Chapter 351: Waning and Waxing, Rise and Fall

Luo Yuren’s essay, titled “Admonition on Wealth, Qi, Lust, and Amusement,” was written on impulse as an article for the Nanjing National Academy’s supplement.

By “wealth,” he meant the emperor’s sin of greed.

How greedy?

He hoards every copper coin, drains the public treasury, fills his private coffers—new policies obsess over revenue collection; salt monopoly, imperial estates, and land taxes are bad enough, yet he even orders the collection of tiny copper coins to be melted down—though the state treasury is full, the people’s homes are utterly empty.

King Wu of Zhou once distributed the wealth of Lu Tai, winning the hearts of eight hundred states; in contrast, Emperor Yang of Sui hoarded greedily, and heaven’s mandate could not be obscured!

By “qi,” he meant the emperor’s sin of rage.

How enraged?

He gives free rein to anger, acts on whim, governs with harshness, and abandons fairness—easily stirred to fury, he vents capriciously, stubbornly refuses counsel, imposes cruel punishments on scholar-officials, and administers without regard for regional equity.

Emperor Shun of Yu was gentle and cautious, cultivating virtue to attract fortune; in contrast, Jie and Zhou were cruel and heartless, and public resentment was glaringly evident!

By “lust,” he meant the emperor’s sin of lechery.

What lechery?

He dotes on beautiful concubines, keeps them at his bedside, indulges them and invites insult, and lets beauty mislead the state—years have passed, yet the empress has borne no heir, while Consort Wu is already pregnant; clearly, this is due to the emperor’s obsession with beauty.

Tang of Shang avoided sensual pleasures and enjoyed long life; in contrast, Emperor Muzong—perhaps Emperor Muzong of Tang—indulged excessively, took golden elixirs, and died at thirty!

By “amusement,” he meant the emperor’s sin of frivolity.

How frivolous?

He neglects governance, indulges in music, women, dogs, and horses, travels without restraint, like a common man—last year he toured Zhili, and now he wants to go south to play, having forgotten he is the Son of Heaven burdened with state affairs.

Emperor Renzong of Song presided from the center, and the four seas were at peace; in contrast, Qin Shi Huang made multiple eastern tours for pleasure, was repeatedly targeted by assassins, and perished in the second generation!

Who could possibly tear the state apart more than the emperor’s own words and deeds?

Luo Yuren wrote furiously, swept up in passion, utterly unaware of what his two companions were saying.

Zhao Nanxing and Zou Yuanbiao walked behind him and leaned in to read.

They had no idea what they were in for—once they saw it, they were stunned.

Anxiety crept onto Zou Yuanbiao’s face; after a moment’s hesitation, he ventured a cautious warning: “Yi Zhong, isn’t your wording a bit too extreme?”

Court rumors have already spread that the emperor plans a southern tour—how dare you write something like this!

Luo Yuren didn’t look up, his tone cold and hard: “The Hundred Schools contend, and free speech is the emperor’s own decree—what’s there to fear in being extreme? Which of my words is wrong?”

Seeing his hostile attitude, Zou Yuanbiao turned to Zhao Nanxing.

Zhao Nanxing pretended not to notice.

Though the three are fellow members of the Lin, they are not conjoined twins.

Zou Yuanbiao is from Jiangxi; hearing of the emperor’s southern tour, he fears the emperor will exploit the issue to crush his hometown clan, and naturally he trembles.

But Zhao Nanxing and Luo Yuren are northerners, entirely outside the scope of this north-south conflict, and remain calm and composed.

According to the new school’s analysis of contradictions:

At this moment, the “seditious book” case is not about who hides what—it is a concrete manifestation of overlapping contradictions: regional equity, tax and labor distribution, media hegemony, old versus new doctrines, and scholarly associations influencing governance.

The situation is complex, a tangled mess.

