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卷356 列傳一百四十三 洪亮吉 管世铭 谷际岐 李仲昭 石承藻

Volume 356 Biographies 143: Hong Liangji, Guan Shiming, Gu Jiqi, Li Zhongzhao, Shi Chengzao

Chapter 356 of 清史稿 · Draft History of Qing
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Biographies 143
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Hong Liangji, Guan Shiming, Gu Jiqi, Li Zhongzhao, and Shi Chengzao
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西 輿 滿
Hong Liangji, whose style was Zhicun, came from Yanghu in Jiangsu. Orphaned early and raised in poverty, he threw himself into study and cared devotedly for his widowed mother. He first helped Zhu Yun, the Anhui education commissioner, review examination essays, then joined Bi Yuan's staff in Shaanxi to edit and publish classical texts. His literary work and philological scholarship made him famous in his time, above all his expertise in historical geography. In 1790 he took second place in the top tier of the palace examination and was made a Hanlin compiler at the age of forty-five. Tall and ruddy-faced, he had a bold temperament and loved to debate current affairs. Before finishing his Hanlin probation, he was put on the board that graded the Shuntian provincial examination. As Guizhou education commissioner he taught the classics. The province was remote and bookless, so he bought standard works—the Classics, histories, the Tongdian, and the Wenxuan—for every prefectural academy, and Guizhou scholars at last began serious study of the canon. His poetry and prose were composed with real craft. When his term ended he returned to Beijing, entered the Imperial Study, and tutored the emperor's great-grandson Yi Chun. In 1798, at the triennial Hanlin examination, candidates were asked to draft a memorial on sectarian rebellion. Liangji poured thousands of words into a blunt catalogue of abuses at court and in the provinces, and made powerful enemies. He pleaded a brother's death and went home.
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稿 退 使 退 使 稿 退退 調使 ' ' 退 西 綿 使退 使 調 調使 使滿 使
In 1799 the Qianlong emperor died and the Jiaqing emperor took the reins himself. Grand Secretary Zhu Gui recalled him by letter. He resumed office and worked on the Qianlong Veritable Records, but when the first draft was done he was deeply dissatisfied. On the eve of resigning he sent a long letter to Grand Councilor Wang. It began: "The emperor's hunger for reform is keen and the empire's longing for order still keener, yet the machinery of government has barely moved. The reasons, I believe, are several. Liangji argued that reviving government should mean matching the diligence of the dynasty's early reigns—and that standard had not yet been met. Appointments and policy ought to break decisively with the era of domineering ministers—and that break was still incomplete. Morals were sinking day by day; rewards and punishments remained lax; the path of candid counsel looked open but was not; and the bureaucracy was meant to be tightened but was not. Why had revival of government not yet been achieved? Since spring, audiences had been held later and later. I feared that after court, actors and favored attendants were misleading the emperor in no small number. That was the fault of the intimate ministers who were supposed to guide the ruler's mind. Blunt remonstrance at the risk of one's life was not their special duty, yet the state could not afford to lack men whom others deeply feared. In the early Qianlong years the emperor labored from dawn to midnight in pursuit of perfect government. Men such as E Zhun, Zhu Shi, Zhang Tingyu, and Sun Jiagan spoke plainly and styled themselves seasoned mentors of the throne. While helping compile the Veritable Records, Liangji saw how in a single day the emperor's vermilion brush would jot tiny folded notes—now asking Zhang or E, now Sun or Zhu, whether so-and-so was fit for office or whether such-and-such ought to be done—sometimes a dozen times in one day. Ministers likewise filed timely memorial slips in plain, direct language, so that nothing was hidden between throne and officials. The emperor's sagacity was beyond compare, but it also helped that upright men filled the court and that everyone around him was someone to be feared. Today, first, business moved too slowly. Since 1790 private interests had clouded judgment, and wrongs left unsettled were beyond counting. Of hundreds of grievances scarcely one or two reached the throne, and even then they might never be acted on. Consider the Jiangnan pirate case: Battalion Commander Yang Tianxiang, a man with real merit, was executed in a mass killing while a pirate went free—all because Acting Governor Su Ling'a was muddled, greedy, and lawless. Everyone knew Yang had been wronged, yet pirates now landed openly without fear. One botched case had taught them they could. Worse, Su Ling'a was a creature of the late power-holder; the court owed him no tenderness, yet he still sat on a fortune and lived in comfort. The Jiangnan inquiry first seemed bent on excusing the presiding judge; later word came that the court had been told there was no injustice at all. If even when the sage emperor himself intervened to right one case the outcome was still such, how were all the other buried wrongs ever to be cleared? Second, the methods for pooling counsel had not been put in place. Even rulers as great as Yao and Shun questioned the Four