Chapter 346: Proposal for Taking a Concubine

Warm moments are always brief.

After resting at home for three days, trouble came knocking.

The court could not afford to pay the troops, so it handed out a pile of official titles, telling them to find their own way to cash in.

The chance to buy an official post was highly attractive to merchants and landowners.

Logically, everyone should have fought over it.

But reality was the opposite—this sale of offices offended the interests of the scholar-officials.

The moment buyers left the Viceroy’s yamen, they were surrounded and attacked by Guangzhou scholars; had the yamen guards not arrived quickly, they would have lost their lives.

After the incident, all the scholars who took part in the beating were arrested and thrown into prison.

Before the yamen could pass judgment, new chaos erupted.

Scholars from Guangdong and Guangxi, upon hearing the news, streamed in from all over, united in protest against the court’s sale of offices.

The matter grew too large, and even the Marquis of Wuyang began to fret.

Releasing them was out of the question.

Since these men had bought their posts, they were now court-appointed officials, entitled to legal protection.

If assaulting a court official could go unpunished, the value of these offices would be too low.

Everyone would know they were fake, and no one would buy the next batch of titles.

Cut off this revenue stream, and the massive shortfall in military pay needed to suppress the rebellion would have no source of replenishment.

Punishing the protesting scholars harshly would bring endless troubles too.

Right now, the power of speech rested in the hands of the literati; offending this group could ruin one’s reputation for eternity.

Caught between two evils, the Marquis of Wuyang summoned his trusted aides to the Viceroy’s mansion for a meeting, including Li Mu.

“You all know the situation.”

“Those scholars come every day to block the gates of the Viceroy’s yamen—how should we resolve this? Discuss it.”

The Marquis of Wuyang spoke, weary.

To raise military funds, all three Grand Coordinators of the noble faction had participated in selling offices.

But Huguang had just been retaken, the region still chaotic; only a small fraction of the fleeing scholars had returned.

The Duke of Cheng was on the front lines in Songjiang; scholars from Fujian and Zhejiang, even if they wanted to stir trouble, couldn’t reach it.

As for rushing to the front lines to protest—that would be pure suicide.

A little “accident” could easily see them killed by rebel forces.

Only Guangdong and Guangxi had been retaken early, and the local situation had stabilized; scholars who had fled the war had all returned home.

“Your Excellency, the speed with which scholars from all regions have coordinated suggests someone is directing them behind the scenes.”

Even before the incident, scholars had been arriving from all over—clearly something was amiss.”

“Why not arrest the ringleaders and interrogate them under torture to uncover the masterminds?”

When Commander Zhuang Chenyang spoke, everyone was startled.

Such brutal methods, even if they uncovered the culprits, would never convince anyone.

In fact, the mastermind didn’t need to be investigated—you could already guess who it was.

Who else in Guangzhou would dare provoke the Viceroy, besides that bloc of bundled civil officials?

The Marquis of Wuyang had not moved against them—not because he couldn’t, but because he dared not.

Power requires balance.

Only balanced power makes those above feel secure.

The civil officials’ bloc had been deliberately allowed to form by the Marquis himself.

Without his tacit approval, those civil officials could never have gathered together.

Even now, breaking up the civil bloc would be simple.

Whether by reassigning subordinates’ duties or swapping officials between regions, you could easily spark internal conflict among them.

“Not advisable!”

“Now is not the time to make arrests.”

The scholars outside are merely sitting in protest—no violent acts have occurred.”

Under Great Yu law, we cannot punish them severely.”

When saying “Great Yu law,” the Marquis of Wuyang emphasized the words.

Status determines stance.

As Viceroy of Great Yu, to target a group of scholars would make you a laughingstock.

Even if you must act, you must do so within the rules, so no one can object.

“Your Excellency, scholar protests against the sale of offices have occurred not only in Guangdong and Guangxi, but also in the capital.”

But they were dispersed by the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the sale of offices was handed over to the Eastern Depot.”

Our situation is different—we have no Eastern Depot hounds to intimidate them, so we must find another path.”

The scholars protest the court’s sale of offices and demand the release of those who assaulted court officials—mainly because they’re bored.”

Due to the war, the imperial examinations have been repeatedly postponed.”

Why not spread word that the court intends to restore the imperial examinations, to distract them?”

