Chapter 468: My Lower Limit Is Your Upper Limit

To the steppe people, the Ming was becoming more violent, just as the Confucian classic says: Confucius, standing by the river, said: "Time flows like this, never ceasing day or night."

The steppe people interpreted it as: the Ming people now stand like wise sages by the river, cold and heartless, as countless corpses drift past them, day and night.

Qi Qi Jiguang knew the steppe people understood this phrase that way, and it gave him a headache—it was Confucius and his disciples watching the swift flow of the Si River below the hill, lamenting how time, like water, never stops and never returns.

The steppe people took "the departed" to mean "the dead," a result of the lack of literary education in Suiyuan; Suiyuan desperately needed literati to come and promote culture, strengthen cultural assimilation, and forge greater consensus with the Ming heartland until they became inseparable—that was true reconciliation.

But the emperor's message was grim: Ming scholars clearly had no desire to come to Suiyuan to eat sand, making the promotion of literature and education extremely difficult.

Cultural identity is the most fundamental form of allegiance, the most essential means of royal transformation; garrisoning troops, levying taxes, registering households, standardizing carts and writing—these are conquests, territorial administration; the final step, unity of heart and virtue, cannot be achieved without cultural identity—how can one speak of inseparability without it?

Liang Liang Menglong was furious, yet helpless.

"What good is winning battles!" Liang Liang Menglong slammed his fist on the table and stood up; the central command tent fell into an eerie silence. Qi Qi Jiguang and Liang Liang Menglong's faces were grim—on one side, the Ming army pressed forward with vigor; on the other, scholar-officials desperately dragged their feet.

Expansion? Expansion my ass! With this class of scholar-officials in the Ming, even if we conquered vast lands, we could never transform them—what use would that be?

At that moment, Liang Liang Menglong finally understood why Nurgan Regional Military Commission, Danning Guard, the Ordos, Jiaozhi, and even today's Liaodong had gradually ceased to be real territorial prefectures under the prevailing spirit of meticulous calculation.

Eighty percent of the Ordos population is Han, yet this is not Han land, because no officials or scholars are willing to come to this cultural desert to promote literature and education—without cultural identity, how can there be consensus?

"Temporary strength lies in force; lasting victory lies in reason! A bunch of lazy, mouthy fools who won't even endure this much hardship!" Liang Liang Menglong's voice boomed; everyone in the central command tent remained silent.

Liang Liang Menglong's eyes flashed with cold light: "Marshal Qi, petition the court to invoke the ancestral Great Proclamation, using the case of Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi's finger-cutting as precedent: any arrogant, foolish scholar who refuses to go to newly conquered lands shall be beheaded and his family confiscated!"

Chen Chen Dacheng blinked and asked: "The Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi finger-cutting case? What's that?"

In the early Emperor Hongwu era, a bizarre case occurred in court: the case of the Confucian scholar Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi cutting off his fingers.

At the dynasty's founding, the realm was devastated and officials scarce; Emperor Taizu Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang issued an edict ordering eminent scholars to enter official service. In Guixi County, Guangxin Prefecture, a Confucian scholar named Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi denied the legitimacy of the Ming regime, still yearning for the orthodox "Hu Yuan," refused to serve, and even cut off his own fingers to demonstrate his resolve.

Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang, upon hearing this, flew into a rage, had the two arrested and brought to the capital, and confronted Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi directly. Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi spoke insolently, shouting "Red Bandits" (referring to the rebel leaders of the late Yuan and early Ming, all of whom wore red headbands). Enraged, Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang invoked the theory of the sovereign as a second parent: a ruler who quelled prolonged chaos and restored peace to the realm granted the people the right to live and thrive, just as a second parent gives life.

This is also one reason why Ming emperors were called "sovereign-father."

Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi was ultimately executed, and Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang included his case in the Great Proclamation, establishing a permanent rule: any scholar-official in the realm who refuses to serve the sovereign shall have his family confiscated, to extinguish the trend of arrogance and folly.

