Chapter 99: Chapter Ninety-Nine: The Court Wants Taxes? We

The Emperor truly neglects his duties. Volume Nine-Nine: The Court Wants Taxes? We’ll Pay! Zhang Juzheng has always been so patient—that’s what frustrated Xu Jie the most. If Zhang Juzheng had only been more impetuous, Xu Jie—or the Southern Yamen gentry—wouldn’t be in such a bind.

But Zhang Juzheng moves step by step, never rushing.

“Why did Zhang Juzheng first turn his spear against the Gu family?” Xu Jie said with deep emotion. “Because the Gu family controls the entire Southern Yamen’s grain route. That means it’s nearly impossible for the Southern Yamen to stir up the poor laborers and tenants against the powerful by manipulating grain prices.”

“Fight but don’t break. As long as you hold the grain route, the Jiangnan region won’t erupt. The balance of conflict without collapse can be maintained.”

“You know those poor laborers—they turn into demons when hungry, as if no one in the world can stop them. But give them a single meal, and they become docile. Give them a garment, and they’re grateful. Give them a pair of shoes, and they’ll kneel and call us great benefactors.”

Xu Jie realized Zhang Juzheng had become far more difficult to deal with than before—all because of that Contradiction Essay. Zhang Juzheng was already formidable in the past, but now a chasm, impassable and vast, had opened between him and these gentry and court officials.

The even more formidable Zhang Juzheng was truly hard to counter.

Seizing the grain route meant striking at the most glaring point of contradiction—it meant seizing the people’s stomachs.

Xu Fan’s face brightened. He hurriedly said: “Then why don’t we, instead of the court, give the poor laborers, tenant farmers, hired servants, and wandering bandits a meal, a garment, and a pair of shoes? Why let the court play the great benefactor? The court wins hearts—what do we win?”

Xu Jie sneered. “Giving white silver to the poor? Isn’t that a sin? Can hearts be spent like silver? As you said, when rebellions erupt, you need only hand out a little rice to send them off peacefully—to let them wreak havoc elsewhere.”

“After the court suppresses the rebellion, it can seize their land.”

Xu Fan sat stunned. He could only conclude: the gentry had their own standards and methods.

“Father, the court demands we return all armor and crossbows—should we comply?” Xu Fan stepped forward and asked.

“We must comply. Our Huating Xu family will comply. All gentry in the Southern Yamen must comply. Then Zhejiang, Fujian, Guangdong and Guangxi—this is Zhang Juzheng’s open strategy.” Xu Jie leaned back in his chair, fingers rapidly rubbing together as he pondered his response.

“Armor and crossbows aren’t the real issue,” Xu Jie said, raising his hand. “A hundred sets of armor, a thousand crossbows—fine for guarding homes, but can they conquer the empire?”

Xu Fan thought a moment. “Emperor Chengzu?”

Emperor Chengzu Zhu Di began his rebellion with fewer than fifteen sets of armor, eight hundred men, and not even a thousand crossbows—and still seized the empire.

Isn’t that a ready example? And it’s from our own Great Ming.

“You’re trying to kill me! Kill me! You must drive me to death!” Xu Jie slammed his fist on the table and rose, pointing furiously at his son. “Just kill me already!”

“Emperor Chengzu was an exception! An exception! In all of history, have you ever seen a prince who marched into the capital and became emperor? Name one! Name another!”

“You’ve driven me to death!”

“Father, calm down, calm down,” Xu Fan quickly poured tea for him, smiling. “Please continue.”

Xu Jie was lucky to be in good health—if not, at his age, such defiance from his son would have already felled him. He fumed: “Where were we? Ah, yes—armor and crossbows aren’t the point. That little armor and those few crossbows can only guard homes—they can’t spark rebellion.”

“Zhang Juzheng’s poison lies in his division,” Xu Jie said, frowning. “A rope breaks at its thinnest point. Zhang Juzheng has grown formidable.”

“The gentry of the Southern Yamen aren’t a solid block, sharing glory and hardship together. They’re riddled with contradictions, each family different. Take our Songjiang’s three great families—the Gu, Xu, and Shen. They’re actually happy to trade land for shipping permits to sail westward, because our Songjiang Maritime Office is closer.”

“But some gentry elsewhere aren’t willing.”

“Now the court demands every household surrender armor and crossbows—it’s compiling a list.”

