Chapter 302

205. Chapter 200: Universal Praise, Defying Authority

On the twenty-first day of the eleventh month of the seventh year of Wanli, Empress Dowager Li's thirty-fourth birthday approached.

The Directorate of Palace Affairs issued an imperial edict, conveying the Empress Dowager's decree: on the twenty-eighth day of this month, a three-day and three-night ritual of protection, peace, disaster relief, and gratitude would be held at the Temple of Heaven, with executions suspended and slaughter forbidden for three days.

To return and celebrate the Empress Dowager's birthday, the Emperor ended his month-long tour on the twenty-third day of the eleventh month and returned to his loyal Beijingcheng.

Meanwhile, public discourse on the Emperor's symbolic tour to endorse land surveying grew increasingly heated.

…

Dingxing County belonged to Baoding Prefecture in Northern Zhili.

It lay close to the capital but far from power, and many academies had been established there—such as Sixun, Chongzheng, and Guangda Academies—drawing large numbers of students and fostering a strong scholarly atmosphere where, on any matter great or small, groups of students would passionately debate current affairs and admonish one another.

And the love of admonition proved especially contagious.

Moreover, academies were widely known as lawless zones, where matters were handled internally, and county yamen runners rarely intruded, making restraint impossible.

Thus, at some unknown time, Dingxing County developed a distinctive culture of fervent admonition.

Just as at Chongzheng Academy today.

A group of spirited young students had been seated beneath the veranda, warming wine and composing poetry.

As the wine flowed, their faces flushed, and the conversation drifted toward fiery rhetoric and grand political commentary.

"... Strict with oneself, one manifests virtue through action; devoted to the people's welfare, every move must serve the Dao of governance."

"To speak bluntly, I have never before yearned so intensely for His Majesty to remain steadfast. Indeed, if he were to abandon this path halfway, I fear I might well throw myself into the river."

One student seized the freshly warmed wine, covered his cup with his sleeve, and drained the yellow liquor in one gulp.

In the afternoon, heavy snowflakes drifted outside the veranda.

Several students sat around a brazier, immersed in the perfect atmosphere for admonition.

After swallowing a bite of pork head meat, another student shook his head and said: "Strictness with oneself is right, but leniency toward others is unnecessary—if we could publicly disclose the wealth of all court officials, that would be true virtue."

Widespread corruption drew sharply different public reactions in officialdom and among the common people.

Though since Wanli's first year, the court had vigorously cracked down on corruption with notable success, the people naturally held higher expectations.

Especially at this critical juncture of land surveying, when even the Emperor was willing to relinquish imperial estates and initiate land surveying from the top down, these students naturally hoped all officials would follow suit and expose their clan's landholdings.

The drinker poured himself another cup and smiled: "Go to Beijing and voice your opinion—you might even be the very voice being collected now."

A cold wind swept through.

The students did not feel the chill; instead, they threw open their robes and rolled up their sleeves in wild enthusiasm.

One student clicked his tongue and said calmly: "Haste is unwise. First discipline yourself, then discipline others."

"Forget the officials—even the Emperor's self-discipline has already stirred uproar in the palace. Whether these collected opinions will ever be implemented remains uncertain."

"Let it proceed slowly. As long as the intent remains, the situation will inevitably improve."

The common folk were one thing, but students were better informed and more understanding of the Emperor.

For one, the moment he voiced his stance, the Inner Court hurriedly recalled him under the pretext of the Empress Dowager's birthday.

Then came word that the palace had erupted in chaos—among the imperial consorts, senior eunuchs, and high-ranking female attendants, his actions were seen as no different from giving away family wealth to please outsiders.

Moreover, officialdom's response was far less enthusiastic than that of the scholar class or the populace, instead remaining ambiguous.

Clearly, the Emperor now faced considerable pressure.

This opinion collection was meant to yield results before the first lunar month; before then, it was unwise to provoke the officials' sensitive nerves.

