Chapter 979

Zhu Yijun was not a green emperor fresh to the throne, but a seasoned ruler who had governed for nineteen years; his tolerance for corruption had limits—had Taizu Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang been in his place, heads would have rolled long ago.

Zhu Yijun’s prestige could certainly enable him to execute, but execution was simple; after execution, the construction of the Jing-Guang expressway would fall into deadlock.

The secret memorial system, a mechanism known only to the two parties involved, even the emperor’s closest eunuchs unaware of its contents, was a complete black box.

The secret memorial system was a treacherous scheme proposed by the sycophant Wang Chonggu, yet if the emperor wielded it well, it could indeed prevent the chaotic expansion of political struggles.

After the emperor issued a stern edict warning Chen County Magistrate, Chen, protected by imperial favor, narrowly escaped disaster; whether the Jing-Guang expressway could be completed on schedule was a matter of life or death to Chen, and naturally he would pay closer attention.

Chen County Magistrate trusted the emperor—he would fulfill the imperial mandate on time and to standard, and he would suffer no harm, for the emperor never broke his word.

After the emperor had neatly resolved the tail end of the Jing-Guang expressway corruption case, Gao Qi’s memorial was presented before the throne.

The emperor ordered Gao Qi to recommend a general director of the Huan-Tai Commercial Alliance; after declining twice, Gao Qi recommended Zhao Huan, a Right Censor-in-Chief of the same imperial examination cohort as himself, from Donglai in Shandong.

Zhao Huan and Gao Qi were of the same examination cohort, and Gao Qi’s reason for recommending Zhao Huan was peculiar: this man would not consort with the Jiangnan literati.

Zhao Huan harbored deep enmity toward the Jiangnan literati, which was why Gao Qi recommended him.

This matter involved Zhao Huan’s elder and younger brothers: Zhao Huan’s elder brother, Zhao Yao, passed the imperial examination in Longqing II, while his younger brother, Zhao Can, passed in Wanli II; the three brothers—Zhao Yao, Zhao Huan, and Zhao Can—were collectively known as the Three Phoenixes of Donglai.

In Wanli V, Zhang Juzheng’s eldest son, Zhang Siwen, took the metropolitan examination, sparking a wave of accusations against Zhang Juzheng for examination fraud; in that scandal, Zhang Siwen chose to enter the Academy of Things, abandoning officialdom entirely.

During that accusation, Zhao Yao and Zhao Can were both implicated.

All three brothers were jinshi, and were relentlessly targeted by censors of the Southern Censorate; Zhao Yao’s career stagnated thereafter, while Zhao Can suffered worse—he was driven to resign and return to his hometown.

Of the Three Phoenixes of Donglai, only Zhao Huan remained; he never concealed his contempt for Jiangnan scholar-officials, openly calling them “base Confucians.”

The candidate Gao Qi recommended was, in fact, his standard for the general director of the Huan-Tai Commercial Alliance.

First, he must be a northerner, preferably with no ties to maritime trade;

second, he must have deep, life-or-death enmity with Jiangnan scholar-officials, so that he could be entrusted with critical duties;

third, he should ideally be an upright, incorruptible minister who demonstrated high moral character in daily life.

Of these three criteria, the first and

second carried the greatest weight; even if the third condition was unmet, he could still be appointed.

Zhao Huan was indeed an upright minister, not merely because he dared defy the powerful, but because he had real ability.

In the late Wanli years, the Wanli Emperor neglected governance, and many offices stood vacant.

The Ministries of Revenue, Rites, and Works each had only one Vice Minister; the Minister of War and both Vice Ministers were vacant; the Ministry of Personnel was slightly better, with Zhao Huan as Minister—but he too was a lone commander, both Vice Ministers vacant; the Ministry of Justice had no Minister, only one Vice Minister.

Of the Six Ministries, only one Minister remained.

