Chapter 769: Confucianism and the Inspector

Inside the main hall, Li Banghua, Deputy Protector of the Anbei Protectorate and Left Censor-in-Chief, sat somewhat dejected. Beside him, Xuanfu Provincial Governor Zhu Zhifeng also wore a heavy expression, his face solemn.

Compared to when he first arrived at Xuanfu Garrison in mid-tenth month, Li Banghua's face was far more haggard, and he looked much older. His days had been hard lately — though he was Deputy Protector, he held no real power. Without Wang Dou's nod, he could not involve himself in any matter within Xuan Garrison, which was driving him mad.

Wang Dou had not shorted him on treatment — fine food and drink were supplied daily, and each month he could draw a salary called a "stipend" from the Finance Department. But Li Banghua was no feudal prince, to be fattened like a pig day after day, month after month. He was a man of ambition — how could he idle about with nothing to do, eating his fill and whiling the days away?

Yet so long as Wang Dou kept his golden mouth shut, he could only sit idle. Without realizing it, he found himself spending more and more time in teahouses. He began to understand Ma Guoxi's conduct back then — with nothing to do all day, what else was there but to idle in teahouses?

His retinue and household servants went from hope to disappointment. Some took their leave, some went into trade, and one after another they drifted away from him.

Over these months, with nothing to do, Li Banghua had traveled all across Xuanfu Garrison. Aside from sensitive, critical departments, Wang Dou did not forbid Li Banghua from moving about, which gave him an even deeper understanding of this place's strength and power, and considerably changed his original thinking.

What echoed in his mind were the words that Datong Provincial Governor Wei Jingyuan had spoken to him when taking leave to return to Datong Garrison: "Sir Li, with the Marquis of Yongning, pacification must come first — bear the humiliation and shoulder the burden!"

Yes, pacification must come first. Whatever else one might say, domineering as the Marquis of Yongning was, he was still good to the common people. And he had not raised a banner of rebellion, had he? This mighty force still belonged to the Great Ming. If pushed too far and he rose up in fury, then the Great Ming would truly face utter and irreversible ruin.

What he could do was pacify as best he could, urging the Marquis of Yongning to act with loyalty and righteousness, so that when the dynasty faced collapse, he could dispatch troops to turn the tide and save the Great Ming realm from fire and water. That would not be in vain for all the sage books he had read.

And, most importantly, right now he needed a job — to exercise his ambitions while also gaining Wang Dou's trust, making Wang Dou value him more, and increasing his own say.

After spending several months in Xuanfu Garrison, he had picked up quite a few local catchphrases — like "job," "say," and so on, all casually coined by Wang Dou yet now all the rage in Xuanfu Garrison. There were also phrases like "high-end, grand, top-tier" and the like, all fashionable new terms in Xuan Garrison or the Great Ming.

Li Banghua sat waiting in silence. What he yearned for most in his heart was to serve in the Education Department and take charge of Xuanfu Garrison's students and civilizing mission.

What had left the deepest impression on him during his months in Xuanfu Garrison was its education system.

Every tun had a schoolhouse. The entire populace was educated — no household without learning, no person within a household untaught. This was profoundly stirring.

It is said that rigidity cannot last, and softness cannot hold. If Wang Dou were only militarily formidable, that would not be so alarming — after all, what rises swiftly also perishes swiftly; cases of the militarily mighty flaring up and dying out just as fast are far too many.

Even as mighty as the Mongol Yuan, without the support of the literati, their barbarian reign lasted no more than a hundred years. But valuing education — that is a grand strategy spanning a century, even centuries. How could Li Banghua not take it seriously?

And Xuanfu Garrison's education...

He recalled that day when he went to a tunbao near the garrison city. That tun was not far from Wanquan Left Guard and counted as a large tun. Under Xuanfu Garrison's current divisions, it was a township-level unit. The locals called it a Battalion Headquarters City. The whole township had over a thousand households — equivalent to a former Battalion Headquarters.

Li Banghua knew that Xuanfu Garrison, unlike the rest of the Great Ming where the local gentry governed themselves, was directly administered by officials who managed all local affairs. Moreover, as in the early dynasty, a universal village-head system was implemented — and even taken a step further with the baojia system, so that armed force, like the patrol offices, reached deep into every tun and every locality.

This township had a total population of about twelve bao, with several hundred boys aged ten and under. All these boys were required to enter school to study and learn to read. As Wang Dou put it, this was called "six-year compulsory education" — mandatory in nature, which no one could defy. Otherwise, the household head would be seized and sent to the mines for hard labor.

Moreover, within the jurisdiction, no distinction was made by registration status — temporary residents, naturalized residents, Han residents, or children of barbarian households — all were the same, all had to receive education.

Generally, each township had one schoolhouse, which Wang Dou called a "primary school" — equivalent to the old elementary schools.

What astonished Li Banghua was that in these elementary schools, boys attended without paying any fees, and food and lodging were entirely free. What an enormous expense that must be.

And within each township, there were actually also girls' schools. However, because boys and girls were schooled separately, and girls were not compelled to attend, this had not caused much stir.

In the Great Ming, among families with means, women did in fact receive education — only they hired private tutors to teach at home. After all, men handle external affairs and women internal ones. A woman from a prominent household would one day have to manage the livelihoods and finances of a large extended family under her husband's roof — how could she do that without learning to read and do sums?

Still, at this time the emphasis was on male children. Even with free tuition, only some merchants and wealthy men of means and far-sightedness, along with the wives and daughters of official families, sent their girls to the girls' schools. Enrollment of girls was not high.

According to Li Banghua's inquiries, primary schools were the most numerous in Xuanfu Garrison — every township had one. There were also institutions called "middle schools," generally only one per circuit. The Eastern Circuit, however, had the most middle schools — a full five — and Baoanzhou alone accounted for three of them.

Universities — these were the Xuanfu Garrison Military Academy, the Civil Service Academy, and the like — gathering places for the elite.

