Chapter 71

Good rain knows its season; it comes when spring arrives.

The next morning, a light rain fell steadily; spring rain is as precious as oil, and this timely spring rain would allow the common people to reduce irrigation by one round, saving effort and avoiding disputes over water.

The Inspector of Border Regions, overseeing the construction of fortifications, reextended the supervisory authority into the core of the Jin Party—Xuanfu and Datong Garrisons.

The court deliberation had begun; the young emperor sat upon the moon terrace listening and studying, while the ministers below shouted and clamored.

The King of Siam, Hua Zhao, dispatched foreign envoys to offer tribute goods; the foreign envoy stated that the original seal and credential had been burned when the Dongniu Kingdom breached the city walls, and requested a replacement; Minister of Rites Lu Shusheng petitioned for authorization to issue a new credential.

Envoys from Korea came to express gratitude; the Ministry of Rites requested imperial permission to host a banquet for them.

A censor from the Censorate petitioned for Wang Shouren to be enshrined in the Confucian Temple; Wang Xijue rebutted: it was not that Wang Shouren’s teachings were inadequate, but that many scholars had discarded the foundational principle of “unity of knowledge and action” within his doctrine of “attaining innate knowledge,” leaving only “attaining innate knowledge.”

Thus, Wang Shouren’s school of thought seemed to suggest that merely possessing innate knowledge was sufficient for success; enshrining him in the Confucian Temple might harm the moral fabric of society.

After brief debate, Wang Xijue won a decisive victory: knowledge is the beginning of action, action is the completion of knowledge; cognition and practice are mutually reinforcing; only through the unity of knowledge and action can one attain innate knowledge. To retain only “attaining innate knowledge” and claim that mere thought guarantees success—is this not akin to the heresies of Zoroastrianism or Nestorianism?

To elevate Wang Shouren to the Confucian Temple means Confucian scholars must no longer speak only of “attaining innate knowledge,” but must also speak of the unity of knowledge and action, of practice—not mere empty rhetoric and lofty ideals ungrounded in reality.

The ministers suddenly erupted in uproar; Zhu Yijun lifted his head and looked toward Wang Guoguang, the Minister of Revenue, who had sparked the debate.

Wang Guoguang spoke solemnly: “When soldiers’ rations are paid in silver, it is easy to embezzle; when paid in kind, soldiers actually benefit. In auditing the excess expenditures of the Nine Garrisons, we found that the padded cotton-padded coats issued as silver subsidies never reached the soldiers’ hands—whereas issuing physical goods allowed soldiers to gain some tangible benefit.”

“Across the entire Nine Garrisons, only Xuanzhou, Yongping, and Shanhai Pass can provide half-rations; the other six garrisons cannot even deliver half-rations.”

Wang Guoguang was cutting into people’s livelihoods.

Issuing physical goods might still be embezzled, but converting them to cash requires selling them, which demands manpower and resources; the more people involved, the greater the chance of exposure.

Once military goods appear on local markets, surveillance censors can still investigate, and Ming’s corrective mechanisms can still function somewhat—but issuing silver requires no sale at all; silver flows from court to soldier through layers of graft, each level stripping away a portion, until little remains by the time it reaches the soldiers’ hands.

“The phenomena of silver being expensive and grain cheap, and silver cheap and grain expensive, repeatedly occur in the Ming heartland and border regions,” Wang Guoguang stated precisely. “Border regions are mostly soldiers; farmers are scarce, grain is scarce but consumption is high. With more silver, grain becomes ever more expensive, creating silver cheap and grain expensive.”

“In the heartland, due to the Single Whip Law, there are more farmers, grain is abundant but silver scarce; grain grows ever cheaper, so in the Ming heartland, silver is expensive and grain cheap.”

“The border is unstable; the people are unsettled.”

“This is still too complicated—I drew a diagram. Just look, and you’ll understand.”

According to the design, the court collects silver from the Ming heartland, then issues it as military pay to the border regions; merchants transport grain from the heartland to the border, trade it for silver, and bring the silver back to the heartland.

Institutionally, this formed a complete internal circulation.

But in practice, countless problems arose.

The court’s collection of silver from the heartland spawned another terrifying systemic corruption: fire tax.

The court demanded gold-flower silver with low impurities; most silver collected from the people was mixed silver with high impurities. When commoners paid taxes in mixed silver, they had to pay extra fire tax; the rate depended entirely on local tax officials. The proper rate should have been one to two fen per tael (1%–2%), but often reached one to two qian or more (10%–20%).

When the court issued military pay to the border regions, the gold-flower silver became mixed silver upon arrival; even mixed silver would have been acceptable if it reached the soldiers—but due to lack of oversight, soldiers rarely received even half-rations, let alone full rations.

Qi Jiguang commanded three garrisons and could guarantee only the Zhe soldiers who followed him north received full rations; for the original garrison soldiers, Qi Jiguang getting them half-rations was already a feat of his sharp blade.

Merchants transporting grain from the heartland to the border suffered massive losses, yet the price differential could not cover the costs, so merchants grew reluctant to transport grain.

Merchants also no longer brought silver back to the heartland; instead, they bought border region goods nearby and transported them back to the heartland for profit.

This caused silver to accumulate in the border regions, driving grain prices sky-high—silver cheap, grain expensive.

In the heartland, wealth became highly concentrated; silver was held by a few, and commoners had to exchange grain for silver to pay taxes, creating silver expensive, grain cheap.

The internal circulation design of the Silver-for-Grain System appeared logically sound and successful, but in execution, it was a complete failure.

