Chapter 54: The Mastermind Behind the Century-Long Plan

After bidding farewell to Empress Zhangsun in a daze, Li Tai departed from the imperial palace.

To be frank, Li Tai had no idea how much of his proposal Li Sumin would actually accept.

Yet, he understood clearly that if the Great Tang were to possess a navy in the absence of a formidable external adversary, the only driving force for maritime development would be profit.

In this era, although overseas trade was often praised as wildly lucrative, one had to bear in mind that this was merely the seventh century. For a Great Tang that had just achieved unification, the era's oceangoing technology was still rather sub-par.

To engage in maritime trade required carving out a stable and safe sea route.

Such a route could not simply be pointed out on a map with a declaration that ships should sail yonder to reap riches, prompting a crowd to set off on what resembled a few days of leisurely tourism, purchase goods elsewhere, and return for trade.

The reality was that any immensely profitable industry harbored unseen dangers, let alone oceangoing trade, where even basic survival was difficult to guarantee.

In ancient times, the hazards of undertaking oceangoing voyages were unimaginably high.

Along the journey, one had to predict weather patterns to avoid being swallowed by storms, know the next resupply points for vessels, and constantly stockpile sufficient fresh water.

Furthermore, one needed a grasp of medical knowledge; ailments such as scurvy were common among ancient sailors.

Crucially, upon arriving in unfamiliar lands, one had to know how to acquire goods without being hunted down by the locals.

One might say that every maritime trading venture was a gamble with one's life.

Unless people were genuinely unable to scrape by locally, few commoners would spontaneously organize sea voyages to blaze a new maritime trail.

During the Zhenguan reign, as long as one farmed diligently, survival was assured; why take such life-or-death risks to pursue ocean commerce?

True development would have to wait at least until the land could no longer sustain population growth, forcing people instinctively to turn their gaze toward the ocean in search of sustenance.

From a certain perspective, attempting to develop maritime transport through overseas trade during this period was somewhat premature.

The most critical reason was that the Overland Silk Road successfully connected the Eurasian continent. Until the overland routes became obsolete, developing the Maritime Silk Road naturally faced immense difficulties.

To merchants, the Overland Silk Road had been established since the Han dynasty, and most of its perils were well understood. Should the risks ever become too great, one simply had to transport goods as far as the Yumen Pass.

Compared to that, maritime trade presented far too many uncertainties and caused too much anxiety.

Therefore, Li Tai's idea was to introduce a preliminary stepping stone prior to initiating maritime trade: developing the fishing industry.

From coastal fishing to offshore fishing, and eventually to deep-sea fishing—even hunting whales if possible—that would be ideal.

Aside from the legend that "when a great fish dies, princes and lords perish," the first person to shoot a whale would likely be cursed to death by Confucian scholars.

Yet, the profits generated by whale hunting in this feudal era were indeed so exaggerated that they would inevitably stimulate the growth of the fishing industry.

Even without enemies, a navy sustained by the profits of the fishing industry should be able to maintain itself.

After all, even for those indifferent to maritime wealth, dried fish made for a reliable food source.

Food is the paramount necessity of the people. Once the industry scaled up, if a future dim-witted emperor were to ban maritime activities, only to find that such a decree would cut off the rations of millions or even tens of millions of souls, Li Tai wondered what consequences would ensue.

As the fishing industry continued to expand, much like the gradual transition into an agrarian society brought about by farming, a host of supporting infrastructure would naturally emerge from a scaling fishery: maritime commerce, vessel escort fleets, aquaculture, and the like.

Li Tai did not believe that merely building a fleet and conducting a modicum of trade would imbue China with a seafaring genetic makeup.

In his view, China was fundamentally a nation rooted in an agrarian society.

The navigational technology of the Song dynasty was advanced, and although the Ming dynasty instituted maritime bans, its shipbuilding technology was also peerless. Yet, why was China unable to foster a maritime civilization?

To Li Tai, the root cause was simple: the common people did not rely on the ocean for their livelihood. The absence of the sea meant nothing tangible to the inhabitants of the mainland.

They fed on rice and wheat, while the profits generated by oceangoing trade were largely swallowed by the upper echelons of society.

As long as it did not touch upon the commoners' basic needs of food, clothing, shelter, and transportation, it had little to do with them!

