Chapter 1092

Zhu Qiyu had personally witnessed ministers fighting to the death; seeing Yu Qian and the Censorate officials too agitated, he feared they might actually come to blows and implicate Xue Shao, so he quickly interrupted the argument, shelved the matter, and postponed further discussion.

As soon as court ended, the Emperor summoned Xue Shao, Xue Xuan, Yu Qian, and other Grand Secretaries to a small study; he first calmed Yu Qian, whose face was flushed with anger, then humbly asked: "Grand Secretary Yu, what is your true opinion on the criminal law reform?"

Yu Qian regained his composure, lowered his gaze, and said: "What Vice Minister Xue said does hold some merit—the common people suffer under collective punishment—but the proposals to lighten punishments raised by others are unacceptable; I believe those who proposed them are traitors to the state…"

Other Grand Secretaries also felt this matter should not be rushed; changes could be made, but certainly not as wildly as argued in court—even Xue Shao's proposals had not been fully adopted.

Yet, collective punishment for certain crimes could indeed be revised.

Xue Shao had anticipated this and was not disappointed; to him, any change at all was cause for joy.

Moreover, he agreed with Yu Qian and the other ministers: the momentum of reform must not be too swift.

Minor additions and subtractions to existing statutes—more subtractions than additions—would be easy to implement; the difficulty lay in publicity.

Because the laws needed to be publicized, newspapers across the land ran related reports for several consecutive days.

Xue Shao wrote several classic cases in one go, comparing old and new legal rulings side by side, then submitted them to newspapers and earned a substantial sum in manuscript fees.

Xi Jin happily took the fee, grabbed brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, and continued copying.

Because Xue Shao had traveled throughout the realm, Xi Jin was familiar with newspapers everywhere; he decided to copy several extra copies of the Young Master's manuscripts and mail them via the postal relay system—though slower, it could still earn a profit.

Xue Shao stared, bewildered, and asked: "Do the manuscript fees from distant regions even cover the cost of postage?"

"Of course they do, Young Master—you vastly underestimate your own manuscripts. This single piece fetches eight hundred wen in Jingcheng; provincial papers pay less, but still five hundred wen. If I send out ten pieces at once, that's five taels; twenty pieces, ten taels. After deducting postage, I still net over nine taels."

Xue Shao: "Why don't they just buy Jingcheng newspapers directly and copy the articles? One newspaper costs only three wen."

Xi Jin opened his mouth wide, then finally found his voice: "Young Master, you mustn't tell anyone this idea—or we'll lose so much money!"

Xue Shao shook his head. "As long as you're happy. But don't lie."

Xi Jin readily agreed—he wouldn't lie, after all, no newspaper had stipulated that manuscripts could be submitted to only one of them.

Some newspapers did set exclusivity agreements—but only within the Jingji region.

So beyond the Jingji region, who could possibly care?

He was quite considerate, too—he submitted to only one newspaper per region.

After all, there were now countless newspapers across the land.

At the end of last year, when the imperial court went to war with the steppe, the Ministry of Works improved the papermaking formula, drastically lowering the cost of writing paper and producing two new types of grass paper.

These two papers were soft and exceptionally absorbent; after Ministry of Works officials tried them, they deemed the quality too poor and dumped them all as draft paper for the Ministry of Works and Ministry of Revenue.

Among the Six Ministries, only these two departments used the most draft paper.

Eventually, the quality was so poor that even the ministers found it unsuitable for drafting—they ended up using it for toilet paper.

Since this paper was mostly made from rice straw and wheat straw, it was grayish-green, coarse-grained yet soft and absorbent, hence the name "grass paper."

Perhaps embarrassed by this, the Ministry of Works reversed its stance, claiming these two types of grass paper had always been intended as toilet paper, then publicly released an improved paper formula.

The materials used were still rice straw, wheat straw, tree bark, etc. —only the proportions differed slightly.

The manufacturing process was also improved; the resulting paper was still slightly rough, but perfectly suitable for writing, slightly yellow in color, and extremely cheap.

This paper is now widely used for newspaper printing.

Because paper was cheap, ink prices also dropped, and the newspaper industry boomed.

In just half a year, newspapers sprang up everywhere in countless numbers.

Some newspapers with connections reprinted information from the imperial gazette; besides that, poetry, essays, writings and opinions of court officials—all appeared in print.

Since newspapers became popular, Xue Shao found it even easier to earn money.

Whenever he was short on cash, he no longer needed to seek potential clients at county or prefectural schools—he simply wrote for newspapers.

