Chapter 344: Compliance Test

Yangxin Palace.

After reviewing the case files submitted by the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the senior officials all grew grim.

According to the envoy’s account, the King of Annan had been internally proclaiming himself Emperor of Đại Việt for decades.

In recent years, it had grown worse—during foreign campaigns, he openly flew the banner of the Đại Việt Empire.

He had successively swallowed up over a dozen nations, including several vassal states of Great Yu, and now he was launching military operations against the Eight Burmese regions.

Compared to these concrete acts of rebellion, the error in drafting the state letter had become a trivial matter.

“Your Majesty, the Annamese are fiercely ambitious and have been expanding outward for decades.

If we continue to tolerate them, they may become a second Northern Barbarian.”

Minister of Works Shen Qiyuan was the first to voice his stance.

One Northern Barbarian has already thrown Great Yu into chaos; if another emerges, none of us will be able to sleep at night.

Great Yu has suffered misfortune after misfortune in recent years, with internal unrest and external threats erupting simultaneously, leaving this aging empire exhausted and running in all directions.

“Curbing Annan’s further expansion is essential, but the court’s current condition makes it unsuitable to wage war in the south.

Even sending troops for deterrence is beyond our means.

The Annamese must have seen our weakness, which is why they chose this moment to test us.

The more critical the moment, the more cautious we must be.

According to the interrogation results provided by the Embroidered Uniform Guard, after their last military expansion, Annan’s total forces neared four hundred thousand.

If war breaks out along the southern frontier, Guangdong, Guangxi, Yunnan, and Guizhou will all become battlefields.

Yet among these four provinces, only Guangdong’s finances are self-sufficient; logistical support must come from the rear.

The Bai Lian rebels have not yet been crushed; the court cannot fight on multiple fronts.

I recommend we handle the envoy case with extreme caution.”

Pang Chengjie spoke with obvious reluctance.

In an era that upholds "When the lord is troubled, the minister is shamed; when the lord is humiliated, the minister dies," the Annamese's actions were an outright challenge to the moral bottom line of the feudal scholar-officials.

In the past, everyone knew the Annamese were restless, but no one realized they harbored such grand ambitions.

Now that the window paper had been pierced, no one could pretend not to see.

According to ancestral tradition, we should have long since sent troops to punish them.

Unfortunately, under fiscal pressure, this Minister of Revenue must urge restraint.

“Minister Pang speaks wisely—the envoy case must be handled with caution.

To minimize fallout, the intelligence uncovered by the Embroidered Uniform Guard should not be widely circulated; suppress it for now!

Border regions must also exercise restraint.

As long as Annan does not provoke a major war, minor issues can be temporarily tolerated.

Once the situation improves, we can settle accounts with Annan.”

Wan Junhui immediately voiced his support.

Under the current circumstances, the best course is to classify the envoy case as a clerical error.

All other evidence, we pretend not to see.

As for the possible shadows behind the envoy case, we cannot dig deeper now.

Simply interrogating the envoy members has already unearthed so many explosive revelations; further investigation would only deepen the court’s embarrassment.

“The Chief Grand Secretary is prudent and experienced—do it this way!

The Embroidered Uniform Guard will oversee it—ensure all those who know remain silent. I do not wish this matter to become public gossip.”

Emperor Yongning gritted his teeth as he spoke.

Deep within his heart, he had already marked Annan for a heavy reckoning.

One day, when Great Yu achieves revival, Annan will be the second kingdom he destroys.

“We obey Your Majesty’s decree!”

The ministers replied in unison.

Wen Siyuan, Minister of the Court of Imperial Entertainments, broke into a cold sweat.

Earlier, to shift blame, he had reported the matter immediately, forgetting to issue a gag order.

He guessed the envoy case was already spreading throughout the capital.

Now, trying to keep it secret was like waiting for cold tea—too late.

He knew it, but dared not tell the emperor.

The envoy case had already made Emperor Yongning displeased with the Court of Imperial Entertainments; if he added further discomfort, he himself would suffer the consequences.

After a brief moment of panic, he quickly regained composure.

Whether the matter could be kept secret from the outside didn’t matter—so long as the emperor believed it had been suppressed, the humiliation was as if it had never happened.

…

Wuchang City.

More than a month had passed since the Huguang Campaign ended; aside from scattered skirmishes, Huguang had largely stabilized.

The struggle between Zhejiang and Jiangxi had temporarily come to a halt.

