Chapter 81: Of All the Realm's Great Maladies, None Surpasses Indolent Governance

A single shichen was still far too short.

For every civil official in this hall, the provincial examinations, the metropolitan examinations, the palace examination — were any of them ever given less than a full day? When has there ever been a rule as brief as a single shichen!

What was more, within each group sat a Messenger and a Secretariat Drafter, and the two men's opinions were not necessarily in agreement.

Some of the bolder Embroidered Uniform Guard among them had their blood stirred and even dared to wag their tongues.

Now they actually wanted to imitate the literary worthies of the Confucian Temple and chip in a few words on the ills of the realm — truly laughable.

But as time slipped away, the clamor of debate gradually subsided; only the occasional soft murmur of dispute or discussion still drifted through the hall.

One after another, each group pushed forward whichever member had the best calligraphy to race against time, copying out and compiling their final answers.

At last, with the toll of a bell beyond the hall, a junior eunuch sang out in a high voice:

"Time — "

A few groups, unaccustomed to such an intense pace of composition, still had a little left unwritten, but the junior eunuchs simply swept away their answer sheets regardless.

The various Messengers and Secretariat Drafters did not dare to contest it; only a few sighs of complaint and regret drifted up now and then.

Slowly, the great hall that had been so clamorous moments before sank back into silence.

The men stood with hands hanging at their sides, some with heads bowed in thought, some with eyes wandering, some clutching their fists so tightly their palms were slick with sweat.

This question-and-answer session, on its surface, was His Majesty soliciting counsel — yet was it not also a stairway to the clouds, a single step to the heights of power?

Apart from a handful of oblivious souls, everyone present harbored, to a greater or lesser degree, an anticipation they themselves could not quite put into words.

How exactly would His Majesty the Emperor make use of them? And in this day's policy examination, would some fortunate soul soar to the heavens in a single bound?

A moment later, once the answer sheets had been gathered and neatly stacked, an Embroidered Uniform Guard cracked his whip with a sharp report, and Zhu Youjian slowly emerged from behind the hall, seating himself once more behind the imperial desk.

The very air of the great hall seemed to be sucked out the instant he sat down.

Zhu Youjian swept his gaze across the assembly, taking in the full measure of the fervent atmosphere concealed beneath the silence. He said nothing, merely lowering his head to read through the answer sheets in silence.

He read very quickly, essentially looking only at the heading each group had written on its cover sheet identifying the realm's malady.

"Official integrity lost, the malady of bureaucratic discipline…"

"Fields fraudulently registered, the state grain revenue dwindling by the day…"

"Guard stations in ruin, frontier defenses neglected…"

"Factions attacking one another, state policy growing more misguided by the day…"

"Palace eunuchs usurping power, the calamity of the eunuch scourge returning…"

"The School of Mind spreading unchecked, men's hearts straying from the ancient ways…"

Some of these headings took the high ground, pointing straight at the core of court governance; others cut to the bone, starting from the smallest particulars.

Yet without exception, every one of them fell within the scope of what he already knew.

That was only natural. Pointing out problems is the easiest thing in the world; solving them is the true crux.

So much so that when his eyes fell upon a heading as pungent as "Palace eunuchs usurping power, the calamity of the eunuch scourge returning," his eyelids did not so much as lift a fraction higher.

Young civil officials always had passion surging in their breasts, unable to tolerate a single grain of sand in their eyes; it was entirely normal for them to write such death-courting words in their remonstrances.

Zhu Youjian's face bore that same expression of utter composure throughout.

After all, these men were mostly newly minted jinshi, several years removed from any concrete experience of governance, sitting idle on their benches; their insight into statecraft was not necessarily much greater than it had been in their juren days.

Since none of these headings surprised him, he saw no need to scrutinize the examples within them in any detail.

He would read them carefully as supplementary material once he returned to Qianqing Palace.

Until — a particular answer sheet appeared before his eyes.

"Of all the realm's great maladies, none surpasses… indolent governance?"

