Chapter 980: If Liaoning Is at Peace, Then All Under Heaven Is at Peace

The Ming dynasty’s inspection system, with its Censorate officials, clearly exhibited a top-down supervisory character.

Within the capital, seemingly low-ranking seventh-grade Censorate officials would impeach high-ranking ministers—typical was Tan Lun coughing at the Altar of the Sun, provoking a chorus of censure, yet when Lu Shusheng, then Minister of Rites, also coughed, no one impeached him.

This fully demonstrated that before the Wanli Reforms, the Censorate officials had long since become weapons in the power struggles among ministers, these petty censors backed by high-ranking ministers.

During the decisive battle between the Zhang and Jin factions, the current Regional Governor of Nanjing, Wang Xiyuan, along with Cao Daye, Liu Fen Yong, and others, were all weapons wielded by Zhang Juzheng.

Though appearing as petty censors, they were in fact tools of struggle among high-ranking ministers—still top-down control.

Outside the capital, Provincial Governors held the titles of Deputy Censor-in-Chief, Vice Minister, or Minister from the capital, two ranks higher than local officials; from the Yongle era’s initial establishment of the Provincial Governor system to the Wanli era, over 170 years of development had made Provincial Governors the de facto regional heads, overseeing subordinate Provincial Administration Commissioners, Surveillance Commissioners, and Military Commissioners.

Local Censors, however, could not supervise the Three Boards; their primary duty was inspecting prefectural, departmental, and county officials.

Provincial officials and above directly administered and inspected by the court were court-direct officials; those inspected by local censors were provincial-administered officials.

The gap between them was immense, like a chasm—only by crossing this chasm and becoming a court-direct official could one truly be considered a legitimate imperial appointee.

Zhu Yijun and Zhang Juzheng, at their wit’s end, faced precisely this top-down control problem.

The capital was a uniquely sensitive place, teeming with too many high officials and nobles, leaving the Shuntian Prefecture helpless in every action, its yamen filled with retainers and servants of these powerful families.

Zhang Juzheng said he could not resolve it; Zhu Yijun proposed direct military control by the Capital Garrison, but Grand General Qi Jiguang rejected it—it was too dangerous; violent upheaval at the political center would trigger a terrifying political storm sweeping across the entire Ming realm.

Qi Jiguang suddenly had an insight: he proposed assigning artisans from the capital’s four official workshops to serve as yamen runners and clerks in the six departments to solve this problem.

The more Qi Jiguang thought about it, the more plausible it seemed; he abruptly stood up, pondered for a long while, then said: “Your Majesty, the resident and seated artisans of the official workshops are not poor laborers.”

In class division, the Ming often ranked artisans above the poor masses, but according to the new classification of scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants, resident artisans should be classified as farmers—the class possessing means of production—since many now held shares in the workshops and were co-owners of the official factories.

The four major official workshops of the capital—the Xishan Coal Bureau, Yongsheng Wool Factory, Yongding Wool Factory, and Yongping Machinery Factory—hosted over 100,000 resident artisans, forming a vast collective centered on the workshops.

Qi Jiguang’s expression turned solemn.

He said: “Your Majesty, though the Ming scholarly elite strongly reject class theory, believing conflict theory suffices for governance, when confronting complex problems, one must still invoke class theory—replacing one class requires substituting it with another.”

“From a class perspective, I find that the six departments and yamen runners of Shuntian Prefecture are in fact enforcers and retainers cultivated by the gentry class.”

“To replace the gentry class’s special status in the capital, it is not the Capital Garrison’s elite troops, but the artisans.”

After Qi Jiguang spoke, everything became clear.

The Capital Garrison was entirely bound to imperial power; as it grew stronger, so did imperial authority, yet the Garrison also posed a lethal threat to the throne—a contradictory yet unified entity—thus the Garrison could not militarily govern the capital.

But artisans could: individually weak, their collective—the official workshops—possessed immense power; their unleashed strength commanded even the emperor’s attention; nearly everything the court required could be produced by the workshops, even grain.

The increased yields from water fertilizer and superior salt were plainly evident.

Artisan-born clerks and runners would relieve the Shuntian Deputy Prefect from pressure from subordinates, resolving part of the problem.

