Chapter 297: 203. Chapter 197: The Vast Sky, Who Is This Man?

203. Chapter 197: The Vast Sky, Who Is This Man?

"I asked Wang Chonggu to speak out because of our seven-year bond, not because I am begging him. Whether he wants to take the lead or not, I must act against the Ministry of War. The position of Minister of War can no longer be left to Shi Mao."

After touring Wenan and Baxian counties, the emperor's party would begin their return journey.

Three hundred li is far enough; further ahead, places like Dacheng County make little difference to see—or rather, places like Zhuozhou and Jizhou carry risks of lingering too long, so better not be reckless.

Thus, after more than twenty days from the capital, the emperor's party passed through Anxin and Wangqingtuo, boarding a dragon boat at Wuxing Yangcun Ferry bound for Tongzhou's Xianghe County.

Upon reaching Xianghe County, they proceeded along Tongzhou, circling back toward the capital.

Half a day after boarding, perhaps the emperor had rested sufficiently, he summoned Minister of Personnel Wang Xijue and Minister of Rites Wang Zongyi to his cabin for a private meeting.

"Your Majesty, Minister Shi has not yet been implicated in this matter. Discussing his removal now seems premature." Wang Zongyi paused, then voiced his opinion.

Since the southern altar sacrifice, the emperor had grown increasingly assertive; even before any conclusion was reached, he had already decided to remove Minister of War Shi Mao.

Wang Zongyi had no objection to the emperor arbitrarily appointing or dismissing the Nine Ministers—it was the emperor's prerogative.

But it was best not to compromise moral standing.

Wang Xijue, perched on a low stool opposite Wang Zongyi, immediately added: "I respectfully disagree, Your Majesty. Even if Shi Mao is not implicated, he still bears the fault of negligence. Ordering him to retire quietly is entirely appropriate."

Upon hearing this, Wang Zongyi did not agree.

"Negligence" was a catch-all term—anyone could be stuffed into it. If that logic held, wasn't Wang Chonggu above Shi Mao also negligent? Wasn't Zhang Juzheng, then Chief Grand Secretary, also negligent?

But he understood the emperor's intent, and since Wang Xijue had already framed it this way, there was no need to argue further—"negligence" at least offered a plausible face-saving justification, barely sufficient.

Zhu Yijun reviewed memorials from the capital, opening and closing each one in turn.

Hearing the two ministers fall silent, he replied without looking up: "Even on grounds of old age and illness, Shi Mao should have retired. No more discussion. Let us turn to the matter of a new Minister of War."

The Ming court's military authority was divided in two.

One was the Five Military Directorates, which held command over troops but no authority to mobilize them; the other was the Ministry of War, which held mobilization authority but no direct command.

At the dynasty's founding, the Directors of the Five Military Directorates often overshadowed the Ministry of War—Li Wenzhong during Hongwu's reign, Zhang Fu from Yongle to Hongxi, were all generals who had helped the emperor seize power; these founding nobles naturally could not be subdued by the Ministry of War.

But the Tumu Crisis reversed the situation overnight, and the Ministry of War swiftly rose above the Five Military Directorates.

It now oversaw all original Ministry of War duties, as well as those previously held by the Five Military Directorates.

Military strategy, operational plans, arms production, officer promotions, troop mobilization, national defense… and more.

Even the most sensitive authority over direct command could now be exercised by Viceroy, Provincial Military Commander, Director-General, Superintendent, Grand Coordinator, or Provincial Governor holding concurrent Ministry of War titles.

The Ministry of War's growing power is evident from the decades-long struggle over the Capital Garrison since the Jiajing era—Gu Huan's repeated appointments and dismissals as commander of the Garrison are a perfect microcosm.

Precisely because the Ministry of War had grown so powerful over the past century, Zhu Yijun had never interfered with drastic measures since his accession.

Instead, he had begun with the Capital Garrison, focused on the Nine Borders' Viceroy-Governors, and slowly encroached upon its authority.

He had originally planned to wait one or two years until Minister Shi Mao and Vice Minister Luo Fengxiang died of old age, then seamlessly seize control.

But now that a pretext had presented itself, he would seize the opportunity.

So, whether Wang Chonggu accepted or refused, whether Shi Mao was truly guilty or not, after returning to the capital, he would use this as an excuse to act.

The New Year's military review would not be the perfect opportunity to intervene in the Ministry of War?

