Chapter 981: Smiles Do Not Disappear, They Only Shift

Zhang Juzheng returned to the Quanchu Hall and, before beginning his memorial, asked You Shouli to retrieve all letters exchanged between himself and Li Chengliang over the years, as he needed to verify conditions in Liaodong.

Li Chengliang was a crude man who rambled at length; these letters helped Zhang Juzheng understand the situation in Liaodong.

The letters were countless—for instance, detailing how to catch fat-headed fish at Chagan Lake, and how to deliver live fish to the palace.

Fat-headed fish were a tribute from Liaodong to His Majesty; the Emperor issued two edicts forbidding live fish tributes as wasteful and burdensome, but Li Chengliang and Hou Yuzhao ignored him, and eventually the Emperor relented and allowed the live fish tributes.

Because live fish were sent to the Emperor, fat-headed fish from Chagan Lake could be sold in Liaodong, Zhili, Shandong, and elsewhere.

Since His Majesty had tasted them and praised them, they naturally sold well.

During His Majesty’s two southern tours, countless goods labeled “tasted and approved by the Emperor” appeared along the route—Wanli Tribute Noodles, Wanli Tribute Crackers, Wanli Imperial Buns, and more; Zhang Juzheng didn’t even know whether the Emperor had actually eaten any of them.

What the Emperor ate, how many bowls of rice he consumed daily—these were state secrets; even Yang Bo had once been interrogated by the Emperor: “Are you so curious about how many bowls I eat each day?” Yang Bo fell to his knees in terror, unable to rise.

Military traders were an ecosystem most scholar-officials did not understand; all spoils from Ming military campaigns were ultimately handled by these traders, who were also among the primary forces behind reclamation.

Zhang Juzheng also sought out many Hongwu-era historical records and studied the “Regulations on Salt and Grain Exchange” enacted in Hongwu third and fourth years—the Zhongyan system.

The regulations mandated using salt and tea as intermediaries to recruit merchants to transport grain, horses, and other supplies, and to reclaim wasteland.

Merchant reclamation and military reclamation were systems designed by the Hongwu Emperor in the early Ming, and they operated effectively until the fifth year of Hongzhi under Emperor Xiaozong.

“Xiaozong…” After reviewing all historical cases on the Zhongyan system, Zhang Juzheng remained agitated for a long time—he truly had no words.

In Hongzhi fifth year, Minister of Revenue Ye Qi altered the Zhongyan system by introducing the Zhesè method: merchants no longer needed to transport grain long distances to frontier regions; they could simply pay silver at salt fields to obtain salt.

This appeared to directly increase state revenue, but soon, the silver paid at salt fields for salt dwindled to only about 1.3 million taels by the time it reached the imperial treasury—less than the profit from kelp trade.

The Ming salt system was severely damaged by this impulsive Zhesè method devised by Emperor Xiaozong and Ye Qi.

The reason for the salt system’s collapse was simple: silver was paid at salt fields, but layer upon layer of officials embezzled it along the way; by the time it reached the imperial treasury, only 1.3 million taels remained—officials at every level had shown remarkable respect to the court.

With the salt system ruined, Ming tax revenues plummeted; worse, massive abandonment of merchant-reclaimed land led to insufficient military grain supplies and depleted frontier reserves.

Originally, merchants cultivated land along the Nine Borders, exchanged their harvests for salt vouchers at garrisons, then transported those vouchers to interior regions where their families redeemed them for salt and sold it nationwide.

After Zhesè, merchants no longer needed the laborious task of recruiting tenant farmers to cultivate land—they could simply pay silver to obtain sufficient salt. Merchants began abandoning vast tracts of frontier land; within less than five years, military grain supplies dropped by twenty percent.

Grain prices on the frontier soared; at their peak, one dan of grain cost five taels of silver!

The twenty percent of military grain provided by merchant reclamation was crucial, because the Nine Borders were a military zone—its ecosystem was extremely fragile, where one disturbance triggered a chain reaction.

The Nine Borders were already in a state of “insufficient grain, slight shortage”; when merchant reclamation collapsed and grain supply dropped by twenty percent, it was as if the sky had fallen.

