Chapter 329: A Middle-Aged Man Arrives at the Secretariat

Once the choice is made, the stone is cast — no regrets.

After Wu Cheng'en withdrew from the warm pavilion, he followed a junior eunuch to process his entry formalities.

"Entry formalities," in this case, meant the official procedures for becoming a secretary.

These included a formal official appointment by imperial decree, a gate pass for entering and leaving the palace, registration with the Ministry of Personnel, and so forth.

First of all, the position of "secretary" was, even now, not a formal official post, but a kind of temporary assignment.

It was not even called "Secretary Court Gentleman" — a title with the archaic flavor of the Han and Tang — but simply, plainly, and with no literary grace whatsoever, "secretary." For a time, the Yongchang Emperor had considered fully bureaucratizing this system and assigning it formal ranks, but later he reversed course and decided to maintain the status quo for now. As the Han Feizi says: "Nothing surpasses law for being made manifest, but statecraft should not be seen."

Power that is not explicitly bounded has more elastic limits; when extending imperial authority, it encounters less resistance.

Setting aside other considerations, the sources from which the Secretariat draws its personnel were, in Zhu Youjian's plan, meant to break with convention and become even more diversified. At present, most of the Secretariat's members come from the ranks of "jinshi civil officials"; among the nobility and the Embroidered Uniform Guard, only Zhang Zhiji and Luo Yangxing hold positions.

But in the Yongchang Emperor's plan, channels for entry should in fact be established for clerical civil officials, military civil officials, military officers, Imperial Academy students, nobles, inner palace eunuchs, merchants, and the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Even more radically, the Zhu Ming princes of the blood, or their sons, or even the hostage princes of overseas tributary states — where is it written that they absolutely cannot join? To carve up the realm, one must select the right blades for carving up the realm.

A blade turned inward is more dangerous to wield than one turned outward, but at times it is also more effective.

This body was to be both the emperor's brain trust and the starting point from which he would articulate his vision and share power with the entire realm.

Men of excellence and loyalty, regardless of their origins, should be able to join this team without obstruction.

Therefore, even though many civil officials — some formally, some obliquely — submitted memorials urging the emperor to formalize the Secretariat and make it a ranked bureaucracy, Zhu Youjian consistently turned a deaf ear.

In any case, the Great Ming has its own ancestral institutions on this matter. If anyone has objections, let them first go and discuss it with the Zhengde Emperor and the Jiajing Emperor; don't come bullying His Sacred Majesty, an honest man. The capital, the Wu residence.

Inside the study, all was quiet.

Wu Cheng'en sat in an armchair, his gaze blank, staring fixedly at a Duan inkstone on the desk.

Knock, knock, knock.

The door was tapped lightly; it was the steward's voice: "Master, it's me."

"Come in." Wu Cheng'en came back to himself and rubbed his brow.

The steward pushed the door open and entered, holding a large bundle, which he placed respectfully on the table.

"Master, Liu the Cleaver at the tailor's shop said there's simply no time to make everything from scratch right now."

"So I had him take ready-made garments from the shop and alter them according to your usual measurements for the time being."

"As for the various official robes that fit perfectly, the earliest they can be ready is tomorrow evening."

The Ming court did not issue official attire; officials had to go to outside official-garment shops to be measured and have their clothes made.

Wu Cheng'en had only emerged from the palace this evening and was due at the Western Park to report for duty early the next morning — naturally, there was not enough time.

Wu Cheng'en nodded and reached out to untie the bundle.

The civil official's robe had wide, one-chi sleeves; on the chest and back were sewn mandarin-duck rank badges for a junior seventh-rank official.

Inside were also a plain silver belt, a black gauze cap, and official boots — everything complete.

As for the color, it was the regulation blue-green that a junior seventh-rank official was supposed to use.

In truth, by current custom, the color requirements for each rank were no longer so strictly observed.

But Wu Cheng'en was, after all, a newcomer; to be safe, he had prudently followed the prescribed color.

In fact, the truly strict rules for color and accessories applied only when attending the various grand ceremonies.

Court attire, for instance — worn at grand audiences like New Year's Day — had to be bright red and worn with a beam crown.

Sacrificial attire, worn when worshipping Heaven and Earth, had to be pure white throughout.

And public attire, worn at new-moon and full-moon audiences, thanksgiving ceremonies, and the like, was colored strictly by rank and required the black gauze cap. Even for informal dress at home, the Jiajing Emperor had specifically decreed that the "loyal-and-quiet cap and gown" be worn.

It is a pity that the fashion of clothing reflects the intellectual currents of the age.

And the intellectual currents of the age are in turn shaped by the productive forces of the age — how could a single edict ever hold them in check?

