Chapter 260: I Just Bought the Immortal

Zhu Zhu Yijun had lost patience with the Kong family; last time, Shandong officials were dismissed or demoted for failing the land survey and performance evaluation, and this time, the desertion of troops from Yizhou Garrison left the emperor utterly disillusioned with the Kong family.

The Kong family could even mobilize Shandong's local garrison troops to labor on their private residences, canals, workshops, roads, and farmland—and punish them with fines if the work was poorly done.

The Ming army's movements were always handled with extreme caution: civil officials oversaw mobilization, military commanders led troops, and eunuchs supervised. Any troop movement exceeding fifty men required reporting to the Ministry of War; over one hundred, notification to the emperor; over five hundred, mandatory imperial approval.

One year, the Datong Regional Commander Ma Fang needed to mobilize 125 men for border patrols. To avoid bureaucratic hassle, he split the 150 men into three groups—fifty, fifty, and twenty-five—and deployed them separately, thus evading Ministry of War reporting. When the Governor-General of Shanxi and Datong learned of this, they impeached Ma Fang for unauthorized troop deployment; under regulations, he deserved execution.

Had it not been for Gao Gong, Wang Wang Chonggu, and Yang Bo vouching for him, Ma Fang would have been beheaded then and there.

Yizhou Garrison had a total of 5,600 troops. With the collapse of the military colony system, roughly 1,500 remained under official muster—meaning since Emperor Xiaozong's reign, the Kong family had been illegally mobilizing Ming garrison troops exceeding one thousand men, without imperial approval. How brazen was this violation?

If the Kong family had merely seized land, Zhu Zhu Yijun would have ignored it; after all, the empire had countless pressing matters: Qi Qi Jiguang was fighting in Danning Garrison, the navy was being revitalized, the southwest needed defense against Mang Yang Yinglong's Dongyu forces, and the north still faced Altan Khan as a grave threat—all far more urgent than the Kong family. The emperor and court focused their energy there.

But the Kong family had foolishly touched the young emperor's taboo: the military.

The emperor immediately reassigned Ling Ling Yunyi to Shandong. The former Provincial Governor Yang Shihua, a traditional Confucian, had avoided confronting the Kong family during land surveys. With Ling Ling Yunyi's arrival, Shandong's situation would drastically improve, for the emperor would grant him sweeping authority.

Ming governance operated largely on a delegation system: the emperor assigned a task to a high-ranking local official, saying, "Do as you see fit; if you succeed, I'll cover any mess you make."

"Grand Secretary of War," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, turning to Tan Lun.

"Your servant is here."

"The Guangdong and Guangxi campaigns have calmed; Luopang is secure. The 1,500+ guest troops from Guangxi have nowhere to go. Let them accompany Ling Ling Yunyi to Shandong. His former staff and associates shall go with him as well. What do you think, Grand Secretary?" Zhu Zhu Yijun wasn't just offering words of support—he was giving real backing: Ling Ling Yunyi's staff and guest troops.

The Ming court had long struggled with the settlement of guest troops. To crush the Yao rebels of Luopang Mountain, Ling Ling Yunyi recruited 1,500 guest troops who bore the brunt of siege warfare—and killed countless enemies. Releasing them to return to their families was like letting tigers back into the wild.

Now Ling Ling Yunyi no longer had to worry: the emperor's intent was clear—let the guest troops follow him to Shandong and continue their old trade: killing.

"Your Majesty, 1,500 men won't be enough," Tan Lun said firmly. "They can't even form a single infantry battalion. I suggest at least 3,000—enough to form a full infantry battalion, so command will be easier."

The 3,000-man infantry battalion size was the result of Qi Qi Jiguang's long-term practice: too many troops wasted resources in anti-piracy campaigns; too few were ineffective; 3,000 was just right.

Tan Lun's implication was clear—he was treating the Kong family as if they were Japanese pirates, requiring a full infantry battalion to prevent chaos.

Tan Lun remained the most radical minister of the Ming court, shaped by his career: from the start as a prefect, he had fought wars his entire life, thinking like a soldier, always resorting to force—and it usually worked.

A feudal imperial state was essentially a proto-militarized state: to maintain his throne, the emperor needed control over violence, and in such a state, the greatest violence was the army.

Tan Lun's soldierly thinking worked precisely because of the system.

"What do you think, Grand Secretary of Revenue?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked Wang Wang Guoguang, the new Grand Secretary.