Xu Fan whispered: “What list?”

“The execution list,” Xu Jie said grimly. “Look—already unstable gentry, Zhang Juzheng strikes right at the center, instantly splitting them into two factions: those willing to surrender armor and crossbows, and those unwilling.”

“Then Zhang Juzheng leads the willing faction to crush the small minority who refuse.”

“After that, Zhang Juzheng has many tools—he can divide the gentry again. For example, this land-for-shipping-permit scheme: one faction willing to trade, one unwilling. Then Zhang Juzheng leads the willing to crush the small minority who refuse.”

“This cycle repeats, slowly, subtly, until the whole matter is quietly finished. Zhang Juzheng truly deserves to die—he plays these contradictions with masterful skill!”

Xu Fan asked, seemingly astonished: “Is Zhang Juzheng really this formidable?”

“Of course. Don’t you see who taught him?” Xu Jie said, slightly proud. Zhang Juzheng could never deny one basic fact: he was Xu Jie’s student.

Xu Fan immediately said: “In Jiajing Thirty-Two, Zhang Juzheng wrote a long letter severing ties with you. You were furious, calling him a traitor. That hardly sounds like a student’s behavior. And this ‘curbing indulgence’—wasn’t that your own idea?”

“Enough! Get out! Luo Battalion Commander has been waiting long enough!” Xu Jie nearly choked on his breath. Out of sight, out of mind—he waved his hand, ordering Xu Fan to leave at once!

Go! Go! Go!

Xu Fan knelt again, bowed his head, and said: “Father knows Zhang Juzheng is formidable, knows he’s even more formidable now, and knows Zhang Juzheng has the Emperor’s backing—he stands behind the Great Ming Emperor, backed by imperial authority, making him even more formidable than mere strength.”

“The young emperor won’t even let Zhang Siwei return to court to counterbalance him.”

“Father, stop your futile act of blocking a cart with your arms—it won’t hold. Let’s quietly make money. Our Xu family can still stand firm. Children have their own fortunes; without children, how can there be eternal generations?”

“Son, I’m leaving. Father, take care.”

Xu Fan bowed one final time, then rose and walked slowly out of the study, following Luo Bingliang away from the Xu family’s ancestral home.

Xu Jie sat in the ancestral home for a long time. His son’s official rank had been stripped; the Xu family had been thrust to the storm’s center. Xu Jie’s eyes flickered uncertainly.

Luo Bingliang escorted Xu Fan onto the path of exile, including his wife, children, and a dozen others. For so many prisoners, Luo assigned two battalion commanders and fifty southern troops as escort.

The reason for so many escorts wasn’t fear Xu Fan would flee—even if left to travel alone to Jizhou, he wouldn’t run. The escort was there because Luo feared someone might assassinate Xu Fan on the road.

To ruin Xu Fan’s reputation wasn’t the end goal. Many exiles die on the journey.

After seeing Xu Fan off, Luo Bingliang immediately headed for Kunshan. A big fish had been caught—now it was time to eat. How to stun the fish, scale it, and gut it—Luo had his own methods.

At the Kunshan County Office, Luo first interrogated Gu Shaofang, the biological son of former Nanjing Provincial Governor Gu Zhangzhi, a juren of Wanli Year One, scheduled to take the metropolitan exam in Wanli Year Two. Gu Shaofang was imprisoned in Kunshan, guarded by Embroidered Uniform Guards.

Luo didn’t use torture. The court hadn’t yet stripped Gu Shaofang of his juren status. Torturing a juren violated protocol.

Luo spoke gently: “Kunshan now has fifteen hundred southern troops, personally commanded by Deputy Commander Chen Lin. When you were young, you didn’t know what it was like when the Japanese pirates raided—I’ll tell you: these fifteen hundred southern troops, if fighting Japanese pirates, could match fifteen thousand.”

“Last year, General Yu led them to capture eighteen strongholds in one day. That one-eyed Ah Liu of Jinniu Pond, who claimed to be the reincarnation of Erlang Shen, with his stronghold named Xiaotian, gathered over four thousand men, built large fortresses and gunboats, and ruled supreme. Five hundred southern troops wiped them out in a single day—burned the entire stronghold to the ground.”

“Do I need to explain further the combat prowess of our Great Ming’s southern troops?”

