Chapter 333: You Are in Me, and I Am in You

Whether Yanzhou Prefecture is chaotic or not depends on Qufu County.

Every move Qufu County makes now draws the attention of too many people.

The county yamen is no place to keep secrets; Shen Li’s attitude toward the rioters and He Xinyin’s whereabouts were immediately known to outsiders.

Kong Chenghou and Meng Yanpu stood shoulder to shoulder on Qufu County’s city wall, gazing distantly at He Xinyin’s retreating back as he left the city.

“He’s so arrogant, coming alone—should we send someone to eliminate He Xinyin…”

Meng Yanpu raised his palm and slashed it horizontally, completing the unspoken implication.

Kong Chenghou frowned, his heart filled with displeasure.

Meng Yanpu was a prominent branch member of the Meng family of Zouxian, originally assigned to coordinate the wealthy families of Zoucheng in stirring up unrest.

But when he saw the Censor-An Inspector An Jiuyu pass through to suppress the peasant riots, he dared not even breathe, lying that the clan head was watching too closely to allow any mischief.

Oh, he himself knows how to preserve his skin, yet once in Qufu County, he immediately stands up and urges me to eliminate someone on the Emperor’s list?

Does he think I, Kong Chenghou, am that stupid, or is he afraid the Kong family’s downfall isn’t coming fast enough?

Look at how mad Shen Li has gone—he might as well treat the slaughter of wealthy families as if chopping weeds.

Everyone has retracted their tentacles from Qufu County; even Ge Cheng has kept only a few men to remotely control the situation.

How could Meng Yanpu not know how tense the situation is?

In truth, he simply sees the peasant unrest in Yanzhou Prefecture has already erupted and hopes Shen Li will direct his fury at the Kong family—two ancient clans huddled in one place inevitably clash over interests.

Kong Chenghou suppressed his irritation and spoke sarcastically: “Then why not cut off the source of the problem—eliminate Shen Li outright?”

If He Xinyin dies, Shen Li will likely scour Qufu County clean.

If Shen Li dies, it will be the Shandong Provincial Governor’s turn to scour Yanzhou Prefecture.

Seeing Kong Chenghou’s reaction, Meng Yanpu knew his hidden motive had been exposed, yet he kept his expression unchanged: “Brother, you jest—we are all loyal subjects of the state; don’t speak such treasonous words.”

He paused, sighing: “I merely fear He Xinyin will ruin everything.”

“He Xinyin is a renowned Confucian scholar who rebelled against taxes and killed officials, a peerless hero who founded societies across the land, who once confronted the Emperor himself and has preached for decades in the streets—his reputation among the common folk is truly formidable.”

“Look at his attendants—just yesterday they were killing officials for us, and today they’re serving He Xinyin hand and foot—clear proof.”

“If we allow him to negotiate, I fear these rioters will immediately be swayed by him.”

He would be ensnared by its allure.

Meng Yanpu, being somewhat older, had thicker skin.

Seeing he couldn’t use Kong Chenghou as a pawn, he now began painting He Xinyin as terrifyingly powerful, probing Kong Chenghou’s true intentions.

This time, Kong Chenghou didn’t catch on.

He sneered confidently: “No need to stir up trouble! No matter how powerful he is, everyone around Ge Cheng is ours—unless the court halts the land survey, no agreement will ever be reached!”

Ancient clans like this: the main line gorges itself, while branch lines struggle to survive.

In two centuries of our dynasty, branch lines barely built up a little fortune under the Kong name—now they say “survey the land,” and it’s all over? Utterly outrageous!

As long as the court refuses to rescind its order, not even He Xinyin’s mediation will help—even if the Duke Yansheng himself wants to cooperate, we branch lines will never agree!

Hearing this, Meng Yanpu realized Kong Chenghou controlled Ge Cheng!

He finally relaxed.

He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

After all, the Kong family—even its branch lines—possess such depth; I, of similar status, can’t even come close.

