Chapter 321: Replace Tusi with Imperial Officials, Use Han Culture to Transform the Barbarians

The Tian and Yang of Sizhou, the Cen and Huang of Guangdong and Guangxi.

It was much like the popular folk nickname for the Marquis of Anyuan’s lineage as the “Willow Branch of Guangdong”—such slang always implied local powers that monopolized authority.

The four surnames Wen Chun referred to—Tian, Yang, Cen, Huang—each traced their lineage back centuries, hereditary tusi from the Sui and Tang dynasties through to the Ming, deeply rooted and immensely powerful.

Zhu Yijun slowly swallowed the tea in his mouth and signaled Wen Chun to calm down.

Seeing this, Yin Zhengmao was the first to grow restless and asked Wen Chun: “Grand Censor, is your proposal prompted by recent disturbances from the Yang of Bozhou and the Cen of Shanglin?”

Matters brought before the imperial court never arise without warning.

Moreover, if these clans had remained obedient, there would be no valid reason to implement the policy of replacing tusi with imperial officials.

As for why Yin Zhengmao immediately assumed it was the Yang of Bozhou and the Cen of Shanglin, it was because the notion of “the four surnames” was already ancient history.

For instance, the Tian clan was wiped out entirely after brothers slaughtered each other over mineral rights.

Tian Chen allied with Huang Xi, led troops to attack Tian Zongding, the Pacification Commissioner of Sinan; both sides were captured and brought to the capital, where, after defending themselves before the throne, they were all executed by the Chengzu Emperor, who then swiftly implemented the policy of replacing tusi with imperial officials.

It wasn’t that Chengzu was malicious or seizing an excuse—he was merely reacting to the fact that during their self-defense, both sides exposed each other’s darkest sins: Huang Xi, the Prefect of Chenzhou, had committed adultery with his grandmother; Tian Zongding, the Pacification Commissioner of Sinan, had strangled his own mother.

At the time, court ministers could no longer sit still: had things descended to this barbaric level? Was this still the image of a Confucian realm?

Whether for rebellion or incest and matricide, both crimes merited death; thus, all the Tian clan members were executed, and Sinzhou and Sinan were promptly transformed into imperial prefectures, re-educated, and this marked the origin of Guizhou Province.

The Huang clan was slightly more complicated—they had caused major disturbances during the Tang dynasty, and after repeated suppressions, scattered like stars across Guangdong and Guangxi.

Though their influence was widespread, none among them could emerge as a leader.

Moreover, since the Ming’s founding, successive Provincial Governors and Viceroys of Guangdong and Guangxi had repeatedly dismantled and restructured them, finally bringing the Guangdong Huang clan firmly under control—Yin Zhengmao, Ling Yunyi, and others had done much to urbanize these tusi.

Thus, of the four surnames, only the Yang of Bozhou and the Cen of Shanglin remained, and these two were now the foremost tusi in Guizhou and Guangxi.

Upon hearing Yin Zhengmao’s question, Wen Chun finally realized this newly appointed Minister of War had only been in office for barely ten days and likely hadn’t even finished reading the case files.

He glanced at the emperor and replied evasively: “Your Majesty’s Grand Minister of Justice, let me be clear—it is not that these clans have recently caused any disturbance, but that the state has indulged the tusi for two centuries; it is time to act.”

Faced with Wen Chun’s perfectly correct but empty words, Yin Zhengmao frowned tightly.

Shen Shixing casually added: “Grand Marshal, you may return to the Ministry of War and review the case files of October 17th—last month, the Prince of Qin and Yunnan Regional Commander Mu Changzuo, together with the Right Censor-in-Chief of Yunnan, Chen Wensui, jointly submitted a military report.”

“The Eastern Wu Kingdom has again massed troops and invaded Yunnan, capturing cities, plundering land, killing and burning, and now advancing as far as Shunning Prefecture!”

Upon hearing this, Yin Zhengmao was stunned.

Recently, the Ministry of War and the Five Military Directorates had divided authority, and he simply hadn’t had time to pay attention to this matter.