The artisans had only recently descended from the mountains; no one could ignore the power of the workshop artisans.

“Marshal Qi’s words are profoundly reasonable, profoundly reasonable!” Zhu Yijun’s eyes lit up; he sat upright and told Feng Bao: “Quickly go to the Wenyuan Pavilion and summon the Master.”

Zhu Yijun wanted Zhang Juzheng to review it; if useful talent existed, one must consult widely—each ounce of solemnity in policy-making ensured smoother implementation.

Zhang Juzheng arrived quickly; Feng Bao recounted the entire audience to him.

Zhang Juzheng, upon hearing the emperor wished to impose military rule on the capital, felt a pang of emotion—he knew his disciple well; the phrase “Shuntian’s hundred-one” had nearly become the emperor’s obsession, hence his urgency in decision-making.

In truth, given the emperor’s control over the Capital Garrison, such a move in an emergency posed no problem whatsoever.

Zhang Juzheng had once imagined a scene of Qi Jiguang rebelling, the Grand General clashing with the emperor—a scene too horrific to contemplate.

For if the emperor merely stood at the city gate, no elite troops would dare raise a hand against him.

The emperor was a man who never withheld military pay, loved to find excuses to distribute silver bonuses, treated soldiers exceptionally well, personally inspected troops daily, visited soldiers’ families during festivals, and had the Crown Prince escort the coffin of a fallen soldier from Tianjin back to the capital for burial.

Of course, the Capital Garrison’s elite troops, who upheld the emperor and rescued the common people, fully deserved such honor.

During the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, that chaotic era where the strongest fist ruled, soldiers had never received such respect; they were merely tools for power struggles.

During the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, which emperor would allow the Crown Prince to escort the coffin of an ordinary soldier back to the capital for burial?

Both literary and military struggles were struggles; their damage to the state’s vital energy was identical, no difference—military struggle appeared more brutal, yet literary struggle exacted a heavy cost upon the empire.

The emperor is a living man; regarding the Shuntian hundred-one issue, he has grown desperate, seeking military rule, ready to overturn the table—this could function effectively in the Wanli era.

But after Wanli? Would the Ming dynasty even survive? Would the Ming slide into complete violent chaos? Or, as in the emperor’s unpublished fourth volume, abolish the imperial system entirely?

Before productivity reaches a certain threshold, abolishing the imperial system is not a wise choice; the emperor himself wrote the fourth volume but refused to publish it—he knew the timing was utterly wrong.

Qi Jiguang’s dissent was for the sake of long-term stability; he himself enjoyed an excellent relationship with the emperor, was the emperor’s martial arts master, and an imperial tutor—but the next Regional Commander would be Li Rusong, whose relationship with the emperor was far less intimate.

If Qi Jiguang now agrees, the next commander, Li Rusong, might well be forced to commit suicide.

When Zhang Juzheng heard the emperor say he was at his wit’s end, he too felt helpless—he truly had no solution.

When the word “artisans” appeared, Zhang Juzheng’s eyes lit up, then brighter still; he abruptly stood, paced three circles in the imperial study, then quickly bowed and said: “Your Majesty, I have lost my composure.”

“Your Majesty, it all connects! Everything connects!”

“Master, please sit, sit, sit,” Zhu Yijun gestured for Zhang Juzheng to sit, not to rush his response; Confucius said to think thrice before acting—clearly Zhang Juzheng had only thought once; his idea was still immature.

Moreover, Zhang Juzheng now appeared agitated; decisions made in emotional turmoil easily led to grave errors.

“The ruler must not act out of anger to launch a campaign; the general must not fight out of resentment.”

Emperor Wu of Han defeated the Xiongnu and laid the foundation of the Central Plains dynasties not through anger, but through long-term planning.

Zhu Yijun’s leadership of the Wanli Reforms stemmed not from passion alone, nor from himself, but from the united efforts of countless Ming subjects—ten thousand hearts as one—that had brought about today’s situation.

After Zhang Juzheng sat down, he pondered for a full fifteen minutes, drank a cup of tea, then spoke: “Your Majesty, no scholar who passed the imperial examination ever dreamed of becoming a corrupt official; thousands upon thousands braved the narrow bridge to serve the state and bring peace to the people, to ensure national prosperity and popular welfare.”

