Chapter 209: Return

After Wang Yan became emperor, most affairs proceeded steadily along the established path.

After seizing the southern regions, Wang Yan demoted most of the Great Ming's imperial princes and ministers to commoners, who now live in their ancestral home, Nanjing.

At the same time, Wang Yan generously declared that after three generations, descendants could join the military or become officials. As for the remaining reactionary elements of the Great Ming—those unyielding royal relatives hoarding strength waiting for his death—he dealt with only those who first jumped out to provoke him. The rest he left untouched; there was simply no need to act, as long as they stayed quiet and caused no trouble.

Regarding land reform, tax reform, and the anti-Confucian cultural movement in the south, progress was generally smoother than in the north. After all, the scholar-gentry landlords had already been thoroughly disrupted by peasant armies, and many southerners had previously supported northern opposition factions, paying a heavy price. The few remaining were utterly insignificant.

The maritime merchant families of Jiangsu and Zhejiang? Wang Yan had already confiscated their wealth before his coronation—they were utterly corrupt, and he had endless excuses to punish them. Even if he had no excuse, what could they do?

Though his ruthless crackdown on big merchants might slightly disrupt the commercial environment, Wang Yan would never allow those merchants to continue running wild in his Huaxia Empire, for their mindset was fundamentally flawed—keeping them served no purpose; building the nation mattered far more.

He needed merchants under his command—those who disobeyed would be dealt with. Though capital is a beast, any merchant who grows large enough inevitably seeks political power, dreaming of controlling the state and rewriting laws. But none of his subordinates would dare such things; as for future rulers' subordinates…

That was not his concern. If worst came to worst, he'd leave behind some Mao's selections, Capital, and manifestos—a spark to ignite revolution should capital ever run wild…

After largely eliminating the scholar-gentry landlords and wealthy merchants and securing tax revenue, Wang Yan liberalized the market, permitting free trade under state regulation, lifting the maritime ban, and allowing overseas trade. He opened entire industries—grain, salt, sugar, iron, silk, tea—to private enterprise. Yet simultaneously, he established state-owned enterprises, directly operated by government departments, like royal companies.

To facilitate commerce, Wang Yan abolished all existing moneylenders and founded a Royal Bank, modeled after later banking systems: accepting deposits, issuing agricultural and commercial loans. He did not ban merchants from forming joint banks, but all such banks must operate under the supervision of his Royal Bank. Those desperate for money? Go work—there's no other path.

Of course, "lifting the maritime ban" merely meant his Xuanwu Sea Guard stopped raiding…

Wang Yan had no choice but to stop. His raids had been too brutal—now, domestic ships dared not sail out, and foreign ships avoided his shores entirely. His fleet had even clashed with Western powers and been utterly destroyed. Since they wouldn't come, he had to go out himself.

He opened ports in long-established territories like Japan, Taiwan, Luzon, Champa, and the Mughal Empire for his maritime merchants to resupply—though not for free. Even if they were his own, he still collected fees.

Meanwhile, coastal regions—Tianjin, Weihai, Jiangsu-Zhejiang, Fuzhou, Guangdong, Qiongzhou—were all bustling with construction: expanding existing ports, building new ones. As for Macau and Hong Kong, long seized by Portuguese and British colluders in Guangdong, Wang Yan had already reclaimed them—the foreign devils were now working under his orders.

The only ones he'd truly plundered before were these two—after being beaten, their own people were captured and dared not utter a word. Wang Yan guessed they were biding their time, developing technology to build cannons and warships to strike back. But now his manpower was stretched thin, and he couldn't reach far enough—otherwise he'd have already marched on their homelands.

His ironclad warships were now launching in frenzy. Since unifying the north, his available population and craftsmen had multiplied, and his decades-long industrial foundation had reached full capacity. Even steam-powered warships were showing promise—he estimated a prototype would be built in five to eight years, and ocean-going vessels within fifteen.

After more than a decade, the steam-powered miniature train was officially completed in the second year of Huaxia, summer—nearly twenty years of development culminated in its realization. Of course, those twenty years weren't spent solely on the train; steam engine applications had already been developed in Liaodong for light and heavy industry, and naval propulsion research had drawn off resources—now it finally landed.

Now that the miniature train existed, railways had to be built. Rail transport would replace canal shipping, vastly improving efficiency and logistical flexibility.

The old Canal Guild had long been abolished by Wang Yan—it was pure organized crime, and his regime had no need for such forces. Due to the Guild's corruption, Wang Yan launched a nationwide anti-gang campaign: anyone exploiting local power—officials' relatives, local bullies, anyone disrupting stability—was arrested.

