Chapter 285: The Great Ming Ji-Liao Chat Group (Core Group) (Member #50 and Below)

The overt Jurchen strategy had been laid out, but some details concerning the Jurchens still required Zhu Youjian's final decision.

So once the main meeting ended, Zhu Youjian pulled a few men aside and moved to a side hall for a brief confirmation.

This was a working pattern that had gradually taken shape after the new Confidentiality Regulations were implemented.

Confidentiality, in the Great Ming, was an extremely complicated problem.

Matters of state and war, the ground of life and death — every civil and military official in the court understood the importance of keeping such secrets.

The trouble lay precisely in the Great Ming's unique remonstrance system, which relied on using the low to check the high in order to keep the channels of speech open and prevent the Emperor from being deceived by his ministers. This body of ancestral family law relentlessly pushed government affairs toward openness and transparency.

A memorial, from the moment it reached the Office of Transmission, had to be copied and circulated to the Supervising Secretaries of the Six Offices of Scrutiny.

The Emperor's vermilion rescripts, in turn, had to pass through draft rescripts by the Grand Secretariat, review by the Six Ministries, and copying and receipt by the Supervising Secretaries.

In theory, if Nurhaci or Hong Taiji could successfully bribe a single copying clerk in one of the Six Offices of Scrutiny in the capital, they could see every detail of what happened in the Great Ming court with perfect clarity.

Even if they could not bribe anyone, simply reading the publicly issued "official Capital Gazette" would let them guess the court's movements with ninety-nine percent accuracy.

In this environment of unimpeded public discourse, any man — whether a lofty Vice Minister of one of the Six Ministries, or an Imperial Academy student just entering the Imperial Academy, or even a martial student in the military school who could barely read a few characters —

so long as he was willing, so long as his gall was big enough,

could, on the basis of this public information, submit a memorial pointing and gesticulating at any policy decision of the court, spraying spittle in all directions.

But the military intelligence problem remained, and naturally, corresponding solutions emerged.

Namely, all confidential matters were handled by the Governors-General and Governors at the front themselves, communicating solely through private correspondence with the Grand Secretaries in the capital, thereby preventing military leaks. As for Zhu Youjian, he understood that the original intent of this system was oversight.

But he simply could not stomach such a childish, game-like approach.

Yet solving this problem could not be rushed; it had to be like braising meat — a low flame, a slow simmer.

If he really tried to cut it off with one stroke, he would immediately stand opposed to every civil official and be drowned in the spittle of overwhelming public opinion.

The "Capital Gazette Storm" of the Wanli years — Gao Shiming had told him about it on the sixth day after his enthronement.

Zhu Youjian later had someone specially dig out the case files from that year and read through them carefully from beginning to end. The unanimity of the officials' stance made his heart pound with fear.

So he chose to "boil the frog in warm water."

Step one: use the new institution of the "Secretariat" to promote a "project meeting discussion system."

He fragmented the decision-making process, scattering it across a dozen or more large meetings and hundreds of small-group sessions.

With so many meetings and so many verbal brawls, surely not every sentence could be written into a memorial?

The Emperor looked only at the results, not the process.

Since even the Emperor did not concern himself with these intermediate quibbling details, what business was it of you ministers to care so much?

And so, a vast amount of decision-making detail justifiably "vanished" from the sight of the hundred officials.

Step two: he created a "project debriefing meeting."

First, a public debriefing among the relevant personnel; after confirmation, a notice was posted outside the Gate of Accepting Heaven. Ostensibly, this was not only not keeping secrets, but making things even more transparent. This both gagged the remonstrance officials and preserved the supervisory function of the original system.

Everyone looked at it and thought, oh, His Majesty is still letting us speak; he is not acting arbitrarily.

By the time the officials had gradually adapted to this rhythm and their vigilance had dropped,

Zhu Youjian bared his dagger at the end of the map and brought out step three.

He expanded the originally vague memorial classification into a rigorous "Confidentiality Regulation."

Special, A, B, C, D — five grades.

These were related to the importance of the matter, but not entirely tied to it.

