Chapter 301: Brewing Tea with Snow, Fermenting Wine with Ice

The vast blue sky, who is this person?

The vast blue sky, what manner of person is this?

This is a simple question from the Book of Songs; stripped of context, it carries no intense emotion.

But placed within the content of this banner, it amounts to naked insult.

Ordering land surveys yet showing mercy to one's own estates, implementing household reforms yet shielding one's own relatives—what kind of person is this?

Or put more bluntly: is this even human?

And to deliberately hang banners where the Emperor passes—is this not the same as pointing at his nose and cursing him?

This is no ordinary scholar!

No order from the Emperor was needed; the dragon boat slowed and docked at the Wuxing Hexi Relay Station, outside its planned route, under the pretext of minor repairs.

The heads of the Six Ministries took this seriously; the Grand Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial issued key instructions; the Provincial Governor of Shuntian, Hu Zhili, and the Prefect Wang Zhiyuan fully grasped the gravity of the situation and swiftly mobilized, coordinating with the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Eastern Depot to "invite" the scholars in question within the shortest possible time.

…

"The Four Gates Society?"

In a room on the second floor of the relay station, Zhu Yijun sat on a chair layered with silk and fur, and asked Hu Zhili in surprise.

Before the Emperor's audience, it was essential to confirm the scholars' danger level: strip-search them, verify their identities, and conduct preliminary interrogations.

Thus, the heads of the Six Ministries, the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the Directorate of Ceremonial—all whether interested or not—gathered below in the relay station's main hall for a joint inquest.

Only the Provincial Governor of Shuntian came upstairs first to give a brief report.

The eunuchs and secretaries in the room kept their eyes down, but Xu Jie, standing beside the Emperor, raised his eyebrows in surprise upon hearing Hu Zhili's words.

Facing the Emperor's inquiry, Hu Zhili stood respectfully opposite the octagonal table, facing the door, and bowed low: "Your Majesty, the founder is a fugitive convict named Liang Ruyuan."

"All seven scholars who spread heretical doctrines today are members of the Four Gates Society."

"Unfortunately, we did not capture Liang Ruyuan himself."

Regarding troubles within his jurisdiction, Hu Zhili did not panic but remained calm and worked to contain the fallout.

Governor Hu was a jinshi graduate who rose through local grassroots positions; as a judge in Baoning Prefecture, Sichuan, he gained a reputation for "exposing crimes and apprehending wrongdoers with strict and clear law."

After decades of service in both central and local posts, though not widely renowned, his quality was exceptional—especially in Sichuan and Hexi, where he rivaled Hai Rui in stature—and now, after repeated purges in the central court, more such figures are emerging.

Upon hearing Hu Zhili's words, Zhu Yijun felt it was expected: a fugitive convict founding a society was certainly no ordinary scholar.

Yet the name Liang Ruyuan sounded vaguely familiar.

Zhu Yijun thought for a moment but could not recall; he said: "Hu Qing, elaborate."

Hu Zhili had prepared his speech before coming upstairs.

Now the Emperor asked, he spoke without hesitation: "Your Majesty, Liang Ruyuan was born into a wealthy family in Yongfeng County, Jiangxi, passed the juren examination, then strayed from the path, abandoned the imperial examinations, and became obsessed with heretical doctrines."

"Around the thirtieth year of Jiajing, he founded the Heji Tang within his clan, collecting household taxes and paying rents on behalf of members; in the thirty-eighth year of Jiajing, he led his clan in resisting taxes, killing six officials including Wu Shanwu, and was sentenced to strangulation."

"Later, Hu Zongxian petitioned the Jiangxi Provincial Governor's office on his behalf; Governor He Qian secretly commuted his sentence to exile in Guizhou—but even then, Liang Ruyuan never reached Guizhou; he escaped en route."

Hu Zhili paused halfway, giving the Emperor time to absorb and react.

Zhu Yijun, upon hearing this, could not help but feel a pang of reflection.

The power of local clans truly manifested in every aspect.

Resistance to taxes, as Hu Zhili described, was common in the Great Ming; with so many arbitrary levies, obeying the law meant starvation.

Thus, conflict between local clans and officials was common—sometimes mild negotiation, sometimes violent confrontation.