For railway construction, Wang Yan planned one line stretching from Outer Manchuria and Western Siberia, through Liaodong, Jingcheng, Kaifeng, Wuchang, Changsha, all the way to Guangdong in the south—a coastal route connecting major ports, plus two north-south lines. He also planned a line from Jingcheng straight to the Western Regions, linking east and west. These three alone would take ten to twenty years to build; the rest would radiate outward from Jingcheng.

Building railways would demand massive steel production and recruit countless workers—unprecedented job opportunities in this technologically backward era. Wang Yan didn't conscript—he paid wages, stimulating domestic demand and expanding markets, a guaranteed return on investment. Once completed, railways would dramatically boost north-south exchange and development—no doubt about it.

Iron ore? With his ironclad warships, how could he lack it? He'd already reached Luzon—just a step further south lay the New World, among the world's top iron reserves. If worse came to worst, he could march north against Russia—its iron deposits were ample too. With border skirmishes already occurring, why not just launch a full-scale war?

In truth, if manpower weren't scarce, Wang Yan's expansion would never pause.

Huaxia's total population had been counted: 137 million. Men and children dominated; women and the elderly were few. Overall, southerners outnumbered northerners—understandable, since northerners had rebelled en masse, and over a decade had seen massive deaths.

In contrast, northern farmland was more extensive, but southern water resources were richer, making southern population-to-land pressure far more severe and population density higher. This was unacceptable—Wang Yan had conquered vast lands, yet they lay empty. Letting the south remain overpopulated was a colossal waste. So he issued a direct order: southern civilians must relocate north. Though leaving ancestral land was painful, the land and tax exemptions he offered more than compensated.

In truth, had technology permitted, Wang Yan would have already launched the later Southern Water Diversion Project…

As southern populations moved north, populations from remote western regions with low agricultural yields were relocated eastward—something Wang Yan had long planned. His territory was too vast to care about unused land; he'd already assigned personnel to oversee reforestation and farmland retirement.

Wang Yan placed great emphasis on population growth, continuing his aggressive birth promotion policy: land and cash rewards for every child born. All children received free compulsory education—no fees, and meals provided.

After unifying the south, he gained a large cohort of elderly scholars. Though still far short of demand, this was a massive improvement over before. Once this first generation of children matured, universal education would pose no problem.

As for the resources spent on education? What was that? If funds ran low, just seize more. Besides, his overall production capacity grew daily, domestic and foreign farmland expanded continuously, superior seed strains were being refined, and yields rose year after year. Livestock—cattle, sheep, pigs, chickens, ducks—also increased steadily. With current resources, feeding 140 million was effortless.

Regarding religion, Wang Yan had already curbed Buddhism during land reforms, disbursing vast numbers of monks without official certificates. Daoism he barely touched—it caused far fewer problems. He established the Religious Administration Office: anyone wishing to become a monk or Daoist priest must obtain an official certificate. Both Buddhist and Daoist orders were subject to annual quotas.

Wang Yan rarely managed state affairs. Though his cabinet inevitably squabbled over power, its overall direction remained sound. Aside from daily visits to his harem, he did only two things: guiding master craftsmen in R&D, and studying traditional Chinese medicine. Other matters were monitored by his secret agents—he feared no deception; the empire remained under his absolute control.

In Huaxia Year Ten, population reached 168 million. Grain prices had plummeted; granaries in major cities held enough grain to feed 200 million for two years. To consume surplus grain, alcohol production boomed; pigs, chickens, and ducks were fed grain mixed with forage. Though Wang Yan couldn't make everyone eat meat daily, eating meat periodically was no problem.

Of the three planned railways, the two north-south lines—excluding the east-west one—were already completed and operational. Freight and passenger traffic between north and south was extremely busy.

Notably, in Huaxia Year Seven, a massive flood struck. Though Wang Yan had long been dredging rivers and improving waterworks, such disasters were beyond his control—even four hundred years later, great floods remained unmanageable.

After a decade, his army had grown to two million; the Security Bureau's police force reached five hundred thousand. The first generation of veterans who followed him in conquest had mostly retired.

The Mughal Emperor was a puppet installed by Wang Yan—he had effectively taken control of the entire Mughal Empire. Similar patterns held across the South Seas, Japan, and Luzon. This was due to population constraints—he couldn't simply annex and govern directly.

The first batch of children from Liaodong had grown up and entered all walks of life: some became artisans, some joined the military, some entered politics, some became teachers, some became police.

Those in other professions were fine, but those in politics were Wang Yan's greatest concern—he'd long endured the old scholar-officials. These new recruits started at the lowest levels—this was essential. Wang Yan mandated: all central officials must have grassroots experience.