And while the channels mastered by the ruling class were lucrative and yielded rich rewards, to society as a whole, they were like rootless duckweed.

For whenever the lower classes rose in rebellion, it was invariably land annexation that drove them to overthrow the upper strata.

Never had it been heard that fishermen struggling for survival in the vast seas had launched uprisings to overthrow the ruling class.

Under such circumstances, no matter how dynasties rose and fell, once a preceding dynasty was overthrown, its successor would invariably neglect the ocean. They focused instead on the common folk and the soil beneath their feet—which was entirely natural.

In truth, when later generations claimed that ancients undervalued the ocean, it was an unreasonable assertion, for the Chinese people were steadfastly down-to-earth.

Ancient times constituted an agrarian society; people could not see the treasures hidden within the sea. All they could perceive was the earth beneath them.

Because only the land could nourish the populace.

Consequently, in antiquity, the larger a country was, the more intensely its gaze was focused on the soil.

Only small nations with impoverished native territories and meager resources were compelled to cast their eyes toward the ocean, thereby discovering tracts of unexplored blue seas.

If Li Tai wished to turn the nation's vision toward the sea, the solution was not to gather a horde of nobles to engage in maritime trade.

For even if such a practice persisted for a single dynasty, with the coming of dynastic changes, those maritime policies would inevitably be buried.

What he needed was for the lowest-tier commoners to be able to survive through the ocean.

Especially when the impact of the sea expanded from the coast into the interior, allowing the common folk to discover that not only the land, but the ocean too, could sustain them.

Then Li Tai would no longer need to meddle in oceangoing trade or construct distant fleets.

Society would spontaneously develop the corresponding functions, and the officials selected from within it would naturally compel the state to fix its gaze upon the deep.

Naturally, to promote this plan from the bottom up, the foremost requirement was a stable maritime policy and environment to nurture such a vast foundational class.

Simultaneously, the hurdles that needed overcoming required time to slowly settle and mature.

For maritime technology was the cutting-edge science of the day, especially for a Great Tang whose naval forces had hitherto operated mostly inland. A very long road lay ahead.

At the very least, features like a keel were only possessed by Song dynasty vessels; no historical records or shipwreck discoveries proved that the Great Tang possessed keeled ships.

This severely restricted the cruising range of Tang dynasty vessels.

Until this problem was resolved, ships could at best dabble in offshore waters. Anyone attempting long-distance oceanic voyages had better prepare for total shipwreck and loss of life.

Therefore, the Tang dynasty's maritime industry required a considerable period of sedimentation across shipbuilding technology, personnel quality, and material preparation.

Even now, deploying military-style fishing vessels to catch fish in the Bohai Sea involved entirely different crafts from river-faring boats.

Allowing the Tang military to master these technologies now was far better than making a rash decision during a future campaign against Goguryeo, ordering the Great Tang navy to set sail only for half of the fleet to be wiped out midway by a typhoon.

Moreover, one crucial point must be noted: what Li Tai required was not an invincible armada, but an industrial system with a thirst for the ocean.

By targeting Goguryeo while executing this plan, such an industrial ecosystem would naturally take shape, and various factions within the Great Tang would lend their support.

Without the objective of Goguryeo, a single-minded push to develop marine industries would undoubtedly face suppression and exclusion from existing economic powers.

Thus, utilizing Li Sumin's authority to develop the maritime industry would also afford this fledgling sector a relatively safe environment and strong backing.

Of course, Li Tai was merely planting a seed, consciously or unconsciously. If he successfully ascended the throne in the future, when the time came to further develop seafaring, he would at least have a cadre of usable talent rather than starting entirely from scratch.

"A true imperial grand strategy should span a century; otherwise, how can one dare call it an empire!" Li Tai chuckled smugly.

In his eyes, the so-called game of empire was not about internal court intrigues and power struggles—that was utterly dull.

A real empire pursued grand blueprints calculated in centuries.

Much like the commandery and county system of the Qin dynasty, which the Han dynasty inherited, perfected, and sustained, granting China a level of grassroots control that far outstripped contemporary empires and remained exceptional even in modern times.

Or like the imperial examination system of the Sui dynasty, which the Tang dynasty inherited and refined, leaving modern talent selection systems still unable to escape its fundamental framework, merely dressing old wine in new bottles and keeping pace with the times.

