Chapter 112: The Turning of the Seasons, Bearing Weight Toward Distant Horizons

Zhu Yijun silently watched Xu Jie.

Indeed, these people understood everything, knew everything, yet deliberately sat back and watched rise and fall.

Xu Jie understood the situation, but had no intention to act.

Yesterday he submitted his memorial on the five great evils of the realm, revealing the state of the empire with crystal clarity.

Now, at this critical juncture of life and death, he spoke eloquently, striking at the heart of the times—his insight and talent nearly moved him to applaud.

Did Xu Jie say anything wrong? Actually, he said nothing incorrect.

The basic operation of the Great Ming mirrored that of the central authority.

The central authority was controlled by the Emperor in broad direction, while daily governance was entrusted to civil and military officials.

The Great Ming, by contrast, was guided from above by the central authority, while local operations were carried out jointly by government offices and scholar-gentry.

The Emperor could not replace the Grand Secretariat and Six Ministries to personally manage all state affairs.

The central authority naturally could not micromanage local matters.

This was not a design flaw—it was simply the limit of human capacity.

Yet with responsibilities and powers aligned, when the court refused to bear the burden of governing counties and villages, those duties and powers were swiftly absorbed by official households and scholar-gentry.

This is the fundamental contradiction of the Great Ming today.

The basic functioning of society is controlled by the scholar-gentry: village security, children’s education, planting and harvest, care for orphans and widows—even the most basic stability—are their achievements.

One could say the Great Ming’s governance rests entirely upon this tenant-lease system.

At the same time, these scholar-gentry—more accurately, official households.

These official households, by imperial decree, enjoyed privileges exempting them from corvée labor and miscellaneous levies; though they still paid main taxes, it was but a drop in the ocean.

Moreover, due to their official backgrounds, local magistrates and clerks either colluded with them or were their own students and former subordinates.

One’s own people were always easier to deal with.

Any difficulty could be resolved with a simple word.

This added another layer of invisible privilege beyond formal exemptions: concealing land and population.

While scholar-gentry official households enjoyed peace and quiet, the extra burdens fell back onto the common people.

When commoners went bankrupt, they had no choice but to surrender their land to official households, seeking respite.

Thus, official households grew like snowballs—exempt from corvée, exempt from miscellaneous taxes, yet still concealing land and population.

The means of production did not vanish; they were merely absorbed onto the ledgers of official landlords.

When the central authority could not collect taxes, it raised levies again, piling all burdens onto commoners who had not surrendered their land, forcing them to abandon their fields and flee as refugees.

The scholar-gentry grew ever stronger, while the common people and the central authority gradually withered.

Thus, in the final years of a dynasty, refugees rose everywhere, the central authority became powerless, and local forces spread like wildfire—this is systemic collapse.

Whose fault is it?

The scholar-gentry official households? But from their perspective, Xu Jie made it clear: if the central authority cannot manage it, someone must.

With responsibility comes inevitable expansion of power.

Could one blame the court? But was it the Emperor’s own unwillingness that kept imperial power from reaching the countryside?

Geography, transportation, administrative costs—these were objective realities, never subject to the Emperor’s will.

The people? The people were most innocent; to blame them even a single word would be heartless and cruel.

Each side had its justifiable reasons; thus, the empire naturally perished.

Zhu Yijun looked at Xu Jie and sincerely praised: “Xu Qing, you truly possess great talent—you were born a fine person, yet chose to become a thief.”

Xu Jie immediately rose, urgently saying: “Your Majesty, I am no thief!”

Zhu Yijun shook his head and said: “In my leisure, I read the ‘Miscellaneous Records of the Jianyan Era’ and learned that during the Xining and Yuanfeng periods, the Song dynasty, though tiny, collected over sixty million taels annually; even in the early Yuanyou era, after removing harsh policies, annual revenue still reached forty-eight million.”

“Our dynasty spans vast territory, yet our revenue is less than half.”