“No, no,” Gu Shaofang waved his hands frantically. He knew southern troops were fierce, but Yu Dayou’s one-day sweep of eighteen strongholds had opened the gentry’s eyes wide, awakening their buried terror of the Japanese pirates.

The Japanese pirates were already fearsome—but these southern troops were ten times fiercer.

Luo said firmly: “So don’t expect anyone to rescue you or help you. Your father has already been summoned to Beijing for questioning. I ask—you answer.”

“Actually, even if you don’t answer, I’ll find out anyway. The court wants your attitude—to see if your family still has even a shred of deference.”

“Where is your hidden silver?”

Gu Shaofang’s eyes darted away. He quickly shook his head: “Seventy-eight ten thousand taels of silver in our home have already been seized by the Embroidered Uniform Guards!”

“If you won’t tell the truth, fine,” Luo said, seemingly uninterested.

Gu Shaofang was indeed unlucky. He was a newly minted juren. Under Ming examination rules, the court funded his first trip to Beijing for the metropolitan exam. He was about to depart for the spring examination when his father was arrested.

Had he already reached Beijing, his status as an examinee might have spared him this imprisonment.

Luo smiled: “You won’t speak? Your father will. Your mother will. Your servants will. Do you think the Northern Capital Pacification Office is a place of kindness? Once, the great scholar Xie Jin was thrown into freezing snow in winter, doused with a bucket of water—and he confessed everything.”

“Or the earth punishment—do you know how it’s done? Shave off all hair, smear the body with honey, bury the person in soil. The insects bite and itch—but you can’t scratch.”

“If still silent, slit open the scalp and pour honey inside. The ants crawl beneath the skin—tch tch.”

Luo was only intimidating Gu Shaofang. The Northern Capital Pacification Office’s earth punishment was merely smearing honey, burying the victim up to the head, and prying open the scalp—honey couldn’t be poured in, ants couldn’t crawl in. He was just scaring him.

Anyone who’d ever killed a chicken knew Luo’s claims were absurd.

But Gu Shaofang had spent his whole life studying. “Gentlemen stay far from the kitchen.” He’d never killed a chicken. A stench of urine filled the air—Luo knew Gu Shaofang was terrified.

This was how you stunned the fish’s head—knock it senseless, then begin scaling.

Luo’s expression turned greedy, his face cruel: “I’ll ask you one last time: besides these seventy-eight ten thousand taels—this is for the court—where is your hidden silver? My Embroidered Uniform Guards came south to make some profit. Confess honestly, and I’ll treat you and your family better. Otherwise, I’ll make your whole family endure the earth punishment!”

Gu Shaofang shuddered instantly: “There’s another eleven ten thousand taels hidden in my uncle-in-law Chen Chuan’s pigsty—he doesn’t know! Father buried it before he built the sty!”

Luo was lying. That eleven ten thousand taels hidden under the pigsty? He’d falsify the records and send it to the court. Even when Lu Bing was chief of the Embroidered Uniform Guards and the guards’ power was at its peak, they never stole silver they weren’t supposed to. The guards were already separated from the Emperor by palace walls, subordinate to the Eastern Depot—stealing silver would only weaken them further.

Luo’s son, Luo Sigong, was deeply favored by the Emperor. Who in the world dared strike the young Emperor again and again, leaving bruises?

Even Grand Tutor Zhang Juzheng wouldn’t dare raise a ruler to strike the young Emperor!

Luo Sigong not only dared—he did it nearly every day since the Emperor began martial training this year.

Luo lied because he had years of interrogation experience. Serving the court was official duty—but enriching himself required every trick possible. Every ounce of silver he stole was his own—he’d be thorough.

One was official duty. The other was personal profit.

When Gu Shaofang heard Luo was stealing silver for himself, he immediately revealed another stash.

Luo nodded: “Today at noon, treat the Gu family to a good meal—two taels per person, with a pot of wine. If we don’t find the silver…”

“Heh.”

Luo revealed a cruel smile, making the juren Gu Shaofang shudder.

Gu Shaofang was taken away. Zhang Cheng entered, looked Luo Bingliang up and down, and said with feeling: “Ten thousand taels for the men to buy wine—I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.”

Luo shook his head: “Not a single tael will be kept. All will go to Beijing. When your eunuchs collected duties at Yuegang, why didn’t you keep some silver for yourselves?”

Zhang Cheng smiled mysteriously: “How do you know I didn’t keep any?”

