Chapter 263: Preparing for a Career Change

Neither could convince the other; each held to their own views and convictions.

Chen Guanlou hoped Zhao Mingqiao would handle affairs with flexibility—first get the job done, achieve the goal, then consider matters like integrity or faith.

Zhao Mingqiao believed the most important thing in life was not doing things, but being a person: uphold one's bottom line, adhere to the sages' words, fulfill one's integrity, and hold fast to one's faith. Without these, even if one could accomplish tasks, one would ultimately be nothing but a petty, scheming villain.

Scholars were so stubborn; Chen Guanlou had finally seen it.

No wonder Liu Daowen became a corrupt official; no wonder Yu Zhaoan could "awaken to the Dao at Longchang."

Zhao Mingqiao was too young, had never been beaten by society. Let him stay in prison a few more years to further his studies.

With just one month left before the New Year, the Grand Lord departed for the northwest at the head of several hundred personal guards, in his capacity as Supreme Commander for Pacifying the Rebels.

The old emperor had finally compromised.

After dragging on for so long, the court had produced no resolution, only benefiting the rebels.

Guo Dachun had launched frequent military campaigns, swallowing up neighboring prefectures and counties in one go; now he controlled four prefectures and eighteen counties, forming a long stretch across the map—capable of advancing north or south, with exceptional mobility.

In contrast, the veteran rebel leader, the Great Ming King, acted conservatively, holding only five counties, adopting a steady, methodical approach. He did not judge success by territorial gains or losses, but sought overwhelming battlefield superiority in manpower.

Guo Dachun had grown too arrogant, overshadowing the Great Ming King, drawing the attention of both court and local officials toward this newly emerged rebel.

He was a professional—formerly a border army company commander, having fought on the frontier for over a decade. Compared to the amateur predecessor, the Great Ming King, he was far superior in warfare. As for administration? He certainly knew how to manage—he understood the importance of a base. But he did not dig in as steadily as the Great Ming King did, giving the impression he might flee at any moment.

The court's stance toward such an arrogant rebel was to strike hard and annihilate him utterly, showing no mercy. In other words, even if capturing rebels, only the low-ranking ones were to be taken alive—all rebel leaders were to be executed. They could not afford to repeat the last mistake: letting a major threat hide in the mountains, ready to emerge again at any time.

The prolonged delay in mobilizing troops had one advantage: ample provisions and military equipment had been prepared, along with a reserve fund for deployment.

The Ministry of Revenue bore most of the costs for this campaign. The remainder was seized directly by the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of War, acting jointly—executing first, reporting later—by intercepting funds from Jiang Tu.

Upon hearing the news, Jiang Tu said nothing, went straight to the palace to lodge a complaint, accusing the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of War of robbing the old emperor's private treasury. Those supplies and silver had been destined for the imperial vaults, to become part of the inner treasury—now they had been jointly seized by the two ministries.

He used the word "robbed"—its emotional impact was immense.

The old emperor exploded on the spot.

The enraged old emperor looked terrifying, yet quickly calmed down.

The old emperor took no action against the officials of the Ministry of Revenue or the Ministry of War, and spoke kindly to both ministers. Yet, in the next breath, he found excuses to exile the two ministers' favorite disciples to distant frontier posts—clearly a demotion.

They would likely never return to the capital before the old emperor died.

How petty!

The Minister of Revenue felt disheartened. He had not embezzled; he merely took his customary share—a court norm. If he didn't take it, his subordinates wouldn't dare either. Without such sharing, no one could advance. He asked himself: in all these years as Minister of Revenue, had he not performed adequately? Matters might be delayed, but in the end, they were resolved.

This time, seizing Jiang Tu's silver was solely to address the northwest rebels, with no personal motive. Yet his favored disciples had been exiled by the old emperor to remote mountain regions. Who knew if it would be seven or eight years—or ten? His best years would be wasted.

He was depressed, silently cursing the old emperor as cruel, venomous, petty, and lacking the broad-mindedness of a true sovereign. Just then, the Crown Prince sent a friendly signal—he responded decisively.

In the past, he had never meddled in the princes' rivalries; though he pitied the Crown Prince, he never joined any faction. He had no party—strictly speaking, he was a pure minister.

But this time, he changed his mind.

He hoped the Crown Prince would ascend the throne as soon as possible—no more letting the old emperor ruin the realm and the court. The old emperor had lived too long: nearly fifty years on the throne—just thinking of it was terrifying.

He should abdicate and yield to a worthy successor!

Many shared his sentiment.

Everyone was tired of the old emperor's capriciousness, his senility, his obsession with Daoist practices, and his favoritism toward flatterers—classic behavior of a corrupt ruler, utterly disgraceful.

These people gathered together; a hidden current surged through the capital, ready to erupt at any moment.

…

Chen Guanlou walked through the dark, terrifying Imperial Prison, his heart uneasy, visibly anxious.

He came to the Imperial Prison not to be imprisoned, but to transfer two prisoners.

Two prisoners had suffered such severe torture they were near death. The Imperial Prison wished to save their lives, but its conditions were worse than the Heavenly Prison—utterly unsuitable for recovery. So a clever idea emerged: transfer the prisoners to the Heavenly Prison to recuperate, while still officially listing them as detained in the Imperial Prison—occupying only two cells, without using up official slots.

Even Niu Yucheng had agreed to this absurd arrangement.

Niu Yucheng explained: "Who knows when Sun Daoning might kick me out? I must seize this chance to build ties with other departments—for my own career transition."

The Imperial Prison had promised him certain benefits, so he was willing to risk transferring the two prisoners.

Chen Guanlou asked him: "What if one dies in the Heavenly Prison?"

"Life and death are up to Heaven—we're not responsible?"

"Are you sure? Is there a written agreement?"

"How could such a thing be documented? I know what you're worried about—just transfer the prisoners. Have the physicians treat them well; all expenses go on the public account. It's settled."

Since the superior had decided, what could Chen Guanlou do? He still hoped Niu Yucheng would fulfill his promise and promote him to prison clerk—even a small step forward.

He disliked the Imperial Prison; stepping inside confirmed it.

Two blood-soaked prisoners lay motionless in their cells.

He made a disgusted sound—better the Jia-class cells, at least without blood-soaked scenes.

Blood—human blood—attracted all kinds of vermin and flies. Even in winter, the stench was pungent. In summer, the cell's condition was unimaginable—flies would cover every surface. Guards working in such conditions? No wonder ten out of ten became monsters.

"Take them away! First, if they die in the Heavenly Prison, we bear no responsibility."

"Try to save them. If you can't, then forget it."

"Your Imperial Prison physicians are so skilled—can't they save them?"

"The transfer to the Heavenly Prison was the physician's own suggestion. He said the environment here hinders healing; the Heavenly Prison is cleaner."

Chen Guanlou: …

No rebuttal possible!