“Yet often, upon assuming local office, one is forced to compromise, to sink into corruption; over time, under the corruption of power, beauty, and wealth, one becomes a treacherous minister, full of scheming.”

“This is precisely why Hanlin academicians are directly appointed to the Grand Secretariat—to participate in state secrets—because those who avoid local postings remain uncorrupted, yet those who merely compile texts lack practical governing experience and can only imagine matters.”

“Now, workshop artisans can become a vital pillar; Marshal Qi’s words have unlocked the final step of the Clerk Selection Law—the clerk origin.”

Zhang Juzheng spoke for a full fifteen minutes before finishing; Qi Jiguang listened for a long time, stunned—he had merely proposed “artisans” to ease the emperor’s burden, nothing more; yet Zhang Juzheng immediately connected the capital to the provinces, and “artisans” to the Clerk Selection Law.

Artisans from the workshops, qualifying as clerks, entering the Imperial Academy for training to obtain official status, thereby gaining a complete promotion pathway.

Zhang Juzheng spoke for a full quarter-hour before finishing his thoughts; Qi Jiguang, who had listened for a long time, sat stunned. He had mentioned “artisans” solely to ease His Majesty’s burdens, with no other intent—but Zhang Juzheng immediately extended the idea from the capital to the provinces, and from “artisans” to the Official Selection Law.

Indeed, the Minister of Personnel must be skilled in administration!

Just as Wan Shihé, the Minister of Rites, was exceptionally skilled in ritual law—today, many Ming affairs still rely on Wan Shihé’s old pronouncements.

If provinces also had official workshops, and their artisans trained sufficient clerks, and artisans’ sons could serve as runners—even if only a fraction—then officials appointed to the provinces would no longer rely on gentry-trained clerks and runners.

Artisans are the most rule-abiding; Qi Jiguang’s preferred recruits were artisans and miners, for artisans who disregarded workshop regulations inevitably caused production accidents—many rules and statutes were born from bloody lessons.

The Performance Evaluation Law was one pillar of the Wanli Reforms; without governing officials, nothing succeeds; the Clerk Selection Law, initiated in Wanli 15, will provide powerful momentum for future Ming reforms.

“Before the Dinghai Education System is completed, workshop artisans becoming clerks will become one cornerstone of the Ming Clerk Selection Law,” Zhang Juzheng concluded, clarifying that workshop artisans serving as provincial clerks was not the end of the Clerk Selection Law—there was more: after the Dinghai Education System’s full realization, everyone would have access to education and books.

If the Dinghai Education System is completed, the gentry class’s foundation will be utterly shaken; after Dinghai, the Ming will undergo a complete transformation, signifying deeper penetration of power—though still far from universal popular participation in governance.

The Dinghai Education System does not mean the gentry class will vanish entirely; they will retain immense local influence, but they can no longer hold life-and-death power over the masses beneath them—events like Chen Zhuang’s father wearing mourning for the dog of the Kong family in Yanzhou will never recur.

“Master, Marshal Qi, there is one matter: the Liaoning Agricultural Bureau has reported that this year’s grain output within Fushun Pass has reached half of Shandong’s, nearing that of Jiangxi, the land of rice and fish.” Zhu Yijun mentioned a matter requiring the Grand Secretary and Grand General’s awareness.

The Ming court had grossly underestimated Liaoning’s agricultural potential; before the Wanli Reforms,

the Han population in Liaoning numbered barely over two million, insufficient to qualify as a Provincial Administration, so it remained a dependent Liaodong Military Command under Shandong.

With the start of Liaoning’s military farming in Wanli 2, crossing the pass became a massive population migration; from Wanli 2 to the end of Wanli 18, over four million Han migrants flowed into Liaoning.

This year, grain output within Fushun Pass officially surpassed Jiangxi, becoming one of the Ming’s primary grain-producing regions.

The Wanli 9 Fish Scale Register revised Shuntian Prefecture’s farmland to 68,720 hectares, 13 mu, 5 fen—6.87 million mu—divided into upper, middle, and lower land; Shuntian’s yield per mu was approximately 1 shi, 3 dou, 6 hu, yielding 9.34 million shi annually.