Peaks and the regional lords. One man's wit is limited; only by gathering many voices could mistakes be avoided. Henceforth, whenever officials of any rank were received in audience, let the emperor ask about talent and about what policies helped or harmed the realm. Sound advice should be entered in the archives. If a man recommended proved unfit or his report false, let him be punished for misleading the throne. Yet one must not rely on intimate attendants for one's eyes and ears; nor ask a man's clique about his merits and faults. Talent, by now, had been ground nearly away. Men took equivocation for wisdom, timidity for prudence, intrigue for the path to promotion, and muddling through for the art of office. All who lived by that code left with what they wanted; the habit passed from hand to hand like a master's robe and bowl, knotted tight beyond undoing. In quiet times such equivocators, weaklings, schemers, and temporizers might suffice to fill the ranks; but in crisis one could not expect them to throw themselves into the state's service heedless of gain or loss, ease or danger, favor or family. The refusal to weigh policy's costs and benefits was nothing new either. Inside the capital boards, business was not heavy, yet ministers acted perpetually rushed and anxious, all chanting that one trouble spared was better than one taken on. Among provincial governors, the worthy clung narrowly to their own integrity while the unworthy scrambled for private profit. National finances and people's livelihoods were not their concern—only the crisis of the moment; official discipline was not urgent—only keeping their own posts. Anyone who looked ahead was called an alarmist; anyone who pushed reform was called a troublemaker. Was that what the state meant by seeking good government? Second, promoting the worthy and removing the unworthy still seemed hesitant and half-hearted. Sectarian rebellion arose from official cruelty and provocation. The former prefect of Dazhou, Dai Ruhuang, deserved no mercy. Fortunately there was Liu Qing, praised on every side—trusted by the people and even by the rebels. This was the moment to use men whose merit had already been proved in plain sight. Yet Liu Qing was still only a prefect, working behind his superiors—hardly enough to use his full capacity. Sichuan was in turmoil. However able the commissioner-general, he needed himself to fight rebels, pacify the people, and straighten out local government—one man could not do everything. Why not pick proven local men like Liu Qing, raise their rank, give them real authority, and let them win people back while sharing the governors' burden and finishing the state's work? In mid-Ming times, when Yunyang was troubled, a separate Yunyang governor was appointed; when the Hunan frontier was troubled, a separate Pian-Yuan governor was appointed. When the crisis ended the post was abolished. One must not be slaves to precedent. Posts exist to employ talent; where talent is real, seniority need not rule. Men like Liu Qing ought to rise—and had not. Dai Ruhuang had been removed on another charge, yet still lived comfortably in Sichuan. Rebels were said to long to devour him alive; wherever he was found they burned and looted with all their might. So every few months he had to move, and the rebels tracked him wherever he went. Lately in eastern Sichuan he had married into a circuit intendant's family and felt secure. To spare one guilty man while thousands of innocents died for it—could that be justified? At the Qianlong emperor's death the throne had openly listed Heshen's crimes and named his creatures one by one, to the nation's relief. Yet soon Wu Shenglan was back in favor, and at his audience he was said to be pleading his brother Wu Shengqin's innocence. Everyone knew the two Wu were Heshen's men and had traded in bribes with him. When Cao Xibao impeached Heshen's servant Liu Quan, he showed the draft first to the two Wu as fellow townsmen; they tucked it away and rushed to the power-holders, turning betrayal into advancement. If the two Wu were now cleared, would that not flatly contradict the edict that had honored Cao Xibao? Wu Shengqin's treachery had left his name in ruins whether as chief examiner or as Jingzhao intendant; dismissal alone could not answer for his crimes. Wu Shenglan had once been Heshen's tutor, then called Heshen his teacher; he took first in the Hanlin examination and kept receiving education and examination posts—whose power was that if not Heshen's? Demotion in rank was likewise too light a penalty. So the unworthy were meant to go—and had not truly gone. Why had appointments and policy not yet been fully reformed? Though Heshen himself had been punished, more than ten years of his changes to ancestral precedent and packing of offices with his creatures had never been calmly reviewed. In the Grand Secretariat, the Six Ministries, and every yamen—which rules were the state's and which Heshen's, who had been the court's own men and who Heshen's creatures, who had shared in bribery and fraud—the emperor might be merciful and wish to spare the coerced, and the numbers were too vast to purge everyone at once. Yet for men of real insight, even without prosecuting the past, their names should be recorded; at every promotion or transfer let a quiet signal show reward and punishment, so all would know that though the emperor would not go to extremes, he still saw clearly