The final list of new Grand Secretaries had been confirmed: Shen Shen Shixing failed to enter the Grand Secretariat; Wang Wang Guoguang replaced him. Shen Shen Shixing, Ma Ma Ziqiang, and Lu Lu Diaoyang were all staunch followers of Zhang Zhang Juzheng; Shen Shen Shixing submitted four memorials and personally met the emperor to declare his stance.

Shen Shen Shixing didn't lack ambition—he wasn't unwilling to rise in office. What was the point of being an official?

Shen Shen Shixing simply believed it wasn't the right time for him to enter the Grand Secretariat.

If he entered now, the Grand Secretariat would be entirely filled with Zhang Zhang Juzheng's disciples and former subordinates. After Zhang's mourning period ended and he returned to court, suspicion of overshadowing the emperor might arise.

Thus, Wang Wang Guoguang replaced Shen Shen Shixing. The Grand Secretariat now consisted of four: Chief Grand Secretary Lu Lu Diaoyang, Deputy Grand Secretary Wang Wang Chonggu, Grand Secretary Wang Wang Guoguang, and Grand Secretary Ma Ma Ziqiang—all still holding their ministerial posts, but gradually preparing to transfer authority: the Ministry of Revenue would go to Zhang Zhang Xueyan, former Viceroy of Liaodong; the Ministry of Rites would return to Wan Shihé; the Ministry of Personnel remained under the Chief Grand Secretary's control.

This created two Zhang factions and two Jin factions, achieving partial balance.

Wang Wang Guoguang was a traitor to the Jin faction, yet not a Zhang loyalist; his closeness to Zhang Zhang Juzheng stemmed purely from shared political views.

In this round of personnel changes, the Zhang faction still dominated, with the Jin and Zhe factions as secondary forces.

"Three thousand men's rations are no problem," Wang Wang Guoguang said calmly.

The Ming was now wealthy enough to afford it. If they were to resolve the Shandong issue, they couldn't leave Ling Ling Yunyi empty-handed—that would be sending him to die.

After these guest troops root out the Kong family's poison in Shandong, they have a place to go: Nagasaki Governor's Office is weak and needs them. Let these killers rampage in Japan—no one in court will plead for Japan, since no minister there was born in Japan.

"So it's settled," Zhu Zhu Yijun declared. Ling Ling Yunyi would go to Shandong with 3,000 guest troops and his staff—effectively establishing his own provincial headquarters there. This was highly taboo: "cut the millstone, kill the ox; shoot the birds, hide the bow."

But it wasn't so bad—Ling Ling Yunyi had somewhere to go: Japan, to partner with the ruthless Xu Wei.

Japan truly had great fortune: to have Ling Ling Yunyi and Xu Wei take turns serving it.

The Ministry of Rites reported minor matters: simplifying various ritual protocols. This had long been their work. The emperor, though patient, despised these tedious, useless ceremonies, so the Ministry had simplified them.

Previously, imperial edicts were drafted by the Grand Secretariat, sealed by the emperor, sent back to the Grand Secretariat, then to the Six Censorates. The Censors reviewed them again, then delivered them to the Directorate of Palace Affairs. Only after final confirmation did a eunuch carry them to the Wumen, where a dragon-headed pole lowered a basket; Ministry of Rites officials retrieved them, copied them, and sent them to the Huitong Pavilion for nationwide distribution.

Now the process was streamlined: the Director of the Directorate of Palace Affairs received the edict, handed it to the Drafting Eunuch, who took it directly to the Six Censorates. Once they had no objections, the Drafting Eunuch carried the edict straight to the Ministry of Rites, which copied and sent it to the Huitong Pavilion for nationwide distribution.

The entire process was drastically simplified. The Drafting Eunuch bore the burden, but communication between palace and court became far more efficient.

This reform significantly improved efficiency: previously, an edict took one to two days in the capital before leaving the Huitong Pavilion; now it was dispatched the same day.

The Huitong Pavilion's interpreters would make a duplicate copy and send it to the Grand Secretariat for verification, to prevent errors.

The Ministry of Works submitted a congratulatory memorial: Viceroy Shi Mao of Shaanxi had established a woolen mill in Lanzhou, Lanzhou Prefecture. Shi Mao was the first to successfully replicate the woolen mill. Its annual output was less than one-tenth of the Yongding Woolen Mill, but sufficient for Lanzhou.