The man who had spoken earlier sighed: "There's no need for empty comfort—I understand perfectly well. Precisely because I understand, I worry: the Emperor may never reach the point of disclosing officials' private wealth."

Resistance to the Emperor's disclosure of his own property might not be great, since he would be cutting his own flesh.

The Inner Court's accounts were all public; there was no reason to hold assets under others' names.

Besides, countless eyes watched—censorial officials audited accounts annually—so disclosure might be difficult, but clearing accounts was not.

But disclosing officials' wealth meant touching private accounts.

Who would monitor hidden assets? Who would investigate assets concealed under others' names?

Could the Inner Court and Outer Court investigate each other? How many eunuchs were there in the Inner Court? How many officials in the Outer Court?

Censorial officials? The Ministry of Personnel? That would be heroes investigating heroes, heroes checking heroes.

In the end, it would likely amount to nothing more than officials stating whatever they pleased, merely going through the motions.

At this moment, a student who had remained silent until now suddenly spoke: "There's no need to be so pessimistic. The newspapers have been breaking down each reform step by step, year after year—each step forward is better than standing still. I've always believed this: doing something is better than doing nothing."

"Moreover, even if His Majesty's actions are merely symbolic, they are still immensely virtuous and worthy of immortal fame."

This student, clearly well-educated, appeared to be in his early twenties, yet his hair was already significantly white.

The other students turned to look at him.

After a moment's deliberation, he spoke slowly: "Since the founding of the dynasty, no emperor has ever willingly bound his own hands to serve as a raft for the public realm."

"If this becomes established practice, it will legitimize the Dao of governance—even if its merit does not benefit our generation, it will become ancestral precedent, benefiting a thousand generations."

The group fell into silent contemplation.

The Emperor's actions served both to advance land surveying—by relinquishing imperial estates and giving the realm a clear accounting—and to set an example from the top down.

This self-imposed restraint, this concession from family rule toward public rule, and the anticipated future constraints on officials—

Regardless of effectiveness, how could it lack meaning?

After a long silence,

someone sighed and remarked: "I only hope His Majesty's sincerity remains unchanged, his resolve unwavering."

After a moment of silence, the others slowly nodded.

They were about to speak further when several figures appeared in their line of sight.

They looked up and saw the academy's headmaster leading the way, flanked by two tutors, escorting a guest clad in crimson flying-fish damask and a heavy cloak from the rear courtyard.

The students immediately fell silent, rising to pay their respects.

"Headmaster."

"Tutors."

Admonition typically occurred among peers; in the presence of elders, all fell silent.

Especially since this guest clearly held great status—crimson flying-fish damask was granted only by the palace, reserved for provincial governors or central ministers.

The headmaster smiled warmly in return.

Then he gestured to the guest beside him: "This is Lord Shen Li of Longjiang, renowned throughout the land for his integrity and uprightness—pay your respects."

He immediately extended his hand to introduce the guest beside him: "This is Lord Shen Li of Longjiang, renowned throughout the world for his integrity and uprightness; quickly pay your respects."

No wonder his attire was so imposing—he was one of the Emperor's tutors.

"Lord Longjiang."

"We have long heard of Lord Longjiang's great name."

The students bowed respectfully, studying the minister with curiosity and flattery.

Shen Li returned their bows with perfect propriety.

Then he bowed to the headmaster: "I must proceed to Beijing for my appointment; I shall not impose further. Please, Master Zichun, do not trouble yourself to see me further."

Of course, he would not be left at the courtyard.

Confucian scholars never stopped escorting a guest at the inner courtyard.

More pleasantries and farewells followed as the teachers and students escorted Shen Li to the academy gate, where the headmaster personally helped him into his carriage, and they waved goodbye.

Another round of polite exchanges followed; the teachers and students escorted Shen Li all the way to the academy's gate, where the dean personally helped him into the carriage, and only then did they wave farewell.