who was upright and who was not. Then even former creatures of the faction might turn anew and serve the state in earnest. Otherwise the court might stay clear for a day, but if another power-holder rose tomorrow the officials would flock to his gate again. Why did he say morals were sinking day by day? Scholar-officials no longer cared for integrity, and the people no longer cared for the moral order. But the blame lay not with the people—it lay with the scholar-official class. In Liangji's own observation over more than ten years, ministers and vice-ministers had willingly knelt to the chief minister; grand secretaries and heads of the chief ministries, though twice the minister's age, who sought to enroll as his disciples and become his creatures; men who socialized with the minister's page boys and treated them as equals with pleasure. The Imperial University and the Three Academies were where public tone was formed. Now men begged by night for acting appointment as university chancellor; and prostrated themselves in public to win lectureship posts. The Hanlin great examination was how the state promoted and demoted its literary officers. Now candidates ran first to Grand Council clerks, claimed them as teachers, and tried to learn the rhyme schemes of the emperor's examination poems in advance; bribed gate guards to carry papers out and back, hid their booklets while answers were written for them, and re-entered with finished compositions. Once everyone got what he wanted, he calmly assumed he had found a winning scheme. If the Hanlin great examination was like this, how could one condemn the provincial and metropolitan exams for smuggling in crib sheets and stand-ins? If the conduct of the literati was like this, how could one blame commoners for boastful fraud and backdoor dealings? If things were like this at the capital itself, how could one blame the provinces for private profiteering and fraud? The late emperor, learning that Grand Secretariat academician Xu Yuyou had a stonemason of the same surname attend his mourning, told the court: 'Even if you ministers care nothing for yourselves, what of the dignity of the state?' Thus one sees that the honor of the state rests on every minister knowing shame and integrity. The lower orders take their cue from above as surely as a body casts a shadow. Scholarly morale must be revived from above; moral integrity must be fostered and rewarded from above. Promote one honest, unassuming official, and the greedy and deceitful might feel ashamed; advance one who is content to stand aside, and the office-seekers might mend their ways a little; raise up a man of independent conduct who cultivates character and integrity, and the fashion for slick flattery and cliquish dependence might slowly change. Yet Liangji has a further worry: what I have described so far concerns only those literati who neglect reputation and integrity. There are also men of proud independence—but most of them are lost in doctrines of karma, retreat into empty speculation, make vegetarianism a household rule, and treat Chan meditation as statecraft. One or two take the lead, and hundreds and thousands follow. Some even wear official robes abroad and monastic robes at home. They bewilder the learned, alarm the simple, and shock all who see and hear them. When I was in the inner court, a colleague told me: 'Of us ten princes, six or seven already keep vegetarian fasts and abstain from killing—sheep, pigs, geese, and ducks never enter our doors.' Now that I am back in the capital, six or seven out of ten literati keep vegetarian fasts and abstain from killing as well. I deeply fear that the Western Jin fashion for empty speculation may reappear today; what is at stake in the spirit of the age and the hearts of the people is no small matter. Why do I say that rewards and punishments are still not strict and clear? Since the campaigns against the Miao and the sect rebels, Fu Kang'an, He Lin, and Sun Shiyi deceived and concealed at the outset; Yi Mian, Hui Ling, and Fu Ning lost armies and violated discipline later on; to these were added Jing'an and Qin Cheng'en's procrastination and timidity—and the people of Sichuan, Shaanxi, Hubei, and Henan who suffered devastation must number several millions. The ministers who are already dead may be set aside; those still living have not escaped censure. Yet the heaviest penalty has been no more than rotation to Xinjiang; the lightest no more than supplying the main camp; even Qin Cheng'en, who was brought to the capital under arrest, had his family property restored and is evidently to be employed again; Hui Ling, who had repeatedly received stern edicts, has been reappointed Vice Minister. Deception and concealment that cost lives are no different from losing armies, violating discipline, or dithering in fear that cost lives—yet these men still receive lenient and extraordinary treatment, something never seen before. Hence commissioners and column leaders alike generally pay no heed to how many rebels remain or how badly the countryside is ravaged. In their hearts they tell themselves: 'Even if all else fails, rotation to Xinjiang and supply duty at the main camp still offer precedents to cite and a line of retreat to hold.' Never has the law been so lax, or ministers so unafraid of the law, as today. When the late emperor campaigned in Jinchuan and Burma, Neqin failed and was executed; E'erdeng'e failed and