Chapter 531

Zhang Zhang Juzheng, fully aware of the fate awaiting him, nonetheless pursued with pure, relentless, and total dedication the revival of the Great Ming—until his very last breath—because a stable and orderly state was vital to the people of the realm.

At the end of a dynasty, warlords rise; in chaos, nine out of ten households lie empty; dynastic change is the most terrifying calamity any Chinese person can face, and no one escapes unscathed.

"As long as I draw breath, this resolve shall never waver"—these were the words Zhang Zhang Juzheng spoke to the Emperor Wanli Emperor, and he lived by them.

Most people respect Zhang Zhang Juzheng's pure and extreme devotion, for all are beneficiaries; through the ages, the Han realm has always produced loyal ministers, and history's forked paths demand heroes to stand as unyielding rocks, diverting the river of time to shield the world from storm and rain.

But the petty Confucians will call Zhang Zhang Juzheng a fool.

Yang Bo once called Zhang Zhang Juzheng a fool; before his retirement, he tirelessly worked to merge Chu and Jin factions, uniting their guilds so they need not fight for the Zhu family—Zhang Zhang Juzheng could then gain immense power, while the palace held only an orphaned empress and her child.

The realm belongs to the Zhu family, not to you, Zhang Zhang Juzheng!

What use is the Great Ming you so fiercely defend? While you live, none dare oppose you; when you die, who will protect your family from retribution? Your burning passion is but futile struggle, destined to vanish into nothing.

When Zhang Zhang Juzheng finally collapsed from exhaustion, he gave all his life's blood to this land—only to see his home seized by imperial order, his family surrounded, his eldest son driven to suicide, over a dozen relatives starved to death, and his name slandered with endless rumors—that was the moment when seeking glory brought only shame, and when the loyal hearts of the realm turned cold toward the Great Ming.

Now, the Great Ming Emperor's support for the new policies—even his personal leadership of them—has finally ignited the dead hearts of the Ming loyalists.

The Viceroy Xu Wei and the Maritime Trade Commissioner Sun Sun Keyi arrived in Nagasaki with the resolve to die.

Events unfolded far more simply than they'd imagined: Japan was engulfed in civil war, with feudal lords entrenched in factional strife, creating an opening for the Great Ming to intervene; Japan's deep internal divisions made it ripe for manipulation, and without a unified court, it could not unite against external threats—allowing the Nagasaki Viceroyalty to emerge and grow stronger unchecked.

Most crucially, the Nagasaki Viceroyalty stood behind the mighty Great Ming, leaving Japan no choice but to accept the spread of the treasure notes—like a man resigned to his fate.

The entire assassination of Oda Nobunaga had been thoroughly investigated by the Maritime Patrol Inspector Shuishui Fei; the Great Ming's intelligence-gathering and analysis capabilities, strengthened by constant military revitalization, had grown so sharp they knew exactly how many meals Oda Nobunaga ate each day.

The distant watchtower scouts and the Maritime Patrol Inspector Shuishui Fei—these two strongest intelligence networks of the Great Ming—were incomprehensible to petty Confucians: how could anyone sacrifice themselves so utterly for the collective good of the Great Ming? These were elite soldiers, men who could have ruled mountains as bandit lords, yet they quietly infiltrated enemy camps, gathering intelligence and funneling it to court to aid state decisions.

The casualty rate among the distant watchtower scouts dropped by less than ten percent because the Great Ming had completed its purge of the northern barbarians—now there was no war in the north; yet the casualty rate among Maritime Patrol Inspectors remained above twenty percent, yet they never lacked for personnel.

The assassination occurred on the afternoon of the sixteenth day of the second month.

On the twelfth day of the second month, at noon, Oda Nobunaga left the Azuchi Castle keep and headed for Kyoto.

The keep of Azuchi Castle was Oda Nobunaga's stronghold; in the first year of Emperor Wanli, he traveled from Owari Province to the capital, resting at a temple in a fishing village on the shore of Lake Biwa—An'yō Temple—and recognized its strategic importance, beginning construction that took three years to complete. He then moved his capital from Owari to Azuchi Castle.