Especially since Yunnan lay ten thousand li from the capital—no matter how urgent the military intelligence, it always arrived months late; there was no point in panicking.

Without time to think further, Yin Zhengmao frowned and pressed: “Didn’t the campaign at Shidian in the fifth year of Wanli force Mang Yinglong to sign a treaty and submit tribute? Why has he returned now!?”

In the first year of Wanli, the young emperor, seeking to assert authority over the capital garrisons and intimidate the nobility, executed the Prince of Qin, and citing the prince’s residence as “geographically remote and psychologically detached,” forced the new prince, Mu Changzuo, to repeatedly travel to court so he could control Yunnan remotely.

Simultaneously, distrustful of the Prince of Qin’s household for forging fire tokens to mobilize troops and murdering local officials, the emperor ordered Chen Wensui, upon his appointment as Yunnan Provincial Governor, to recruit twenty thousand troops to suppress Yunnan and purge its remaining corruption.

Coincidentally,

In the fifth year of Wanli, when court officials were widely arguing that this policy was too costly and should be scaled back, Yunnan faced invasion by the Burmese Eastern Wu Dynasty.

Since the thirty-fifth year of Jiajing, Mang Yinglong had frequently colluded with the Franks to cause unrest in the Three Xuan regions, killing Pacification Commissioners—but his direct invasion of Ming borders still caught the Ming court off guard.

Fortunately, under Chen’s high-pressure rule, Yunnan’s local forces displayed extraordinary strength, annihilating the Eastern Wu invaders outright, even “pursuing them with troops, killing as they chased; the Burmese army suffered a crushing defeat, with only one or two in ten returning alive.”

The fact that the treaty signed under such circumstances was broken within two years, and the enemy returned, was truly unexpected.

“Mang Yinglong died early this year; his son Mang Yingli succeeded to the throne and claimed his father had suffered from a hidden illness, using the pretext of avenging his father to muster tens of thousands of troops and again invade our borders.”

Wang Zongyi added this explanation, his expression grim.

To break a treaty and resume invasion, to pay tribute and then restart war—truly barbarians among barbarians!

Seeing his colleagues had sufficiently explained to the new Minister of War, Wen Chun spoke again: “This Burmese invasion has drawn the rebel fugitive Yueyang of Longchuan and the Mang chief Han Qian of Mubang into collusion and reconnaissance.”

“The Yunnan tusi, summoned, have refused to respond; they treat neighboring territories as moats, willing to share rewards but not united in common hatred.”

“The Guangxi tusi have taken advantage of the chaos, coercing the court for rewards and inciting rebellion.”

“Meanwhile, the Provincial Governor of Guizhou, Wang Ning, has reported that the Yang of Bozhou is stirring restlessly, maintaining close contact with the rebel fugitive Yueyang of Longchuan, and likely harboring designs.”

“Just as Chen Wensui petitioned in the fifth year of Wanli, the tusi of the Three Xuan and Six Wei have nearly completely decayed; if we do not decisively manage the southwest, a great disaster will surely arise!”

At this point, Yin Zhengmao finally realized what kind of man Wen Chun truly was.

Wen Chun was different from Shen Shixing, Wang Xijue, and others.

Cabinet ministers, who oversee state affairs, gain credit whenever the state prospers, but censors and remonstrators inherently hold the authority to check the Chief Minister; a Censor-in-Chief could never enter the cabinet.

Thus, for Wen Chun to leave a lasting name in history, he must find his own undertaking—just as Hai Rui purified officialdom, Li Zhi promoted Confucian scholarship, and Li Zhi advanced textual studies, Wen Chun must find his own “grand strategy.”

Judging by this, it seems his ambition lies in the southwest.

Wen Chun paid no mind to his colleagues’ thoughts and continued: “Whether to fight or make peace with the Eastern Wu Kingdom remains for the Five Military Directorates to assess.”

“But managing the internal affairs of the southwest is now an urgent matter!”

