Chapter 25: If You’re Going to Dig a Hole, Dig It Deep (Please Vote—My Recommendations Have Dropped)

Experimental Journal:

A new way of thinking has already stirred the nerves of the indigenous elite, indicating a foundation for conducting large-scale ideological experiments.

Leveraging the platform of the "Finance and Economics Association" and the influence of "Su Shi," I will further challenge the court’s defensive bottom line to see if reform can be possible from the top down.

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After careful consideration, Li Chang’an urged Qian Weiming to quickly move back to the Imperial Academy, seizing the opportunity to heat up the situation and spread the new research methods.

“I’ll leave one brother behind; in case anything happens, at least there’s someone to send messages,” Qian Weiming said, still showing some conscience.

He left behind the youngest sibling and took away Wei Han, Wei Tang, and Wei Yuan.

The Qian family was large and prosperous; within Bianjing city, they not only had residences but also shops and restaurants. After settling their lodgings, they headed straight to the Imperial Academy.

At this moment, the Academy was bustling.

People were abuzz, saying that Qian Weiming, who hadn’t yet passed the imperial examination for the jinshi degree, was already lecturing everywhere—apparently following in the footsteps of Prince Jiangxi Wang Anshi.

Everyone was extraordinarily envious; after all, it was a family tradition of scholarship, and producing something remarkable was enough to astonish the world.

The essays spread quickly; even the chief examiner had a copy.

This kind of vertical comparison and horizontal dissection data analysis had already surpassed the usual thinking patterns used in studying the classics.

The Song people loved innovation and change; when a new idea emerged, everyone wanted to learn from it and then produce their own research results.

For literati to establish themselves within their circles, there were several paths to choose from.

First, be a natural prodigy, like Fan Zhongyan, Ouyang Xiu, or Su Shi. Write a poem or compose lyrics that captivate thousands.

Second, be knowledgeable in the classics—not only excelling in exams but also in disputing classical interpretations—able to write a new personal interpretation of the Four Books, like Zhang Dun, Zhou Dunyi, or Wang Anshi.

These two paths were extremely difficult: one depended on innate talent, the other on others’ recognition.

The third path was to innovatively publish sound strategies for governing the state.

Since the first prime minister of the dynasty, Zhao Pu, Song prime ministers had to be strategists for statecraft. The prerequisite for ascending to the prime minister’s seat was the ability to write a memorial so well-regarded by the emperor and senior ministers that it gained their full approval.

For example, Fan Wen Zhenggong’s “Response to the Imperial Edict—Ten Proposals,” Han Qi’s “Memorial on Seven Defensive Measures,” or Wang Anshi’s “Memorial on a Century of Peace in Our Dynasty.”

Now, Qian Weiming had pointed out a new direction.

One cannot immediately write a grand, all-encompassing strategy for governing the state and rise to prominence in one step, but it was possible to produce original results in a small specialized field.

One article is not enough? Then write two, three, five, or ten.

Accumulating little by little, when your ideas spread, can the court refuse you a position as a minister?

After all, what is the purpose of studying and seeking knowledge if not to become an official?

The imperial examination was hard to pass, and without special examination years, it might only be held once every two or three years, with only a hundred or two passing each time.

If one could become an official based on reputation and status alone, why bother taking the jinshi exam?

Just as everyone was in high spirits, Qian Weiming and his three brothers stepped through the gates of the Imperial Academy.

“They’re here, they’re here! Master Qian is here!”

The chief examiner was speechless. What’s this? Calling him “Master Qian” already?

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Li Chang’an, bare-chested, was busily writing a new paper.

Since the Great Song faced a financial crisis, it was time to give them a thorough lesson on the fundamental issue of land tax and finance—the productivity of land.

Though the position of Grand Minister of Agriculture existed since the Spring and Autumn period, and the State of Qin already had specialized agricultural texts, Chinese agriculture had essentially developed alongside traditional medicine—entirely reliant on empirical summaries and the genius of individuals.

