Chapter 984: I Was Too Frivolous

When Zhang Juzheng began teaching the emperor during the Wanli first year, he once imparted a principle: Zengzi said, “A gentleman does not contemplate beyond his station.”

Zhang Juzheng said: “A gentleman differs from a petty man; the scope of a gentleman’s thoughts never exceeds his position—he strives to fulfill his utmost duty, to carry out the responsibilities of his station: to do what one ought to do.”

As Left Pillar of the State, Imperial Tutor, Chief Minister, and Marquis of Yicheng, Zhang Juzheng lived by this saying; his thoughts, concerns, and actions were all focused on the future of the Great Ming.

Indeed, he initiated the Wanli Reforms through the Examination of Achievements system, but all reforms must ultimately manifest in material terms—bureaucratic rectification as the starting point, ensuring policies could be implemented, and ultimately, only when material wealth increased could reform truly succeed.

In Zhang Juzheng’s own view, the bureaucratic reform he represented, and the productivity advancement represented by Wang Chonggu, the official factory system, was far more important.

“I do not believe Master is entirely correct.” Gao Qi, through fragments of words from Shen Shixing, learned of Zhang Juzheng’s thoughts, reflected upon them, and rejected Zhang Juzheng’s perspective.

“Indeed, a rebel.” Shen Shixing wore an expression of “as expected”; as a disciple of the Zhang faction, he dared not loudly declare, “Master is not entirely correct.”

After becoming Minister of Rites, Gao Qi’s thinking immediately ascended to the level of ritual law—was ritual law truly unimportant? Gao Qi believed not; it was merely that the lowly Confucians performed so poorly that the emperor came to neglect ritual law.

Wei Shihe, as Minister of Rites, did very well, and the emperor greatly approved.

Gao Qi shook his head and said: “Master believes that with official factories, resident artisans, the three-tier factory schools, shareholding system, guilds, and job transfers, these will naturally emerge over time—I completely doubt they will ever truly appear, but how long will it take? Fifty years? A hundred years? But certainly not twenty.”

What Zhang Juzheng represented was not merely bureaucratic reform and efficiency, but also intellectual transformation—intellectual transformation, though seemingly ethereal and empty, bore a similar spirit to the lowly Confucians’ discussions on nature and mind, yet there was a fundamental difference between the two.

A treatise on contradiction could be called earth-shattering; if all people could adopt a perspective that was both opposing and unified, viewing all issues through the yin-yang duality of all things, then the great unity of the world would be within reach.

Of course, class theory was too heretical to gain universal acceptance.

Gao Qi continued: “Why do I say this? The official factory system of the Duke of Wencheng was nothing novel—military colonies and resident artisan systems already existed during the Yongle era, with grand scale, yet ultimately failed and never recovered; without the dialectical resolution of contradictions, many systems would never emerge.”

“For example, recently, artisans descended the mountains in great numbers, causing widespread fear; court ministers all knew the artisans harbored resentment, deeply dissatisfied with how hastily the Duke of Wencheng’s funeral was handled, even toppling the stele of Wang Chonggu’s express road—thus contradiction arose, escalated into conflict, and led to the artisans’ descent.”

“Everyone in court believes the contradiction must be resolved to solve the problem, but in the past, such matters would simply have been suppressed by the capital garrison.”

“In the thirteenth year of Zhengtong, the rebellions of Ye Zongliu and Deng Maoqi—Ye Zongliu a miner, Deng Maoqi a peasant—each led hundreds of thousands, throwing Fujian into chaos. Looking back today, had any Fujian official shown even a shred of humanity, it would never have reached this point.”

At the time, the Left Provincial Administrator of Fujian, Song Zhang, demanded “winter livestock” from local gentry during the New Year; the gentry, in turn, forced poor laborers to deliver “winter livestock”—this unrest, spanning five provinces and involving a million people, began with this.

In a place like Fujian, militarily insignificant, mountainous with little arable land, the people already struggled to survive; adding the burden of “winter livestock” drove them to the brink of death, so naturally they would fight to the death.