Both Left and Right Censor-in-Chiefs of the Censorate were vacant, with only one Assistant Censor-in-Chief; of the 110 designated Censorial Inspectors, only 21 were present; of the 50 designated Censorial Secretaries, only 11 were on duty;

as Minister of Personnel, Zhao Huan did something extraordinary: in August of Wanli XLIII, Zhao Huan planned to storm the palace gates!

If the Wanli Emperor refused to fill offices, Zhao Huan, as Minister of Personnel, would starve to death before the Huangji Gate! Zhao Huan intended to emulate Bi Gan; clearly, the Wanli Emperor had no desire to become King Zhou of Shang.

In the end, Zhao Huan succeeded, filling many posts in the capital.

Zhao Huan was among the rare upright ministers who, after the Wanli Emperor’s neglect, forced him to replenish official vacancies.

Zhu Yijun was highly satisfied with this candidate, especially with the standards Gao Qi had laid out.

In his memorial, Gao Qi explained the rationale: the old case of Zhu Wan, former Governor of Zhejiang. In Jiajing XXVIII, Zhu Wan was forced to commit suicide, after which the Japanese pirates threat exploded.

Choosing northerners over southerners, enemies over collaborators, upright ministers over sycophants—all aimed to prevent the general director from colluding with southern maritime merchants, especially smugglers.

The duties of the general director were not light; especially now, with the Huan-Tai Commercial Alliance newly established, many regulations must be set by the director—Zhao Huan was a most suitable candidate.

“Minister Gao handles affairs with great thoughtfulness,” Zhu Yijun said upon seeing the shortlist.

If the emperor suspected Gao Qi recommended Zhao Huan merely because they were from the same cohort, Gao Qi had provided three alternatives: Wang Qian, favored by the emperor; Yang Junmin of a noble lineage; and Yao Guangqi, the “King of Kelp.”

The greatest feature of these three was their background.

Wang Qian, who had once strolled brothels with the emperor (at the Taibai Pavilion), needed no explanation; Yang Junmin was the son of former Minister of Personnel Yang Bo; though Yang Bo was dead, his network endured, and Yang Junmin was no fool—he inherited both family wealth and connections.

Yao Guangqi’s patron was Ling Yunyi, and the emperor himself.

“King of Kelp” was a nickname earned by Yao Guangqi’s life; the scar on his face, like a centipede, was proof of his courage for fishermen; merely the four characters “King of Kelp” were worth remembering for a lifetime.

His merciless patron, Ling Yunyi, the Deputy Grand Secretary, was Yao Guangqi’s master.

Zhu Yijun ultimately selected Yao Guangqi from among the four.

Gao Qi still underestimated the stakes of the Huan-Tai Commercial Alliance; he thought Zhao Huan’s hostility toward Jiangnan literati made him suitable, but Zhu Yijun still trusted Yao Guangqi more—someone who had risked his life to uphold his path.

The Huan-Tai Commercial Alliance was of immense importance; Zhu Yijun did not know whether Zhao Huan, an upright minister, could withstand the Jiangnan aristocrats’ hunt—but Yao Guangqi could. Anger Yao Guangqi, and he would truly fight to the death.

“In this official world, every step is both opportunity and peril. Whoever dares touch my King of Kelp, I shall destroy his entire clan.” After selecting Yao Guangqi, Zhu Yijun added a special annotation:

Yao Guangqi is fit for office; I have personally appointed him because I know well his loyalty and diligence for the state. Deputy Minister, strive hard and do not disappoint my expectations. Any who obstruct him shall be exterminated, nine clans unspared.

Zhu Yijun also specifically instructed Gao Qi to watch over Yao Guangqi, for not every matter needed to reach the throne; if Gao Qi could lend support, countless troubles could be avoided.

The final sentence was Zhu Yijun’s threat: if Yao Guangqi suffered harm, it would be the moment to test the bonds of the nine clans.