Though the three share grievances against the court on many issues and have come together as the “Three Virtuous Men of Donglin,” widely sung of in Jiangnan,

when faced with concrete problems, they still hold divergent views.

Compared to the emperor’s southern tour, Luo Yuren and Zhao Nanxing, the two Donglin Virtuous Men, are even more enraged by the central court’s signs of silencing speech and reviving press censorship!

If this is a battle for discourse power, how could the wording not be fierce?

Not even the mild accusation of condemning the emperor as utterly wicked is too much—adding fuel by provoking, “Southerners are not helpless children needing northern protection,” is entirely justified!

Zhao Nanxing pondered a moment, then urged Zou Yuanbiao: “Erzhan, remember when we attended the southern sacrifice to Heaven—we personally witnessed how power was perverted, how officials were exiled one after another.”

“The Book of Poetry says: ‘The state’s moral compass.’”

“At that time, we swore to each other—even if reduced to commoners in the countryside—we would still serve the state with whatever strength we had!”

“Now the court is exploiting the situation, not only inciting the emperor’s southern tour but also seeking to revive press censorship and silence speech—can we simply ignore it?”

“Writing these fierce articles is to awaken His Majesty, to prevent him from repeating his errors!”

From this progression, it is clear Zhao Nanxing cares more about whether the Donglin Gazette can reclaim discourse power.

Zou Yuanbiao’s expression grew dark.

He was an elder of Donglin—he understood their thoughts well, for running the newspaper was the very foundation of their gathering in Nanzhili.

Originally, Gu Assistant County Magistrate and Li Sancai had strayed into heresy by promoting new scholarship, and parted ways with them.

In righteous indignation, the three took up Gu Assistant County Magistrate’s original ideals and newspaper: “The rise and fall of the realm hinges on public sentiment; public sentiment’s righteousness or corruption hinges on scholarship.”

To save the world and rescue the people, the newspaper was paramount!

As for the emperor’s southern tour or forced land surveys—could they even reach Zhao Nanxing, a native of Zhili?

Landlords and local gentry? Let them die by the dozen—the Donglin Gazette never lacks gentry donations.

Moreover,

if the emperor truly plunges the south into chaos and public outcry, wouldn’t publications like the Donglin Gazette, which thrive on criticizing the court, gain even broader support?

Of course, the three could only understand this silently—Donglin Virtuous Men must practice solitude; if they cannot remain steadfast in their image, how could they teach the world?

But

Zou Yuanbiao, as a southerner, was different!

His family were gentry of Jishui County, Jiangxi—fields stretched for miles, properties countless!

Once the emperor’s southern tour, with its north-south conflict, sweeps through, how could Jishui County—famed as “Half the court officials are from Jiangxi, half the Hanlin scholars from Jishui”—escape unscathed?!

He might end up like Fan Yingqi, losing even his ancestral graves!

Zhao Nanxing saw his expression and understood.

He paused, then grew solemn, fixed his gaze on Zou Yuanbiao, and said firmly: “Erzhan, do you think caution and delicacy can persuade the emperor to turn from evil?”

One counter-question carried the sharpness of forged iron.

Zou Yuanbiao was stunned.

Zhao Nanxing stared steadily at Zou Yuanbiao, his eyes unwavering.

If the Donglin Party ceased publishing, would the emperor cancel his southern tour?

If Zou Yuanbiao knelt and begged, would his clan’s ancestral graves be spared?

If they now began singing praises, would their stripped-off offices return?

Since there is no retreat left, there is nothing to fear or hesitate over!

Zhao Nanxing lowered his voice, speaking gravely: “Erzhan, though we have lost our offices, we must still uphold our integrity—do not betray the reputation of the literati!”

They had already been exiled—their backs were no longer seated on the emperor’s side.

Their current standing at the table was earned through their own struggle, through southern resentment poured entirely into Donglin, earning them the literati’s support and the people’s admiration.

This is their base—they must not confuse ends with means.