In the Great Ming, children generally began their elementary studies at seven or eight, then endured bitter study, rising step by step from Pupil, to Licentiate, to Provincial Graduate, to Metropolitan Graduate, and so on — only the single track of the civil examinations existed. To pass the provincial exam by thirty was already a sign that green smoke was rising from one's ancestral graves.

Lord Bao himself passed the provincial exam at twenty-nine and only entered official service at thirty-nine — and he was one of the lucky ones.

Here in Xuanfu Garrison, one could enter school at ten or earlier. After six years of education, one graduated at about sixteen and became a qualified primary school graduate. Those who could obtain a graduation certificate, even if they did not test into a middle school, were still eagerly sought after in many places.

Commerce flourished in Xuan Garrison, and there were many technical schools locally. In particular, many trading firms and workshops provided backing, specifically recruiting these primary school graduates, supporting them through several years of study at the technical schools, and then bringing them into their own firms to work afterward.

However, Xuan Garrison commoners were still accustomed to calling these primary school graduates "Pupils." Later, the authorities formalized it: only schoolchildren who obtained a graduation certificate could be called "Pupils." Otherwise, they were merely "probationary Pupils."

This was unlike elsewhere in the Great Ming, where one became a Pupil the moment one began elementary studies. Those who never passed the Licentiate exam remained Pupils even at seventy or eighty.

Because it was six-year compulsory education, Xuanfu Garrison adopted a principle of broad entry — all children of suitable age could attend school — but the graduation exam was quite strict.

Those who tested into middle school became "probationary Licentiates." Because middle school admissions were rigorous, over ninety percent of primary school students were eliminated. So after entering, they continued to receive free education — meaning these people, previously supported by their families, were now supported by the authorities.

If they graduated, they became full Licentiates. At this point they were around twenty years old and could sit for the civil service examination — to become clerks, officials, and so on. This was unlike the Great Ming, where such opportunities only came after passing the provincial exam.

Also, because middle school students were in such high demand, the Education Department later stipulated that Pupils were permitted to retake the exam. They could study hard at home, or continue attending school as repeaters — in which case they would be charged fees — and could take the exam once a year, for up to three consecutive attempts.

After three attempts, there were no more chances. After all, if one still could not pass after repeating for so many years, it proved they were not cut out for study. There was no need to waste any more of their family's money and grain.

This also avoided the spectacle of eighty-year-old Pupils still taking the Licentiate exam, wasting a whole lifetime in the process — harming themselves, and harming their families even more.

The same applied to those probationary Pupils who could not even graduate from primary school: they were permitted to pay for their own food and clothing and repeat for three years. If they still could not graduate, then they were to go home without a graduation certificate and taste for themselves the bitterness of failure through lack of effort.

Those of higher talent who could test into a university were directly granted the status of Provincial Graduate. Upon graduation, they became Metropolitan Graduates — guaranteed job placement, guaranteed official posts, for they were the most elite segment of Xuanfu Garrison.

Those emerging from the Military Academy: outstanding cadets were directly commissioned with the honor rank of Cavalry Officer, eligible for future appointment as platoon officer or deputy platoon officer; ordinary ones received the honor rank of Senior Sergeant and became squad leaders.

Those emerging from the Civil Service Academy enjoyed section-level treatment and were assigned to posts within the various tunbao, the Minzhengbu, or the Inspectorate.

This was Wang Dou's approach to education in Xuanfu Garrison: universalize primary education, place special emphasis on the civilizing of new generations of children, and at the middle school level, enforce extremely strict standards — strict entry, strict exit. Those who could attend were all students of excellent character and scholarship.

This also prevented an overabundance and glut of advanced intellectuals in the future. Not to mention university graduates everywhere underfoot — even now, the Great Ming had several hundred thousand idle Licentiates with no path forward, and that alone was a great evil.

Only after reaching university did the civil and military tracks diverge. However, Xuanfu Garrison's primary and middle schools actually had no real civil-military distinction — all could be considered to receive a militarist-nationalist education. Even primary school graduates, in the eyes of many commoners, were each a person accomplished in both pen and sword — high-level talents in their view.

After learning the detailed regulations of Xuanfu Garrison's education system, Li Banghua sighed for a long time, feeling more and more that Wang Dou was unfathomably deep.

In his view, the universal education in Xuanfu Garrison completely surpassed even the most developed regions of Suzhou and Hangzhou south of the Yangtze. Not only should it be ranked first in the Great Ming, but its system was coherent, orderly from top to bottom, and might well serve as the future direction for education in the Great Ming.

Moreover, this system swept up all the capable and elite members of society, leaving no worry that overlooked worthies among the common people would harbor resentment and stir up trouble.

After all, throughout history, rebels and troublemakers were nothing to fear without the participation of the literati. Take the Chuang bandits — before Li Yan and others joined them, they were mere roving brigands. But the more literati joined, the greater the harm became, until they ultimately became a mortal affliction to the Great Ming.

And the intensity with which Wang Dou gathered talent exceeded even the Great Ming's by who knew how many times — a terrifying thought upon reflection.

There was just one point: university graduates in Xuanfu Garrison went without saying — they were as few as Metropolitan Graduates in the Great Ming.

Yet middle school graduates could already sit for the clerk examination. Although compared to Licentiates elsewhere in the Great Ming, each person's chances of entering officialdom and politics were much greater, sparing them such idle calamity — still, how were so many official posts and political positions to be arranged?

How, in the coming years, were the ever-growing numbers of talents to be placed?

Xuanfu Provincial Governor Zhu Zhifeng had been constantly at Li Banghua's side recently and was also on the road to that tunbao at this time.

After pondering at length, he said: "So this is the origin of Xuanfu Garrison's redundant offices and redundant clerks. In truth, it is not redundant governance, but refinement. The Great Ming's local governance is far too crude — imperial authority does not extend below the township level, precisely because there are too few local officials and clerks, forcing reliance on the gentry. That is why tax revenues shrink ever further. In Xuan Garrison, by contrast, all manner of tax revenues grow ever larger, yet the common people do not feel burdened. It is because those who ought to be taxed are taxed, and those who ought not are not — the result of smooth and unobstructed administrative governance."