“You dare not. If you took what wasn’t yours, the old patriarch would peel your skin and throw you down a well,” Luo laughed.

Zhang Cheng fell silent. “What if I split the silver with Zhang Jin, Luo Gongchen, and others?”

Luo’s smile widened: “Zhang Jin will hand the silver to the old patriarch, then peel your skin and throw you down the well. No doubt about it.”

“Luo Battalion Commander truly can’t be bribed!” Zhang Cheng laughed.

If Luo had taken the ten thousand taels, his merit in this mission would vanish instantly—a perfect outcome for the palace eunuchs.

Luo looked at Zhang Cheng: “Enough playing games, Zhang Dang. We’re both wary foxes—both afraid. The eunuchs of Qianqing Palace and the Director of the Office of State Affairs are vying for the position of old patriarch. The Pacification Office and the Eastern Depot are fighting over investigative authority. In truth, we’re all competing for imperial favor.”

“The chief of the Embroidered Uniform Guards must be chosen between me and Zhao Mengyou. Zhao Mengyou’s son also trains in the palace, and Zhao is a military jinshi—he has the advantage.”

“Is power more important than money? We’re all ancient foxes. Scheming against each other is meaningless. Doing the Emperor’s bidding is what matters.”

In the Ming system, designed around imperial rule, power or money? The answer was obvious: power mattered most.

“Battalion Commander, do you think Gu Shaofang has confessed everything?” Zhang Cheng dropped the pretense. They were all veteran foxes—eight hundred eyes between them, all having read the Emperor’s Contradiction Essay. No need for further words: if you have the guts, steal. Just don’t fear the Grand Tutor or the Emperor’s wrath.

Luo sneered: “No. We’ve only peeled one layer of scales. We haven’t gutted the fish yet.”

“Peeling one layer of scales? What does that mean?” Zhang Cheng asked, astonished.

“The method passed down by Chief Lu Bing—I won’t reveal it lightly.” Luo guarded his secrets, refusing to share Lu Bing’s fish-eating technique. It was simple: fish have a layer of oil, slippery and hard to grip. Once you remove the scales, you can hold it firmly.

More precisely: after stunning your target, deceive, trick, and pressure them into confessing something.

That creates an opening for further breakthrough—the next step is gutting.

Lu Bing maintained his position as chief of the Embroidered Uniform Guards and even forced the eunuchs of the Eastern Depot to bow to him—not just because of his close ties with Emperor Shizong. He was simply an expert at his job.

Soon, word returned: eleven ten thousand taels of gold-flower silver had been seized—another illicit sum.

Luo Bingliang began dissecting the case, using the newly seized illicit funds to further pursue the matter, personally interrogating several individuals and extracting another 90,000 taels of silver without resorting to severe torture.

At this point, Zhang Cheng believed Luo Bingliang had reached his limit—but Luo Bingliang proceeded to open Zhang Cheng’s eyes wide, showing him what it truly meant to squeeze every last drop.

“Apply torture,” Luo Bingliang said to the Embroidered Uniform Guards, staring at Gu Shaofang, who had been dragged back again.

“I’m a juren! You can’t torture me!” Gu Shaofang panicked immediately—his greatest shield was his juren status, which granted him immunity from torture. Luo Bingliang had already taken his silver—how dare he still threaten torture?

Luo Bingliang replied: “We are Embroidered Uniform Guards. When we investigate, does your juren status exempt you from torture? What nonsense are you dreaming of?”

“Start with the fire punishment. Bring up the bronze cauldron. Put our esteemed juren inside.”

“F-f-f-fire punishment?” Gu Shaofang froze in horror, his voice trembling.

Luo Bingliang spoke with surprising kindness: “We’ll throw you into the bronze cauldron, fill it with oil, seal the lid, leaving only your head exposed, then light the fire. You’ll be pulled out the moment you confess. This is called ‘boiling in oil.’ Any further questions, Juren Gu? If not, we’ll begin.”

“Commandant! Commandant! Whatever you want to know—I’ll confess! I’ll confess!” Gu Shaofang was utterly terrified. What kind of five-torture method was this? Were the Embroidered Uniform Guards all demons from hell? Who could conceive such a thing?

Luo Bingliang still spoke gently: “I want to know the number of armor and crossbows in each household under the Southern Office. Can you offer any clues, Juren Gu? No need for exact figures—just tell me where the armor was forged, where the crossbows were made, and roughly how many each household possesses.”