In the middle and late periods of a dynasty, when goods grow abundant, the trend toward luxury is very hard to suppress again.

This is a principle borne out by every dynasty across history.

That is why the loyal-and-quiet cap and gown could not even be enforced in the Jiajing reign and was eventually quietly abandoned.

Wu Cheng'en stood up and, right then and there, put on the full set of blue-green regular attire.

The steward hurriedly pushed the bronze mirror over, his face wreathed in smiles.

"Master, in this outfit, you truly look born to be an official! Such an imposing air!"

Wu Cheng'en looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, but somehow, recalling that bank charter that had slipped through his fingers, he felt a touch of dejection again. He waved his hand. "You may withdraw for now."

In the study, Wu Cheng'en was suddenly left alone.

He stood quietly for a moment, then slowly reached up and took off the official robes, changing back into the wide-sleeved scholar's gown he usually wore.

For a moment, he felt unexpectedly despondent.

He had begun his schooling as a small child and studied bitterly in his youth, yet he could not even pass the provincial examination.

Reading the published examination essays of the successful candidates back then, he had known that on the path of the civil examinations, he was no more than a man of middling talent.

From that point on, he had completely abandoned all thoughts of an official career and devoted himself single-mindedly to managing the family business, building the Wu family step by step into the foremost name in the capital's jewelry trade. Then, leveraging Wei Zhongxian's influence, he extended his reach into capital lending, the salt trade, textiles, and every other sphere, rising from the foremost name in jewelry to the richest man in the capital. In a mere twenty years, he had multiplied the family fortune from a hundred-odd thousand taels to a scale of two million taels — undeniably a success.

He had never imagined that, twenty years later, he would return, in such a strange fashion, to the very path he had been unable to walk in his youth. He drifted in a daze for a while, not even knowing himself what was going through his mind.

Only when a thunderous hunger erupted from his belly did he come back to his senses.

He stood, pushed open the door, and called over the steward who had been waiting outside.

"Why haven't those two come back yet?"

The steward hurriedly replied:

"Master, the eldest young master sent word back this morning that he has left the capital with one of the secretaries to go investigate the Zhang family customs house; he won't be back until the day after tomorrow."

"As for the second young master… he just sent a note back as well, saying there is urgent business at the tax office tonight and he may have to work very late. He will grab a casual bite outside with his colleagues and won't be coming home for dinner."

The Wu residence was, in fact, right beside Chongwen Gate, no more than a hundred paces from the tax office, truth be told.

But being able to build a little more camaraderie with his colleagues was, in the end, the better thing.

Wu Cheng'en was silent for a moment, nodded, then turned and closed the door again.

This time, his thoughts finally began to pull free from the earlier tangle, growing clear.

The keen instincts of a top-tier merchant once again seized the high ground.

A fatal question he had unconsciously ignored moments before suddenly surfaced in his mind.

Once he became an official… what would happen to the family's enterprises?

His eldest son was a Secretariat Drafter in the Secretariat, working as an intern; his second son was a junior clerk in the Tax Office; his third son he had dispatched to Fujian to recruit "barbarian interpreters."

And so, for a time, the vast Wu family enterprise would have no one at the helm.

He paced back and forth in the study with his hands behind his back, calculated carefully, and concluded that he would likely have to divest some holdings and narrow his focus. At the very least, the salt business and the capital debt business had to be exited immediately.

The capital debt business went without saying — it was entangled too deeply. To keep operating it at this moment, with the new policies surging forward, was simply courting death.

After all, lending money to commoners was no great problem, but lending money to officials, in His Majesty's eyes, was probably already grounds for a death sentence.

Had he not glimpsed this critical juncture, he, Wu Cheng'en, would never have risked half his fortune to bid on that volume in order to escape with his life.

At this thought, Wu Cheng'en turned his head and glanced at the book on his desk — The World Under a Microscope (Six Hundred Seventy Thousand Tael Edition) — and gave a bitter laugh. As for the salt business, it was in truth equally sensitive.

After all, the Great Ming Code, Household Law V, Section on Levies, contained an explicit provision:

"Any supervising official who uses a false name, or any man of power and influence who pays grain and monies or solicits salt certificate tallies, thereby encroaching upon the people's profit, shall receive one hundred strokes of the heavy bamboo, penal servitude for three years, and the salt goods shall be confiscated by the authorities." This statute, in the present-day Great Ming, was no more than a scrap of waste paper.

Feudatory princes, grand ministers, ennobled merit officials, and palace eunuchs — nearly all had dabbled in the salt trade.

But who were they, and who was he, Wu Cheng'en?

