Chapter 339: The Mute

"Foreseeing means seeing the future trend in advance; those who cannot foresee are not called leaders. I say they are not leaders."

Inside the Chengguang Hall of the Western Garden, after concluding an external affair, the Emperor finally slumped in his dragon throne, his body going limp.

Fortunately, the civil officials had all accompanied the foreign envoys out of the palace; otherwise, they would have again stiffened their necks and lectured for half a day about His Majesty’s decorum.

As for the nobles and imperial relatives still remaining in the hall...

Haven’t you seen that even His Majesty’s own aunt is pretending not to notice?

"Your Majesty’s far-sighted vision makes you truly worthy as the leader of all under heaven."

The nobles don’t understand subtle hints; they only remember how to flatter.

Zhu Yijun slumped in his dragon throne, gazing up at the ceiling beams: "I was praising you all."

"You foresaw the great tide of maritime trade, prepared in advance, and today held your own in negotiations with foreign envoys—you are already the maritime leaders of this age."

The barbarians may speak Mandarin strangely, but each one is sharp in trade.

Getting the barbarians to play along with the nobles is no easy task.

Fortunately, these nobles proved themselves worthy, putting in tremendous effort to make money; after a round of negotiations, they at least established a preliminary cooperative relationship.

The nobles, having received praise, wore bright smiles.

Unlike civil officials, imperial relatives and military nobles rarely get praised by the Emperor; it was rare indeed for His Majesty to recognize their merit, and their smiles could not be suppressed.

Only Princess Ning’an, as an elder, still maintained some restraint: "I am unworthy of such praise."

As a princess holding the title of Dachanggong, she was addressed as "Gu" outside the palace; only before the Emperor did she modestly refer to herself as "Qie."

After the usual formalities, she smoothly turned to the matter at hand: "As Your Majesty says, maritime trade is the great trend of our time."

"The petition to jointly establish a trading company concerns seizing the initiative—whether it is appropriate or not, please Your Majesty make clear your decision."

The Ministry of Public Works has already built the ocean-going ships; as imperial relatives, as long as they can afford the price, they need not worry about acquiring them.

The problem is, while every family can afford the ships, oceanic trade cannot be done alone.

For one thing, who will provide escort?

This time, the official fleet was escorted by Marquis Jinghai Zhu Shitai; but what of private ships? Not every family has a personal guard unit—could they really go mad and recruit soldiers on the spot?

Thus, the imperial relatives naturally came together—princesses like Ning’an contributed money, while military nobles like Pingjiang Bo contributed men.

Alas, the vision was beautiful, but the civil officials’ memorials would show no mercy.

What are imperial relatives and military nobles scheming to do, openly colluding in money and troops!?

Hence, the nobles could only come to court to communicate with the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun propped his elbows on the armrests, revealing only half his head: "Appropriate, yet not appropriate."

The young Zhu playfully teased, then added an explanation: "In principle, I support you all exchanging resources, but great trees attract wind—you must still use proper methods and follow rules."

The nobles exchanged glances.

Chen Yinzhao, heir to the Pingjiang Bo, scratched his head and paced, utterly confused by the Emperor’s meaning; he gave up thinking and simply knelt down: "Your subjects are dull-witted."

A long yawn echoed from the imperial seat, followed by a great stretch.

Half of the Emperor’s head slowly emerged above the desk.

Zhu Yijun smiled and gestured for his distant cousin to rise: "What I mean is..."

"Nobles, imperial clans, and maternal relatives interlinking wealth and troops is deeply taboo—even if I were willing to intervene, I could not guarantee it."

"You must still sacrifice something, and present yourselves as virtuous."

Those who cannot foresee cannot lead all under heaven.

These imperial relatives and nobles are merely lambs now, but when they truly sail across the seas, laden with goods back and forth...

With money, with troops, even land they can freely develop overseas—they will instantly swell into colossal entities!

Prevention must begin at the very start; if you wait until they grow wild, then try to restrain them, these imperial clans will stiffen their necks and claim they are the pillars of industry, the foundation of the court, and cannot be lightly touched.

