Chapter 996: Spreading Eyes and Ears, Deeply Planting Claws and Teeth

The difficulty of final mastery and the longing for immortality are twin offspring born together.

The difficulty of final mastery is not only for emperors but also for ministers: Wang Jian, Wang Chonggu’s nephew; Wang Zhuan, Zhang Juzheng’s foremost henchman; the betrayal from within Ling Yunyi’s own clan—all are similar forms of the difficulty of final mastery.

Zhang Juzheng urgently handed over the Quan Chu Guild Hall to Shen Shixing and launched a sweeping purge of the Zhang faction precisely because of this concern: he wanted to settle these matters while he still had the energy, rather than leave them to Shen Shixing, his successor.

Shen Shixing could not handle them either.

As the Ming mocks Felipe for growing old and acting recklessly, this calamity will fall equally upon the Ming emperor and his ministers—none can escape, none can avoid it.

When one grows old, physical strength declines and vitality wanes; subordinates begin to harbor hidden schemes, mutual suspicion spirals upward, and the difficulty of final mastery becomes an insoluble knot.

The Daoist Master sought to intimidate court ministers and ambitious men with the transcendent power of cultivation, but clearly, he failed—most people did not believe he could truly become an immortal.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard moved swiftly; within nine days of the imperial examination, they had thoroughly investigated all the irregularities.

“The current issue is that Vice Minister Ling has resigned in shame and recommended you, the Junior Minister of Rites, as his successor,” said Shen Shixing, frowning deeply.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard’s investigation has not yet been made public; it remains within their own Yamen , and His Majesty has not yet transferred it to the relevant authorities.

Ling Yunyi was forced to resign; if he did not, His Majesty could not openly punish the case. Out of respect, Ling had to be allowed to resign—only then could the case proceed. But his resignation shattered the existing stability of the court.

The Zhang faction is powerful and deeply entrenched; ministers are silenced; the Ming’s oversight and corrective mechanisms have become ineffective against them. If this executioner, Ling Yunyi, departs, Zhang Juzheng’s blade turned inward may even be turned back upon himself—thus, the court’s situation demands Ling Yunyi remain in office.

This again becomes a matter of choice and trade-off.

The cunning scheming of a corrupt minister, refined over years, is no match for the sudden impulse of a fool—look how this fool’s impulsive move has trapped both Ling Yunyi and Zhang Juzheng on the stage, immobilized.

“Me? Become Vice Minister?” Gao Qi pointed at himself, chuckled, and shook his head. “If I must take the stage, it will be to perform opposite you, Shen Shixing.”

Gao Qi did not believe he could stand against Zhang Juzheng. Zhang’s lifelong rivals were Gao Gong, Wang Chonggu, and Ling Yunyi—he did not think he could balance the Zhang faction.

First, Gao Qi had no force of three thousand private soldiers.

“So, let us wait for His Majesty, the Master, and the Vice Minister to devise a solution,” Shen Shixing informed Gao Qi of all the internal details.

Gao Qi was fortunate to find Shen Shixing; had he asked others, none could reveal the truth, for His Majesty had not made these matters public—only a select few high officials were entitled to know.

Shen Shixing and Gao Qi discussed briefly but found no resolution; both believed the outcome would likely be suppression—at least until Zhang Juzheng completed his internal purge, after which His Majesty would permit Ling Yunyi’s resignation, allowing the Wanli Twenty-Year Renchen Examination Fraud case to proceed.

“A merchant came to the capital and petitioned me—I did not meet him,” Shen Shixing said after finishing their discussion on the examination fraud, adding: “Sun Kehong arrived in the capital with his son to plead guilty.”

Wang Zhuan has fallen; His Majesty has no intention of extending punishment by association. A corruption scale of less than thirty thousand taels over ten years is not worth dragging others into—the court has no such leisure.

But the emperor’s refusal to pursue does not mean Sun Kehong, the Overseas Merchant General of Songjiang, can pretend nothing happened.

A single scrap of paper drifting down from court is a mountain pressing upon merchants like Sun Kehong.

Sun Kehong went to the Quan Chu Guild Hall only to find it had changed hands; seeing it was his old acquaintance Shen Shixing, he immediately submitted a formal visitation note—but the note vanished like a stone into the sea, with no reply.

Shen Shixing sighed helplessly: “I cannot see him. Just recently, I was reprimanded by His Majesty for hosting a banquet at the Quan Chu Guild Hall. If I meet him now, I’d be throwing myself onto the cannon’s mouth. But if I don’t meet him, no one in the capital will—right now, he’s like an ant on a hot pan, frantic and pacing.”