was executed; generals, provincial commanders, and garrison commanders who suffered death for breach of discipline were beyond counting. Ten thousand li away, a single dispatch from court made every commander tremble and turn pale—such was the right way to command armies. From 1795 to 1799, a full five years, failures have been repeated. Has a single provincial commander, garrison commander, deputy commandant, or field officer suffered death for breach of discipline? How then can one expect officials not to trifle with the enemy and not bring disaster on the people? With the late emperor's sacred martial prowess, could his vision have failed to reach this far? Presumably because abdication was near, he wished to leave this for Your Majesty's first days in power—to decide with your own sacred resolve and renew the eyes and ears of the empire. If pacification still has no end in sight while the treasury is worn down day by day, a sudden shortfall may leave the Minister of Revenue reporting empty coffers. To reflect on this is chilling; this above all deserves your urgent attention. Why do I say the avenue of remonstrance seems open yet is not truly open? The Nine Chief Offices and the censorate mostly nitpick trifles and never touch what matters in government. Otherwise they expose private scandals to settle personal scores. Of ten proposals, perhaps one or two are feasible and are sent to the ministries for deliberation—yet ministry officials and the memorialists again take opposing sides, debate everything, and rebut everything. How is this the state's original intent in seeking counsel from the humblest and the lowliest? Yet to retain every memorial at court because it is trivial, disproportionate, or unverified would also be wrong. The better course is to read and respond as each memorial arrives—to instruct the court in person or issue a special edict, plainly stating whether the proposal is feasible or not. Even when impeachment does not spare the powerful, ministers who serve the state with one heart need not fear personal resentment. In recent years Qian Feng and Chu Pengling often impeached high officials, yet no senior minister dared treat them as enemies. If a memorialist does not understand the dignity of the state or the essentials of policy, speaks rashly, or attacks private scandals, let the court know openly—expose the fault and warn those who follow. When ministers dare to serve private ends rather than the state, Your Majesty need not shield them at all. Why do I say that official administration is meant to be rectified yet has not been rectified? If official administration is to be rectified, governors-general, governors, and provincial commissioners are the standard. For more than ten years, greedy and corrupt governors and provincial commissioners have been everywhere. Fortunately since Your Majesty took personal rule, Li Fenghan has died, Zheng Yuanhong has been impeached, Fu Gang has left office in mourning, and Jiang Lan has been transferred inland. Beyond them, the great provincial officers remain as before: on tour they collect station fees and gate packets; in ordinary times festival gifts and birthday gifts; each year support fees as well. The private gifts exchanged at promotions and transfers are not even included in this tally. Every item above is drawn from the prefectures and counties, and they in turn draw it all from the people. Land tax and transport grain, which a few years ago were merely doubled, are now more than doubled. Governors, provincial commissioners, and their circuit and prefectural subordinates all knowingly condone this—otherwise their gate packets, station fees, festival gifts, birthday gifts, and support fees would have no source. Prefectural and county magistrates tell the people plainly: 'The reason I double and redouble levies is that expenses at every level of government grow worse day by day and year by year.' In the end the magistrates too rely on the power of governors and commissioners to squeeze the people: half goes to their superiors, half they keep. At first they still had some scruples; within a year or two it became fixed custom, impossible to break. Appeals to governors, commissioners, circuits, and prefectures go unanswered. Of millions of people, a few who cannot bear injustice may go to the capital to complain—but the outcome is only an order for the provincial authorities to investigate, or an imperial commissioner sent to inquire. Consider: of a thousand cases in which commoners sue officials, do one or two obtain justice? Even an imperial commissioner or superior with some conscience merely arranges a compromise so that neither side suffers too greatly. Once an imperial commissioner is dispatched, he assesses the whole province and the common people alike, and will not rest until he returns with his pockets full and no fear of later trouble. Magistrates know the people's remedies go no further than this; the people know appeals to the capital never bring justice—so matters often end in violent upheaval. Dangyang in Hubei and Dazhou in Sichuan are glaring proof. Liangji believes that today Your Majesty should follow the strict clarity of the Manifest Emperor, rectify official administration, and let the people live in peace; then follow the generous benevolence of the Benevolent Emperor to transform customs—such is the civil and martial way of tension and release." Thus ended the memorial.