Li Yashi said the Ming people were not docile; when pushed to the edge, they would resist rather than submit quietly like lambs awaiting slaughter, trembling in fear.

Once the methodology of contradiction analysis—identifying and resolving contradictions—emerged, the babblings of the lowly Confucians became laughable; without analysis grounded in contradiction, one could safely conclude it was all sophistry.

“What you say has merit.” Shen Shixing strongly agreed with Gao Qi’s view, but perhaps because he was not in the position, not in the role of Chief Minister, his way of thinking differed; only when one reached that position could one fully comprehend Zhang Juzheng’s entire line of thought.

Shen Shixing and Gao Qi’s idle chat ended here, yet the tide of Ming reform continued rolling forward.

Songjiang Prefecture and Shanghai County, the world’s trade and economic center, were the vanguard of the Wanli Reforms, where nearly all new problems and contradictions arose and evolved.

Today, Li Le, Provincial Governor of Songjiang, visited the Songjiang Water Army Headquarters at Jinze Garden to meet Chen Lin, Regional Commander of the Songjiang Water Army and Marquis of Shouli.

“I am fully aware of what the Governor has said. His Majesty has issued an imperial decree—proceed as you will.” After Li Le, Wang Qian, and others explained their purpose, Chen Lin stated his position.

Act boldly—the water army will back you.

Chen Lin disliked dealing with civil officials; these men never spoke fully. He paused, then added: “The imperial decree states: the capital, beneath the Son of Heaven, is the foremost land, where elite troops must not be moved lightly; Songjiang Prefecture has no such restrictions.”

The capital garrison could not impose martial law in the capital, for the capital housed the emperor; but in Songjiang Prefecture, there were no taboos—act boldly, and if necessary, impose martial law for a time.

“That is excellent.” Li Le, hearing Chen Lin’s bluntness, smiled with relief.

Wang Qian remarked with deep feeling: “Songjiang Prefecture has already reformed the six departments of the prefectural and county administrations; back then, we appointed many outsiders. The results were effective, but modest. This deeper reform relies on the Marquis of Shouli’s backing.”

Li Le and Wang Qian left the Marquis of Shouli with reassurance; though they had the emperor’s decree, they still came to confirm operational details—if Li Le and Wang Qian failed, Chen Lin would clean up the mess.

For internal stability, the water army was a potent weapon; this sword hanging over the heads of powerful families deterred them from overstepping.

Externally, the water army charged into battle for the state and people; it established governorships in Nagasaki, Lu Song, Jiugang, and Jinchih; it achieved nine victories in campaigns against Korea and Japan; everywhere, the water army’s presence expanded Ming’s overseas interests.

Moreover, the water army rarely enforced repressive policies; it typically stood as the stabilizing anchor. Even during the Zhejiang suppression, it was the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the emperor’s hounds, who acted—so the water army’s status in Songjiang Prefecture was exalted, and it rarely offended any faction’s interests.

The direct declaration of the Water Army Regional Commander was the direct expression of the emperor’s will.

“Governor Li, Prefect Wang, I have one question: has the warm pavilion of the Huangpu River imperial palace been renovated?” Chen Lin suddenly asked an unrelated question, surprising Li Le and Wang Qian.

“After His Majesty’s southern tour two years ago, renovation of the warm pavilion began and was completed in August.” Li Le, though unsure why the Marquis of Shouli asked, answered truthfully.

After His Majesty’s southern tour two years ago, the problem with the Huangpu River imperial palace was discovered: it lacked a warm pavilion, making winter uncomfortably cold. Though His Majesty departed in October, before winter arrived, it was still disrespectful.

Chen Lin smiled: “Good, good. This Huangpu imperial palace must not be inferior to the Tonghe Palace in the capital.”

After Li Le and Wang Qian departed, Chen Lin watched their retreating figures, appearing helpless, his expression desolate, then this thought dissolved into a heavy sigh.

