew. Black background, white script—not ink but chalk, easily wiped with a cloth. Had such tools become popular in the capital in his absence? Once he, too, had been foremost among scholars. But those days had passed. The Xue second son was no longer a blazing name.

Still, he stared longer, noticing not only words but a drawing: tangled lines, a wheel inset, odd scribbles of symbols he faintly recognized. Numbers. He had glimpsed them before in treasury records. The Finance Bureau had begged dismissal of such headaches, yet Shen Qinghe had insisted: “Study until the end of life.” Since then, complaints had ceased.

Questions crawled through his mind, but he buried them deep. Silently, he wiped the board clean to shining. Docile, even assisting in hanging it on a nail at door.

Short months—and his own friends already defected. He would see, he thought grimly. See what spectacle this youth could truly show worth respecting.

Shen Qinghe knew nothing of his inner churnings. Satisfied by the gleaming board, he nodded. Then picking up chalk in hand, he turned to the gathered group of farmer-scholars, hunched like quails. Shen sighed softly. His hand lifted—strokes sounded da-da-da across blackboard—until two bold characters blazed white:

“Agricultural Science” (農學)

Footnotes

 

1. Blackboard with chalk – An anachronistic device introduced here, clearly influenced by Shen’s “system.” Traditionally, writing was brush on paper or wood tablets. The characters “農學” (Agricultural Science) symbolize not only teaching farming technique but the Enlightenment project of literacy and modernity.