Coincidentally, Shen Shixing was still recovering from the blow Gao Qi dealt him during the New Year, when he was publicly scolded for his lavish banquets.

Sun Kehong is widely regarded as a Zhang faction dog, for while Shen Shixing served as Provincial Governor of Songjiang, Sun maintained close ties with him.

Sun Kehong’s affair is truly not a major matter—if anyone could merely whisper a word to the Tonghemen Palace, even just mention it to His Majesty, the matter would be dropped. But even a family as wealthy as the Suns cannot manage it.

“You mean for me to pass along a message? I won’t.” Gao Qi understood Shen Shixing’s request immediately: “I have no desire to associate with profit-driven scoundrels.”

“Sun Kehong has the Suzhou-Songjiang Merchant Alliance behind him—I won’t meet him either.”

Gao Qi had been remarkably courteous; as a scholar-official, he held no goodwill toward these merchants.

Merchants pursue profit without scruple; Gao Qi understood well the small triangular trade—and this prejudice is not unjustified. In this age, scholar-officials universally hold such attitudes.

Especially toward wealthy merchants backed by merchant alliances, Gao Qi avoided them like venomous snakes and scorpions.

“This is just a matter—whether you meet him or not is your choice,” Shen Shixing shook his head. “The flow of form and qi continues, transforming and evolving. The merchants of Songjiang are becoming utterly different. One day, Junior Minister, you must face them—you cannot evade forever.”

When Shen Shixing went to Songjiang as Provincial Governor, merchants were undergoing a terrifying transformation under the stimulus of commodity economy.

“Oh? I’d like to hear the details.” Gao Qi’s expression turned grave. “The transformation of form and qi—that means their outward appearance and fundamental nature are undergoing drastic change, so drastic that the court must confront it.”

Shen Shixing paused, then began to recount what he had witnessed.

“All creatures vie for freedom under the frosty sky. Songjiang has completed its transformation into a commodity economy—good and bad alike. It leads the Ming, and even its merchants have changed.”

“At first, the market was in free competition. Everything flourished; merchants held silver and even personally participated in workshop production.”

In this first stage of free competition, consumers could buy high-quality, low-cost goods and marvel at the beauty of life. Workshop owners, to maintain market demand, had to cede part of their profits to the market and artisans to compete for market share.

This stage was the most alluring moment—both court and commoners wholeheartedly welcomed such competition.

But free competition soon entered its second stage: endless price wars. These wars crushed prices to the edge of cost; workshops strained to the point of losing money, while commoners experienced an overwhelming flood of cheap, ever-changing goods.

This endless price war is the mad farce before the market’s total collapse—but by this point, no one can stop it.

“Costs rise because artisans must be generously rewarded to motivate them—great rewards produce brave men. Artisans disregard production rules, ramping up output, while market prices, mutually pressured, sink lower and lower, profits thinner and thinner.”

“Junior Minister, what do you think will happen under such conditions?” Shen Shixing sipped tea and asked.

Gao Qi frowned deeply: “Under the squeeze of high costs and meager profits, with prices falling further, the market becomes a bloodbath. Larger workshops survive better; small and medium ones gradually vanish—they cannot bear such risks.”

Shen Shixing nodded, sighed: “Correct. You see the tower rise, guests feast—then the tower collapses. I have witnessed one collapse firsthand.”

Shen Shixing referred to the cotton textile trade: at the dawn of the Ming’s maritime opening, cotton workshops sprouted like mushrooms after rain across Songjiang. Everything was vibrant. But only ten years later, cotton cloth prices began a sustained decline, at one point falling below cost.

Countless small and medium workshops drowned in this flood of prices; only the largest, most resilient workshops survived.

The court hoped for higher production efficiency, more technological innovation, lower costs—to win through free competition.

But reality showed that the victor was the one who exploited labor more ruthlessly, cared least for human dignity, offered the lowest prices, and possessed the greatest capital.

Sun Kehong was that victor—he appeared to have won, but he was merely a survivor.

Shen Shixing looked at Gao Qi seriously: “Commercial consolidation is fiercer and more merciless than land consolidation. Had the Huan Tai Merchant Alliance not emerged to give these small workshops a breath of air, hope, and higher value for their land, artisans, and tools, their exit would have been even more brutal.”

“The founding of the Huan Tai Merchant Alliance has benefited countless households.”

The Huan Tai Merchant Alliance was not a farce to please the emperor or satisfy his imperial ambitions—it genuinely created a fragile market with profound impact on the Ming, even beyond what Gao Qi himself realized.