At that moment, when the emperor truly held the command of six hundred thousand troops, he would have the authority to carve up the land, wield life and death, and stand equal to the Founding and Successor Emperors.

Wang Xijue did not know what the emperor was fantasizing about, but hearing the discussion turn to selecting the Minister of War, he felt he should speak first.

He paused, then said: "Your Majesty, what of Ling Yunyi, Provincial Governor of Guangdong?"

Ling Yunyi had earned merit in Guangdong.

In November of the fourth year of Wanli, he led a hundred thousand troops to suppress the Yao rebellion, and to commemorate the pacification of Luopan Mountain, established Luoding Prefecture directly under Guangdong.

Such a great achievement in replacing native chieftains with imperial officials and securing the frontier made his promotion to Minister of War a natural progression.

As for Ling Yunyi being from the same hometown as Tai Cang… one selects talent without avoiding fellow clansmen.

Before the emperor could reply, Minister of Rites Wang Zongyi shook his head first: "Not suitable. Ling Yunyi has a reputation for excessive slaughter and brutality in Guangdong."

This might not be entirely Ling Yunyi's fault—after all, when the Yao uprising occurred, killing officials and seizing territory, six of Guangdong's ten prefectures lay in ruins. His ruthless suppression actually demonstrated his capability.

But governance often transcends mere right and wrong.

Since Ling Yunyi bore the stigma of brutality, his appointment to the Ministry of War would inevitably invite scholarly condemnation, harassment from the Censorate, and even accusations of undermining minority unity.

Why invite trouble when one can avoid it?

Wang Xijue opened his mouth but fell silent.

He wanted to speak in Ling Yunyi's defense, but after thinking, he sighed and said nothing.

Zhu Yijun finished annotating the last memorial on his desk and placed it aside.

He raised his head, glanced at the two ministers, and fixed his gaze on Wang Zongyi: "Minister of Rites, do you have a suitable candidate?"

Ordinarily, the Ministry of Personnel should propose candidates first, leaving the Ministry of Rites to speak only during court deliberations.

But the Nine Ministers' appointments were too critical to leave to open debate—consensus must be reached privately, or failure to achieve unanimous approval in court would reflect poorly on the harmony of this administration.

Wang Zongyi pondered, then spoke slowly: "Your Majesty, I believe Li Zaiting, Provincial Governor of Fujian, is suitable."

Li Zaiting was promoted to Provincial Governor based on suppressing a military mutiny.

Three years ago, Fujian's Provincial Surveillance Commissioner Wu Shanyan, deeming military pay excessive, petitioned to cut it by one-third.

Before the central government even received the memorial, Fujian erupted in mutiny—soldiers Ma Wenying, Liu Tingyong, and others led several thousand armed troops to surround the governor's yamen, demanding redress on pay.

Wu Shanyan, indifferent, refused to wait for imperial approval, and bluntly told the soldiers: "The pay cut is final. Those unwilling to serve may return to farming."

The outcome was predictable.

Thousands stormed the governor's yamen, smashing the main hall. Wu Shanyan failed to flee, was captured, beaten severely, and left barely alive.

Had Li Zaiting, then at the adjacent Provincial Administration yamen, not rushed over and swiftly quelled the unrest, Wu Shanyan would have died before medical aid arrived—and those thousands of mutinous soldiers, having killed their governor, would have had no choice but to rebel.

Afterwards, the half-paralyzed Wu Shanyan was ordered to retire, and Li Zaiting succeeded him as Deputy Surveillance Commissioner of Fujian.

In the three years since his promotion, Li Zaiting, alongside General Yu Dayou, suppressed minority uprisings, cleared out pirate hideouts, captured and executed local magnates colluding with Japanese pirates, and by year's end had been promoted to Deputy Surveillance Commissioner with concurrent rank of Vice Minister of War.

Now, his appointment to the Ministry of War, though swift, could still be called a natural progression.

Wang Xijue reviewed Li Zaiting's record in his mind, then nodded slightly.

Both men turned to look at the emperor.

Unfortunately, the emperor rejected their mutual approval—he slowly rose: "The Fujian Maritime Trade Office is at the final stage; Li Zaiting is not yet ready to return to the capital."

The emperor stood, so the two ministers rose as well.

Wang Zongyi followed behind, respectfully asking: "May I venture to ask, Your Majesty, whom do you favor?"

He said "venture to ask," yet he asked with perfect composure—for the emperor truly consulted them sincerely. This was precisely what moved him most since joining the Nine Ministers.