It forces me, despite my abilities, to kowtow to others, even to subtly probe this fool before me.

Meng Yanpu burned with envy, yet his face showed nothing; he continued probing: “If so, when the time comes to remove Shen Li, is there anything I should assist with?”

Provincial Governors differ from one another.

The official hierarchy that administers from province to county to township is the orthodox system of our dynasty—the bureaucratic ladder.

Like Hai Rui’s former salt tax inspection or Shen Li’s current land survey, these posts are created for specific tasks.

Put bluntly, they’re like eunuchs of the Eastern Depot or nobles of the Embroidered Uniform Guard—answerable only to the Emperor’s will.

In Persian terms, this is called oligarchy.

Any matter within the bureaucratic hierarchy can always be absorbed; but when the state adopts oligarchy, as now, the nation collapses and rebellions erupt everywhere.

Thus, to restore order to the land survey, this kind of Provincial Governor must be removed.

It’s an old tradition—only the methods change.

As for how exactly to proceed this time, Yin Hao and Kong Chenghou didn’t reveal anything to him after he refused to organize the Zouxian peasant unrest.

Kong Chenghou didn’t sense Meng Yanpu’s probing; he merely shook his head mysteriously: “No help needed. Let him destroy himself.”

Meng Yanpu knew Kong Chenghou’s nature best.

Seeing Kong Chenghou’s haughty sneer, he immediately put on a foolish expression, feigning shock: “Let him destroy himself?”

Such nonsense—making a fuss: “Observe how it brings about its own downfall?”

“Does that mean there are still high officials in court who oppose the land survey, like us?”

By custom, if he acted foolish enough, Kong Chenghou would inevitably start lecturing—impatient yet proud, expounding at length.

As expected.

Kong Chenghou glanced at Meng Yanpu with disdain: “The Wenhua Hall is full of New Party members—where are there any high officials opposing the land survey?”

Meng Yanpu leaned forward eagerly: “Then what do you mean, brother?”

Kong Chenghou proudly lifted his head: “As the Emperor says: within a faction, no factions—everything is strange and varied.”

He paused for effect.

Meng Yanpu feigned confusion and shook his head.

Kong Chenghou then explained, satisfied: “Shen Li is childless, bitter, stubborn, and brainless.”

“Since taking up land survey, he’s advocated sweeping away fallen leaves with autumn winds, cutting chaos with a swift blade, using the harshest methods to complete the survey as fast as possible.”

“Before arriving in Shandong, his land survey office spent only one month verifying records in Beizhili—rude, heartless, impeaching countless negligent officials, arresting innumerable wealthy and guilty families… Even if these people had deep ties in court, they even provoked commoners to rise with bamboo poles.”

“Because of this alone, the Baoding Prefecture and the Beizhili Provincial Governor both submitted memorials impeaching Shen Li.”

“Even Shen Shixing intervened, saying governing a great state is like cooking a small fish—when encountering difficulties, discuss them carefully; when facing opposition, unravel them thread by thread; the court must complete this survey with the most stable posture.”

“Though the Emperor ultimately quelled the dispute… you tell me—once this peasant unrest breaks out, and Shen Li’s intent to slaughter civilians is skillfully amplified, what chaos will the central court descend into?”

Hearing this, Meng Yanpu’s face lit up with sudden understanding—not feigned, but genuine.

The Meng family’s depth was inferior to the Kong family’s; he knew less about court politics.

Though Meng Yanpu had vaguely sensed something, it had been like viewing flowers through mist—unclear.

Now, with this hint, it all clicked!

Of course! No organization is monolithic! When has the court ever been free of factional strife?

Even if the Emperor purged the court during his southern sacrifice, eliminating all but the New Party, factional strife still persisted.

Reform always produces moderates—those deemed insufficiently radical. Shen Shixing’s mild temperament inevitably clashed with Shen Li’s rigid obstinacy!

Having probed enough, Meng Yanpu prepared to take his leave.

But as he moved to go, he seemed to remember something.