Oda Nobunaga's Azuchi era was defined by Azuchi Castle.

From Azuchi Castle's keep, it took only three days to reach Kyoto.

Oda Nobunaga's envisioned system was not the shogunate system, where the Japanese emperor appointed the Shogun and the Great Ming granted the title of King of Japan—but a system ruled directly by the people of the land. This was why, for years, Oda Nobunaga had delayed forming a shogunate.

He despised the shogunate, believing all of Japan's chaos stemmed from it.

After Oda Nobunaga marched on Kyoto, he did not reside in the capital but stayed within the keep of Azuchi Castle.

On this day, Oda Nobunaga left his stronghold for Kyoto, resting at Honnō-ji Temple on the Kawara-chō street, preparing to summon his six army commanders to discuss the annihilation of the Mōri clan.

Oda Nobunaga arrived at Honnō-ji on the afternoon of the fifteenth; on the morning of the sixteenth, court nobles of Kyoto came to pay their respects; after his midday nap, Oda Nobunaga mounted a kikuchō horse, wearing a black southern barbarian helmet, a red upper garment, a brocade outer robe, tiger-skin riding breeches, and a crimson cloak, his face painted.

Japanese makeup was peculiar: they shaved off their eyebrows and painted new ones.

As Oda Nobunaga stepped out of Honnō-ji, he stood by the roadside asking when Tokugawa Ieyasu would arrive. As he spoke, the crack of a matchlock rang out—a foot soldier, long hidden, fired two shots at Oda Nobunaga; the soldier carried two matchlocks.

The first missed; the second struck Oda Nobunaga's son, Nobutaka, straight through the heart—killing him instantly.

The foot soldier was immediately captured; interrogation revealed his origin: the Mōri clan. Mōri Terumoto commanded Japan's second-largest navy, the legacy of his father and two uncles' efforts; Japan's largest navy was the Nagasaki Gashū Navy.

Unlike other Japanese daimyō, who frequently turned on each other, the Mōri clan was united—both uncles devotedly supported Mōri Terumoto. Upon learning Oda Nobunaga planned to summon his six commanders at Honnō-ji to discuss attacking them, they naturally reacted, sending twenty men to Kyoto for the assassination.

The first attempt succeeded…

"Oda Nobunaga's reaction was strange," said Chen Lin, his face grim. "He had gathered his six commanders to plan the destruction of the Mōri clan. After Nobutaka's death, Oda Nobunaga abruptly canceled the campaign and returned to Azuchi Castle."

Strange.

When had Oda Nobunaga become so mild? Mōri Terumoto had invaded his homeland and killed his son—and yet he canceled his military campaign and retreated to Azuchi Castle?

"Oda Nobunaga was deeply uneasy," said Xu Wei after reviewing the intelligence. "Assassinations among daimyō are common; Mōri Terumoto sent twenty foot soldiers merely to make a show of response—'if you threaten me, I must respond,'—not with intent to kill."

Sun Sun Keyi immediately said: "There's a traitor inside. This is using a knife to kill."

Xu Wei affirmed: "Yes. How did the foot soldier know the exact time of Oda Nobunaga's departure and lie in wait? Why did his personal guards fail to detect the ambush? The assassination itself is irrelevant—what matters is how the foot soldier reached that spot."

"Until these two questions are answered, Oda Nobunaga cannot rest—he must return to his stronghold and purge his inner circle."

Xu Wei knew nothing of warfare; if Oda Nobunaga truly launched an all-out attack, Xu Wei and Sun Sun Keyi would simply ignite the Nagasaki Viceroyalty's gunpowder depot, creating a massive explosion—forcing the Great Ming to intervene and destroy Japan.

Han envoys have always acted this way: during Emperor Wu's reign, the envoy An Guo Shaoji was sent to Nanyue, where he physically seduced Wang Hou Jiu—rolling her into submission—and thus she pushed for Nanyue's submission to Han.