For example, "Shandong floods" was "Special" grade in importance, but in confidentiality grade it was merely "D" — anyone could chat about it. Yet some seemingly inconspicuous personnel transfers had a confidentiality grade of "A."

To establish authority, he also conveniently killed a chicken as a warning.

Ni Yuanlu, a rising star of the new policies, had a free and unrestrained nature and a terribly big mouth. After he leaked the plan for raising the hundred officials' salaries in the first year of Yongchang, Zhu Youjian gave him a harsh "green mark."

Not only that, he also split the group Ni Yuanlu was in charge of into two, dividing it into "official governance" and "clerical governance" sections.

Although this had been in the plan all along, in everyone's eyes it certainly looked like a fall from favor.

With that single blow, everyone sobered up: confidentiality was no joke.

But Zhu Youjian deeply understood the principle of a sweet date after a slap.

Before the wave of protests could even rise, he threw out a system of "post-facto disclosure."

Classified documents were not classified forever.

After a set period of time — that is, once the matter had settled — they would be disclosed to all civil officials.

This was like telling everyone: don't worry, once this matter is done, not only will I not hide it from you, I'll let you see it to your heart's content.

Using this "peak-end effect," the crowd's discontent was subtly blurred away.

Under this whole dazzling set of combination punches,

the information hierarchy of the Great Ming finally underwent a qualitative reversal:

The Emperor — core members of the project group — all members associated with the project — all Great Ming officials — all common people.

This structure was like, in a company-wide chat group of several thousand people, first pulling together a department group. And then within the department group, quietly pulling together a core small group.

As for whether the members of these core groups and department groups privately pulled together yet more small groups of only three or five people…

that was neither something Zhu Youjian could control, nor something he wanted to control.

No factions within the party — that would be bizarre.

Those Grand Secretaries and Ministers in the New Policies Committee, and even the various group leaders and opinion leaders in the Secretariat — who among them did not have a crowd of same-year graduates, fellow provincials, and fellow disciples standing behind them?

Even that policy-group workhorse Liu Kongjing could pull together a "Maritime Expansion Clique."

How much more so everyone else?

Behind Lu Xiangsheng stood Li Banghua and Huang Liji.

Sun Chuanting, for his part, was very close with Cheng Jiming and Li Guopu.

These new-policy officials, for the sake of their respective ideals and interests, had coalesced into countless messy, tiny factions.

Sometimes they cooperate, sometimes they clash, sometimes they undermine each other.

Zhu Youjian never missed a single one of the factional reports the Directorate of Ceremonial compiled each month — he read them with keen enjoyment.

But he never called them out on it.

So long as they didn't cross the bottom line or obstruct the larger agenda of the new policies, he couldn't be bothered to reckon with such trifling squabbles.

When you're trying to get things done, if you don't have a few men of your own, a few trusted confidants, how are you supposed to move anyone?

Only a naive, sheltered emperor raised deep within the palace, who'd never been roughed up by the real world, would believe that creatures like "lone ministers" actually existed in this world. A lone minister?

In officialdom, a lone minister is practically a dead man.

In any case, after all this groundwork, guidance, radical pushing, forceful implementation, and compensation —

after months of turmoil from September until now, Zhu Youjian had at last, cautiously yet firmly, set this critically important secrecy apparatus firmly on the ground. Under this new system,

if a Jurchen spy came to the capital with silver in his pocket to buy the Capital Gazette again, he was in for a disappointment.

Under the secrecy regulations,

the news he'd glean from the Capital Gazette might amount to a single sparse line:

"On the twenty-fifth, the Court of Colonial Affairs concluded its strategic report, ultimately securing the joint guarantee of seventy-four ministers. The fundamental strategy was set as 'seeking truth from facts,' and the propagation of royal civilization was to be carried out."

Nothing but empty words.

Of course, if he was willing to wait a few more days, until the New Year,

and spend five wen on a special New Year's issue of the Great Ming Times,

he could also acquire one new piece of intelligence:

"A new clause has been added to the Penal Code: 'Prohibition of Private Trade with Jianzhou.'"