Zhang Bing, Marquis Longping, had once been stationed in the southeast and understood human affairs; upon hearing this, he immediately declared: "We entirely follow Your Majesty’s orders!"

Marquis Longping and Chen Yinzhao, heir to Pingjiang Bo, didn’t understand but followed suit, shouting in confusion.

Zhu Yijun looked at the sparse responses in the hall and puckered his lips.

Never mind—expectations cannot be too high.

Zhu Yijun shook his head and finally laid out his terms: "I can personally guarantee your joint maritime trading company, but you must give me reason to guarantee you."

"First, I will shield you from outsiders in all specific business matters, but on major directions—annual revenues and expenditures, next year’s plans, and the foreign states you will trade with—you must place them under the scrutiny of the Inner Court and the ministries, just as the princely estates do."

"Second, all shares—equity, cash, and labor shares—must be openly declared; any change of shareholders or equity structure must be made public, or even I cannot suppress suspicions that someone among you is secretly controlling the company."

"Third, for every voyage’s specific goods, beyond declaring prohibited items, there is one more rule: do not focus solely on your own profit, bringing back nothing but jewels and ornaments to indulge among the elite. If you do not think of benefiting the common people, how can I plead with the Confucians who constantly cry ‘useless to state affairs’?"

"Fourth, regarding escort weapons and firearms, you must report to the Ministry of War; upon arriving at foreign ports, inspections must be strict."

"Also, firearms acquired through purchase or capture must first be handed over to the Ministry of Public Works for research and development..."

The Emperor’s detailed stipulations went on for the duration of a cup of tea.

Fortunately, maritime trade had not yet become a pillar industry and thus lacked the leverage to bargain.

The imperial relatives and military nobles had no objection to earning money while kneeling; all listened attentively, nodding vigorously: "Your Majesty’s guidance, we humbly remember!"

Zhu Yijun smiled; these relatives didn’t know whether they understood, but they kept saying “Your Majesty’s guidance.”

He wasn’t speaking randomly—he had prepared this carefully.

These stipulations, beyond guiding maritime trade toward healthy growth, were almost tailor-made for splitting, restructuring, and eventual state takeover.

Like princely estates, the maritime trading company, from its inception, must be supervised by the Ministry of Revenue, the Inner Court, and the Imperial Clan Office.

When the business grows large and reaches a certain scale, oversight of direction will gradually become guidance of operations—temporary assignments, after years of precedent, will naturally evolve into specialized bureaus; the name doesn’t matter, but their function will inevitably carry the color of “supervising state assets.”

After accumulating maritime technology, integrating core assets, stripping the nobles’ original shares, and implementing official-supervised merchant management, a controlled “Great Ming Jiaoyang Pacification Commission Trading Company” can rise up at the Strait of Malacca.

Of course, Zhu Yijun was not a cruel emperor.

During the period of cake expansion, how much wealth these imperial relatives and nobles earn is the reward for their merit.

Thinking of this, Zhu Yijun couldn’t help sighing: "Alas, only because you are my household ministers and relatives, bound as brothers, do I give you not a single benefit, yet work tirelessly for you."

The nobles below the imperial steps exchanged glances.

They had no idea of the Emperor’s mischievous teasing; they took it as him demanding a bribe.

All turned to Princess Ning’an, who immediately stepped forward: "Your Majesty, I have already prepared equity shares for the Empress Dowager!"

The Inner Court is one family; this was merely a euphemism for honoring the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun chuckled, then waved his hand: "No need—don’t give the civil officials any ammunition."

If the Censorate found out, they’d accuse the Emperor of greed and hoarding wealth.

The Emperor’s thoughts could wander freely; the imperial relatives and nobles had to think hard.

Was the method of tribute too crude, causing the Emperor displeasure?

Chen Yinzhao, heir to Pingjiang Bo, suddenly stepped forward: "Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager, as the mother of all under heaven, surely has no interest in such vulgar things. I suggest, instead, we use her name to fund the construction of a maritime school."