Prime Minister Lü Jia of Nanyue could no longer endure the couple, launched a coup, and killed them—only for Han's celestial troops to arrive immediately, as if they had been waiting for this very day.

Xu Wei knew nothing of warfare, but he understood human nature. At this moment, Oda Nobunaga was at his most vulnerable—he had a traitor among his inner circle.

"Is it him?" asked Sun Sun Keyi, raising an eyebrow.

Xu Wei thought a moment and said: "Perhaps him."

"Who?" asked Chen Lin, baffled. What secret code were these two speaking?

Xu Wei glanced around, then whispered: "Mitsuhide Akechi—a man of great ambition, one of Oda Nobunaga's three top generals. He maintained secret correspondence with the Japanese emperor Ashikaga Yoshiaki, one of Yoshiaki's offerings to the Great Ming."

"He wants to become the Japanese emperor, the Shogun."

The Nagasaki Viceroyalty knew some of the truth; Xu Wei and Sun Sun Keyi were aware Akechi harbored treasonous intent, because after Ashikaga Yoshiaki fled to the Great Ming, he had no intention of ever managing Japan again—being an absentee monarch suited him fine, just as the King of Ryukyu enjoyed exchanging insults with the Great Ming's imperial court, at least without the burden of exile.

Ashikaga Yoshiaki had sold out Akechi's ambitions—cleanly, completely—and even the Nagasaki Viceroyalty now knew Akechi had wolfish ambitions.

"But isn't he one of Japan's Three Great Warlords, one of Oda Nobunaga's most trusted generals? He would…" Chen Lin's eyes widened—he was truly astonished. Japan was a shallow pond teeming with turtles; rebellion from below had become a cultural trademark.

Xu Wei sighed: "Oda Nobunaga always sought to build a system utterly unlike the current shogunate—but after all his twists and turns, he still ended up on the old path of rebellion from below. What can you do? Japan is Japan."

"With the influx of Great Ming treasure notes, the price of Japanese yūjo has fallen—from three taels of silver to three kuan in treasure notes."

Xu Wei spoke of recent price trends in Nagasaki, especially the cost of yūjo. Japanese yūjo were not merely prostitutes; "yū" meant wandering—homeless, without stable livelihoods, drifting from place to place.

Forced to sell their bodies for meager wages to survive, yūjo were effectively synonymous with prostitutes.

Only after the establishment of the Nagasaki Viceroyalty did the term yūjo begin to diverge from prostitute: if the viceroyalty's matron confirmed a woman was a virgin, she could be priced at three taels and shipped to the Great Ming.

In the ninth year of Emperor Wanli, over four thousand yūjo were transported to the Great Ming; some of the most beautiful, with family backgrounds in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, became entertainers on pleasure boats; the rest learned Mandarin and were uniformly assigned.

In the Great Ming, bachelorhood was widespread—not from lack of effort, but due to the common practice of female infanticide: newborn girls were drowned immediately. This created a severe gender imbalance: daughters were seen as water spilled out; only sons could carry on the family line. This belief caused the imbalance.

At this time, bride prices grew ever heavier: in the late Northern Song, when Qin Gui was captured by the Jin, his wife said, "You paid me twenty thousand cash as bride price—and now you've dragged me through hardship."

In the eighth year of Yuan Zhiyuan, Kublai Khan decreed: for middle-class families, bride price must not exceed thirty kuan; for scholars and gentry, no more than one hundred kuan.

During Emperor Hongwu's reign, Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang personally issued an edict: "In ancient marriage rites, two families united to reinforce human relations. Recently, people focus solely on bride price, indulging in extravagance. The Ministry of Revenue shall convene and establish a standardized system to be strictly observed, promoting frugality and strengthening customs. Violators shall be punished according to law."

But this edict became a dormant clause; even during Emperor Hongwu's reign, it was unenforceable. Promoting frugality and reducing bride prices sounded noble, but enforcement revealed its impossibility: when the court forbade high bride prices, people simply renamed them—yet the money demanded never decreased.