And he could write a great deal.

From ghost stories at the bottom, to policy essays in the middle, to poetry and verse at the top—he could write them all.

Although the fee per article was lower than private commissions, he could produce them in bulk and save the effort of finding clients.

He had several pen names in the newspaper industry, none overlapping; apart from Xi Jin, no one knew they were the same person.

This meant some of his aliases were especially valuable—particularly those used for policy essays and poetry.

Privately, people had approached Xi Jin through newspapers, hoping to commission him to write several articles.

No one knew the aliases belonged to Xue Shao.

When Xue Shao heard the price, he knew the game well—it was simply writing an article for someone else, with the authorship given to them.

As long as the price was right, he accepted every offer.

But Xi Jin resented this for his Young Master, feeling the fame was all going to wealthy young masters.

So he preferred to copy more manuscripts and mail them to various newspapers for meager manuscript fees rather than surrender the Young Master's authorship.

"I've heard your essays recited in taverns countless times—several were written by you, yet those mediocre fools parade them around as their own, while you gain nothing," Xi Jin protested bitterly: "The title of genius belongs to you."

"What use is this fame? They merely use the essays to impress their tutors or boast at literary gatherings—the real money is what counts," Xue Shao replied; he didn't accept every topic.

The articles he wrote for others were mostly for study or display; if a topic showed signs of being used for talent selection, he refused.

In his words, his essays could bring joy and pride to buyers, but must not harm innocent others.

Thus, his articles were suited for recitation in taverns, literary gatherings, and poetry meetings, and for teachers instructing students—but never for imperial examinations.

The booming newspaper industry spurred literary development and intellectual vibrancy.

Those who governed often believed the common people were foolish—easily manipulated and controlled.

But Xue Shao did not agree.

The Xue family had served in education for generations; his father and uncle-grandfather were both teachers, and their most frequent saying was: "Education has no class."

His uncle-grandfather never believed sons of nobles and officials were inherently smarter than sons of the poor.

Growing up under his uncle-grandfather and father, Xue Shao had deeply internalized this from childhood.

The sons of magistrates and county commanders who entered county schools through patronage had less knowledge than the sons of small rural landowners;

Some young masters even learned slower than their own servants.

When he was five or six, he had seen the page squatting outside the county school's window, listening to lessons, then writing essays for his master to answer the teacher's questions.

Thus, human wisdom has nothing to do with birth.

As land surveying and population registration began, the number of people recorded in the Ministry of Revenue's yellow registers grew ever larger.

By today, it had risen from sixty million to over eighty million; Xue Shao believed that after the nationwide census ended, the population could still increase by another twenty million.

Great Ming has one hundred million people—how many wise and capable individuals lie hidden among them?

If these people could be put to use for the state and to benefit the people, how powerful could Great Ming become?

Therefore, enlightening the populace is imperative, and education is an essential measure.

Xue Shao had invested nearly all his wealth into education.

Every bit of money he got, he threw in; every bit of money he got, he threw in—until Xi Jin, who followed him, was worn out from worry.

Fortunately, though their Young Master spent money like water, his ability to earn it was equally strong.

Soon, as the wind of legal reform swept across Great Ming, Xue Shao's name spread throughout the land.

Thus, his classic cases, written under his own name and judged under both old and new laws, became critically important.

Not only did newspapers across the land compete to publish them, but prefects and county magistrates alike studied them line by line as precedents.

Then publishers came knocking, wanting to buy Xue Shao's manuscripts for printing.

Coincidentally, the Ministry of Justice also came calling, asking Xue Shao to organize his manuscripts—the Ministry planned to collaborate with the Ministry of Rites to publish a comprehensive compendium of precedents.

The former paid well; the latter was voluntary labor.

But this posed no difficulty for Xue Shao.

First, he gave the publishers a sheaf of paper, explaining twenty cases in clear, accessible language—merely adjusting phrasing slightly from the versions published in major newspapers;

then he carefully wrote a separate book for the Ministry of Justice, covering the same twenty cases, with such meticulous detail in the legal statutes applied that the Minister of Justice could not stop turning the pages once he opened it.

In the end, the Ministry of Justice and Ministry of Rites' casebook was designated required reading for all criminal case officials, promoted by the imperial court down to the prefectures and counties, until every magistrate and prefect owned a copy.

Academies across the land also purchased this book.

The publishers' printing of this book brought no profit—and naturally, Xue Shao earned no money.

But on the other side, the publishers' simplified casebook rode this wave to massive sales, especially popular among the common people.