Upon hearing this, Zhu Yijun was momentarily stunned.

Could the nobles really come up with such a good idea?

This was far more elegant than equity shares—it could “bribe the Inner Court with reputation” while practically cultivating talent for their own company, keeping the benefits within the family.

Especially recruiting vagrants, teaching them to read and write, and imparting a trade—such virtuous acts would reduce resistance when presented to the civil officials.

Even Wang Xijue’s stern face would soften—building schools was always right; even the most wicked man, if he donated to build several schools, would still be deemed “to retain a shred of humanity.”

It was a win-win-win!

Zhu Yijun couldn’t help studying Chen’s son more closely—he had indeed learned something from Li Chengming.

He shook his head with a smile and nodded approvingly: "Then build the school—but do not use the Empress Dowager’s name; otherwise, if a shipwreck occurs, it will trouble her sleep and appetite."

"All things have a beginning; since maritime trade began with the Longqing Opening, let it bear the name of my late father."

The decision was final; all bowed in submission.

"Two reigns opening the seas, father and son united in purpose—this fine tale shall surely be passed down through generations!"

Accustomed to Confucian flattery, Zhu Yijun was unmoved by the nobles’ blunt praise; he heard only half and waved them away impatiently.

The imperial relatives and nobles had achieved their goal; they bowed respectfully again and again, satisfied, following the young eunuchs out of the hall.

The Chengguang Hall was finally, for once, quiet.

Zhu Yijun rose from his throne, placed his hands on his lower back, and slowly descended the steps.

"What time is it?"

Zhu Yijun had sat rigidly on his throne all morning and felt it was endless—why wasn’t lunch ready yet?

Li Jin, who had served the Emperor for years, knew his habits well; after glancing at the hour, he bowed and replied: "Your Majesty, lunch will be served in three quarters of an hour."

Zhu Yijun twisted his neck, loosening his muscles: "Send the meal to Wanshou Palace—I’ll return and rest."

Li Jin understood and made a gesture behind him.

Clever young eunuchs quietly withdrew to hurry the meal, while others stepped forward in small, swift steps to escort him back to Wanshou Palace.

Zhu Yijun rubbed his lower back as he walked toward the exit of Chengguang Hall: "Has the Winter Solstice Grand Sacrifice been arranged?"

The specific rituals were the Ministry of Rites’ duty; here, he meant the repairs and cleaning by the Imperial Palace Supervision Office.

Li Jin lowered his posture and followed behind: "Your Majesty, the Altar of Heaven and the Nine Tombs have all been arranged."

Zhu Yijun nodded: "Take my imperial edict and have Jing Emperor’s mausoleum tidied up as well."

Jing Emperor was Emperor Dai Zong, whose worship was optional, but Zhu Yijun always included him.

Li Jin naturally bowed and accepted the order.

The sun blazed high overhead.

As the Emperor stepped out of Chengguang Hall, attendants rushed forward to clear the way, hold the parasol, and fan him.

The procession, surrounded by attendants, headed toward Wanshou Palace.

Zhu Yijun walked at the center of the line, hand pressed against his lower back, moving at a steady pace: “How much silver has the Inner Court allocated for winter month?”

Winter month brings two costly events.

The first is the thirty-sixth birthday of Empress Dowager Li, which was originally not to be celebrated—but somehow, someone told her that thirty-six corresponds to the Thirty-Six Manifestations, and to dispel bodily afflictions, a grand banquet must be held.

The second is Princess Shouyang, Zhu Yaoe, the eldest of Zhu Yijun’s four surviving sisters, who is to marry Hou Gongchen this month; the Inner Court must prepare her dowry expenses.

Li Jin followed closely behind the emperor, hesitated a moment, then replied: “Your Majesty, Empress Dowager’s wish is to allocate ten thousand taels each; the Inner Court can indeed raise it…”

Zhu Yijun waved his hand: “Then follow your mother’s wish—four thousand taels each.”