Imperial forces had retaken most prefectures and counties in both provinces; the rest had fallen into Wu’s hands.

Due to logistical strain, imperial forces had been forced to halt operations.

Wu, which had seized the advantage, now faced its own troubles.

Wu had only a little over three hundred thousand troops; the remnants of Chu’s forces were nearly equal in number.

With so many troops, if they were not fully reorganized, Wu could not launch any major external campaign.

Both sides had reasons to cease hostilities; miraculously, the war along the southern bank of the Yangtze River came to a standstill.

“The results from the capital have come in—exactly as we predicted: the court chose to ignore it.

They did not investigate deeply but immediately labeled the envoy case.

The seed has been planted; now we wait for it to take root and sprout.

After retaking Nanjing, we can initiate the Jiaozhi campaign.

But you must be clear—the court can offer only limited assistance.

Even for the cost of suppressing the rebellion, the court gave us nothing but official titles, forcing us to sell them ourselves.”

Hearing the news brought by Li Yuan, Li Mu could only laugh bitterly.

Under the principle that stability overrides all, no one cared about the details of the envoy case; everyone only wanted to bury it as quickly as possible.

He had already prepared to step forward and clean up the mess if the scheme unraveled.

Yet all his careful planning had turned out useless.

“The court has released so many actual posts—don’t they fear local powers will grow too strong?”

Li Mu feigned surprise and asked.

Selling offices was also part of historical tradition.

The most famous practitioners could be traced back to the Eastern Han.

Prices were clearly marked, honest for young and old alike; even an official position exchange market was established.

At its peak, even the Three Excellencies’ posts were put up for sale by the emperor.

Later rulers learned from this lesson, either banning the sale of offices or imposing restrictions.

As history evolved, during the Mongol Yuan period, the art of selling offices flourished again.

Compared to these predecessors, Great Yu's office sales were mere child's play.

Pricing was chaotic, with no uniform standard, lacking brand credibility.

Even if one bought an official post, one was still looked down upon.

Orthodox scholar-officials ignored them; military officers despised them.

If one obtained an actual post with a formal appointment, that was one thing.

At least one entered the ruling elite and received official status and benefits.

Those who bought only honorary titles were purely symbolic.

Their privileges were limited to not bowing before officials, wearing official robes, residing in residences matching their rank, and exemption from corvée labor.

Actual power was virtually zero; social status improved slightly, but not significantly.

“The actual posts offered by the court are mostly low-ranking positions in remote prefectures and counties, at best a seventh-rank county magistrate.

Even if one gains local authority, influence remains extremely limited.

Moreover, officials have fixed terms; once their term ends, they are reassigned.

Given the nature of these scholar-officials, such purchased offices will be prime targets for scrutiny by the Ministry of Personnel.

Finding faults is too easy.

Most of them, after serving one term, will be sent home.

If their conduct is even slightly more egregious, the Three Judicial Offices can unite to investigate corruption and sweep them all away.”

Li Yuan spoke with disdain.

Such low-ranking posts, whether civil or military, held no appeal for him.

Especially in remote regions—positions no one wanted. A single recommendation letter to the Ministry of Personnel could secure one.

“Uncle, you’ve guessed wrong this time.

Once the sale of offices begins, it cannot be stopped.”

The imperial examination path is not easy, even for scholarly families—not everyone can pass to become a jinshi.

In the early stages, people looked down on these bought-offices; aristocratic sons felt it would shame them and refused to stoop so low.

Only merchants and wealthy country landowners could afford such maneuvers.

Over time, people gradually grew accustomed to it.

Formerly excluded family members from non-official lineages also began to shift their views.

Local great clans happily placed their own kin in government offices to serve their interests.

Once they entered officialdom through donation, the situation changed entirely.

The Ministry of Personnel enforces strict controls—but only against outsiders.

When it comes to connections, they still show leniency.

As time passed, the number of those entering officialdom through donation kept rising, and their career ceilings were continually broken.」

Li Mu shook his head and said.

These weren’t his wild guesses—they had actually happened in his past life.

Many had risen through donation to become Ministers of the Six Ministries or Grand Councilors.

By the dynasty’s final years, after the imperial examination system was abolished, donation became the primary route into office.

The situation continued to deteriorate; the court needed money and grain to sustain its rule, and resorted to poison to quench its thirst.

In the later stages, it was inevitable that donation would crowd out examination-based appointments.

“Mm!”