Chen Tiande stepped out from behind the screen, puzzled: “Why does the General sigh?”

“The water army receives 6.32 million taels annually in military funding—for shipbuilding, maintenance, protection—and now with the Southern Ocean Fleet, our personnel exceed 160,000. The capital garrison, with 100,000, receives only 3.1 million taels yearly; our water army spends nearly as much as the Nine Borders.” Chen Lin shook his head again, gazing at the nearly vanished backs of Li Le and others, even more worried.

“The water army is indeed more expensive, but there is reason for it. His Majesty has never considered cutting our budget; he is even expanding it.” Chen Tiande was more confused—six million taels annually poured into the water army surely signaled the emperor’s favor?

The capital garrison, after expanding to 100,000 in Wanli sixth year, had no further plans for growth; yet the water army grew from 100,000 to 130,000, now 160,000, still expanding.

Why was Chen Lin, this Regional Commander, so deeply anxious?

“Tiande, do you think the Deputy Prefect of Shuntian, Yang Junmin, must go to the capital garrison or Grand General’s headquarters to inform Qi Shuai before replacing the six departments?”

“No.” Chen Tiande suddenly understood Chen Lin’s concern.

Yang Junmin need not and would not consult the capital garrison; if he truly tore the heavens open, the Embroidered Uniform Guard and capital garrison would instantly act to crush all disloyal elements. But Li Le and Wang Qian must first visit the water army headquarters, to gauge the Marquis of Shouli’s stance.

Chen Lin shook his head again: “We receive nearly double the pay, yet when His Majesty wishes to mobilize the water army, he must first issue me a decree, then an order to the headquarters, and the headquarters must carefully come to me to confirm my stance.”

“His Majesty is now vigorous, wholly devoted to reviving the Ming—but what of the future? Might His Majesty come to see the water army as too powerful? Even if he does not, might the court ministers?”

“His Majesty instructed me: when a rift appears, one must clarify it clearly, or it will be exploited by sycophants, growing wider until we become strangers.”

The army is the most precise killing machine, and also the most direct form of violence; preventing violence from spiraling out of control has been a constant concern since antiquity—even a Regional Commander like Chen Lin must consider it.

Often, promoting literature while suppressing the military is not merely scholars looking down on soldiers; it is because uncontrolled violence is genuinely dangerous, and armies, to protect themselves, often foster enemies or hoard troops—this is fundamentally a matter of trust.

Yet often, promoting literature while suppressing the military goes too far; scholar-officials constantly amplify anxieties about violent outbursts, leading to neglect of military preparedness.

The elite troops of the capital garrison all recognize His Majesty; many have even had their quilts tucked by His Majesty himself—this trust, the water army cannot obtain.

“General, your words are true. Our water army soldiers are utterly loyal, but His Majesty must know it. Yet His Majesty is far away in the capital—alas.” Chen Tiande sighed too; the water army’s loyalty was evident to heaven and earth, yet he feared His Majesty and the ministers might doubt it.

“Does the General have a strategy?” Chen Tiande asked.

Chen Lin nodded: “Yes.”

“A fool’s thousand thoughts may yield one insight. After much reflection, I have drafted a memorial. Once the express road from Jinan to Yangzhou is completed, and the road from Nanjing to Songjiang is finished, I will submit this memorial urging His Majesty’s southern tour.”

Chen Lin hoped His Majesty would visit Songjiang Prefecture once a year, staying several months—then the water army’s loyalty and valor would speak for itself, for His Majesty would see with his own eyes; book learning is shallow. If His Majesty saw it himself, all accusations and suspicions would collapse.

Trust would effectively alleviate fears of violent outbursts.

“Brilliant! Exceedingly brilliant! And after nineteen years of open seas, the vast profits overseas require His Majesty’s personal attention.” Chen Tiande’s eyes lit up; after the express roads were built, His Majesty could reach Songjiang in seven or eight days and return to Shuntian in the same time.