After Wei Zhongxian was killed — no, committed suicide — and Cui Chengxiu and the others were exiled, his network of power in the high ranks had been swept clean away. He was in an unprecedented moment of utter vulnerability.

For a minor misstep like this, a single impeachment memorial might well sever the official career he had only just begun.

Therefore, on this matter, no amount of caution could be considered excessive.

And after divesting the salt business and the capital debt business — what then?

How should he handle the jewelry trade?

Or should he shift his enterprises into ventures more aligned with the "new policies"?

Hadn't Eunuch Gao said that, to promote the banks, there would be many procurement projects in Northern Zhili next year?

And His Majesty had said that no matter which he chose, the money would be repaid…

When exactly would that money be repaid?

The Emperor owing money to his subject — that was no good thing.

But if His Majesty did repay it, receiving seven hundred eighty thousand taels in one lump sum — would that not be a little too conspicuous…?

Should he find a way to disperse some of it again?

A multitude of questions, together with the hunger rising in his belly, surged into Wu Cheng'en's mind.

That night, Wu Cheng'en lay sleepless until dawn.

When Wu Yanzuo returned late at night after finishing his duties, father and son sat facing each other in the study and talked for a while — and then, quite simply, neither of them could sleep.

The next morning, at daybreak.

The night had passed in a blur; Wu Cheng'en himself did not know whether he had actually slept or not.

When he rose early, the bags under his eyes were swollen and ghastly, tinged a livid dark.

Left with no choice, he had a maid lightly dust them with powder to conceal them a little, then hurried out the door to wait before the Gate of Accepting Heaven for the palace gates to open. Most of the Great Ming officials conducted their business outside the imperial palace.

The only ones who could work inside the palace were the Grand Secretaries, the Secretariat Drafters (note: the clerks who assisted the Grand Secretariat with documents), and the Supervising Secretaries of the Six Offices of Scrutiny — these three groups. And now, there was one more group: the secretaries of the Secretariat.

Today was not a grand court assembly, merely an ordinary workday, so there was naturally no need to form ranks and files.

A great crowd of officials was already waiting before the Gate of Accepting Heaven, gathered in small clusters of three or five, chatting idly among themselves.

Wu Cheng'en swept his eyes over them and spotted quite a few Grand Secretariat ministers and Supervising Secretaries who had been very familiar faces in the past.

But in this setting, how would he dare go over and greet them? He could only lower his gaze, compose his expression, and find an inconspicuous corner in which to stand.

Yet snatches of hushed conversation kept drifting, unbidden, into his ears.

"The candidates for Shaanxi — have they really been finalized this time?"

"At last, it's settled. One chief and two deputies. Truly a tortuous process." "Even with the candidates decided, there's still plenty of work. This proposal — I doubt it will pass His Majesty's scrutiny without seven or eight revisions."

"Mm… indeed. His Majesty specifically instructed before leaving duty yesterday that the feudatory princes' portion must be integrated. Revising this proposal will likely be no easy task."

"Yes… but regarding the feudatory princes, whom do we coordinate with? Is there someone specifically in charge of the imperial clan reforms now? Surely we can't go to the Imperial Clan Court? That Imperial Son-in-law Hou…"

"I don't know either. Once we're on duty, I'll go ask Grand Secretary Li Banghua and see if we can find a coordinator to take the lead."

This cluster was Ma Maocai's Shaanxi team, gathered together and discussing the matter of the Provincial Administration Commissioners for the Thirteen Provinces.

This matter had been in preparation since well before the new year and could be ranked alongside the Ji-Liao new policies and the fiscal budget as a major state affair, yet its progress had been exceedingly slow.

The competition over candidate slots, the updating of local conditions across the provinces, and the repeated adjustments to the proposals — these were the surface factors constraining the project. But the deeper factor was, in truth, the Yongchang Emperor's prudence regarding large-scale "external teams."

After all, apart from Shanxi, Henan, and Shandong, which were close at hand,

once an imperial commissioner was dispatched elsewhere, they were like a kite with a severed string — practically left to the will of Heaven, dependent entirely on the abilities of each candidate. And so the selection of the various chief and deputy officers, the grinding refinement of the proposal details, went through round after round, with seemingly no end in sight.

— Of course, Wu Cheng'en understood only fragments of this, catching merely the two pieces of information: Shaanxi, and the feudatory princes.

From another direction, a fresh drift of voices came.

"How did the hot-air balloon test flight go?"

"The second round just finished. Still no good. All the data points measured were far too poor."

"This thing is just as we estimated earlier — slow to assemble, short loiter time, and it needs a separate fuel supply. In short, it's hard to use on the march or in field battles. Only during a siege might it possibly be of some use."