Zhu Yijun walked to the cabin window, gazing out over the river from the dragon boat.

"Yin Zhengmao, Viceroy of the Two Guangs, is already on his way to the capital. What do you think of him?"

Yin Zhengmao was a jinshi of the twenty-sixth year of Jiajing, same cohort as Zhang Juzheng, from She County, Huizhou, and a fellow townsman of Xu Guo.

In merit, he was "the greatest pacifier of the Two Guangs"; politically, he had been favored by Gao Gong and Zhang Juzheng, a staunch New Party member; in civil administration, beyond his military prowess, he demonstrated exceptional talent in coinage reform and salt policy—truly a man of both literary and martial ability.

Wang Xijue pondered, then nodded slowly: "Lord Yin is virtuous and accomplished; he is fit to lead the Ministry of War."

He then turned his gaze to Wang Zongyi beside him.

Zhu Yijun also turned to look at Wang Zongyi.

But Wang Zongyi's expression was uneasy, as if he wished to speak but held back.

Both knew Wang Zongyi had a past grievance with Yin Zhengmao; they were not surprised.

Around the twenty-seventh year of Jiajing, Yin Zhengmao was a Censor in the Ministry of War, while Wang Zongyi was a Director in the same ministry.

They were ordinary colleagues, but an odd coincidence occurred: Yin Zhengmao's eldest son was named Yin Zongyi.

That alone would have been harmless—just a coincidence in naming; they could have avoided it with discretion.

But Yin Zhengmao, clueless in social etiquette, admired Wang Zongyi and, eager to befriend him, constantly joked about his son "Zongyi," as if casually mentioning his child to gain attention—like a schoolboy pretending not to notice while stepping on a pretty girl's foot.

Wang Zongyi, a rigid scholar, could not endure it. He finally snapped, publicly rebuking Yin Zhengmao, submitting an impeachment memorial, and writing letters to argue his case.

Yin Zhengmao, stubborn by nature, refused to apologize, and the rift between them was sealed.

Seeing the emperor and Minister of Personnel waiting silently for his opinion, Wang Zongyi turned his face away and murmured: "Your Majesty, Yin Zhengmao is a man of the realm; he is fit for the Ministry of War."

Personal grievances are petty; they must not cloud judgment on matters of state.

Zhu Yijun nodded slightly, then turned to Wang Xijue: "After returning to the capital, Minister Wang, swiftly initiate the Ministry's deliberation and submit the petition."

Though Wang Xijue was an outsider, he would soon take full control of the Ministry of Personnel—it was inevitable.

After all, half the Ministry's officials were remnants of Shen Shixing's seven-year tenure, and the two were inseparable; the existing staff would be swiftly absorbed. Historically, when Wang Xijue struggled to gain the favor of censors, Shen Shixing lent him his own student-censors—calling them political Siamese twins was not an exaggeration.

Wang Xijue bowed and accepted the order.

Having concluded one matter, Zhu Yijun did not end the conversation.

Instead, he turned and walked toward the cabin door, inviting: "Come, let us go out for some fresh air."

Wang Xijue and Wang Zongyi had no objection and silently followed the emperor.

He dismissed the eunuchs and guards who tried to follow, then led the two men out of the cabin and down the three-tiered dragon boat.

At this season, snowflakes had begun to drift from the sky.

This was the final half-month of river travel within Shuntian Prefecture for the winter; by the twelfth month, it would grow too cold to sail.

Travelers along the banks bundled in thick clothing hurried past.

Occasionally, curious civilians gathered on the shore to gaze at the dragon boat on the river.

Ice floes drifted past the vessel—perhaps the result of the crew clearing the river.

Ahead of the dragon boat, escort vessels cleared the way, driving away civilian boats and breaking ice.

Zhu Yijun stepped down from the boat, his expression complex: "Without leaving the palace, how could one see these miserable people?"

The two ministers looked down at the riverbank below and understood what the emperor meant.

The riverbed was not only lined with men breaking ice and escort vessels clearing the way, but also, when the boat struggled against the current, barefoot haulers braved the biting wind to pull the vessel forward.

Wang Zongyi replied from the depths of his heart: "Your Majesty's benevolence."

At least in his view, the Emperor embodied benevolence through consistent action.