And the outcome was equally common—or rather, typical.

When powerful local clans struck hard, county and prefectural offices often could only swallow their losses in silence.

Take Liang Ruyuan: after killing six officials, his sentence was commuted from strangulation to exile—and even that, he never served.

How would the dead officials' colleagues feel? How would tax collectors act next time they faced clan resistance? That is open to interpretation.

Zhu Yijun could no longer tell who the vulnerable party was.

At this pause, Xu Jie, behind the Emperor, suddenly spoke up: "Your Majesty, I have heard something of this matter. The so-called tax resistance was Liang Ruyuan embezzling imperial timber funds."

Zhu Yijun turned and glanced at Xu Jie.

Imperial timber refers to wood procured for the Emperor's use; in The Plum in the Golden Vase, Ximen Qing uncovered officials embezzling imperial timber funds.

The money for procuring imperial timber was deducted from local tax revenues—officials dispatched by local bureaus to procure timber, wax, and other items received funds directly from local coffers, offsetting tax and corvée obligations.

Legally, no additional taxation of the people should have occurred.

Thus, Liang Ruyuan's reason for resisting taxes becomes questionable.

Clearly, local officials had imposed extra timber taxes, provoking the clan's resistance.

The Great Ming's laws were rigid, especially in their codified statutes—extremely comprehensive.

If taxation was illegal, how could it be called "resistance"?

Yet the Great Ming's laws were flexible, especially in discretionary judgment.

If the officials erred first, and a juren rose in rebellion, accidentally killing someone in the clash—how could that be a crime? Not only no crime, but he deserves the title of Confucian knight!

So when Xu Jie said this, was he merely supplementing context—or defending Liang Ruyuan?

Zhu Yijun suspected, but did not press; he merely gestured for Hu Zhili to continue.

Hu Zhili shot a faintly displeased glance at Xu Jie.

Then he resumed: "After escaping his exile, he assumed the alias He Xinyin and infiltrated Beijing, then founded the Four Gates Society Hall, gathering followers under the name Four Gates Society to spread heretical doctrines…"

He paused mid-sentence.

The Emperor suddenly looked enlightened, and said, "Oh!"

"Oh! He Xinyin!" Zhu Yijun interrupted Hu Zhili, turning to Xu Jie with a sneer: "No wonder the Senior Grand Secretary 'heard something of it.'"

He had not recognized Liang Ruyuan, but the moment He Xinyin was named, it clicked.

So it was an alias.

If it was He Xinyin, then Hu Zhili's constant use of "heretical doctrines" made sense—his ideas truly deserved the term.

He Xinyin argued that the traditional bonds of ruler-subject, father-son, husband-wife, and brother-brother could not embody human "supreme goodness"; only friendship could.

Father-son and ruler-subject relationships remained confined within narrow limits; only friendship transcended the mundane, ascending from the acquired to the innate—this was the ultimate expression of social relations, the foundation for transcending self-awareness.

If friendship was so vital, how should one practice it?

One must break free from familial ties and establish relationships above them: those sharing the same ideals should gather under a common purpose and form friendships—he called this a "hui."

Different ideals could gather into different "huis," and governance of the realm should be conducted through these "huis."

All scholar, farmer, artisan, and merchant households should be absorbed into these "huis"; scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants—even the Emperor—were merely different roles within the "hui," with no hierarchy—though not all roles were included; nobles, He Xinyin believed, were idle, ignorant of agriculture, lacking talent and virtue, mere parasites, unworthy of any "hui."

Calling such doctrines heretical was mild.

Given the clear signs of a movement aiming to overthrow the Emperor, any official with even a shred of loyalty would have moved to arrest him.

But.

Once such a Confucian knight amassed sufficient power, his social ties could not be simple; just as the great knight Shao Yi and Fang Yushi were secretly Gao Gong's agents, He Xinyin's followers attracted their own patrons.

Lu Guang, a disciple of He Xinyin, was an advisor to Xu Jie.

He Xinyin's guest, the alchemist Lan Daohang, was the catalyst for Yan Song's downfall—Lan Daohang's translation of celestial messages to the Jiajing Emperor declared: "Yan is treacherous, Xu is loyal"—the world believed Xu Jie orchestrated it.

