Chapter 529

Li Kaifang survived the court Zhang because he ranked first in the mathematics section of the metropolitan examination; his filial piety, brotherly love, benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and filial duty were all built upon this foundation, earning him encouragement from the Great Ming Emperor—and Zhu Zhu Yijun eagerly anticipated whether anyone would now gather daily at the Wu Gate to perform the Fuque protest.

Not only Zhu Zhu Yijun, but also the eunuchs in the palace and the Embroidered Uniform Guard's Tiqi were all waiting.

Zhao Meng ordered the Tiqi to administer the court Zhang, but the Tiqi had grown so rusty they could barely recall the old craft—they had to place padding beneath the prisoner, for their hands had grown stiff after more than a decade without administering such punishment.

The Confucian scholars of the Emperor Wanli era always lacked a certain courage; why not emulate the early days of Yang Yang Tinghe and his son, who gathered over two hundred upright officials, shouting, "The state has nourished scholars for one hundred and fifty years—today is the day to die with honor!" and swarm en masse before the Huangji Gate in Fuque protest? That would be truly lively.

Since no one died in this court Zhang, Zhu Zhu Yijun sincerely hoped the Confucian scholars, upon witnessing this scene, would find the courage to act!

Come to Fuque! Come to provoke! Bring some excitement to Zhu Zhu Yijun's monotonous daily governance.

"Would you care to join the Academy of Investigation?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked Li Kaifang about his future. Li Kaifang was a dual-listed Ming Jinshi, meaning he could choose either path—if he insisted on becoming an official, Zhu Zhu Yijun would not stop him, though it would be a pity to waste his mathematical genius.

In Great Ming, officials and scholars were one and the same—a necessity born of low productivity. Intellectuals who held vast knowledge were both bureaucrats and scholars, making the development of science and engineering in Great Ming exceedingly difficult: there was only technique, no science, never forming a systematic, formulaic body of knowledge—this was the tragedy.

The Imperial Academy of Investigation admitting mathematics Ming Jinshi aimed to break this impasse; specialization in learning was not only about teaching and cultivating talent, but also about social division of labor.

"I am willing to join the Imperial Academy of Investigation," Li Kaifang replied without hesitation—he loved gazing at the stars, was endlessly curious about the infinite principles of all things, and longed for the unknown world.

Li Kaifang's favorite collection of broadsheets was the Academy's "Investigation Gazette," which always recorded fascinating truths, probing the boundaries of human understanding—what a romantic pursuit.

"Excellent! A very wise choice," Zhu Zhu Yijun smiled.

Li Kaifang was the horsebone bought for a thousand gold—he needed no further achievement in life; merely his top ranking in the metropolitan exam and his entry into the Academy served as a model, showing Great Ming's students another path: the highest temple of knowledge was not merely the Hanlin Academy, but also the Academy of Investigation.

Since Li Kaifang, a dual-listed candidate, chose the Imperial Academy of Investigation, the top fifty on the mathematics gold list would, under his example, also choose to enter the Academy.

Under Li Kaifang's influence, the top fifty on the mathematics gold list all ultimately chose to join the Academy as candidates; thus, the emperor's addition of fifty mathematics Ming Jinshi slots was fully implemented, becoming a fixed feature of Great Ming's imperial examination system.

The primary purpose of this struggle was to add these fifty slots.

Zhu Zhu Yijun was in excellent spirits, strolling back to the Zhao Wenhua Palace to resume studying his Youlong vessel; based on its sea trials, Great Ming would further optimize the mass-production version, and its capacity of twelve ships per year would firmly establish Great Ming's dominance in maritime trade.

After leaving the National Academy, Hence Hai Rui went to seek Wang Wang Chonggu, but found him absent—he had gone to the Western Hills Coal Bureau and was not in the capital. Wang Wang Chonggu rarely sat his post in the Zhang Wenyuan Pavilion or the Ministry of Justice; most days, after court deliberations, he would go to the Western Hills Coal Bureau and the Yongding Wool Factory to work.

Only by nightfall did Wang Wang Chonggu reach the city before the gates closed; thanks to the imperial highway, he could travel so swiftly—the highway from the Western Hills Coal Bureau to the capital was currently Great Ming's busiest: wool entering the factory, alkali flour from Xuanfu and Datong entering the factory, iron from all regions entering the factory, woolen cloth, honeycomb coal, coke, and ironware exiting the factory; the iron pots produced in western Jing were in such high demand overseas that supply could not meet demand.

Just from this stretch of the Western Hills highway, the customs checkpoint had already fully recovered its costs; this year, the highway had begun turning a profit.