At the time, Lanzhou was a small prefecture with fewer than 10,000 households and 50,000 people. A single state-run mill employing 4,500 artisans was more than enough. Lanzhou had secured its entire supply chain—even its sales network—shipping west to Xining, where the high altitude meant bitterly cold winters, or to Xi'an Prefecture.

"It's all about human effort," Zhu Zhu Yijun said after reading the memorial. Many envied the woolen mill's profits, but none had succeeded—until Shi Mao proved it could be replicated. Yet it required re-planning based on scale, raw materials, and sales—testing one's practical competence.

Clearly, Shi Mao was a capable man.

Yin Yin Zhengmao, Ling Ling Yunyi, Pan Pan Jixun, Xie Xie Pengju, Song Yangshan, Pang Pang Shangpeng, Wang Daoqun, Zhang Zhang Xueyan, Shi Mao—these provincial governors were all capable officials. Land surveys and land restitution were unpopular, cutting into the profits of the powerful—but they accomplished them.

Yet after Emperor Wanli Year Ten, Ming talent seemed to vanish overnight. No one emerged whom the emperor could trust with important tasks.

It wasn't that talent had vanished—it was that after the performance evaluation system was abolished, talent selection reverted to old ways of favoritism and connections, no longer relying on fixed deadlines, anonymous exams, or recorded records. Promotion no longer depended on performance; talent hid away. Even if the emperor wanted capable men, he had no way to find them.

Matters must be done by people.

Regardless of his reasons, Emperor Wanli Emperor launched a purge against Zhang Zhang Juzheng. Even if Zhang Zhang Juzheng had truly slept on the dragon bed, Emperor Wanli could still purge him—as Emperor Xuan of Han slaughtered Huo Guang's entire clan after his death, or as Emperor Huiwen of Qin dismembered Shang Yang.

As a political figure, Emperor Wanli Emperor's gravest mistake was abolishing the new policies. Once the performance evaluation system was scrapped, he lost the most vital instrument of imperial power: control over appointments of officials.

Zhu Zhu Yijun awarded Shi Mao a third-class merit medal and bestowed upon him a woolen cloak to signify imperial favor.

The Ministry of Rites reported progress on compiling the Great Ming Code. All volumes had been revised under Zhang Zhang Juzheng's supervision; each completed volume was immediately printed. In Zhang Zhang Juzheng's plan, the Great Ming Code would replace the Great Ming Law and the Imperial Ancestral Instructions as the Ming's guiding document.

The Great Ming Code was compiled from the Imperial Ancestral Instructions, the Great Ming Law, the Hongzhi and Emperor Jiajing revisions of the Great Ming Law, and the Regulations on Punishments. Zhang Zhang Juzheng wasn't innovating—he was continuing and expanding. This wasn't violating ancestral law, for Emperor Taizu Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang himself had drastically revised the Great Ming Law in the seventh, twenty-second, and thirtieth years of Emperor Hongwu.

Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang well understood: no law was eternal. Only laws adapting to the times endured.

Amid the tense atmosphere of court, where ministers felt like walking through the gates of hell, the first grand audience after the completion of the new imperial palace concluded smoothly.

Zhu Zhu Yijun sat upright and addressed the court: "The Master once told me something."

"At age twenty-three in the twenty-sixth year of Emperor Jiajing, the Master passed the imperial examination. Back then, he was arrogant, convinced no one else could match him. But once he became a junior scholar in the Hanlin Academy, he realized it was full of hidden dragons. He never imagined he would become a chancellor, let alone one who would shape the Ming's fate."

"How many of those junior scholars from that Hanlin class still stand on this court today?"

"The Master told me that back then, he never dreamed of glory. He simply lived each day well, settled his own affairs, and each night asked himself: Did I waste today? That was all. Even now, he still does."

"I ask nothing more of you. But each night before sleep, ask yourself: Did I waste my days? If not, rest easy. If yes, don't waste tomorrow."

Tan Lun led the ministers in a respectful bow and said in unison: "Your servants humbly obey Your Majesty's teaching."

"Dismissed," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, waving his hand, rising, and walking toward the back hall of the Huangji Palace.

"Your servants respectfully see off Your Majesty," the ministers bowed again in kowtow.

As ministers rose, murmuring about today's audience, Tan Lun noticed something odd: Wang Wang Chonggu was still kneeling on the ground. Tan Lun gently nudged him—Wang Wang Chonggu collapsed sideways, limbs splayed, face pale, breathing erratic: sometimes rapid, sometimes slow.