He continued: "And these 'senior students,' after graduation, also enter local clerical service — unlike the Great Ming's Metropolitan Graduates, who upon passing the palace examination are appointed county magistrate at the very least. They are mere scholars — how could they sit in judgment over the tax affairs of tens of thousands of households in a locality?... The grand secretaries in the cabinet need hardly be mentioned. If one is a Hanlin Bachelor, one enters the Hanlin Academy, then circles about in the capital, and finally becomes a chief minister. How could they be familiar with local affairs? Hence the various policies they produce are often completely beside the point..."

In the Great Ming, Pupils were also called "primary students," while those who had passed the Licentiate exam or higher were generally called "senior students." That Zhu Zhifeng referred to Licentiates and the like in this way did not surprise Li Banghua.

He listened as Zhu Zhifeng said: "In the Xuanfu Garrison region, everyone starts as a minor official. By the time they take up a formal post, they are already thoroughly familiar with local affairs, naturally becoming versatile, practical talents — far superior to the mass of bookish scholars... Moreover, even a Grand Collegiate student here, upon graduation, will still handle local administrative affairs or serve as a junior officer in the army, tempered layer by layer, so they won't ruin important matters... The more minor officials there are, the finer the control over the locality, with no worry of powerful local gentry stirring 'disorder.' The more taxes collected, the more than enough to support a crowd of superfluous officials. They start low, but there are many official posts to rise to, so there's no worry of too many monks and too little gruel — plenty of political positions can be arranged for them..."

Anyone who could rise to the rank of Provincial Governor of a defense command was no ordinary man. Some time ago, Zhu Zhifeng had been blinded by fury, but once he calmed down, he could objectively analyze the successes of Xuanfu Garrison.

Now, speaking with eloquence and ease, he fully displayed the bearing of a garrison Provincial Governor.

Li Banghua also nodded and said: "The Rites of Zhou states that in the Zhou dynasty, five families formed a bi, five bi formed a lü, four lü formed a zu, five zu formed a dang, five dang formed a zhou, and five zhou formed a xiang, each with a bi chief, lü steward, zu master, zhou governor, and xiang grandee to govern them. Throughout history, from top to bottom, no one governed more than five. In our dynasty, a single official with a handful of clerks is expected to govern tens of thousands of households across prefectures and counties — truly far too crude, forcing reliance on the gentry. This is the root cause of the Great Ming's fiscal decay. Looking instead at how the Marquis of Yongning conducts affairs — meticulous and thorough in every local detail, going above and beyond — it has quite the flavor of high antiquity."

The two men spoke back and forth, gradually shifting their view of Xuanfu Garrison's redundant local officials and clerks, coming to see it as one of the secrets behind the garrison's excellent local finances.

And because the intensity of tax collection was many times greater than in the rest of the Great Ming, even supporting a bureaucracy far larger than elsewhere in the Ming realm, they still managed it with the ease of strolling in a courtyard — more than ample.

Li Banghua's expression turned grave: "Even more terrifying is the intensity of the official schools here!"

The Great Ming's educational system, like that of previous dynasties, was of course divided into official schools and private academies. "Education lies with the government" — this was a principle every dynasty's rulers valued, and the Great Ming was no exception.

But limited by the financial resources of the time, even with great emphasis on education, the government-supported stipend students were capped by Ming regulations at only forty per prefectural school, thirty per subprefectural school, and twenty per county school, each receiving six dou of grain per month as stipend.

The rest — the expanded-quota students, the attached students, and so on — were merely enrolled scholars, who had to provide their own food and clothing.

And these were still only the licentiates — the xiucai. As for the tongsheng, they were naturally left to sink or swim on their own. In Xuanfu Garrison, by contrast, not to mention xiucai, even tongsheng were all fully supported by the government.

Li Banghua said in a deep voice: "Why is it that so many students, steeped in the sages' books, become pests of the state once they take office? It is because of the unbearable hardship of poverty!"

He continued: "Under our dynasty's examination system, to pass the provincial or metropolitan exams, a scholar must devote decades of relentless effort. Their families toil bitterly to support them, their clans endure every hardship to nurture them. Only after enduring all this do they obtain office — naturally, they feel gratitude to their own families and clans. Expecting them to think of repaying the imperial court? A mere joke!"

As Chief Censor of the Left, Li Banghua had long understood this in his heart. Even if he himself were made to choose right now — family or the state — he would still undergo a fierce internal struggle, let alone others.

He said: "Moreover, studying is expensive, the costs enormous. Over decades, even well-to-do families are often bankrupted and ruined. Thus, the first priority upon taking office is naturally to recoup all past expenditures. To expect them to serve the court is nothing but a fool's dream."

He sighed: "Now official schools are weak, private academies dominant. Scholars, supported by various patrons to attain office, naturally must serve their sponsors. They sink further into becoming mere instruments of factional strife."

Thus, Li Banghua was full of praise for Xuanfu Garrison's official schools — the one point he lauded unreservedly, without a single word of criticism.

After all, the cost of study was far too great; an ordinary household could not even dream of producing a scholar. Now that this entire burden was borne by the government, students could study with peace of mind and were all the more willing to serve the government in return.

There was also the psychology of "the mouth that eats is soft, the hand that takes is short" at play — supported by the government, to not repay that kindness would be disloyal and unrighteous.

For the common people, they were naturally very willing as well. First, studying carried very high prestige in these times — scholars were always respected.

Second, it cost them nothing — this was the most important point. With no burden on the household, they could naturally send their children to study with peace of mind. In the past, only the sons of the great masters' families could study, and everyone watched with envy and longing. Now, even poor, humble households could produce scholars — who wouldn't be willing?

Third, there was another point — an unspoken thought many kept to themselves.

Once children reached the upper grades of primary school, many of the boys in the family had grown to fourteen, fifteen, or sixteen. As the saying goes, a half-grown lad eats his father poor. Now it was as if the government was raising their sons for them, and the food at school every day was good — who wouldn't want to send their sons to study?