Yet overall, the highway project still suffered heavy losses—that was the nature of the state: some highways must be built even if they lose money.

If profit were the guiding principle, then unprofitable highways would be abandoned, and some regions would forever remain without highways, forever trapped in poverty.

"Father, Grand Coordinator Hai has arrived," Wang Qian poured his father a cup of tea.

Wang Wang Chonggu did not pause to drink; he rose immediately and said, "Quickly, show him in."

Hence Hai Rui rarely violated curfew; although Great Ming's capital curfew had long become nominal—especially for court officials, who could the captains dare to monitor their nighttime movements? —Hence Hai Rui rarely broke such norms, clearly because he had something important to discuss.

Hence Hai Rui and Wang Wang Chonggu exchanged formal greetings, sat down in the study, and began exchanging pleasantries.

"So, Grand Coordinator Hai, you've come to ask about the corruption in the Zhao Dingjian Great Project?" Wang Wang Chonggu asked, his expression grave after understanding Hence Hai Rui's purpose.

Hence Hai Rui nodded. "Yes."

Experience in this area could only be gained from corrupt officials; Hence Hai Rui lacked such experience. The Zhao Dingjian Great Project's anti-corruption campaign was a new subject for him—and also a new opportunity for achievement. Corrupt officials were his metrics.

"The intricacies here are countless," Wang Wang Chonggu fell silent, unsure where to begin.

"Broadly speaking, there are four aspects: block, consume, take, demand—these are not used in isolation, but cycled and flexibly applied."

Wang Wang Chonggu used the example of the Emperor Jiajing 36th year, when all three palaces, two pavilions, and fifteen gates of the imperial palace—the entire central axis—were destroyed by fire and subsequently rebuilt, to explain the inner workings in detail to Hence Hai Rui.

Hence Hai Rui listened, stunned—could this really be done?

"Block" meant artificially imposing limits. Humans are selfish; anyone holding even a sliver of power seeks to profit from it. This phenomenon is universal. The "block" is an invisible restriction—the hidden rules and procedures known only to insiders; those who understand can enter, those who don't remain outside.

"Consume" meant feasting and drinking—not for the food or drink itself, but for social obligations. For example, without Guojiao liquor, you couldn't even host a guest. Social networking through meals was common in the Zhao Dingjian Great Project: if you drank enough, even an unqualified person got the contract; if you didn't drink enough, even a fully qualified candidate was denied. Here, one gained emotional value and built a network of contacts for future use.

"Take" meant not only bribery but also petty theft. The Zhao Dingjian Great Project was a mountain of gold and silver; if you didn't take, someone else would—so everyone took. Bribery was an art: you didn't directly take silver—it would be vulgar! Most "taking" was done through economic middlemen and brokers, who facilitated transactions; after success, the silver never reached the official's hands directly, but was instead collected by a fictitious distant relative.

"Demand" meant extortion. No one openly demanded; but when obstacles suddenly arose during project progress, a sensible person knew someone wanted something—what exactly, and how much, had to be guessed. Like Wang Wang Jiaping in Guangdong and Guangxi, who was used to Yin Yin Zhengmao and Ling Ling Yunyi directly demanding donations from wealthy gentry, Wang Wang Jiaping couldn't bear the constant guessing.

Just tell me outright: kill me or cut me down.

The reason "demand" was veiled, deceptive, and indirect was precisely to avoid directness—returning to the "block" aspect: vague rules meant control over interpretation, maximizing benefit.

This formed a cycle: vague rules facilitated blocking; blocking concentrated useful tools; "taking" harvested the gains; "demand" reinforced rule vagueness.

When an official could skillfully employ these four skills—block, consume, take, demand—he had matured.

Wang Wang Chonggu smiled: "Broadly speaking, these four aspects. But the specifics? Countless paths. Honestly, eating, drinking, taking, demanding—nothing unusual in engineering projects; the real problem lies in Cengcengpumai."

"Is Cengcengpumai not the biggest problem?" Hence Hai Rui was stunned—he had underestimated the difficulty of anti-corruption in the Zhao Dingjian Great Project.

The logic of block, consume, take, demand was already tight—and now there was something even worse.

Wang Wang Chonggu always operated this way: in his major projects, he focused on the big picture and ignored the small. Engineering quality had to be guaranteed; the daily rations and wages of poor laborers had to be paid. As for everything else, even if he were capable, he could do nothing. Guaranteeing quality and ensuring laborers received their pay was already Wang Wang Chonggu's limit—he rarely interfered with how much middlemen took.

What made Wang Wang Chonggu grit his teeth in the Zhao Dingjian Project was Cengcengpumai and subcontracting: this meant engineering quality could not be guaranteed, and wages passed through too many hands, leaving laborers who finished their work unpaid.

