HCT – Chapter 144 Lin Zhi’s New Land Law

The land being in the hands of the old nobility from the six states that resisted Qin was, of course, a hidden danger.

Later, after the Qin unified the world, although it acted against the wealthy clans, it was comparatively lenient toward the old nobility of the six states. To appease the former subjects of those states, the First Emperor of Qin ordered the people to self-report their landholdings, essentially acknowledging the nobility’s ownership of those lands.

At that time, the First Emperor still wished to pursue a policy of recuperation and rest. However, what he failed to realize was that the “people” he sought to appease should not have been these nobles. The old aristocrats of the six states would never give up their former glory and deep resentment over their states’ demise just because of a few crumbs of “benevolence” from the Qin.

This appeasement policy caused grain prices in Qin to skyrocket, leaving commoners destitute. It became the final straw that made the First Emperor abandon his policy of recuperation and return to exploiting the people.

But this cannot be entirely blamed on him, for in that era, no one truly regarded the common people as “the people.” Whether it was the Qin rulers or scholars across the land, whenever they spoke of recuperation, they meant the gentry of the former six states—never the battered and exhausted common folk who truly needed rest.

“My little Emperor, whom I’ve raised, should be able to see this clearly, right?” Zhu Xiang’s eyes trembled faintly, then lowered as he smiled and said, “Of course it’s a hidden danger. Lord Zhang, have you ever heard the saying: ‘Even a strong dragon cannot suppress a local snake’?”

Zhang Ruo replied, “Though I haven’t heard the phrase before, I understand what it means.”

He paused in thought and then said, “If the Chu scholars who refuse to submit to Qin grow in power and occupy most of the newly cultivated land, it will hinder Qin’s efforts to collect taxes and corvée labor. Worse, when Qin and Chu clash in battle, they may incite rebellion in the rear.”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “His Majesty and the court officials have considered this as well. That’s why the Left Prime Minister has come to Southern Qin—to pilot the New Land Law.”

Zhang Ruo knew that the Left Prime Minister, Lin Zhi, was a close friend of Zhu Xiang’s and the son of the legendary Lin Xiangru, whom the late King Zhaoxiang of Qin had cherished all his life.

In Qin, though the Right Prime Minister held nominal seniority over the Left, his main role was to oversee and check the Left Prime Minister. Typically, the Right Prime Minister was someone experienced, often from the royal clan or a man of great virtue, while the Left Prime Minister was the one who did the actual work, often drawn from the guest officials. Currently, the Right Prime Minister was Xunzi, anchoring the court, while Lin Zhi ran around Qin taking care of business.

“Is Prime Minister Lin currently in Wu Commandery?” Zhang Ruo asked. “I’ve long heard of him and would love to meet him.”

Zhu Xiang originally wanted to leave Lin Zhi some dignity, but then thought that once the two met, Lin Zhi probably wouldn’t preserve his own dignity anyway—so he preemptively offered a warning. “Lin Li is very talented, with a bold and carefree personality, worth befriending—but perhaps too carefree.”

Seeing Zhang Ruo’s puzzled look, he added in a low voice, “He follows the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi, and was even personally enlightened by Zhuangzi himself.”

Zhang Ruo drew a sharp breath, then, realizing his reaction was too strong, quickly added, “Zhuangzi is a great sage—then Prime Minister Lin is truly a disciple of a noble lineage.”

Zhu Xiang nodded. “Indeed he is. If Lin Li weren’t so concerned about me, insisting on coming to look after me, he would’ve already gone off into the mountains as a recluse.”

Zhang Ruo was momentarily surprised, then smiled. “I think I understand his temperament now. Perhaps all I need to do to host him well is prepare plenty of wine.”

Zhu Xiang sighed. “Lord Zhang, you’ve seen right through Lin Li without even meeting him.”

Zhang Ruo laughed heartily.

While Zhu Xiang was introducing Lin Zhi to Zhang Ruo, Lin Zhi was discussing the trial implementation of the New Land Law with Ying Zheng.

Qin’s land distribution policies were vague and categorized into three types. One was based on household registration; another allowed individuals to retain part of the land they had personally cultivated; and the most common method today was land grants based on military merit.

Due to frequent warfare, household-based land allotment had become muddled and was largely left to local officials to determine as they saw fit. Most of the commoners who came to Qin earned their land by cultivating barren fields.

“Military merit is hard to earn, and unless one dies in battle, the reward only lasts one generation,” Lin Zhi said. “Right now, with the world still in turmoil, this policy helps boost Qin’s military morale. But once the empire is unified, ordinary Qin citizens will find it difficult to earn merit, and the flaws of this system will become apparent.”