He turned to Kong Chenghou, again donning a foolish expression, feigning ignorance: “By the way, even if Shen Li falls, the Emperor will simply appoint someone else—what then?”

The land survey isn’t one man’s will.

Since Jiajing and Longqing, the court has failed to collect land taxes; before the salt tax reform, the court nearly starved.

The decision to survey the land was a desperate survival instinct of the state.

It won’t stop just because Shen Li is removed.

Kong Chenghou again proudly lifted his head and spoke.

He seemed utterly confident: “Replacement is inevitable.”

“But if the replacement is equally stubborn, brainless, and heartless, he too will soon be driven out—just like Hai Rui in Longqing’s reign, and Shen Li now.”

“But if a wise official who understands that patience yields results takes over…”

Kong Chenghou paused: “Do you know what Sun Piyang did in Nanzhili?”

Meng Yanpu’s blank expression answered.

Kong Chenghou spoke meaningfully: “Take Xiuning County as an example: using its 310 li of registered land as a base, each li becomes a tu, with a tu zheng appointed; the ten li within the county seat are divided into four corners, each with a yu zheng; the 300 li outside the city are divided into thirty-three du, each with a du zheng.”

“Each of these three positions must be held by one upright, calm, and virtuous man.”

“Land disputes are mediated by these three zhengs—the government never intervenes.”

“Sun Piyang only demanded that land acreage exceed previous years by thirty percent.”

“Tell me—isn’t that satisfying everyone?”

Meng Yanpu’s heart stirred.

He first exaggeratedly praised: “Sun Lishan is loyal to the Emperor, compassionate, and truly a noble elder.”

Then he revealed his true intent: “But is our current Provincial Governor Yu Yiding such a noble elder? Should we plot something?”

Hearing Yu Youding’s name, Kong Chenghou’s expression turned solemn.

He frowned, looking down: “Brother Meng, don’t act rashly. Yu Youding is Yin Viceroy’s student—leave him to Yin Hao to persuade first, then we’ll consider further.”

Trapped in the scheme, Meng Yanpu now finally understood their plan.

He revealed a sly, smug smile, shook hands and patted Kong Chenghou’s shoulder, exchanged farewells, and departed.

Turning and descending the city tower, Meng Yanpu glanced coldly at the Qufu city behind him.

He sighed inwardly.

Hope I’m not dragged into their pit.

…

Similarly, whether Shandong is in chaos or not depends on the Yanzhou Prefecture.

The fief of Lu State, the Duke Yansheng of the Kong family, Provincial Governor Shen Li, and Viceroy Yin Shidan—all crowded into this tiny prefecture.

Of course, at this moment, one must also add Yu Youding, the Shandong Provincial Governor, who had long departed from Jinan and had just entered Yanzhou Prefecture’s territory.

“Early” and “just now”—in truth, the Provincial Governor’s procession had lingered for a long stretch on the official road, as if mirroring Yu’s inner conflict.

“You mean the Yanzhou Prefecture uprising was orchestrated by your teacher’s eldest son, Yin Gao!?”

Yu Youding yanked his son Yu Tingjia into the carriage, lifted the curtain just enough to reveal half his head and dismissed the attendants, then lowered his voice to confirm again and again.

Yu Tingjia nodded solemnly: “He came to me in person and said it outright.”

“So brazen,” Yu Youding muttered, his expression grim after confirmation. “What did he tell you?”

To commit such a heinous crime and still dare to confess—it’s sheer audacity!

Was this Yin Shidan’s doing?

No, impossible!

Yin Shidan never falters on major matters, especially not from his high position—he would never risk offending the Emperor over fleeting wealth.

Yu Tingjia’s expression turned strange: “He said he would gift me the property of Tongleyuan and the surrounding farmland.”

No sooner had he spoken than he felt his father’s piercing gaze sweep over him.

Yu Tingjia hurriedly explained: “I didn’t accept it! I refused outright!”

