Chapter 38: Almost Made It Onto the Historical Records

The sudden strike by Emperor Tianyuan left everyone stunned. Imperial favors cannot be accepted in vain; once received, one must act.

Originally, everyone had intended to dump the thorny task of auditing military landholdings onto their rivals, but now they could only shoulder it together.

Forced to accept the assignment, everyone’s spirits were low.

As soon as the emperor left, the atmosphere grew awkward, and no one dared speak first.

They sat in silence, the nobles indifferent. Though their family’s martial skills had long faded, frequent visits to military camps kept them physically fit.

“Since none of you will speak, I’ll go first.”

His Majesty has entrusted us with the heavy responsibility of auditing military land—this is a sign of his trust. As ministers, it is our duty to share the sovereign’s burdens.

I propose forming a joint investigation team composed of representatives from the Grand Secretariat, the Ministry of War, the Censorate, the Military Command, the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the Eastern Depot to jointly investigate the military land case.”

His plan was nearly the opposite of what Emperor Tianyuan intended.

As a Grand Secretary nearing retirement, Song Haidong had no desire to offend the emperor—if he had a choice.

But now he had no choice: not offending the emperor meant offending the ministers.

At his age, his body was no longer strong enough to outlast them all.

Following the emperor’s orders to audit the military land case would expose the empire’s hidden landmines, and no one knew what might happen.

Better to preserve his reputation than end it in disgrace; better to do them a favor.

As for Emperor Tianyuan, he had already submitted two resignation letters—he could always retire early.

His very existence served to balance the competing factions in court.

“The Grand Secretary’s words reflect wise statecraft.”

The military land case involves too many parties; resistance to investigation will be immense.

If complications arise, a single department may not be able to resolve them in time.

If we all send representatives to investigate jointly, we will surely uncover the truth!”

Jing Guoliang’s words nearly made everyone burst out laughing.

Joint investigation sounded simple, but was utterly unworkable in practice.

To gather eunuchs and moralists in one room, where they’d spend every day fighting each other—how could anyone have time to investigate?

But it suited the nobles’ interests: no progress in the investigation was better than tearing off the last veil of the garrison system and exposing the problem to the light.

Though inwardly they disagreed, outwardly no one opposed.

The military land case was too thorny; shouting slogans was one thing, but actually lifting the lid was another matter entirely.

The sale of 2.8 million mu of land by the Directorate of Ceremonial had shaken the court—how much more so for nearly 100 million mu of military land?

Any sensible person knew such a massive pie could not be consumed by any single individual.

The most culpable were the garrison commanders; the greatest beneficiaries were the local gentry.

If pursued rigorously, the fire might one day burn right back to their own doors.

A hundred years could change many things.

In earlier generations, some garrison descendants who transitioned from military to civil roles became great clans; others sank into commoner status.

During this process, the original military lands had changed hands countless times.

Holding the final holders responsible for embezzling military land was clearly unreasonable.

But military land was legally prohibited from being traded; once exposed, every past transaction proved illegal.

The gentry’s hidden landholdings would be instantly exposed to sunlight—a far greater problem than the military land case itself.

“I have no objection to a joint investigation.”

But this is still an imperial mandate—we must deliver some tangible results, or we cannot answer for it!”

The ministers could rely on “immunity by numbers” to appease the emperor; he, as head of the eunuchs, could not.

If he dared entertain such thoughts, death would not be far off.

Yet asking him to shoulder the pressure and personally audit military land was too much—he could not possibly accomplish it alone.

After hearing Zuo Guang’en’s response, the ministers hesitated, then nodded in agreement.

The emperor’s face must be preserved.

They lacked the nerve to audit military land nationwide, but they could pick a few unlucky targets to appease the court and produce some superficial results.

…

The uproar over the military land case not only suppressed the Directorate of Ceremonial’s land sales but also lowered public attention on the great defeat in Liaodong.

Among the Five City Military Command, Li Mu clearly sensed his colleagues’ eagerness to watch the spectacle.

Conditions in garrisons across the realm were being dug up and debated.

They were off the truth by about ninety percent.

Everyone knew they were lying through their teeth, yet they spun their tales with convincing detail.

“Soil fertility has declined,” “Earthquakes destroyed military land,” “Floods washed away military land…”

The sole purpose of spreading these rumors was to link the reduction of military land to natural disasters.

Whether others believed them or not, the noble youths believed them.

Anyone who voiced dissent was immediately crushed by collective suppression.

Clearly, the capital’s nobles had profited heavily from military land and were going all out to cover it up.

It wasn’t just the nobles taking action; similar rumors spread in places frequented by scholars.

Just days ago, these same people had condemned military officers for embezzling military land—now their stance had flipped.

Clearly, those spreading these rumors were the vested interests.

Even if they hadn’t embezzled military land, their families had hidden landholdings.

Even the most upright officials had relatives and neighbors who offered land as gifts.

Once the stakes were made clear, the civil officials who had wanted to act against the garrisons could only join the cover-up.

…

“Captain Li, the imperial ministries are forming a joint investigation team to probe military land losses.”

“Your Five City Military Command must send someone—would you be willing to go?”

Hearing this, Li Mu was so furious he wanted to curse right then and there.

When the ruling elite all want to cover things up, even the biggest problems cease to be problems.

One could imagine the bizarre conclusions the joint investigation team would reach under such pressure.

Major cases like this are recorded by court historians; centuries from now, when future generations study the history of Great Yu, they will dissect this chapter.

Terms like “corrupt official,” “foolish official,” and other vile labels would cling to him.

Who knows? Soon enough, someone might claim Great Yu fell because of the military land audit—and he’d be cursed for eternity.

“Commander, I am a Garrison Commander—I must recuse myself by law!”

Li Mu quickly refused.

Looking at Marquis Wuyang, he suddenly found him unbearable.

I treat you as my superior, and you want to put me on the historical record? That’s not how you treat your subordinates.

“What a pity!”

“I thought having you on the investigation team would let you earn some merit and earn a promotion.”

“Since you must recuse yourself, the opportunity must go to someone else.”

Marquis Wuyang said with feigned regret.

To him, the joint investigation team was a golden opportunity.

To avoid being exposed, garrison commanders across the realm would have to pay heavily—perhaps even the gentry would have to chip in.

Such a lucrative post must remain in the hands of one’s own people.

He had thought of Li Mu first simply because he believed Li Mu excelled at profiting—and respected his superior.

In the last case, the other five battalion commands barely met their quotas; only Li Mu gave him an extra sum.

(End of Chapter)