The intention behind granting land through military merit was to encourage Qin citizens to voluntarily become expendable on the battlefield. Land earned through low-ranking titles could only be passed down if the soldier died in battle; if he died of old age, the land would be reclaimed.

Ying Zheng said, “Once the realm is unified, we can survey all land holdings and allow Qin citizens to inherit the lands they already possess. Low-level noble titles earned through military merit can be inherited at a lower rank.”

This matched what the “dream version” of Ying Zheng had done. However, while that Ying Zheng had also allowed the old subjects of the six states to self-report their land, Ying Zheng restricted this privilege to Qin citizens and added a rule of demoting inherited titles.

Lin Zhi said, “That’s an excellent way to appease the Qin people.”

Ying Zheng asked, “Besides that, should we also start drafting a land-grant policy that doesn’t rely on military merit?”

Lin Zhi smiled. “To take one step, you must plan for at least ten, if you want to avoid unnecessary detours. Zheng’er, let me test you—after unifying the world, what is the most important task?”

Ying Zheng answered solemnly, “Recuperation and rest.”

Lin Zhi nodded. “Exactly—‘rest and recuperation.’ In essence, that means increasing the number of commoners who can pay taxes and provide labor. If we want fifteen-year-olds to qualify as adult laborers, this policy must last for at least fifteen years, so the new generation of commoners can replace those from the old six states.”

He spread the draft of his New Land Law across the table. Ying Zheng leaned his fuzzy little head over to take a look.

To grow out his hair, Ying Zheng had shaved his head bald. Now, a soft greenish fuzz was just beginning to sprout on his round head.

Lin Zhi couldn’t resist and gave his head a rub. It felt surprisingly good—like petting a puppy.

Unfortunately, Ying Zheng wasn’t a puppy but a little wolf cub. He immediately bared his teeth and claws at Lin Zhi. The latter quickly withdrew his hand to avoid getting scratched or bitten.

“When I become King of Qin, Uncle Lin, if you dare touch my head, I’ll send you to guard the borders!” Ying Zheng threatened.

Lin Zhi laughed. “By the time you become king, your hair will be tied up neatly. I wouldn’t want to touch it then—doesn’t feel good.”

Ying Zheng immediately wanted to send him off to the frontier.

Lin Zhi was always skilled at teasing but knew when to stop. He switched instantly into serious mode.

“To promote population growth, Qin law mandates that households with multiple sons must split into separate households, or face penalties,” Lin Zhi said with a chuckle. “But rather than punish them, why not motivate them with benefits? Right now, we have vast stretches of barren land and a shortage of people—why not allocate land based on population?”

The New Land Law Lin Zhi proposed was similar to the Equal-field system used from the Wei-Jin period through the Sui and Tang dynasties.

During the Three Kingdoms era, the population had plummeted and much land lay fallow, with no one to farm it. To address the shortage of labor and abundance of uncultivated land, rulers implemented the Equal-field system—allocating land to women, servants, and even draft animals, and linking land ownership to labor obligations.

While this policy did provide commoners with land, it also imposed heavy burdens of corvée labor.

Lin Zhi’s New Farmland Law did not allocate land based on the number of slaves or oxen but divided it according to the number of adult males and females in the household. Females were granted half the land of males, and their annual corvée labor obligations were also halved.

To encourage childbirth among women, aside from the feudal custom that pregnant women were exempt from corvée, Lin Zhi introduced a new provision: as long as a woman had at least one surviving child, she would be exempt from labor service for five years upon giving birth to any additional children, regardless of the child’s gender.

Lin Zhi originally intended to offer more rewards but, after calculating the expected population growth once the empire was unified, he grew stingy.

The corvée labor of Qin was heavy and often required long-distance travel, where even the cost of the journey alone could ruin a commoner. Granting five years of exemption to women who gave birth was sufficient to motivate the populace to bear more children.

In essence, the New Farmland Law was still a form of harvesting the people like cutting chives—it merely let the chives grow a bit taller first. If cultivating the chives cost more than their yield was worth, then the law would be a failure.

Lin Zhi had calculated it well.

“What about the old nobility of the six former states?” Ying Zheng asked. “I don’t want them controlling local power.”

Lin Zhi replied, “If they submit to Qin, then verify the land they currently hold, relocate them to undeveloped territories, and compensate them with an equivalent amount of wasteland. This was the method Wu Qi used when he reformed Chu. He treated the nobles who had committed no crimes against Chu in this way. Likewise, the nobles of the six states who submit to Qin should not object.”