He turned to the emperor: “Your Majesty, I humbly petition to decisively manage the southwest, beginning with Guizhou and Guangxi—replace tusi with imperial officials, use Han culture to transform the barbarians!”

The southwest generally refers to Guizhou, Guangxi, and Yunnan provinces; Sichuan is sometimes included, but the non-tusi barbarians there are a different category and often overlooked.

Since the Song dynasty, frontier regions have been governed through loose tributary ties; the Yuan dynasty established the tusi system, and for centuries, little active governance occurred.

Even in our own dynasty, the policy toward the southwest has merely been to maintain tranquility—taxes and livelihoods were unimportant; as long as no rebellion erupted, all was well.

But the current situation in court is clearly different.

Wen Chun’s words carried visible agitation, and for good reason.

In the sixth year of Wanli, Yunnan Provincial Governor Chen Wensui, having successfully repelled the enemy, came to court for reward and, in the Wenhua Hall, painted a vision of governing the southwest for the emperor and ministers.

In Chen Wensui’s vision, the “Three Xuan” would form the outer defense line, Yunnan the inner defense line: “Issue proclamations to the barbarians, pacify the Three Xuan, build city walls, and garrison Yunnan.”

Simultaneously, for Guangxi and Guizhou, he proposed “transforming tusi domains into prefectures and counties, redistributing land, establishing schools, and using Han culture to transform the barbarians”—accelerating sinicization to push the imperial core deeper into the southwest, turning tusi domains into administrative counties and the Three Xuan into tusi outposts, ultimately achieving “great peace in the southwest.”

Yet, under the prevailing consensus that the southwest was a fiscal wasteland, even with the Burmese invasion, Chen Wensui’s vision failed to sway most court ministers; instead, it was deemed too radical, “in direct conflict with prevailing sentiment.”

In the end, only Wen Chun was moved.

After days of reviewing files, meeting with former students and officials from the southwest, and studying geography and culture, Wen Chun privately met Chen Wensui.

Whether one says Wen Chun acted for the state, or that he was drawn to the grand prize of “great peace in the southwest, a famed minister of the age,”

the fact remains: now, it was Wen Chun who stood behind Yunnan’s Provincial Governor Chen Wensui and the policy of governing the southwest.

After Wen Chun’s impassioned speech,

the emperor remained silent, offering no opinion.

The ministers were unfazed—over the past two years, the emperor had grown increasingly inscrutable; during meetings, he rarely spoke beyond his opening remarks, allowing ministers to speak freely.

With the emperor silent, Shen Shixing could only apply pressure based on experience: “After establishing imperial officials in the prefectures, rebellions often erupted five or six times within a decade, with continuous campaigns and no respite.”

“Grand Censor Wen, if we forcibly implement the replacement of tusi with imperial officials in the southwest, we risk failure, endless back-and-forth, and needless drain on the state treasury.”

“At that point, the accusation of ‘squeezing the blood of the good people to paint useless lands’ will surely return.”

This last remark sounded like something a Song dynasty scholar-official would say, but in fact, it was Wang Yangming’s view on the southwest.

To be bold, our dynasty, founded amid the collapse of the world, has valued “using Han culture to transform the barbarians” more than any previous dynasty.

Compared to the Han, who casually relocated northern barbarians into counties and mixed them with Han; the Tang, whose excessive benevolence led to barbarization of the frontier; the Song, which allowed the northwest to be consolidated into the Western Xia—only the Ming’s founding emperors dreamed of transforming all twenty provinces into Confucian subjects.

But once the initial vigor of the founding era faded, later generations naturally grew conservative.

When the Tian clan rebelled, Chengzu Emperor immediately dispatched fifty thousand troops to suppress them and established Guizhou; yet when the barbarians of Guangxi rebelled to demand official posts, Yingzong Emperor declared, “Why waste border funds over a single official?” and massively increased the number of tusi.

Even Wang Yangming, an “expert on barbarian affairs,” held the view that “the uselessness of imperial officials is clearly evident.”

Ultimately, it was simply too difficult!