But Zhu Yijun did not accept the praise; he gave a self-deprecating smile: "I merely speak words—yet in the end, I still consume the people's blood and sweat in my private life. I can only say my conscience hasn't turned rotten; I cannot claim benevolence—it's far from it."

He didn't say who he was far from, and the two men behind him didn't know how to respond, falling silent.

When they reached the deck, Zhu Yijun took a memorial from his sleeve.

He turned and handed the memorial to Wang Zongyi: "Wang Qing, when Grand Secretary and Minister of Rites Ma Ziqiang departed the capital, he submitted his final memorial—on the imperial examination system. Please advise me on it."

Upon hearing this, Wang Zongyi bowed in solemn respect.

His former Minister of Rites was nearing the end of his days; whether he could even survive the year was uncertain, yet even at his departure, he remained devoted to the state—truly moving.

With reverence in his heart, Wang Zongyi reached out and respectfully accepted the memorial the Emperor offered.

At the sight of the title, he paused in surprise: "New Directions for the Imperial Examination."

As the saying goes, those near vermilion turn red, those near ink turn black—close ministers like the Grand Secretaries and the Six Ministries' Nine Ministers had increasingly adopted this strange yet precise phrasing.

He sighed, then set aside his thoughts and opened the memorial to read.

Wang Zongyi was old; he no longer read ten lines at a glance as he once did—his mind still kept pace, but his eyes could not.

Of course, reading slowly had its advantage: it made the changes in his expression far more visible.

After a long while, his face settled into a furrowed brow, a stiff expression, and a peculiar gaze.

Wang Zongyi slowly closed the memorial and replied to the Emperor in a grave tone: "Your Majesty, forgive this minister's blunt words—Grand Secretary Ma's memorial is far too frivolous."

"The imperial examination is the state's grand ceremony for selecting talent; to arbitrarily add such lowly subjects as arithmetic and logical reasoning may… violate the Way of the Sages."

"Lowly" was still better than "unclassified"—Wang Zongyi did not wholly reject these subjects.

But to include them in the imperial examination was untimely.

Ma Ziqiang submitting such a memorial clearly meant he was gravely ill, his mind clouded—truly regrettable.

Zhu Yijun glanced at the rigid old man.

This was precisely what happened when capable ministers reached the rank of Nine Ministers—they held their own views and would not become mere yes-men.

Zhu Yijun could only explain gently: "Grand Secretary, though true, Ma's words are not without merit."

"The examination selects talent for the state, not sages. Beyond personal virtue, candidates must also possess administrative competence."

"Both can coexist without conflict; only then can one be a truly good official."

Upon hearing this, Wang Zongyi's expression did not change much; he shook his head and rebutted: "Your Majesty's words are indeed insightful, but arithmetic and logical reasoning bring no clear benefit to governance."

The Emperor's well-known hobbies were fishing, debating Daoist texts, and mathematics.

Wang Zongyi was not surprised by the Emperor's stance, yet he held firm.

Zhu Yijun sighed and urged sincerely: "Its presence may not bring clear benefit, but its absence reveals clear harm."

"In earlier years, many prefectural and provincial officials miscalculated tax amounts; now, during land surveys and household registrations, many county magistrates and prefects lack even the ability to verify figures, deceived by clerks and subordinates—all due to ignorance of arithmetic."

"Logic is the same. After Wu Shanyan's rebellion in Fujian and his subsequent demotion, he still boldly claimed at home that the soldiers' revolt proved he was right—that his broken legs were proof he had touched upon the state's ills."

"Not to mention the absurdities of eunuch Hu Runing and the historian Tan who ignored facts—each one foolish and unaware of it, truly detestable."

The Emperor spoke with sincerity and earnestness, patiently explaining to Wang Zongyi.

Wang Zongyi seemed to have listened; he stood still, his expression shifting as if lost in thought.

Wang Xijue stepped aside, watching coldly, with no intention of intervening.

He understood better than Wang Zongyi: what was this memorial from Ma Ziqiang? It was clearly the Emperor's own idea.

Before matters were clear—or even at the stage of court deliberation—he did not wish to take a stance lightly.

After a long while,

Wang Zongyi, lost in thought, finally returned to himself.

Meeting the Emperor's expectant gaze, Wang Zongyi paused, then firmly shook his head.

Ignoring the Emperor's disappointed look, he bowed and said earnestly: "Your Majesty's reasoning is sound, but… provincial academies already teach arithmetic. I believe a basic grasp of these rudiments is sufficient for governance."