Bride price was unaffordable for many in the Great Ming—so Japanese women arriving by ship offered exceptional value. Most importantly, these Japanese women came with official household certificates issued by the court.

After arriving in the Great Ming, Japanese women studied Mandarin and learned textile skills; only when fluent in Mandarin and possessing some craftsmanship were they granted household certificates. Though still Japanese, these women were legally Great Ming subjects, and the court regularly organized matchmaking events—craftsmen from government workshops across southern provinces could all apply.

After arriving in Ming, Japanese women must study Mandarin for a period of time; only those fluent in Mandarin and possessing some weaving skills are granted household certificates. Though still Japanese women, those with household certificates are legally Ming subjects, and the court regularly organizes matchmaking events, allowing craftsmen from official workshops across southern Ming to register for them.

Taking a Japanese bride still required a bride price: the standard was five silver taels—imperial silver coins. Initially, the Ministry of Revenue's Maritime Trade Office considered waiving the bride price, for collecting money implied human trafficking, while not collecting it implied cross-ocean marriage—two entirely different moral categories. The court had its dignity to uphold.

Bridal payments are required to take Japanese women as wives, standardized at five silver pieces of imperial coinage. Initially, the Maritime Trade Office and the Ministry of Revenue's Bureau of Clerks considered waiving this payment, for accepting or refusing money carried two entirely different implications: no payment meant a transoceanic marriage, while payment meant trading human beings—completely different in nature, and the court had its dignity to uphold.

First, swindlers flooded in: they took the women and vanished without a trace; court investigations found nothing. Even when women were taken home, they were routinely beaten and abused—because they were free, they were not valued, and men assumed they could simply claim another. Marriages collapsed into chaos.

The Great Ming transported yūjo from Japan to solve the crisis of millions of bachelor men—imagine over three million able-bodied men, brimming with hormones, left without wives—the court's scalp prickled with dread.

Eventually, the Ministry of Revenue's Songjiang Office adopted the five-silver-tael bride price as standard, dubbing it "shùxiū"—the tuition fee for teaching these Japanese women Mandarin. This way, the moral stigma of human trafficking was avoided.

Great Ming craftsmen earned roughly twelve taels annually; five taels as bride price in places like Songjiang was practically nothing.

In the tenth year of Emperor Wanli, over ten thousand Japanese yūjo entered the Great Ming; by the eleventh year, just two months in, four thousand had already gathered in Nagasaki—giving rise to a new term: "rùtáng."

To ordinary Japanese, the Great Ming was still Tang China—the Celestial Kingdom. Previously, daimyō had to forcibly seize people; now, they willingly came to Nagasaki, waiting for the viceroyalty's physical inspection.

Now, the Nagasaki Viceroyalty had to restrict Japanese entry into the Great Ming—just as it had once restricted the number of treasure notes. The absurdity was surreal.

Xu Wei never imagined he would become a guardian of Japanese order, not its destroyer.

He came to destroy Japan—but when, and in what form, Japan would perish, was not Japan's to decide.

Sun Sun Keyi's face was grim: "Due to the treasure notes, the price of Japanese yūjo continues to fall—once sold for silver, now only for treasure notes. But treasure note prices are rising. Strange: how can paper currency appreciate? Is it our Nagasaki Viceroyalty's strict control of supply that has brought prosperity to Japan?"

This was Sun Sun Keyi's latest headache: Japanese treasure notes came entirely from the Nagasaki Viceroyalty. Its rigorous border inspections nearly eliminated counterfeiting, and the new treasure notes produced by the Great Ming's Ministry of Revenue were exquisitely crafted—Japan could not replicate them. Thus, the Great Ming's overseas currency remained exceptionally strong; Japan had grown accustomed to using it.

Previously, seven mace of silver exchanged for one kuan; now, seven and a half mace of silver bought one kuan—meaning the Great Ming treasure notes were indeed a tool of exploitation, with seigniorage revenue flowing directly into imperial coffers.