The labor shortage many worried about was also a non-issue, since the schools had holidays every fifth and tenth day, giving six days off a month, and on ordinary days they could still go home to help.

During the busy farming seasons, the schools even organized activities called "work-study," frequently taking students to farms, workshops, and the like to observe or lend a hand.

As Wang Dou put it, this was called "integrating theory with practice!" Li Banghua also thought this approach was excellent — letting students handle more practical affairs, so they wouldn't end up unaccustomed to physical labor and unable to tell the five grains apart, producing a bunch of bookworms.

He also greatly approved of the rule that tongsheng taking the xiucai exam and xiucai taking the juren exam each had only three attempts — preventing students from wasting their entire lives this way, harming both themselves and others.

Not to mention Fan Jin in The Scholars was a tragedy; in the Qing dynasty, the oldest juren, Xie Qizuo, who passed only at ninety-eight, was an even greater tragedy — utterly meaningless.

Under Xuanfu Garrison's regulations, a tongsheng who failed three consecutive exams and still could not enter a middle school to become a xiucai would generally be only around twenty, still in the prime of youth — just the right time to seek a job and support themselves and their families.

This spared them from clinging to hope and taking exams without cease until the age of eighty.

A xiucai who failed three consecutive exams and still could not pass the juren exam to enter a university would be only twenty-three or twenty-four — still in the prime of youth.

In the meantime, they could also work as clerks while taking the exams, making the process all the more unhurried. After three attempts, they could just set aside that ambition and focus on their clerical career, slowly climbing up from section member — that was also a path forward.

This also prevented them from turning resentment into hatred. Three years of exams was just right; thirty years of consecutive exams would cause many xiucai to develop a fierce desire for revenge against society — like Niu Jinxing and his ilk.

Throughout history, failed xiucai had always been the scholarly backbone of popular rebellions — Hong Xiuquan was one.

Those who ultimately gained admission to a university were, all the more, students of both excellent character and scholarship, individuals of firm resolve. Those who could graduate and receive their diploma were jinshi, counted as outstanding students, directly granted the honor rank of Cavalry Commandant or enjoying full principal-section-grade treatment.

Those who could not graduate had no chance to retake the exams — they received only a certificate of completion and still retained juren status. They would serve as tithing chiefs and the like as ordinary students, enjoying the honor rank of Upper Sergeant or deputy-section-grade treatment.

Among those who entered the same university, who was inferior to whom? Who didn't want to achieve better results and enjoy higher post treatment? And with only one chance, they were "forced" to strive. It wasn't that getting into university meant they could rest easy.

These sons of heaven, if all went smoothly, rising step by step from tongsheng, would generally be around twenty-three or twenty-four upon graduation — just the right splendid age to serve the state.

Li Banghua was full of praise for this kind of time limit. He further believed that Xuanfu Garrison's official school network captured every elite. The private academies among the people could only attract tongsheng-level students and posed no threat to the government — instead, they became a supplement.

This was unlike the rest of the Great Ming, where even jinshi-level students were mostly funded by various clan and merchant guild academies. When they took office, they naturally became pawns for various interest groups and instruments of factional strife everywhere.

Moreover, even for tongsheng, Xuanfu Garrison offered abundant opportunities. Not to mention the civilian technical schools in every circuit, the government also established specialized technical schools in each circuit, where they could enroll and learn a trade.

Now everywhere in Xuanfu Garrison, both government and private sectors, "adult primary schools" were being vigorously established. Tongsheng who had obtained their primary school diplomas were being invited one after another to serve as teachers — teenagers teaching large groups of adults in their forties and fifties.

There were also tongsheng who, after graduation, stayed on to teach at their own schools.

"Knowledge is power. Knowledge is wealth!"

The words spoken by the Grand General Wang Dou were gaining more and more recognition among the people.

Indeed, the role of learning was growing ever greater in Xuanfu Garrison. If you didn't want to do hard labor, then learn more. So many workers and farmers, in their spare time, flocked into the adult primary schools to study, striving to earn a diploma of their own.

Li Banghua said to Zhu Zhifeng with some excitement: "This is the direction for the future reform of our Great Ming's examination system!"

Of course, Xuanfu Garrison's approach involved an enormous investment in education — how could the imperial court's finances cope?

Zhu Zhifeng, having long been in Xuanfu Garrison, naturally knew. He said: "What you may not know, Sir Li, is that besides government investment, the power of private donations here is no small thing. By my estimate, it may soon reach half of all school funding!"

According to him, Xuanfu Garrison's household registration was divided into several grades. Generally, those wanting to obtain a green card, apart from the Tunbao, might need one or two years. But if one donated a large sum to the Education Department, shelters, orphanages, and the like, one could not only earn a title but also have one's household registration grade raised.

And in Xuanfu Garrison, the higher one's grade, the more access one had to various lucrative, high-demand industries. So donations of money and goods from all circles were extremely common.

Also, "excel in learning and take office" — nurturing more scholars locally was a shared value for many. Take Baoanzhou, for example: the culture of donating money was strongest there. Even the officers and soldiers who came from that subprefecture donated large sums every year to local education.

That was why the Eastern Circuit could have five middle schools, with Baoanzhou alone accounting for three — precisely because donations there were so overwhelming. The schools run by the Baoanzhou local government were also the best in the entire garrison.

Li Banghua furrowed his brow. His impression of Baoanzhou was not good. He said coolly: "In that case, wouldn't the military and political power of the entire Xuanfu Garrison region be monopolized by people of Baoan origin?"

Zhu Zhifeng shook his head: "Nothing to be done — who told the people of Baoanzhou to be the richest and the most generous?"

However, he said that the rest of the Eastern Circuit, as well as the other circuits of Xuanfu Garrison, had also become aware of this situation and were racing to catch up. Many wealthy households and property owners who had migrated to Huailai City and Yanqing Subprefecture, in order to secure a place for their sons and brothers in Xuanfu Garrison, had changed their old miserly ways and were eagerly donating money and goods.

