Chapter 292: Excessive Resistance Must Be Crushed Without Mercy

At nightfall, Zhu Yijun, who should have been asleep, lay on his bed with his hands clasped over his abdomen, staring blankly at the ceiling beams.

Beneath his dazed expression, he was recalling the sights he had witnessed during his daytime inspection of Daxing County.

Especially that phrase—"If you have no daughters, you're only fit to till the fields"—repeated endlessly in Zhu Yijun's mind.

He knew full well what it meant; not only he, but all the high officials and nobles present understood it perfectly.

Lending was an ancient trade.

Since ancient times, official lending came first; the Zhouli records: "For those who borrow, their officials shall distinguish and grant, with interest based on the state's customs."

Private lending followed closely, with the earliest record being Su Qin: "Borrowed a hundred coins as capital, and upon attaining wealth, repaid a hundred gold pieces."

Whether Su Qin borrowed from whom is irrelevant; the exorbitant profits were self-evident.

Precisely because of this, from ancient times to the present, those with some property and "discernment" often chose this self-cannibalizing investment method.

Temples and monasteries were the foremost practitioners.

The Daoist sects were somewhat better; once they established connections with the upper echelons, they often appeared restrained and respectable in public.

But Buddhist institutions that operated among the common folk could not easily hide their predatory nature.

Some temples bluntly told new converts: "All who join must first pay twenty taels of silver; this sum shall be lent out to earn interest, used to repair bridges, mend roads, support the elderly, and aid the poor."

Others were more subtle, using lending: "The great monks lend to others, then lend again, expand further, and profit by extracting from others."

As for interest rates:

Scholars paid lower rates—doubling in three years; for example, Li Sheng "owed the temple monk Hui Kong fifty taels; after three years, principal and interest amounted to one hundred taels, and the monk harassed him daily for repayment."

Peasant farmers and small merchants paid higher rates—doubling in two years: "At the mountain's peak stood a temple dedicated to the Five Blessings Deity; one must borrow capital before the Buddha, taking the paper money hung before the altar, repaying forty-five percent annual interest."

An annual interest rate of forty-five percent was naturally beyond the means of most.

Thus, the mortgaged shops and fields inevitably fell into the hands of the great monks.

The compassionate Buddha would then conveniently solve the employment problem of bankrupt farmers and merchants, hiring them as tenant farmers or temple laborers.

If the Buddha felt particularly generous, he would demand their wives or daughters; only after being "blessed by the Dharma" would they be granted a path to survival.

Some might think: if one simply refused to borrow, wouldn't this tragedy be resolved at its root?

That would be too much to ask; the common people's ability to withstand risk could never be so carefree—a natural disaster, human misfortune, or serious illness could always leave them without recourse.

This was merely the tip of the iceberg of land consolidation, and one of the dominant ways the Great Ming consumed its people today—systematic consumption: Zhang San might escape, but Li Si would surely be devoured.

Zhu Yijun understood all this clearly—even intimately, thoroughly, and in excruciating detail.

Yet all his knowledge, whether from historical records or memorials, had always been mere handfuls of words.

This was utterly different from witnessing living people, their suffering laid bare, bloody and raw, before his eyes.

Just as he had felt the desperation of the destitute peasants during his daytime inspection.

The term "destitute peasants" carried unparalleled political correctness, at any time or place.

This banner, woven from collective suffering, he had waved ceaselessly in both his past and present lives, shouting and rallying.

But a collective remained a collective—it was never real.

In this life, the people's plight was merely a line in a memorial; in his past life, the people's hardship was just a string of numbers in a report.

He cared, he worried—but there was always a lack of tangible weight.

Only when he saw face-to-face these destitute peasants enduring abuse, at the mercy of others, did complex emotions—intimacy, distance, alienation, pity, guilt, resonance, resolve—suddenly surge into his heart, churning endlessly with lasting force.

Only then could Zhu Yijun truly grasp what it meant: "To bear the nation's misfortune is to be the king of all under heaven."

Thinking of this, Zhu Yijun found sleep even more elusive.

He glanced at the hazy moonlight outside the window, threw back the quilt, sat up, draped his clothes loosely over himself, and stepped out the door.