"The ranking of candidates by classical texts is the foundation of our state—unshakable. We must not alter the order of merit. Let Your Majesty weigh the priorities clearly."

Having served for decades in local and central posts, Wang Zongyi, even without understanding why, knew from experience what would happen.

If arithmetic proficiency influenced examination rankings, future generations might see men who mastered arithmetic but barely knew the classics—then who would be higher, classics or arithmetic? It would become unclear.

Zhu Yijun listened, hesitated a moment, then nodded firmly: "Wang Qing speaks wisely."

"Then let it be as Wang Qing says!"

"Add an auxiliary scroll for arithmetic, taught in provincial academies, and hold a separate test to eliminate candidates solely on arithmetic—but do not alter the ranking of jinshi."

He paused: "This year's examination is too late; begin from the Wanli Eleven jinshi cohort."

Arithmetic was already an elective in provincial academies; raising its status slightly required no long preparation or full relearning.

As for logic, at least two more examination cycles must pass—until textbooks and teachers are ready—before it can be added to the auxiliary scroll.

Of course, as always: no matter how hard the change, begin slowly; do what you can.

Upon hearing this, Wang Zongyi was startled.

He suddenly realized: the Emperor had misunderstood him.

He meant arithmetic and logical reasoning should remain electives—no formal examination needed.

But the Emperor had seized only on the point of not altering rankings, intending to use arithmetic as a screening tool—ah, if used merely as a lower threshold, it wouldn't affect rankings after all.

Wang Zongyi pondered, his mind growing confused.

He felt increasingly unable to calculate the long-term consequences of the Emperor's proposal.

Before he could clarify his thoughts, the Emperor spoke again.

"Wang Qing thinks comprehensively. Provincial academies already teach arithmetic; if candidates fail the auxiliary scroll, it proves their lack of diligence—they did not study properly, and their moral character must be poor as well."

Wang Zongyi had just begun to form a thought, ready to speak—but upon hearing this, he hesitated, swallowing his words.

Indeed, if the difficulty was only that of provincial academy instruction, the Emperor's words were not wrong.

The arithmetic taught in academies was absurdly simple; when he studied at the Huguang provincial academy, he finished the course in a year with only half his attention.

Normally, over eighty percent of juren candidates would not be stopped by this threshold.

This ratio was little more than a formality.

Yet if even this minimal arithmetic test eliminated someone, they were either foolish or wicked—in the scholar class, poor study habits were moral corruption.

Wang Zongyi wavered; he no longer flatly refused, but muttered: "Your Majesty, permit this minister to consult with the Ministry of Rites."

Whether to change or how to change could not be settled by mere words.

Such a matter touching the state's foundation required at least half a year of deliberation.

Zhu Yijun nodded with satisfaction: "Think it over. Draft a proposal when you return to the Ministry of Rites."

"Moreover, though too late for this year's examination, perhaps next April's selection of Shujishi candidates may include an arithmetic test."

He did not need mathematicians for the jinshi exam—just using elementary arithmetic and basic logic to filter out those lacking rational thought was enough.

Of course, the key was raising the social status of mathematics and logic—even if the Ministry of Rites lowered the threshold to the barest level next year, issuing only addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division problems to ensure everyone passed, Zhu Yijun would accept it.

Once inside the examination system, status would gradually rise; not to the mainstream, but to the secondary mainstream would suffice.

Of course, along the way, local officials would inevitably fabricate new auspicious omens—like a failed student in a private school suddenly awakening overnight and rising to twelfth place in Great Ming's mathematical circles.

As Zhu Yijun imagined this, he couldn't help shaking his head and smiling.

Though they didn't know why the Emperor laughed, Wang Zongyi and Wang Xijue exchanged glances and forced a few dry chuckles.

Just as Wang Zongyi forced a grin, he suddenly saw Wang Xijue and the Emperor freeze—their smiles vanished.

Wang Zongyi was puzzled.

"Your Majesty, is something amiss…?"

Before he finished speaking, his peripheral vision caught a glimpse on the riverbank—his question died on his lips.

His blurred vision, dulled by age, slowly sharpened.

Along the bank was a deserted country path.

A coarse cloth had been stretched out; several scholars stood on the embankment, each gripping one end, vigorously waving it to draw attention to the dragon boat.

On the cloth, bold characters danced in the wind: "Only the imperial estates seize land without surveying; only the Emperor's kin conceal households without registering. O Heaven, who is this?!"