The old case of Zhejiang Governor Zhu Wan must never be repeated in the Wanli era.

Zhu Yijun continued processing memorials; several interesting matters appeared in the July memorials.

Li Chengliang was a restless man; in April this year, he went to Tiemen Pass and rebuilt it.

After Tiemen Pass was completed, Li Chengliang submitted a congratulatory memorial; this mighty pass, established since Emperor Wu of Han, had been buried under endless desert sands since the An Lushan Rebellion; time passed, and in Wanli XIX, it finally rose again from the yellow dunes.

Li Chengliang’s long-cherished Wenshuan Pass (Ala Pass) had also completed its geographic survey, and preparations were underway to build it over five to ten years with support from the western tribes, to block invaders from beyond Ala Pass.

These five to ten years would not merely build a pass, but also roads, bridges, and accompanying relay stations along the route.

The expansion into the Western Regions saw little manpower or material investment from the Great Ming; progress was slow. Though the empire had abandoned the latter half of the Jing-Guang expressway, it could have built a road to Tiemen and Wenshuan Passes—but in the policy of simultaneous land and sea expansion, the emperor still chose maritime development as paramount.

“Your Majesty, this is a land reclamation permit submitted by Governor Gu Yangqian of Liaodong,” Feng Bao presented a memorial, a cotton-linen paper permit, and a slim booklet before the throne.

Zhu Yijun finished reading the memorial, then picked up the permit and stared at it for a long, long time.

The permit bore not only the seal of the Liaodong Provincial Administration Commission, but also the seal of the Liaodong Agricultural Reclamation Bureau, as well as the seals of Liaoning Prefecture, Jilin Prefecture, and others.

The permit read:

By imperial decree of the Liaodong Provincial Administration Commission and other offices: regarding Liaodong affairs, now there is a family of seventeen from Shandong, led by Sha Dali, who have reclaimed four hundred and eighty mu of land and now petition for approval.

The boundaries: east to Zhaoshuitan’s fir forest, west to Maojiagou, north to Tujiu Ridge, south unbounded; reclamation is hereby approved. The Provincial Administration Commission and other offices shall abide by the imperial decree: in Wanli II, the decree stated that Liaodong had many bandits and few people, permitting the masses to migrate and reclaim wasteland; governors and military commissioners shall issue permits for reclamation and not obstruct.

The memorial detailed how Sha Dali left his homeland for Liaodong near Jilin to reclaim land, especially how he gradually brought his family to Jilin after reclamation.

Today, the Provincial Administration Commission had finally been fully organized and could now issue the reclamation permit to Sha Dali’s family.

The reclamation permit was a legacy of Hou Yuzhao; this permit held legal force equivalent to a land deed—it could not be bought or sold, but could be leased. Now, these four hundred and eighty mu of land belonged to Sha Dali’s family as ancestral property, and they could continue reclaiming until their land met that of others.

The Liaodong reclamation permit was jointly recognized by the Liaodong Provincial Administration Commission and the Agricultural Reclamation Bureau, and every three years, the land boundaries were verified; any land recorded in the verification was the property of Sha Dali’s family.

This was the first reclamation permit issued in Liaodong; Zhu Yijun stared at it for a long, long time, reluctant to put it down—it was a small but invaluable step in the Great Ming’s expansion into Liaodong, signifying that Jilin had become a true, administered prefecture of the empire.

Reclamation in Liaodong was truly arduous; according to Governor Gu Yangqian, Sha Dali succeeded in reclaiming so much land only because of his great strength, and he gradually brought his family to Liaodong in stages.

During the reclamation, Sha Dali’s elder brother died of cold in the first year; his younger brother was killed by a tiger in the sixth year, torn apart by its claws; Sha Dali’s eldest son went into the mountains to gather wild goods and never returned.

The Liaodong Provincial Administration Commission also issued its first “Reclamation Manual”; reclamation settlers must study this manual before reclaiming land, with a three-month training period focused on key precautions.