This legal reform focused mainly on revising collective punishment laws for minor crimes—theft, evading corvée labor, tax evasion—all directly tied to the people's livelihood.

Xue Shao believed legal reform could not be known and studied only by officials; the common people must know too.

If local courts made wrongful judgments, the people should at least know they were wronged, that the wrong law had been applied, and be able to seek justice for themselves.

Most common people lacked deep understanding; they could not endure dense, abstruse texts, so the publishers received a manuscript written in plain, accessible language.

At Pan Yun's suggestion, he converted the semi-classical text into vernacular prose—so much so that even those who could not read could understand it if someone read it aloud.

Thus, this book became wildly popular among the people, with exceptional sales.

Without any imperial propaganda, its sales neared those of the Grand Ancestor's personally endorsed Da Gao.

You should know that the Da Gao has always been the best-selling book of the Ming Dynasty.

Because owning a copy of the Da Gao allowed one to reduce one's sentence by one degree upon committing a crime—it was practically a weakened version of a "免死金牌."

Since the founding of Great Ming, even the sales of Enlightenment texts like the Analects had never surpassed those of the Da Gao.

Only the literate bought the Analects; but the Da Gao—even households with no one who could read would hoard a copy once they learned of its benefit.

Now, a newly emerged book, New and Old Law Cases, was nearly catching up to this year's Da Gao sales—and surpassing the Analects.

The impoverished Xue Shao suddenly grew rich from royalties.

Not even other officials, but even his own uncle, Xue Xuan, couldn't help but stare in surprise.

That night, sitting at his desk in deep thought for a long while, he took up an inkstick, ground ink, spread out a blank sheet of paper, and began writing.

He did not write case precedents—he would write a method for criminal investigation.

Not for profit, but primarily to popularize the essentials of case examination.

Of course, this was a year later; at this moment, Xue Shao was not yet the publishers' darling—but he was the darling of every major newspaper.

Outside his rented house, reporters from several newspapers were permanently camped out, waiting; the moment he opened the door, they rushed forward eagerly, carrying his belongings and sometimes slipping him odd gifts.

Like a head of cabbage, a small sack of rice, a basket of eggs, even a bunch of flowers.

When asked, they said their employer had grown them and brought them for Vice Minister Xue to taste.

Pan Yun, invited to visit, was stunned, unable to help saying: "You're even more popular than I am."

Xue Shao smiled, shoved the flowers into her hands, hugged his bundle close, and kicked the door open with his foot: "That's because you haven't revealed your identity as State Tutor—if you said you were State Tutor, they'd abandon me instantly and chase after you."

"Merchants chase profit, but newspapermen carry a certain stubbornness—they chase profit, but they also value conviction, and you, right now, are their conviction."

It was Pan Yun who advanced the newspaper industry.

Pan Yun smiled, looked at the roses in her hand, and raised an eyebrow: "Who sends roses to a Vice Minister of Revenue and a Censor of the Censorate?"

Don't they usually send chrysanthemums?

"Chrysanthemums are too precious—I won't accept them. But roses can be cut and placed in vases, lasting a long time—beautiful and hardy. I never refuse them, so households with roses often cut branches to send me."

Zhang Liuzhen helped carry the items inside, glanced around the house, and chuckled: "I never expected a Vice Minister of Revenue to live in such a small house—is this just a single courtyard?"

Xue Shao nodded: "Only two or three elderly servants live here—we don't need a large yard. This is perfect."

It had been barely half a week since Pan Yun's birthday; yesterday she had just sent Miao Zhen and the others away, and Xue Shao's legal reforms had just been approved—so Pan Yun arrived with Zhang Liuzhen to pay a visit.

Actually, Zhang Liuzhen had something to ask of Xue Shao and had asked Pan Yun to act as intermediary.

Xue Shao's house had only one courtyard: entering the gate led straight to the yard; beside the gate was a small room where the gatekeeper slept and kept watch; opposite was the stable, housing two horses.

On the same side as the stable stood a firewood shed and a side room; opposite were two more side rooms.

The main house, besides the central hall, had two rooms on either side: one Xue Shao used as his bedroom, the other as his study.

The kitchen lay behind the main house.

Behind it was half the courtyard, with a well in the center; along the eaves of the main house, a lean-to had been built as kitchen and tea room.

Directly opposite was a wall; beneath it were two rows of vegetable plots, now lush and green, with two lines of bean trellises covered in climbing vines and bearing pods, full of vitality. (End of chapter)