The emergence of the Engineering Corps was, in a sense, Wang Wang Chonggu's response to the uncontrollable nature of Cengcengpumai —he formed his own construction team, modeled after the capital garrison's structure, adding elements of official factory production methods. As projects grew larger, it eventually became what it is today.

It began simply to facilitate the Zhao Dingjian Great Project.

Cengcengpumai meant each additional layer brought another layer of corruption; subcontracting meant unclear responsibilities. Constant subcontracting made accountability difficult, involved too many parties, made investigations hard, and turned blame-shifting into the norm: wherever you went, it was "not my responsibility." Eventually, time passed and no one cared.

The "delay tactic" was the most chilling evil in the Zhao Dingjian Great Project; Cengcengpumai and subcontracting were its greatest evils.

Wang Wang Chonggu summarized: "Once Cengcengpumai exceeds three layers, the project becomes uncertain; once it exceeds five layers, the project will inevitably fail. Rather than fighting corruption, focus on eliminating Cengcengpumai. If responsibilities are clear, the block, consume, take, demand issues—I believe they won't be problems."

"Focusing primarily on Cengcengpumai is also anti-corruption—most block, consume, take, demand practices are achieved through Cengcengpumai."

"His Majesty said: prioritize the urgent and important. Cengcengpumai is the most urgent and important matter."

Wang Wang Chonggu was trying to persuade Hence Hai Rui—he was essentially saying: water too clear holds no fish.

He disliked Hence Hai Rui—they were fundamentally different. In Wang Wang Chonggu's view, Hence Hai Rui was a rigid, incorruptible minister who couldn't tolerate even a speck of dust; Wang Wang Chonggu himself was a corrupt, grasping flatterer—they could never see eye to eye. When Hence Hai Rui asked, Wang Wang Chonggu explained according to his own understanding; whether it had any effect, he didn't know.

"I humbly accept your teachings," Hence Hai Rui said after listening to Wang Wang Chonggu's experience—he had gained much.

"Er, Grand Coordinator Hai, do you think what I said has some merit?" Wang Wang Chonggu asked, astonished—Hence Hai Rui actually agreed with him, which surprised him greatly.

"Anti-corruption and tax inspection also require resources," Hence Hai Rui shook his head. "We must focus our energy on the most harmful issues."

Experience taught Hence Hai Rui that expecting absolute purity everywhere was unrealistic. He could only demand purity from himself and achieve it for himself. From the perspective of contradiction theory, one must grasp the principal contradiction; when the principal contradiction is eased, secondary contradictions are resolved incidentally.

The Zhao Dingjian Great Project involved too many people—it was better to catch the big fish and pull up the radish with the mud attached, increasing anti-corruption efficiency.

Hence Hai Rui still understood the principle of prioritizing the urgent and important, distinguishing principal from secondary contradictions.

"So Grand Coordinator Hai is also a practical official," Wang Wang Chonggu smiled. "We all serve His Majesty."

"Naturally," Hence Hai Rui did not correct Wang Wang Chonggu—yes, he served His Majesty, but also Great Ming.

The construction of highways did not make His Majesty much money; if he truly wanted to profit, he could earn faster by acquiring plantations overseas. Ultimately, His Majesty carried the people of the realm in his heart, so his policies remained focused on building up Great Ming.

The Jing-Kai highway was truly built with His Majesty's own funds; had he not spent the silver, no one would have blamed him.

But Wang Wang Chonggu was right: His Majesty's heart embraced the realm; His Majesty = Great Ming. This held true for His Majesty, but not for Dao Master or the Emperor Longqing Emperor.

Since the first year of Emperor Wanli, the Emperor had never requested an extra li of silver from the state treasury; instead, he helped the treasury through hardship, even waiving interest.

When His Majesty lent money to the West,

the interest rate made even loan sharks nod in admiration; his extension tactics made even Great Ming's powerful elites say: exploitation? You must learn from His Majesty.

"I have a memorial here," Wang Wang Chonggu shook his sleeve and pulled out a memorial. Hence Hai Rui read it and nearly fainted—he couldn't hold back his shock.

The memorial's content was explosive—it was concocted by Wan Shihé and sent to Wang Wang Chonggu, asking whether Wang wanted to sign it.

After thinking it over, Hence Hai Rui added his name to all three nearly identical memorials and took his leave.

The memorial circulated among ministers, finally reaching the Zhang Wenyuan Pavilion, then delivered to the Tonghemen Imperial Study.