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使
The memorial reached the Prince of Cheng and was reported to the throne. The emperor was angered by its blunt tone, stripped Hong of office, and referred him to a joint inquiry by the court. He personally instructed that no torture be applied. Hong wept, accepted guilt, and was sentenced to decapitation; the death penalty was remitted and he was exiled to Yili. The following year the capital suffered drought. The emperor prayed for rain without result and ordered prisons cleared and long-term exiles released. Before the term expired, an edict said: 'Since Liangji was punished, memorialists have grown fewer day by day. When they do speak, it is only on routine official business; no one addresses what truly touches Your Majesty's virtue and the people's hidden suffering. Is this not because Liangji's punishment has silenced them and they no longer dare speak? I hear no report of my faults, and the people's grievances are again blocked—a very great harm. What Liangji wrote truly enlightens my mind. I have inscribed it beside my seat and read it often—to govern diligently, keep flatterers at a distance, and examine myself. I now publish Liangji's original text so that all officials within and without may know I am not a ruler who rejects counsel and covers faults, but one to whom they may speak frankly. If officials meet a ruler willing to hear them yet remain silent, they betray my earnest desire for good government.' He immediately ordered the Yili general to release Liangji and send him home. Rain fell as soon as the edict was issued. The emperor composed a poem on the event, noting: 'I wrote the edict myself today; at midnight a great sweet rain poured down. Heaven's response was swifter than a breath—how much more to be revered in awe.' Hong had been at his post of exile only a hundred days when he was pardoned and returned; he styled himself Layman Born Again. Ten years later he died at home. Many of his writings remain in circulation.
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Guan Shiming, style name Jianruo, was a fellow townsman of Hong Liangji. He passed the jinshi examination in 1778 and was appointed a principal clerk in the Ministry of Revenue. He rose through the ranks to director and served as a Grand Council clerk. He was deeply versed in law; most judicial memorials were drafted under his direction. He repeatedly accompanied senior ministers on investigations in Zhejiang, Hubei, Jilin, and Shandong. Grand Secretary A Gui favored him especially and relied on him as on his own hands. At the time Heshen held power. Guan was troubled and angry; with colleagues he discussed whether chief ministers of past dynasties had been worthy, speaking with biting sarcasm and holding nothing back. When he was due for promotion to censor he was overjoyed, rose at night in agitation, and drafted a memorial to impeach Heshen—but an edict kept him at the Grand Council instead. By precedent, a censor who remained on Grand Council duty was still treated ceremonially as a director and could not submit sealed memorials on his own. Guan said he had failed the office. A Gui comforted him: 'Your day to repay the appointment will come—why must you hurry to make yourself known through words.' A Gui had requested that he remain on duty, secretly protecting him and bidding him wait. He died in 1798.
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西
Gu Jiqi, style name Xi'a, was a native of Zhaozhou, Yunnan. He passed the jinshi examination in 1775, was selected as a Hanlin bachelor, appointed compiler, and helped collate the Complete Library of the Four Treasuries. He served as associate examiner for the metropolitan examination and selected many men who later won renown. He asked leave to care for his parents and went home to head the Wuhua Academy, where he taught with real discipline. He mourned both parents in succession; when the mourning period ended, he was restored to his former post.