Li Jin froze, then realized, his face twisting in distress.

The emperor had grown older, and now found it too tiresome to indulge Empress Dowager Li’s whims.

Deeming twenty thousand taels too much, he cut it straight to eight without even asking—forcing the matter to be settled.

What if Empress Dowager Li becomes furious?

Then it would be this Director of the Eastern Depot and Senior Eunuch of the Office of Attendant, whose speech was unclear, who misdelivered the message and ruined the emperor’s filial intent.

Li Jin’s aged face crumpled like a chrysanthemum; he swallowed his tears and accepted the blame: “Yes, Your Majesty, I shall arrange it properly.”

Seeing Li Jin’s expression, Zhu Yijun couldn’t help but chuckle.

He patted Li Jin’s shoulder: “Big Companion, you are still my elder. Family matters—bear with it.”

Eight years have passed; even prison mates grow closer, let alone a emperor and eunuch who are kin and share every day.

Li Jin was used to taking the blame; he bowed and let the matter drop.

Zhu Yijun walked ahead, continuing: “By the way, that tabby cat I gave Empress Dowager Ren Sheng—hasn’t it turned nine this year?”

Li Jin blinked.

He thought back, then remembered: “Your Majesty, it is nine years and eight months old.”

Zhu Yijun nodded. The cat was old now, likely near its end. He paused, then turned to Li Jin: “Find a young tabby for your mistress to raise—give her a new joy.”

Li Jin immediately agreed: “Your Majesty’s filial piety is pure.”

Beyond flattery, there was genuine feeling—when the cat was first given to Empress Dowager Ren Sheng, it was for comfort; to remember it eight years later was true filial devotion.

Zhu Yijun smiled but said nothing.

It had nothing to do with filial piety—he had just remembered that Princess Yanqing, raised by Empress Chen, was now twelve; when her daughter married and the pet died, she would be too lonely.

Of course, beautiful women left alone in empty chambers were not just Empress Chen.

Zhu Yijun thought of his nightly rotation and sighed helplessly: “Big Companion, no concubine tonight—I need rest.”

Li Jin hesitated: “Your Majesty, the imperial physician says Consort Zhang’s pregnancy energy is strongest these two days…”

The moment he spoke, the emperor’s steps quickened sharply, pulling far ahead.

Li Jin stared, speechless, and cut himself off, hurrying to catch up.

His old legs couldn’t match the young man’s pace; only at the gate of Wanshou Palace did he finally gasp his way up to the emperor.

Zhu Yijun glanced back, cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back, and entered Wanshou Palace as if nothing had happened.

Thanks to the emperor’s tactic of out-waiting the old, the group arrived too swiftly—the eunuchs had no time to alert Consort Li.

Zhu Yijun waved his hand, signaling the ladies-in-waiting not to announce him.

Passing through empty corridors, he headed straight for the inner chamber.

When Zhu Yijun reached the inner chamber’s door, Li Baiyang was hunched over something.

“Huh? Why has the pocket watch stopped? I wound it this morning…”

Consort Li leaned over the desk, turning the pocket watch over and over.

Her muttering reached Zhu Yijun’s ears, making the emperor start violently.

He froze mid-step, holding his breath for a long while.

Only after confirming nothing strange had occurred did he angrily stride forward and snatch the watch from Li Baiyang’s hands.

Li Baiyang’s hand went empty; only then did she notice the emperor’s return, rising quickly to bow: “Your Majesty.”

Zhu Yijun helped her up, both seating themselves: “Foreign tributes—we know what they do, not why. They’re easiest to become obsessed with. I’ll keep it for you.”

Li Baiyang assumed the emperor meant to send it to Qushi Academy for study; she pouted and murmured “Okay.”

Zhu Yijun gestured toward the outer chamber.

Eunuchs and maids, informed, entered bearing trays of imperial dishes.

“I have matters this afternoon—eat while we talk,” Zhu Yijun said softly.

The emperor’s schedule was packed; even meals were scheduled for official business.