Even in the capital, if grain supplies suddenly dropped by twenty percent, prices would surge from five qian per dan to levels that would starve twenty percent of the population.

The first person to attempt to undermine the Zhongyan system was Liao Yongzhong—the same Liao Yongzhong who drowned the Little Ming King; Zhu Yuanzhang flew into a rage and nearly executed him.

The Zhesè method, impulsively conceived by Ye Qi and Emperor Xiaozong, utterly ruined the Ming salt tax and frontier grain supply; in Zhang Juzheng’s view, they bore partial responsibility for Altan Khan’s rise and his raids on the capital region.

Had the Nine Borders not collapsed, Altan Khan could never have caused such chaos.

Zhang Juzheng then reread Li Chengliang’s letters from the Western Regions for a long time, confirming that Li Chengliang still maintained a large contingent of military traders.

Although Li Chengliang had only three thousand personal retainers, the accompanying couriers, traders, laborers, porters, cooks, and prostitutes exceeded twenty thousand.

“This Marquis of Ningyuan—I don’t know what to say about him—is he so obsessed with brothels?” Zhang Juzheng finished reading all the letters, copied down key passages, and shook his head helplessly.

He had told Li Chengliang countless times, but Li Chengliang refused to listen—he insisted on building brothels.

Last time, Li Chengliang clashed with Liaodong Provincial Governor Zhou Yong over the Tie Ling brothel; Li Chengliang considered Zhou Yong’s moral austerity—his refusal to visit brothels—as untrustworthy, a bandit’s mentality.

Now Li Chengliang had built another brothel in Hami, even added a Hu Xuan dance hall; Gansu censors had repeatedly impeached him. Many merchants flocked to Hami, making the brothel a must-visit spot, stirring widespread desire.

Not only did women from the interior follow, but Central Asian women were also a major feature of the Hami brothel.

When Li Chengliang went west, military traders, following millennia-old tradition, began cultivating land locally—this time, cotton fields. In March of this year, Li Chengliang banned all merchants from cultivating cotton, ordering only grain crops permitted; merchants erupted in complaints.

But in the Western Regions, Li Chengliang’s word outweighed imperial edicts; the Emperor reasoned, but Li Chengliang acted like a mountain warlord—he didn’t argue, he expelled those who disobeyed, and killed those who resisted; merchants had no choice but to switch to grain and dared not plant cotton.

Li Chengliang’s order was not capricious: widespread cotton cultivation reduced grain yields; grain in the Western Regions was already critically insufficient, and planting cotton worsened the shortage—only a blanket ban on merchant cotton reclamation could solve it.

Li Chengliang knew this was not a long-term solution, so he specifically summoned the Grand Agricultural Officer from the Nongxue Academy to seek solutions.

The Grand Agricultural Officer had no solution—but he thought of one.

The Nongxue Academy agronomist sent to Hami was Ke Yanchang, who had been a pillar of stability in Suiyuan.

Ke Yanchang successfully cultivated the Russian purple-root grass, which blanketed Suiyuan; in Gansu, he developed fast-growing poplars; and now, the Ming’s widely promoted Zhongsheng Good Sweet Potato No. 1 was also developed under his leadership.

The 1592 Chonggu Progress Award had already been assigned to Ke Yanchang, but he was too busy to collect it—the Emperor would hold it personally.

Now Ke Yanchang was seeking solutions to the vast salt-alkali lands of the Western Regions; if he succeeded, merchants could be permitted to reclaim cotton land again, restoring a virtuous cycle of merchant, military, and civilian reclamation.

Salt-alkali lands are white and barren; you plant several crops a year, but seedlings are sparse, and autumn yields nothing.

Salt-alkali land was the main obstacle to increasing grain production in the Western Regions; Ke Yanchang was searching for multiple salt-tolerant plants, hoping to domesticate them to drain salt from the soil.

Moreover, most of these salt-tolerant plants were high-quality forage; after all, animals, desperate for salt, would chew stones, and wolves would leap into sheep pens to lick urine stains.

If salt-tolerant plants suited to the Western Regions could be cultivated, a virtuous cycle would emerge: salt-draining via salt-tolerant plants, animal husbandry, and expanded farmland; once this loop was established, grain production in the Western Regions would continuously grow.