Gu Shaofang hesitated. He didn’t immediately shout that he didn’t know, begging for mercy—he hesitated.

This hesitation filled Luo Bingliang with joy. He leapt to his feet: “Bring up the bronze cauldron!”

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell! I’ll tell!” Gu Shaofang surrendered instantly—he had no choice. Refusal meant boiling oil.

Quickly, the Embroidered Uniform Guards obtained critical leads. This “gourd-and-vine” method was not Lu Shusheng’s tactic—it was the method of Ji Gang, Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard during the Yongle era.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard had operated in the outer court for over two hundred years, as deeply rooted as the Xu, Shen, and Gu clans. Their accumulated criminal experience made dealing with Gu Shaofang as easy as pinching a snail between three fingers.

With the vital leads in hand, Luo Bingliang immediately dispatched men to expand the investigation along the gourd-and-vine pattern.

Zhang Cheng marveled: “Commandant Luo, you are truly formidable.”

“Not as formidable as my son,” Luo Bingliang sighed. “He dares strike His Majesty! I’ve nearly broken his legs, yet he still obeys only the Emperor—as if I were trying to kill him.”

Fortunately, the Commander had issued protective gear to all participants in the sparring, or else Luo Sigong might have truly crippled the young Emperor—then the Luo family’s eighteen generations wouldn’t be enough to pay for it.

But even with protective gear, a well-placed blow still left you aching for days.

“Where is that bronze cauldron?” Zhang Cheng asked, eager to see the infamous “boiling oil” method for himself.

“If Gu Shaofang had asked, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Luo Bingliang said, eyeing Zhang Cheng strangely. “But you, Zhang Dang, asking this? I’m genuinely puzzled.”

Zhang Cheng instantly understood. With deep reflection, he said: “Commandant Luo is right—I should read more. Gu Shaofang didn’t read—he didn’t understand.”

“Exactly,” Luo Bingliang agreed. “Lack of reading means inability to handle affairs. Gu Shaofang didn’t read, so he fell for my trick.”

There was no bronze cauldron. No boiling oil. Even the “five tortures” were merely an image the Northern Surveillance Office cultivated for outsiders. The real five tortures were far less terrifying—this “fire punishment” didn’t even include a single branding iron.

Because contradiction exists among all things, harmony and balance also exist among all things.

The Northern Surveillance Office faces the Six Ministries. If Embroidered Uniform Guards torture officials with scholarly degrees or official status, censors will denounce them in writing and speech—so fiercely that even the Emperor can be forced into a corner. Thus, the Guards must operate within strict limits.

Ji Gang once threw Xie Jin into freezing snow and drowned him with a bucket of water. Ji Gang later paid with his life. Where there is contradiction, there is struggle; where there is struggle, there is cyclical progression. This is the core of contradiction theory—and the current reality.

The Northern Surveillance Office rarely resorts to torture—but it doesn’t need to. Even without it, the Embroidered Uniform Guards can resolve cases efficiently. Without such capability, how could they uphold two centuries of prestige?

Soon, a detailed inventory of hidden armor and crossbows in every household was delivered to Yingtian Prefecture.

Song Yangshan, Provincial Governor of Yingtian, issued another public proclamation: no household should harbor illusions—the court now possessed exact records of their armor and crossbows. To cling to hope is to follow the Gu clan’s fate.

According to the “Jixiao Xinshu,” Ming armor primarily consisted of cotton armor. Cotton armor was graded into three tiers. The lowest grade was cotton stitched into cloth like a padded jacket—just the upper body weighed seven catties, resisted rain, didn’t mildew, and could withstand musket fire.

The “Jixiao Xinshu” described this inexpensive cotton armor as effective against arrows and lead bullets.

Medium-grade armor combined lamellar armor with a cotton outer layer and a thick cotton helmet.

Heavy armor was a composite of cotton and iron—called “cloth-faced iron armor.” Two layers of cotton cloth wrapped iron plates, sewn together and secured with copper nails on both sides. That was true heavy armor.

Such heavy armor was strictly forbidden by the court. If the origin of the Gu clan’s armor could be traced, the total number in the Southern Office could be determined.

According to the Embroidered Uniform Guards’ investigation, armor leakage occurred in two primary ways.