Everyone was terrified.

"Deputy Grand Secretary Wang has fainted!" someone shouted. The Huangji Palace erupted in chaos.

Zhu Zhu Yijun heard the cries, paused, broke into a cold sweat, and urgently ordered Feng Bao to summon the Imperial Medical Bureau's chief physician to the Huangji Palace.

The Imperial Guard tested Wang Wang Chonggu's breath; Wan Shihé felt his pulse. His expression turned strange: Wang Wang Chonggu's pulse was perfectly steady, no sign of illness. Wan Shihé understood medicine.

Li Li Shizhen and Chen Chen Shigong, upon hearing the Deputy Grand Secretary had collapsed in the Huangji Palace, rushed there immediately.

The ministers had been cleared out. Only the Grand Secretaries remained. Zhu Zhu Yijun paced anxiously inside the Huangji Palace.

"Father! Father!" Wang Qian burst into the Huangji Palace, disheveled, frantic. He tried to rush in but was blocked by Imperial Guards; he could only shout. Zhu Zhu Yijun waved his hand: let Wang Qian enter.

After careful examination by Li Li Shizhen and Chen Chen Shigong, they reached a conclusion.

"Your Majesty, Deputy Grand Secretary Wang… is asleep," Li Li Shizhen said after thorough inspection. He hadn't fainted—he had fallen into deep sleep.

Zhu Zhu Yijun blinked, looked at Wang Qian. Wang Qian stared back, equally awkward, and blinked. He had no idea how to explain this to the emperor.

Sleeping soundly in the Huangji Palace? Only his father could pull that off!

"How many days has the Deputy Grand Secretary gone without sleep?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked Wang Qian, frowning. Wang Wang Chonggu was never a man who broke rules—this must have a cause.

"I don't know," Wang Qian paused, then spoke honestly. He didn't know how long his father had slept. He only knew that since the palace construction ended, his father had been obsessively overseeing the removal of scaffolding and final inspections—due to the tight schedule, he had personally supervised every detail.

Wang Qian had his own duties and hadn't seen his father in days. Naturally, he didn't know.

Zhu Zhu Yijun recalled seeing Wang Wang Chonggu two days prior: his eyes were bloodshot, lips pale and blue, dark circles under his eyes, complexion dull. Back then, Zhu Zhu Yijun had assumed Wang Wang Chonggu was merely sharp-minded—now he realized Wang Wang Chonggu hadn't slept properly since then.

"At least seven days," Feng Bao said. He had inquired with the Ministry of Justice's secretary and knew.

A secretary was the secretarial office of the Six Ministries—the chief clerk, ninth rank. Each Vice Minister, Director, or Clerk had their own secretary—unranked, serving their superior, usually a private secretary or advisor.

"A little rest won't hurt. Carry him home," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, removing his own cloak and draping it over Wang Wang Chonggu. He signaled Wang Qian and the Imperial Guards to carry Wang Wang Chonggu onto a sedan chair and send him home to sleep.

The floor of the Huangji Palace was too cold.

Under extreme stress, the body secretes hormones to suppress fatigue. The moment tension lifts, accumulated exhaustion crashes in. When the emperor dismissed court, Wang Wang Chonggu, finally at ease, simply fell asleep. The final phase of the palace construction was no light task—every detail involved the emperor's safety, requiring Wang Wang Chonggu's personal inspection.

For example, the Qianqing Palace's warm chamber had underfloor ceramic heating pipes. Wang Wang Chonggu had to inspect them daily. If water leaked after the emperor moved in, Wang Wang Chonggu would bear full blame. There were countless such tasks—he did it all to ensure the palace's safe handover.

Zhu Zhu Yijun was deeply satisfied with the new palace. The new home had no paint smell, everything was perfect—yet it didn't feel like a home.

"Return to the Western Garden," Zhu Zhu Yijun said after walking through the Qianqing Palace. He had lived here long; the furnishings were nearly unchanged, no sense of unfamiliarity—but he still preferred the Western Garden. There, he could avoid twenty years of detours.

Living in the Western Garden was safer.

People are living beings. Wang Wang Chonggu collapsed from exhaustion in the Huangji Palace. Feng Bao and Zhang Hong, the two tigers of the palace, also had moments of drowsiness and slackness. Zhu Zhu Yijun chose to live in the Western Garden—not to take detours, but to guarantee his safety first.