With such murky connections, the bureaus naturally hesitated, turning a blind eye to He Xinyin; after all, the Emperor could not know every detail of the realm.

And the official suspected of shielding him back then—was it merely "hearing something of it"?

At the Emperor's sneer, Xu Jie's eyelid twitched.

The Emperor had clearly seemed ignorant moments ago; Xu Jie, following years of habit, had quietly slipped in a hint.

Who knew the Emperor now wore an expression of complete clarity.

Xu Jie quickly disclaimed: "Your Majesty, I only heard of him during my time in the Grand Secretariat; I have not heard his name in over a decade."

Mentioning a vague connection was not taboo; insisting on defending him would be grossly inappropriate.

Zhu Yijun said nothing in response.

He turned to Hu Zhili: "Then why did he lead his members to insult me?"

In the realm of public opinion, the stronger often appear weaker, the weaker stronger.

Censor Tan Yao could only secretly slander in the marketplace to gain partial resonance; these unaffiliated scholars could openly rebuke the Emperor, and the literati would naturally sympathize; if commoners cursed him, public opinion would overwhelmingly side with them.

Thus, different kinds of insults required different responses.

Hu Zhili bowed respectfully and apologized, then replied: "Your Majesty, according to the confessions of several suspects…"

He paused, hesitated: "They all claim they witnessed illegal activities in the imperial estates and the arrogance of the imperial relatives, and in righteous anger, committed this act."

This was, of course, sanitized—they could not repeat the exact words insulting the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun snorted: "Really?"

A mere hothead was tolerable; he could endure being cursed, for though narrow-minded, their stance was not wrong.

But this did not look like the impulsive act of a young scholar.

The precision of blocking the Emperor's route alone suggested more than a momentary outburst.

After all, the Emperor's itinerary was not public roadside gossip.

Hu Zhili looked hesitant, as if wanting to speak but holding back.

Zhu Yijun waved his hand: "Come, I will go down and ask them myself."

He rose slowly and walked toward the door.

Everyone hurried after him.

…

In the first-floor relay station hall.

The original relay attendants had been driven away; replaced by armored Embroidered Uniform Guard soldiers and Eastern Depot eunuchs guarding key positions.

The tables and chairs in the main hall were all cleared away.

A group of officials in crimson robes glared menacingly, their expressions hostile.

Wang Zongyi and Wang Xijue blocked the eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial and the Embroidered Uniform Guard behind them, stepping forward without hesitation to question them.

Xu Gu, Vice Minister of Justice, personally recorded the case files; He Luowen, Vice Minister of Rites and former Director of the National Academy, looked heartbroken, unable to bear watching.

Six scholars were surrounded in the center, each displaying different expressions—some calm, some fearful, some defiant.

The seventh scholar knelt before Wang Zhiyuan, his face bruised and swollen, expression unreadable; his green gauze skirt had been torn to shreds, revealing the inner garment beneath.

He opened his mouth to speak: "My lord…"

Before he could finish, Wang Zhiyuan cut him off with a cold snort.

Clutching a shred of the torn gauze skirt, his face dark with rage, he snapped: "I have no such son!"

The other officials averted their eyes, pretending not to notice, yet their strained expressions betrayed their discomfort.

Gauze skirts were common among scholars.

Even "Longyangzi" or "nan niang" were not unusual—so long as they could produce heirs, such scholars, whether wearing skirts or engaging in male-male relations, were accepted by mainstream society.

But while common, such behavior was always met with contempt; the label "degenerate" was inevitable.

Especially since Wang Zhiyuan had long prided himself in the scholarly world for his strict family discipline, setting rigid moral standards and personally instructing his children.

Who could have imagined that after this inspection tour, his own son would appear before the Emperor wearing a gauze skirt—bringing utter disgrace upon the Wang family.

Wang Xiangjin's eye was swollen, half-open as he weakly protested: "My lord! I merely spoke up for the common people of Chixian—have I done wrong?"

"Now the central government has ordered land surveys and household registrations, yet it grants special exemptions to the Emperor's intimates—two standards for one matter—who in the realm could accept this?"

"And you, my lord, who oversees this matter—do you not fear being branded a tyrant…"

The moment he finished speaking.

Slap!

A sharp crack echoed as another palm struck!