“The central authority is financially destitute, the people suffer unbearably—hasn’t all the silver been devoured by you?”

“You feast on the state’s wealth—can you not be called traitors to the nation?”

Zhu Yijun waved his hand, signaling Li Jin to offer Xu Jie a seat.

Li Jin brought a low stool; Xu Jie sat uneasily, opening his mouth but holding back.

Zhu Yijun picked up the memorial titled ‘Five Great Evils of the Realm’ and said to Xu Jie: “What you just said is one of the evils listed in this memorial—I read it, and I fully agree.”

“You say the scholar-gentry are the foundation of local governance—I accept that.”

“You say the imposition of miscellaneous levies is a necessary cost of local administration—I accept that too.”

“You say commoners surrender their land to avoid taxes, often willingly—I still accept that.”

“But…”

He fixed his gaze on Xu Jie: “The empire has collapsed because of this—Xu Qing, do you accept that?”

Xu Jie fell silent.

His earlier words were never meant as sophistry.

He was laying bare the empire’s ills, tracing their roots.

The Emperor wished to kill one to warn a hundred; he, however, frankly told the Emperor this was an unavoidable consequence of the Great Ming’s institutional design.

The evils did not arise from just one or two individuals.

The entire Great Ming was playing the same game as Xu Jie—land consolidation, tax evasion.

The root cause was the central authority’s inability to govern locally.

As long as the central authority could not address the root, local scholar-gentry would continue as before—killing one would not solve it.

If so, why not spare the chicken a little life?

Yet the Emperor clung to the cause of the empire’s decline, demanding accountability.

He was nearly saying Xu Jie bore responsibility for the empire’s impending collapse.

It left one speechless.

There was still room for debate, but he had not come here to chatter—he had come to survive, and needed to weigh his words carefully.

In Xu Jie’s mind, he recalled the Emperor’s temperament from yesterday’s observations—

If one appeared empty, dull, and devoid of self in the eyes of this Holy Monarch, he would not spare a glance.

Conversely, like Gao Gong, though he had committed the heinous act of coercing the sovereign, the Emperor had privately praised him multiple times for his lofty spirit and unyielding resolve.

Even the court’s current consensus that Yan Song had returned in Li Zaiting was not mere flattery—it was flattery with its own Dao and logic.

Precisely because of this, Xu Jie had dared to speak boldly from the scholar-gentry’s perspective.

This was his way of governance: cater to the ruler’s preferences, speak meaningfully.

Now facing the Emperor’s interrogation, Xu Jie could not deny guilt—just as the Emperor accepted his reasoning, facts were undeniable; if he argued deceitfully, he would become empty.

Yet, to admit guilt did not mean surrendering his integrity.

Xu Jie immediately devised his strategy and met the Emperor’s gaze: “Your Majesty, history has indeed fallen due to countless Xu Jies’ land consolidation—but…”

His expression was resolute: “The turning of the seasons, the ripening of fruit, wind and thunder—all are Heaven’s decree!”

“Land consolidation is merely one link in the chain of Heaven’s decree for our dynasty—I do not consider it a crime—I refuse to admit guilt!”

Zhu Yijun looked at Xu Jie in surprise.

How had he never known Xu Jie possessed such spirit? Truly strange!

Yet he could not deny that this conduct elevated Xu Jie in his estimation.

Zhu Yijun grew interested and waved for Li Jin and others to withdraw.

When the room was empty, he asked: “Continue.”

Xu Jie spoke with conviction: “Your Majesty, land consolidation cannot be stopped!”

“For three thousand years of Chinese history, great states swallowed small ones, large merchants devoured small ones, powerful clans consumed commoners—this has always been so, never restrained.”

“Silver always flows toward abundance; rivulets always gather into rivers.”