The Ming originally had an effective solution to the border’s grain problem through internal circulation: the Salt-Grain System, or salt certificates.

Merchants had to bring salt certificates from the border back to southern Ming territory to obtain salt and make profit.

To obtain salt certificates, merchants had to transport grain to the border or establish merchant colonies there—merchant colonies were enterprises where merchants hired laborers to farm on the border and exchange grain directly for salt certificates.

The Ming border issued soldiers physical rations—rice, millet, salt, oil, padded coats—which were still embezzled, but far more difficult to steal than silver.

This Salt-Grain System was utterly destroyed during the Hongzhi reign of Emperor Xiaozong, when Ye Qi, Minister of Revenue, reformed the system: merchants could now pay silver directly to the salt administration instead of grain; once silver reached the Taicang Treasury, they received salt certificates—this destroyed the merchant-colony salt certificate system completely.

The Taicang Treasury gained more silver, but the border remained unstable.

The salt certificate system was already ruined; now Wang Guoguang merely sought to ensure Ming soldiers could eat—not even eat well—and thus proposed a step backward: military pay in kind, not silver.

This was not Wang Guoguang’s original idea; in Hai Rui’s “Memorial on State Stability,” there was a line: “Restore the salt-grain system in kind to enrich border reserves.” A step backward: the border should revive the merchant-colony salt certificate method, accumulating grain to strengthen frontier defenses.

“I remind you all: if soldiers go hungry, they will mutiny,” Zhang Juzheng said after hearing Wang Guoguang’s report, openly supporting him.

Once silver payments ceased and physical rations resumed, the border regions would be forced to establish agricultural colonies; the court lacked sufficient grain, so it would rely on local garrisons to farm.

“This matter should be discussed at length; the silver payment system has existed since the Hongzhi reign. To alter it lightly would destabilize the state,” Wang Chonggu frowned.

If Wang Guoguang’s proposal passed, the court’s supervisory authority over the border would extend from inspecting Great Wall construction to auditing military rations—this was an expansion of oversight.

Shared interests breed alignment; once the court gained oversight of border rations, regional commanders would no longer collude with Jin Party magnates. Wang Chonggu would never agree.

Minister of War Tan Lun immediately spoke: “Should we not consult Marshal Qi? He commands Xuanzhou, Yongping, and Shanhai Pass—three garrisons, one more than Xuanfu and Datong combined. Let us see if he agrees.”

“All are border commanders. If the Marquis of Qian’an agrees, why should Xuanfu and Datong oppose?”

“Marshal Qi is under the Yuanfu’s patronage! If Yuanfu approves, how could Marshal Qi refuse?” Wang Chonggu said bitterly—this oversight targeted Zhang’s faction! Qi Jiguang would certainly agree—it wouldn’t hinder him from continuing to drain the soldiers’ blood!

Wang Chonggu firmly believed Qi Jiguang was just like them—all of them drained the soldiers’ blood!

Zhang Juzheng smiled: “Marshal Wang, be careful. Marshal Qi returned the Quan Chu Association’s token to me outside Xuanwu Gate—this is known throughout the capital, no one is unaware. Everyone says I, Zhang Juzheng, am unpopular, even Marshal Qi refuses to continue colluding with me, to be of the same ilk.”

“Marshal Wang, Marshal Qi is now the Marquis of Qian’an, a military noble. I am a civil official; I cannot be too closely entangled with a military noble.”

Zhang Juzheng smiled warmly at Wang Chonggu. He dared sever ties with border generals; Qi Jiguang dared return the token to Zhang Juzheng—could Xuanfu and Datong commanders dare return the Quan Jin Association’s token to the association? Could they dare withhold tribute? Could Wang Chonggu or Zhang Siwei dare sever ties with border generals?

Zhang Juzheng was insulting him: the civil official no longer associates with military men—yet Wang Chonggu, also a civil official, was deeply entangled with them. Zhang Juzheng was accusing Wang Chonggu, who had no reply.

“Recently, many financial matters have been debated for switching from silver to in-kind payments to save effort. But the ancestral laws were originally designed for the people’s benefit; we should only correct abuses and remedy imbalances. Let this matter stand as decided,” Yang Bo suddenly spoke, endorsing Wang Guoguang’s proposal to revert to physical rations—thus approving the extension of imperial oversight into local affairs.

Yang Bo’s statement came unexpectedly; Wang Guoguang was surprised, Wang Chonggu frowned, and Ge Shouli’s knotted brow relaxed.

This was the concession Zhang Juzheng secured yesterday: he would not relentlessly pursue the ten assistant commanders; Yang Bo agreed to the extension of imperial oversight.

Yang Bo had no choice; Ma Gui, Ma Jin, and others were held by Zhang Juzheng’s leverage. If he refused to yield, Zhang Juzheng’s pursuit would inflict even greater losses on the Jin Party.

Yang Bo knew Zhang Juzheng’s nature well: when he still negotiates, it is best to agree—then everyone benefits.

If he refuses, Zhang Juzheng will still achieve it.

“Then so it shall be?” Zhang Juzheng looked at Wang Chonggu, seeking his opinion.

After long consideration, Wang Chonggu reluctantly said: “Very well.”

Zhang Juzheng suddenly rose and bowed toward the young emperor on the moon terrace: “Your Majesty, I have a memorial to submit.”

Zhu Yijun paused his writing—was there still something for him here?

He was merely a ten-year-old sovereign, a bright, cheerful child.