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綿 調 ' '' ' 綿 綿 ''
In 1798 he was transferred to the censorate. Sectarian rebels were ravaging several provinces and the campaigns dragged on without victory. Jiqi questioned every traveler who came to Beijing until he had the full picture. In the spring of 1799 he submitted a memorial that began: "For three years now the late emperor has sent armies against the sectarians. Sichuan and Shaanxi fall to Governor-General Yi Mian and Grand Coordinators Hui Ling and Qin Cheng'en; Hubei and northern Huguang to Governor-General Bi Yuan and Grand Coordinator Wang Xin. These ministers provoked the trouble up front and hid in the rear, guarding only themselves with heavy forces. Brave subordinate officers received no coordination or relief—and so the men lost heart for battle. Sichuan and Hubei had a saying: "When the rebels come you never see a government soldier's face; when the rebels leave, the troops finally show up." Another line ran: "The rebels are gone and the troops vanish; the troops arrive and the rebels disappear." Poor soldiers and poor rebels—when will they ever meet? The year before, when Governor-General Le Bao reached Sichuan, he put up broad proclamations bitterly condemning his predecessors' failures—that itself was proof enough. Bi Yuan and Wang Xin died in succession, and Jing An succeeded as governor-general. Yi Mian, Hui Ling, and Qin Cheng'en are slack and negligent on one flank; Jing An is timid and indifferent on the other. Even if Le Bao fights in earnest, rebels in Shaanxi and Hubei rise and fall without end, and Le Bao will in the end be hamstrung. Consider how the late emperor, campaigning in Burma, found Yang Yingju guilty of provocation and concealment and had him seized at once for trial. Yi Mian and the rest have been negligent for three full years, spared by imperial leniency only to grow more complacent, and allowed rebels to push into Lushi, Lushan, and other counties in Henan. Jing An may not have a reputation for swallowing army funds, but he is willfully obtuse; of late rebels have burned and pillaged through Xiangyang and Guanghua—and all of this the law cannot abide. Moreover, sealed private letters are now coming from military camps, and officials are conspiring with Grand Council ministers to tamper with and suppress battle reports. The evidence is already exposed. Even if inner eunuchs lent their influence, these men's concealment and bungling are plainer still. I beg Your Majesty to punish and investigate, choose other able men, and send them with Le Bao to pacify each province in its own territory. Then army orders will run like the wind, and the rebels will surely lose their heads. In recent years pay has run to tens of millions, while camps teem with women, jade, silk, and curios—yet the soldiers' rations themselves fall short. Men return laden with plunder and the roads buzz with gossip. Mockers say it is easier to draw up a draft at the money-shop than to beg the army for pay. The late emperor cracked down on the military supplies bureau, found the Hanzhou prefect in Sichuan disputing accounts with Degengtai, and Hubei circuit intendant Hu Qilun embezzling hundreds of thousands in pay—one ordered to repay, the other seized for trial. Many other districts surely have like cases, and new men ought to be put in charge at once to audit the books. Embezzlement will then come to light; army funds and postwar relief will both be ample, and no one will dare doctor the accounts. Thus he closed the memorial.
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歿 耀西 使 使
He soon submitted another memorial: "The sectarian turmoil began with Nie Jieren of Yidu in Hubei—yet it truly arose because Wuchang subprefect Chang Dankui drove the people with cruelty. When sectarian leaders such as Qi Lin were lawfully executed at Xiangyang, the outlaws all quieted down. Chang Dankui had long made a name for tormenting the people and manufacturing cases. In 1795 he was sent to investigate Yidu county, intimidated and shook down countless wealthy families, and even extorted the destitute by name, releasing them only after they paid. On the slightest evidence he tortured at once—nailing men to walls with iron spikes or lining up crowds to be beaten with iron hammers. When a case was even slightly doubtful, he shipped prisoners to the provincial capital—two hundred to a boat—until hunger and cold killed them and corpses floated down the river. Those who died in prison were not even given coffins. Nie Jieren was the district's wealthiest man; Chang squeezed him without end until the villages banded together to resist arrest. The Yichang brigade commander stormed in and was killed, and Yidu and Zhijiang counties rose together. Lady Qi of Wang, Yao Zhifu at Xiangyang, Tan Jiayao and Zhang Zhengmo at Changyang, and others took up arms on the news, and the revolt spread into Henan and Shaanxi. This is the earliest and gravest case I know of officials driving the people to rebel. Today the sectarian rebels must of course be exterminated to the last. Yet at first they were people who had lived in peace for generations—what did they lack, what grievance drove them to abandon home and life and take desperate risks? I hear that even in flight the rebels wept over the emperor's grace and never spoke a word of blame against the throne. Had local officials embodied the throne's benevolence, watched sects in peacetime, and soothed trouble when it arose, how could matters have come to this? I submit this memorial to name the guilty officials, but also so that ten thousand generations may know our dynasty has no rebellious people—that imperial grace reaches men's hearts, and that heaven and human will together sustain the realm, clear and sure. Chang Dankui tyrannized for a season, affronting the throne's benevolence and harming the innocent—how can his crime go unpunished? I ask that Grand Coordinator Le Bao be ordered to investigate strictly and report for punishment. An imperial decree now orders Le Bao to summon Subprefect Liu Qing and Sichuan officials of long-standing clean reputation to settle all who accept pacification and return. Regions in Huguang that were once disturbed should be settled as well. I hear that in ravaged districts the fields, homes, and women of fleeing households were mostly seized by officials, sold under pressure, and the profits divided among them. At first they did not care that the people rebelled; in the end they would not forgive their return. What had the people done to officials that they copied such shameless cruelty to the utmost? Punish one to warn the rest, and the whole body of officials will know to reform. To proclaim and uphold imperial grace touches the nation's very roots—it is no small matter. Both memorials were submitted, and the Jiaqing Emperor praised and put them into effect. He was soon made supervising secretary, assigned to inspect the Nanxin granary and patrol the central city.