The emperor's power was limitless—but he was still a living being. Physical annihilation was all it took.

The emperor pushed new policies not for some distant posthumous glory, but because he had no other motivation: it was a life-or-death gamble against the powerful, and the outcome was rarely favorable. This explained why Emperor Jiajing's first twenty years differed utterly from his last twenty-five.

Wang Wang Chonggu awoke at dusk the next day. Disoriented from sleep, his first sensation was hunger—a gnawing, desperate hunger. He looked at the light and immediately woke: he had missed court!

He sat up sharply—and saw his son Wang Qian devouring meat.

"Why are you eating meat so early? You'll choke yourself! And you didn't wake me? If you delay court, the emperor will punish you—go eat ribs in the underworld!" Wang Wang Chonggu hurriedly dressed, scolding his son as he pulled on his robes. This unfilial son hadn't even woken him. The emperor never delayed court—how could he?

Wang Qian kept eating calmly, said nothing, just watched as Wang Wang Chonggu grabbed the wrong cloak and rushed out.

Soon, Wang Wang Chonggu returned, furious. He realized he was confused—it was evening, not morning. Court had long ended. The emperor hadn't punished him—he had sent gifts. He saw the golden dragon-embroidered imperial cloak and remembered: after yesterday's audience, he'd remembered nothing.

"You knew—and didn't tell me?" Wang Wang Chonggu exploded in rage.

"I was eating meat, mouth full. Didn't get a chance to speak before you left," Wang Qian replied calmly. "Eat without speaking, sleep without talking—that's the rule you beat into me since childhood."

"Ah! Bring me my big ring blade!" Wang Wang Chonggu felt he must kill his disobedient son today—he already had a grandson, after all!

Wang Qian showed no fear; he gestured to the food on the table and said, "Why not eat first? Father, you haven't eaten in two days—if you don't eat, you'll faint from hunger."

Wang Wang Chonggu took several deep breaths to keep from fainting with rage, then spoke: "You have a point. Eat first. Then I'll beat you."

Wang Qian served Wang Wang Chonggu his meal. Normally, servants handled such tasks, but today Wang Qian did it himself—he had experienced firsthand just yesterday what it meant to "wish to filially support one's parents while they are no longer alive," and it had nearly scared him to death.

Whenever possible, family members should eat together at one table.

"His Majesty said the dragon robe will be returned tomorrow," Wang Qian began chattering as he ladled rice for Wang Wang Chonggu. "Father, you're not young anymore—don't push yourself so hard. What happened to the Grand Marshal in Emperor Longqing Fifth Year? Wasn't it because Fang Fang Fengshi lied about the barbarian threat? The Grand Marshal worked seven days straight and nearly killed himself?"

"It's only because His Majesty doesn't hold a grudge—if he did, he could charge you with disrespect, and at your age, the Grand Secretary of Great Ming, being dragged out to the Huangji Palace courtyard to be whipped—how humiliating would that be?"

Wang Wang Chonggu could no longer contain himself. He pointed to the door and roared, "Get out! Get out of here!"

This disobedient son was infuriating! He was working this hard for state affairs—His Majesty himself praised him for loyalty and devotion to the state—and yet this son kept saying things more cruel than the last. It was too much!

"Then I'll be off," Wang Qian said cheerfully as he rose. "I was going to consult you about something at the Censorate, but I couldn't decide."

"Come back! Speak plainly." Wang Wang Chonggu dropped his anger at once upon hearing it was serious business and asked, "What is it?"

Wang Qian sat down immediately but said nothing until Wang Wang Chonggu had finished his evening meal.

When hungry, people lose their minds. Things they'd never dare do in normal times become possible when starving. Commoners usually fear the gentry like tigers, but when desperate with hunger, they'll break into the gentry's granaries—eat first, worry about order later.

Wang Wang Chonggu hadn't eaten in two days. First, restore his strength. Only when fully clear-headed would they discuss matters.

Wang Qian asked curiously, "Do you know Wang Li Shizhen?"

"I know him," Wang Wang Chonggu nodded. "He took the imperial exam with Zhang Zhang Juzheng. A literary leader, former Provincial Governor of Yunyang, later demoted—I don't know the details. His father, Wang Yu, was a remarkable man—pity he was ruined by Yan Song."

"What happened to him?"

"Isn't his family involved in maritime trade?" Wang Qian pressed.

