Chapter 959

After Zhu Yi, the descendants of military nobles who died in battle at Datong last year followed suit; no one knew how Zhu Yi convinced them, but after they entered the palace and emerged again, each one was as energized as if injected with stimulants, all rushing to settle old scores with their fathers’ past misdeeds.

To the surprise of Shi Heng and others, Zhu Mian voluntarily submitted a memorial to confess, admitting he had tolerated his subordinates and household servants in Henan and Jiangxi to seize fertile farmland.

Yu Qian used this incident to join forces with numerous civil officials, dispatching censors to investigate military affairs across the provinces.

The Emperor issued an edict: those who surrendered voluntarily would be pardoned for past offenses as long as they returned the seized fertile farmland and military pay;

but if discovered by the Censorate or the Northern Town Surveillance Office, the consequences would not be so easily resolved.

To assist the Censorate and supervise its censors, the Emperor, following Pan Yun’s advice, assigned Yun Qingyan and An Chen from the Northern Town Surveillance Office to aid in this investigation.

Each team took one radio and one newly trained radio operator—a newly established official post under the Ministry of Rites’ Information Department, whose highest-ranking officer, the Message Envoy, held only a sixth-rank position, transferred from the Bureau of Foreign Affairs.

The lower-level clerks were mostly transferred from the Imperial Academy, all newly trained radio operators cultivated by the Academy.

Two censors, one squad of Embroidered Uniform Guards, accompanied by one radio and one radio operator.

They were dispatched to six regions: Northeast, Northwest, Central Plains, Jiangnan, Southeast, and Southwest; meanwhile, all other garrison areas not yet investigated were ordered to conduct self-audits.

Because the Emperor had reinstated the Northern Town Surveillance Office, the Embroidered Uniform Guards regained their pride, strutting through the capital in their flying-fish robes, drawing much attention.

People easily grow arrogant; Yu Qian caught the Embroidered Uniform Guards acting lawlessly in the capital twice and directly submitted a memorial to impeach them, enraging the Emperor, who summoned Bi Wang and scolded him: “I promoted you over Yun Qingyan because I intended to rely on you—yet as soon as Yun Qingyan left, you couldn’t even control the Southern Town Surveillance Office’s men. If this happens again, you’d better not stay in the capital—take your entire family and leave Beijing.”

Bi Wang turned pale, kowtowed repeatedly in apology, and only withdrew after the Emperor’s anger subsided somewhat.

The Empress couldn’t help asking: “The National Teacher said Bi Wang is mediocre and unfit for great responsibilities—why do you still employ him?”

The Emperor replied solemnly: “He is mediocre, but he is loyal. I ascended the throne suddenly; aside from old retainers, who else could I use?”

Yet he had once been a prince without real power—how many capable people remained among the old retainers?

The Empress sensed his reasoning was flawed, but couldn’t articulate why; after a long pause, she realized: “Your Majesty, if the old retainers are unfit, appoint new talent. You are the Emperor—you’ve shown them favor and patronage; how could they not be loyal?”

The Emperor fell silent in thought.

The Empress said: “The imperial examination is coming this year. Why not hold a martial competition within the military to recruit talent? You yourself said that the recent campaign caused massive losses among generals and that the military is now dominated by noble officers, making reform impossible—why not hold a grand martial tournament to promote new talent? You could also use the occasion to recruit noble sons into the Embroidered Uniform Guards to fill vacancies.”

The Great Ming suffered from severe bureaucratic bloat, yet many positions lacked qualified personnel.

For example, during last year’s campaign, over half of the Embroidered Uniform Guards in the Northern Town Surveillance Office were killed, and the vacancies have yet to be filled.

Now, with personnel dispatched for the military investigation, only the Southern Town Surveillance Office’s men remained in the capital.

The Southern Town Surveillance Office was mostly filled with idle second-generation aristocrats or those exiled there—besides parading around ostentatiously, they had little real ability.