He was meant to lodge in the county yamen, but the city was too crowded and watched; moreover, the county yamen was far too small to accommodate this group of two thousand.

So they chose a Daoist temple as lodging—after all, Daoist temples were, by ancestral law and asset structure, effectively imperial palaces.

"Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty."

As Zhu Yijun opened the door, he found Zhang Hong and Jiang Keqian standing guard on either side.

He was surprised: "Why are you both guarding the door?"

There were basic protocols for guard duty; though Zhang Hong and Jiang Keqian were close ministers, their status meant they never personally stood night watch—after the emperor slept and before he rose, they were free to rest.

Zhang Hong hesitated a moment: "Your Majesty, I've finished interrogating Yao Zhong of the Firewood Bureau."

Zhu Yijun walked toward the courtyard gate, waving for the two to follow.

Zhang Hong walked closely behind the emperor: "For years, Yao Zhong managed the imperial estates in Daxing County for the palace, secretly swapping land between imperial holdings and his own private fields. Now fearing the land survey will expose his crimes, he has become so aggressive, even assaulting county officials."

Sometimes anger stems not from confidence, but from fear.

Zhu Yijun walked ahead, casually: "Who else is involved?"

Such things could never be fully eradicated; he knew that well.

But when imperial estates were involved, it was impossible for just one or two people to conceal such matters for years.

Jiang Keqian smoothly took over: "Your Majesty, the Embroidered Uniform Guard's Assistant Regional Commander Ma Lu is suspected of collusion and cover-up; the Duke of Dingguo has personally delivered him to the county jail."

In the capital region, such privileged households were not few; each was beyond the county yamen's reach.

Sending them to the county yamen as scapegoats would signal top-level resolve and aid Wei Yunzhen's future assertion of authority.

Zhu Yijun paced, gazing up at the moon: "Anyone else?"

Outside the emperor's quarters, guards stood every three steps, sentries every five steps, the moonlight lending an austere, chilling air.

As the three passed, the guards, seeing the emperor leading with two courtiers flanking him, continued staring straight ahead.

Zhang Hong and Jiang Keqian exchanged glances; the former replied cautiously: "Your Majesty, though Yao Zhong has long operated under Li Daban's name to dominate the countryside, interrogation revealed he merely used banquets with the Marquis of Wuching as a facade—pure deception."

Hearing this, Zhu Yijun couldn't help shaking his head.

Zhang Hong was shielding the honored; the truth was Yao Zhong had bribed his own maternal grandfather, and Li Jin, faced with his clan chief's orders, could only allow Yao Zhong to use his name.

A mere Daxing County had already unearthed a whole web of connections.

Zhu Yijun suddenly sighed: "Speaking of it, I've rarely felt so powerless where the Marquis of Wuching is concerned."

"Around the first year of Wanli, because of Sun Yi, I reprimanded him; in the fourth year of Wanli, he withheld winter coats from border troops, and I nearly imprisoned him. He wept bitterly before my mother, vowing reform—yet now he still obstructs me."

This is why I often say: a wicked heart may still have its uses, but a foolish man is truly useless.

This foolish maternal grandfather had been stripped of all real power after Wanli's fourth year.

Yet his status as an imperial relative could never be removed.

He always popped up at inconvenient moments to annoy me.

Zhang Hong and Jiang Keqian said nothing to the emperor's complaints about his maternal grandfather, merely walking silently behind him.

Seeing the emperor pace with a troubled expression, Zhang Hong softly urged: "Your Majesty, return to your room and rest; the night is cold."

Zhu Yijun paid no heed: "What of the Marquis of Huairou, Shi Guangzu?"

The Marquis of Huairou was enfeoffed by Emperor Yingzong after the Restoration of the Gate, in the first year of Tianshun.

His enfeoffment's merit… well, there was none; Yingzong's justification was "served diligently in Liaodong," meaning no merit, only hardship.

The exact reasons are now hard to investigate.

This lineage had long been dim-witted and held no major responsibilities—that was the norm for nobles; only exceptional ones like Gu Huan and Zhu Xizhong were showered with positions like Embroidered Uniform Guard or Capital Garrison Command.

