Chapter 383: Reform

Hearing the Emperor's praise, Wen Tiren felt a small surge of pride in his heart.

From the Emperor's tone of voice and expression, he judged that the words were spoken from the heart.

His image as a lone minister and outspoken official had been confirmed once again.

The world said he was a flatterer, without any bottom line before the Emperor, lacking the bearing of a minister who dared to speak frankly, going along with the Emperor's wishes in everything.

But wasn't this realm the Emperor's? Was it wrong to obey the Emperor?

As a minister, not to cater to the Emperor but instead to put on the airs of a remonstrating official, opposing the Emperor at every turn—wasn't that ultimately for the sake of one's own family interests?

To listen to the Emperor's words, think what the Emperor thinks, and take the blame for the Emperor—wasn't that only proper?

Now that the situation had been completely stabilized, people's livelihoods would be the main concern the Emperor would focus on next. The actions of these past years had proven that the common people were the group the Emperor valued most.

Since His Majesty loved the people, then one should simply work along those lines.

As for how many officials would be offended and how much criticism would come—let them curse to their hearts' content.

Curse all they want, I'm still the Chief Grand Secretary, and you'll still end up dead in the gutter.

My own and my descendants' wealth and honor all come from the Emperor—do you want me to be an ungrateful traitor?

I've offended plenty of people already; turning back is utterly impossible, so I might as well walk this dark road to the end.

Hmph, these fools haven't seen it clearly at all. Judging by the style of these past years, the Emperor's temperament has changed drastically. The Emperor who used to listen to the ministers' opinions has completely transformed, no longer the easily deceived master he once was. Once you touch the Emperor's reverse scale, you'll die without even knowing how.

"Minister Wen, what other plans do you have? Continue!"

Wen Tiren's two suggestions finally eased Zhu Youjian's gloomy mood somewhat.

"Your servant humbly obeys His Majesty's decree! Aside from the two points above, your servant believes that cutting expenditures must start from the source. Within the Great Ming's borders there are still over one thousand two hundred post stations, and after full restoration they will reach nearly two thousand. According to the previous regulations, each post station needs to maintain sixty to eighty horses or more, and around thirty carriages—the expenditure involved is extremely heavy, and one could even say that the greater part of post station costs are consumed here! Now that the realm is at peace and border troubles are gradually fading, urgent military intelligence has become extremely rare, and there is no longer any need to raise so many horses. Your servant suggests that the number of horses at post stations be reduced by half! Furthermore, besides cutting expenditures, there is also increasing revenue! Your servant suggests that the court allocate funds to expand and renovate post stations, modeling them after the business methods of inns and taverns, using their profits to sustain the postal system. Even if the profits are meager, it is still better than having only outflows and no inflows. This is the humble opinion of your servant and my son—whether to adopt it still requires His Majesty's decision!"

After Wen Tiren finished speaking, he bowed to Zhu Youjian, his face showing clear signs of exhaustion.

After all, he was a man past sixty, and standing for so long had left his waist and legs sore and swollen.

"What you have discussed is most appropriate! You worry for the state's affairs, and what you have raised directly targets what harms the people's livelihoods—truly a standard for all ministers! Please sit and rest; what has been stated above, I shall deliberate upon with the other ministers!"

Zhu Youjian watched Wen Tiren slowly turn and return to his seat, then looked at the others and said: "What Minister Wen just stated cuts to the current ills of the postal system, and his proposals are refreshing to hear! Do the rest of you have any additional supplements to offer?"

In truth, he approved greatly of Wen Tiren's several proposals, especially the last one, which completely overturned his perception of Ming officials as stubborn, conservative, and rigid—filling him with anticipation for comprehensive reform in the future.

Wen Tiren's suggestion to semi-commercialize the post stations was sheer brilliance. With such forward-thinking intellect and awareness, such open-mindedness in thought and action, it was a pity he wasn't in business.