The carriage slowly moved off, gradually vanishing into the white haze of snow.

The carriage slowly moved off, gradually vanishing into the white, hazy snow.

Inside the carriage, his adopted son Shen Jian respectfully handed his father a thick blanket.

He spoke of the journey ahead: "Sir, we will not reach Zhuozhou until nightfall. We will rest at the Zhuozhou posthouse overnight and arrive in Beijing around noon tomorrow."

From Henan to Beijing, there was no water route; they traveled by land through Great Ming Prefecture, into Northern Zhili, passing Shunde, Zhen Ding, and Baoding Prefectures.

This route was longer than the water path, and the snow accumulation was heavier.

Thus, Shen Li's journey to Beijing for his new post had been slow and leisurely.

Shen Li removed his cloak and placed it aside, then took the blanket and draped it over his legs.

Shen Jian took the cloak, brushed off the snow, and neatly folded it onto his lap: "Sir, the public response to His Majesty's disclosure of imperial property has been extraordinarily enthusiastic—even field laborers and old farmers have voiced support. Truly, it is heaven's virtue."

This was, of course, Shen Jian's own observation from Dingxing County—his father had gone to visit friends at the academy, but he had not idled; he had wandered the county to gather public sentiment.

As he spoke, a look of wonder crossed Shen Jian's face.

The Emperor had never lacked reputation.

Earlier, his reforms of the imperial clan and scholarly debates had earned him considerable prestige.

But that was only within the court and scholarly circles.

The common people cared nothing for debates or salt policies; most had no interest in what the Emperor did.

Indeed, had the reign title not changed, many would not have known their ruler had changed.

This time was different.

The Emperor's stance—relinquishing imperial estates and disclosing imperial property—had won support even from woodcutters and farmers.

They even spontaneously sang: "Wanli, Wanli, ten thousand people strive."

Though the phrase was merely encouragement, not direct praise, it stood in stark contrast to the Jiajing Emperor's: "Jiajing, Jiajing, every household clean."

What else could be called heaven's virtue?

Hearing this, Shen Li recalled what he had heard at the academy and smiled with quiet satisfaction: "The majority of the people understand right from wrong. The Jiajing Emperor built extravagantly and drained the people's marrow; His Majesty disciplines himself and nurtures the people's peace—naturally, the people sing a different nursery rhyme."

Shen Li heard this and, recalling what he'd heard at the academy, couldn't help but smile with satisfaction: "The people who understand right from wrong are the majority. Emperor Shizong squandered resources and drained the people's marrow; His Majesty now governs himself strictly and lets the people rest and recover—of course the children's rhymes will change."

Since the Jiajing and Longqing eras, emperors had been greedy autocrats; now, this emperor had shockingly taken a step back—more than enough to make the people grateful; the people of the Great Ming had always asked so little.

Shen Jian smiled along with his father.

Then, as if remembering something, he hesitated and said, "Yet, rumors in the streets suggest that asset disclosure may extend beyond imperial property."

This was precisely why the emperor had voluntarily bound his own hands, while the court remained ambiguous in stance.

If the fire burns too hot, and burns the arsonist himself, it won't be fun anymore.

Shen Li turned to his son and replied solemnly, word by word: "If His Majesty and the Grand Secretariat hold this intention, I stand upright and act justly—what reason could I have to oppose it?"

"If you fear 'one day' might come, then perhaps you should not take this year's metropolitan examination at all—there's no need to become an official."

Two months remained until the third metropolitan examination of the Wanli era—the very one Shen Jian would take this year.

In response to his father's rebuke, Shen Jian quickly explained: "Father, that's not what I meant."

"I merely worry that if private assets of officials are dragged into this, resistance will be too great, and the court's stability may be shaken."

"Father has only just been recalled to office after the mourning controversy—you fear this may also implicate you."

Shen Li's expression softened slightly.

If one begins worrying about assets before even sitting for the metropolitan examination, one might as well not take it at all.