Wang Xiangjin reeled from the blow, losing balance and collapsing to the ground, his words cut short.

Seeing his reckless son finally fall silent, Wang Zhiyuan felt a slight easing of his anxiety.

He turned to Xu Gu and asked: "Vice Minister Xu, this criminal has lost his mind. To prevent further insult to His Majesty, perhaps we should imprison him immediately."

Xu Gu understood Wang Zhiyuan's intent and was happy to oblige.

He slowly nodded and turned to his subordinates: "Bring the prisoner to the capital and lock him up!"

Wang Zhiyuan sighed in relief, bowing to Xu Gu to express his gratitude.

Though the Emperor had said nothing, he was surely furious beyond measure.

They say a Son of Heaven's wrath can make blood float shields—how much more so when the offense is insulting one's sovereign father?

His son's only hope lay in slightly calming the Emperor's rage—hence the beating until he spat blood, the torn clothes, the immediate imprisonment.

Otherwise, if he failed to appease the Emperor's anger… after all the people the Emperor had executed these past days, today it might well be his own son's turn.

Zhang Hong and Jiang Keqian exchanged glances.

Though they knew the Emperor well enough to believe he would not fly into a rage or execute without warning,

since Wang Zongyi and Wang Xijue had pushed them aside, there was no reason to intervene—they let the civil officials handle it.

Just as the attendants seized Wang Xiangjin's arms to drag him out,

"He has not yet been convicted—why call him a criminal? Perhaps he spoke the truth in rebuking me. Let him go."

A voice came down from the stairs.

All turned their heads and saw the Emperor descending the steps.

The senior officials instantly suppressed all extraneous expressions.

Zhang Hong and Jiang Keqian hurried to the stairs and bowed in waiting.

The guards maintained their stoic stares; those who had been carrying Wang Xiangjin simply set him down and returned to their posts outside.

Wang Zhiyuan watched his son thrown back onto the floor, his heart tightening.

He glanced at the Emperor, but the Emperor's tone and expression were both gentle—impossible to tell whether he was being sarcastic or truly indifferent.

"Your Majesty."

"Your Majesty."

The court officials, eunuchs, and even the accused scholars all bowed in unison.

Wang Xijue carefully observed the Emperor's expression.

Unlike monks, Daoists, or eunuchs, whom he could kill at will, these scholars had committed offenses—but it was best to show leniency.

Yet he could not tell whether the Emperor was still enraged, leaving Wang Xijue uncertain how to plead.

Wang Zongyi, Minister of Rites, and He Luowen, Vice Minister of Rites, exchanged glances, both hesitant.

To urge mercy seemed unjust—the Emperor had been wronged without cause.

But not to urge mercy meant the Emperor would be branded a murderer of scholars—a deadly reputation.

Wang Zhiyuan sighed inwardly, then spoke first: "Your Majesty, these seven men are the scholars who disrupted court affairs and insulted Your Majesty on the riverbank."

Zhu Yijun descended slowly, taking in every face and reaction.

No wonder students held an inherent advantage in public opinion.

Even after openly cursing him, these ministers still looked terrified he might slaughter the scholar-officials.

No wonder He Xinyin had fled, leaving only his students behind.

Zhu Yijun thought to himself, waved his hand, and ordered the court officials to rise.

Then he turned to the kneeling scholars and feigned surprise: "You all pointed fingers at me just now—now you're performing full rites?"

Aside from Wang Xiangjin, beaten by his father, the other scholars stood unharmed.

The scholars who had been so impassioned on the riverbank were now frantic with panic.

They glanced at one another, unsure whether to rise or bow.

Then one scholar stepped forward and declared loudly: "Your Majesty, we merely offered direct advice. Though harsh, it was never an insult to our sovereign father!"

His posture was perfectly calibrated.

Compared to the charge of insulting the sovereign, righteous remonstrance was far more palatable—and garnered greater scholarly support.

Zhu Yijun smiled indifferently: "Are you a student of the National Academy?"

Imperial students, especially the young ones, were prone to impulsively denounce current affairs.

It would take careful discernment to determine who was genuinely outraged and who had been used as a pawn.

The scholar replied formally: "Your Majesty, I am Zhao Nan Dou. I passed the provincial examination in the fourth year of Wanli and entered the National Academy two years ago."