“He was furious with me—he burned the property and land deeds right before my eyes.”

Upon hearing this, Yu Youding stiffened: “Burned them!?”

Yu Tingjia nodded blankly.

Then he suddenly realized something was wrong: “Father, is there something amiss?”

Yu Youding looked at his son and sighed deeply: “Then how can you prove you didn’t accept them?”

Yu Tingjia was stunned.

Yu Youding closed his eyes and leaned slowly back against the carriage’s rear.

It certainly wasn’t Yin Shidan—his teacher would never use such crude, repulsive tactics to drag someone down.

It must be Yin Gao!

Yin Shidan’s days are numbered; he’s now thinking of his legacy. But Yin Gao has no jinshi degree—he can only cling to land and family wealth.

Even as father and son, their interests in the land survey are not entirely aligned.

Yin Gao has both motive and the boldness to act under his father’s shadow.

Yu Tingjia was deeply frustrated and added hastily: “Father, what if I go back and take possession of Tongleyuan, then donate it all to the public?”

Yu Youding waved his hand weakly, too weary to explain.

He frowned deeply, rubbing his palms back and forth, lost in thought.

Whether for his career or for the state and the realm, he could not let Yin Gao drag him down.

Should he resign gracefully, avoiding the storm?

That might just satisfy someone’s wishes.

Even if he resigned at the critical juncture of the land survey, how would the Emperor view him?

So, should he move to arrest Yin Gao?

Probably not.

Even if Yin Gao acted on his own, he is still Yin Shidan’s own son.

If he were arrested, Shen Li would surely have him executed.

Not only would it ruin his relationship with Yin Shidan, but he’d also earn a reputation for ingratitude.

Moreover… does Yin Shidan really not know?

At this thought, Yu Youding’s mind grew chaotic.

He suddenly lifted the carriage curtain and called out: “Don’t go to the Yanzhou Prefecture office—take the route to Jining State!”

No sooner had he spoken than an immediate response came from outside.

Yu Tingjia, seeing this, cautiously reminded: “Father, Yin Gao just met with me privately—is going to Jining now inappropriate…?”

His son’s soft tone struck Yu Youding like thunder.

He instantly realized his mistake and leaned out again: “No change in itinerary—we go to Yanzhou Prefecture!”

Yu Youding retracted his words in an instant, unable to help a self-deprecating smile: “Your old man is less composed than you.”

As he spoke, he felt a chill of dread.

If this Provincial Governor had to consult Yin Shidan every time trouble arose, their careers would both end here.

Seeing his father’s turmoil, Yu Tingjia spoke up plainly: “Father, in my view…”

“You pretend I never told you this, and I pretend I never saw him. If we uncover it privately, we turn a blind eye; if Shen Li or An Jiuyu stumble upon it, we handle it by the book.”

“In the end, Father, you only need to fulfill your duty—then His Majesty’s favor won’t waver. The minor details may not matter at all.”

Yu Youding felt a measure of relief at his son’s maturity—no matter what, he was far better than Yin Gao, that ill omen.

His mind gradually calmed.

“Yes, I must guard against others exploiting this matter—I must fulfill my duty, or the Emperor will suspect me.”

“But duty is duty—I must not lead from the front, or I’ll sink deeper…”

At this thought, Yu Youding shook his head sharply: “We can’t even go to the Prefecture office!”

Yu Tingjia was lost: “Why? Isn’t the Provincial Governor supposed to command from Yanzhou to quell the rebellion? Inspector An is waiting for you.”

Yu Youding sighed: “Shen Li is now executing wealthy families in Qufu. I can’t support him, yet I can’t stop him—going to the office would only bring me trouble.”

His son still looked confused.

Seeing this, Yu Youding clarified further: “The land survey isn’t just a local struggle—it’s infiltrated the central court too.”