What indolent governance? Had the Wanli Emperor's era not already passed?

The Tianqi–Wei Zhongxian combination might be called a eunuch scourge, might be called cruel and harsh, but by no stretch could it be called indolent governance.

On Zhu Youjian's face, which had until now been utterly placid, a trace of interest finally showed.

He raised an eyebrow. This was rather interesting.

He stopped looking at the other answer sheets, spread this one open, and read it through with meticulous care.

The examples under this heading, it specifically noted, came from the author's personal experience.

In the autumn of the fifth year of Tianqi, traveling from Jiangxi to the capital for the examinations, he had passed through Zhenyang County in Runing Prefecture, Henan, and discovered a scene of the utmost strangeness.

On both sides of the road, as far as the eye could see, the land was clearly the finest top-grade fertile fields — the terrain flat, the soil rich — yet the fields were choked with weeds half a man's height, having lain abandoned for a very long time.

At the time still a juren, he was puzzled, and asked the carter driving the wagon why this was so.

The carter sighed and said that in Zhenyang County, eight or nine out of every ten fields were like this.

He asked further whether it was the same for a hundred li in every direction.

The carter replied that the neighboring counties were somewhat better, but even there, four or five out of ten fields lay barren.

The juren was baffled, but he was in a hurry to reach the post station and had no leisure to inquire further.

Only when he reached the post station that evening did he see that the postmaster was an elderly man; he invited him to share a drink and asked about the cause.

The juren asked: "All along the road, the fields lie barren — a sight that startles the eye. With a scene like this, does the court not levy taxes on these lands?"

The old man replied: "How could they not? The land tax is the great foundation of the state; not a fraction, not a hair may be omitted."

The juren asked again: "If taxes must be paid, why are they not farmed?"

The old man replied: "Without oxen, how can they farm?"

The juren asked once more: "Why are there no oxen?"

At this, the old man at once opened the floodgates and poured out his grievances:

"First, in recent years bandits have run rampant; oxen in the countryside have mostly been stolen and sold off."

"Second, the corvée levies on the horse-keeping households of this county are harsh and urgent; the common people dread them like a tiger. The moment a household's turn comes, that household can only sell its oxen, abandon its land, and flee with the whole family."

"And once the land has no master, naturally no one farms it. Yet the land tax cannot be shorted; it can only be apportioned out among the remaining households that still hold land."

"And so, the burden on landowning households grew heavier and heavier, more and more of them fled, and the abandoned fields, naturally, grew more and more numerous."

By this point the juren was already alarmed, yet still puzzled: "If that is so, why not sell the land? Surely better than letting it lie waste for nothing."

The old man, hearing this, gave a bleak smile: "Sell? Easy to say! In times like these, who dares buy land? Whoever buys a man's land must pay his grain levies for him. These taxes, piled layer upon layer, even a wealthy household cannot bear! And so, one can only watch, helpless, as good fields go to waste, year after year."

Reading to this point, Zhu Youjian felt a bone-deep chill run through him.

He had always believed the Great Ming's problems were corruption, the frontier wars, natural disasters, factional strife.

In short, the same old well-worn problems he had so often read about in later ages, in all manner of books.

But if this example was true, then it meant that in at least some parts of Henan, the Great Ming's grassroots governing system was already showing signs of collapse.

In this example, even the landlords who most loved to swallow up land did not dare buy these fine fields lying right beside the main road.

What kind of terrifying force could so choke off the landlords' voracious appetite?

He drew a deep breath, forced down the storm raging in his heart, and read on.

At last, he reached the true crux of the essay, the passage that drove straight to the point.

The juren in the story, after a long silence, asked one final question: "Such being the state of affairs, does the county magistrate know of it?"

The old man answered: "How could he not? Our county magistrate came up through the tribute student route; his official career is a dead end. Every day he knows only how to wield the rod and flog men, pressing them for taxes and grain. When has he ever cared whether the common folk live or die?"