Over ninety percent of the scholars protesting are just following the crowd—they don’t understand the inner workings of the office sales.”

Have local officials step forward to explain clearly, and make this explanation work a key criterion in evaluating their performance.”

Those who fail to complete the task shall be deemed derelict in duty and reported to the court for dismissal.”

Li Mu spoke calmly.

He didn’t want to step forward—but in this room full of officials, aside from a few civil officers, all the rest were his old subordinates.

Everyone instinctively turned to look at him; staying silent now would make him seem odd.

“Director Li, won’t this cause too much commotion?”

There’s not even a shadow of the court restoring the imperial examinations.”

Even if they were to restore them, it wouldn’t be until after the war ends.”

Otherwise, scholars from provinces still engulfed in war would have no chance to take the exam—this would violate the fairness of the system.”

If people find out we’re spreading false news, it will only further inflame the scholars’ anger.”

So dismissing local officials? That’s even less acceptable.”

What if no one completes the task—can we dismiss them all?”

The middle-aged civil official in the second seat on the right spoke up in doubt.

I’ve seen bold men, but never one this bold.

To spread rumors about restoring the imperial examinations—truly beyond his expectations.

“Nothing is fixed.”

If politics demands it, falsehoods can become truth.”

As for dismissing derelict officials, no need to worry.”

Great Yu lacks everything—but never lacks men eager to become officials.”

Don’t be fooled by how loudly these scholars protest—given a chance to serve, they’ll be the most eager of all.”

After removing the unfit officials, we can replace them with capable men, reversing the corrupt atmosphere of the bureaucracy.

Li Mu’s explanation drew no reaction from the military officers, but several civil officials were startled.

If this were done, dividing the protesting scholars would be no problem.

No matter how much they resisted, they couldn’t afford to delay the imperial examinations for this.

When the juren traveled to the capital to take the exam, even those below would think twice before stirring trouble.

“Director Li, won’t this have a bad impression?”

Too many people will be involved—it will make outsiders think we’re eliminating rivals.”

“…

Before the old man could finish, the Marquis of Wuyang cut him off:

“Do it!”

Their mouths are their own—let them talk!”

I walk upright and sit straight—I fear no criticism.”

Private Secretary, draft a memorial for me, petitioning His Majesty to restore the imperial examinations and calm the hearts of scholars across the land.”

It was clear the Marquis of Wuyang was furious.

In the past, letting the below stir trouble was for the Emperor’s eyes.

But now, these people had grown too bold—they no longer cared for the bigger picture, crossing the line.

He had already planned to infiltrate rebel remnants among them, provoke an incident, and label them as traitors.

But now a better option had appeared—no need for such crude methods.

After all, the same tactic had been used once before in Yangzhou Prefecture.

Repeating old tricks would make it easy for others to find fault.

In the art of verbal attack, he truly wasn’t a match for those civil officials.

…

The minor incident ended; Li Mu returned to his mansion, bringing with him blank appointment documents from the Ministry of Personnel.

Fill in the name, and you become a government official; afterward, simply report to the Ministry of Personnel.

The incident of scholar protests made the sale of offices troublesome.

To distribute the pressure and draw more people into sharing it, Marquis Wuyang chose to assign tasks.

Anyone demanding money from the Viceroy’s office must have their request offset by blank official credentials.

As a major spender, Li Mu received a thick stack of blank documents.

Hollow titles were worthless; the cheapest, a ninth-rank junior post, cost only one hundred and fifty taels.

Prices rose step by step; even the highest available, a fifth-rank senior hollow title, was no more than three thousand taels.

This was the first time the Great Ming had sold offices, so prices were relatively high; as more were sold later, prices would likely drop further.

Official robes, ceremonial processions, and official sedan chairs—all the trappings of office—required additional payment.

If you didn’t want to pay, you could make them yourself—or simply do without.

After all, they were hollow titles; no need to report to the yamen, no need for such formality.

Actual posts had no fixed standard—none had been sold in the capital; their value depended entirely on the clerks handling them.

Frankly, the positions offered by the Ministry of Personnel weren’t too bad.

The postings were mainly in Guangxi, Yunnan, Guizhou, and Qiongzhou Prefecture; though remote, at least they were safe.

If they’d tried to send people to Liaodong or even more distant Pacification Commissions, no one would have bought them.