First, from the Imperial Armory—these were official armors, leaked through methods like fire-burning warehouses or “five ghosts carrying away.” Second, private manufacture—harder to locate, but with Gu Shaofang’s leads, it became simple.

Xu Jie finally arrived at the Southern Office, submitted a visiting card, and requested to meet Song Yangshan. Song Yangshan received him at his private residence.

“Long time no see, Grand Tutor Xu—you still command the same presence,” Song Yangshan bowed first.

Song Yangshan (Song Yiwang) and Xu Jie were classmates—both direct disciples of Nie Bao, a student of Wang Yangming.

“You’re being formal,” Xu Jie said, his expression complex. He had assumed Song Yangshan, as Provincial Governor, would show leniency to the Xu family. Instead, Song showed no mercy whatsoever.

According to Xu Jie’s intelligence, had Zhang Juzheng not repeatedly written to Song Yangshan urging restraint, Song would have launched investigations into land encroachment and restitution as early as Longqing Sixth Year—clearly targeting his own senior.

“No matter how close we are personally, no matter what you call me in private—since you’re here for official business, address me as Provincial Governor. Sit,” Song Yangshan said, firmly establishing protocol.

At work, address by title.

Xu Jie pleaded earnestly: “Brother, are you truly determined to follow Zhang Juzheng to the bitter end? If Zhang falls, you’ll be ruined. Wake up.”

“He can’t even protect himself—how could he protect you? I know the Grand Secretary ordered you. I won’t make this harder for you.”

“What does Zhang Juzheng want? Silver? Or the tax revenue from those seventy thousand mu of land? I can persuade the gentry of the Southern Office to pay that tax.”

Song Yangshan frowned. “Land taxes, grain levies, labor corvée—these have existed since antiquity.”

“Grand Tutor Xu, did the gentry of the Southern Office, Zhejiang, Fujian, and Guangdong suppress the Japanese pirates? If so, the court’s efforts would be unjust. But it was the court that spent immense effort to quell the Japanese pirates and restore peace. Why, then, does the Grand Tutor imply these taxes shouldn’t be paid?”

“Right now, we only ask for the return of armor and crossbows. Refuse, and we confiscate. I hold a list: the Xu family possesses over thirty sets of armor and three hundred crossbows. I assumed you came to surrender them.”

Song Yangshan’s tone grew harsh. Does the court not need taxes to maintain its soldiers?

The gentry sweep only their own doorsteps clean—and then drain others’ blood. After the court painstakingly restored a sliver of vitality to the realm, they still resist returning land, scheming endlessly.

Without taxes, how can the court stabilize the realm? War is deadly—everyone suffers.

“Song Yangshan, don’t forget what happened to Hu Zongxian!”

“Zhang Juzheng is now rehabilitating Hu Zongxian, granting him posthumous honors. He’s cleaning up me today—he’ll come for you tomorrow. He doesn’t even respect his own teacher—how could he respect you, his junior? He’s targeting corruption and leniency. He started with me—next is you!” Xu Jie’s tone turned sharp as he invoked the past.

Song Yangshan had impeached Hu Zongxian in Jiajing Forty-One.

Hu Zongxian was imprisoned again in Jiajing Forty-Four due to a handwritten letter—purportedly an imperial edict—forged in his own hand.

That forged edict was fabricated as evidence by Song Yangshan.

Seeing Song Yangshan’s face turn pale, Xu Jie knew he was wavering.

Xu Jie’s expression softened, his tone grave: “Zhang Juzheng, Wang Daoqun, Shen Yiguan—they rely on you now for your success in investigating land encroachment. But once you finish, they’ll settle old scores with you.”

“We’re fellow disciples of the same master—why turn on each other? Why not negotiate with the court? They want taxes—give them taxes.”

Song Yangshan’s face twisted in conflict. He clenched his fists, staring at Xu Jie. If Xu Jie produced that forged edict, Hu Zongxian’s case would no longer be a miscarriage of justice—it would be a clear act of persecution.

What then of Song Yangshan’s life?

He too bore guilt for the forged edict and Hu Zongxian’s death!

“Don’t think you can escape,” Xu Jie urged, voice gentler now. “Zhang Juzheng can’t protect you—not even all the censors in the realm could save you. You’ve burned your bridges. Why play the loyal minister now? The court wants taxes—give them. Stop this madness.”

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