The strangeness of this case lies in this: if Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi truly wished to serve the Yuan, why not simply kill himself in loyalty? Throughout history, scholars have died for fallen dynasties—if he truly believed in orthodoxy, why not die?

Loyalty that is not absolute is absolute disloyalty.

Was Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi a true adherent of orthodoxy? Not at all—he was manufacturing an anti-surrender public opinion, opposing the Ming's overly intrusive policies; southern scholar-officials adored the extreme freedom of the Yuan.

The second strangeness lies in this: Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang brought the uncle and nephew to the capital and publicly debated them, until Zi Xia Zi Xia Boqi had no rebuttal, before executing him. Given Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang's violent temperament, why did he endure so long, speaking so much to such a fool? He should have just killed him outright—wasting words.

Now Liang Liang Menglong understood: it must be made clear—killing him outright would only fuel the public opinion, and it would be hard to establish a consistent precedent.

The most bizarre part is that the permanent rule in the Great Proclamation gradually became a dormant clause, no longer enforced.

Now is the time to revive ancestral law!

The Ming ancestors did many outrageous things—and that's actually good, because anything can be justified by invoking ancestral precedent.

"Not advisable," Qi Qi Jiguang sighed and shook his head. "Times have changed. If they don't want to come, forcing them will only backfire—they have no ability to accomplish anything, but great skill at causing trouble. The old case of Jiaozhi's Thirteen Directorates is a clear warning."

When Huang Fu, the Governor and Surveillance Commissioner of Annan, was stationed there, nothing went wrong. But after he left, local officials and eunuchs immediately exploited the people to the extreme, sparking rebellion; Jiaozhi became Annan, and now the entire Annan elite had reached a consensus to break from Ming rule. Zhang Zhang Juzheng had no choice but to increase grain imports to Annan to drive a wedge between its rulers and producers.

They have no ability to accomplish anything, but immense skill at causing trouble. A forcibly twisted melon is neither sweet nor thirst-quenching.

In the Han-Steppe mixed Ordos, tensions are extremely sharp; even without wind, waves rise three feet high. If these forcibly twisted melons arrive, who knows how many troubles they'll stir up?

"Reasonable," Liang Liang Menglong said after a moment's thought, clenching his fist.

The Ordos situation is worse than Lu Song; Lu Song is wealthy, the Ordos is destitute. Even with the reward of promotion every three years and a special imperial examination for those serving nine years, it still makes no difference.

"Worthless bones," Liang Liang Menglong sat down and sighed heavily; the central command tent fell silent again.

"Just do your job," Qi Qi Jiguang said with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry too much. We soldiers are anxious, but it won't help. The emperor wrote in his letter that he will handle it—those best at dealing with scholars are scholars themselves."

The suppression of bandits in the Ordos was nearing its end; some of the old irrigation canals had even been dredged. The spring plowing in the Ordos was half a month later than in the interior, but spring had returned—the wild geese had flown north, the Three Frontiers troops had begun moving into the Ordos, and the Viceroy of Suiyuan, Pan Pan Jixun, had already arrived in Shengzhou. All that remained was for county magistrates, teachers, prefects, and their six departments to arrive, after which the Beijing garrison could prepare to return to the capital.

Now, the entire plan had been thrown into chaos due to the lack of officials.

Qi Qi Jiguang trusted the emperor would resolve this issue, just as the emperor trusted Qi Qi Jiguang to win battles—not to suddenly don a yellow robe and seize the throne. This was mutual trust.

"To fully transform the Ordos, we must promote literature and education—but no scholars are willing to come. This time, when the emperor summoned Confucian scholars to the Ordos, no one responded. In my view, this is merely scholars bargaining with the emperor for greater honors," Qi Qi Jiguang said with a smile. "Don't worry too much—the emperor will handle this matter."

Qi Qi Jiguang's way of thinking was entirely different from ordinary people's—he approached matters from the scholars' own motives, making everything clear and concise.

This was also his method of warfare.