Zhu Zhu Yijun finished reading the memorial and asked blankly: "Why are Hence Hai Rui and Shen Li's names here too?"

"Grand Coordinator Hai went to ask Vice Minister Wang about anti-corruption in the Zhao Dingjian Project. Vice Minister Wang answered fully and without reservation. After sharing his experience, he presented this memorial. Grand Coordinator Hai had to sign—even if he didn't want to, how could he ask Vice Minister Wang for help again later?"

"The Minister of Rites is the head of his ministry; since this memorial originated from the Ministry of Rites and passed through departmental deliberation, the Minister naturally must sign," Feng Bao explained the details.

Hence Hai Rui was forcibly dragged into this; he usually avoided such matters, but this time he couldn't dodge it, so he signed. Shen Li was even more directly involved—he couldn't avoid it, so he might as well sign his name boldly.

The memorial's content could be summed up in one sentence: the Great Ming court ministers collectively used movable type printing on His Majesty.

The Five Dragon Highway was to become the Six Dragon Highway; the highway to Kaifeng was already part of the Jing-Guang Highway. The preliminary survey and planning had long been completed by the Ministry of Works, awaiting only funds to mobilize laborers—even the official factory sites had been chosen. Then a problem arose: the highway needed directional signs.

For example, Beijing West Station, Xizhimen, Meishi Kou, Cai Shi Kou, Deshengmen, Beida Ying—all required plaques. Having His Majesty personally inscribe every plaque would waste his time.

Thus, the Ministry of Rites proposed: use His Majesty's existing characters, selected and arranged into plaques. His Majesty's handwriting has always favored vernacular script, and over the past decade of study, his characters had become extremely standardized and legible, while also filling every corner of the highway with the word "loyalty."

Loyalty!

Collecting and organizing all the characters His Majesty had written over the years, using movable type printing, might even create a new script type akin to clerical, regular, or court script.

The Ministry of Rites didn't merely propose this to flatter; His Majesty's script was steady yet sharp, aesthetically pleasing, and genuinely suitable for legibility.

People like Hence Hai Rui and Shen Li usually avoided such things—after all, it was flattery. But this time, they were caught in it; in officialdom, favors must be returned. Wang Wang Chonggu helped them, so Hence Hai Rui couldn't refuse.

This practice would normally have been ridiculed to shreds—but with Hence Hai Rui and Shen Li's signatures, the situation changed.

After all, Hence Hai Rui was an incorruptible minister, Shen Li the second-most incorruptible; they used their personal reputations to protect the court ministers' dignity. Standardizing writing for legibility—how could this be flattery? It was clearly for the betterment of Great Ming!

"These scholars really have no shame when they flatter!" Feng Bao said, disgusted and angry. The outer court ministers had stolen the eunuchs' job—how could Feng Bao not be furious?

Eunuchs had lost the flattery contest to the outer court—something that infuriated Feng Bao. This wasn't the first time: last time, it was when all new gates facing the capital were named Tonghemen.

When scholars truly applied themselves to flattery, eunuchs were no match.

"Next time, use clerical script for the Ministry of Rites—no need to use my characters," Zhu Zhu Yijun thought and rejected the memorial—he feared social death, walking everywhere and seeing his own handwriting displayed everywhere—it was too embarrassing.

There was no need to worry about someone forging documents by imitating His Majesty's handwriting; in official documents, the seal mattered most, not the script. Most people didn't know: the Emperor's seal was three inches; first- and second-rank officials' seals were two and a half inches; each lower rank decreased by one-tenth of an inch—the lower the rank, the smaller the seal. Forging seals was a technical feat—and severely punished.

Zhu Zhu Yijun was growing older; his handwriting was changing too—becoming grander, more majestic, more sharp.

Moreover, such matters required two rounds of refusal, then, under repeated ministerial entreaties, Zhu Zhu Yijun, as Emperor, would reluctantly agree with an expression of "you've all made me suffer"—this was proper ritual and the Doctrine of the Mean. He didn't want to, but the court ministers insisted.

Zhu Zhu Yijun chose to refuse. The Ministry of Rites quickly delivered a second, already-prepared memorial to Tonghemen Palace. After being rejected again, the Ministry delivered a third memorial on the same day, signed by all ministries. Zhu Zhu Yijun reluctantly kept it for a day, then returned it to the Zhang Wenyuan Pavilion the next day, "helplessly" approving the Ministry's request.

All directional signs along the highway would use the Huangge script—the style His Majesty wrote during his student years.

Wan Shihé was once again cursed to his face. He had seen flattery before, but never like this. He should no longer be called Wan Consort Ruan Gu—he should be called Wan Wu Gu. He had even tarnished Hence Hai Rui's and Shen Li's reputations! Grand Secretary Wan Shihé gave no response—he was too busy to care. After all, His Majesty had finally agreed.