Yet simultaneously, the treasure notes were easing Japan's coin shortage, ushering in a period of rapid development.

This gave Sun Sun Keyi renewed energy to loosen the exchange controls: holding one hundred million treasure notes, it was time to let Japan taste the bitterness of currency inflation!

"What is a treasure note?" Xu Wei pondered.

"Paper money. Too hard even for wiping one's ass."

Xu Wei smiled: "What is a treasure note?"

Sun Sun Keyi, confused, asked: "Master, isn't paper money currency?"

Chen Lin hated scholars. He despised their way of speaking—dramatic, circuitous, as if every word must be wrapped in mystery. Just say it plainly! It drove him mad! These scholars always pretended profundity.

"Currency—currency—requires goods to exist," said Xu Wei, setting down his teacup. "Japan has no goods. These currencies are trees without roots, water without a source. The prosperity the treasure notes seem to bring is merely illusion."

"Goods are concrete reality; currency is abstract abstraction. Currency can usually buy goods—but when unanchored to any real value, it is worthless."

One reason the Great Ming used coinage instead of paper currency was precisely this: the lack of a clear anchor.

The Ministry of Revenue had projected: "The day the 'Anchoring of the Paper Currency System' is achieved, the Great Ming may proudly declare it has accomplished a financial renaissance—the unprecedented feat of issuing stable, sustainable, redeemable paper currency: the Emperor Wanli Circulating Paper Currency."

Xu Wei, Sun Sun Keyi, and Chen Lin all sincerely awaited that day. Living in the Great Ming's turbulent age, what they most desired was peace and stability—not freedom, equality, fairness. They had never even dreamed of such things; merely being allowed to work in peace was divine fortune.

"You scholars," Chen Lin sneered. Though you hold no armies, your minds twist and turn—truly terrifying!

The strength of currency is false prosperity, for currency depends on goods. Without goods, even the strongest currency is illusion. The Great Ming possesses goods, possesses commodity superiority. If the Great Ming says wiping paper is currency, then wiping paper becomes currency.

Xu Wei, Sun Sun Keyi, and Chen Lin all earnestly looked forward to that day; living in the turbulent era of Great Ming, what they most desired was national peace and stability, not so-called freedom, equality, or fairness—these things they had never even dreamed of; being allowed to work in peace was already divine fortune.

Naturally, one inference follows: when the Great Ming declares wiping paper is not currency, even gold and silver may cease to function as currency. This is currency hegemony—a hegemony built upon commodity superiority.

Xu Wei used Japan's example to clarify this fundamental logic of currency.

"Hmm, the Great Ming's early adoption of paper currency in Japan was indeed meaningful," Chen Lin said, offering high praise for Zhang Zhang Juzheng's policy. Japan's treasure notes were the Great Ming's pilot program; the more experience and lessons gained, the more stable the Great Ming's own paper currency system would become.

Naturally, one would infer that if Ming China said toilet paper wasn't currency, then silver and gold probably couldn't become currency either—that was monetary hegemony, a hegemony built upon commodity advantage.

Xu Wei used the example of Japan to clarify this fundamental logic of currency.

"Hmm, Ming China's early adoption of paper money in Japan was indeed meaningful," Chen Lin highly praised the decision of the court minister Zhang Zhang Juzheng; Japan's treasure notes were the vanguard of Ming paper money, and the more experience and lessons gained, the more stable Ming's implementation of paper money would be.

The Ming's silver shortage was far more terrifying than Japan's; even with the rich silver mines of Peru and the influx of silver from Japan, it was still insufficient for Ming's needs, so the paper currency system was the only solution to the monetary crisis—too much money caused inflation, as seen in the collapse of the Emperor Hongwu-era treasure notes, while too little caused deflation, as the Ming, now two hundred and seventeen years old, had mostly experienced throughout its history.

Philip II's hegemony stemmed from Peru's rich silver mines and Peru's largest nitrate deposits in the world—these were the material foundations of his dominance in the West.