This particular item, however, was exceedingly detailed.

The specific rewards and penalties would be spelled out with perfect clarity, as if they feared someone might not understand.

For instance, the reward for an informant: if the accusation was verified as true, the informant could take ten percent of the confiscated estate as a reward, capped at ten thousand taels of silver. He could also choose a basic post in either the Eastern Depot or the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

For instance, the reward for patrol ships and soldiers: if they seized contraband and caught the culprits, twenty percent of the goods would be sold and given as a reward, capped at five hundred taels per man, and depending on the value of the goods, the deed would be classified as an extraordinary merit, a first-class merit, or a second-class merit.

And even…

Zhu Youjian had just recently assigned a new task to Ruan Dacheng, the editor-in-chief of the Great Ming Times.

He told him to "align" with the people at the Court of Colonial Affairs and look into how to distribute this newspaper into Mongol territory and Liaodong.

If the plan went smoothly and the feasibility study was sound,

then perhaps by the summer of next year, Hong Taiji wouldn't even need to send men into the interior to buy the paper.

Delivered directly by the Great Ming postal relay system, personally tossed over by elite mounted scouts.

Five wen a copy! A single fixed price across the realm!

The side hall for deliberations was right next door; the charcoal braziers, screens, and such had all been prepared in advance.

The group turned the corner, and a few steps brought them there.

After months of evolution, the status of Wuying Hall had grown increasingly elevated.

It had gone from being the venue for "alignment meetings" in the earlier months to a dedicated venue for "briefing sessions."

So for a small meeting like this, Zhu Youjian didn't hold it in Wuying Hall, lest it tarnish his prestige.

This designated architectural purpose was also a way of lending ritual endorsement to the act of "briefing."

"Alright, let's begin," Zhu Youjian said once he had entered the hall.

Lu Shanji nodded and began to report on the details that had not been mentioned in the main hall earlier.

"To report to Your Majesty, there are three matters still unresolved."

"The first is the matter of Mao Wenlong currently negotiating peace with Jianzhou."

"On this matter, General Mao has sent a letter back to Supreme Commander Sun, saying he wishes to lure the Tartars' Literary Hall chief, Dahai, into coming for a covenant ceremony, so as to sever one of the barbarian chieftain's arms. This man is one of the rare few in Jianzhou well-versed in letters; Hong Taiji ordinarily relies on him as his right hand in political affairs."

"After our discussion, it seems this matter may be worth undertaking." Zhu Youjian weighed the pros and cons in his mind, and ultimately shook his head.

"In this world, the most precious thing is trust… It is so between sovereign and minister, and it is equally so between enemy states."

"To expend such trust merely in exchange for a Tartar civil official is far too wasteful."

"If, after the spring begins, Mao Wenlong is willing to come to the capital for an audience, then General Mao can be considered truly reliable."

"If he is reliable, then this 'trust' he has painstakingly built with Jianzhou should not be squandered just to trade for a single Dahai. Save it for other matters; its value will be far greater."

Zhu Youjian's fingers tapped lightly twice on the table.

"Halt this matter. Everything will be decided after Mao Wenlong comes to see me after the spring."

Lu Shanji hurriedly nodded and noted it down, then continued speaking.

"The second is the latest news: Joseon is already in discussions with Jianzhou to establish a frontier trade market."

"This matter has already been inquired about with the Joseon tribute ambassador, Jeong Du-won."

"He said that Joseon will do its utmost to delay, and will absolutely not allow a single stone of rice or bolt of cloth to flow into Jianzhou."

At this point, Lu Shanji could not help but shake his head.

"But at the same time, he also said that his country is small and weak, and may not be able to withstand Jianzhou's coercion. If they are truly forced to submit against their will, he hopes the suzerain state will forgive them. After our discussion, we feel that even if this is true, Joseon can at most delay for a year or two before they will likely be compelled to open the frontier trade market."

Zhu Youjian's brow furrowed slightly. He pondered for a moment, then asked:

"Has the situation in Joseon been thoroughly investigated?"

"Given their current national strength, exactly how much aid can they provide to Jianzhou?"

