Chapter 58: The Draw! The 108 Donglin Heroes Take the Stage!

Inside the Directorate of Ceremonial, voices surged like a boiling cauldron; in the spacious duty room, waves of heat assailed everyone.

This was the nerve center of the Great Ming inner court, the place closest to imperial power, and the very pinnacle that countless eunuchs could only gaze up at their entire lives.

The air was thick with a peculiar odor, a blend of paper, ink, and a faint trace of urine.

Brush-holders and attendant eunuchs, their arms piled with documents stacked half a man's height, shuttled back and forth across the enormous duty room, every face etched with deep anxiety.

"Where's the roster from the Fujian Provincial Administration Commission? Why hasn't it arrived yet! Send someone to hurry them up again!"

"Shaanxi's is finished checking! Who can review it? There's a man here named Hong Chengchou — his service record doesn't match the examination register!"

"Who has the examination register for the forty-fourth year of Wanli? Are you done with it? Bring it to me at once — we need it for Bi Zisu's entry!"

One eunuch, apparently at his wit's end, suddenly raised his voice to a sharp, piercing screech, drawing sidelong glances from everyone around him.

Shrill voices mingled with the rustling of flipping pages, rising and falling in waves throughout the vast hall, composing a symphony of busyness that bordered on chaos.

Yet at the very center of this clamor, Gao Shiming, the seal-holding eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, merely sat motionless in a wide armchair, like a clay statue.

His gaze held no focus, drifting emptily into the void; his thoughts had long since soared beyond the ninth heaven.

The din around him gradually receded, as though muffled by a thick layer of cotton wadding, until only the Emperor's soul-stirring words remained, echoing over and over in his mind.

"Why not take my aspirations as your own!"

When the Emperor spoke those words in a tone that was almost matter-of-fact, even tinged with a hint of expectation, Gao Shiming had reacted instantly, relying on the instincts honed over decades of struggle and survival in the palace, and made the most correct response possible.

He had thrown himself to the ground, wept bitterly, and sworn oaths to the heavens, exhausting every profession of loyalty that a subject, that a slave, could possibly utter.

Things like "I would gladly have my brains dashed out for Your Majesty and die ten thousand deaths without flinching," and "this slave, having met Your Majesty in this life, has received such boundless heavenly grace that I can die without regret."

His performance was so sincere, his emotion so overwhelming, that the young Emperor had been compelled to personally help him to his feet, comforting him with kind words and gentle reassurances, his speech even betraying a trace of flustered helplessness.

In the end, seeing that he was so "agitated" that his mind seemed shaken and he could barely speak coherently, the Emperor had mercifully let him off.

He was sent here to the Directorate of Ceremonial to hurry along the rosters of local officials — a change of scene, so to speak, to help him calm down.

But only now, sitting here in the duty room of the Directorate of Ceremonial, surrounded by endless clamor, did the belated, bone-deep terror finally surge over him like a tide and drown him completely.

At that moment, before the throne, what could he have said? What did he dare say?

Apart from kowtowing in gratitude and swearing oaths, he could make no other response.

He could only muddle through on the surface — even if it displeased the Emperor, he had no choice but to let it happen.

It was simply... simply that His Majesty's words were too shocking to hear!

Even more terrifying to him than the words "the Great Ming is doomed"!

He, Gao Shiming, had spent his entire life in the palace, rising from a lowly fire-boy sweeping the floors to become the seal-holding eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, wielding power throughout the inner court. He had seen too many people, experienced too many things.

He had witnessed the Wanli Emperor's neglect of governance, seen the Taichang Emperor's fleeting reign, and personally lived through the Tianqi Emperor's overbearing rule.

He knew that serving a monarch was like serving a tiger, and that a sovereign's mind was the most unfathomable thing under heaven.

But this present Emperor's mind...

Which history book recorded a sage-king's path like this?

Since ancient times, it had always been the sovereign who asked his ministers for counsel, the father who asked his son about his aspirations.

Everyone said that serving one's lord was like serving one's father, but that was, after all, merely a high-sounding phrase — when had a sovereign ever truly treated a minister as his own son?

The history books he had read and the tales he had heard were beyond counting, yet where had he ever heard of an emperor asking a minister about his aspirations?

Let alone an emperor saying that he would take his own aspirations and make them his minister's aspirations!

What kind of... terror was this? And what kind of... favor?

Gao Shiming thought, even if he was ignorant and ill-informed, even if such a thing really had happened in the histories!

It should have occurred only between legendary sovereigns and subjects of ages past — like King Wen and Taigong Wang, or Emperor Wu of Han and the Marquis of Champion.

How could it... how could it fall to him, a mutilated eunuch lacking all six parts?

What slave was worthy of having his own aspirations? Were not a slave's aspirations simply his master's preferences?

At this thought, Gao Shiming felt his heart pound wildly in his chest — half flame, half iceberg.