"So can we respond to the Tax Office and let them put this patent up for auction next month?"

"Wait a little longer… let's see the results from the third round first."

"We discussed it with some men from the Valiant Guard Camp yesterday. A general officer from the southwest thinks this thing might have surprising effectiveness among mountain ranges." "So for the third round of tests, they plan to take it to the Taihang Mountains to try it out."

"Fine then, let's wait and see. Once we've confirmed the results are truly poor, then we'll release it for auction."

Wu Cheng'en more or less understood this matter — it was about the poor combat effectiveness of hot-air balloons.

As for that auction…

Wu Cheng'en habitually began calculating whether the thing was worth bidding on, and how much it might fetch.

But before he could figure it out, another burst of talk seized his attention.

"Have the accounts from all six northern provinces arrived?"

"According to the Ministry of Revenue, only Shaanxi and Liaodong are still outstanding."

"Liaodong we can set aside — they've been waiting on the pay-audit team all along."

"But what in the world is going on with Shaanxi? It's been two months! Even a pig would have been delivered by now — how can it still be missing? What is Hu Tingyan even good for?"

Wu Cheng'en recognized the man losing his temper: it was Duan Guozhang, Supervising Secretary of the Revenue Office.

When Wei Zhongxian held power, he too had sent this man the customary payments — only, he knew Duan Guozhang, but Duan Guozhang might not necessarily know him.

He watched Duan Guozhang shake his head repeatedly and then, right on the spot, begin calling out names and issuing orders:

"You — go directly to the Embroidered Uniform Guard and apply for top-grade telegraph authority. Send an official reprimand at once demanding they speed the delivery to the capital!" "You — draft a document right now, then bring it to me for review. We'll have the Ministry of Personnel fold this into the performance evaluations. Any prefecture or county that hasn't delivered by the second month gets an 'inferior' rating for the entire year!"

This group was the Revenue Office people, discussing the nationwide Complete Book of Taxes and Levies.

This was a task assigned for the first year of Yongchang to the new office created after the Ministry of Revenue's reorganization — the Bureau of Revenue and Expenditure.

This bureau was in charge of each year's budgeted income and outlays, but the prerequisite for budgeting was that the "Ministry of Revenue" first had to actually function as a ministry of revenue.

So besides working themselves to exhaustion with other departments on the budget plan for the first year of Yongchang, their greatest effort was still focused on consolidating the account books and entries from every locality and department.

And the first stage of this great task was to first sort out the accounts of these six places: Shaanxi, Shanxi, Shandong, Henan, the Northern Metropolitan Region, and Liaodong. As for why it was the Revenue Office people discussing this, and not the Secretariat…

The Supervising Secretaries of the Six Offices of Scrutiny had always been an extremely powerful and pivotal role in the Great Ming court.

The Yongchang Emperor, in conducting affairs, naturally did not rely on the Secretariat staff for everything; the traditional bureaucratic structure also had to dance to his strategic tune. Standing in a corner, Wu Cheng'en understood some of it, and some of it he did not.

But he said not a word, only committing everything he heard to memory with a desperate thirst.

Soon, the palace gates opened.

The crowd entered through the great gate and dispersed, quickly separating into several distinct streams.

Those walking straight ahead, striding openly down the central imperial way, were the Grand Secretaries or the Supervising Secretaries of the Six Offices.

And those walking beside the imperial way were the various Secretariat Drafters subordinate to the Grand Secretariat.

As for the Secretariat staff, they had to turn west, heading toward the Western Park.

(Attached illustration: Layout of the Great Ming Royal Ox-Horse Factory — Palace AA Zone)

But once the crowd split apart, something became amiss.

Outside the gate just moments ago, people from every department had mingled together, and no one had noticed Wu Cheng'en.

Now, however, within the very small circle of the Secretariat, a new face had suddenly appeared, and before long someone took note.

In no time, a young official deliberately slowed his pace and came over to strike up a conversation:

"This brother looks unfamiliar — may I ask which examination cohort's senior you are?"

"I am Liu Kongjing, of the yichou cohort, fifth year of Tianqi, currently working in the Policy Group."

Indeed — this man was none other than Liu Kongjing!

He worked in the Policy Group, his daily duties covering fiscal and taxation matters. Yet in his heart he could never stop brooding over his grand design for opening the seas.

Now, seeing an unfamiliar face in the Secretariat, he guessed at once it was a newly appointed colleague and hurried over to make himself known, laying the groundwork to peddle his open-seas doctrine later on.

— If Great Ming does not open the seas, how is that any different from casting a bright pearl into darkness, a wanton waste of Heaven's bounty?!