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調西 便 便
Yunnan's salt monopoly used official transport and official sale; over time it bred corruption, sales were apportioned per capita, and the people could not endure it; Weiyuan also conscripted laborers, commuted names to cash, then levied real labor again; dozens of counties under the Yixi circuit rioted together, and after the crowds dispersed officials reported falsely and bent the law as before. Jiqi memorialized bitterly on the harm, and the throne ordered Yunnan's governor-general and grand coordinator to investigate. Governor-General Fu Gang asked to reform the salt law for the people's sake; Grand Coordinator Jiang Lan, newly summoned to court, tried to block it, and Jiqi memorialized again in protest. Chu Pengling, Jiqi's student, succeeded as grand coordinator, knew the affair well, and at last memorialized that salt be boiled and sold at the furnaces and carried and sold by the people, sweeping away old abuses—the people were greatly relieved. The full account appears in the Monograph on Salt Administration.
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輿
Cai Yongqing was a household slave of Governor-General Chen Huizu who amassed great wealth in the capital, bought a fifth-rank title by aiding famine relief, rode in carriages, and mingled bowing with grandees and ministers. Jiqi impeached him, naming many from Grand Secretaries Qing Gui and Zhu Gui downward; the Ministry of Punishments tried the case, stripped Yongqing's title, and demoted Jiqi to a clerk in that ministry for memorializing without full substantiation. He was promoted in due course to director. He retired on grounds of age, too poor to go home, and lectured at Yangzhou's Xiaoliang Hall for nearly ten years until he died.
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From the late Qianlong era, Yunnan men at court famed for blunt speech were Yin Zhuangtu and Qian Feng; Jiqi was ranked with them.
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Li Zhongzhao, style name Ciqing, was a native of Jiaying, Guangdong. He passed the jinshi examination in 1802, was selected as a Hanlin bachelor, appointed compiler, and transferred to the censorate. Changlu salt merchants forged heavier standard weights, padding each quota by a hundred jin, cutting revenue and slowing sales. The merchant Zha Youqi's family was immensely wealthy and cultivated ties with court nobles. After Supervising Secretary Hua Jie impeached the Changlu salt price hike and implicated Grand Secretary Dai Yuheng, he failed to obtain justice and was rebuked, and thereafter no one dared speak. Zhongzhao impeached them, but the Board of Revenue still shielded the merchants, and some spread rumors that he had sought bribes in vain. The Jiaqing Emperor was at Rehe and ordered princes and ministers in the capital to try the case jointly. Fraud was proved; Youqi was sentenced by law; those involved were demoted or dismissed in varying degrees, and all looked on in awe. Zhongzhao again impeached the Board of Civil Office for unfair capital evaluation, and that too was proved true. Soon afterward he went to the Board of Revenue for roll call and beat the clerks; the board seized on the affair to impeach him, and the case went to the Board of Civil Office for deliberation. Many wished to ruin Zhongzhao; Vice Minister Chu Pengling, known for integrity, was on leave for his wife's mourning and told others: "These men wish to settle scores and invent a crime out of nothing. Censor Li has the courage to speak—how can the censorate do without such a man?" Board members heard Pengling's words, hurriedly voted a four-rank demotion, and within two days the memorial went up—Zhongzhao was dismissed after all.