If the Ming could firmly control the Western Regions for over two hundred years, and this cycle continued for two centuries, the Western Regions would truly be “since ancient times”—no one could ever sever them again.

The Emperor personally held Ke Yanchang’s Chonggu Progress Award medal until Ke returned to the capital, when the Emperor would present it to him in person.

Pang Xian had also missed his Progress Award ceremony—he was in Suiyuan inoculating cattle against smallpox; over a year later, the Emperor personally awarded him. Pang Xian was Li Shizhen’s student, surpassing his master.

Zhang Juzheng synthesized all of Li Chengliang’s letters and policies on the Zhongyan system, and began drafting the “Wanli Memorial on Relocating Populations to Liaodong.”

This was originally meant for Qi Jiguang to write, but Qi Jiguang, as a general, was unfamiliar with civil administration; Zhang Juzheng would help Qi complete this memorial, destined to rank alongside the “New Treatise on Military Discipline” and “On War.”

“Memorial on Relocation.”

Qi Jiguang returned to the Grand General’s Mansion to assist Zhang Juzheng in drafting the “Memorial on Resident Artisans and Official Appointments.”

Zhang Juzheng was unfamiliar with artisans, for he had never overseen major construction projects or imperial workshops; Qi Jiguang, however, knew artisans intimately—his personal guards were all Wuyi miners.

These Zhe soldiers had fought alongside Qi Jiguang across south and north, earned great merit, and even discovered the Wuma Gang mineral deposit during the Suiyuan campaign.

Qi Jiguang truly understood artisans; he combined their residency and past experience into a ten-thousand-word memorial, delivered to the Quanchu Hall, helping Zhang Juzheng complete the final step of the Li Ju Law.

To this day, Zhang Juzheng still did not know that the Li Ju Law had originated as a foolish suggestion by Wang Qian before the Emperor; at the time, Wang Qian had only a rough idea—the refinement of the Li Ju Law was entirely Zhang Juzheng’s work.

On the fourth day of the eighth month, Wanli 19, the Grand Secretariat convened in the Wenhua Hall, and Zhang Juzheng and Qi Jiguang submitted their memorials.

“Mr. Zhang, General Qi, you have devoted yourselves utterly to the Ming; I thank you on behalf of all the people.” Zhu Yijun, having read both memorials, spoke sincerely.

Zhang Juzheng and Qi Jiguang bowed again, lowering their heads: “We thank Your Majesty for your excessive praise.”

“Devoted utterly” was a high praise, for it was Zhuge Liang’s self-assessment—a judgment later validated by his enemies and by time.

Sima Yi’s greatest adversary was Zhuge Liang, yet the Western Jin dynasty founded by the Sima clan held Zhuge Liang in the highest esteem.

“Unprecedented since Qin and Han,” “Great name hangs in the cosmos,” “When Ge lived, we did not realize his uniqueness; after his death, none matched him”—these were praises from the Western and Eastern Jin dynasties; the greatest eulogies for Zhuge Liang came from the Jin era.

Zhu Yijun looked at Zhang Juzheng and Qi Jiguang; if future historians judged him, he did not care—he would not mind if his tomb were piled with trash, for his deeds invited criticism.

But he hoped historians would judge Zhang Juzheng and Qi Jiguang fairly—they owed loyalty to the court, to the monarch, to the realm, to the people, and above all, to their own conscience.

In loyalty, the two had reached the utmost.

Court ministers debated the two memorials endlessly: all had braved the narrow bridge of competition, all had passed the imperial exams, all had climbed step by step to the Wenhua Hall—yet how could the gap be so vast? These two pillars of the state, civil Zhang and martial Qi, were still pushing forward.

The Li Ju Law reformed Ming bureaucracy; the Relocation Memorial could greatly alleviate the damage caused by celestial disasters.

“Return land in Xuzhou,” Shen Shixing stepped forward and bowed: “Your Majesty, land return is easiest in Xuzhou.”

Shen Shixing submitted a memorial on land return, invoking the Hongwu ancestral laws, intending to restore land in Xuzhou, Yangzhou, Changzhou, Suzhou, and Nanjing prefectures.