Perhaps in the rest of the Great Ming they had been vanguards of tax resistance and evasion, but after arriving in Xuanfu Garrison, they turned into universally praised great philanthropists.

As far as Zhu Zhifeng knew, a certain wealthy migrant to Yanqing Subprefecture had once received a "Great Philanthropist" medal personally awarded by Wang Dou, because he donated over ten thousand taels of silver to the local Education Department in one breath — causing a huge sensation at the time.

Zhu Zhifeng knew of this man. That fellow called Ma Xibei styled himself the Great Philanthropist Ma, but in truth, before migrating, he had been a notorious iron rooster in Changping, an expert at hoarding and cornering the market, who had several times incited market shutdowns, rendering the local government's attempts to collect commercial taxes utterly futile.

Now, so enthusiastically charitable, he had become a bona fide Great Philanthropist Ma — a turn of events that left everyone utterly astonished.

Hearing Zhu Zhifeng's words, Li Banghua felt an indescribable mix of emotions. These very same people evaded and resisted taxes all across the Great Ming, yet here in Xuanfu Garrison, they were so generous and open-handed.

……

The two talked as they went, arriving before the schoolhouse of that Tunbao. It sat at the foot of Nanshan, with a river flowing not far away and fields lining its banks.

The schoolhouse was quite large, its plaque bearing the words "Shahe Township National Elementary School." It was said that the term "National Elementary School" had been set by Wang Dou long ago, and that each school operated on a boarding system — students could not go home on ordinary days, only returning during holidays.

There was a guard post by the main gate, manned by a disabled soldier with a hand cannon hanging at his waist. Seeing the two approach, he stopped them and asked their business.

Zhu Zhifeng said they had come to make a donation. The guard was delighted, but still meticulously registered their identities. The two used their attendants' papers to pass themselves off, though their outward appearance was a reasonably close match. The guard then went to fetch the headmaster.

Soon the headmaster came over laughing heartily, his stride brisk and vigorous. He was a retired soldier of the Border Pacification Army. Xuan Garrison was vigorously promoting education, and the demand for teaching staff was strong. As a branch of service with high learning, many Border Pacification Army soldiers entered the civil service system after retirement.

The headmaster was quite talkative and invited the two to the Hall of Enlightened Ethics to talk. As soon as they entered the gate, they saw a large spirit-wall monument standing not far ahead, inscribed with the large characters "Loyalty, Honor, Devotion, Responsibility," signed by Wang Dou.

Zhu Zhifeng and Li Banghua both fixed their gazes upon it, each with their own distinct thoughts. They also saw what seemed to be a large map below the large characters.

"Is this a map of the world's Nine Continents?"

The two exchanged a glance. What they saw was a large world map — one Wang Dou had, of course, copied from later ages, though he had changed the place names. Asia became Shenzhou, Europe became Pillar Continent, and many other places were altered beyond recognition from their later forms.

The outline of the Great Ming was also marked on it, placed at the very center, symbolizing China as the center of the world.

But looking at the map, both Zhu Zhifeng and Li Banghua felt towering waves surge in their hearts. The Great Ming's territory was only this tiny bit?

When Western missionaries came to the Great Ming, they had not failed to present world maps, but none were as direct and clear as the one Wang Dou had drawn, nor did any so vividly display the overall layout and face of the entire world.

The two further saw a red-barbarian kingdom marked as the Spanish-Portuguese Empire. The world territory they occupied was actually several times larger than the Great Ming's, seeming to exceed half the land under heaven. It was truly shocking to hear.

And at that place, Macau in Guangdong, it was emphatically marked: "The Folangji people are subjects of the Spanish-Portuguese Empire."

Li Banghua looked at Zhu Zhifeng; both saw the ashen faces of the other.

The headmaster smiled and said, "You two guests are stunned, aren't you? When Zhao first saw this map, I was just as stunned."

He paused, his gaze deepening. "The world is so vast. Our Border Pacification Army's campaigns have a long and heavy road ahead."

The two continued inside. Just as they rounded the spirit wall, they heard the sound of "One, two, one" coming toward them. Then they saw several dozen children, big and small, dressed in red quilted martial jackets, their hair unbound, marching in orderly ranks, shouting cadence, stepping forward with strict precision.

Seeing two strangers enter, quite a few children glanced at them curiously, then marched off again with "One, two, one."

Watching them in the cold weather, every face utterly earnest, every small face wearing a look of total seriousness, Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng nodded to themselves.

Just as they turned back, they saw a broad field spread with fine sand before them, where shouts of battle shook the heavens, a blaze of sword-light glittered, and the crack of firearms rang out — startling them both.

The headmaster, seeing their expressions, laughed and said, "Guests need not be alarmed. These are upper-grade students practicing swordsmanship and firearms."

He explained that the school curriculum generally consisted of formal lessons in the morning, with various activities in the afternoon — such as learning etiquette, music and painting, crafts and nature, political and moral character, and all manner of military training content. The lower grades only trained in some basic drill, teaching them to march neatly and understand the importance of discipline.

For the upper grades, drill training became routine, and they also began practicing swordsmanship and some basic fist techniques. In the final year of elementary school, they also practiced firearms. The instructor would bring bird guns and teach the students to familiarize themselves with the gun's construction, how to load powder and shot, and then live fire at targets.

This course was extremely popular with the students. Target shooting — who wouldn't like it?

Li Banghua murmured, "Is this then the gentleman's Six Arts — rites, music, archery, charioteering, calligraphy, and mathematics given equal weight?"

The headmaster laughed heartily. "This gentleman is clearly a scholar — you've explained it with perfect clarity."

He knew that outsiders were very interested in Xuanfu Garrison's schools, and people often came to tour them under the banner of making donations. As a Border Pacification Army soldier, his eyes were very sharp; he could tell at a glance that these two were no spies, merely people of particularly vigorous curiosity.

The teaching in Xuanfu Garrison was no secret, so he did not hide it, explaining a thing or two for the guests.