"He and Wang Wang Xijue are both from the Taiwang clan of Taicang, descended from the Taiyuan Wangs, but not from the same branch. Wang Wang Xijue was only accepted as clan after passing the provincial exam, while Wang Li Shizhen was born into a noble family—the senior branch. Since Taicang is coastal, it's strange if they didn't engage in maritime trade."

Wang Wang Chonggu himself was from the Taiyuan Wang clan too, but that was centuries ago—they weren't even related anymore. What mattered was closeness of kinship.

"After his last demotion, Wang Li Shizhen was sent to Nanjing as Minister of Justice. But he didn't last long—he got entangled in the 'Phantom Book Case' of the Nanjing petition against Zhang Zhang Juzheng, and His Majesty stripped him of his salary."

"Wang Li Shizhen didn't do much—just stirred up noise—so only his salary was taken. But for a man who spends hundreds of gold pieces on a single banquet, money isn't the issue—it's the shame. Wang Li Shizhen refused to submit, so His Majesty ordered him to return to his hometown and await further orders." Wang Qian briefly summarized Wang Li Shizhen's life after his tenure as Yunyang Provincial Governor.

Yunyang Provincial Governor had been held by Ling Ling Yunyi, Wu Wu Baipeng, Wang Daoqun, and others—but only Wang Li Shizhen did nothing there, spending his days writing books.

That was bad enough. Then, as Minister of Justice in Nanjing, he lost his salary again, refused to yield, and was dismissed outright—sent home to await orders.

"Why is the Censorate targeting him?" Wang Wang Chonggu asked, puzzled. He saw nothing wrong here.

Wang Qian revealed the truth: "Wang Wang Xijue has a daughter, said to be a spirit-medium, famous as Tan Tan Yangzi. She claims to revere the Dao and has dominated the southern court. The reason the court noticed Wang Li Shizhen is that he became close to Tan Tan Yangzi and began worshipping the Dao, burning incense and cultivating. But it's not just about Dao worship."

"Of course," Wang Wang Chonggu said matter-of-factly. "In Great Ming, most religions are like this—no profit, who'd bother?"

Temples and Daoist monasteries in Great Ming pay no taxes, so many gentry hide their land under these institutions, just as they hide land under princely mansions—to evade state taxation. In this land survey, these falsely registered lands are the largest source of hidden acreage after outright encroachment.

Whether Tan Tan Yangzi truly had spiritual power, Wang Wang Chonggu didn't know. But a Grand Secretary like Wang Wang Xijue having a daughter who dabbles in spirits and ghosts? It was deeply shameful. If Confucius himself, who taught "the wise avoid spirits and strange powers," found out, he'd expel Wang Wang Xijue from the Confucian lineage.

"Wang Wang Xijue, Wang Li Shizhen, and Wang Wang Xijue's daughter Tan Tan Yangzi—Wang Daozhen—a powerful sect in the southern court, claiming a hundred thousand disciples. Father, what does this suggest to you?" Wang Qian linked the names and the sect together.

"You mean they're connected to the Western Hills assassination?" Wang Wang Chonggu thought carefully. If it were only about money, why would the Censorate care? What made his hair stand on end was the possibility that these people were linked to the Western Hills assassination case.

Wang Qian nodded: "Tan Tan Yangzi's top disciple is called Su Jing Sanren, known within the sect as Eunuch."

The ringleader of the Western Hills assassination had publicly claimed to be Eunuch. In the Embroidered Uniform Guard's investigation, that Eunuch was slain by His Majesty himself. Was it mere coincidence that Su Jing Sanren's sect alias was also Eunuch?

"Where did you get this information?" Wang Wang Chonggu stared at his son. The Embroidered Uniform Guard had been investigating for days with no leads—yet Wang Qian had uncovered something. It was suspicious.

"Our family is also a powerful, wealthy gentry household," Wang Qian said confidently. "So we hear things the Embroidered Uniform Guard never will. I bribed one of Tan Tan Yangzi's maids and learned many secrets—like how Su Jing Sanren left in January and didn't return to Taicang until mid-October."

Wang Qian was rich—or rather, the Wang family was wealthy. Their fortune came mainly from shares in the woolen official factory. Wang Wang Chonggu had only one son: Wang Qian could mobilize all the Wang family's human, material, and financial resources, including the Jin Party's network.

Wang Qian always managed to bribe unexpected people and obtain unexpected information—he was nicknamed "Wang the Briber."

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(End of Chapter)