Chapter 17: There Are Always Those Who Seek to Undermine the Bond Between Me and My People
Zhao Ning was a man who disliked idle talk and useless tasks.
When he went to inspect the site, it was always with a purpose.
For example, this time he wasn’t worried about Uncle Zhang’s defensive arrangements; he was there to distribute salaries.
Indeed, he was there to hand out pay.
Because the imperial treasury was strained, the garrison troops had not received their wages for several months.
After all, people are just people. If you’re a boss and don’t pay your employees for a long time, no matter how loyal they are, they won’t endure.
Each worker had a family to support.
Supporting one’s family—that is the true reality of adulthood.
A group escorted the newly withdrawn funds from the treasury in separate teams.
Zhao Ning headed toward the south city gate, intending to distribute money on the spot to boost morale.
Along the roadside, ordinary citizens were everywhere: some held wooden sticks, others carried kitchen knives, some pushed carts laden with stones, and a few gripped long blades.
Order was somewhat chaotic ahead.
In a nearby tavern, cries of despair could be heard: “We’re finished! We can’t win! We must flee!”
The man was clearly drunk.
Others nearby wore expressions of confusion and deep worry.
“Where can we even run now? The Jin bandits have blocked all the city gates!”
“Hasn’t the court already ordered us to fight? They even executed that high official who wanted peace—wasn’t he the deputy prefect of Kaifeng?”
“So what if he was killed? Do you think that will stop the Jin invaders?”
The tone was desperate, the atmosphere heavy.
People longed for the old days of Dongjing—a time of peace, no wars, when even in winter many would go out to admire the snow and savor tea.
But now, no one had the heart to enjoy the snow.
Even outside the once bustling East Hua Gate, the lively brothels were deserted.
Some people quietly made their way toward the city tower; some were hastily gathered reinforcements.
These people believed they could repel the Jin and protect their homeland.
Yet, one could not deny the overall mood was somber in the face of such a formidable enemy.
Moreover, after years of continuous defeats by the Song army, people had grown numb to failure.
The notion that the Jin were invincible had taken deep root; merely mentioning them caused fear.
To safeguard their homes had become their greatest wish; no one dared hope to return to the past life.
Zhao Ning saw all this and took it to heart.
He heard the despairing voices in the tavern.
He did not blame them.
They were just ordinary folk—common people prone to discouragement in difficult times, let alone in disaster.
Zhao Ning walked some more; the once prosperous Dongjing seemed utterly gone, replaced by heaviness, oppression, and sorrow.
Snowflakes drifted down, the clouds hanging low and heavy.
Ahead came the sound of barking dogs and loud clamors.
Suddenly, a voice rang out loudly: “We will defeat the Jin bandits! We will defend our homeland! For our children, we must fight to the very end!”
“Defend the homeland!”
Then, a youthful voice joined in.
Zhao Ning turned toward the sound and saw a child peering out from a roadside house.
She was about eight or nine years old, adorable but flushed with passion as she shouted, “Defend the homeland!”
Zhao Ning felt a surge of emotion and comfort—common people could be rallied! Hearts could be won!
It was only that the people had yet to form a united front.
Once Qin Hui finished the daily report, the emperor would begin writing plain-language articles!
He would tell everyone that victory over the Jin was possible—it just required more time, patience, and steadiness.
When the people’s hearts are aligned, no enemy is invincible.
This somewhat eased Zhao Ning’s anxiety.
After walking further, he neared the south city gate.
Suddenly, agonized screams erupted ahead.
A group of soldiers burst out of a house, chased by a man who shouted angrily, “What kind of skill is robbing my belongings? If you’re brave, go fight the Jin bandits! You beasts!”
A boy of about twelve darted out, threw his arms around a soldier, and shouted, “This is all the grain our family has! What do you want to do? If you take it all, what will we eat?”
“Get lost!” a soldier punched the boy, who winced but did not let go—he bit the soldier’s arm.
The soldier screamed in pain, and others rushed over, roughly pulling the boy away.
They then beat him with fists and kicks.
The father quickly rushed forward, shielding his child.
One soldier beat the boy while growling, “This is wartime! We have orders from the court to requisition grain. You dare disobey imperial orders? Do you want to die?”
Zhao Ning looked toward the scene and recognized the soldiers’ uniforms—they were indeed the imperial guards.
The imperial guards of the late Northern Song were truly like this—or at least many of them were.
After Emperor Huizong’s reign, the imperial guards had mostly become ineffective.
Of course, there were some exemplary individuals, like Jing Chao, but they were few.
Historical records state that during the Jin’s second siege of Dongjing, some imperial guards abandoned the city to loot civilians, indistinguishable from bandits.
Seeing this, Zhao Ning’s anger flared.
“How outrageous! Jing Chao, take your men and bring those people to me!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
Having Jing Chao made things much easier.
Gao Qiu had assigned him to intelligence and household raids—relatively easy tasks due to his age.
Jing Chao led about a dozen imperial guards and swiftly captured the culprits.
One of them joked, “Hey, we’re on the same side! We’re imperial guards too! We belong to the Imperial Bodyguard Infantry Division!”
The Imperial Bodyguard Infantry Division was one of the three main divisions, part of the imperial guards.
Jing Chao snapped, “Silence!”
Zhao Ning arrived with his entourage as more onlookers gathered.
He dismounted and approached the injured boy, ready to help him up.
The boy, clearly frightened, shrank into his father’s arms.
The man, seeing Zhao Ning’s attire and his retinue, immediately recognized him as a high-ranking figure and backed away with his son.
This feeling of fear toward the emperor is foreign and unpleasant to someone from the 21st century.
But Zhao Ning had to accept a fact: as emperor, such reverence and fear from others was natural.
“Are you alright?”
The boy, mature for his age, shook his head: “I’m fine.”
At twelve, he would be in early middle school by modern standards—still protected by parents and teachers.
Zhao Ning recalled the little girl he had seen at the window earlier.
When war comes, it is always the common people who suffer most.
He patted the boy’s head and smiled, “You are very brave.”
Then he turned toward the soldiers, his smile vanishing, replaced by a cold, icy glare.
“This is His Majesty!”
The soldiers immediately dropped to their knees, trembling with obvious fear.
(Outside of officials, people could choose whether or not to kneel before the emperor—a degree of freedom unusual for the time.)
They stammered, “We pay our respects, Your Majesty!”
“Who ordered you to rob the common people here?” Zhao Ning’s voice lowered, filled with anger.
There were eight of them—eight men robbing one family.
They stuttered, sweating cold beads.
“Speak! Who gave you the order to do this?”