Replacing tusi with imperial officials was not mere talk—it involved power struggles between tusi and imperial officials, deep cultural differences between Han and barbarians, and geographical constraints limiting the court’s reach.

In the decade after establishing prefectures and counties, the cycle repeated endlessly: mass rebellions, suppression, amnesty, governance, officials murdered, rebellion again…

It was protracted, exhausting, and ruinously expensive.

After enduring such losses repeatedly, court officials’ willingness to implement the policy naturally plummeted; some even adopted the Song dynasty’s stance and refused to sinicize their own territories.

Now, Wen Chun seeks to advance a grand policy in this hyper-conservative climate; the greatest challenge is convincing his colleagues in the hall.

Not only Shen Shixing and the Six Ministries, but even the emperor turned to look.

Instantly, all eyes fixed on Wen Chun.

Wen Chun knew this was a crucial hurdle—elevating the will of the Yunnan Provincial Governor and himself, the Left Censor-in-Chief, to state policy, was no small task.

He straightened his expression and replied calmly: “The feudal system, established by the ancient sage-kings Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, Wen, and Wu, could not be abandoned. Not because they wished to abandon it, but because the circumstances made it impossible. Feudalism was not the sages’ true intent.”

As soon as he spoke, the ministers of the Six Ministries all turned to Shen Shixing.

Shen Shixing remained silent in thought.

Zhu Yijun grew increasingly interested.

Wen Chun’s reply, though seemingly irrelevant, was a sharp rebuttal to Shen Shixing—it quoted Liu Zongyuan’s “On Feudalism,” universally recognized as the most profound political treatise ever written, transcending mere statecraft to reach the level of political philosophy.

Liu Zongyuan, to argue that the commandery-county system replacing feudalism was historically inevitable, opened with precisely this line: the sages were certainly correct, but feudalism was not their true intention—it was merely the only option available in their time.

Feudalism was a product of its era; but viewed through the lens of historical development, once “circumstances permit,” even the sages would choose commandery-county over feudalism.

Thus, when Shen Shixing invoked the sage Wang Yangming’s views to oppose Wen Chun’s grand strategy, Wen Chun immediately countered with this.

Wang Yangming was right in his time, but his conclusions were based on the customs and conditions of his era; now, times and circumstances have changed utterly.

Wen Chun surveyed his colleagues and declared solemnly: “Our dynasty has now endured two centuries; in these two hundred years, the geography of the southwest has expanded, the Han population has doubled, and generations of Han-barbarian integration have transformed everything beyond recognition.”

“Now, to implement ‘using Han culture to transform the barbarians’ is half the effort and double the result compared to the dynasty’s founding—utterly incomparable!”

Geography, population, and culture have evolved over two centuries—the foundation for replacing tusi with imperial officials grows stronger daily.

Efficiency, cost, and the frequency of tusi rebellion cannot be judged by clinging to outdated methods.

Saying this, Wen Chun pulled a scroll from his sleeve and signaled his colleagues to pass it around.

Every single word, every single line, every single detail—every one was correct!

Wang Zongyi took it first, glanced briefly—it contained mostly geography and culture of the southwest.

Especially the genealogies of major tusi clans, meticulously detailed and fully listed.

For example, the Yang family of Bozhou originally were the Li Yi, ancestors of the Yi people; they schemed to petition the Tang court, claiming they had settled in Bozhou after resisting the Li Yi in the Ganfu third year, and by the Song dynasty, they traced their ancestry to Yang Siquan, then to Yang Ye, eventually evolving into adopting descendants of the Yang family generals—this illustrates their gradual assimilation into Han cultural education and how they tailored their approach accordingly.

Moreover, there is the current state of Sinicization among native chieftains, the rapid spread of Buddhism in Yunnan and Guizhou, comparisons between contemporary cultural education and that of the late Song and the early dynasty, and so on.

Clearly, Wen Chun had come prepared.

When it reached Wang Guoguang, the old man didn’t even glance at it—he passed it to Zhu Heng.