The Empress was straightforward and had long despised them.

But because they were entangled in too many connections, the Emperor dared not dismiss them; and even if he wanted to transfer them, he had no other personnel available.

The Empress’s suggestion deeply appealed to the Emperor.

“I’ll decide after discussing it with Grand Secretary Yu.”

Yu Qian had no objection to holding a martial tournament in the military to recruit talent, but he objected to the Emperor recruiting noble sons into the Embroidered Uniform Guards—wasn’t that just expanding their ranks?

The Embroidered Uniform Guards acted ruthlessly and frequently violated laws; they were hard to manage. Yu Qian found an excuse to reject the proposal.

Other Grand Secretaries naturally also opposed further expansion of the Northern Town Surveillance Office.

During the previous Emperor’s reign, under Wang Zhen’s patronage, both Northern and Southern Town Surveillance Offices spied on officials—ostensibly for oversight, but in reality to fabricate charges for personal gain. Last year, during the personal campaign, Wang Zhen died, and most of the Northern Town Surveillance Office’s personnel perished—how could it be allowed to grow strong again?

All civil officials refused.

The military officers, recently suppressed, followed the principle that if civil officials opposed something, they must support it; most military officers voiced support for the Emperor in court.

Moreover, the Emperor declared that recruitment into the Embroidered Uniform Guards would prioritize military officers and noble sons.

They supported it even more.

After several debates, because the Emperor was adamant—even willing to fund the selection from his private treasury rather than use the state treasury—the civil officials could no longer refuse.

Thus, the court swiftly set dates for the military martial tournament and the Embroidered Uniform Guard recruitment.

The military martial tournament would begin with local contests to select the best and strongest, who would then be sent to the capital for the final tournament.

The final stage would test horsemanship, archery, martial arts, military texts, and even actual battlefield tactics—requiring considerable time; the Ministry of War calculated that if they started now, the final tournament could be held in the capital around October.

They then asked the Bureau of Astronomy to select an auspicious day: October 18, the final day of the military martial tournament.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard recruitment, however, was simple.

The Emperor’s birthday was approaching, followed soon by the Mid-Autumn Festival and the autumn imperial examinations; to honor the Emperor, the court decided the preliminary round of Embroidered Uniform Guard recruitment would be held on August 1, the day of the Emperor’s birthday, with the final round held on the same day.

This would also allow tributary states visiting to pay homage and witness the might of the Great Ming.

At the Emperor’s command, the court sprang into swift action, bustling with activity, causing many to forget the six teams dispatched beyond the capital.

Officials uninvolved could forget—but the Grand Secretaries, the Emperor, and the noble military officers whose lives were at stake could not.

Especially Shi Heng and others: they smiled warmly as they prepared birthday gifts for the Emperor, while frantically sending messengers to contact regional commanders.

But the messengers vanished like stones dropped into the sea—only sent out, never returned; not a single person, not even a letter.

This made Shi Heng and the others even more anxious.

Shi Heng muttered: “The Emperor has a cruel heart—stirring up trouble on his own birthday. Doesn’t he fear accumulating too much ill fortune and damaging his own blessings?”

Zhu Qiyu had no fear; the National Teacher said this was an act of justice, drawing righteous energy—only benefits, no harm.

He wasn’t going to massacre the innocent or implicate the innocent—what did he have to fear?

Confidently, Zhu Qiyu received three radio messages from dispatched teams that evening, and flew into a rage, venting his fury.

After calming down, he sat on the steps, gloomy: “I finally understand why my brother, as Emperor, was so easily angered and perpetually troubled.”

The Empress watched him with concern: “Your Majesty...”

“Yun Qingyan was attacked three times before even reaching Taiyuan—I want to see just how severe Taiyuan’s problems are.”

He added: “And An Chen, sent to Nanchang, hadn’t even met the commanding general before discovering hidden private troops—private troops, private troops—what are they planning? Rebellion?”