Chapter 59: Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Scholar

Li Le did not sit down; since receiving the invitation, he had been seething with anger, but what could he do?

Faced with the threat from the Jin Party, Li Le had no means to resist, and could only obediently come to the Quanjinhui Hall to meet these two men he had no desire to see.

Li Le should have gone to the Quanchu Hui Hall to consult his mentor, but he did not.

Wang Chonggu sat down, waved his hand, and all attendants withdrew, leaving only three men to speak.

“Sit,” Wang Chonggu gestured for Li Le to sit; standing like this would seem distant—this was a calm, courteous negotiation, and he was a second-rank Taizishaobao , while Li Le was merely a newly appointed censor with only a few years in office; if Li Le refused even this basic courtesy, Wang Chonggu would truly turn hostile.

Li Le reluctantly sat down.

Zhang Siwei leaned over and poured Li Le a cup of tea before smiling and saying, “Li Le, most newcomers to office are arrogant, believing they can fix this rotten world—but even your own mentor, Yuanfu, could he succeed? He cannot.”

“Just listen to me for a moment.”

“We’ve fought the Northern Barbarians for years—from Jiajing twenty-nine to Jiajing forty-five—did we win? No.”

“We bled so badly the rivers ran red; we caused such suffering the people endured agony. Datong and Xuanfu once had 420,000 households, over two million souls; by Jiajing forty-five, only 200,000 households and a million souls remained.”

“Dead or fled—how miserable? Do you say the people did not suffer?”

Zhang Siwei sipped his tea, waiting for Li Le’s reply; he was not in a hurry, for what he said were facts—when war broke out, only the common folk suffered.

When the enemy came, fleeing sounded easy—but what of the expenses on the road? The costs of resettlement? Where did the people find such surplus wealth? Only the gentry could flee; the common folk were the price of war.

“I know the harm of war. The Longqing Accord and Ansa’s tribute did indeed stabilize the borders,” Li Le thought for a moment and conceded the Jin Party’s achievement—they had brokered the Longqing Accord and Ansa’s tribute.

Zhang Siwei continued: “How many years have we fought the Northern Barbarians? Since Wu Yuan, two hundred and eight years! Have we reached any resolution? No.”

“When Ming is strong, they flee; when Ming is weak, they surge south to breach our passes. Back and forth, we’ve fought two centuries—the Northern Barbarians are like wild grass: fire cannot burn them all, spring wind revives them again, one generation after another.”

“We suffer, they suffer—all beings suffer.”

“If we keep talking like this, keep fighting like this, will we ever reach a resolution? Even the divine Wu Emperor and the martial Chengzu Emperor launched eighteen northern expeditions—and ended with a restless state and a restless people.”

“Is the Longqing Accord and Ansa’s tribute not a resolution? From Genghis Khan to now, the Northern Barbarians have finally bowed their heads in submission; their self-proclaimed Khan of the Golden Clan has finally accepted Ming’s investiture—they’ve humbled themselves. No war, no devastation—let the people live in peace—isn’t that our duty?”

“The people are the foundation of the state; when the foundation is firm, the state is secure.”

Li Le pondered carefully, then nodded: “Humiliation is humiliation. Today we pay tribute to the Northern Barbarians; the more we give, the more they demand. Thus, without battle, strength and weakness, victory and defeat, are already decided—and collapse becomes inevitable.”

“Thus, to offer land to Qin is now to offer tribute to the barbarians—it’s like carrying firewood to put out a fire; as long as the firewood lasts, the fire will not die.”

Li Le quoted Su Xun’s “On the Six States”: paying tribute to the Northern Barbarians makes them more aggressive the more you pay; even without war, the outcome is sealed the moment tribute begins—and collapse becomes inevitable.

Zhang Siwei merely smiled; if they could win, if they could crush the enemy, if they could make the foe cry out in despair and flee a thousand li, then one could speak such words—but they couldn’t win.

Li Le, a censor, always prided himself on cultivating righteous qi—how could he possibly understand the difficulties of real affairs?

Wang Chonggu said sternly: “The horse tribute silver is merely payment for horses—not annual tribute.”

A scholar’s affair—stealing is not theft.

Zhang Siwei continued: “Back to court affairs: Senior Grand Secretary Gao was dismissed by an imperial edict. If Gao had truly been disloyal and unfilial, if he had refused the edict, let’s count the Jin men in the court—Ministry of Rites, Ministry of War, Ministry of Personnel, Ministry of Revenue, Censorate, Chief Grand Secretary, Viceroy of Beijing’s military affairs, Regional Commanders of Xuanfu and Datong—wouldn’t they rally to his aid?”

“Yet when Gao heard the edict, he merely pounded his chest and wept, then returned to his hometown to retire.”

Li Le looked at Zhang Siwei with a strange expression: “This is absurd. Senior Grand Secretary Gao retired not because Yuanfu holds power, nor because Minister Wang is an eccentric man of lofty ideals, nor because General Qi leads ten thousand troops to garrison Jizhou?”

Zhang Siwei immediately asked: “Then how can you be certain Yuanfu won’t be the next Senior Grand Secretary?”