Shen Shixing had assumed

Suzhou and Nanjing would be easiest—but he was wrong; after consulting the prefects of the five prefectures, he found Xuzhou the easiest.

“Oh? Xuzhou lacks silver—how is it easiest?” Zhu Yijun asked, puzzled; Xuzhou’s inclusion on the land-return list was Zhu Yijun’s personal favor—a reward for loyalty—he had expected to pay a heavy price to assist Xuzhou.

But reality seemed otherwise.

Shen Shixing sighed: “Land return has already begun in Xuzhou. I’ve corresponded with Prefect Liu Shun; he has already completed part of the land return by leveraging the imperial highway.”

The fact that seven percent of the population volunteered to register indicated administrative ease; the higher the percentage, the greater the people’s support for the local government, and the easier governance becomes.

After all, volunteering to register means: I truly own a cow!

When the court undertakes projects—building bridges, repairing roads, digging canals and wells, constructing imperial workshops—it always conscripts those registered; these are backbreaking tasks.

“How did Liu Shun achieve this?” Zhu Yijun was stunned; the imperial highway passed through many places—how did Liu Shun use it to redistribute productive assets?

Shen Shixing explained in detail how Liu Shun did it.

While the Beijing-Guangzhou highway was under construction, the highway from Jinan to Yangzhou was also being built; it passed through Xuzhou. Liu Shun seized the opportunity, forming a military engineering corps from the construction workforce, reorganizing production relations, rewarding law-abiding gentry and punishing corrupt ones, and ultimately completing a full land survey and population census.

Only with the Fish Scale Register and Yellow Register in hand could productive assets be redistributed.

“Last year, on the Emperor’s birthday, officials from all regions submitted congratulatory memorials commenting on Hou Yuzhao’s book ‘Rising Up.’ Liu Shun’s memorial left a deep impression on me—he wrote: ‘Only when the people rise up can the Ming rise up; only land return allows the people to rise up.’” Zhu Yijun, after hearing Shen Shixing’s account, was deeply moved.

Liu Shun was a good official; he was an imperial grace graduate—only a juren—but he achieved what many jinshi could not.

Zhu Yijun had met Liu Shun during his southern tour; Liu Shun was not clever—he did not belong to the brilliant, quick-witted elite—but he achieved it.

Shen Shixing said hesitantly: “Prefect Liu’s land-return method can be adopted by Yangzhou, Changzhou, Suzhou, and Nanjing. I have taken credit for his achievement—I have stolen his heavenly merit.”

Zhu Yijun smiled warmly: “Minister Shen, you speak too modestly. Prefect Liu could only implement land return in part of Xuzhou—he needed your help as a high-ranking court official. Mutual support—no one steals another’s merit. Both are virtuous ministers.”

“I will grant Prefect Liu special rewards. Do not feel guilty—what is yours is yours.”

Labor is yours.

Shen Shixing was a gentleman; his virtue forbade him from claiming Liu Shun’s merit. He could have seized it—but as a top-ranked scholar, stealing the hard-won achievement of a mere juren would ruin his reputation.

Shen Shixing’s task of land return was difficult—powerful local elites in these regions were far from passive; resistance was immense. But Liu Shun’s actions had opened a massive breach.

A fortress once thought impregnable now had a gaping hole; breaking it became simple.

Gao Qi glanced at Shen Shixing, slightly envious—Shen’s life had always been smooth.

He became a jinshi after only half a year as a juren, entered Zhang Juzheng’s circle, served as Suzhou Provincial Governor, benefited from Song Yingchang’s groundwork in Suzhou, returned to court to achieve major reforms in imperial workshops, and now, with Liu Shun clearing the path, land return was within easy reach.

Gao Qi had reached his position only through relentless struggle; his former mentor, the Grand Secretary, disliked him and made everything difficult.

In the 41st year of the Jiajing era, Gao Qi failed his first imperial examination; he watched Shen Shixing, the top scholar, parade through Chang'an, basking in glory. By the 19th year of the Wanli era, he still observed this same zhuangyuan pursuing his ambitions, feeling as though heaven itself aided Shen's every move.