“My Lord, you’re not planning to place your own loyalists, are you?”

Looking at the stack of blank official credentials, Jing Yaqing asked anxiously.

Having grown up in the Guogong Prefecture, even without formal training, she had far greater political sensitivity than ordinary people from mere exposure.

The court generously provided a pile of offices for them to sell, raising military funds while also testing them.

Hollow titles were easy—anyone willing to pay could have one.

The key was the actual posts.

If you stuffed them with loyalists, it would be political suicide—exactly the trap the civil officials wanted you to fall into.

Due to wartime needs, everyone would pretend to be deaf and blind for now.

Once the war ended, memorials from censors would flood the court, and no amount of washing could clean it off.

“Don’t worry—your husband isn’t foolish.

Though we’re selling offices, there are still thresholds; not just anyone can buy.

The Ministry of Personnel set rules: even a ninth-rank junior post required at least a scholar-candidate.

For a key post like County Magistrate, the minimum requirement was a provincial graduate.

Most of my subordinates are semi-literate; very few hold any degree.”

Li Mu pulled Jing Yaqing close.

As a major clan from Guanzhong, if he truly wanted to place loyalists, he could find people who met the criteria.

But manpower was scarce—his trained loyalists who met the criteria were few.

The Great Ming has not yet collapsed; the most talented scholars still vie to enter the court.

Few literati were willing to join military commanders.

Those who came as provincial or metropolitan graduates wanted to serve as secretaries or private advisors, not to take up lowly posts.

When the time was right, they’d still take the imperial examinations to earn their degrees.

Even recommended posts were feared for their impact on future advancement; bought offices were even more despised.

To place loyalists and control the grassroots of these provinces, you’d need clan power.

But if you did that, any sensible person would notice.

In fact, Li Mu had always been placing loyalists in local yamens.

Many retired, wounded soldiers with merit had returned home to serve as Police Inspectors, Constables, Jail Wardens, or Station Masters.

Earlier, the court, to save on reward silver, granted them a pile of hollow titles, turning many veterans into officials.

Assigning them to local yamens as low-ranking clerks, no one could find fault.

In many remote prefectures and counties, where the chief magistrate had long been vacant, these men were running affairs.

The infiltration was already complete; there was no need to do it again.

In a sense, the court’s sale of offices had somewhat undermined his control over the regions.

Because those buying these remote posts were mostly local gentry, who already held considerable local influence.

Letting them become chief magistrates would inevitably spark fierce struggles over control of the county.

“My Lord understands well.

Officialdom is a brutal battlefield; one misstep and you lose everything.

By the way, many elders in the clan have written, asking about your heir.

Why not take a few more concubines?”

Jing Yaqing said softly.

Being the Lady of the Hou Fu was hard—not only managing the inner quarters, but also handling social obligations and clan relationships.

With no in-laws above her, she’d never been mistreated, but her lack of an heir remained a weakness.

In a feudal dynasty, pressure over heirs never fell on Li Mu—it all landed on her.

“Ignore it!

Your husband has spent years campaigning on the frontier; this is not your fault.

Besides, there's a difference between legitimate and illegitimate sons; if an illegitimate firstborn were born, it would be a trouble.

Li Mu immediately refused.

Few men could refuse the lure of multiple concubines, but now was clearly not the time.

The commander was the soul of the army; his every word and action directly shaped troop morale.

If he took concubines, his subordinates would surely follow.

Besides, at his rank, even a concubine wouldn’t be an ordinary woman.

Once word got out, noble families and civil elite clans would line up to form alliances with him.

He might not get a legitimate daughter, but illegitimate daughters would be freely available for him to choose.

The political alliance between the Jing and Li families needed the next generation of the Hou Fu to solidify it.

Taking a concubine before producing a legitimate son would inevitably make the Jing family suspect ulterior motives.

At this critical moment in planning Annan, stillness was better than action.

“My Lord, you refused yourself—don’t blame me for being jealous.”

Jing Yaqing said with a flick of her eyes.

She and Li Mu had deep affection; had it not been for reputation, she’d never have wanted a third party.

Now that Li Mu had refused, it suited her perfectly.

Yet even as she felt relief, a trace of worry creased her brow.

If a legitimate son continued to be delayed, taking concubines was inevitable.

In noble families, such things happened all too often.

(End of Chapter)