Therefore, a centennial plan was inevitably driven by time, anchored in the Central Plains, and propelled by the execution power of the empire.

And those who initially proposed such plans were invariably the most brilliant and dazzling minds in all of China.

Perhaps due to historical limitations, they could not foresee how their proposals would ultimately evolve.

Yet at the time, they were absolute visionaries of their era, possessing the highest caliber. Their greatness surpassed that of mere princes, generals, or ministers; they were the true sages of their age.

Naturally, Li Tai could hardly be counted among such luminaries. His outlook merely matched that of an ordinary college student with a passing grade in basic morals and ideology.

As for whether he could actually pull it off, that would depend on opportunity.

Being reborn as an ordinary commoner still offered a chance, but if he had been born as the son of Yang Guang, it truly would have been a tragedy.

For he would have to face the greatest commander of the era—Li Sumin.

Upon returning to Gaoling, Li Tai resumed his peaceful life, patiently waiting for Li Sumin to announce the military campaign against the Tujue.

Without the news being made public, it was inappropriate for him to take the initiative. After all, Yang Xiu had been clever enough, yet his cleverness ultimately brought about his doom!

Meanwhile, just moments after Li Tai took his leave, Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui were summoned by Li Sumin to the Taiji Palace.

To Li Sumin, Li Tai's suggestion of fishing was an unprecedented concept—solving a military logistics problem through the lens of people's livelihood.

Implementing such a plan naturally required the judgment and reference of his two foremost advisors, Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui.

"Greetings, Your Majesty," Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui said upon arrival, bowing to Li Sumin.

"Xuanling, Keming, you're here!" Li Sumin motioned for them to take their seats, then waved a hand to instruct an attendant to hand over the strategic plan for fishing authored by Li Tai for them to inspect.

Li Sumin began, "I chanced upon a policy proposal. Take a look and see if it is feasible!"

Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui picked up the document one after the other and began to read.

As they finished reading in turn, their eyes gleamed with brilliance. To both men, rather than merely admiring the cleverness of the strategy, what struck them most was how it shattered the limits of their horizons, lifting their gaze away from the interior landmass and fixing it upon the ocean.

Fang Xuanling spoke first, "Establishing ports at Tianjin, converting military warships into fishing vessels, and increasing food supplies through fishing.

"Furthermore, cultivating fish at river mouths or other suitable locations to form fishery farms akin to agriculture, stabilizing the fishing industry, and utilizing dried fish to serve as crucial famine relief provisions transported via the Grand Canal whenever needed.

"One must admit, this is a remarkably grand blueprint—a major undertaking that will likely take a decade to realize!"

Du Ruhui nodded in deep agreement, "This plan truly achieves two goals with a single stroke.

"First, we have suffered consecutive years of natural disasters, and this plan can alleviate our logistical pressure regarding the Tujue.

"Moreover, once the Tujue issue is settled, it will exert miraculous effects when we eventually deal with Goguryeo!"

To be honest, up until now, no one believed the Tujue could be subdued in a single campaign.

The best hope was that the Great Tang could secure the upper hand and buy a decade of peace; that alone would render the expedition worthwhile.

"Your Majesty, might I ask which wise scholar devised this plan? Although its execution will take a long time with many variables, its vision is extraordinarily farsighted. Ironically, the extended timeframe endows the plan with high executability and adaptability," Fang Xuanling observed.

Li Sumin smiled proudly and replied, "It was crafted by Qingque!

"I originally intended to requisition corvée labor teams, but his levies were too costly, so I asked him to come up with a way to lighten the corvée burden.

"And so Qingque produced this plan.

"Though its ultimate target is Goguryeo, the first half of the strategy can be applied immediately against the Tujue to relieve pressure on grain reserves."

"The Prince of Yue has indeed put forth an exceptional plan," Fang Xuanling nodded. "At the very least, in terms of resource mobilization, it allows us to further integrate national strength against the Tujue. Every ounce of logistics we add in the rear translates to an extra fraction of strength at the front lines."

Du Ruhui nodded in chiming agreement, then stated decisively, "However, if we wish to seamlessly integrate this plan into the campaign against the Tujue, we must rely on the Minister of War. After all, he is the foremost naval commander of our Great Tang!"

"Indeed, this time against the Tujue, the command must go to Yaoshi!" Li Sumin agreed, nodding as well.