“Last time Shen Li reported on land surveys in the Northern Zhili, Grand Secretary Shen Shixing drafted a response: ‘Hasty and profit-driven, lacking solid foundations.’ Minister of Rites Wang Zongyi also petitioned the Emperor to revoke Shen Li’s Provincial Governor credentials, urging that minor matters be handled locally and major ones reported to the center.”

“It was Wang Xijue and others who stood up for Shen Li, arguing that land surveys are extraordinary matters requiring extraordinary authority.”

“Now, within the faction, clear divisions have emerged between radicals and conservatives.”

“Currently, Shen Li is massacring wealthy families in Qufu County…”

Here Yu Youding fell silent, but the implication was clear.

Shen Li is now at the heart of a political vortex—best to avoid him entirely. Normally, Yu Youding could stand firm, unafraid of shadows, and take a principled stance—but now, with Yin Gao’s mess entangling him, he must tread with extreme caution.

Yu Tingjia, suddenly analyzing politics from this angle, was caught off guard.

He stammered: “Then His Majesty…”

His words were cut off impatiently by Yu Youding: “The Emperor is resolute on the land survey, yet he has never endorsed Shen Li’s indiscriminate killings.”

“During the last dispute over the Northern Zhili review, the Emperor merely patched things over, telling Shen Li to properly handle the contradictions between enemies and allies, and internal conflicts.”

“It was meaningless—no one can guess the Emperor’s true stance on this.”

If the Emperor opposed the land survey, the dynasty would collapse within days.

If he openly endorsed slaughter, he’d soon be branded a tyrant and monster.

So the Emperor must want both.

And that’s what makes life hell for those who actually have to act.

Yu Tingjia half-understood and dropped the matter: “If we’re not going to the Prefecture office, then where?”

Yu Youding paused, then lifted the carriage curtain one last time and called out: “Send word to Inspector An:”

“Tell him the Yanzhou Prefecture rebellion is urgent and cannot wait—I’m assigning half my infantry to him, and we’ll split our efforts.”

“I won’t go to the Prefecture office—I’ll lead troops personally to Guxiang, Dingtao, Juye, and Cao County to crush the rebellion.”

“You handle Tancheng, Yiyi, and Yizhou!”

With that, Yu Youding sat back slowly.

In his son’s complex gaze, Yu Youding sighed: “The world’s troubles lie here—you’re in me, and I’m in you.”

…

Confucius said, standing by the river.

What river? The Sishui.

The dead bodies, like water, filled the entire Sishui.

This was a lament for the suffering under the rebellion.

He Xinyin, granted only half a day’s deadline, raced nonstop toward the temple where the rebels gathered.

The temple stood beside the river, convenient for rebels to draw water.

Along the way, crowds of impoverished peasants swept up by the rebellion filled the road.

When the temple came into view, the most striking sight was a dark, ragged mass of rebels gathered before it.

Dressed in coarse hemp, skin blackened by labor, hands calloused from farming and work.

Unlike the orderly strikes and marches described in rumors, these people showed no discipline—they seemed scattered and chaotic.

He Xinyin took in every one of these rebels.

With rebels escorting him, He Xinyin easily reached the ragged rebels, who spontaneously parted a path.

Of course, minor disturbances arose.

When the rebels learned He Xinyin’s identity, they surged forward, shouting in dialects—some understandable, others not.

“Great Lord, we beg you—tell the yamen not to raise taxes!”

“I’ve heard of you—please speak for us!”

“We’re only protesting! We’re not rebelling!”

Cries of injustice, appeals, and petitions rang out without end.

Occasional angry shouts of discontent were quickly drowned out by wails and shouts.

He Xinyin struggled to respond; his booming explanations were swallowed by the howling.

He saw more and more people gathering around.

Time was short, and the matter at hand was urgent. With no choice, He Xinyin covered his head and pressed forward.

After struggling through a long stretch, he finally emerged into open space.

He Xinyin glanced back with a complex expression—this scene was destined to be seared into his memory.

Clearly, after the gentry had finished guiding them, the proportion of household retainers and scholars among the rioters had plummeted, leaving mostly tenant farmers and laborers dragged along.