“The central authority grows ever drier, the common people drained of marrow and blood, while official gentry, wealthy merchants, and landlords swell daily. Even if a great decline or divine fortune occurs, it is but a few cases—only when old and new alternate, and another cycle begins, does change arise.”

“This is one link in Heaven’s decree—not something you can grasp in the middle and bleed dry to feed both ends!”

Xu Jie’s expression was firm.

This was both catering to the Emperor’s taste and voicing his deepest convictions.

Land consolidation cannot be stopped by killing.

Power and wealth inevitably concentrate—though hard to explain, this was the truth he had observed throughout his life.

True knowledge and action are one; once understood, one naturally joins in—that is the awakening of Mind Learning.

Zhu Yijun could no longer hold back and clapped his hands in praise.

“Excellent Mind Learning disciple!”

“Excellent realization of unity of knowledge and action!”

“Now I understand how a man like Xu Shaohu could so calmly commit these acts—this is his ‘good conscience’!”

This was no sarcasm—it was sincere.

Though the argument seemed muddled, it grasped the essence of class entrenchment.

As Xu Jie said, in any well-governed era, resources inevitably concentrate—only the forms differ.

Land consolidation, monopolistic merchants, hereditary privilege—all stem from the same principle.

Xu Jie saw clearly and chose to join wholeheartedly—this alone deserves praise as a master of Mind Learning.

Seeing the Emperor’s reaction, Xu Jie hesitated—had he gone too far?

What if the Emperor, unable to refute him, flew into rage and had him executed?

As Xu Jie hesitated, Zhu Yijun spoke again: “So, Minister Xu, you believe fate is thus—that when the seasons must turn, no dynasty should struggle against it?”

The former paused, then explained: “Your Majesty, it is not so. The Central Court’s response is also part of fate.”

Why, at the twilight of every dynasty, do the New Faction emerge?

Precisely because when prosperity peaks, decline is inevitable—and struggle is likewise part of fate.

Yet, this does not alter the destiny of the turning seasons.

Thus, when serving in court, he toiled without complaint—handling defense against barbarians, overseeing education, aiding Hai Rui, and safeguarding Prince Yu.

But as a local gentryman, he seized land, controlled the countryside, and oppressed the people.

This is Xu Jie’s school of mind: while in office, fulfill your duty—he believed his actions matched his convictions.

Zhu Yijun nodded: “Minister Xu, your words have cleared my doubts. I, too, have something to say.”

The former sat upright, already prepared: no matter what the Emperor said, he would kneel in submission—he had shown enough; it was time to plead.

Zhu Yijun rose and gestured as was his habit: “I understand your meaning, Minister Xu.”

“I have studied history and observed governance for no short time.”

“From Shang and Zhou to Song and Yuan, from eunuchs to ministers, from the provinces to the Central Court—I have witnessed countless rises and falls.”

“As it is said: ‘It rises with vigor, it falls with suddenness.’ One man, one family, one faction, one region—even one dynasty—all are caught in this cycle of the turning seasons.”

“History records ‘officials grow idle as power solidifies,’ ‘death ends governance,’ ‘seeking glory invites shame’—all of it, as Minister Xu says, within the turning of the seasons.”

“You call it fate, and believe the land consolidation driving it is equally unstoppable, and must be Shunyingerwei .”

“Thus, you willingly sink, adding fuel to the fire.”

Here, Zhu Yijun paused: “But beyond your reasoning, I have my own.”

His expression grew deep, his tone strange: “First, whether land consolidation is fate—or whether it can be halted—is still debatable.”

“In pre-Qin times, to curb consolidation, nobles were forced from well-field systems into smallholder farming.”

“In Han, to curb consolidation, powerful clans were relocated to Guanzhong.”

“Wei and Tang implemented the Equal-field System.”

“Song enacted the Equal Land Tax Law.”

“The turning seasons move forward year after year, Minister Xu. Every dynasty has suppressed consolidation—and each generation refined it further. How can you be certain future generations will fail?”