Gao Qi was not discouraged—he was already stronger than most jinshi; he was now a court minister, participating in state affairs. Shen Shixing was indeed powerful, blessed by fortune—but Gao Qi’s intellect was no lesser!

“Minister Shen, there is news: Prefect Yao Guangqi of Songjiang and Prefect Yan Shixuan of Hangzhou have come to court for their official reports, to assume roles as Chief and Deputy Officials.” Zhu Yijun looked at Shen Shixing, feeling he had been too fortunate, and delivered a tremendous piece of news.

“Who? Yan Shixuan?!” Shen Shixing’s face turned pale; the two times he had been demoted to fifth rank, forced to serve as a fifth-rank Director overseeing Suzhou, were all because of this man—Yan Shixuan.

“Indeed.” Zhu Yijun watched Shen Shixing’s face turn pale, smiling brightly. Yan Shixuan’s infamous reputation as a curse was no exaggeration—even Hou Yuzhao, his direct superior, could not escape it. If Hou Yuzhao hadn’t been so hardy, he might have ended up just like Shen Shixing.

“Is it not delightful when friends come from afar? You are all old acquaintances—Shen, you may meet them.” Zhu Yijun’s words brought smiles to the faces of the court ministers.

Gao Qi’s smile was just as bright and radiant as the Emperor’s.

During the morning court session, Shen Shixing was distracted. As Left Vice Minister of Personnel, he indeed had to liaise with Yan Shixuan and Yao Guangqi. That rascal Yan Shixuan had left an indelible impression on him.

But now, Shen Shixing was a trusted minister of the Emperor—he refused to believe Yan Shixuan could still behave as he once had!

As the court dismissed,

Shen Shixing, preoccupied with his thoughts, failed to watch his step.

“Watch out!” Several ministers shouted as they saw Shen Shixing stumbling toward the left gate pillar.

“Thud.” Shen Shixing slammed into the pillar. He rubbed his head, staring blankly at it. He had walked this path for years—he could have done it blindfolded without hitting anything!

“Shen, pay attention when you walk,” Gao Qi said as he passed by, kindly advising, “That pillar’s been there for decades—look where you’re going.”

Shen Shixing’s misfortune wasn’t over. On his way back to the Ministry of Personnel, he tripped over a threshold, nearly falling. Though he didn’t fall, he twisted his left ankle.

He initially dismissed it—what harm could one twist do? Everyone stumbles in life. But by noon, the pain became unbearable. After the Imperial Physician examined him, he confirmed a partial ligament tear and ordered bandaging and immobilization.

Now, whenever Shen Shixing spoke to others, he had to prop his foot on a stool—highly unseemly. Worse, he was expected to attend morning court at the Wenhua Palace in this condition!

The Emperor, upon hearing of Shen’s ordeal, felt great sympathy—but refused him sick leave. Instead, he granted Shen extraordinary privileges: permission to ride a palanquin into the palace, and orders for Embroidered Uniform Guards to carry him into the court for deliberations.

Shen Shixing could not imagine the scene: one foot propped on a stool, reporting to the Emperor on the reform of the Office of Merchants and the progress of land restitution.

The Emperor’s favor was not meant to mock him—it was because every task in his hands was critical. If he skipped court or neglected duties, the cooked duck would fly right out of his mouth.

He had no choice but to attend court injured—worse, he would have to endure this for twenty to thirty days!

It was utter disgrace—complete loss of dignity!

“Farewell, Yaoquan. Your charm remains undimmed,” Yao Guangqi said to Yan Shixuan. Both were former subordinates of Shen Shixing; upon returning to the capital, they visited him first. Yao Guangqi was courteous, yet puzzled: “Yaoquan, what happened to your foot?”

Yao Guangqi immediately noticed Shen Shixing’s bandaged foot resting on the stool.

“This morning, after court, I twisted my ankle near the Ministry’s entrance. The Imperial Physician bandaged it,” Shen Shixing replied. Seeing Yan Shixuan made his foot throb.

Shen Shixing looked at Yan Shixuan and said, “Mingtai, we’ve never been enemies, and I’m no longer your superior. Please, stop your sorcery! You’ve barely arrived in Tongzhou, and already I’m in this state.”