No one studied organic matter, permeability, accumulated temperature, continuous cropping diseases and pests, intercropping theories, or varietal improvements.

He was now writing a popular science paper to explain to the Song people exactly how land produces crops.

Damn this weather—though it had just rained, the moment the sun came out, it turned into a steaming oven.

Guang Xiao stood to the left, Wei Min to the right, both fanning Li Chang’an with large palm fans. Still not cool enough, he had someone bring a basin of cool water from a deep well, letting him soak his feet alternately to cool down.

He wrote from noon until evening, using thirty sheets of paper, each capable of holding five hundred small characters.

This exhausted him; his middle finger that held the brush had developed a callus, and his entire right arm was sore and numb, as if he had been cradling a child all day.

“All right, you two have worked hard all day as well. Tomorrow morning, Wei Min will help me transcribe the entire text, and Guang Xiao will go to the bookshop to find the owner—I want to teach him an innovative printing method. Engraving blocks is just too slow.”

Having said that, he was too eager to wash, so he threw back the mosquito net and slipped inside.

He slept until broad daylight, at least eight or nine o’clock. Upon opening his eyes, Miss Mandi and her father were waiting in the room.

“Hmm? Mr. Ai?”

Mr. Ai Mandi’s father wasn’t very old, just liked to wear a beard, and looked slightly older than Wang Anshi.

The uncle stood and made a traditional Chinese cupped-hand salute, hoping Li Chang’an would realize his situation soon—surely they couldn’t have a conversation with him wearing only his underpants.

Li Chang’an, upholding the etiquette of a good host, stood to receive the guests.

Upon standing, he almost forgot that underpants these days lacked elastic bands. Fortunately, his left hand was quick enough to catch his trousers before a major exposure.

“Give me a moment to get ready!”

He had slept last night on a narrow bed in the study, with his clothes hanging on a folding screen. The two could only step back and wait.

Once fully dressed, Li Chang’an guessed the old man’s purpose.

“Please come in, I’m ready now!”

Mandi and her father entered. Their eyes swept over the bed—indeed it was a messy man, the quilt crumpled and tossed about.

“This is about the school construction, right? Last time I sent someone to the Ministry of Rites to inquire; they replied there was no problem—granted Le Ye people could enter the school to study.”

The uncle smiled but then produced a finely folded paper, clearly the “New Learning” essay Li Chang’an had printed yesterday.

“Mr. Chang’an, I am the rabbi of the Bianliang tribe, responsible for updating the curriculum of the Talmud. Yesterday I received your article. Reading it, I found it very similar to the scholarly style of our Mediterranean Roman Empire—clear logic, rigorous argumentation. I came today to ask if there are more such articles, and whether you would allow me to include your work in my teaching materials.”

Li Chang’an was a bit surprised. Descendants of Judas, and they respected intellectual property so much?

“In light of our partnership in school construction, I agree to your use of my article for teaching. As for similar articles, there is only this one for now; I am still writing others. Of course, if you can provide some technical support, I would be happy to write more.”

The uncle beamed and quickly returned the Song-style cupped-fist salute in thanks.

“What kind of technology? Sheep raising or livestock improvement? Anything we can do, we’re open to exchange.”

“Greek printing technology!”

The uncle suddenly became serious, his brows furrowed as if a memory disk had glitched.

“Please forgive my ignorance. Could you explain this technology in detail? Perhaps the name wasn’t quite accurate in transmission.”

Li Chang’an explained it was a technique using waxed paper to carve characters, then rolling ink over it so it seeped onto paper to form prints. Legend had it the Greeks used it to print poetry and mathematical formulas.

Mr. Ai’s eyes went vacant, as if caught in a whirlpool of time.

After a long pause, he slowly shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry to say that although I lived in Crescent Land for seventeen years before coming to Song territory, I have never heard of this technology you describe. If waxed paper is needed, we can certainly provide as much help as possible.”

Li Chang’an scratched his head. Could it be another piece of Western pseudo-history?