Regardless of the quality of their current lands, they would be compensated with equivalent amounts of wilderness and would have to bring their own slaves and retainers to cultivate it. Ying Zheng’s brows twitched.

Uncle Lin, are you really a disciple of Laozi and Zhuangzi? Are you sure you’re not a follower of the Legalist school? Are you going to claim next that you self-studied the teachings of Wu Qi and Shang Yang from old scrolls, and thus count as a Legalist too?

“Very well,” Ying Zheng nodded. “This is good.”

Lin Zhi said, “You’ll need a good excuse. You can’t just relocate them outright. Leave that to the disciples of Confucianism.”

Ying Zheng said, “Old Master Xun will be furious.”

Lin Zhi replied helplessly, “Who told you to go to Xunzi? Isn’t Li Si and Han Fei also technically Confucian disciples?”

Ying Zheng: “……”

Oh. When Uncle Lin says “Confucian disciples,” he means anyone who studied under a Confucian master.

“Alright,” Ying Zheng said. “Then what if the old nobles of the six states refuse to submit to Qin?”

Lin Zhi gave him a “are you stupid?” look. “Zheng’er, those who refuse to submit to Qin are enemies of Qin. They are criminals. You should deal with them as you must. Even if you intend to grant a general amnesty later, you must first punish them.”

Ying Zheng said, “Confiscate their property and send them to guard the border?”

Lin Zhi replied, “Look—aren’t the Great Walls of Qin, Zhao, and Yan already on the same latitude? Since they were all built to repel the Hu invaders from the north, shouldn’t they be connected?”

Ying Zheng: “……”

Though the Great Qin in his dream did indeed connect the walls, hearing this idea come from Uncle Lin just felt weird.

Lin Zhi said, “If you feel too soft-hearted, just look at the lands of Baiyue—so rich, yet all covered in wild grass and trees. You could relocate the entire clan of such nobles there and have them help reintegrate Baiyue into the Central Plains.”

Ying Zheng: “……Mm.”

Uncle Lin, aren’t you afraid of being assassinated for suggesting something like this?

Then again, even if he didn’t make this suggestion, the people around him were probably fated to be assassinated anyway.

“I’ll come up with a good excuse,” Ying Zheng said. “Li Si and Han Fei have been neglecting their Confucian studies lately. I should have them revisit the classics.”

Lin Zhi said, “Young people always chase the new and abandon the old, unwilling to follow the teachings of their elders. They think they’re smarter and prefer to go against tradition. But they don’t realize that the sages were sages for a reason. Only by fully understanding their wisdom can one forge their own path.”

He shook his head and sighed deeply, as if heartbroken.

Ying Zheng hesitated to speak.

He believed that if the sages Lin Zhi spoke of heard this speech, they might not be moved in the slightest.

Ying Zheng continued reading the farmland law Lin Zhi wrote, especially the parts that didn’t exist even in his dream-version of the law.

For example, when a woman got married—if she remained in her original village, her land would be merged with her husband’s. If she married into another region, the land could be rented out instead of merging with the husband’s property. In either case, if the woman divorced, she could request to take her land back through official channels.

Ying Zheng said, “This might make people more inclined to marry within their own or neighboring villages, just to avoid trouble.”

Lin Zhi said, “That’s exactly the point—to encourage local marriages and reduce the administrative burden of population records.”

Ying Zheng nodded, then asked, “Will we officially implement the now-common practice of letting military widows inherit farmland? Even if they have no sons or daughters? That might provoke resentment.”

Lin Zhi said, “The dead are of no further value. Only the living can pay taxes and perform corvée. Military widows who till the land and serve can still bear children. They should be supported. But, to give peace of mind to soldiers, it must be stipulated that if such a widow wants to inherit the land but has no children, she must remarry and the new husband must be brought into her late husband’s household registry, not the other way around.”

Ying Zheng asked, “Then if she marries this new husband, can their children inherit the deceased husband’s land?”

Lin Zhi smiled. “Of course not. Land granted through low-ranking military merit can at most be passed down one generation, even in the event of death in battle. If she has children with her first husband, they inherit the land to prevent the new husband from abusing them. If she doesn’t, then once she dies, the land returns to the state. Still, even if the children she has with the new husband can’t inherit, the benefits from the land during her lifetime are enough to make her welcome in any household.”

Ying Zheng asked, “So this will naturally encourage widows to remarry?”

Lin Zhi nodded.

Ying Zheng didn’t share the same aversion toward widows remarrying or taking in new husbands as the version of himself in his dreams once did.

Having completely let go of his birth mother, Ying Zheng was able to view the matter purely from a pragmatic perspective.