The Marquis of Huairou could only assist the emperor in sacrificial duties.

The last time Zhu Yijun saw Shi Guangzu's name on his desk was when he was caught at night visiting a courtesan, violating curfew and apprehended by patrol soldiers; the Ministry of Justice requested the Eight Privileges: "Withhold one year's stipend from the Marquis of Huairou, Shi Guangzu, for visiting courtesans at night and being apprehended by patrols."

His current resistance to land surveying was entirely predictable.

Zhang Hong replied cautiously: "Your Majesty, the Marquis of Huairou's stipend land should be eight hundred mu; according to his steward, it is now several times that, with hundreds of slaves."

"Some cases of forced sales and abuse of commoners have been uncovered by the county yamen and are under investigation."

Though Emperor Shizong promised not to disturb them, there were always other openings; it was fantasy to think high officials and nobles were always law-abiding and flawless.

Hearing this, Zhu Yijun fell silent for a moment.

Eight hundred mu of stipend land was no small amount; add the palace's regular gifts and his share of commercial profits from the Princess Dowager's household, he could live comfortably for life.

Now, several times that? Truly insatiable.

Zhu Yijun absently brushed his hand over the incense burner in the courtyard's center, then turned to Jiang Keqian: "Cousin, does your Yutian Marquis household seize land and keep slaves?"

As always, distinguishing friend from foe was hardest.

Take land survey and household registration: even the first day's glimpse of the iceberg revealed eunuchs, Embroidered Uniform Guard, imperial relatives, nobles, and temples entangled together—truly, enemies abound, allies scarce.

Historically, when Zhang Juzheng led the land survey, his first act was to write home, ordering his family to audit their hidden land.

The first audit revealed over five hundred seventy mu; the second, over seven hundred twenty mu—all donated to the prefecture for public use.

The amount aside, the fact he reported it in two batches clearly showed his own clan members dragged their feet on his orders.

Then what of those around me?

Thinking of this, Zhu Yijun felt a pang of melancholy, and casually asked this former Donggong attendant, imperial relative of Shizong and close minister of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Jiang Keqian paused, then replied frankly: "Your Majesty, it is the noble custom; each branch of the household must survive—I cannot stop them."

"But since becoming head of the household, I have strictly restrained them; there has been no harm to the common people."

Zhu Yijun pressed: "How do you restrain them?"

Jiang Keqian considered a moment, then replied: "Your Majesty, we do keep slaves, but they are orphans or displaced children purchased legitimately through brokers; when they grow older and wish to leave, we settle accounts and allow them full freedom."

"As for land, after my title was restored, I received eight hundred mu of fief land—not one mu more. I exchanged four hundred seventy mu of inferior land for superior land owned by commoners, paying market price for the difference, never forcing sales."

Zhu Yijun shook his head.

The common people's "voluntary" consent was never truly voluntary—it was usually a desperate choice with no other option.

But this was hardly Jiang Keqian's fault; his cousin's conduct was already remarkably restrained and humble.

Zhu Yijun lowered his gaze, murmuring: "Cousin, your Buddhist compassion runs deeper than some great monks."

Jiang Keqian opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated.

After a long pause, he could no longer hold back and replied: "Your Majesty, I have no Buddhist nature, nor do I feel any true empathy for the common people."

"I merely cater to Your Majesty's preferences. Since Your Majesty pities the people, I follow suit and dare not neglect them."

"Men like the eunuch Yao Zhong and the Marquis of Huairou Shi Guangzu not only lack love for the people—they are disloyal to the throne as well."

"Such people, who care for neither ruler nor subject, remain few and pose no real threat. Your Majesty need not grieve or rage over them."

It was almost as if he were saying: "Go back to bed."

Zhu Yijun chuckled at this, but said nothing in reply.

The group reached the outer gate of the Zhenwu Main Hall, ignoring the guards, and Zhu Yijun ascended the steps, walking slowly into the hall.

As soon as he entered, Zhu Yijun froze.

He looked at the figure kneeling on the cushion and softly called out: "Wang Qing."

Wang Xijue, who had been praying with closed eyes, instinctively shuddered at the sound.