This reclamation manual had been compiled by Hou Yuzhao during his tenure in Liaodong, and only now was it finally completed and printed.

With this manual’s accumulated experience and the Provincial Administration Commission’s support, Zhu Yijun believed that within fifty years, the barbarians of Liaodong could all be planted into the soil!

After years of stumbling, the Liaodong Provincial Administration Commission had finally begun to take shape, capable of normal function—not merely as a subordinate of Shandong’s administration anymore. The Great Ming’s two capitals and fifteen provinces had finally become eighteen provinces.

In addition to the original thirteen provinces, the new ones were Suizhong, Gansu, Jiangzuo, Jiangyou, and Liaodong.

The Liaodong Military Commission would gradually be split into three Provincial Administration Commissions: Liaoning, Jilin, and Heilongjiang. Liaodong was vast, providing ample surplus land for the Great Ming’s population growth.

Jiangzuo and Jiangyou, split since Wanli XIII, had only just completed their division by Wanli XIX; Jiangzuo centered on Anqing and Huizhou Prefectures, with Huizhou as its capital, called Anhui Provincial Administration Commission; Jiangyou centered on Suzhou, called Jiangsu.

By Wanli XIX,

Jiangzuo and Jiangyou still could not be called fully functional Provincial Administration Commissions, for the former prefectures of Nan Zhili remained under direct imperial control—taxes were paid directly to the court, not routed through the provincial capitals.

Zhu Yijun was delighted by this permit and even issued a “All is Auspicious” box to celebrate the establishment of the Liaodong Provincial Administration Commission.

Li Yashi, skilled in composing jokes, wanted to write one but ultimately lacked the courage.

“Your Majesty, all Western envoys have departed the Great Ming’s maritime borders,” Feng Bao presented a memorial from the Honglu Temple.

“Did the Portuguese envoy, Paolino, find a minister he favored?” Zhu Yijun asked curiously.

Feng Bao shook his head: “No. Paolino left in disappointment, Your Majesty. The secretary Meng Jinquan followed Prince Lu because Prince Lu is a prince of our Great Ming; had Prince Lu not demonstrated sufficient wisdom, Meng Jinquan would never have followed him to Jinsan.”

“Scholars are always like this: without great benefit or clear prospects, they will not risk themselves. To become a minister in Portugal would be equivalent to a Provincial Governor in the Great Ming.”

Provincial Governors were honored as Fangbo, the head of a region; a Provincial Governor was a top official among top officials; in the Great Ming, even if he committed crimes, he was subject to “nobility deliberation” (for rank above third grade), enjoying great judicial privileges. With such talent, why risk oneself in a remote land like Portugal?

Antonio secured Xu Fan only because Xu Jie had continuously provoked imperial wrath, forcing Xu Fan to flee.

“Then I cannot help it. His Han scholar-official bureaucracy is extremely dangerous,” Zhu Yijun did not force scholar-officials to go to Portugal; these scholars had the talent to cause great harm.

Eighty-eight Han scholar-officials were divided into four groups—Heaven, Earth, Mystery, Yellow—to evaluate state affairs and compile four reports to the royal palace; this system was clearly a variant of representative government, with clear advantages: Antonio could receive ample state advice, better than court secretaries offering foolish schemes.

The disadvantages were equally clear: none of these men were easy to manage; Antonio would surely be completely sidelined—it was only a matter of time.

Zhu Yijun had no good solution; he could only hope Antonio had luck.

“The Grand Secretary reported that since the Governor of Peto in Mexico successfully obtained a loan, envoys from other nations have inquired whether they may purchase five-masted ocean-going ships and obtain loans,” Feng Bao spoke of the emperor’s lending business; this loan was jokingly called “Grace Loan.”

To obtain such a loan was the emperor’s grace; Antonio’s success had made countless others envious.