“I merely sought to become Minister of Rites,” Gao Qi, after much thought, refused to claim credit. His motive was pure: progress.

Gao Qi asked, puzzled: “If the Huan Tai Merchant Alliance isn’t formed, small workshops collapse. If it is formed, they still collapse. Was the Huan Tai Merchant Alliance built in vain?”

In a flash of insight, Gao Qi did not boast—he felt intense dread. He feared that in pursuit of progress, he had done harm.

Shen Shixing shook his head: “The next wave will overwhelm these small workshop owners, for the iron horses have arrived. One Shengping No. 9 Iron Horse equals three hundred weavers working day and night.”

“Iron horses are extremely expensive—twenty taels per horsepower. The Huan Tai Merchant Alliance merely allowed small workshops to sell at better prices during this consolidation frenzy—they have no capacity left for further investment.”

“Faced with powerful large workshops and merchant alliances, they can only surrender. Surrender now, and they get a good price; resist, and they lose everything.”

Higher production efficiency allows capital-rich workshops to prevail—they can keep investing, improving efficiency, lowering costs and prices, forcing the weak out, and squeezing everyone out of the cotton textile industry.

“Isn’t this just land consolidation?” Gao Qi looked bewildered, even scratching his head in uncharacteristic disarray. The same events of land consolidation seemed to be replaying in cotton textiles—though more complex, the court remained powerless.

“Thus, the merchant alliances forming in the Ming are gradually replacing rural gentry and even powerful clans. Songjiang’s cotton industry is becoming monopolized. One day, Junior Minister, you must deal with them—not avoid them as you do now,” Shen Shixing stopped speaking.

First stage: free competition. Second stage: endless price wars. Third stage: small workshops gradually exit. A colossal entity tied to merchant alliances has taken shape.

Songjiang is now in the fourth stage: this colossal entity is emerging, revealing its terrifying, near-omnipotent influence over the market.

Gao Qi had never served as Provincial Governor of Songjiang; Shen Shixing stopped here, for further details would not resonate with him.

This colossal entity, barely surviving the brutal price wars, now controls nearly all markets—nearly every cotton trading point is under its grip. This is market concentration.

This colossal entity exhibits four characteristics:

One: It is not subject to human will—even Sun Kehong is its slave, not its master. The court dares not act against it; destroying it would mean destroying industry and the artisans’ livelihoods.

Two: It brooks no challenge. It permits no similar entities in its market. It shows cruelty to any newcomer or small workshop, refusing them existence.

Three: It expands without limit, swallowing small workshops, growing ever larger, dragging more people into servitude, to resist potential threats—especially from the court’s crackdown.

Four: Its essence is profit-seeking. After dominating the market, it does not offer quality goods at low prices; instead, it prices everything, manifesting as extremely high prices for poor-quality goods.

Shen Shixing, during his time in Songjiang, did not see all these characteristics—he saw only these four, for in the current Ming, this colossal entity still lies beneath the surface.

Large workshops with deep capital have not yet achieved final victory; many small workshops and even individual peasant households still exist. Even the Huan Tai Merchant Alliance’s emergence has temporarily dispersed the market concentration.

At this moment, this colossal entity should have used its overwhelming scale and cost advantages to fully consolidate the small workshops. But suddenly, the Huan Tai Merchant Alliance arrived, forcing it back beneath the surface, waiting for opportunity.

This colossal entity has completed market concentration and controls most cotton textile outlets—but has not yet achieved production consolidation (mergers) or capital concentration (merchant alliances). Its full form remains hidden.

Yet even seeing a glimpse, Shen Shixing remained deeply wary of this colossal entity.

Shen Shixing felt a sense of déjà vu—he sensed this was no new thing, but something eerily familiar. After returning to the capital, he realized this familiarity was real: it had appeared before, and far larger.

As early as the Northern and Southern Song dynasties, it had emerged: the state-run wine breweries.

The Ming people, when lost, always seek answers in history—and Shen Shixing truly found them.

In the Song dynasty, anyone who brewed wine had to buy yeast from state-run “zhengdian” establishments. These small shops that bought yeast and sold wine were called “jiaodian.” Jiaodian sold wine but no cooked dishes—mostly pickled and cold foods—while zhengdian provided hot dishes and stir-fries.

The “Along the River During the Qingming Festival” painting clearly distinguishes zhengdian from jiaodian.

The Song dynasty’s state-run wine industry, in its final phase, became immune to court decrees. All vested interests fiercely resisted any reform, and the Song court was powerless against it.