The flame was an unprecedented sense of being recognized and valued; the iceberg was the bone-chilling cold of dread before an unknown fate.

Just as his heart and mind churned in turmoil, a figure carrying a stack of name registers hurried past him, stirring a faint breeze.

"Liu Ruoyu."

Almost subconsciously, Gao Shiming called out to the man in a somewhat hoarse voice.

The eunuch holding the registers froze, clearly not expecting to be stopped. He hastily turned and bowed: "Old Ancestor, what are your instructions?"

The man was none other than Liu Ruoyu, an oddity in the palace.

Other inner servants had entered the palace either because of family poverty or personal ambition, willingly or by force.

This fellow alone — his father was a Regional Commander in Liaodong, yet he had entered the palace claiming some strange dream had moved him to do so. Because of this, he had never fit in with the others in the palace.

Gao Shiming's gaze did not meet his eyes, but fell instead on the space above Liu Ruoyu's upper lip.

There, faint bluish stubble had begun to emerge, freshly shaved not long ago.

Unlike him — his face had been smooth and bare his entire life, and he would never know that rough, prickly sensation.

A sudden melancholy came over him.

After a long while, he finally spoke in a soft voice, using a tone that even he himself found strange.

"Ruoyu, what are your aspirations?"

Liu Ruoyu started, jerking his head up, his face filled with utter bewilderment.

Inside Qianqing Palace.

Zhu Youjian rubbed his hands together, his face alight with irrepressible excitement and anticipation, like a child about to unwrap a New Year's gift.

At last, he could carefully examine this list of officials dismissed during the Tianqi era on account of factional affiliation!

Draw a card! Draw a card! Draw a card!

It sounded like merely a list of over two hundred names, something that could be written out on just a few pages.

But in reality, the sheer scale of work behind this list was staggering.

Li Guopu had not merely listed every person's name.

After each entry, he had written in detail the reason for their dismissal and the year it occurred, all cited from memorials and edicts in the Office of Transmission — meticulous to a fault.

And Gao Shiming, even more painstakingly, had recopied the entire list into a format resembling a later-era table.

After each name, in tiny regular script, he had noted their native place, age, and current status: deceased, demoted, in office, or living in retirement.

Even summary dossiers for figures from an earlier period, already dead but with ties to the Donglin, had been prepared — men like Gu Xiancheng and Qian Yiben.

At this moment, that thin stack of Donglin name lists, together with their corresponding three-hundred-odd detailed dossiers, sat like a small mountain, occupying a vast stretch of the imperial desk.

Zhu Youjian picked up the list.

Instantly, a string of names that blazed through the history books met his eyes.

Li Sancai, Ye Xianggao, Zhao Nanxing, Zuo Guangdou, Yang Lian…

"Yes, yes, yes! This is the transmigrator's golden finger!"

Zhu Youjian slammed the desk in excitement, his heart brimming with satisfaction.

Ever since the transmigration, he had been like a puppet wound tight.

Every day he had racked his brains for his own safety, for control over personnel, for the transition of power, and for how to paper over the cracks of this empire riddled with a thousand gaping wounds.

Every moment, he had walked on thin ice, never knowing whether he would finally reach the far shore.

This was the first time he had encountered, on such a broad scale, names familiar to later generations.

This feeling was far, far more thrilling than anything Li Guopu, Yang Jingchen, or Huang Liji could give him!

It was like playing a long-anticipated historical strategy game — after finally slogging through the tutorial, he had at last clicked open the officer roster he most wanted to see.

— And behind every name here lay a story of surging, magnificent drama.

Gao Shiming was simply too meticulous. This eunuch, whom later generations would not even know, was practically an SSR-tier secretary gifted to a new player by the system.

Not only had he noted native place and age after each name,

he had even written out, in neat and orderly script beside them, the nicknames bestowed upon these men in the Donglin Ranking of Champions compiled by Wei Zhongxian's faction.

Zhu Youjian watched as the list threw up, one after another, "Pagoda-Bearing Heavenly King Li Sancai," "Resourceful Star Miao Changqi," "Dragon in the Clouds Gao Panlong."

The nerve that had been stretched taut for days finally, utterly relaxed, and he could not help but slap the desk and laugh aloud.

He simply skipped over these Donglin grandees at the front and searched the list directly for the few names he was more familiar with from later times.

Very quickly, pleasant surprises appeared one after another.

— Sun Chengzong, Earthly Short Star, Dragon Out of the Woods!

Imperial Tutor Sun, where exactly are you short, hahaha, to be given a nickname like that!

— Qian Qianyi, Heavenly Cunning Star, the Wanderer!

This nickname is actually not bad.

In Zhu Youjian's mind flashed a card he had drawn in his past life while eating Little Master instant noodles — this must be Yan Qing, right?

"The Water's Too Cold" and this nickname actually go together rather well!