For the sake of population growth, widows needed to remarry. But encouraging the widows of dead soldiers to remarry could lower morale among the troops.

So instead, by framing it as a way to reward soldiers’ families and letting military widows enjoy the benefits of land while alive, it would naturally make them more open to remarrying—even if no one openly encouraged it.

If they chose not to remarry and lacked enough male labor in the household, they wouldn’t be able to manage that much land anyway.

“If a soldier dies in battle and still has living parents, then the parents are entitled to a share of the land. To uphold familial bonds, this share can be allocated to the parents in place of the deceased soldier, as a form of continued support. If a woman does not remarry or brings a husband into her family and is willing to support her parents—even if the parents have other children—then a widow from a military household should still receive her due portion. Likewise, land given for the purpose of supporting one’s parents cannot be inherited by others. After the parents’ death, it shall revert directly to the government.”

Behind all of Lin Zhi’s new land laws lay stark, naked self-interest—there was no pity involved.

Naturally, these provisions would be opposed by the parents of fallen soldiers who had other children. But as always, young widows could pay more taxes, do more labor, and bear more children.

However, all of these harsh land policies needed to be cloaked in warmth and compassion, to prevent morale from dropping among soldiers who fought and died on the battlefield.

All that needed to be said was: “This is to protect the bloodlines left behind by our soldiers.”

Otherwise, if things weren’t handled this way—if women without children could be driven from their homes and their land given by their parents to their brothers—then when a soldier went to war, in hopes of seizing his property, someone might harm the young children he left behind.

Now, when you put it that way, doesn’t it all sound quite touching?

After Lin Zhi enlightened Ying Zheng, the boy’s expression became somewhat numb.

He thought, Uncle Lin really was well-suited to be the Chancellor—perhaps even more so than Li Si.

Li Si was always straightforward. But look at Uncle Lin’s maneuver—it was brilliant and impossible to counter.

“We’ll test it in Wu Commandery first,” Ying Zheng decided. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

Lin Zhi asked, “You’re really not going to use my name?”

Ying Zheng replied, “If we use your name now, I fear you won’t live to see the day I succeed the throne as King of Qin—you’d be assassinated before then.”

Lin Zhi laughed heartily. “That’s all right. Xia Tong will protect me.”

But Ying Zheng thought to himself: I trust only myself.

Even with someone as close as his adoptive father, Ying Zheng never fully let down his guard. People changed—and even if his adoptive father wanted to protect Lin Zhi, it might not be within his power.

These were the few elders in his life. Once he became King of Qin, they would be able to enjoy power and wealth alongside him, for the rest of their lives.

“My mind is made up,” said Ying Zheng. “I’m the governor of Wu Commandery, so naturally I should be the one to implement the land laws there.”

“If that’s your decision, then go ahead with confidence. If there’s trouble, I’ll help you again,” Lin Zhi replied. He was half-indulgent toward Ying Zheng, believing this young man—who was preparing to let his hair grow out—could accomplish what many grown men could not.

“I’ll go have a look at Chu next,” Lin Zhi said. “Don’t I look like a merchant?”

Ying Zheng sighed helplessly. “Uncle, you always say my uncle is reckless and loves danger. Aren’t you the same? You’re the Chancellor of Qin—Lu Buwei is enough to handle trade, why must you go yourself?”

Lin Zhi smiled, “Some things, you have to see for yourself to decide. Don’t worry, I’m far more skilled in combat than Zhu Xiang. Besides, Lu Buwei will be there.”

Ying Zheng let out a long sigh. “Even if I don’t want you to go, could I stop you? I can’t even issue an edict to forbid it.”

Lin Zhi joked, “That’s why I need to do everything I want now, before you can issue edicts. That must be what your uncle thinks too.”

Ying Zheng rubbed his head, a little frustrated.

Why was he growing up so slowly?

“Isn’t Father coming soon? When he does, I’ll tell him: when he becomes King of Qin, he mustn’t be as indulgent toward all of you as Grandfather was. Any necessary edicts must be issued!” Ying Zheng grumbled. “You all better take care of yourselves!”

Lin Zhi smiled. “All right. Don’t worry.”

But where was Xia Tong? Why hadn’t there been any word from him? Could it be that his body was too weak, and he got seasick or carsick and collapsed on the way?

“Xia Tong… what happened?” In Qianzhong Commandery, Zhu Xiang was the first to receive news of Zichu.

He stared at Li Erlang, who had come to deliver the message, and asked in disbelief, “Xia Tong is seriously injured?!”

Li Erlang blinked. “His Majesty said the Crown Prince was seriously injured.”

Zhu Xiang paused, then said, “His Majesty said that?”