If Shuntian’s output is one unit, Jiangxi’s is 38 times greater, Liaoyang Agricultural Bureau’s is 39 times, Huguang is 100 times, Henan is 116 times, and the undivided Southern Office is 138 times.

The combined output of Shaanxi, Gansu, Ningxia, and Suiyuan totaled only 70 times Shuntian’s—two such regions equaled the undivided Southern Office.

Ming grain output ranking: Southern Office first, Henan second, Huguang third, Shandong fourth—Shandong’s output was nearly 80 times Shuntian’s.

“Just within Fushun Pass, output has already reached half of Shandong’s?” Zhang Juzheng, astonished, took the memorial the emperor handed him and studied it with Qi Jiguang; Liaoning’s grain output growth was terrifying.

Zhu Yijun waved his hand: “Dun Tai Yuanhou has journeyed to Heilongjiang and other regions; land surveyors have mapped Liaoning’s topography. Merely estimating, if all the marshes and tussocks in Liaoning were drained, grain output would surpass the Southern Office.”

Feng Bao presented a Liaoning topographic map—exquisitely detailed, painstakingly surveyed over decades by Dun Tai Yuanhou and land surveyors, clearly marking mountains, rivers, forests, farmland, black soil, and complete boundaries.

If the Liaoyang, Jilin, and Heilongjiang basins were fully cultivated—even with only one harvest per year—the grain output would surpass the Southern Office.

Feng Bao unveiled a Liaodong topographic map, exquisitely detailed, the result of decades of relentless foot surveys by beacon scouts and geomancers, clearly marking mountains, rivers, forests, farmland, black soil, and more, with complete boundaries.

“If climate change intensifies, continue relocating people to Liaoning; the great migrations of Hongwu and Yongle eras can be repeated in the Wanli era—this requires Marshal Qi’s Capital Garrison to guard thoroughly and prevent unrest,” Zhu Yijun stated the main purpose of this court deliberation.

Liaoning Provincial Governor Gu Yangqian only reported conditions within Fushun Pass, because beyond Fushun Pass, Han population was sparse, newly reclaimed land abundant, and yields unstable—causing distorted statistics; within Fushun Pass, Wang Hua’s two-century rule meant dense Han population, mature farmland, stable yields—only then could accurate statistics be compiled.

Liaoyang’s grain output alone reached half of Shandong’s; Jilin, still being reclaimed, and undeveloped Heilongjiang—Liaoning’s population capacity far exceeded the court’s imagination.

If climate change worsens, and heaven truly intends to destroy the Ming, relocate some of Shaanxi, Gansu, and Suiyuan’s population to Liaoning via the Suiyuan Expressway and Jing-Ji Expressway, to be fed by Liaoyang, Jilin, and others.

Just relocating two to three million more people would cap Shaanxi, Gansu, and Suiyuan’s population growth under environmental constraints, greatly increasing the Ming’s chance of surviving the climate change.

“Pity—Wang Situ, who once cherished this matter, has now lost his clarity,” Zhu Yijun’s tone grew mournful; with this tremendous good news on climate change, the former Grand Minister of Works, Wang Guoguang, who cared most deeply, had begun to lose his wits—filling Zhu Yijun with profound sorrow.

“Your Majesty, I will visit Wang Situ on your behalf and inform him of this good news,” Zhang Juzheng returned the Liaoning Agricultural Bureau memorial to the emperor, his expression grave.

“Very well, thank you, Master,” Zhu Yijun nodded.

Zhu Yijun felt himself a harbinger of doom; every time he visited ailing ministers, they died within days—making him hesitant to visit them at all.

He knew clearly: it was not he who caused their deaths; whenever he visited, these ministers were already in their final stages.

Zhang Juzheng’s visit on his behalf signified the emperor’s deep concern.

“Does this mean Liaoning can support a million soldiers?” Qi Jiguang frowned, staring at the grain output figures and the vast Liaoning map; his face darkened.

Grain output, population, and geography were concrete expressions of battlefield potential; clearly, the court had grossly underestimated Liaoning’s output—previously, Liaoning was seen as a mere skin disease, insignificant, trivial.