Fortunately, he hasn't gone off course.

He looked at his son and slowly shook his head, speaking with gravity: "I have been recalled as Assistant Censor to oversee land affairs—I am already deep within the fray. What talk of being implicated?"

Asset disclosure—does the focus lie in wealth? No. The focus lies in the land.

Gold, silver, jewels, silks, rare treasures—though they sound priceless, wealth rivaling a nation—are merely liquid assets.

What is the foundation of the realm? The fields.

The prosperity of the realm lies in the fields; its chaos also lies in the fields.

The true heart of disclosure must land on the confirmation of land rights—liquid assets can be hidden in cellars, unseen and unknown, but land cannot run; sooner or later, it will be found.

Land surveying and land rights confirmation are two sides of the same coin—how could Shen Li, as Assistant Censor overseeing land affairs, possibly remain outside this?

Shen Jian finally realized, his face darkening with uncertainty.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again: "Father…"

Shen Li waved his hand, cutting him off: "The metropolitan examination is near—your focus should be on your studies. If you fail again, the next exam will add arithmetic as a mandatory threshold—adding unnecessary trouble."

It was a blunt shift in topic. Seeing his son still wished to speak, Shen Li picked up the newspaper in the carriage and turned away: "Enough. This matter won't be settled until at least the first month. Why rush over something undecided? We'll discuss it once we reach Beijing."

With that, he leaned against the carriage wall, turning his back to Shen Jian, feigning interest in the new paper.

After a long while.

Shen Jian behind him had fallen silent.

Only then did Shen Li relax and turn his attention to the newspaper in his hands.

Since Sima Zhi had shattered Shen Li's state of ignoring the outside world, he had not missed a single issue of any newspaper.

Yuan Hongyu's "Ge Wu Daily" was the slowest to update and the most obscure.

After Yuan Hongyu debated with the emperor, he secluded himself for three years, then fused epistemology with pragmatism to create a new doctrine of "investigating things to attain knowledge," which he called "Post-Neo-Confucianism."

Every time Shen Li read it, he felt a spark of insight.

For instance, last month's article dissected the question in epistemology: "Are things' connections isolated and singular, or universal and coexistent?"—it had made Shen Li slam his hand on the table in admiration.

Qian Dehong and Xue Yingqi, founders of the "Donglin Academic Journal," had both passed away in recent years; the paper now rested in Gu Assistant County Magistrate's hands.

Perhaps due to years of being worn down by mundane affairs in Sichuan, the current Donglin Academic Journal had shed its emptiness and turned toward reality, gradually speaking of the people's suffering, the nation, and the world.

Especially last year's article, explaining the concept of "family and state as one structure," introduced the idea that "development proceeds in spiral ascent"—it had earned widespread praise.

Li Chunfang's "Nanzhili Daily," founded later, was the most daring newspaper, thanks to the News Bureau's endorsement—it covered everything from politics to scandal.

Last month, Li Chunfang had mocked the newly appointed Regional Governor of Nanjing, Sun Piyang, and was retaliated against with a potted plant.

For this, the imperial relative Li Chunfang was widely mocked with the quip: "Piyang's planting."

In short, aside from its fondness for crude regional jokes among Nanzhili prefectures, the Nanzhili Daily was the most witty and amusing—yes, from a certain angle, perhaps this crude humor wasn't merely an accidental flaw.

Of course, if one asked which newspaper Shen Li loved most, it was unquestionably the "Riyue Zao Bao"—commonly known as the "New Paper."

It balanced entertainment and seriousness, style and substance, covering Confucian classics, current affairs, anecdotes, essays, and practical matters—it was unquestionably the most popular newspaper.

It was the very paper Shen Li held now.

Only when reading the New Paper did Shen Li feel that beneath the Great Ming's decay, new sprouts were stirring with life.

For instance, the emperor's directives after touring Shuntian Prefecture on reforming corrupt policies—this was the vitality of new governance.