Of course, this did not include the leaders of the uprising.

Following his guide, He Xinyin finally entered the Buddha hall, where he also saw the leaders of this popular unrest.

His attendants were barred outside; two large men stood guard at the door.

Ge Cheng, the rumored leader, sat in the center of the Great Hero Hall, expressionless.

His six core followers sat in sequence below him, facing the door.

He Xinyin pushed open the door; the moment their eyes met, someone struck first.

“Lord Fushan, if the court agrees to halt the land survey in Yanzhou Prefecture, our General Ge is willing to confess guilt and bind himself to prison!”

A short, narrow-faced man with a pointed chin spoke up voluntarily.

He Xinyin froze.

He turned to see Ge Cheng, the one supposedly willing to confess, sitting silently at the head, offering no word.

He Xinyin filed this away in his mind, his face calm as he asked the narrow-faced man: “Who are you?”

At that moment, another man below Ge Cheng snorted coldly: “Enough idle talk, Lord Fushan. Since you’ve come representing the government to negotiate, tell us—will Yanzhou Prefecture halt the land survey?”

The speaker was pot-bellied, clearly not from a poor household.

Ge Cheng remained silent, seated at the head.

He Xinyin had a rough idea now. He gave no evasion, simply shook his head firmly: “The land survey is state policy. It will not be halted.”

The pot-bellied man flew into a rage: “He Xinyin! We grant you a modicum of respect by calling you Lord Fushan. If you persist in such arrogance, you may walk in today—but you won’t walk out alive!”

Ge Cheng showed no reaction; instead, the narrow-faced man who had spoken first stepped forward to defuse the tension.

He still maintained basic courtesy: “Lord Fushan, once the survey begins, it will cut off our livelihoods entirely.”

“Now the court insists on the survey. We’re doomed either way. Lord Fushan, just let us find our own end.”

With that, he rose first, extending his hand in a clear gesture to dismiss him.

The other five either sat or rose, one after another, echoing the dismissal.

He Xinyin had barely spoken two vague sentences before being shown the door—he understood at once: these men had no intention of negotiating unless their demands were met.

As for their motive?

If the court refused to halt the survey, these men would gladly see the destitute outside the temple slaughtered by the Embroidered Uniform Guard!

Then someone would use the massacre to shake the court.

He Xinyin took a deep breath: “This leader says the survey will cut off the common people’s livelihoods.”

“Here, I swear on my life: this survey will not impose additional taxes on the common people!”

Though over sixty, his voice was thunderous; when he roared now, it carried instantly outside.

“The court has shown restraint. If I fail to negotiate, the Embroidered Uniform Guard will draw their blades behind me!”

“I see you leaders are no common folk—you might escape. But those thousand outside, ignorant of your decisions, will die for them. Is that not pitiful?”

“You leaders dismiss me at the slightest disagreement. Then why not open the door and hold a public assembly of a thousand?”

With that, he turned abruptly, slapped his hand against the door, and pulled—ready to fling it open!

The leaders, sensing trouble from his loud outburst, grew uneasy.

As He Xinyin, careless for a moment, began to open the door, all turned pale.

“Stop!”

“Guards! Drag him out!”

The door guards reacted at once, lunging forward with arms outstretched, grappling at He Xinyin.

He, a renowned hero of his age, aged but still formidable, showed not the slightest fear.

The two guards seized his arms, straining with all their might to pin him down.

He Xinyin braced his arms, wrestled with the two men, then kicked off hard—flying through the air with a single leg, smashing the door open!

Sunlight flooded in, the room suddenly bright.

The court’s dispatch of negotiators was already stirring emotion; combined with He Xinyin’s shouting and struggle, the crowd outside had long gathered in concentric rings.

Seeing this, the leaders forgot their dignity, shouting to their followers: “He has no intention of negotiating! Get him out!”

No sooner were the words spoken than several burly men with clubs pushed through the crowd, charging straight at He Xinyin.