This touched upon a long-standing Ming debate: whether the Yongle Emperor’s move of the capital was wise.

To judge any policy’s reasonableness without its historical context is a foolish act of the lowly Confucians; one must consider the early Ming’s great division to understand the fundamental purpose of relocating the capital.

Zhu Yuanzhang was ruthless enough; in the thirtieth year of Hongwu, the Southern and Northern Examination Scandal erupted—examination candidates were all southerners, a clear manifestation of the north-south conflict.

Southerners viewed the north as a land of ritual collapse and barbarian stench for centuries; northerners viewed the south as lambs awaiting slaughter, watching closely, ready to invade.

At the time, Han Chinese in Beiping might have felt closer to the northern barbarians.

Whether Zhu Di moved the capital to the north out of personal sentiment—returning home in glory—is unknown, but his relocation did play a decisive role in reconciling north and south.

Had he not moved the capital, a rebellion no less severe than the An Lushan Rebellion would have erupted soon; the Southern and Northern Examination Scandal meant southerners had already barred northerners from the feast of power; over time, tensions intensified, and rebellion became inevitable.

In fact, rebellion had already occurred: Prince Yan Zhu Di marched south, seized the throne, and the Jingnan Campaign plunged the realm into chaos.

Now, 170 years later, new contradictions have emerged: if the Ming does not open the seas, it becomes a closed system sliding toward disorder; opening the seas opens the closed system, using overseas profits to regulate internal tensions.

But the capital in the north has spawned endless problems.

At that time, Beiping and the northern capital were the crisis point of the great north-south division.

Today, Songjiang Prefecture is the crisis point of the transformation of commodity economy; if His Majesty does not hold this place firmly, who knows what chaos may arise?

Not only is the water army’s loyalty invisible to His Majesty, so too is the extravagance; all say His Majesty is frugal, but he is far away in the capital—who knows if he truly is?

All these issues make it inevitable that His Majesty must come to Songjiang to preside; annual southern tours are no longer sufficient. This solution is not optimal—it requires the emperor to endure exhausting travel every year—but it is the best the Ming ministers can conceive.

“Two years ago, when His Majesty came to Songjiang, the prefecture celebrated for a full month, honoring His Majesty’s birthday. In fact, the Jiangnan scholar-officials were terrified—they feared that if Jiangnan grew richer still, His Majesty would bring the capital garrison to crush them.” Chen Tiande’s expression was peculiar.

The month-long celebration of His Majesty’s birthday two years ago was the grandest ever; powerful families in the southern court also strongly supported it, partly to please His Majesty, fearing he might think Jiangnan too wealthy, that the pigs were fat enough to slaughter.

“So that’s why the General asked about the Governor’s Huangpu Palace?” Chen Tiande now understood why Chen Lin suddenly inquired whether the warm pavilion’s renovation was complete.

The Huangpu River imperial palace must not merely match the Tonghe Palace in the capital—it must surpass it by far, to make His Majesty feel truly at home.

“Precisely.” Chen Lin nodded.

The movements within Songjiang Prefecture’s and county offices were far quieter than those in Shuntian, because this reshuffle replaced only one-third, not the entire bureaucracy as in the capital; censors’ accusations had provoked imperial anger, and Shuntian’s offices were punished, but Songjiang’s need not be fully replaced.

After all, Songjiang Prefecture had over 130 applicants willing to serve, far better than Shuntian’s 110.

Quiet movements meant fewer opponents, no major disturbances, and no need for the water army to intervene.

“This extravagance is utterly decadent.” Wang Qian handed a dossier to Governor Li Le, his face troubled, his brow knotted tightly.

In Qingpu County, Songjiang Prefecture, another murder case occurred, nearly identical to the one previously reported by Yao Guang to the emperor: both involved students from the county school, both families barely able to afford their education, both driven by competitive extravagance—only Yao Guang’s case involved a son killing his grandmother; this one involved the student’s death.