Of course, if one had powerful family connections, securing a stable job was possible—Wang Yan couldn't monitor every favoritism. But such people would never rise to high positions. If any did, he'd have to purge from the top down.

After years of work, some of the first batch had risen to town-level posts. To make room for them, Wang Yan launched a rectification campaign. With ample evidence of corruption, he arrested several major offenders—boosting state finances and creating upward mobility for subordinates. The rest he left alone—slowly, let them fatten before slaughtering.

Given Huaxia's current state, calling Wang Yan "surpassing Tang and Song, outdoing Han and Tang" was an insult.

In Huaxia Year Twenty, population reached 213 million. Encouraged by Wang Yan's birth policies, children born were almost never left to die unless stricken by grave illness. The children born at the empire's founding had now grown, married, and had children of their own—everyone was breeding relentlessly.

Wang Yan himself stopped having children after fathering his twentieth son—he had twenty sons and twenty-six daughters in total.

Having too many children was meaningless. His eldest sons were already in their thirties; his grandchildren were nearly ready to marry and have children.

Of his children, aside from a few idlers, most were ambitious. His first three sons commanded armies abroad. His daughters, except for a few like Er Ya, mostly entered politics. His children now held the highest rank of Prefect. He gave them no favors—they rose from village headmen. Still, being Wang Yan's children gave them far smoother careers, making achievements easier to attain…

In Huaxia Year Forty, population reached 372 million. Meat was now routinely available. Staple grains had shifted from coarse grains to refined rice.

With population growth, expansion wars reignited. Three fronts: one by sea, one through the Western Regions, one north against Russia.

Over the years, as territory expanded and garrisons and overseas settlers multiplied, East-West exchanges increased, and mixed-race births rose annually. Wang Yan classified people into three tiers: Tier One were original Huaxia citizens and their descendants; Tier Two were offspring of Tier One fathers; Tier Three were others—including children born to women married to foreigners, and foreigners themselves. Tier One and Two enjoyed different privileges; Tier Three? What was there to say?

Infrastructure—railways, cement roads, water conservancy—continued expanding. Village-level roads were now nearly complete.

Steam engines had evolved toward internal combustion engines; power sources were shifting from coal to oil research.

Electricity had been harnessed. Electric lighting had been rolled out in Shuntian, the wealthiest region.

The New World had been conquered—modern North and South America. Wang Yan's invincible fleet ruled the oceans, crushing anyone who dared oppose.

That year, Wang Yan was seventy-eight. His women were roughly the same age. Ding Baiying, six years older than him, had passed five years prior. Zhou Miao Xuan died last year; now Zhou Miaotong was nearing her end. The others had also gradually passed. In truth, surviving this long was remarkable—his own children were beginning to die.

In Huaxia Year Eighty, population reached 894 million. Wang Yan had surpassed his original goal of 500 million. With advancing transportation and storage, commoners' tables grew ever more diverse—chicken, duck, fish, pork, refined rice, fruits, vegetables—Huaxia's diet had been utterly transformed.

The army now numbered eight million. Europe had been fully conquered; barring major upheaval, no further changes were expected. Wang Yan had invented radio—information transmission had accelerated dramatically, strengthening control over distant regions.

Looking at Huaxia's current map, calling Wang Yan "planet ruler" was no exaggeration.

Over these eighty years, Wang Yan's greatest focus had been the development of traditional Chinese medicine. After decades of study, his skill had reached LV5.

His long-cherished goal of refining the secret medicine had, after nearly five generations, finally replaced rare herbs with affordable alternatives—while achieving far greater efficacy than his original modest expectations. Due to herb supply limits, it couldn't yet be widely administered to infants, but once production scaled up, mass distribution would be feasible—though Wang Yan would not live to see it.

He felt it: his vitality was ebbing, his body weakening, returning to the frailty of his former Grandmaster's twilight. But unlike last time, this time his initial injuries were mere knife wounds from a cold-weapon era—he had no deep chronic ailments, and felt far more comfortable than before.

He had already relinquished power, entrusting it to his most accomplished great-great-grandson, over fifty years old, a descendant of Wang Junren.

The thirty-first day of the twelfth month, Year 81 of Huaxia, night.

Without joining the noisy gathering of descendants he could hardly recognize, the 119-year-old Wang Yan sat alone upon his dragon throne, watching the auspicious snow drift down outside the grand hall and the fireworks occasionally rising and bursting into the sky. His gaze was deep, as if piercing through layers of palace walls to see the myriad lights of the homes beyond…

After an unknown length of time, Wang Yan let out a soft sigh…

A blue light flashed…