The former rubbed his hair and sighed: “Even so, Wen Zongxian must know that any undertaking requires money.”

The Ministry of Revenue’s golden rule: no matter how dazzlingly a policy is painted, it must answer one question—where does the money come from, and where does it go?

Furthermore, times and circumstances have changed; the southwest is poor and expenditures exceed revenues—a fact unchangeable in the short term.

To speak bluntly, counterinsurgency is a bottomless pit; even if the southwestern provinces succeed in replacing native chieftains with imperial magistrates, they may never recoup their costs.

Economically speaking, it would be a complete loss.

Wen Chun did not evade Wang Guoguang’s question; he nodded calmly: “Indeed, this matter has consumed considerable funds.”

Before Wang Guoguang could speak again, Wen Chun declared loudly: “The Rong and Di are wolves; they cannot be appeased. The Huaxia are close kin; they cannot be abandoned.”

“The southwestern provinces were originally Han lands. Since the Taizu Emperor restored Huaxia, how could he calmly treat them as mere sources of resources and manpower from foreign kin?”

“Grand Secretary, this is our dynasty’s Mandate of Heaven. If we do not spend this money now, we may end up spending far more later.”

At these words, Wang Zongyi was profoundly moved.

He instinctively rose and struck the table in praise: “Your words, Grand Coordinator, are sound!”

Only then did he realize his breach of etiquette and turned to beg the Emperor’s pardon.

Zhu Yijun paid no heed to these minor breaches; he merely studied Wen Chun from head to toe.

After years of reform, these ministers had truly been honed into sharp, spirited men.

Wen Chun’s words were subtle, yet struck right at the heart.

What he meant by “our dynasty’s Mandate of Heaven” was no empty boast.

Later generations often joked that the empire’s frontiers constantly renew their barbarians.

One can only say that Huaxia had been powerful for three thousand years, so long that everything seemed natural.

But land cares nothing for such notions: whoever conquers this land owns it; each dynasty, each generation, must “cross the passes again, starting from scratch.”

This process was unavoidable: if Huaxia did not do it, the barbarians would.

When the late Song refused to assimilate new lands, the Tangut servants saw it lose its status as the “beacon of civilization,” choosing instead to create their own language and customs and establish a separate state.

When the Mongol Yuan ruled for a century, Confucian robes and rites collapsed entirely; Huaxia’s cultural lineage was severed; commoners wore clothes of the Semu people, and noble clans took pride in Mongol names—had it not been for the near-total collapse into “Han traitors,” forcing the Taizu Emperor to pacify the majority, he would never have recognized the Yuan’s legitimacy out of sheer boredom.

Changing customs and mores was not something Zhu Zhongba could accomplish by simply raising his arm and calling out.

Restricting Han-barbarian marriages, forcing people back into Confucian attire, and reviving Han speech was an arduous process; only by the Jiajing era, when Han traitors had lost all strategic value, could the Shizong Emperor abolish Yuan-era sacrifices.

This was not a natural outcome—it was the Mandate of Heaven that the Ming Dynasty seized step by step: from expelling the Tartars and saving the nation, to transforming the barbarians through Huaxia culture, to replacing native chieftains with imperial magistrates.

This path must continue without pause.

If we grow complacent, the native chieftains will not vanish on their own; then, just as the An Lushan of the Tang and the Tanguts of the Song provided ample trouble for their dynasties, so too will they offer plenty for the Ming.

Had we not slowed our pace over the past century, Bozhou would not have recently spawned folk songs like “The Emperor has ten thousand troops, but I have ten thousand mountains”—clearly a declaration of separatist intent.

To talk of saving money now? We may end up spending ten times as much later!

Wen Chun’s words were the righteous path, so much so that even the aged scholar Wang Zongyi rose in instant approval.

Shen Shixing, Wang Xijue, and Shen Li remained silent for a moment, then likewise yielded: “Grand Coordinator’s words are correct!”

Seeing Wen Chun persuade each minister in turn, the Emperor finally stirred.