That was the crux of the matter.

Lu Shanji had clearly come prepared and answered immediately:

"We have already inquired with Ambassador Jeong and cross-checked with other merchants who travel to and from Joseon. We have obtained some basic information. Although it still awaits further confirmation, a general outline has emerged."

"Joseon does not levy grain taxes by the mu as the Great Ming does, but calculates it by the gyeol."

"The area per gyeol varies, but essentially it is land with a total yield of eight hundred mal, assessed for taxation at twenty mal."

"Joseon's system differs from the Great Ming's — there, one seok is fifteen mal, but it only equals about 0.83 Ming shi."

A string of dry figures poured from Lu Shanji's mouth, yet every person present listened with the utmost attention.

"Thus, after conversion, at its peak Joseon had a national revenue of 1,770,000 gyeol, roughly equivalent to 1,960,000 Ming shi." "But after the Imjin War, the people scattered, the land lay fallow, and many of the registers were burned."

"Although they resurveyed the fields in the thirty-second year of Wanli, they only measured 540,000 gyeol, yielding a revenue of about 600,000 shi."

"In that survey, a great deal of wasteland was exempted from taxation and concealed among the yangban nobility."

"By all reason, after nearly twenty years of recovery, there should have been some improvement by now."

"So in the fourth year of Tianqi, the King of Joseon conducted a census of able-bodied males and implemented the hopae system, and in a single year the registered males under his control rose from one million to over two million." "But early this year, after the Jianzhou barbarians raided Joseon, the king issued a self-condemning edict and abolished the law — likely under duress from the yangban grandees." Lu Shanji delivered his final summary judgment:

"Zheng Douyuan spoke ambiguously on this matter. We do not yet know which faction of the yangban he belongs to; further investigation will be needed to confirm."

"But in essence, after our discussion, we believe it is appropriate to gauge Joseon's current strength by its strength after the Wanli-era Imjin War. That is, a central revenue of 600,000 shi, with the actual population and landholdings of the entire country likely falling between forty and seventy percent of the Northern Metropolitan Region's present figures."

"And if they truly open border markets and trade with the Jianzhou, the grain and cloth sold each year would already be enough to substantially supply the Later Jin."

Hearing these figures, Zhu Youjian's brow furrowed even tighter.

He finally understood why the intelligence reports said that while grain was somewhat tight in Jianzhou at this time, it was still manageable, with no large-scale famine. It seemed it was not necessarily the effect of Hong Taiji's internal reforms after his succession — the time had been far too short.

The greater reason was most likely this very "plundering" after the conquest of Joseon.

This was essentially the equivalent of directly sucking up several years' accumulated output from a scaled-down version of the Northern Metropolitan Region.

No wonder the famine vanished so quickly.

And no wonder that Amin actually wanted to set himself up as king in Joseon.

That land of Joseon was nothing less than a ready-made, shrunken replica of the Hebei heartland!

With such a scale of output, even after the ravages of the Jianzhou plunder early in the year, even after setting aside the subsistence supplies they needed for their own survival, it was still not to be underestimated.

If this route could not be severed, then at the very least in grain, Jianzhou could hold steady.

Zhu Youjian pondered long and hard, and in the end could only sigh in frustration.

For now, any control over Joseon could only be exercised through Dongjiang.

But Mao Wenlong's stance was unclear at present; they would have to see how things stood next year. For the moment, this matter could only be set aside.

"We understand. The Joseon matter still requires Dongjiang to act. We shall discuss it again after spring."

"Do not send Zheng Douyuan back yet. Wait until Mao Wenlong either comes to the capital or does not, and once our policy is settled, then have him carry the letter back."

He looked at Lu Shanji and instructed:

"Use these few months to investigate the population and production figures for both Jianzhou and Joseon more thoroughly."

This kind of data investigation was a line of thinking in which Zhu Youjian differed from this era.

In this age, output was not as complex as in later times; the most important factors were simply people and land.

It was precisely based on a rough assessment of the scale of population and land in Liaodong that he had deduced the scale of the "Liaodong smuggling" interest group — which economically could not be all that large — and only then had he dared to strike ruthlessly at that group.