After a moment, he realized who it was, rose from the cushion, and turned slowly to bow: "Your Majesty."

Zhu Yijun gestured for him to rise, unable to suppress a smile: "So you haven't slept either, Wang Qing?"

Wang Xijue sighed, his tone complex: "I was suddenly entrusted with great responsibility, and today I witnessed firsthand the hardships of the new policies and the suffering of the people. My mind is flooded with thoughts—I cannot sleep."

His insomnia was not the same as the Emperor's.

It was not born of worry for the people's plight.

Rather, he was pondering how, as Minister of Personnel and upon entering the Grand Secretariat next year, he might act to resolve the era's ills.

Zhu Yijun exhaled slowly, sighing as well: "Alas, the people's toil is great; I sigh long and wipe away tears."

As he spoke, he took a stick of incense from the table and stepped forward to insert it into the censer.

The Great Zhenwu Emperor was now not only a state deity but also regarded as the true embodiment of the founding Emperor—anyone who came to worship him was worthy of it.

Seeing the Emperor's low spirits, and recalling that he had come in the dead of night to burn incense, Wang Xijue could not help but speculate.

Standing behind the Emperor, he offered a gentle word of comfort: "Your Majesty, though the people's hardships are great, we must be all the more vigilant."

"When the New Policies of the Northern Song's Xining era failed, Wang Anshi, who led them, composed a poem in Jiangning."

"One line reads: 'I wish I had been a frivolous youth of the Five Tombs, born in the era of Zhen Guan and Kai Yuan. I'd chase chickens, race dogs, live my life, unaware of heaven's or earth's peril.'"

After reciting it, Wang Xijue couldn't help but click his tongue three times, savoring the words.

After a pause, he continued: "Your Majesty, most people interpret this line as Wang Anshi's longing—or escape—but when I first read it, I felt only despair and resentment toward Emperor Shenzong of Song, overwhelming everything else."

"If Wang Anshi understood heaven's and earth's peril, yet watched his reforms destroyed, how could he blame only Emperor Shenzong?"

"This is my humble opinion, daringly offered to Your Majesty—may it serve as a constant warning."

"The people cannot name him—he is divine."

Meaning: the common folk have no better word to praise him.

But after a predecessor receives a temple name, later generations often add new meaning to it based on his deeds.

If the current reforms are abandoned halfway, the Emperor may well end up with the same temple name as Emperor Shenzong of Song: "Shen."

He was warning the Emperor not to abandon the reforms because the obstacles seemed too great.

Wang Xijue's words were not subtle—they were even presumptuous—but Zhu Yijun knew his temperament and did not take offense.

Zhu Yijun shook his head: "I understand your earnest intent, Wang Qing. But I am troubled only by the land survey. Just now, lying in bed, I could not help but recall what I saw today."

"In my daze, the sound of rats gnawing never ceased in my ears; the cries of the suffering echoed in my mind. My anger burned hotter and hotter."

"But I had nowhere to vent it—so I came out to clear my head."

Structural oppression is impossible to vent.

It is not that any one person is wrong—it is the world that is wrong.

Shi Guangzu set up checkpoints and charged fees—according to law, what punishment should he face? None. He is not a bandit—he is a noble.

Not even nobles are needed: anywhere outside Beijing, find any "father of a scholar," and he can set up a checkpoint to extort tolls from tenant farmers and small landowners. If he accidentally stops an official, both sides merely smile, bow, and say, "The flood washed over the Dragon King's temple."

The people's burden? Irrelevant.

What of county clerks demanding bribes for entry fees? Legally, that's a serious crime—but if you actually arrested them by this charge, nearly all minor officials across the empire would be left idle.

Even in Beijing, where high-ranking officials in crimson robes come and go, when Li Zhi arrived, he was still extorted by a gate guard.

All injustices from the government in this era are met with a sigh: "Bad luck." Even the people themselves think so—in both Water Margin and The Golden Lotus, this mindset is everywhere.

As for temples and monasteries lending money? That's beyond question.

They are not only legal—they are considered reasonable.

If an edict banned temples from lending, the first to riot would be the common people—what then in a famine? The government? Without connections, you'd wait in line until next year.