But now, Liaoning’s issue was no skin disease—it was a fatal internal threat! In an instant, Qi Jiguang saw: this vast land would become the cradle of revival under climate change.

Climate change meant drastic climatic shifts, droughts and floods, leading to crop failures—signifying a sharp decline in grain output from the Ming heartland; with less food but unchanged population, unrest would inevitably arise, further reducing population, triggering a vicious cycle of declining grain and population.

The Ming heartland’s war potential rapidly declined under climate change; Liaoning, less affected, with sufficient rainfall, could support more people—over time, within fifty years, Liaoning would become the cradle of revival under this special condition.

But now it was clear: the Liaodong problem was no mere skin disease—it was a grave threat to the heart! In an instant, Qi Jiguang saw that this vast land of Liaodong would become the cradle of heavenly change.

Heaven's change refers to drastic climate shifts causing droughts and floods, leading to crop failures and a sharp decline in grain production across the heartland of Great Ming; with less food available but a stable population, civil unrest inevitably arises, and such unrest further reduces population, ultimately creating a vicious cycle of declining grain and population.

The war potential of Great Ming’s heartland rapidly diminished under Heaven’s change, while Liaodong, minimally affected, received ample rainfall and could support a larger population; as this imbalance grew, within less than fifty years, Liaodong would become the rising heartland under this unique environmental condition.

This was what Qi Jiguang saw in Liaodong.

"What the Commander Qi said is precisely what I have been worrying about: drops of water can wear through stone. With Shanhai Pass as the fulcrum, the heartland of Great Ming and Liaodong form a seesaw—the war potential of the heartland will slowly decline, and with more Han men defecting to the barbarians, it could truly become a grave threat to Great Ming. That is why I had Gao Huai and his father boiled alive."

Zhu Yijun spoke of the earlier case.

Gao Tuo and his adopted son Gao Huai were boiled to death in an extremely cruel manner by Feng Bao, and their corpses were sent to the Dissection Institute to contribute to Great Ming’s medical science.

Once the barbarians grow strong, compounded by celestial changes, the problem will become even more severe.

Liaodong must not fall into chaos; if Liaodong falls into chaos, Great Ming falls into chaos—especially since Liaodong’s grain output is still growing at a terrifying rate of ten percent annually.

"Move two hundred thousand able-bodied men each year from Shaanxi, Gansu, and Suizhou to Liaodong," Qi Jiguang said, gazing at the map with a grave expression. "This is the fundamental strategy."

The more Han people there are, the more land they cultivate, the more barbarians can be planted into the fields; the more barbarians are planted, the more stable Liaodong becomes, and thus the whole realm finds peace.

This was the Grand General’s final answer upon hearing the output figures from the Liaodong Agricultural Reclamation Bureau: relocate the people.

Zhu Yijun had Feng Bao bring the Liaodong Provincial Administration’s land reclamation permits and handed them to Qi Jiguang. "My relocation of people is no different from that of the Taizu and Chengzu Emperors—I provide travel expenses, land deeds, and settlement aid. Previously, the Liaodong Provincial Administration could not be established, so the promised land could not be delivered, making large-scale relocation impossible. Now it can."

Words spoken must be honored. If the Son of Heaven’s golden words are not fulfilled, are they not equivalent to farting?

Although this promise was fully realized only in the nineteenth year of Wanli, with the establishment of the Provincial Administration, the people of Great Ming are like this: as long as the Emperor keeps his word, even a delay is acceptable—and they may even cry out "Ten Thousand Years!"

The people of Great Ming fear neither swamps nor tussocks; their fundamental nature is endurance and diligence. These obstacles can be overcome, and the court has provided sufficient tools and livestock to aid in Liaodong’s reclamation.

The government-run farms under the Agricultural Reclamation Bureau alone possess five hundred thousand oxen, and donkeys and mules exceed one million—these animals have greatly facilitated reclamation.

Liaodong has already met the necessary conditions for the relocation of Great Ming’s people; indeed, the conditions are even better than those during the reigns of Taizu and Chengzu.