For example, to secure the northern gate of the Ming capital, one must not merely hold the four passes—Xifengkou, Meilou, etc. —but must hold Danning Guard beyond the frontier; to secure Beigukou, one must hold Rehe, where the Ming has newly built a military fortress, another mountain route to Quanning Guard; to attack Bansheng, one must first capture Dongsheng Guard, the Daqingshan Pass, and Wuchuan County, so that with a three-pronged encirclement, Altan Khan will be forced to either fight a decisive battle or retreat west.

This reverse-thinking approach was uncommon—even among generals who had conquered entire kingdoms.

For example, when the Jin destroyed the Northern Song, Wanyan Wanyan Zongwang marched from Youzhou (Beijing), bypassed the passes, lived off the enemy, and marched straight for Kaifeng. In the first siege of Kaifeng, he was repelled by Zhong Shidao's western army arriving from the west; the Song's western forces successfully relieved the city, forcing Wanyan Wanyan Zongwang to retreat. Only then did he realize: to capture Kaifeng, he must block the Song's western reinforcements; to block those reinforcements, he must capture Taiyuan.

Wanyan Wanyan Zongwang and Wanyan Wanyan Zonghan finally united their forces at Taiyuan, defeated Wang Bing, who had held out for 250 days, and only after the second siege of Kaifeng did they capture Emperor Emperor Huizong and Emperor Emperor Qinzong.

Last time, when Lu Song needed scholars to promote literature, the Ming emperor offered special imperial examinations for those who went, nine-year special appointments, and merit-based rewards. This time, the Ordos is closer than Lu Song, and the living conditions are similar—Lu Song is unbearably hot, the Ordos is full of sandstorms; what scholars want is simply for the emperor to raise the stakes.

Qi Qi Jiguang was right—this time, scholars are demanding more concessions.

"While everyone is here, I'll say a few words. Some problems have emerged in this campaign," Qi Qi Jiguang signaled the officers to sit down. He was about to scold them. He showed Liang Liang Menglong the emperor's letter—actually to display his imperial favor and solidify his authority, a small trick he learned from Zhang Zhang Juzheng.

He didn't even need to do this—his authority in the army was so great that even the most rebellious Li Li Rusong wouldn't dare breathe loudly, let alone complain afterward.

Qi Qi Jiguang looked at Li Li Rusong: "Li Li Rusong's cavalry regiment has the worst discipline and reputation. During the campaign against Wuchuan, they seized all the cattle and sheep from twelve local tribes without a word—just outright theft. Only after the discipline officer found out and compensated them did the matter quiet down. Border folk live hard—if our imperial troops all acted like this, the steppe would become a land of bandits."

Li Li Rusong said nothing, offered no excuse, but carefully noted it down. He wanted to find out which little bastard couldn't control his hands and stole from these tribes—making him lose face before the commander!

The elite Beijing garrison didn't lack for silver; the cavalry regiment certainly didn't either.

He had not given such an order.

"Ma Gui led two wagon regiments; they clashed over spoils and killed someone. Is this true?" Qi Qi Jiguang asked Ma Gui.

Li Li Rusong grinned—pressure shifted to Ma Gui.

Ma Gui froze, his scalp prickling: "Yes. One dead, three wounded."

"Why wasn't it reported?" Qi Qi Jiguang asked calmly.

"We reported them as battle deaths. If we reported deaths from looting, they wouldn't qualify for the Hall of Loyalty and Valor. Zhao Erniu was from Huguang, selected into the Beijing garrison, marched a thousand miles to Shengzhou, and died over something like this—I just couldn't bring myself to say it." Ma Gui chose honesty—who doesn't protect his own men? If you don't protect your men, on the battlefield, your center is wide open, and the enemy charges straight for your command.

Looting spoils isn't honorable; those who die from it can't be enshrined in the Hall of Loyalty and Valor.

"From now on, report accurately—even if they won't be enshrined in the Hall of Loyalty and Valor," Qi Qi Jiguang's punishment seemed heartless, but discipline was discipline: what it was, it was. He continued: "Compensation will still be paid; when informing the families, call it an accident."

Compensation was paid because it was the emperor's grace; for campaigns beyond the frontier, except for mutinies, all fallen soldiers received battle-death compensation. Calling it an accident gave the soldiers dignity.