To conduct lending, one must have the ability to recover loans; such international debt and high-risk war loans could, for now, only be managed by the Great Ming Emperor.

“Except for England and Japan, all others may proceed,” Zhu Yijun considered and approved Shen Li’s memorial: all could borrow, as long as the five-masted ocean-going ships were sold; the sale of these ships was not merely an arms and security business, but also the imposition of maritime trade rules.

Want to buy a Great Ming ship? No problem. But if you permit privateering, the Great Ming will exclude you from tribute trade.

The Great Ming currently lacks the capacity to project power globally or enforce free trade; thus, maritime trade rules must be shaped this way—using Great Ming’s productivity to subtly transform the world.

“England deserves it,” Feng Bao reiterated his view; privateering permits were abhorred by gods and men; England could not possibly abolish privateering ships to defeat Spain in the short term.

As a subject of the Great Ming, Feng Bao naturally despised terms like “sea pirates” and “Japanese pirates.”

“The Censorate’s Censorial Secretary Wan Guoqin, the Criminal Censorial Secretary Zhang Wenda, and Assistant Censor-in-Chief Chen Dengyun have jointly impeached Yang Junmin, Vice Prefect of Shuntian, on eight charges, each one solidly proven,” Feng Bao solemnly placed a memorial before the emperor.

First: merit and fault are judged solely by tax payment; whoever fully pays taxes on time is deemed meritorious—a principle clearly evident in the Official Promotion Law; all clerks sent by Shuntian to the Imperial University for training were those who had fully paid their taxes for years.

First, merit and fault are judged primarily by tax revenue; whoever fulfills tax payments on time and in full is deemed to have succeeded—a point especially clear in the Official Promotion Law, where all clerks sent from the Shuntian Prefecture to the Imperial University for further study are those who have fully paid their taxes for years.

The second through eighth issues all relate to the prioritization of tax revenue.

Second, the Shuntian Prefecture government office has tolerated corruption among its six departments; the office opens only for money—no silver, no entry. Except for homicide cases, every other matter requires bribes to be resolved; without payment, nothing gets done—minimum ten or twenty taels, up to a hundred or even a thousand taels. Corruption has become endemic in the Shuntian Prefecture government office.

Third, it has tolerated vile trades: the corruption of the six departments naturally led to protection of the city’s gangs, granting preferential treatment to certain businesses. Wherever crowds gather, brothels and gambling dens abound; the capital’s moral fabric has rotted away.

Fourth, bandits and gang members roam unchecked—even coal carts from the Western Hills Coal Bureau have been robbed, cart and cargo taken. Some children who stepped out to buy soy sauce vanished without a trace. The six departments of Shuntian Prefecture accept bribes and shield human traffickers and brokers.

Fifth, yamen parasites are rampant. The people say: “One less yamen runner, one less parasite in the countryside.” These yamen parasites commit every crime—fraud, deception, theft, extortion—and their harm exceeds that of bandits and gangs.

Sixth, black workshops abound: they ignore imperial edicts and labor contracts, instead establishing production relations through contracts akin to indentured servitude.

Seventh, collusion between officials and merchants: the six departments’ corruption has granted merchants too many privileges, enabling fraud, substitution of inferior goods, and leaving the people with no recourse to justice.

Eighth, it tolerates private slavery: wealthy households relocated from the Western City each keep slaves—dozens at minimum, over a hundred at most. The Shuntian Prefecture government office sits idle, watching indifferently.

“All eight issues are not false accusations, but why don’t these censors and imperial historians ask: why is this so? Eighty percent of the clerks and runners in the six departments are”

disciples and former subordinates of the city’s powerful elites. How can Yang Junmin govern? By what means can he govern?”

“What damn nonsense, this Celestial Empire! What damn nonsense, this Son of Heaven’s domain, the model capital!” Zhu Yijun slammed his hand on the table and rose, yanking off the red silk cloth covering the topographical map, staring at the glaring inscription “Baiyi” of Shuntian Prefecture—each glance made it more unbearable.