The juren asked again: "This is the imperial highway; officials come and go in plenty. Surely Regional Inspectors and Censors must pass this way?"

Answer: "They do."

Question: "Officials from the department and prefecture must pass this way?"

Answer: "They do."

Question: "Then has there truly been not one man who reined in his horse and stopped, to ask the reason for all this?"

The old man raised his clouded eyes, looked at the juren, and slowly shook his head.

"No."

Zhu Youjian snapped the examination booklet shut and sat stunned for a long moment, utterly silent.

In the great hall, a deathly stillness reigned.

Gao Shiming, seeing his expression turn strange, stepped quietly forward and asked in a low voice, "Your Majesty, is something amiss? Shall this slave summon the man who wrote this piece to come forward for an audience?"

Zhu Youjian slowly shook his head.

The examples written here, even if they contained some omissions or concealments — for instance, the fraudulent registration of land under the names of powerful families and officials was surely a major cause of the vicious cycle into which local tax collection had fallen —

still, this man had, with utter sincerity, laid the worst and truest state of affairs entirely before him.

If he were to single the man out like that, holding him up before the assembly to press him with questions, it would rather smack of "this was told to me by Cao Wushang, Left Marshal of Pei."

He glanced at the names written on the cover, committed those several names firmly to memory, and resolved to pay them closer attention later.

"Liaodong bestowal-of-rewards team: Messenger Yuan Jixian, Secretariat Drafter Hu Zhifan, of the Embroidered Uniform Guard: Ji Chengye, Tian Youguang, Wang Kengcai, Li Jiyou, Wu Jisi."

At last, Zhu Youjian slowly rose to his feet, descended the steps one by one, and looked out at the pairs of eyes in the hall — ardent, tense, and brimming with expectation.

After a moment of silence, he at last began to speak.

"Reading your essays today has been like parting the clouds and piercing the fog. Only this day have I understood that the ills of this realm are indeed like tier upon tier of overlapping eaves and ridge upon ridge of mountains — not to be shaken in a single day."

His voice was very soft, yet it reached every man's ears with perfect clarity.

The assembled men in the hall, hearing this, were for a moment all somewhat disappointed.

Many had looked upon this day's summons as a stairway to the heavens; now, hearing the Emperor speak thus, they felt a chill in their hearts, and that surge of fervor drained away by more than half.

Some of those who had earlier spoken with the greatest vehemence, now that their hot blood had cooled, recalled the bold arguments they had set down in writing and even began to feel a twinge of fear and inner conflict.

Zhu Youjian took in every shift of expression among them — then, abruptly, he turned his tone.

"And yet — the affairs of the world: do them, and they are done; do them not, and all is lost!"

He did not move from where he stood, but remained upon the steps, his gaze blazing as he swept it over the assembly.

"Move one mountain today, move another mountain tomorrow, and neither the Taihang nor the Wangwu Ranges can block your resolve; dig one channel this morning, dig another channel next morning, and even the great rivers can be made to change their course!"

He spread both hands wide, as though to gather the entire hall into his embrace.

"But now — where shall we begin?"

Zhu Youjian paused; the faint stirring among the men below the steps instantly subsided. Every man held his breath and focused his mind, awaiting his next words.

"An ancient saying goes: 'When those above govern, if they know the condition of those below, there is order; if they do not know the condition of those below, there is chaos.' If I wish to bring order to all under Heaven, I must first open the channels between above and below!"

"For your mission to the Nine Frontiers to bestow rewards, I have specially drawn up the roster — sending men of native registration to bestow rewards in the places of their native registration."

At this point he stopped abruptly, turned his head to look at Gao Shiming, and asked:

"Gao Shiming, why is it that in our dynasty's established practice for bestowing rewards, men of other registrations have always been sent?"

Gao Shiming bowed and said, "In reply to Your Majesty, this is to prevent men of local registration from colluding with local officials and military officers, breeding favoritism and corruption."