To watch helplessly as the riches of ten thousand li of coastline are poured down the drain — such squandered opportunity, such frittered time, how is it any different from cutting off one's own limbs or abandoning treasure in the wilds! Your Majesty, open your eyes! Look at the silver flowing across the southeastern seas!

As for why Wu Cheng'en's face was unfamiliar, Liu Kongjing gave it no thought.

Before the newest cohort of jinshi emerged in the third month of this year, he himself was indisputably the newest jinshi.

With so little time in office, he naturally had not yet learned every face among the court officials.

He therefore simply assumed the man before him was a senior from some earlier examination, a heavyweight recently recalled to the capital.

Wu Cheng'en froze…

His lips parted slightly; he wanted to say something to elevate his own status, but then realized that, never mind examination honors, he did not even have the foundation of a government student — as for being the richest man in the capital, or "Wu Goldleaf"…

Hah — did such titles even deserve to be spoken before a jinshi?

Yet the other man was all smiles and deference, and he could hardly refuse to answer. So he spoke, abashed, his voice dropping several notches:

"I am… Wu Cheng'en, a merchant of the capital…"

"Yesterday, by His Majesty's sacred grace, I was specially granted the post of Secretariat Drafter, and am also to serve in the Policy Group."

The moment he answered, the people walking in the column around him all turned their heads to look.

Wu Cheng'en's activation of the "Hurling a Thousand Gold" skill had happened only yesterday afternoon; the news had not really spread yet.

So indeed, most of these secretaries still did not know of the matter.

The reason they turned their heads…

was simply the identity of "merchant."

Liu Kongjing's smile stiffened, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

But after only a moment, he carried on as if nothing had happened, smoothly continuing with a smile:

"So it is… I have long heard the great name, long heard the great name!"

"A hero is not asked of his origins; a man of attainment is not faulted for his path. Brother Wu, summoned from commoner status, must surely possess extraordinary ability!"

"With Brother Wu joining the Policy Group, it is truly like adding wings to a tiger."

Fine words though they were, that momentary hitch in Liu Kongjing's manner had not escaped Wu Cheng'en's eyes.

He felt sweat drenching his back, so mortified he did not know where to put his hands, and hurriedly mumbled:

"Not at all, not at all — I still have much to learn from all of you."

The conversation, awkward to the extreme, killed any desire in either of them to speak further.

Fortunately the Western Park was not far, and they soon arrived at the duty office of the Secretariat.

The young eunuch who had processed his paperwork the day before was waiting in the lane. Spotting Wu Cheng'en, he hastily beckoned.

"Secretary Wu, come with me."

"His Majesty has already assigned you a training mentor. I'll take you to meet him."

At this, everyone turned back to look again, and some even furrowed their brows on the spot.

A secretary… and not an intern?

What background does this fellow have?

They knew full well that even the Duke Who Revives the State, Zhang Tongchang, was currently only an intern.

How does this man, of commoner origin, qualify to leap directly to secretary?

What astonishing policy treatise did he submit to move His Majesty so deeply?

Wu Cheng'en was scorched by the dagger-like stares of the crowd until he did not know what to do with himself. On this deep winter morning, a faint sweat even appeared on his forehead, and a wisp of steam seemed to rise from him.

He cupped his hands and bowed all around, then fled the scene in embarrassment, following the young eunuch as he turned into another row of small buildings.

Wu Cheng'en looked up and saw a wooden plaque hanging above the doorframe. It read: Secretariat Conference Room No. 002.

The young eunuch pushed the door open and said with a smile,

"This is the place, Secretary Wu. Your mentor is inside."

Wu Cheng'en did not rush in. He gave a serious bow with clasped hands. "Thank you, Eunuch Wang."

Only then did he turn, draw a deep breath, and step through that small wooden door.

The moment he entered, he saw a capable-looking young man in official dress already rising from his chair.

The man neither bowed with clasped hands nor performed any of the Great Ming's traditional bureaucratic courtesies. Instead, he strode directly forward and extended a right hand. "Welcome aboard, Secretary Wu."

"I am Lu Xiangsheng, unworthily serving as head of fiscal and tax affairs for the Policy Group, and also your training mentor."

Wu Cheng'en stood frozen for a moment, staring at the hand suspended in midair, before it suddenly struck him — this was the legendary "handshake greeting" so prevalent among the New Policy officials.

He hurried forward, extended both hands, and clasped the other man's hand tightly, only to realize with embarrassment that his own palms were drenched in cold sweat.

"I am unworthy… truly unworthy!"

"To join the Policy Group — this humble one… this humble official is profoundly honored!"