Yan Shixuan stared blankly. “Yaoquan, how could my actions have caused your injury?”

“As I passed the Ministry’s gate, Vice Minister Gao Qi stopped me to discuss matters of the Huantai Merchant Alliance’s Council. He mentioned you two—especially you, Mingtai. I was thinking of you, and then I fell,” Shen Shixing said, his face twisted in pain.

Yao Guangqi had been recommended by Gao Qi; Yan Shixuan by Wang Jiaoping. Before the Ministry issued their official credentials and seals, Gao Qi had to consult Shen Shixing. As they left court together, Gao Qi explained the personnel arrangements to him.

Shen Shixing thought of Yan Shixuan’s name—and fell. He knew this feeling all too well!

It always happened this way: things seemed unrelated to Yan Shixuan, yet every thread led back to him.

Shen Shixing had never suffered misfortune—except when it came to Yan Shixuan! He begged Yan Shixuan to end his curse. His life wasn’t as hardy as Hou Yuzhao’s—he couldn’t endure this anymore.

“Er…” Yan Shixuan looked bewildered. “Yaoquan, Governor Hou in Zhejiang has been perfectly fine—this isn’t me.”

“True. Governor Hou galloped across Liaodong’s snow and ice as if on flat ground—but in Zhejiang, he dares not even ride a horse, moving with extreme caution,” Shen Shixing sighed heavily, then suddenly brightened.

“Your official credentials and seals are all prepared at the Ministry. Attend to them at once.” Shen Shixing sat upright, handing the seals to Yao Guangqi and Yan Shixuan. The moment he passed them over, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders!

Now that the seals were given, Yan Shixuan’s direct superiors were Yao Guangqi and Gao Qi—it was Gao Qi’s turn to suffer!

Shen Shixing, in his condition, could not host a banquet for them. The three chatted for a long while.

Shen Shixing asked about the situation in Songjiang Prefecture. It was fine—but not good. Where silver piled up, silver could buy almost everything. Everyone chased after silver; propriety and ritual were crumbling. Extravagance had become rampant. Wang Qian had tried to curb it, but with little success.

The rarer the item, the more it was bought; the more it was bought, the higher the price. Imperial Estate emeralds were wildly sought after. A single three-tael, fully green emerald commanded thirty thousand taels of silver. Worse, the Imperial Estate had limited high-grade stock, so prices kept soaring.

Shen Shixing asked about land restitution in Zhejiang. The situation there had improved vastly since his departure. The restructuring of production relations and redistribution of production resources had begun to show benefits everywhere. Zhejiang now led all other regions by more than a step.

Moreover, Hou Yuzhao’s continued presence in Zhejiang to consolidate the land restitution was essential.

Without the ruthless Hou Yuzhao, Zhejiang's land restitution would have collapsed and restarted repeatedly. Hou Yuzhao always judged issues based on political stance—this irrational approach, paradoxically, made the land restitution campaign vibrant and thoroughly enforced.

“There’s no position for him in the capital—he can’t return. He’ll likely stay in Zhejiang for a while,” Shen Shixing said, shaking his head. Hou Yuzhao was always different—he went against the grain. Everyone else sought advancement; he didn’t. He was determined to fully implement land restitution.

"But isn't it dangerous for Governor Hou to always judge by political stance?" Yan Shixuan still felt this approach was problematic.

“Governor Hou can do this because it’s his innate gift—no one else can replicate it,” Yao Guangqi said. This was an almost instinctive battlefield intuition, forged over twelve years in Liaodong’s chaotic environment.

It seemed like conditional probability: the more conditions, the higher the likelihood of evil.

But Hou Yuzhao's case was not purely that. If others did this—ignoring right and wrong, judging only by political stance—they would inevitably fail.

The next morning, Gao Qi claimed illness and did not attend the court deliberation.

Shen Shixing’s smile was even brighter and more radiant than Gao Qi’s had been yesterday!

The next morning, Gao Qi claimed illness and did not attend the court deliberation.

Shen Shixing’s smile was even brighter and more radiant than Gao Qi’s had been yesterday!