Li Baiyang nodded understandingly, then pulled a letter from her sleeve: “This is the family letter from Grandfather yesterday.”

A family letter—of course the emperor, as Li Chunfang’s grandson-in-law, would read it.

Zhu Yijun took it from her hands, unfolded it, and scanned it quickly.

Li Chunfang’s family letters were never mere gossip.

They always touched on the political climate of Nanzhili, scholarly trends, and aristocratic currents.

Under Zhu Yijun’s prior secret edict, these letters were, in truth, unofficial reports on covert assignments.

Zhu Yijun skimmed the page, seizing key phrases.

He didn’t look up: “Where’s the newspaper?”

Li Baiyang, without waiting for the maids, set chopsticks and bowls for both: “I placed it on the bookshelf in the main hall for you.”

Zhu Yijun nodded—he didn’t need it fetched; knowing it existed was enough.

Li Baiyang’s expression grew somber: “Grandfather says he and Great-Grandmother’s health is declining.”

Zhu Yijun, absorbed in Li Chunfang’s letter, merely grunted.

He remembered Li Chunfang had a few more years left; his mother, though—hadn’t the Li family held a grand funeral in Wanli 9? That must have been her.

Li Baiyang glanced at the emperor, reproachful: “You’ve said for years you’d find someone to replace Grandfather, so he could retire and care for his mother.”

Zhu Yijun paused, lifting his gaze to meet hers.

Assigning family members to office always meant endless nagging at home.

Zhu Yijun grumbled inwardly, then sighed: “The Nanjing News Bureau is a state cornerstone. Right now, no one but your grandfather can handle it.”

Unlike the political environment in Beizhili.

In Nanjing, the News Bureau mattered more than the two Provincial Governors, all the Viceroys, and even the Six Ministries—it was the realm of scholarly public opinion!

Aside from Li Chunfang—a high official, noble-born, moral exemplar—how many others could command the Nanjing News Bureau?

Of course, there were others.

The most suitable were the Donglin Party—noble lineage, high reputation, respectable rank.

But whether Gu Assistant County Magistrate or Li Sancai, though reformed for years, their true quality remains unverified.

Li Chunfang must suffer a little longer.

No sooner had Zhu Yijun finished speaking than Li Baiyang’s cheeks puffed again.

Typical.

Zhu Yijun rolled his eyes, stepping back: “At least finish this mission?”

Li Baiyang blushed, smiling shyly as she placed a dish in his bowl.

Seeing the emperor wasn’t annoyed, she asked gently: “Your Majesty’s plan to lure out the snakes—is it nearly ready? Grandfather says southern newspapers are growing bolder, bordering on madness.”

Zhu Yijun froze, correcting sharply: “What do you mean ‘lure out the snakes’?”

Li Baiyang shrank back: “That’s what Grandfather says.”

Zhu Yijun fell silent.

After a long pause, he sighed: “Do you think this is my intention? Your grandfather doesn’t know who betrayed whom!”

“Establishing newspapers among the people—I fought through immense hardship to make it happen.”

“No one in court supported me. Officials of the Tongzheng Office seethed with resentment; the Ministry of Rites called it surrendering a weapon. Even the Grand Secretary and Master Gao argued with me until their necks turned red.”

“I persuaded each one, one by one.”

“I used debates and classical exegesis as a platform to spread teachings and encourage diversity. I flattered scholars, claiming public opinion could supervise corrupt officials—as long as the court walked the righteous path, it had nothing to fear from criticism. I even wielded the stick of ‘open speech’ to silence dissent.”

“I labored tirelessly to establish the Nanjing News Bureau.”

“Who knew that when trouble came, they revealed their true colors!”

“They rode on my carriage to block my path! Li Chunfang calls this ‘luring out the snakes’?!”

Zhu Yijun grew increasingly desolate as he spoke.

He was no sage—he couldn’t be flawless.

When launching newspapers, though he knew it was a double-edged sword, he believed the benefits outweighed the risks.

But he hadn’t expected.

Zhu Yijun scanned Li Chunfang’s letter, reading each article denouncing court policy.