Qi Jiguang noticed that the permit the Emperor had brought bore the signatures and seals of grain overseers, indicating that the Liaodong Provincial Administration now had a fully functional administration reaching down to the villages—this is the prerequisite for registering households and organizing the populace.

Zhang Juzheng and Qi Jiguang spoke with the Emperor at length before leaving the Tonghemen Imperial Study. Qi Jiguang would write the "Memorial on the Relocation of People to Liaodong in the Wanli Era," and Zhang Juzheng would write the "Memorial on Artisans, Clerks, and Officials Residing in Place." The memorials of the Grand General and the Chief Grand Secretary would shape the fundamental structure of Great Ming.

Before returning to the Wenyuan Pavilion, Zhang Juzheng first visited Wang Guoguang’s residence. After speaking with the Chief Medical Officer, Zhang Juzheng found Wang Guoguang lying in a reclining chair, basking in the sun.

Wang Guoguang was curled up in the chair, his frame thin and frail, covered by a thin blanket. He stared blankly at the massive hackberry tree in the courtyard, its canopy like an umbrella.

He had forgotten when the tree had been planted.

He remembered planting it in the twenty-third year of Jiajing, after passing the imperial examination, as a "tree of triumph"—but the memory had blurred, as if it had always been there.

Yet such trivial matters, as he grew older, became increasingly confused in his mind—he disliked this feeling intensely.

"Shu’an, it is Bai Gui," Zhang Juzheng walked over and sat before Wang Guoguang, speaking softly.

Wang Guoguang turned his head, studied Zhang Juzheng carefully, then said: "Bai Gui? You’ve returned? I told you not to submit memorials, not to submit memorials—did you anger His Majesty? Three years have passed. Where have you been?"

"How have you become so aged?"

Wang Guoguang recognized Zhang Juzheng’s appearance and was startled—the once vigorous, handsome man had turned gray-haired.

Zhang Juzheng still wore a smile. The Chief Medical Officer had said Wang Guoguang had forgotten many things; his memory had frozen around the thirty-sixth year of Jiajing. Zhang Juzheng had met Wang Guoguang in the thirty-first year of Jiajing, when Wang returned to the capital to serve as Director of the Ministry of War’s Transport Bureau.

By now, their friendship had lasted forty years.

"It is now the nineteenth year of Wanli—forty years have passed. Of course I am old," Zhang Juzheng began recounting everything that had happened: Yan Song, Xu Jie, Gao Gong, how the Emperor had changed from the Daoist Lord to the Sovereign. Zhang Juzheng spoke as thoughts came to him.

"Oh oh, so it is. Look at me—I keep forgetting. Old age makes one useless, useless."

As Wang Guoguang listened, he recalled some things, then forgot others again.

"Celestial changes! Celestial changes!" Wang Guoguang suddenly sat upright, his face anxious. "What of the celestial changes?"

Though confused, the words "celestial changes" kept recurring, filling him with dread. He clearly remembered what celestial changes meant—the trials Great Ming was enduring—and even recalled the policies adopted to respond to them.

"I came today to speak of celestial changes. Liaodong can relocate at least five million more souls—enough to meet the challenge." Zhang Juzheng told Wang Guoguang the figures on Liaodong’s land and grain output.

"Fushun Pass alone produces as much grain as half of Shandong—and the entire Liaodong, including Jilin and Heilongjiang, once reclaimed, equals an entire Southern Ministry! Excellent! Excellent! Heaven favors Great Ming! Heaven favors Great Ming!"

Upon hearing this, Wang Guoguang’s spirits lifted immediately. He sat up and chatted with Zhang Juzheng for a full half-hour.

"You, as Chief Grand Secretary, are burdened with countless affairs. I won’t detain you. I’m just an old man, nothing to look at—go, attend to your duties." Wang Guoguang wished to talk longer, but he knew Zhang Juzheng was busy and did not waste his time.

[137] Several Chief Medical Officers were astonished, marveling at the miracle of life: after Zhang Juzheng left, Wang Guoguang became noticeably less confused, regained some vigor, and even began reading the daily bulletins.

[138] A man lives by his spirit. Clearly, the hardship of celestial changes had become less daunting, and Wang Guoguang’s spirit had regained strength.