Zhu Yijun set down his teacup, producing a faint clink against the table.

When the ministers turned their attention to him, Zhu Yijun spoke slowly: “Wen Qing’s words have deeply moved me.”

“Changing customs and mores, transforming the barbarians through Huaxia culture—this must never be postponed to future generations!”

Wen Chun, seeing the grand policy settled, finally exhaled deeply.

Yet having established necessity, the question of methodology still remained to be debated.

Zhu Yijun nodded to Wen Chun: “The matter of replacing native chieftains with imperial magistrates in the southwest is entrusted to you, Wen Qing. When your detailed plan is ready, submit it for court deliberation.”

“I have only one instruction for you.”

Wen Chun listened attentively.

Zhu Yijun paused, then spoke slowly: “Since my ascension, the replacement of native chieftains has occurred only once.”

“In Lin’an, Yunnan, the native chieftain Pu Chongzheng colluded with the Nong rebels, took up arms in rebellion, and after we suppressed it, we seamlessly replaced him with an imperial magistrate.”

“Whether it was the Si Prefecture of the Yongle era, the Sin’en Prefecture of Guangxi in the Hongzhi era, or the Yangli and Zuo prefectures—all followed the same pattern: first, rebellions by Tian Chen, Cen Jun, Wang Shou, and others; only then did we act.”

“Now, to abruptly replace native chieftains without cause risks inviting needless disaster.”

“Which to win over, which to crush, which to allow to trace their ancestry and relocate inland, and which to handle as special cases—these degrees must be handled with extreme care!”

Do not think these native chieftains will not conspire.

The saying that dynasties collapse amid widespread rebellion is no metaphor.

The Mongols in the north, the Jurchens in Liaodong, the Japanese pirates in the southeast, the White Lotus heretics in the Central Plains, the rebel armies in Shaanxi—besides these, the southwest has never been quiet.

Not to mention the fifty-year Ming-Burmese war, the She-An rebellion alone claimed over a million lives and cannot be ignored.

Native chieftains with land, wealth, and troops are always potential contenders for the throne.

To strike first is no simple matter; had it been an easy achievement, our predecessors would have done it long ago—why have they been pacified for two centuries?

What we fear is that the native chieftains of Yunnan, Guangdong, Guizhou, and Sichuan, fearing the loss of their own safety, will strike first and unite in rebellion.

Wen Chun is a capable minister, but governing distant lands remotely demands extreme caution.

Fortunately, winning over allies, appeasing neutrals, and exterminating enemies are basic skills of court officials; Grand Coordinator Wen nodded repeatedly in agreement: “Your Majesty speaks wisely. As for division, I intend to begin with the Cen and Yang clans…”

Zhu Yijun, overseeing the empire’s vast affairs, always entrusted such operational matters to his ministers.

He waved his hand: “Submit the detailed plan to the Wenhua Palace after the New Year.”

Wen Chun readily complied.

The year’s meeting was nearing its end.

Several major matters had been roughly decided.

With the broad direction set, the Cabinet and ministries would now deliberate on specifics and implement them.

Of course, beyond maritime trade and the southwest, the most indisputable grand policy of Wanli Eighth Year remained land surveying.

Zhu Yijun’s gaze swept over Wang Xijue, Wang Guoguang, Shen Li, and others.

“Speak on land surveying.”

He spoke softly.

Beside him, Zhang Hong stepped forward in unison and handed over the dossier prepared for the land survey.

The Emperor paused, granting the ministers time to review.

“Only half a year into the land survey, officials, imperial clans, and wealthy families have taken turns obstructing it—from the Dai Prince, who rallied mobs to kill surveyors, to the Prefect of Chizhou, Guo Siwei, who feigned compliance while secretly resisting, to local magnates who destroyed dikes to flood fields—each in turn, one after another.”

“No more chances for these people to repent. In a few days, it will be Wanli Eighth Year…”

Zhu Yijun surveyed the ministers, his expression filled with revulsion: “After the New Year, begin the executions.”

(End of Chapter)