Chapter 128: A Stir

In the imperial estates the Chongzhen Emperor had first visited, the Embroidered Uniform Guard had gathered several thousand women and children from all over, and the area of the estates was gradually expanding.

The soldiers of the Yongwei Camp had received generous rewards after this victory, but most of them were solitary men with no families. Now that military supplies were abundant, various vegetables, meat, and eggs were purchased uniformly by the quartermaster from the imperial estates. Military discipline was under dual supervision from the Ministry of War and the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and soldiers were not allowed to leave camp without reason. Even with silver in hand, there was nowhere to spend it. Drinking and gambling were out of the question—once discovered, the cold-blooded military judge would immediately administer thirty strokes of the rod in public. A second offense meant being locked in the newly built small dark room for three days, with rations strictly rationed.

There had once been men of excessive energy in the army who deliberately violated military regulations just to see what was inside that dark room. After all, they were thick-skinned and tough—taking a few strokes of the rod meant nothing. What mattered was making a spectacle and winning a name for themselves in the army.

But when on the third day at the hour of you (5–7 PM) two soldiers from the military justice office dragged a certain someone out of the dark room, that fierce and sturdy promising young man had eyes that had become vacant and lifeless, and he looked considerably thinner. When his fellow soldiers asked what the dark room was really like, he became terrified beyond measure and changed the subject. From that day on, that certain someone never violated military regulations again.

In view of the fact that the soldiers were young and hot-blooded, with nothing to do besides drilling and training, Chongzhen decided to find them wives. Women were readily available—there were plenty of women in the imperial estates.

In an era where continuing the family line existed as the primary task of every household, everyone believed that marrying and having children was the most important thing in life. With a son, one had a legacy in this world, and when one died, one could face one's ancestors with dignity.

In this turbulent period, soldiers at war could die or be crippled at any moment. Many of the regular troops did not fear death—what they feared was dying without leaving behind descendants.

Upon receiving Chongzhen's decree, the Ministry of Works sent men to select land at what had formerly been Zhu Chunchen's estate to begin building villages and residences, prepared for the soldiers who would marry in the future.

Officers and soldiers of the Yongwei Camp and the Capital Camps each had one day of rest every ten days, so after marrying, soldiers could go home nearby.

Chongzhen had no intention of letting them fall in love, and besides, this era did not concern itself with such things as romance. Raising children and getting through life was enough. Didn't love just come along after sleeping together?

For the women gathered from all over into the imperial estates, finding a source of support in these chaotic times—no longer being alone in the world—that was happiness, that was a reason for peace of mind. Had there been no war, they would merely have married Wang Er Mazi from the east end of the village or Zhang San Quezi from the west end. Being able to marry a regular soldier with monthly pay was already more than they could have hoped for.

As for the widows dragging along children, that the court would actually concern itself with the rest of their lives filled them with even deeper gratitude. They had originally thought their remaining years would be spent raising their children, helping sons marry and have children, saving up dowries to marry off daughters, and then they could face their dead husbands and in-laws with a clear conscience. They never imagined that past their prime as they were, they could still marry regular soldiers—and soldiers who had just won a great victory, celebrated everywhere. It was a blessing they could never have dreamed of even in their wildest dreams. They heard the soldiers received full monthly pay, and His Majesty bestowed rewards from time to time. What a wonderful thing—finally, no longer having to raise children alone with all that toil and worry. His Majesty was truly the greatest great benefactor under heaven.

Calling them past their prime was indeed an exaggeration. In this era, girls generally married at fifteen or sixteen. These widows were mostly just over twenty, each with one or several children—in a later age, they might not even have graduated from university yet.

When the soldiers of the Yongwei Camp heard this wonderful news, every one of them was overjoyed. With a wife came a home of one's own, and something to care about. By next year, they would likely have their own flesh and blood. The thought of children stirred a strange, wonderful feeling that excited the soldiers immensely.

Many of these soldiers were veterans around thirty, and many were orphans who had fled from disaster. They had thought this life would just go on like this, and perhaps they would die in the next battle. Though life and death mattered little to them, they always felt something missing in their hearts. Now His Majesty, in his grace, would bestow wives upon these lowly soldiers—this was truly a blessing cultivated in a previous life.

So what if she came with children? Even better! Right after marrying, there would be someone calling you father, saving you the trouble. Whether she was plain or pretty mattered not at all—a woman who had borne children proved she had a good body, and could bear a few more without problem. As long as she could take care of the home and the children, that was enough. The silver earned with their lives would no longer be a worry about dying and leaving it to strangers. They would have to kowtow extra hard when they saw His Majesty.

Those soldiers who had not been allotted wives were green with envy. But the Regional Commander said that His Majesty had promised—as long as everyone fought bravely against the enemy, each man would get a wife, one for every man.

The confiscated farmlands of Zhu Chunchen and Li Guozhen were also east of the capital, several dozen li from the Yongwei Camp's main encampment. The newly built residences were all single-courtyard compounds, very simple to construct. Labor was easy to find—the old and weak cut from the Capital Camps had been formed into a logistics battalion, and men could simply be drawn from there. With ample labor and silver, a hundred sets of residences could be completed before winter. Lots would then be drawn to decide who married and moved in first, so no one could complain.

Of the more than two thousand men in the Death Battalion of Xuanfu, over half had fallen in battle. Of the remaining thousand or so, many were wounded or crippled. This time the Death Battalion had earned great merit—it was precisely their desperate fighting and entanglement that prevented the Jianzhou barbarian cavalry from displaying their full power, allowing the Yongwei Camp's cavalry to trade a relatively small cost for heavy Jianzhou casualties.