“These issues could indeed occur, but the likelihood is low.

You know the Emperor’s nature—he won’t trust those who bought their way into office.

All officials rose through merit; they won’t allow the court’s talent selection system to be shattered.

Adding a few more donated officials won’t change the balance.

Forget it—these troubles are the civil officials’ problem to worry about.

Currently, the court sells only civil posts as real positions; military posts are all nominal and have little to do with us.”

Li Yuan smiled and said.

The court sells offices this way partly because civil posts are easier to sell, and partly because they dare not.

Civil officials, no matter how corrupt, can at most cause local suffering without threatening Great Yu’s foundations.

Military commanders are different—real posts mean command over troops.

If they develop dangerous ambitions, unrest could erupt at any moment.

Especially when signs of major turmoil emerge, the court’s vigilance over military power far exceeds any previous era.

“Uncle, since matters are settled, I’ll return to Liangguang to prepare.”

Li Mu said calmly.

To secure support from the noble elite, all future campaign merits had already been traded away.

Under these circumstances, it was clearly inappropriate for me, the ever-victorious general, to remain on the front lines.

Otherwise, even if others won battles, outsiders would suspect I was directing them.

First-impression bias is hard to change.

The best choice is to hold the rear, relinquishing frontline command.

The situation has now reached a point where imperial forces hold the upper hand.

All that remains is steady, methodical pressure to gradually shrink the rebel forces’ operational space until they’re annihilated.

Replacing me with someone else would merely prolong the suppression and increase losses.

“You really should return—married for years with no child? What does that look like?

Your top priority is to produce an heir as soon as possible, to pass on the legacy of your Han River Marquisate.”

…

Hearing his uncle push him to sire a child, Li Mu looked utterly aggrieved.

For the past few years, he’d either been commanding battles or on his way to command them.

With spouses separated for long periods, conceiving a child would be the real anomaly.

“Uncle, rest assured—I’ll hurry this along.”

He agreed readily on the surface, but inside, Li Mu had no confidence at all.

This return would grant him at most a few months’ rest.

If the front-line campaign faltered, he’d be sent back to battle.

Great Yu’s medical conditions are limited; pregnancy depends on luck—no one can guarantee conception within this window.

…

Nanjingcheng.

“The Emperor’s rescue plan failed; the court pulled off a substitution—the prisoner in the cart was a condemned criminal impersonating Prince Chu.”

“The real Prince Chu has been secretly transported to the capital; his current whereabouts are unknown.”

Yang Jingren feigned sorrow as he spoke.

The rescue attempt for Prince Chu Wang Weijiarui was purely a political theater.

Wu had absorbed much of Chu’s legacy; now, Wu’s high command wanted Wang Weijiarui dead most of all.

But out of consideration for Chu’s surrendered officials, they staged a rescue doomed to fail.

“Brother Wang and I are inseparable—I must rescue him from the court’s grasp.”

“Contact all White Lotus adherents, quickly determine the convoy’s location, then dispatch elite troops to save him.”

Fu Haoxuan immediately ordered.

Those unaware of their relationship might truly be moved by this brotherly sentiment.

But anyone with eyes knew—if their bond were truly so strong, the White Lotus Holy State would never have split.

“Your Majesty, I swear I will spare no effort to rescue Prince Chu.”

Yang Jingren’s reply was full of artistry.

It sounded eager, but only promised maximum effort—not guaranteed success.

“Your Majesty, here is the latest reorganization plan—please review!”

The Ministry of War’s Minister Fan Xiwen’s words drew the attention of Prince Chu’s former officers.

Army reorganization directly affected their interests; they could no longer afford to care about Wang Weijiarui.

Caring for their old lord was merely to demonstrate loyalty.

But no matter how much loyalty they displayed, they had all defected to Wu.

Prince Chu Wang Weijiarui’s death at the court’s hands was the best outcome for all of them.

If he were rescued, they—the former officers—would be the most embarrassed.

“Mm!”

“I find this plan excellent. Let’s all discuss it—any objections may be raised.”

“After today, we will implement the reorganization according to the agreed rules.”

Fu Haoxuan spoke lightly, but the former Chu generals were tense.

None were fools; they knew their position well—they had no power to refuse.

Pretending to invite opinions was merely a loyalty test.

The Emperor already said the plan was good; criticizing it meant slapping the Emperor’s face.

Anyone who dared that had no future in Wu.

(End of Chapter)