For this colossal entity had grown beyond mere taverns: grain merchants, zhengdian and jiaodian, prostitutes tied to wine sales, gambling dens—all interconnected. One thread pulled, the whole system trembled. Ultimately, this colossal entity vanished with the fall of the Song and the collapse of the Central Plains.

Now, with Songjiang’s rapid commodity economy, this colossal entity is slowly rising again.

Not just cotton textiles, but timber, tung oil, shipbuilding, grain and oil—all are moving in this direction.

Gao Qi returned home, rested briefly, then found Sun Kehong’s visitation note and invited him to meet. Sun Kehong had planned to host a banquet at the Taibai Pavilion, but Gao Qi summoned him to his residence instead.

“Banquet is unnecessary. Since Shen Vice Minister introduced you, I won’t meet others.” After Sun Kehong paid his respects, Gao Qi gestured for him to sit and spoke at length about cotton textiles.

Shen Shixing, though gentle in character, was undeniably capable. If Shen Shixing feared this matter, Gao Qi must fear it too.

“Wang Zhuan’s case is part of the Master’s purge—it has nothing to do with you, Merchant General. Do not overly worry. Tomorrow, I will visit the Tonghemen Palace’s imperial study and mention this matter.” Gao Qi gave a clear reply.

Sun Kehong’s temples were streaked with gray; he sighed: “To be honest, Junior Minister, I came to the capital prepared to succeed or die. If I gain no protection, I may truly lose control of the Songjiang Overseas Merchant Guild.”

“I am naturally ruthless, and with His Majesty’s favor, these merchant alliance bosses dare not touch me. But if I lose His Majesty’s favor, I fear that beyond the capital gates, I will be torn apart by a thousand blades.”

Sun Kehong was genuinely afraid. If His Majesty withdrew his favor, he and his family were finished—no need for the emperor to act. These merchant alliance men were far more ruthless, devouring without leaving bones.

“His Majesty has not stripped your ninth-rank Merchant General title—don’t distress yourself,” Gao Qi smiled. He now felt a new understanding of Shen Shixing’s colossal entity: it truly required the emperor’s presence to hold it in check.

In the current Ming realm, no bureaucratic office could truly contain it.

A royal sojourn in Songjiang is imperative.

After Sun Kehong left, Gao Qi went to the Tonghemen Palace to meet the emperor. He waited in the West Flower Hall, for His Majesty was receiving Xu Chengchu, the Anti-Corruption Censor of the Ming Anti-Corruption Bureau. His Majesty’s furious voice echoed from the imperial study into the hall, startling Gao Qi.

“One point three three million taels! A mere magistrate of Cizhou in Zhangde Prefecture, in just seven years, embezzled one point three three million! Four Wang Zhuan’s worth!” Zhu Yijun paced before the imperial desk. Wang Zhuan had amassed over three hundred thousand taels in over a decade; this magistrate, Chen Lizhen, had stolen one point three three million in seven years—enough to build two imperial mausoleums from the previous reign and still have plenty left!

Xu Chengchu whispered, “Cizhou has coal fields; he took silver from these landowners, which is how he amassed so much money.”

The source of corruption is simple: coal. Of the seven necessities of life—firewood, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, and tea—firewood comes first.

Since the Great Ming’s mining technology has continuously advanced, coal is being dug everywhere, replacing firewood. In the past, people cut down entire mountains bare for firewood; now coal burns longer, burns steadier, and costs less.

Chen Lizhen, the magistrate of Cixian, amassed all his silver from coal fields—not by accepting bribes, but by having his younger brother personally manage the coal mines.

Mining inevitably brings accidents, but Chen Lizhen suppressed them all. In just seven short years, over a thousand miners died; eventually, the truth could no longer be hidden, and the Censorate Investigator discovered it.

But Chen Lizhen was under Zhang’s faction—even if not a direct disciple—and the Investigator dared not report him, so he kept it buried. Now, when Zhang Juzheng launched a sweeping purge of factions, the Investigator saw that Zhang Juzheng had even Qingsuan Wang Zhuan, and realized Zhang was serious—he impeached Chen Lizhen.

“He even formed a coal gang! How dare he serve as a Chaoting official?!” Zhu Yijun glared at the memorial in his hand, fury rising.

Of the 1.33 million taels, besides the coal fields, the largest revenue came from the city’s coal gang. In this era, bandits outside the city walls and tyrants within carried the blood of the people on their hands.

As magistrate, Chen Lizhen was the father-mother official of Cizhou, the upright judge—he personally backed the coal gang, turning his jurisdiction into a place of chaos and terror.