Zhu Yijun frowned.

Zhao Nan Dou—the name felt familiar.

After a moment's recollection, he asked curiously: "What is your relation to the late Director of the Ministry of Personnel's Examination Bureau, Zhao Nanxing?"

Zhao Nan Dou paused, then answered honestly: "Your Majesty, the late Zhao Nanxing was my elder brother."

Zhu Yijun couldn't help but grunt—everyone here had connections.

Zhao Nanxing, one of the Donglin gentlemen, was now "late" because he had resigned during the southern altar sacrifice and returned home.

The Donglin elder left over the southern sacrifice, and now the younger brother from the Simen Society holds banners to remonstrate—truly a family of loyalists.

Simen Society… Donglin Party… and later, the Fusha.

Regardless of their motives, the formation of grassroots political associations in the Ming and the trend of opposition factions meddling in governance were becoming increasingly clear.

Under changing economic foundations, some elusive force seemed to be brewing.

Yet this process had abruptly ended in history, leaving Zhu Yijun uncertain whether it was good or bad.

He would need to observe more carefully in the future.

Zhu Yijun's thoughts drifted, then halted.

He turned to Wang Zhiyuan and pointed at Wang Xiangjin: "Is this your son, Minister Wang?"

Wang Zhiyuan's expression darkened; he nodded reluctantly: "He is my third son."

Zhu Yijun nodded.

He had some recollection of Wang Xiangjin—he was, historically, a rare agronomist passionately devoted to nurseries.

The Chinese "apple" was named by him.

After the Qing invasion, Wang Xiangjin never kowtowed to the new regime; he stayed home farming, living in seclusion until the Shunzhi era.

Aside from his love of associations, he was a man of integrity—Donglin Party, literary societies, village militias—he'd tried them all. And now, this Simen Society.

Thinking of this, Zhu Yijun turned his gaze coldly on Wang Xiangjin and warned sternly: "If I heard correctly, your son just accused Wang Jingzhao of being a tyrant? Why not add 'aiding Zhou' as well?"

Wang Zhiyuan opened his mouth, then closed it, glaring furiously at his son.

Under the combined glare of both men, Wang Xiangjin involuntarily shuddered.

He stammered for a long while before whispering: "Your Majesty's civil and military achievements surpass Jie and Zhou."

"I merely witnessed the injustice toward the Imperial Estates and the imperial relatives—I was enraged by Your Majesty's unfairness and my father's inaction, so I spoke out, urging Your Majesty to treat all equally."

Wang Xiangjin's voice grew quieter; after finishing, he buried his head in his chest.

Zhu Yijun studied Wang Xiangjin in silence for a long while, expressionless.

The Imperial Estates—private property of the Emperor.

They possessed dual characteristics: both public and private property—based on the fundamental premise that the Emperor, as lord of all under heaven, embodied both public and private authority.

Yet under the spontaneous currents of popular thought, this premise—particularly the Emperor's private nature—was now being questioned.

Or rather, the intellectual sphere was reflecting upon it, seeking to revise and even perfect it: Is the realm public, or is it a family domain? That is the question.

Following this came the imperial estates, most deeply rooted in private property, which had endured the harshest scrutiny since the Chenghua era.

The most famous remark was that of Grand Secretary Shang Lu, who once advised Emperor Xianzong: "The Son of Heaven regards the realm as his home—why need imperial estates at all?"

Thus, this is an old and well-worn issue.

Yet it has been seized upon now, at this critical moment of land surveying, as an opportunity to press the point.

Naturally, Zhu Yijun was far more curious about how exactly they intended to exploit this opportunity.

The hall fell silent for a long while.

Zhu Yijun then looked at Wang Xiangjin and Zhao Nanxing and asked seriously: "A fine commitment to impartiality, a fine insistence on equality."

"Yet there is one matter I do not understand."

"When you speak of equality, do you mean you wish me to show leniency to powerful landowners, as I have toward imperial estates and imperial in-laws…?"

"Or do you mean you wish me to treat imperial estates and imperial in-laws as I have treated all during my tour of Shuntian Prefecture—showing no mercy under the law?"

"Or put plainly—are the Four Gates Assembly opposed to the land survey, or to my personal property?"