The Taicang Three Zhangs of Fushè Bao, Luo Yuren of the Nanjing National Academy Gazette, Zhao Nanxing of Donglin Bao…

“Ah.”

Zhu Yijun shook his head, sighing: “Fine—lure out the snakes then. The wind in Nanzhili must be quelled now.”

Li Baiyang realized she had spoken wrongly.

She watched the emperor’s face carefully, searching for how to soothe him.

But Zhu Yijun patted her shoulder and smiled: “It’s fine. Let’s eat.”

The dishes had arrived.

As the two were about to lift their chopsticks, Zhu Yijun looked up and saw a steamed dish carried in by Senior Eunuch Wei Chao.

The Emperor raised an eyebrow: “You finish your duty but don’t go eat—why come to me?”

Wei Chao smiled and placed the dishes before the Emperor: “I feared Your Majesty might be thinking of it, so I came first to report, and since I’ve just completed my task, I also wish to request leave to leave the palace for a while.”

Zhu Yijun, hearing this was a legitimate reason, said nothing more.

He asked casually: “Has Master gone back to the Grand Secretariat to catch up on memorials?”

Wei Chao shook his head: “Your Majesty, the Senior Grand Secretary has already reviewed all the case files and memorials, and is preparing to discuss Your Majesty’s assigned matter at today’s morning court.”

“When I left, they were deliberating the Lotus Case.”

Zhu Yijun was taken aback upon hearing this.

He immediately shook his head and remarked with no small admiration: “No nickname is given without reason—truly a child prodigy.”

If it were him, he’d need half a day just to finish reading that pile of files.

Wei Chao glanced at the Emperor, then thought better of it and said nothing about Zhang Juzheng reading the files while listening in on the court deliberations.

“The Lotus Case?”

Li Baiyang, beside him, looked curious: “Your Maidservant seems to have heard something about it from a noblewoman.”

Zhu Yijun sneered: “There are few in the capital who haven’t heard of it.”

The Emperor clearly had no mood to answer questions now.

Wei Chao explained to Imperial Consort Li: “Your Highness, it’s an old wrongful case.”

“In the sixth year of Longqing, the Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, Zhou Shichen, was murdered in his home.”

“After the incident, the Commander of the Five City Military Command, Zhang Guowei, took over the case and, upon learning that the maid Lotus, the old servant Wang Kui, and the neighbor Lu Jin were present at the scene, immediately declared them the culprits.”

“Though there was no physical evidence, the confessions were thoroughly fabricated—all three admitted they killed their master after being caught in an affair.”

“When the case reached the Ministry of Justice, the Ministry’s Director Pan Zhiyi suspected irregularities and refused to close it, but the Left Vice Minister Weng Dali insisted the facts were clear, and ultimately the three were sentenced to death by slow slicing.”

Li Baiyang picked up her chopsticks, eating while savoring the gossip.

Hearing this, she couldn’t help asking: “They confessed—why call it a wrongful case?”

Wei Chao was unsure whether this was deliberate ignorance or sheer naivety.

He glanced at the Emperor, saw his silent approval, then sighed: “Because a month ago, a convict named Zhu Guochen was arrested for obstructing land surveying, and his home in Baoding Prefecture was ransacked.”

“Inside, they found the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s waist token of the victim in the Lotus Case, along with some bloodstained antiques and calligraphy.”

“In other words, Zhu Guochen must be the true killer from that case!”

Li Baiyang stared, dumbfounded.

She murmured to herself: “Then why did those three confess?”

Wei Chao was speechless, unable to answer.

At that moment,

Zhu Yijun suddenly sneered: “When Zhang Han headed the Ministry of Justice, I ordered him to investigate wrongful cases—he once brought up this case for discussion.”

“Do you know how Weng Dali, then serving as Nanjing’s Minister of Justice, replied to me?”

Li Baiyang looked curiously at the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun smiled without warmth: “That man claimed his cases could withstand historical scrutiny.”

(End of Chapter)