Indeed, the educational nomenclature of Xuanfu Garrison also spoke of the gentleman's Six Arts — "nurture the sons of the state with the Way, and teach them the Six Arts" — though there were some differences within.

According to outside accounts, Xuanfu Garrison leaned more toward the three subjects of law, philology, and mathematics, with less content from the classics-interpretation subject used for the Presented Scholar exams. It could be considered training for generally capable, practical talents. Wang Dou's requirement was also that after graduating elementary school, students could write, calculate, and read, and moreover possess solid moral character — that a complete and excellent personality be shaped within the school.

Generally speaking, Xuanfu Garrison elementary schools had three main subjects: national literature, arithmetic, and law, along with various subsidiary courses such as etiquette, archery and charioteering, music and painting, the investigation of things and nature, and political and moral character.

The investigation of things and nature in particular was very popular with students, because the things taught in it were so novel. Within it were truly all manner of knowledge — astronomy, geography, physics, chemistry, biology — and it looked very impressive at a glance.

This course was chiefly compiled by Wang Dou. Of course, in his view, the content was still very rudimentary, merely teaching students some simple common sense about natural science — for instance, explaining the principles of ice and fire, how sunlight passing through an ice surface or a mirror surface could ignite objects.

It taught the principle of light's color dispersion, why rainbows appear — a natural phenomenon produced by sunlight shining on raindrops — and gave examples of the color-dispersion experiments by Kong Yingda and Zhang Zhihe of the Tang, and Cai Bian of the Southern Song, and further introduced the recent "Small Encyclopedia of Physics" by Fang Yizhi.

It also taught about the world's Nine Continents and matters from all over the world. Although the recorded examples were very simple, for many students it was as if a new heaven and earth had been opened — truly more fascinating than the Classic of Mountains and Seas. Its great popularity was understandable.

Not to mention students, even common folk and scholars among the populace, many out of curiosity bought this book from bookshops to study it, which further sold out Fang Yizhi's books in Jiangnan. This once left Fang Yizhi utterly baffled — why had his books suddenly become such hot sellers?

And the political and moral character class was equally popular. In the understanding of the common folk, this was simply storytelling class.

The content taught was mostly drawn from the "Records of Great Chinese Heroes" compiled by the Bureau of Edification, recounting the heroes and martyrs, the loyal ministers and righteous men of successive dynasties. Though the content was plain, its power to stir emotion was strong, often rousing people to boiling-blooded fervor.

When it came to the present dynasty, Wang Dou and the Border Pacification Army were of course the key subjects of exposition — the various battles after their rise, the various figures, each person's psychology when facing the choice between life and death. It truly made listeners tug their ears and scratch their cheeks, unable to sit still, desperate to keep listening.

And the deeds of Wang Dou and various officers and generals, from childhood to adulthood, were also seized upon and expounded at great length. The stories of Han Chao, Han Zhong, Wen Fangliang, Zhong Rong, and others first meeting Wang Dou, ultimately sharing the same ideals and fighting together — these too were recounted with rousing passion, moving people to tears.

As the curriculum was perfected, in the future it would further develop into a series of best-selling, hot-selling stories in film, drama, literature, illustration, and song — but that is a tale for another time.

The students were imperceptibly instilled and transformed. Through a series of small stories, they internalized the concepts Wang Dou had written — "Loyalty, Honor, Devotion, Responsibility" — and came to understand the principles of how to conduct oneself.

Moreover, the political and moral character class had quite a few extracurricular activities; it was not simple preaching. For example, during the lesson on "How to Live in Harmony with Neighbors," students were required to visit nearby village neighbors during holidays and do a few good deeds for them.

When teaching how to be filial to parents, they would also, under the school's guidance, go to workshops and fields to do small short-term jobs. After earning pocket money, they would personally buy small gifts their parents liked. It was quite close to life and widely welcomed by the students.

After all, leaving school to run wild was something everyone liked, and the subtle influence shaped mature personalities.

Archery and charioteering were considered ways to strengthen the body, focusing on cultivating the students' sense of discipline and a relatively robust physique, as well as grasping a certain amount of military knowledge. The headmaster regretted that his school here still lacked teaching staff; often each person held several posts concurrently, and many courses could not be offered.

For instance, the drill instructor concurrently held the posts of swordsmanship teacher, charioteering teacher, and firearms teacher. But over in Baoanzhou, they had specialized swordsmanship instructors, equestrian instructors, firearms instructors, music instructors, and painting instructors. Many of their elementary schools even kept horses specifically for student training. Here, the equestrian course had to be canceled and replaced with a cuju course.

The other subsidiary courses were all fine; it was only the etiquette course that gave many students a headache.

But rites could not be discarded. Etiquette could make a person cultivated and refined. In later ages this had been abandoned; copying that set of Western ways only produced something neither fish nor fowl, like a monkey wearing a cap. In view of this, Wang Dou's requirements for the etiquette course were still very strict...

Li Banghua listened in silence. Through Headmaster Zhao's introduction, an image took shape in his mind of students of upright character, excellent in both conduct and learning, accomplished in both civil and martial arts, able to write and calculate, continuously emerging from the schoolhouse — just as Wang Dou had said, developing comprehensively in "morality, intellect, physique, aesthetics, and labor." These were the pillars of the state.

The Great Ming's education had indeed become deformed. Successive dynasties still spoke of the gentleman's Six Arts, but now only the imperial examinations were emphasized. Scholars all buried their heads in books and classics, their ears deaf to outside affairs. Not to mention the Six Arts, even archery, charioteering, calligraphy, and mathematics were all regarded as petty pursuits.

Scholars of the mathematics and law subjects, moreover, faced great difficulty in promotion and held low status. The students produced this way were not only each and every one frail and feeble, but also ignorant of practical affairs — how could they govern a country?

It was also because this "subject imbalance" was so severe that, to borrow Wang Dou's words, the great majority of those who had not passed the provincial exam and obtained office also had a low ability to earn a living. Hence Licentiates and scholars bore the epithet "impoverished pedants." Yet in Xuanfu Garrison, those with a specialized skill were so highly respected.