The HanYang Steel Works, operated by the Huguang imperial clan, optimizing iron-smelting techniques—this was the vitality of imperial clan commerce.

The first trial run of the ocean-going ships built by the Longjiang Shipyard—this was the vitality of maritime transport.

And the addition of mathematics to the Wanli 11th year metropolitan examination—well… he could not agree with that.

Shen Li shook his head. He still didn't see what was good about mathematics.

The more you dislike something, the more it appears.

This issue of the New Paper carried a full-length article on mathematics.

The title alone was striking: "A Critique of Mathematics Since a Thousand Years Ago and Its Future Direction."

He disliked it, but the exam was about to add it.

Shen Li could only grit his teeth and force himself to read the mathematics section he usually skipped—lest his son fail this year and need this knowledge three years later.

Besides its eye-catching title, the article was accompanied by an official commendation notice.

The emperor, inspired by this article, granted the author a promotion from student to Scholar of the Two Rivers, bestowed a mansion, monthly stipend, and the right to submit memorials.

He even personally bestowed upon the author Liu Sanpao the courtesy name "Dunkai."

Shen Li frowned in displeasure. Such honors were excessive.

In truth, high-ranking officials all understood arithmetic.

Even if they avoided elective courses in prefectural schools or the Imperial Academy, once selected as Imperial Scholar-Apprentices, arithmetic became mandatory.

Even as rigid as Sima Zhi's ancestor, Sima Guang, had been proficient in arithmetic.

Why then did the emperor single out this one?

Shen Li let his thoughts drift briefly, then turned to the article's body.

The article began with a brief overview of arithmetic's historical development.

For instance, the needs of counting and calendaring, the origins of measurement tools like rules, squares, levels, and cords.

Its evolution into one of the Six Arts of the Gentleman.

And since the "Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art," it had formed a systematic toolset—what could be called "mathematics."

With the flourishing commerce of the preceding Song, Yang Hui, Qin Jiushao, Zhu Shijie opened academies, formed societies, and wrote treatises, bringing mathematics to its peak.

Then came the collapse of this dynasty—like an avalanche.

Shen Li reread this line several times, shaking his head. The emperor was still the same—unafraid to expose his own dynasty's failings.

As the saying goes, one knows one's own house best: since the Song, in barely a century, the Great Ming's arithmetic masters could barely understand the works of Zhu Shijie and Qin Jiushao.

Calling it an avalanche was not wrong.

But publishing it was unseemly—the Great Ming's progress over the Song should appear comprehensive; even a backward field like arithmetic must not be shown to lag—even if true, it shouldn't be shouted aloud.

This wasn't just Shen Li's view—it was the consensus of most court officials.

Thus, without the emperor's instruction, this could never have been published.

Shen Li suddenly missed the emperor. Seven years had passed since they last met—he was probably taller now.

He shook his head, clearing away the idle thoughts.

In short, after introducing the history of mathematics,

Liu Dunkai proposed three criticisms.

First, he questioned the Great Ming's household registration system.

He argued that classifying commoners who studied mathematics under the Yin-Yang register had crushed the mathematical community, forcing mathematics back into a closed, inbred, family-based trade, severely stifling its development.

Second, he criticized the medium of mathematical transmission.

Due to the limitations of the age, for a thousand years, texts were recorded on bamboo slips—limited in space, forcing brevity, which greatly compromised the precision of mathematical expression.

Commentaries like "Annotations on the Nine Chapters" and "Annotations on the Zhou Bi Suan Jing" forced scholars to repeatedly annotate, doing much redundant work.

Now that paper was cheap and refined, with ample space—was there still need for such brevity?

Why cling to old, vague expressions when precision could be pursued?

Third, he strongly opposed the separation of mathematics from Confucianism.

"That which transcends form is Dao; that which operates within form is Qi." Mathematics had too little Confucian substance.