Li Erlang nodded.

Zhu Xiang calmed down and asked, “Did His Majesty instruct me to bring Zheng’er back to Xianyang immediately?”

Li Erlang replied, “His Majesty said that Lord Changping and Prince Zheng should stay in Southern Qin and carry on as normal.”

Since it was a verbal message, it didn’t carry formal weight.

Precisely because it wasn’t formal, Zhu Xiang believed that Li Erlang was truly relaying King Zhu’s exact words.

He let out a breath of relief, though his legs went weak, and he had to support himself on a chair as he slowly sat down. “Where did you come from?”

“From Chengdu,” Li Erlang said. “His Majesty’s decree first reached Chengdu, and then I was sent to deliver the message.”

Zhu Xiang was fully relieved now.

King Zhu told them to remain in Southern Qin, and clearly stated that “the Crown Prince is seriously injured”—which meant Xia Tong was still alive and well.

Still, King Zhu wouldn’t joke about such things. Even if Xia Tong wasn’t injured, the assassination attempt must have been real.

Perhaps…

Zhu Xiang glanced at Zhang Ruo, who understood immediately and exited.

Even as governor of Qianzhong and a trusted minister, Zhang Ruo knew there were things better left unheard.

“Xia Tong is injured? How bad? Did he bring it on himself again?” Zhu Xiang grumbled. “He must have been with Li Bing. What was he thinking? Why hasn’t he come yet? Does he plan to go to Ba Commandery to help Wang Jian train troops early? What does he know about training troops?!”

Li Erlang was too scared by the scolding to speak.

“What message did Xia Tong leave for me? Even if he was too scared to speak himself, Li Bing must’ve sent you with something?”

Li Erlang said, “Father said… it’s better to let the Crown Prince tell you himself.”

Zhu Xiang: “Huh?”

Li Erlang gave a wry smile. “That’s truly what Father said.”

This matter was so sensitive that Li Bing had Li Erlang memorize everything and leave no trace.

Zhu Xiang pressed a hand to his forehead, gnashing his teeth. “Zi! Chu! Where is he?! Did he leave any message?!”

Li Erlang smiled bitterly. “The Crown Prince… didn’t leave any message.”

Zhu Xiang laughed from sheer rage. “Wonderful. Truly wonderful.”

He slammed the table. “Where is Xia Tong now?”

Li Erlang: “The Crown Prince is seriously injured and recovering in Chengdu.”

Zhu Xiang: “When is he coming to Southern Qin?”

Li Erlang: “He’ll need at least another month or two.”

Zhu Xiang laughed again—several short bursts—making Li Erlang’s hair practically stand on end.

“If he won’t come to Southern Qin, I’ll go to Chengdu myself,” Zhu Xiang gritted out. “I’ll see how badly he’s hurt. Should I have Zheng’er start mourning him right now?!”

“Achoo!” Zichu, dressed in oversized robes, sneezed, causing the powder on his face to flake off.

Li Bing said, “You’re faking an illness so well, it’s about to become real.”

Zichu shot him a look. “You’re getting ruder by the day.”

“If Zhu Xiang were here, he’d say this absurd mess is all your fault—don’t you think it’s time for a little self-reflection?” Li Bing retorted.

Zichu looked up at the sky.

“How much longer do you plan to stay in Chengdu? Isn’t it time to go to Southern Qin? Zhu Xiang must be frantic. And you didn’t leave him any message—aren’t you afraid he’ll misunderstand? He must be worried sick about you!”

Li Bing honestly wanted to pack up the Crown Prince and deliver him to Zhu Xiang himself—let him deal with this self-destructive man.

After arriving in Chengdu, the Crown Prince faked being gravely wounded while secretly investigating things all over Shu Commandery. Who knew what he was looking for?

Li Bing didn’t dare ask.

When King Zhu issued an edict saying the Crown Prince was seriously injured, Li Bing nearly soaked his clothes in cold sweat.

He knew he was now caught in the terrifying vortex of Qin’s political power struggle—and at the eye of the storm was this Crown Prince, who had secretly left a letter and gone off to Ba Commandery, only to return over a month later.

Li Bing finally understood how Zichu and Zhu Xiang had become close friends.

You two can keep tormenting each other! Just don’t drag me into it!

“I don’t think I need to go,” Zichu said. “That chill I just felt—it must be Zhu Xiang’s rage.”

Li Bing: “Huh?”

Zichu said with a smug look, “I mean, Zhu Xiang is probably so furious he’ll come to Chengdu himself. So I’ll stay here—don’t want to miss him.”

Li Bing: “…Huh?!”

You actually look pleased about it?!