Not to mention national literature, those proficient in arithmetic, those proficient in law, those proficient in etiquette, those proficient in music and painting — perhaps destitute elsewhere, but in Xuanfu Garrison, they could easily earn a living, each living a superior and honored life.

As Xuanfu Garrison's education expanded and teaching subjects grew more specialized, the demand for such talents became even broader. Each person could continuously climb forward along their own path and, just as with Confucian learning, reach the pinnacle. In many parts of the Great Ming, this was incomprehensible.

"This is the flourishing of the scholars."

Li Banghua thought to himself. As a scholar, he of course wished for every student and scholar to live a dignified life. Yet because Confucian learning and classics alone flourished, elsewhere in the Great Ming even a post as a private tutor had a great swarm of down-and-out Licentiates fighting over it. The scope of employment was far too narrow.

That's the downside of everyone swarming the same path — just like in later generations when everyone rushed to study computing, and as a result, even top-tier computing talent kept getting devalued again and again.

In Xuanfu Garrison, this problem was perfectly solved. Li Banghua thought to himself, this must be what Wang Dou meant by dividing posts into multiple tiers. In the past, scholars who failed the exams could only seek employment at private schools, teaching some classics. Now they had so many choices.

He also understood why Xuanfu Garrison had so many opportunities — scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants could each find their own way to make a living.

And this was only the elementary schools. Li Banghua had heard that the middle schools in Xuanfu Garrison had already begun formally teaching subjects like history, geography, physics, chemistry, agricultural policy, industry and commerce, and politics — which meant even more talent was needed.

……

The headmaster introduced them with great enthusiasm. In truth, he saw that Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng both carried themselves with graceful bearing and looked every bit like master-level figures. He intended to keep the two of them here — to teach national literature, of course, and ideally, one could also teach music while the other taught fine arts and painting.

At present, the school's material supplies were decent enough. Every day at breakfast, the students were guaranteed one egg and a cup of soy milk. It was just that the school didn't have many teachers.

He himself held several posts concurrently and even personally taught the students music class. But he had no musical talent whatsoever. Every time he taught music, he could only bellow military songs at the students. These two clearly looked like talents thoroughly versed in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting — how could he let them slip away?

The headmaster's wholehearted dedication to the great cause of education deeply moved both Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng. Although his official rank was far below theirs, the integrity of his character was beyond reproach — something that no difference in status could negate.

The two exchanged a bitter smile. For a moment, both felt the impulse to stay. They had spent their lives rushing about for fame, fortune, power, position, and affairs of state, yet this little school was so pure — like a clean haven in a peach blossom paradise, a harbor of refuge for the soul. It stirred them deeply.

In the end, unable to refuse such warm hospitality, the two agreed that in their spare time they would come and give the children some lessons. Only then did the headmaster, satisfied, split his face in a wide grin and let them go.

He enthusiastically led the two onward. The Minglun Hall had originally been a place for scholars to study; now it served as the teachers' office. After all, in the old days, a county school had only a few dozen students, but now a single township school had several hundred. How could the Minglun Hall possibly squeeze them all in? Opening dedicated classrooms had become a necessity.

At this moment, the vast drill ground was full of students. Today's lesson was archery and charioteering. Children of all ages were gathered on the open field — the lower grades practicing formation drills, the upper grades practicing swordsmanship, musketry, or fist techniques, each according to their level.

"Step left…"

"Ha!"

"Thrust!"

"Ha!"

Before them, sword-light glittered. An entire class of students was practicing swordsmanship — quite a spectacular sight.

These upper-grade students, every one with hair bound up, wore green close-fitting combat attire and exuded a heroic, martial air.

And in front of them, a stern swordsman stood with hands clasped behind his back, continuously barking commands. According to the headmaster, this teacher had originally been a saber fighter, nicknamed Qi Yidao, quite famous in the Tianjin area. Later he had come to Xuanfu Garrison, passed the examination to qualify as a swordsman, and been hired by the school.

For outside saber fighters and swordsmen like them, after entering Xuanfu Garrison, aside from joining escort agencies, many also entered the education system.

"Huo!"

"Ha!"

Passing the sword formation, they came upon another orderly fist formation.

Another class of upper-grade students, shouting cadences and stepping in rhythm, continuously threw and retracted their fists — they were practicing fist techniques.

The martial spirit ran deep in Xuanfu Garrison. Even the students practiced the extremely fierce Splitting-Hanging Fist, a close-combat technique used in the military. And what the students learned was the unabridged version.

"Raise muskets!"

"Fire!"

Then came a series of bangs, and a cloud of gunpowder smoke billowed up over there. A class of students was excitedly taking turns at target practice. The acrid smell of gunpowder seemed to drift faintly all the way over here. Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng exchanged a glance — both felt a jolt of alarm.

They had no objection to practicing swordsmanship and fist techniques, but these matchlocks…

However, seeing the headmaster's completely accustomed expression, the two tactfully held their tongues.

Then they saw a man who looked like an instructor pace over in front of the students. His movements were a bit awkward, as if he had been injured somewhere, but his gaze was exceptionally sharp. He said something, and then three upper-grade classes assembled — their movements swift and precise.

Watching them, Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng sighed inwardly. Even many of the Retainer battalions in the Ming army could not be this disciplined, could they?

They saw those students with bound hair form a formation, all in uniform green combat attire. Then a flash of sword-light shone as every one of them drew their side-swords and pointed them at an angle. Then they sheathed them, left hands gripping the scabbards, right hands pressing on the sword hilts, and shouted in perfect unison: "Loyalty, Honor, Dedication!"

An imposing aura radiated forth, awe-inspiring. Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng watched, deeply shaken. These were merely elementary school students of Xuanfu Garrison.

They also noticed a few people in the formation whose faces were just as red as they bellowed. These few seemed to be…

The headmaster saw where the two were looking, followed their gaze, and said with a smile, "Oh, those few are Mongols. But here at the school, they're no different from the Han students."

Li Banghua said, "Transforming barbarians into Han — excellent."