— Li Banghua, Earthly Brave Star, Sick Yuchi!

So-so.

— Liu Zongzhou, Heavenly Strange Star, Red-Haired Demon!

Hahahaha, Liu Zongzhou is supposed to be an old man of Confucian scholarship, so what on earth is this Red-Haired Demon business!

— Hou Xun, Earthly Fulfillment Star, Long-Armed Ape!

Hahaha, this Jiangnan dandy is actually the Long-Armed Ape!

As Zhu Youjian leafed through the list, he rocked back and forth behind the imperial desk, laughing uncontrollably, utterly delighted, tears nearly coming to his eyes.

This was simply too entertaining!

These late-Ming literati, when they threw themselves into political struggle, truly mixed cruelty with brilliance — far more splendid, by countless times, than any deck of playing-card wanted posters from later ages.

Yet, as he laughed and laughed, his laughter gradually died away.

In the emptiness of Qianqing Palace, only his slowly subsiding breath remained, and the beat of his own heart.

At last, all the mirth dissolved into a long, drawn-out sigh.

Yes, it truly was entertaining.

But this delight — in this vast Forbidden City, across this boundless Ming realm, within this lonely span of time — who else but himself could understand it?

When he saw "the Wanderer Qian Qianyi," what rose in his mind was the joke about "the water's too cold, I cannot go down," and also the fervent hope contained in that "Three-Point Go Strategy."

When he saw "Red-Haired Demon Liu Zongzhou," what he thought of was the stark ferocity of that great Confucian worthy starving himself to death.

These stale memes spanning four hundred years of time, these jokes and sorrows buried in the dust of history — in the end, he alone could grasp them.

At this thought, Zhu Youjian's playful mood instantly ebbed by more than half.

A faint sense of loneliness quietly welled up in his heart.

He reined in his smile, turned his gaze back to the list, and his expression grew serious.

In truth, from his rough scan just now, this so-called "Donglin list" held very few men he could actually use, or whom he truly knew well.

Names like Yang Lian and Zuo Guangdou — those iron-boned, renowned ministers he knew by heart from Those Ming Dynasty Stories — had already been heavily framed in black ink by Gao Shiming.

Beside the frames were two small characters.

— Deceased.

Among the rest who still lived, those he knew well numbered no more than a scant dozen or so.

One sort were men like Ye Xianggao, Zhao Nanxing, and Han Kuang, whom he vaguely remembered as Donglin faction leaders.

But what specific abilities they had, what they excelled at — he had no clear idea at all.

Using these men was, in truth, no different from using Yang Jingchen or Li Guopu — all of it was like a blind man feeling an elephant, just a gamble.

The so-called "pure stream," in his view, was not necessarily more useful or more capable than the treacherous ministers.

The other category consisted of people he knew like the back of his hand from various books and short videos in his later life.

But when he counted carefully, it came down to only five men: Sun Chengzong, Qian Qianyi, Li Banghua, Hou Xun, and Liu Zongzhou.

And among these five, if one were to speak of those who could actually get things done, there were probably only Sun Chengzong and Li Banghua.

As for the other three, from what little pitiful historical knowledge he had stored away, they did not seem to be known for practical achievements either.

Qian Qianyi was a literary doyen, Liu Zongzhou a moral paragon, and Hou Xun… he only remembered that he was the father of Hou Fangyu, one of the "Four Young Masters of the Late Ming."

Zhu Youjian's finger slowly roamed across the list, his gaze sweeping over one name after another, some familiar, some unfamiliar.

Suddenly, his finger stopped.

A faint sense that something was off surfaced from the depths of his mind.

"Gao Shiming."

He called out reflexively.

But the hall was empty and silent; only his own voice stirred a barely audible echo among the beams and pillars.

Only then did Zhu Youjian remember that the scene just now had been far too "explosive," and he had sent Companion Gao off to the Directorate of Ceremonial to ease things over for a while.

He sighed, and decided not to summon Gao Shiming back. He simply took up paper and brush himself and began to scribble and sketch upon it.

First he wrote down the three characters "Donglin Faction," then drew a large circle around them.

Next, while leafing through each man's biographical summary, he wrote down the names from the list one by one, connecting each to the circle with a line.

Sun Chengzong, Ye Xianggao, Li Banghua, Qian Qianyi…

As name after name and their web of connections emerged under his brush, his brow furrowed tighter and tighter.

He discovered that these so-called "Donglin partisans" hailed from every corner of the realm and came from all manner of backgrounds — there were teachers and students, men from the same hometown, men who passed the exams in the same year, their ties tangled and intertwined, and yet… they did not seem all that tightly bound.

This was nothing like the tightly organized political parties of later ages; it was more like a collection of loose political alliances and scholarly circles.

This Donglin Faction — something seems a bit off about it.

— Didn't they say they represented the interests of the great Jiangnan landowners?