Chongzhen decided to merge the remaining soldiers into the Yongwei Camp. Each of the fallen was granted fifty taels of silver, and after cremation their remains were sent back to their native places. Each of the wounded and crippled was granted thirty taels. Those willing to remain in the capital were arranged into the imperial estates; those wishing to return to Xuanfu went back together with the remains of the fallen. In the end, the vast majority of the wounded chose to return home, while a dozen or so whose families were gone chose to enter the imperial estates. Chongzhen granted each of them ten mu of farmland, which they could rent out and collect rent from each year. He then ordered two large compounds built in the estates for them to live in, and found several women to cook and do laundry for them—so even the disabled had support in their old age.

The autumn equinox had arrived, and mornings and evenings were already carrying a hint of chill.

Because the triennial spring examination was to be held next year, some provincial candidates from wealthier families had already arrived early in the capital to prepare for next year's imperial examinations.

In truth, most had come seeking connections in the capital, hoping to spend money to open doors, attend more gatherings, and make more friends. Perhaps among their newly made friends there would be those who passed the examinations—such relationships might prove useful in the future.

Chongzhen held no fondness for this group that would form the future backbone of the court. Many of these scholars had already betrayed the original aspiration of cultivating themselves, regulating their families, governing the state, and bringing peace to all under heaven. They participated in the examinations purely to become officials and amass wealth in the future.

The Four Books and Five Classics were of little use in governing the state and managing affairs—what those in power needed was practical ability. For this crowd of bookworms who could not distinguish the five grains nor do any physical labor, sitting loftily in the magistrate's hall after becoming an official was the true duty of office. The trivial matters of collecting taxes and grain levies, digging canals and wells—those were for clerks and runners to press forward. One only needed to compose poetry and admire the moon with the local gentry. Of course, occasionally one might make a show of going down to the countryside to appear close to the people, demonstrating the court's posture of sharing joy with the masses. As long as the annual tax quotas were met, the gentry's festival gifts were generous, tributes to superiors flowed without cease, and there was someone in the court speaking on one's behalf—then when the three-year term ended, one simply continued climbing the ladder of promotion and wealth. As for whether the common people under one's jurisdiction were impoverished and suffering—that was a matter for the sages to consider. Did the lives and deaths of a bunch of lowly commoners really matter that much?

Chongzhen did not oppose promotion and wealth. But while pursuing private gain, could you not also bring tangible benefits to the people under your rule? The two were not mutually contradictory, were they?

These provincial candidates coming to take the examinations could be considered the elite among scholars. If properly utilized, they might not fail to become capable talents when governing a region in the future. The key now was how to guide them toward becoming practical, useful talents. This process would take a long time, and the most important thing was how to begin.

The supervisory system Chongzhen planned would require large numbers of scholars. Of the several thousand provincial candidates taking next year's examinations, only a few hundred lucky ones would pass. The rest would go home and wait another three years—this was in fact a waste of talent. In this era where the illiteracy rate exceeded ninety percent, scholars did indeed possess far broader vision and wider knowledge than ordinary people. Leaving such quality resources idle was truly a pity.

After deliberating at length, Wang Cheng'en paid a visit to Wen Tiren's residence at night.

A piece of news suddenly spread rapidly among the provincial candidates gathering for the examinations: Because the Great Ming had suffered years of drought, causing fields to yield nothing and famine victims to fill the land, compounded by the roving bandits running rampant and the Jianzhou barbarians eyeing them like wolves, the court had to both suppress unrest and comfort the people, leaving finances extremely strained. In light of this, His Majesty intended to cancel the examinations of the tenth year of Chongzhen, postponing them for four years.

The moment this news came out, it stirred a huge uproar among the scholars.

The metropolitan examination held once every three years was a grand event that countless scholars eagerly awaited. Ten or even decades of arduous study at a cold window were all for this very day. If one was fortunate enough to pass, it was like a crow transforming into a phoenix—one's status changed instantly. If next year's examinations were cancelled, these scholars would have to wait another four years. By then, whether one's current patron was still in the court was an unknown, and one's chances of passing would diminish. Many older candidates could not endure another four years of waiting. That the situation was turbulent was known to all, but this was precisely the time the examinations should not be stopped. When the situation was most perilous was exactly when men like us should display our abilities! If I pass, I shall use all my wisdom to sweep away the bandits and comfort the people, to fulfill the aspirations of my life!

Both provincial candidates who had come to the capital and local candidates in the capital preparing for next year's examinations were all burning with indignation. Many spoke with fierce words, declaring outright that it must be treacherous ministers in the court who had deceived His Majesty, and that only under such delusion had he rashly made such a move. Such an act by the court would surely lose the people's hearts, and the Great Ming would face unforeseen peril. Many candidates had families with countless connections to court officials, and so, using their visits as opportunities, they loudly condemned this act of the court that went against the people's will, vigorously urging these uncles, elder brothers, maternal cousins, and second aunts' husbands to submit memorials opposing the court's decision.

Under the pressure of seething public opinion, the ministers of the Grand Secretariat, the Left and Right Censors-in-Chief, and the various high officials of the Nine Courts all submitted memorials requesting an audience with the Emperor to discuss how to quell this storm.

In the great hall of the Qianqing Palace, Chongzhen received the assembled ministers.

Chief Grand Secretary Wen Tiren was the first to step forward. After performing the ritual salute, he memorialized: "There is talk in the streets that Your Majesty intends to cancel next year's metropolitan examination. Hearing this, this old minister is deeply astonished. Whether this rumor is true or false, I beg Your Majesty to enlighten me!"