The practice of powerful clans seizing land in the Eastern Han had existed since the dynasty's founding.
Their most common tactic was simple: rely on their tenants and retainers to refuse registration of land with the government. If the land wasn't registered, it wasn't taxed.
And this system had deep roots.
After all, Liu Xiu rose to power with the support of these same powerful families. Many of them were founding figures of the dynasty—men local officials simply couldn't control.
You could almost imagine the exchange:
Liu Xiu: "Go investigate the landholdings of the great clans."Local official: "Me? I'm just an employee—you want me to investigate the shareholders?"
In truth, even Liu Xiu himself couldn't fully rein them in.
In the fifteenth year of Jianwu, irregularities in land and census data became glaring. So Liu Xiu ordered a comprehensive re-survey and held local officials accountable for inaccuracies.
Traditionally, land surveys and population registers were conducted annually—first in May, later moved to October and combined into a single reporting system.
As expected, the investigation uncovered massive discrepancies.
Powerful families had seized land and people on a large scale, rendering official records meaningless.
Enraged, Liu Xiu executed over a dozen prefects and governors and dispatched new inspectors.
But the result?
Chaos.
Powerful clans, military strongmen, and even bandits rose in rebellion, attacking officials and killing the investigators. When imperial troops arrived, they scattered and posed as obedient civilians. Once the army left, they turned back into rebels.
In the end, Liu Xiu had no choice but to compromise:
Relocate their leaders elsewhere, grant them land, and pacify them.
It worked temporarily—but the roots of the problem remained.
After the reigns of Emperor Ming and Emperor Zhang, Emperor He of Han ascended the throne.
From that point on, a succession of young emperors took power—hardly capable of controlling entrenched elites.
The powerful clans expanded unchecked.
They seized land. They hid population.
And the imperial court? It could neither tax them nor restrain them.
So the burden shifted—to the common people.
As taxes rose, peasants began selling their land to powerful families just to survive. Some even became dependents of these clans to avoid poll taxes.
The consequences spiraled:
The more taxes the court imposed, the less revenue it actually collected. The more pressure placed on commoners, the stronger the great clans became.
Eventually, the court faced a paradox:
Higher taxes, lower income.
What to do without money?
Sell offices.
This wasn't new. By the reign of Emperor An of Han, the practice had already begun. Even earlier, under Emperor Wu of Han, titles and ranks were sold during financial crises.
At first, only honorary titles or ceremonial posts were sold—positions close to the emperor but without real power.
But by the time of Liu Hong, the situation had deteriorated so badly that even high offices—Three Dukes, Nine Ministers, and prefectures—were openly sold.
That alone showed how severe land consolidation had become.
Zhang Xin had once heard Liu Hong lament:
During the reign of Emperor He, the empire recorded over 730 million mu of arable land.
Now?
Less than 400 million mu.
In under a century, nearly half had "disappeared"—not in reality, but from taxation.
—
Zhang Xin set down the land register and looked at the Prefect of Pingyuan.
"By imperial order, all officials are to be dispatched to survey the land—starting with Pingyuan."
He did not blame the man outright. This wasn't a problem of one official—it was systemic.
"Uncle Mu…" the prefect stammered, "The autumn tax collection has just ended. Conducting a survey now… may not follow regulations…"
Zhang Xin cut him off coldly.
"I am the Governor of Qingzhou—not merely its Inspector. Civil and military authority are both in my hands. Do you question my order?"
Then his gaze sharpened.
"Or are you afraid? Unwilling? Or… have you yourself taken part in land seizure?"
The prefect forced a smile.
"My lord jests. It's just that surveying land disturbs the people. The war in Hebei has only just ended—if we do this now, unrest may follow…"
"And besides… the last records already reflect the actual land."
Zhang Xin narrowed his eyes.
"This is all the land?"
"Yes."
"Do you think I've never governed a commandery before?!"
His fist slammed onto the table.
"When I governed Yuyang, we had over seven million mu! Pingyuan is flat land—how can it have less than half of that?!"
The prefect broke into cold sweat, speechless.
Zhang Xin sighed.
He understood—this was a weak official, unable to control powerful clans.
"Enough. This is not your fault alone. If you lack the courage, I won't force you. Go home and farm."
The prefect's face turned pale.
After decades in office, he had finally reached a rank of two thousand shi—and now, dismissed with a single sentence?
"This is outrageous!"
He burst out angrily.
"I am a prefect appointed by the court! What right does a governor have to dismiss me?!"
Zhang Xin nodded calmly.
"Good. At least you have some backbone."
He called out:
"Where is Wang Ling?"
No answer.
Dian Wei reminded him, "My lord, Wang Ling has already been assigned elsewhere."
Zhang Xin paused, then sighed. No scholars nearby—only soldiers.
So he sat down himself, ground the ink, picked up a brush, and began writing.
As he wrote, he read aloud:
"Your Majesty, I humbly report: Upon arrival, I found the Prefect of Pingyuan cowardly and incompetent, unable to fulfill his duties…"