The elite Beijing garrison soldiers were living men—they also coveted gold and silver, wanted to take more, hoard it, and sometimes caused chaos over spoils.

Even so, the lower limit of discipline in the Ming Beijing garrison was already the upper limit of other armies.

Was Li Li Rusong's cavalry stealing a few cattle and sheep even worth mentioning?

After capturing Bansheng, Qi Qi Jiguang didn't order three days of unrestricted slaughter—he was already a benevolent army.

"Yesterday, the miscellaneous supply officers delivered the accounts. I found that the Yao Wu Regiment had falsely reported three thousand shi of fried flour. I investigated thoroughly and discovered these three thousand shi were sold to traveling merchants, who resold them to border folk at high prices. All proceeds have now been seized, making up the shortfall."

The Yao Wu Regiment was directly commanded by Qi Qi Jiguang—this was his own fault. The regiment had received three thousand shi extra of fried flour, worth forty thousand taels of silver, sold to traveling merchants, who then sold them to border folk—though the actual value was hard to measure, since they mostly exchanged for cattle, sheep, and horses.

Full confiscation meant arresting everyone and seizing all silver, cattle, sheep, and horses.

Military officers who tampered with grain rations probably wouldn't be executed—executing an officer required reporting to court and the emperor's personal approval. Given the emperor's broader military strategy, these officers would likely be exiled to places like Song Yingchang to guard the frontier. But the merchants who trafficked military grain had no such luck—they would definitely be beheaded and displayed.

This punishment was meant to deter merchants from knowingly trafficking military grain.

Qi Qi Jiguang spoke for a long time—many small problems, none major, but all had to be solved. Preventing small issues from growing into irreparable damage required addressing them early.

Every time he held a frontline command meeting, the pressure was greater than going into battle! The eunuch supervisor Li Li Yougong sat silently, his small hand rapidly recording everything!

All these issues would eventually be reported to the emperor.

When Qi Qi Jiguang finished, Liang Liang Menglong said with a touch of resignation: "Don't blame Marshal Qi for being so strict—we're far from court, and the censorial officials scrutinize us with microscopes, ready to impeach us over the slightest thing, all because of those distant frontier matters. Be careful, gentlemen."

The elite Beijing garrison was unmatched in the world; its only real danger was the prevailing trend of neglecting military affairs for civil culture. They were all veterans—Liang Liang Menglong didn't need to say it; everyone knew that before the Emperor Wanli Reforms, these problems were fatal wounds, with no internal solution possible.

Regardless of right or wrong, censorial officials repeatedly stirred up similar public opinion merely for the sake of impeachment.

Li Li Yougong recorded the details of this frontline command meeting in precise writing and sent the report to the capital.

Zhu Zhu Yijun received the report quickly—the courier dispatch from Yuan Prefecture to the capital would reach him within ten days.

"Marshal Qi found more problems than these censorial officials!" Zhu Zhu Yijun chuckled as he read the report to Feng Bao.

Compared to the censorial officials' baseless accusations, Qi Qi Jiguang's findings were more numerous and specific, making the nitpicking censors look like clowns.

Who doesn't steal a bite while cooking?

Eighty thousand elite soldiers of the Beijing garrison went out to fight—of course there would be problems. The garrison had issues, but they were minor.

Administrative work is invisible but immensely powerful; a moment's slackness leads to major problems. That's why Qi Qi Jiguang always kept his nerve taut—the Beijing garrison's character closely matched the emperor's: both dared to confront contradictions and errors, not evade them.

"Has the Ministry of Personnel made any progress in recruiting scholars to Suiyuan?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked about the recruitment of officials to Suiyuan.

Feng Bao shook his head: "No. No one is willing to go voluntarily."

Stalemate.

The same was true for Lu Song's appointed officials and supervisors—no one wanted this hard labor. This was one of the key internal obstacles to Ming transformation of the steppe.

Zhu Zhu Yijun frowned, annoyed: "They haven't even started working and are already demanding better treatment. If they love calculation so much, why not calculate away the Northern Court? The north is harsh and cold—why not just move the capital south?"