The student, demanding money to buy clothing and accessories, was refused, and drowned himself.

“When we studied, we used sand as paper, wood as pen, daylight as light, wore simple tunics and trousers, focused entirely on our studies, terrified of falling short and being scolded by our masters, never showing disrespect; if scolded, our parents would beat us upon returning home.” Li Le finished the dossier, utterly unable to comprehend how today’s students had become this way.

The clothing accessory the Qingpu student wanted to buy was called a “jade jinbu”—a decorative item to correct gait, strung with jade pendants and beads on colored threads, fastened at the waist; when walking, these ornaments must not clink or make noise, to appear refined.

This item was only used during grand ceremonies, such as sacrifices to heaven; later, even the emperor stopped wearing them—too cumbersome, too troublesome.

The emperor’s jade jinbu had 49 jade pendants; walking silently was easy, but during the sacrifice, wind blew—no matter what, they clinked, endlessly annoying.

Yet in Songjiang Prefecture, competitive extravagance was rampant; this county student’s jade jinbu had six jade pendants, priced at four taels, and he wanted it simply because his classmates had them.

“Hairpins, waistbands, cufflinks, inkstones, brushes, paper, books, paperweights, trinkets, handheld objects, fans, robes—even brush rests—all must be compared. How can students cultivate virtue under such competition?” Wang Qian had someone bring a tray piled high with various trinkets—collected from county schools in Qingpu, Shanghai, Fengxian, Jinshan, and Huating.

“What is this?” Li Le picked out a particularly exquisite pendant, frowning: “An incense pouch charm?”

“A gilded copper, carved, openwork incense pouch charm, hung on a brush rest. One costs three taels—enough to buy ten shi of imported rice, 1,500 catties.” Wang Qian’s lip twitched: “When I studied, the most expensive thing I owned was my father’s ruler. My son’s is the same—his most expensive possession is still the ruler.”

1,500 catties of rice could feed an adult for eight months or even a year—for such a trinket, hung on a brush rest, even Wang Qian, the second-generation dandy of the capital, could not accept it.

When Wang Qian studied, Wang Chonggu was not yet Deputy Minister; but when Wang Chonggu’s grandson Wang Zhicai studied, Wang Chonggu was already Deputy Minister—yet Wang Zhicai’s most expensive possession was still the ruler; everything else was ordinary.

The openwork incense pouch charm—Wang Qian had never used one; in his view, it was downright bizarre.

“Perhaps they’ve all gone mad.” Li Le stared at the incense pouch charm for a long time, making the same judgment as Yao Guang.

As Provincial Governor of Songjiang, he could not fathom how such things had appeared on students’ desks—shouldn’t students at county and prefectural schools focus solely on their studies?

“This cannot continue. If this extravagant trend spreads from Songjiang Prefecture to all of southern and northern China, you and I will bear grave blame—His Majesty may not cut off our heads, but we’ll have to hang ourselves from a tree.” Li Le sat upright and said: “Here’s what we’ll do: Wang Prefect, you and the Superintendent of Education will jointly approach Sun Hongyi of the Songjiang Oceanic Trading House and the Songjiang Prefectural School to centrally procure pens, ink, paper, inkstones, clothing, and other essentials, converting their cost into silver and including it in the tuition fees.”

“The culture of comparison must not be allowed to spread so recklessly within the schools.”

The yamen truly struggles to curb this extravagance; we can still prevent it from entering the school gates, for after all, the school is a place for self-cultivation, study, and moral enlightenment.

If this extravagance continues, what kind of students will it produce?

Moreover, these students are young, at the age when they believe heaven is second, earth is third, and they are first—no one submits to anyone else. We absolutely cannot let these luxurious items cloud their minds; otherwise, the Dinghai Education System will fail before it’s even completed.

Wang Qian immediately said: “I plan to communicate thoroughly with the Superintendent of Education and draft a set of school regulations and standards. Though strict, we have no better option.”