After deeply understanding the emperor's epistemology, Liu Dunkai suddenly realized: every Qi contains Dao—every discipline must be grounded in Confucianism.

Why had mathematics always been fragmented and scattered?

Precisely because it lacked Confucian guidance!

Lacking synthesis in study, lacking continuity within its system, lacking transcendence in understanding!

In short, it had never ascended from "clever tricks" to the universal Dao—insufficient in practice, insufficient in probing causality.

Shen Li's face showed quiet satisfaction.

Daoist learning had now innovated even onto mathematics.

After the Dao debate of Wanli 2, Confucianism had truly been reborn.

As a scholar, seeing outsiders elevate Confucianism to such heights was deeply satisfying.

He continued reading.

Then, based on these three criticisms, Liu Dunkai proposed recommendations for those studying mathematics: strive for standardized, precise terminology; and, guided by Confucianism, deepen practice and the investigation of causality.

Specifically, first, investigate cause and effect, primarily through logical reasoning and deduction, summarizing mathematical patterns and constructing continuous, systematic models of the fundamental relationships in calculation.

Second, apply empirical verification, discard the cognitive limitations imposed by bamboo slips, introduce diagrams as a complement to logical deduction, combining pure reason with practical reason—this is known as the integration of number and form.

Below are some examples of deduction and applications of the integration of number and form.

An excellent foundational problem—its strength lies in making an originally obscure problem clear and easy to understand.

Shen Li carefully examined every number and symbol, and then…

Then his breathing gradually became even.

Then his eyelids began to droop.

Before long, the newspaper slipped from his hands and fell to the ground.

Master Longjiang fell into a deep sleep.

…

The time of falling asleep always slips away silently.

He did not know how long had passed.

Shen Li felt the carriage had suddenly stopped; outside, a clamor arose.

Affected by this, he opened his hazy eyes, somewhat bewildered.

Shen Li looked around the carriage but did not see his son.

The noise outside the carriage gradually subsided, and Shen Li slowly became alert.

He pushed himself up, pulled back the curtain, and leaned out to look.

Not far ahead was the post station, its lanterns glowing with candlelight, inscribed with the words "Zhuozhou Post."

Of course, the carriage had not stopped at Zhuozhou Post.

A circle of torches blocked the path between the carriage and the post station.

Oh… a checkpoint, he thought—though the torches were painfully bright.

Huh? Checkpoint? Torches?

Shen Li was startled, snapping fully awake!

He focused his gaze—there, a group of soldiers had surrounded the road ahead, inspecting travelers!

He studied the soldiers with a grave expression; their uniforms suggested the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Capital Garrison's Red-Helmeted Troops.

His own son was negotiating with the soldiers blocking the entrance to the post station.

They've even deployed the Red-Helmeted Troops…

Shen Li frowned, realizing this was no ordinary matter.

He was about to call out to his servant to summon his son back for questioning, when he saw his son finish his negotiation, turn with a solemn expression, and walk back toward the carriage.

The leader of the soldiers, an Embroidered Uniform Guard in a flying-fish robe, bowed respectfully from afar—clearly aware of Shen Li's identity.

Shen Li did not return the bow; he cautiously withdrew his gaze and turned to his son.

Before Shen Jian had even reached him, Shen Li could not wait.

He immediately asked: "What's going on? Why are they conducting a nighttime inspection within Shuntian Prefecture? Even the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Capital Garrison have been deployed?"

Zhuozhou belonged to Shuntian Prefecture, only a hundred li from the capital—a critical imperial region that never conducted random inspections, let alone mobilize the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Capital Garrison. This situation clearly meant something had happened!

Shen Jian's face was grim.

He instinctively glanced around, then leaned close to Shen Li.

Under Shen Li's anxious gaze, Shen Jian lowered his voice and spoke gravely: "Sir, it is said that Minister of War Shi Mao has plotted rebellion. The plot was exposed, and he fled in fear of punishment. Now all garrisons are searching for him."