"But it wasn't done," Feng Bao, as a eunuch, never missed a chance to speak ill of the scholar-officials.

Emperor Yongle's move of the capital north had been denounced as chaotic governance. When scholar-officials discussed this, they never considered that the Yan-Yun Sixteen Prefectures had been lost for 480 years. Five centuries had passed; even carved inscriptions had faded. The north-south rift at the dynasty's founding was something today's scholars could hardly comprehend.

By the time of Emperor Renzong, the call to return the capital south grew louder and louder; even in the Emperor Wanli era, the two capitals were still referred to equally.

"Wang Ci did submit a memorial on this issue," Feng Bao found Wang Wang Chonggu's memorial on the imperial desk—it concerned recruiting scholars to Suiyuan.

Zhu Zhu Yijun read it for a long time. Wang Wang Chonggu's solution wasn't to raise the reward—it was to lower it.

Promotion every three years and special imperial examination after nine years was changed to promotion every six years and special examination after nine years—a reduction in compensation.

If that wasn't enough, lower it further!

No more special grants—just the same nine-year promotion as the interior. If still insufficient, lower it further: turn it into exile. If they fail, don't even dream of returning to the interior—just die there.

The Ming was no longer the early dynasty. Now, every post had three or four candidates waiting. The best way to deal with worthless scholars was to keep lowering the reward. Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile. That's their nature: retreat a step, and they advance three; advance a step, and they grumble reluctantly and reluctantly do the work.

Wang Wang Chonggu stated his practical experience in the memorial: the Jin Party.

As the greatest protector of the Jin Party, when Wang Wang Chonggu had once used all his strength to shield them, he was met with nothing but criticism. But when the Ming army launched its northern campaign against Bansheng, Wang Wang Chonggu imposed strict internal control, purged a batch of corrupt officials, and the Jin Party immediately became obedient.

Wang Wang Chonggu had a point: yes, he was a shield, but a shield only needs to protect once or twice—it's not meant for stress-testing.

Normally, doing a bit of business, everyone turns a blind eye—that's fine. But during wartime, trading with the barbarians? Isn't that testing Wang Wang Chonggu's patience? During wartime, how could Wang Wang Chonggu's great umbrella possibly hide it?

Therefore, Wang Wang Chonggu believes the best response is to lower prices, not raise them—a judgment that aligns with Qi Qi Jiguang's in Wuyuan Prefecture. No one answered the call because the court offered too much; lower it, lower it to exile status, and if that still fails, activate the Grand Ancestor's Great Proclamation!

"The Master says the Deputy Grand Secretary is right," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, looking at the floating Piao on the memorial. Zhang Zhang Juzheng was correct about lowering prices.

Now it was Zhang Zhang Juzheng's turn to say this. He gave a vivid example: the Examination of Performance Law, once the bridle was placed on Ming's officials, administrative efficiency soared, and the Ming's governing power was restored.

The bridle? If it needs to be put on, put it on.

After a moment's thought, Zhu Zhu Yijun annotated the memorial: "Good idea. Notify the Ministry of Personnel: change promotion cycles from three years to six, and issue another call."

If one attempt fails, try again. The Ming will need to expand in the future. Whenever no one answers the call, Zhu Zhu Yijun will lower the price—just like the Northern Song did, exiling officials to Lingnan. If they perform poorly, they'll never be allowed to return to the heartland in their lifetime.

"Your Majesty, I have a question: how did the Grand Secretary, the Deputy Grand Secretary, and the Great General determine the lowly Confucians' intent? I am dull-witted." Feng Bao, as the Inner Minister, keenly realized he was falling behind. If he didn't advance, his position as the old patriarch might be ousted by Li Li Yougong.

"Ah, this." Zhu Zhu Yijun thought for a moment and said: "Zhang Feng Da Ban, you and Feng Feng Da Ban play a game to explain this. Start counting from one, each time adding only one or two. Whoever says twenty wins."

"Zhang Feng Da Ban, come closer. I'll tell you the foolproof method."