The Ministry of Rites' flattery was nothing new; such actions were not surprising. The key was that Hence Hai Rui's and Shen Li's names—incorruptible ministers—appeared on the memorial, making criticism awkward. Their reputations were excellent, so the literati could only grit their teeth and pretend the incident never happened.

Huangge script was merely a side note. The imperial examination remained the public's top concern.

The Imperial Cabinet system was a side issue; the imperial examinations remained the top concern of the public.

After the metropolitan examination came the palace examination, which consisted of two parts: Confucian classics and mathematics. The mathematics portion lasted longer and received greater attention from the Emperor; of fifty mathematics Ming Jinshi, only twenty-one passed the selection of the Royal Academy of Investigating Things, while the remaining twenty-nine would teach at the Royal Academy of Engineering, continuing to prepare for the Royal Academy of Investigating Things during their teaching tenure.

Some failed not due to limited talent, but because they had never received systematic mathematical education—they did not know how to solve certain problems, and had never even seen them before; after systematic study, their chances of entering the Royal Academy of Investigating Things would be very high.

Zhu Zhu Zaiyu and Xing Xing Yunlu were extremely pleased with Li Kaifang; both were geniuses in mathematics and naturally shared many common interests.

The capital was bustling: those who passed the imperial examination rode their horses swiftly in triumph, seeing all the flowers of Chang'an in a single day, while those who failed sat in lonely sorrow, gazing at the setting sun as if it were the edge of the world, yet seeing no home in the distant horizon.

Five thousand juren gathered in the capital; only three hundred and fifty became new Ming Jinshi, the rest were failures.

Zhu Zhu Yijun received a memorial from the Ministry of Revenue, an extension of the first volume of the Theory of Class, which clearly distinguished between the poor laborers and the rural gentry; what kind of household could truly be called rural gentry?

Poor tenant farmers were households with less than five mu of land, less than one mu per person; peasant households had less than twenty mu total, five mu per person; upper peasant households had less than fifty mu total, roughly ten mu per person; middle-class households had less than one hundred mu total, less than twenty mu per person.

All these categories fell within the range of poor laborers—even middle-class households were included; such households could barely be called humble families, but if disaster or misfortune struck, even middle-class households would quickly sink into poverty. For instance, before Li Kaifang's father died of illness, his family was middle-class; after prolonged illness, they became destitute with no means of livelihood.

Only households with more than three hundred mu of land, over fifty mu per person, qualified as modestly prosperous rural gentry; only those with over a thousand mu total, over one hundred mu per person, could be called gentry.

This was a clear demarcation; based on this, Shandong, the fourteen prefectures of Nanzhili, Beizhili, and other regions that had completed population censuses and land surveys showed that poor tenant farmers, peasant households, and upper peasant households accounted for 86.

64%, middle-class households accounted for 3.08%, and rural gentry and above accounted for 10.28%, consistent with the Ministry of Revenue's earlier estimate of the Great Ming's overall situation: eight out of ten people in the realm were destitute, and ninety-eight percent of rural households teetered on the brink of ruin.

Some upper peasant households and middle-class families, through immense effort, could still afford to support one son who did not work the land but studied.

The Ministry of Revenue submitted this memorial merely to state the current reality—neither pointing out problems nor proposing solutions. The intent was clear: the Great Ming was indeed undergoing rapid change, yet the situation remained grim. As the Emperor Wanli Reforms continued, fundamental contradictions now confronted the court; the path toward the Great Ming's renewed glory was long and fraught with obstacles.

The Great Ming was already good enough—could the New Policies be halted? The answer was certainly no; to halt them now would mean destroying everything achieved, for retreat or pause meant falling into an abyss behind, where wolves, tigers, and panthers lurked.

The New Policies continued to advance; good news reached the capital: the Feiyun, under construction in the shipyard, was finally preparing to launch.

The Feiyun was a sail-powered warship designed based on fast merchant vessels, built entirely for war—armed to the teeth. The Great Ming's ability to construct sail-powered warships meant it could now conduct overseas campaigns, a matter of immense importance to the Great Ming's opening of the seas.

Sail-powered warships were far more complex than merchant ships, and due to the large quantities of gunpowder aboard, proper storage, management, and the formation of combat readiness would still require time.

But this was the world's first sail-powered warship; its launch marked the Great Ming's official turn toward the globe in its opening of the seas.

Merchant ships trading across the four seas required military protection; otherwise, the numerous plantations would merely be meat on the chopping block.