Faced with structural oppression with no clear villain, even the Emperor could only seethe in silence.

Hearing this, Wang Xijue suddenly understood.

His gaze swept over the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial beside the Emperor. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke: "Your Majesty, this evening, Wei Yunzhen has summoned the Marquis of Huairou to the county yamen."

Zhu Yijun nodded: "I know."

The inspection tour of Shuntian Prefecture was merely for observation—once seen, they should leave. Tomorrow morning, they must proceed to Wanping.

Any problems discovered, and all loose ends, must be left to the local officials.

If Daxing County cannot handle it, send it to Shuntian Prefecture. If Shuntian cannot, then the Shuntian Provincial Governor.

The Emperor and his senior ministers' time is too precious to waste on such petty affairs.

Wang Xijue spoke again: "Your Majesty, Yao Zhong, Ma Lu, and all the abbots and abbesses of the temples and monasteries are now in the county yamen."

Zhu Yijun blinked in surprise.

Then he realized: Wang Xijue was not telling him to go back to sleep. "Wang Qing means…"

Wang Xijue met the Emperor's gaze squarely and said: "Your Majesty said the sound of rats gnawing never ceased in your ears, and the cries of the suffering echoed in your mind—I agree completely."

"If your anger burns, how can you ignore it?"

The implication: even if only to vent, it is worth doing.

"In my view, Yao Zhong and Ma Lu have seized imperial land—this is a grave crime against the throne, unforgivable! They must be executed publicly! The Marquis of Huairou, Shi Guangzu, has set up checkpoints and levied taxes—this is tantamount to establishing his own court! He deserves to be beaten to death in court!"

"Any monk or Daoist who rapes women must be punished as one of the Ten Abominations! Only public decapitation on the Daxing County parade ground can appease the people's wrath!"

"Your Majesty, summon Vice Minister Xu Gu. Let us ride straight to the county yamen now—quick in, quick out—and we can still reach Wanping by dawn."

Zhu Yijun drew in a sharp breath.

No wonder history says this man drove Zhang Juzheng to the brink of suicide—he was this kind of man!

Wang Xijue, you are far too extreme!

Zhu Yijun's eyes darted nervously; he refused firmly: "Er—Wang Qing, the eunuchs and nobles, I can accept. But as for monks and Daoists raping women—many commoners willingly pledge their wives and daughters as collateral. Is it truly fair to convict them?"

Though pledging human beings violated his values, the times had evolved this way.

At most, it was a breach of monastic vows—legally, it was not a crime.

Seeing the Emperor's hesitation, Wang Xijue seemed to have anticipated this. He spoke without pause: "Your Majesty, in the fifth month of Yongle's tenth year, the Chengzu Emperor issued an edict."

"Buddhism and Daoism were meant to purify and benefit all beings. Yet today, monks and Daoists violate their precepts, obsess over profit, lack sincerity, drink alcohol, eat meat, wander in debauchery, and show no restraint—corrupting public morals."

"Thus it is decreed: any monk or Daoist who abandons ancestral ways and defies strict prohibitions shall be executed without pardon."

Wang Xijue paused. "Your Majesty, raping women is a violation of precepts. The ancestral law is clear: such men must be executed without pardon."

Wang Minister's teeth gleamed white; his voice carried a chilling chill.

His words fell silent.

Zhu Yijun drew a deep breath, turned sharply to Jiang Keqian, and ordered: "Jiang Qing, prepare horses. I am going to the county yamen!"

Jiang Keqian bowed and left at once.

Then he turned to Zhang Hong: "I am going to kill some people. I will return before dawn."

Zhang Hong opened his mouth, then hesitated.

Zhu Yijun seized Wang Xijue's hand and walked toward the outer hall: "I wonder if Vice Minister Xu has gone to bed yet."

Wang Xijue replied solemnly: "Vice Minister Xu has surely not slept."

Their voices faded as they went together to find Xu Gu in the side hall.

A quarter-hour later, the three rode out of the temple, accompanied by a retinue, and galloped away in a clamor.

The next chapter won't be finished tonight, so I won't post a separate notice—I'll release it tomorrow.

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(End of Chapter)