In the blink of an eye—

“Stop!”

A thunderous shout rang out from within the hall.

The burly men froze, caught between advance and retreat.

The rioters outside craned their necks to look inside.

The one who had shouted was Ge Cheng—he slowly rose.

His gaze swept over the stunned leaders, then over He Xinyin, whose back was hunched and temples bulging.

He looked out at the “rebels” and spoke solemnly: “The court has sent a negotiator—Lord Fushan, the scholar who roamed the land, taught the Dao, founded the Four Gates Society, and dared to rebuke the Emperor himself. He says we must open the door and hold a public assembly.”

The leaders’ faces darkened.

Among them, the pot-bellied man’s neck veins throbbed; he secretly tugged at Ge Cheng’s sleeve, whispering fiercely.

Ge Cheng ignored him, shaking off the sleeve: “Brothers, if you wish, leave the door open. Sit outside on the ground and listen.”

At these words, the followers silently sat down on the open ground.

Only the men who had held clubs remained standing, caught off guard, now squeezed out by the seated crowd.

Ge Cheng was around forty, dressed in coarse hemp, yet carried an air unlike ordinary men.

Now he turned to He Xinyin: “Lord Fushan just said the survey will not add taxes to the common people. What do you mean by that?”

He Xinyin had prepared himself for this twist.

Even if the leaders had no intention of negotiating, did the tenant farmers and laborers outside truly wish to die fighting the court?

As for Ge Cheng stepping forward—it was unexpected, yet logical. The court itself was not unified; how could the rebels be? Each had their own demands.

He Xinyin softened his demeanor, becoming once again the unremarkable old man: “General Ge, this is a central policy, deliberately distorted by those with ill intent.”

“This survey aims to uncover land consolidation by the gentry, standardize large and small plots, and register hidden households. It has never once stated it will reclaim household taxes or raise land levies!”

At these words, murmurs erupted outside, a rustling chorus of whispers.

The land survey office had posted notices saying the same.

But the credibility of the speaker mattered—official authority could not match He Xinyin’s.

“Fine. Lord Fushan, your reputation precedes you. I’ll take your word: the court is targeting the gentry.”

Ge Cheng accepted He Xinyin’s explanation of the survey with ease, glancing subtly at the leaders.

The leaders’ faces darkened—when the door was open, Ge Cheng was the true leader; no one dared contradict him.

He Xinyin felt a surge of hope.

He was about to speak when Ge Cheng’s next words followed: “But, Lord Fushan, once the central government strikes the gentry, will the local offices, the wealthy families, and the gentry themselves bear the cost—or will they crush the common people even harder?”

He Xinyin frowned.

Ge Cheng slowly descended from the central seat of the Great Hero Hall—tall, broad-shouldered, over seven feet, powerfully built.

His rogue’s aura was nearly overwhelming.

“Commoners transfer their land to the gentry; the gentry, with their influence, often evade taxes.”

“Once all this consolidation, large and small plots, must be taxed, the gentry will suffer. Will they then raise rents on the commoners?”

“Moreover, many outside are unregistered. The court says they’ll be registered and temporarily exempted from corvée.”

“But what happens when the exemption ends? Can they magically rise from utter poverty to wealth?”

“The court also says all miscellaneous taxes will be abolished after the survey—only the main tax will remain.”

“Look far back: this was the founding policy of the dynasty. But what happened later?”

“Look close: over the past few years, has a single county or prefecture in Yanzhou merged its miscellaneous taxes?”

Ge Cheng stood before He Xinyin, earnest: “Lord Fushan, this has come to this. I will die if I must—even if someone promises me only a few years in prison, I’d laugh in their face.”

“If you want proof of sincerity, I can disperse these destitute people back to their homes. I can even hand my head to you.”

“I only want to ask one thing…”

“He Daxia, you’re known on the road as a man of honor. Put your hand on your heart and tell these brothers: after the survey, will the common people truly not face higher taxes?”