This was a pit Zhang Siwei had dug, waiting for Li Le to jump in.

Yesterday, Gao promoted a host of Jin men, who, through fellow provincials, marital ties, mentors, and recommendations, indirectly or directly controlled the court and even threatened His Majesty;

What of tomorrow? Will Zhang Juzheng become the next Gao?

Remember, Zhang Juzheng is far more reckless than Gao!

Zhang Juzheng dares to monopolize the imperial lectures, isolate court from palace, and even examine the Emperor in the Wenhua Hall—what is this? Now he dares to examine the Emperor—what will he dare next?

If this can be endured, what cannot?

Li Le was left speechless; if the Jin Party had become a clan faction, could the Zhang Party become one too?

Zhang Siwei lifted his tea cup and smiled: “Drink your tea, Li Shi Zhong—you’re a clever man. I’m willing to believe Zhang Yuanfu’s lofty ideals and loyalty to the throne—but his position often leaves him powerless. Think carefully, Li Shi Zhong.”

Wang Chonggu glanced at Zhang Siwei and nodded approvingly; his nephew was an exceptional debater—he had already trapped Li Le. Li Le was no court minister; how could he understand the difference between clan faction and party faction?

Seeing Li Le grow hesitant, Zhang Siwei clapped his hands; music began, and two rows of jade-skinned Hu Ji emerged, dancing gracefully to the rhythm, their slender waists bare, adorned with golden ornaments that shimmered as they moved, their bare feet ringing with bells, waves of fragrance filling the air.

The music quickened, and the Hu Ji’s dance grew bolder.

Li Le stared blankly—he had spent his life studying, and since passing the exams, he had never entered such a world of pleasure; he was stunned, while Zhang Siwei’s seductive voice whispered in his ear: “When you passed the scholar exam, you no longer had to kneel before county magistrates; when you passed the provincial exam, relatives you knew and didn’t know came to flatter you, many wanting to register their land under your name to evade the straw tax.”

“Even the county’s upright magistrate sent you an invitation—you were one of us now.”

“But now you’ve passed the imperial exam? You’re a Ming imperial scholar—do you still intend to live in poverty? You’re a Ming scholar—you hold power, and with power, you hold everything. Do you understand?”

“Huh?” Li Le asked, bewildered, staring at Zhang Siwei.

Zhang Siwei smiled: “Don’t understand? All you need to say is one word—choose one or two of these Hu Ji, and they’re yours. If taking them is inconvenient, Quanjinhui has guest rooms—they’ll be yours from now on. Do you understand your status now?”

Zhang Siwei slowly raised his hand, lifting it as high as it would go, then said: “You stand so high, so high—and yet you live in such poverty, even squalor. Your mother’s home back in the countryside is barely a patch of land, no pavilions, no terraces. You’ve succeeded—you’re an imperial scholar—but who knows? If you don’t return home in glory, are you content with this?”

“You stand so high! You deserve more! It’s only natural. Others have sedan chairs—you should have one; others have servants—you should have them; others have lavish ancestral homes—you should have one; others have beautiful concubines—you should have them too;”

“Isn’t that right?”

“Otherwise, all the suffering you endured to pass the imperial exam, to become an official—was it all for nothing?”

“Think carefully,” Zhang Siwei rose, patted Li Le’s shoulder, and left the theater with Wang Chonggu, leaving the stage to Li Le.

“Will he agree?” Wang Chonggu still worried as he stepped out of the theater; Li Le was known as a man of integrity—could they persuade him? This concerned the inspection of border affairs and the review of major construction projects—if the Datong and Xuanfu scandals were exposed, everyone would suffer.

Zhang Siwei chuckled: “He’s a gentleman—but he’s a pauper.”

“He’s never seen luxury, so he can uphold his principles. Now that he’s seen it, it’s like a cat’s claw scratching inside his heart—within reach, almost effortless—he doesn’t even need to reach out. Uncle, what do you think he’ll choose?”

“If he holds fast to his heart, I truly admire him as a man.”

Wang Chonggu turned back, glanced at the theater, and shook his head: “You—you’ve used every trick, yet still fall short of him.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Zhang Siwei took no shame, but pride—he came from a merchant family; profit was his nature. If he could profit, he would act; clearly, using a few Hu Ji and some silver to pass this test without damaging his foundation was worth it.

Zhang Siwei said firmly: “As long as a man lives, he has desires; with desires come flaws; with flaws come openings—and he can be manipulated. Take Li Le—he’s poor, never known comfort; the glitter of gold and silk confuses the mind—he cannot hold out.”

“Then what is Zhang Juzheng’s flaw?” Wang Chonggu frowned.

“Zhang Juzheng’s flaw…” Zhang Siwei fell silent, his usual eloquence gone; Zhang Juzheng seemed, at first glance, riddled with flaws, brimming with weaknesses.

Zhang Juzheng formed factions, yet most of his allies shared his ideals; Zhang Juzheng was corrupt, yet his corruption paled beside Yan Song or Xu Jie; Zhang Juzheng lived luxuriously—but considering he was the Grand Secretary of the Great Ming, how unreasonable was that?

Only by finding Zhang Juzheng’s true flaw could he be defeated.