He thought to himself that this was a very good point about Xuanfu Garrison: though it divided people by rank, in education it treated everyone equally.

A Sun-Moon-Waves banner was raised by the instructor's hand. The fiery red flag danced fiercely in the cold wind. Amid the fluttering banner, the students of the three upper-grade classes all pressed their hands on their swords and sang in unison: "Splendid China, magnificent rivers and mountains, the Long River, the Great River…"

The headmaster wore a smile, his hand constantly beating time. When they reached a certain melody, he too hummed along: "…Abundant in resources, the people at peace, how beautiful is our great China…"

Turning back, he smiled at the two and said, "Gentlemen, this way, please."

Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng followed the headmaster onward. After a few steps, Li Banghua could not help but turn his head back. The stirring song still drifted over: "…How beautiful is our great China…"

Carrying a flavor that lifted the spirit and stirred the heart.

……

Thoughts surged into Li Banghua's mind like a tide. He came back to himself and realized he was sitting in a chair in the Grand General's residence. Reflecting on the experiences of these past months, he examined his own heart — without knowing it, he had already developed a deep love for this land.

And the most beloved of all were those students. That was why he could not wait to take up a post in the Education Department. But — would Wang Dou agree?

For the first time, Li Banghua felt a sense of anxious unease.

He did not know how long he had waited when he heard footsteps approaching. Wang Dou strode out from the inner hall with the powerful gait of a dragon and tiger, followed by Ye Xizhi, Fu Mingqi, Zhang Gui, Zhong Rong, Zhong Zhengxian, Tian Changguo, and other key officials of the Minzhengbu.

Seeing Li Banghua, a smile appeared on Wang Dou's face. He gave a hearty laugh and was about to speak, but then he saw Li Banghua step forward, bow deeply, and say, "This humble official greets the Grand Protector!"

Beside him, Zhu Zhifeng likewise bowed deeply.

Wang Dou said, "…Sir Banghua, please sit… Sir Zhu, please sit as well. Serve tea."

He settled comfortably into his own large tiger-skin chair. Zhang Gui, Tian Changguo, and the others glanced at Li Banghua and his companion, then likewise took their seats to the side.

They too sat very comfortably. Only Fu Mingqi, Ye Xizhi, Li Banghua, and Zhu Zhifeng sat upright and proper. The sitting posture of Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng in particular went without saying — in terms of personal cultivation, Wang Dou and his men were indeed no match for these Confucian scholars.

Skipping the pleasantries, Li Banghua rose directly. He performed a bow and said calmly, "This humble official has been at the Protector-General's residence for several months now. The Grand Protector, out of consideration for this humble official, has been unwilling to burden me with desk work, for which I am deeply grateful. However, seeing the Grand Protector's residence toil daily while this humble official idles in leisure — truly, my heart cannot bear it. I earnestly request that the Grand Protector's residence assign me work, so that this humble official and others may have the opportunity to share the Grand Protector's burdens and relieve his labors."

Zhu Zhifeng inclined his body forward. "This humble official feels the same. Seeing the Marquis toil daily, this humble official truly finds it painful to watch, and hopes to share the burdens and ease the difficulties."

A guard brought hot tea. Wang Dou had just raised the cup to his lips and taken a sip when he nearly sprayed it out at these words. He looked — no mistake, the speakers were Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng. From the tone, Wang Dou had almost thought it was Zhang Gui and Tian Changguo.

And a chorus of coughing rang out — clearly, every member of the Minzhengbu had been choked up by Li Banghua and his companion.

But Li Banghua and Zhu Zhifeng's expressions remained unmoved. They simply gazed calmly at Wang Dou, waiting to see how he would respond.

Wang Dou lightly tapped his fingers on the armrest and said slowly, "…What sort of work would Sir Banghua like to do?"

Li Banghua straightened his robes and cap, his expression solemn, and said, "What this humble official admires most is the Grand Protector's work in moral edification. Untalented as I am, I have read the books of the sages, and I hope to devote my efforts to the cause of edification for the Grand Protectorate."

Wang Dou remained silent.

Another fierce debate erupted in the great hall. Li Banghua, seeing that Wang Dou would not declare his stance, was in no hurry. Having once been a Grand Secretary, what Li Banghua least lacked was patience. He merely spoke in a sincere tone, recounting what he had seen and heard during his time in Baoanzhou.

And not only in Baoanzhou — in fact, through his recent incognito visits to many places across Xuanfu Garrison, he believed that everywhere there existed twisted hearts, extravagant and wasteful merchants, and common people chasing after foul vices. These were the stains marring Xuanfu Garrison's development and should be corrected as soon as possible.

He had also keenly sensed that the workshops and mills might bring pollution in the future, that the green hills and clear waters would cease to exist, and that factory owners, for selfish gain, would exploit workers by every means imaginable. During his secret visits to some mines and mills, he had even found conditions akin to slavery, lives of utter misery — all of which ran counter to the benevolent governance of the Protectorate.

He cited many other dark corners, one by one. At this, Zhang Gui and Tian Changguo could hold back no longer. The two men sprang up in fury.

Tian Changguo stepped forward first. What Li Banghua feared least was a fight. He cast a cool glance at Tian Changguo. "And who might you be?"

Tian Changguo, brimming with bravado, declared, "I am the Vice Minister of the Minzhengbu, the Head of the Anbei Bank, and I also oversee commerce, industry, and mining within the ministry!"

Li Banghua said coldly, "What instruction does Sir Tian have for me?"

Tian Changguo laughed mirthlessly and said, "Instruction, I dare not claim. Sir Banghua says that when the people of our Xuanfu Garrison gain wealth, they turn bad — that 'the commoners openly chase profit, vie in extravagance, indulge in lewdness and gambling, vent anger through litigation, and amuse themselves with singing girls — this is the heart of men lost to depravity.' May I ask Sir Banghua, since you denounce this garrison at every turn, why do you not denounce the rest of the Great Ming?"

Old Bai Niu: This chapter's matter is not yet concluded; it continues in the next chapter.