Xu Wei, Sun Sun Keyi, Chen Lin, and others thoroughly discussed the trial implementation of paper currency in Japan, gaining both lessons and insights; these lessons and insights became experience, to be submitted to the court in detailed memorials as reference for policy formulation.

"The way the Ming now formulates policies seems utterly different from the past—it's far more systematic now. Even as a mere soldier, I can feel this difference," said Chen Lin, frowning. "Specifically, policies before were decided on a whim, without regard for whether they could be enforced—purely top-down. Now, it's completely different."

"Now, opinions are first gathered from senior officials, conditions are assessed, then consolidated and brought to court for departmental deliberation, followed by imperial discussion at the Zhao Wenhua Hall, and finally decided by His Majesty. Implementation begins with pilot trials, then proceeds gradually, adapting to local conditions—not imposing policies regardless of local suffering."

In Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan, and Guizhou—especially Guizhou and Guangxi—native chieftains were everywhere, and the Performance Evaluation Law could not be enforced; thus, in these regions, the Ming's Performance Evaluation Law was extremely lenient. But in the Ming's heartland, it was extremely strict. In newly acquired territories like Suiyuan and Liaodong, land surveying was nonsense—the Ming did not require it in these two newly established provincial administrations, yet it did require land surveying in the newly established Gansu Provincial Administration.

This may seem chaotic, but uneven regional development is reality.

Especially regarding the court debates on paper currency and its pilot trials, every step was deliberate. The Ming's administrative power under its commandery-county imperial system was already formidable; with such policy-making, the Ming became even more fearsome—absurd decisions grew rarer, and all manner of bizarre occurrences could no longer happen.

Beautiful things happened every day; when everyone had hope and something to look forward to, the Ming burst forth with unprecedented vitality.

"All of this is because of the Theory of Contradictions," said Xu Wei matter-of-factly. "Because the Theory of Contradictions exists, there is both top-down and bottom-up discussion, giving rise to this fundamental logic of policy-making—it benefits the Ming."

"Thus, grand cultural and intellectual debates are like the cavalry units in the Capital Garrison or the Flying Cloud in the navy—limited in number, requiring new horses to replenish them, but once deployed at critical moments, they reveal their terrifying power."

The Emperor Wanli Reforms

were accompanied by grand intellectual debates, and among these, the most seemingly useless were these metaphysical political-economic debates; yet their outcomes often subtly transformed the Ming's methods of governance. Only when people suddenly realized the Ming had changed did they understand how invaluable these debates had been.

"Director Xu, something's happened at the dock!" Luo Ying, the Censor of the Nagasaki Governor's Office, rushed in, panting. "A stampede broke out at the dock over boarding rights."

"Quick, go see," Xu Wei immediately stood up. The group hurried out of the governor's office, passed the row of large houses, and saw the scene now under control by the governor's retainers—everywhere, a horrific sight.

In the crush, anyone who fell was dead; continuous trampling left over forty corpses.

To seize spots on the Ming merchant ships, Japanese women shoved each other at the dock—the shoving turned to trampling. Xu Wei and the officials stood with grim faces.

"Something happens every day, and nothing is ever the same," Xu Wei rubbed his forehead. New incidents occurred daily at the Nagasaki Governor's Office, each different. Soon, Xu Wei ordered the installation of queue barriers in the passenger cabins to prevent such crowding again.

Simple but effective.

While Xu Wei resolved the boarding queue issue at the governor's office, Mōri Terumoto, leveraging his naval superiority, launched a counteroffensive against Oda Nobunaga.

Mōri Terumoto's uncle, Kikkawa Motoharu, led six hundred Japanese ships into Settsu waters, aiming to reclaim Ishiyama, lost after two defeats at the Battle of Kizugawaguchi.

Meanwhile, Mōri Terumoto himself actively allied with Oda Nobunaga's other major enemies, preparing to form another encirclement against him.

Even the Nagasaki Governor's Office received an invitation.