To correct excess, one must go to extremes. Since we must correct this, we cannot merely tinker with minor details—we must also address daily behavioral norms. After all, the new schools of the Dinghai Education System are meant to cultivate talent, not to compete in wealth.

“Good. You handle it—I’ll draft the memorial to inform His Majesty, saving the capital’s censors from their idle babbling.” Li Le immediately agreed and submitted the memorial to court. Centralized procurement inevitably invites corruption and gives censors grounds to attack—but it had become unavoidable.

Of two evils, choose the lesser. Though the school regulations and centralized procurement of student necessities have drawbacks, continuing to allow such extravagance in the schools would destroy the Dinghai Education System, the very foundation and long-term strategy of the state. If it collapses, our heads may well be forfeit.

“Submit these minor items along with the memorial—let His Majesty decide.” Wang Qian added his opinion.

On the seventeenth day of the eighth month, Zhu Yijun’s birthday, the Emperor issued an edict: due to celestial disturbances, His Majesty had no heart for celebration; merely submit congratulatory memorials from all regions, no gifts required. Except for a three-day holiday, no region shall hold festivities.

The birthday was granted three extra days off, with no further celebrations. The Emperor’s reasoning was sound: celestial disturbances were a real sword hanging over Great Ming’s head—caution was imperative. Indulgence in luxury and debauchery might provoke Heaven’s wrath.

“Wang Qian’s school regulations are too strict—posture, sitting, standing, walking, using the latrine, clothing, food, lodging, travel—all strictly prescribed. Such harshness will stifle students’ natural inclinations.” Zhu Yijun disapproved of Wang Qian’s regulations, finding them excessive—for instance, the rule forbidding noise, horseplay, or lingering in the latrine, and requiring students to line up like geese.

“Geese in formation” meant lining up single-file to use the latrine. People are living beings—Wang Qian’s methods were excessive.

Zhu Yijun did not immediately approve the memorial. He turned to Feng Bao and asked: “Where are the minor items sent with the memorial?”

Feng Bao clapped his hands. Two young eunuchs carried in a small table. A young eunuch dressed as a scholar entered the Imperial Study.

To help His Majesty understand the purpose of these minor items, Feng Bao had specially assigned a young eunuch to wear the full attire, for clarity.

The young eunuch dressed as a scholar was brightly adorned. He sat before the desk, a folding fan resting beside him, its tassels hanging below the tabletop. A fragrant pouch dangled from his belt, emitting incense—he looked every bit the wealthy gentleman.

“What on earth are these things? How much would it cost to outfit oneself like this?” Zhu Yijun asked, stunned. Reading the memorial alone had not conveyed the full impact—but seeing it in person, he finally understood why Wang Qian had acted so decisively.

“According to Songjiang’s market prices, this outfit costs over seventy taels of silver,” Feng Bao whispered.

“What?!” Zhu Yijun’s voice rose by a third!

Feng Bao quickly bowed: “Seventy taels—that’s still a moderate outfit. The more expensive ones cost over a hundred taels.”

“Seventy taels? That’s 240 shi of grain—35,700 catties of rice—for this outfit? Are they mad?” Zhu Yijun paced three circles left, three circles right, staring for a long while. As the richest man in Great Ming, he could not comprehend how these trinkets could possibly be worth 35,700 catties of rice.

“Does this outfit help with studying?” Zhu Yijun asked the young eunuch’s opinion.

The young eunuch felt utterly uncomfortable. He shook his head: “Your Majesty, once dressed like this, I can’t even write characters. Is this studying—or a theater troupe performing? To go through this rigmarole every day, I’d be lucky to read a few chapters or write ten lines of calligraphy.”

The young eunuch felt this attire was pure waste of time. A fragrant pouch? Just the effort of lighting the incense was enough time to write a full page of calligraphy.

If a scholar cannot study well, people will die.

“Enough. Let Wang Qian proceed—I didn’t understand the situation.” Zhu Yijun returned to his desk and immediately approved the memorial with his red brush.