Zhu Youjian nodded, turned back to face the assembly, and spoke his next sentence — words that made men's hair stand on end.

"And yet — are men of other registrations free from favoritism and corruption?"

A greater stir now ran through the men below the steps. Among the messengers who had past experience with reward missions, most averted their eyes, not daring to meet Zhu Youjian's burning gaze.

Zhu Youjian sighed, low and lingering.

"They are not."

"The Great Ming's salaries are meager and thin. A jinshi, upon passing the examinations, must even go into debt merely to live."

"The ethos of officialdom goes further still — an empty purse is deemed a disgrace, and a man who could embezzle yet does not is held up as a laughingstock. How could a mere rule of avoiding one's native place possibly root out favoritism and corruption?"

A few of the younger jinshi, who perhaps truly had never done such things, were at that moment filled with indignation, their faces flushing deep red, on the verge of stepping out of line to defend themselves.

But the greater number remained silent, saying nothing.

Zhu Youjian suddenly swept his sleeve wide.

"But — what of it!"

He drew a deep breath and raised his voice a fraction.

"And what of that?! How can a momentary irregularity possibly outweigh the importance of letting the truth below reach the throne?"

"Far more than the benefit of having natives distribute the rewards, We fear that outsiders unfamiliar with local conditions will be easily duped!"

He swept his gaze over the assembly, his eyes blazing, roaming through the crowd and capturing every man's expression.

A moment later, he stepped down from the dais, his tone rising, and barked out a sharp command.

"Ma Maocai!"

Ma Maocai had been turning over in his mind the "irregularities" of past reward distributions, his heart uneasy.

Now, suddenly hearing his own name, he was badly startled and hurriedly stepped forward, hands clasped.

"In reply to Your Majesty, this humble subject is indeed he…"

"A native of Ansai County, Yan'an Prefecture, Shaanxi — is that correct?"

Zhu Youjian did not even wait for his answer, seizing the thread of the conversation, his tone growing ever more urgent.

"Since you hail from Yan'an Prefecture and spent over ten years there studying and tilling the land, you must thoroughly understand the true conditions of that place and cannot be easily fooled or deceived."

"We now dispatch you to Yansui to distribute rewards. We ask not about so-called irregularities in reward-giving, but only about the true conditions there — only about the real state of affairs!"

At this point, his eyes fixed dead on Ma Maocai, and he spoke, weighing every word:

"However — when you return from your homeland months from now, will you still be able, as you are today, to speak to Us with utter candor?!"

Ma Maocai's heart and mind were shaken by this goading question from the sovereign of the Great Ming.

His face, darkened from years of travel on official business, instantly flushed deep red through its swarthiness; the pent-up gall in his chest could barely be contained, threatening to burst forth.

All those unspeakably sordid calculations from moments before, all that quiet, plaintive homesickness — in an instant, everything was cast to the back of his mind.

He suddenly gritted his teeth, his lips trembling faintly, yet he still struggled to control his volume, and answered, weighing every word in turn:

"Your Majesty's sagely virtue —"

"— how could this humble subject dare not give his life?!"

Zhu Youjian clapped him hard on the shoulder, then turned and swept his gaze around, meeting each fervent, blazing pair of eyes in earnest.

"Months from now — the same men, still in this hall, still the same question!"

"Every man in this hall — will you all still be able, as you are today…"

"— to speak to Us with utter candor?!"

The men in the hall stirred for a moment, then fell still, as though some storm were brewing.

Yet in barely a single instant, as if by some uncanny tacit understanding, they were no longer scattered and disordered as before.

Nearly a hundred officials, guards, and bannermen fell to their knees as one. A roar like a mountain toppling and a sea surging erupted, nearly blasting the very roof off Wuying Hall!

"How could we humble subjects dare not give our lives!"

Attached is the location where the Zhenyang County story takes place (word count not exceeded; this line costs nothing. I won't write this note again later — I'll be careful not to pad the word count with extra remarks at chapter's end.)