“Feng Bao!” Zhu Yijun stared at the map for a long while, then shouted.

“Your servant is here.”

Zhu Yijun looked at the map and said: “Summon General Qi.”

“Your servant obeys.” Feng Bao bowed again and personally went to the Grand General’s residence to invite Qi Jiguang to Tonghemen Palace.

Yang Junmin is not the mastermind; otherwise, there would be nine issues, not eight. If Yang Junmin were corrupt, he would be the first target—but he is not corrupt.

In the years since Yang Junmin returned to the capital, he has worked tirelessly—it is already astonishingly difficult. But every official from top to bottom in the Shuntian Prefecture government office is a disciple or former subordinate of the nobility. The capital's decay is eighty percent due to these vermin.

Yang Junmin is not Wang Xiyuan—he cannot afford to offend these nobles. Wang Xiyuan is a disciple of the Grand Secretary and Imperial Tutor, the Emperor’s fellow student, and has the merit of serving as Imperial Inspector in Yunnan—he is deeply favored by the Emperor.

Yang Junmin has ties through his father, but Yang Bo retired after being defeated in court. And once a man leaves, his influence fades. How much of Yang Bo’s old network remains useful? The Jin Party has already completely disintegrated.

The position of Deputy Prefect of Shuntian is truly unbearable—torn between too many masters, suffering in silence.

“Your servant bows before Your Majesty. May Your Majesty’s health be well.” Qi Jiguang strode into the Tonghemen Palace study hall and bowed deeply.

“I am not well, General Qi, please sit. I shall explain the chaos in Shuntian Prefecture in detail.” Zhu Yijun laid out the disorder in Shuntian Prefecture to Qi Jiguang.

After venting his frustrations, Zhu Yijun’s expression turned grave: “The six departments and runners of Shuntian Prefecture cannot remain under the control of these powerful families. Every item in these memorials is true, but Yang Junmin is not the root cause. Even if I beheaded Yang Junmin, the capital would not improve.”

“My idea is to send six-department clerks and elite troops from the Capital Garrison to take over the six departments of Shuntian Prefecture.”

“Your Majesty, this must not be done,” Qi Jiguang said immediately upon hearing the Emperor’s plan: “This would ignite uproar throughout court and countryside.”

The reason is simple: this is the Emperor digging his own grave.

Sima Yi’s entire coup revealed the three essentials of palace rebellion: control of the city gates, control of the armory, control of the Wenyuan Pavilion.

Control the gates, and you control all entry and exit; control the armory, and you disarm the entire capital; control the Wenyuan Pavilion, and you sever the Emperor’s administrative authority—his edicts cannot leave the palace, and even a blood-written imperial decree becomes useless.

Qi Jiguang may impose military rule over any prefecture or county, and even, to survive the celestial change, impose total military control across multiple regions—as Li Rusong did in Rongcheng.

But the Grand General must never take control of the capital.

The Emperor trusts Qi Jiguang’s character, but Qi Jiguang fears someone might stage a coup to place him on the throne. The title of Duke is enough for his family’s legacy—he has no desire to become Sima Yi. Not even for a dog!

The army may be temporarily summoned into the city, but it must never be permanently stationed within.

“General Qi, I mean half and half,” Zhu Yijun quickly clarified—he was no child, and this was not total takeover.

“Still too many. Shuntian Prefecture has eight thousand runners; even one-tenth—eight hundred elite Capital Garrison troops—is more than enough to crush them all. No, no.” Qi Jiguang waved his hands repeatedly.

Eight hundred elite troops can match eight thousand frontier soldiers. As for those vermin in the Shuntian Prefecture government office, saying one can fight ten is an understatement—one can easily fight twenty.

“Ah.” Zhu Yijun knew Qi Jiguang would refuse, so he continued: “What about retired soldiers?”