“Send him to the capital for strict interrogation. Issue an edict to Henan to rigorously investigate this case. Sweep up all his accomplices and restore peace to the people!” Zhu Yijun issued a stern decree—1.33 million taels was no small sum.

Xu Chengchu hesitated, then said, “I’ve discovered that Zhangde Prefecture in Henan is also not clean. This 1.33 million taels likely involves book-balancing.”

As an old official with abundant anti-corruption experience, even with coal fields and coal gangs, a magistrate could at most amass fifty thousand taels in seven years. This enormous sum of 1.33 million taels reeked of book-balancing.

Having handled many cases, he gradually developed a sense for it: from the numbers alone, he could guess within a few percent how much a county magistrate had stolen and what burdens he carried.

Everything was done by Chen Lizhen. Everything was his fault! How could he possibly have the ability to accomplish so much?

Xu Chengchu had followed Hai Rui in anti-corruption for years. A man’s rank determined his power. For Chen Lizhen to have done all this? Xu Chengchu found it impossible.

Clearly, such a massive sum for a mere magistrate was likely carrying the entire Zhangde Prefecture’s guilt.

But further investigation might lead to Zhang Juzheng himself. So Xu Chengchu needed to ask the Emperor’s decision: should he continue probing, or halt here to avoid expanding the fallout?

Anti-corruption must not turn the whole realm into enemies. It must be sustained. The Anti-Corruption Office’s duty is to strictly curb the scale of graft and ensure efficient governance.

If corruption runs rampant, administrative efficiency drops to zero—but complete eradication is impossible, for many tasks cannot be done at all.

“Xu Qing, oversee this case diligently. If it crosses the line, deal with it all together.” Zhu Yijun clearly understood why Xu Chengchu had come—he drew a line: if crossed, investigate fully; if not, do not pursue excessively.

Fifty thousand taels was the trigger for the Anti-Corruption Office to act. Anything more, and he’d be invited for tea at the Anti-Corruption Office.

After Xu Chengchu withdrew, Gao Qi entered to pay his respects to the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun had Feng Bao recount the entire story of Ling Yunyi’s calligraphy scroll, though Gao Qi had already heard partial details from Shen Shixing—Feng Bao revealed far more.

Including how Ling’s household steward was bribed, and how the Ling clan of Taicang erased Ling Yunyi’s genealogy, then groveled back.

For one jinshi, the Ling clan of Taicang spent a full 70,000 taels; the household steward took only 200 taels. The real beneficiary was Ling Yunyi’s youngest son—this was why the case was so difficult.

Ling Yunyi could not explain himself, and could only retire in seclusion.

Ling Yunyi’s son sold his father’s lifetime of glory for 70,000 taels.

This moved Gao Qi deeply: Yan Song had once been invincible, but Yan Shifan’s extortion from the Prince of Yu’s mansion destroyed everything.

“Hold this case for a year. Ling Yunyi will retire next year. The Deputy Secretary has already recommended you for the position. Prepare yourself.” Zhu Yijun did not conceal that Ling Yunyi had recommended him—too many eyes were fixed on this Deputy Secretary post.

“Your servant obeys.” Gao Qi felt little emotion about the Deputy Secretary post—he was already content as Minister of Rites—but no one ever turned down a higher rank.

“Your Majesty, Sun Kehong came to the capital because of the Wang Zhuan case and has been inquiring at my door. I felt it necessary to meet him and asked about his difficulties.” After reporting on the imperial examination, Gao Qi mentioned Sun Kehong’s arrival.

“Tell me in detail,” Zhu Yijun asked. Gao Qi disliked merchants—since he met Sun Kehong, he must have had an agenda.

Gao Qi bowed and said, “Observing the transformation of wealthy merchants: initially, a hundred boats race, thriving and vibrant; then they turn on each other, profits paper-thin; finally, most collapse, leaving only the giants to monopolize. This consolidation is fiercer than land annexation.”

“These behemoths hold the lifelines of markets and control the livelihoods of countless artisans. Their power is hard to curb, their greed insatiable. If the court does not act soon, and allows them to entangle their roots, they may leverage their enterprises to defy authority, growing too large to control.”

“I urge urgent planning: either establish clear laws to restrain them, or open alternative trade routes to divide their power. More importantly, we must spread our eyes and ears, plant our claws deep in commercial hubs across the provinces. We must never let such behemoths drift beyond the court’s vision, allowing their wild ambitions to grow until they become a fatal threat.”

Gao Qi agreed to meet Sun Kehong precisely to spread his eyes and ears, plant his claws—he could not allow such a force to destroy the Great Ming’s commercial economy.

The key issue is this: people are not the masters of this force—they are its slaves.