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Shi Chengzao, style name Futing, was a native of Xiangtan, Hunan. In 1808 he took third place in the first class of the jinshi examination and was appointed compiler. He was transferred to the censorate and made supervising secretary, winning renown for bold speech. Wang Shuxun was from Jiangdu; at the end of the Qianlong reign he came to the capital to sit for examinations without success, then became a monk at Guanghui Temple under the name Mingxin. He opened a preaching hall, feigned spirit-writing and divination, pried into officials' private affairs, and spread the secrets abroad—so people revered him all the more. High officials and eminent ministers often took refuge, received precepts, and became his disciples. Zhu Gui, an upright man of great standing, also associated with him. Heshen, then metropolitan infantry commander, hunted him down; he bribed his way to a lighter sentence, was forced back to lay life, and wandered the country. When rebellion broke out in Sichuan and Hubei, he joined Songyun's army, won favor by preaching Chan, was sent in disguise into rebel camps to negotiate surrender, was given a seventh-rank title, and rose in succession to prefect of Xiangyang. After several years he came to the capital for audience and did not change his old ways. Minister of Punishments Jin Guangti invited him to treat his son's illness; he threatened him with fortune and disaster; Guangti knelt long to beg his counsel, and the age mocked him. In 1815 Chengzao memorialized to clarify official ranks and impeached Shuxun; the Ministry of Punishments tried the case, stripped his office, cangued him for two months, and sent him to Heilongjiang for hard labor. The Jiaqing Emperor praised Chengzao: "A true censor!" An edict rebuked the deluded ministers for staining the official rule. Those already dead were spared further inquiry; Vice Ministers Jiang Yupu, Song Rong, and others below them were dismissed or demoted in varying degrees.
15
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In 1819 Xiangtan saw armed fighting between native and migrant communities; Vice Minister Zhou Xiying and Grand Coordinator Wu Bangqing impeached each other. Chengzao happened to be home on leave; Xiying's son Ruzhen wrote to ask him about the affair; Bangqing exposed the letter, and Chengzao was implicated and demoted. He was not promoted again for a long time and ended his career as acting director of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.
16
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The appraisal says: The Jiaqing Emperor called for blunt speech; from the lowest clerks to common people, all could submit sealed memorials to the throne, and the path of remonstrance stood wide open. Censors and supervising secretaries offered counsel with full sincerity, as when Wei Mou argued that Fukang'an was greedy and unfit to share sacrifice in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. Ma Lvtai argued that Jing An was timid and indifferent, that armies wasted rations in stalemate, that sectarian rebels must be eliminated, and that refugees must be comforted; He also argued that Bai Ling's recommendations and impeachments were improper. Zhang Pengzhan argued that Jin Guangti monopolized the Ministry of Punishments and clung to his post. Zhou Shi argued that frontier governors impeaching subordinates cited no misdeeds, lest honest and unadorned men be punished merely for falling from favor; He also argued that Zhu Gui, entering the forbidden gate by sedan chair without leave, had no disloyal intent but left the appearance of disloyalty. Shen Kun argued that sheltering subordinates in Yixing had led to a great case in which many students were swept up and punished; He also remonstrated against the eastern tour. Xiao Zhi argued that to rectify public morals the court should honor plain and unadorned ways. Wang Ningwei argued that appointments should rest on long knowledge of a man's character, not hasty promotion on recommendation alone; He also spoke of governors' habit of concealing reports, the burden of gentry donations, and the harm of prefectural surcharge collection. You Guangyi argued that ministers still lacked harmony, military readiness was still incomplete, and offered to follow the model of Wei Zheng's Ten Reflections to aid governance. Not every word was acted on, but at the time all were praised as candid and upright. When Gong Fu saw Songyun punished for opposing the eastern tour, he drafted a secret memorial, settled his affairs, and only then submitted it—and in the end was pardoned. Most of their memorials do not survive, yet historical records mention them in passing—frank speech filled the court, and the age was called a great one for remonstrance. Hong Liangji and the others were punished, yet much of what they said was heeded—they had little to regret. Some, thinking the times already clear, called Liangji's tearful remonstrance excessive—but they were wrong.
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