“Your Majesty, retired soldiers from the Capital Garrison are still soldiers,” Qi Jiguang said something seemingly nonsensical—but those familiar with the Capital Garrison would understand.

Retirement does not sever ties with the Capital Garrison. The families of elite Capital Garrison troops reside within the Garrison for three generations; only the fourth generation is detached from military rolls and registered as commoners of the capital.

Moreover, most descendants of elite Capital Garrison troops also apply for selection into the Garrison.

Zhu Yijun had also considered recruiting outsiders—transferring clerks and runners from elsewhere and rewarding them with slots in the Jingshidaxuetang's Civil Service Recommendation Program—but after brief reflection, he realized it was unworkable.

In the capital, every brick you drop reveals a noble. These nobles can only be managed by other nobles.

“I am out of ideas,” Zhu Yijun spread his hands, admitting his helplessness. Outside the Capital Garrison, he truly could not think of a better solution.

Seeing the Emperor so defeated, Qi Jiguang quickly said: "Your Majesty, if there were a solution, countless Jingzhao Yins throughout history would have found it. In Han times, relocating wealthy families to guard imperial tombs gave rise to the Five Tombs' arrogant scions—arrogant, lawless youths."

When it concerns oneself, reason falters. To Qi Jiguang, the Emperor was too desperate to solve the capital’s “Baiyi” problem.

From a historical perspective, this is an unsolvable issue—from the Five Tombs' arrogant scions to today's Western City elites.

From a horizontal perspective, the Wars of the Three Henrys in France centered on internal strife in Paris.

The capital, as the model city, has always been this way—throughout history and across civilizations—an unsolvable puzzle.

The Emperor is one of the rare enlightened rulers, but such an ancient, unresolved malady cannot be eradicated.

The previous Shuntian Deputy Prefects—Wang Yie, Shen Yiguan, Wang Xiyuan—all were virtuous ministers. Had there been a solution, they would have proposed it long ago.

“To put it bluntly,” Qi Jiguang said with lingering unease, “when I was fighting on the frontlines, I dreaded receiving letters from some noble in the capital. Your Majesty, it’s not just me—Li Chengliang, Marquis of Ningyuan, Yin Zhengmao, Marquis of Sishui, Zhang Yuanxun, Marquis of Yingyang—they all dread it too. Generals like Ma Lin, who, though titled Marquis of Yangcheng, still don armor and lead from the front, are rare indeed.”

Qi Jiguang’s meaning was clear: powerful nobles, with a single letter to the front, could cause endless trouble.

Ma Lin is the son of Marquis Ma Fang of Yangcheng. When Ma Lin fought on the front, if not for Qi Jiguang’s restraint, he would have wanted every mountain town to follow Zhao Ji and Luo Shangzhi into battle.

War means death—it is facing life and death directly. Is the son of a noble lady any more worthy than the son of a commoner? Privileges undermine morale.

Qi Jiguang excelled at training troops, and he despised these noble young masters serving as soldiers in the capital—utterly. He would rather have honest miners and kiln workers.

“Does the Grand Secretary have no solution?” Qi Jiguang frowned and asked.

“None,” Zhu Yijun shook his head. “The Grand Secretary says he is out of ideas.”

“Then if even the Grand Secretary, who excels in administrative reform, has no solution, it truly may be unsolvable,” Qi Jiguang said sincerely. Zhang Juzheng was unmatched in governance—if even he had no answer, there was no point in further effort.

The Capital Garrison guarding the capital would not cause trouble.

“Your Majesty, I do have an idea,” Qi Jiguang suddenly had a flash of insight.

“Oh? What is your plan, General Qi?”

Qi Jiguang’s eyes gleamed: “Your Majesty—artisans.”

"Oh? What strategy does General Qi have?"

Qi Jiguang said with piercing eyes: "Your Majesty, the artisans!"