Zhu Zhu Yijun wrote several numbers on a slip and handed it to Zhang Hong.

Feng Bao lost repeatedly, whether he started first or Zhang Hong did—so long as Zhang Hong held that slip, he always won.

"This…"

Zhu Zhu Yijun unfolded the slip and said: "The slip lists these numbers: 17, 14, 11, 8, 5, 2. Whoever says any one of these numbers will win."

Feng Bao stared at the numbers, stunned. "How were these numbers derived?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun smiled: "Start counting from one—adding one or two is unpredictable, countless possibilities. But reverse it: to win by saying twenty, you must first secure seventeen. Because after you say seventeen, Zhang Hong can only say eighteen or nineteen—you win. To get seventeen, you must get fourteen; and so on. Whoever holds any number from this sequence will always win."

"Your uncle used this math game yesterday to explain a mathematical theory that answers your question."

"Theory? What theory?" Feng Bao asked curiously.

"There are twenty steps. Each step bears a number. You may climb one or two steps at a time. List every possible sequence of steps you step on. How many unique ways are there to reach the top?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked with a smile.

"I don't know." Feng Bao thought briefly, then gave up.

Zhu Zhu Yijun explained: "If you think forward, this problem is hard. But think backward: to reach step twenty, there are only two possibilities—from step nineteen or eighteen. So the number of ways to reach twenty equals the sum of ways to reach nineteen and eighteen: f(20) = f(19) + f(18). Then f(18) = f(17) + f(16). Eventually, you only need f(1) = 1, f(2) = 2, and you can compute f(20) = 【number】."

"Your uncle named this backward thinking 'recursion,' and forward thinking 'iteration.'"

When one quantity changes with another, that relationship is called a function: if a variable depends on another, then the former is the latter's function. 'Function' comes from the word for 'letter'—it signifies correspondence.

When a function calls itself directly or indirectly, that's recursion in mathematics: transforming a large, complex problem into a simpler one resembling the original.

To reach step one: one way. To reach step two: two ways. To reach step three: f(3) = f(1) + f(2) = 1 + 2 = 3—three ways total.

"Your Majesty's explanation has made me even more confused…" Feng Bao stood frozen. Should he go to Nanjing or Fengyang to grow vegetables? Maybe that's a decent end.

Zhu Zhu Yijun, seeing Feng Bao's bewildered face, smiled: "This isn't mysticism. You don't need to become a mathematician. You don't need to grasp its essence. How to put it? Translate it: one gives birth to two, two to three, three to all things—this endless generation is iteration. Yin reaches its peak, then yang arises; yang reaches its peak, then yin arises. The Dao of Heaven cycles endlessly—that's recursion."

"Even simpler: turn big problems into small ones, and small ones into nothing."

"Thank Your Majesty for the teaching." Feng Bao suddenly understood when viewing it from this angle.

Turning big problems into small ones—he knew this well. Thinking this way, he finally understood: recursion isn't just simplifying big problems—it's turning big problems into small ones, small ones into even smaller ones, solving them one by one, leveraging existing systems to implement policy.

The lowly Confucians refused to go not because they didn't want the imperial special examination degree or the three-year promotion—they were haggling.

"Wang Wang Chonggu excels in clever tactics; the Master excels in the Way." Zhu Zhu Yijun looked at Zhang Zhang Juzheng's floating Piao and couldn't help but marvel—the two ministers' styles were utterly different.

Wang Wang Chonggu masters technique; Zhang Zhang Juzheng masters the Dao.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's proposal: reform the education system, establish specialized academies to train scholars for expansion, create a system like the Maritime Academy, to prevent such nonsense in the future. If the court entrusts academies to train scholars, what if they break their contract?

In a feudal imperial age, breaking a contract was slapping the Emperor in the face.

Only men like Hai Rui—the upright, unyielding ministers—carrying coffins and grounding their arguments in practice—could walk away unscathed.

These lowly Confucians had no upright spirit. So entrusted training is a vital supplement, serving the strategy of simultaneous land and sea expansion.

(End of Chapter)