And now, he needed to further corroborate his strategic judgments through detailed investigations of Joseon, the Mongols, and the Later Jin. Exactly how much land? How much grain could it produce?

In which directions should the blockade be focused?

Which supplies were more lethal to them?

All of this had to be decided by the data.

Lu Shanji nodded in acknowledgment and proceeded to report on the final matter:

"Your Majesty, the third matter concerns the disposition of 'Fishskin Dumpling.'"

"The man sent word that his original intent was to flee directly and surrender to us."

"But in our discussions, three opinions emerged."

"The first is to have him remain there, lie low, and transmit intelligence."

"The second is to have him act as an internal agent and turn against them when battle is joined in the coming days."

"The third is as he proposed — to come over directly, which could serve to stir the hearts of men."

Lu Shanji raised his head and looked at Zhu Youjian:

"All three views have their advocates, and we are deadlocked. We cannot decide, and await Your Majesty's sagacious judgment."

Zhu Youjian barely hesitated, and directly shook his head.

"The matter of Fishskin is not merely a matter of espionage; it is a matter of hearts and minds."

His gaze swept over every person present.

"If he comes over, he will be the first Jianzhou Han to turn to the righteous side."

"This matter is more important than any intelligence, more important than killing a few Tartars."

"Have him find an opportunity and come over directly."

"When the time comes, have him enter the capital to see Us, and We shall stage a spectacle, to shake the resolve of the Han people over there."

Lu Shanji exchanged a glance with Hong Chengchou beside him, thinking to himself: just as expected.

This sovereign had always placed the greatest weight on hearts and minds.

That among the three choices, he would pick the one concerning hearts and minds was not the least bit surprising.

"Understood, Your Majesty. After I proceed to Liaodong with the others, I shall personally take over this matter from Supreme Commander Sun."

With that, the business was concluded — a very short meeting indeed.

Zhu Youjian nodded, but did not immediately dismiss them.

His gaze slowly swept over those who had been quietly listening at the side all this while.

Yuan Jixian, Yuan Chonghuan.

These were the civil officials to be dispatched to Liaodong.

The former was to go and audit and fix the pay quotas — a thunderbolt, swift but not lasting.

The latter, while not bearing the burden of clearing military arrears, must push through reforms after the thunderbolt strikes and reshape Liaodong — that is slow, patient work.

Ma Shilong, Man Gui.

These are the military officers to be dispatched.

The former will hold the Yu Pass, drill elite troops, and serve as the reserve strength.

The latter, while keeping watch over the Ji Garrison, must also watch the Mongols, and even more so watch for any breakthrough point the Later Jin might exploit.

And there is Hong Chengchou — a diligent traitor he knows well.

Li Yukui, Lu Shanji — two diligent and capable ministers he does not know well.

And Wang Xianggan, eighty-one years old yet still brimming with vigor.

Sure enough, taking twenty days off every month really does wonders for a man's health.

Looking at these faces, Zhu Youjian could not help feeling a flutter of unease.

This team he had assembled for the Ji-Liao theater…

What exactly would they be able to accomplish?

In that instant, Zhu Youjian very much wanted to say something.

Either words to stir the heart, or words of warning and admonition.

For instance, the Old Ancestor's line — "We share the golden cup, but the bare blade shows no mercy" — was excellent: bold and spirited, murderous and menacing, rousing as chicken's blood yet brimming with threat.

The words reached his lips and rolled once in his throat.

But in the end he spoke no stirring words at all, only nodded calmly and said:

"We have no further questions. The Jurchen matter will proceed accordingly."

"Hereafter, when major decisions cannot be resolved, inquire via the special-grade radio line. For urgent matters, We grant you three instances of acting first and reporting afterward."

"The matter of clearing military arrears east of the Liao was also reported yesterday and is basically without issue. Proceed according to that plan. The Great Ming Times will coordinate with you as well."

He rose and departed directly, as if entirely at ease.

"Leave the capital tomorrow."

"It is time for the Ji-Liao lands to see a snowfall."