“Even if it truly is an unstoppable fate, how can I bear to not try?”

“Second, you accept the turning seasons, sink into decay, and drift with the tide—I find that contemptible.”

“In ancient times, the Three Sovereigns wore patched animal skins; now even ordinary wealthy households wear brocade and silk.”

“In pre-Qin, nobles wrote on bamboo slips; now even common scholars write on hemp paper.”

“Smallpox, once incurable in Tang and Song, has saved countless lives since the Ningguo Prefecture introduced variolation.”

“Minister Xu, though the seasons turn, all things do not cease evolving.”

“The fate of the turning seasons is dwarfed by the greater Dao of all things evolving.”

“Minister Xu, I tell you plainly: even if my dynasty is doomed to collapse, I will not sit idle like you!”

“Every step taken against consolidation brings relief to the people—I cannot abandon it!”

“Even on the day before my dynasty falls, I will not cease doing what must be done!”

When Zhu Yijun finished, the hall fell silent.

Xu Jie’s lips moved, then closed.

He nearly could not resist debating the Dao with the Emperor—but remembered his position, and held his tongue.

His emotions were now deeply complex.

He had intended to flatter the Emperor’s temperament, displaying his own principles and integrity, never expecting to hear any profound insight from him.

Yet the Emperor had truly surprised him.

Though his earlier reasoning contained performative elements, it was also, to some degree, heartfelt.

Generations of scholarly families, swelling local tyrants, merchants who barred newcomers in every trade.

Not to mention: the countless minor officials Hai Rui executed in Nanzhili—nearly all were father-to-son succession.

This is human nature, not deliberate sabotage of the state.

Spontaneous—that means natural trend—he did not believe the Great Ming could be an exception.

Yet he had not expected… Xu Jie glanced at the Emperor—truly a young bull unafraid of tigers, he thought.

Full of vigor, unrestrained and self-indulgent—just as his disciples and former subordinates said: the current Emperor is courteous yet stubborn, gentle yet arrogant!

Disregarding fate, he seeks to reverse heaven and earth through his own strength.

Even daring to speak of the Great Dao, as if he fears no failure, and will never abandon his resolve!

To Xu Jie, the Emperor’s words sounded like the ramblings of a dreamer—but still, he could not help admiring such youthful ardor.

The Emperor before him was like every bright man in youth—just as he, Xu Jie, once was.

Xu Jie’s expression grew distant. In his youth, he too believed all things rose like the morning sun—that with will and effort, they would forever remain so.

But as he aged, and endured too many helplessnesses, he came to understand what fate truly meant.

Thinking of this, a sudden anger rose within him.

The Emperor has his own conviction—but which wise man has not? Who has not passed through this stage!?

How dare this young bull point fingers at his own unity of knowledge and action!?

Was not the Jiajing Emperor himself once like this? Focused, attentive to every matter, radiant as the morning sun—what became of him?

Why does the Emperor believe he alone can remain steadfast, unwavering in purpose!?

After enduring what he has endured, after witnessing too many helplessnesses—will he still have the face to speak such words?

Thinking of this, Xu Jie drew a deep breath, suppressing his impatience—his life and death rested in another’s hands; he could not afford to show anger.

But since the Emperor had spoken thus, he now wished to see what the Emperor would ultimately accomplish.

Would he reverse fate—or vanish into obscurity?

Who is right or wrong cannot be judged by who speaks loudest.

Xu Jie remained silent for a long while; the hall stayed still.

Long after, he moved.

Xu Jie gathered his thoughts, bowed respectfully, and pleaded: “Your Majesty’s rebuke is just—I now know my guilt!”

“I beg Your Majesty’s mercy to pardon my earlier confusion and transgressions.”

“Allow this old man, whose candle burns low, one final act of unity between knowledge and action—let me put Your Majesty’s teachings into practice, and lend my humble strength to Your Majesty’s grand design.”

(End of Chapter)