As everyone knew, the post stations of every dynasty were built along the roads between cities. Aside from transmitting urgent intelligence from various regions, their other main function was to provide temporary lodging for traveling officials who couldn't make it to the next city in time, along with corresponding services, sparing them the hardship of sleeping in the open.

But for post stations occupying prime locations, this function seemed rather wasteful of resources.

In past eras, officials' travel was strictly restricted. Aside from taking up a post, leaving office, retiring, being transferred, or going on inspection tours—whether a first-rank high official or a lowly ninth-rank junior one—no one was permitted to leave the scope of their authority while in office.

In contrast, the most common sight on the roads was merchants.

To earn profits, across this vast and boundless land, great numbers of traveling merchants bustled about every day.

Very often, to rush for time and seize business opportunities, merchants and the grooms and porters they hired would miss their lodging for the night, and sleeping out in the wilderness became routine for many traveling traders.

Whenever rain, snow, or fierce winds struck, merchants could only watch helplessly as their goods were soaked and ruined, then lose everything.

Losing money was a minor matter; what was even more terrifying was encountering bandits in the dead of night while sound asleep—at best losing the goods, at worst losing both life and property. Such cases had been common for thousands of years.

It wasn't that merchants didn't want to stay in safe, reassuring buildings—even if it cost some silver, most wouldn't mind—but who would open a shop out in the wild grass and slopes?

In the past with poor transportation, no one would set up taverns or inns far from cities, unless they were characters like Sun Erniang.

The existence of post stations precisely solved this headache-inducing problem for merchants.

Because post stations were established by the court, they were official—no local bandits dared attack a post station, rob, or kill, for doing so would only mean waiting to be completely wiped out by government troops.

The authority of the government could not be violated. Even if you had swords and guns, it wouldn't matter—the blades and firearms in the government troops' hands were sharper than yours.

Post stations did not permit travelers or merchants to lodge within. Even if some quick-witted merchant found the station master and offered silver, they would only be allowed to rest overnight outside the station walls—that was the division of class.

Scholar, farmer, artisan, merchant—the Old Ancestor had long ago set the hierarchy. Having money was useless; being allowed to sleep soundly outside the station was already a great courtesy.

Of course, the caravans of officials and gentry could enter.

Aside from fraudulently using official credentials, for example, if the master wrote a letter of greeting to an official in the area being passed through, the receiving official would understand the meaning. As long as someone was sent to inform the station master, and the savvy caravan manager offered a little token of appreciation, then one could openly lodge in the official inn.

But most small-scale operators, or mid-level merchants who had some savings but no connections, could not enjoy this treatment. The station master, a lowly ninth-rank official of no consequence, often considered himself a man of the government and looked down on these peddlers and porters—yet most of these very people would become the main clientele of the semi-commercialized post stations.

The implementation of the new post station policy would provide merchants with a safe shelter from wind and rain. From then on, these people would no longer worry about goods being damaged or stolen, or even losing both lives and property.

This measure would surely be warmly welcomed—but that did not include officials and related interest groups.

As he thought of this, Zhu Youjian suddenly had a flash of inspiration: why not establish carriage-and-horse firms similar to the transport companies of later generations?

He wondered what stage the four-wheeled carriage development he had assigned had reached—that was a sharp tool for improving transport capacity. He hadn't paid much attention during this period at year's end; he'd need to find time to go check on it.

If he wanted to establish a transport company, the Four Seas Trading Company had a tremendous advantage in this regard.

With branch offices spread across nearly all of the Great Ming, the Four Seas Trading Company had already become a behemoth in the Ming's commercial sphere, and its momentum of growth was extremely rapid.

The Four Seas Trading Company could fully leverage its own advantages to operate short-, medium-, and long-distance freight shipping.

Under the banner of the Four Seas Trading Company, no one dared to cause any trouble.

By now, whether in official circles or business circles, many people knew whose enterprise the Four Seas Trading Company was.

"Your servant petitions His Majesty—I have something to say!"

Suddenly, a deep and forceful voice interrupted Zhu Youjian's contemplation.