If Donglin shifts from criticizing the court to becoming a two-faced mediator, or worse, flatters the emperor, their reputation, literati status, and public influence will vanish instantly!

The southern tour is settled; their base lies not in the court—why fear fierce wording? Press forward boldly!

The dynasty has always opened speech—no one has ever been punished for words.

When the emperor toured Zhili, his younger brother Zhao Nandou, accompanying He Xinyin, openly insulted the emperor—and was not punished!

One must boldly admonish the emperor!

Admonition gathers the wise! Admonition rallies the masses! Admonition corrects the court’s perversion of power!

This argument cut straight to the heart; Zou Yuanbiao fell silent.

Long moments passed before a weary sigh echoed in the office.

Zou Yuanbiao bowed in apology: “I was mistaken, Brother Gongji—you have enlightened me.”

Zhao Nanxing nodded, satisfied.

With a great enemy before them, if they could not unite their own ranks, they would surely suffer another crushing defeat—this was the lesson of the southern sacrifice!

Zhao Nanxing gently took Zou Yuanbiao’s arm and said softly: “The Donglin Gazette and the Nanjing National Academy’s publication—I and Yi Zhong will handle them.”

“There is another matter I need you to attend to.”

Zou Yuanbiao understood at once.

His moment of hesitation had been noticed by Zhao Nanxing; the subsequent task of drafting a scathing article under a pseudonym would now be kept from him.

He did not press it, bowing in reply: “We are brothers bound by shared ideals—what need for ‘favor’?”

Zhao Nanxing truly had a task to entrust.

As the matter turned in his mind, his face visibly darkened, his grip tightening unconsciously.

Only when Zou Yuanbiao’s arm ached from the pressure did he speak slowly: “I wrote to the Zhang family of Taicang and received no reply—you must go there yourself…”

Zhao Nanxing’s face was expressionless, his tone icy: “Ask them on behalf of us all—what exactly is going on with Zhang Fu?”

…

“Third brother, what exactly is going on with Fu Zhi?”

In a study within the Zhang family of Taicang, the atmosphere was tense, a hint of accusation hanging in the air.

The Zhang family, recorded in the “Taicang Old Gazetteer: Clan Prominence,” were a powerful clan who built charitable estates, founded Confucian schools, and aided famine victims, enjoying great popular reputation.

The three brothers in charge all held official posts.

The eldest, Zhang Qing, served as Minister of Military Affairs in Nanjing; the second, Zhang Yi, was Vice Prefect of Taicang Prefecture; the youngest, Zhang Xing, was Assistant Commissioner for Grain in Suzhou and Songjiang.

Logically, as a powerful clan with official standing, they should have maintained composure, unmoved even by a collapsing mountain.

Yet

at this moment, the Three Zhangs of Taicang were far from calm and composed.

It was even unusually anxious and uneasy.

On the desk lay a court bulletin and several vernacular newspapers—all from Beijing—that clearly were the source of the three men’s agitation.

Several newspapers, without prior coordination, all recounted the same incident…

Initially,

Emperor Wanli had originally advocated lifting the press ban and allowing a hundred schools of thought to contend.

He had worked tirelessly, traveling to persuade ministers, clearly with sincere intent.

But on one hand, Emperor Wanli’s ideas were hard for most in court to accept.

On the other hand, the objective reactions stirred by events had forced him to abandon his original intentions.

Scholars, by nature, were glib and fond of satire; it was fine when they were quiet, but once given a chance to speak, they could never hold back.

The more scholars spoke, the harder it became to control the situation.

Among them, major literary societies, Confucian scholars, and local gentry all seized the opportunity of the lifted press ban to speak freely.

Beyond discussing classical texts, they voiced many dissenting opinions on state affairs.

Some of these opinions were well-intentioned—for instance, criticizing the land survey’s disruption of the people, or reflecting on the negative impacts of the new policies, aiming to better implement them.

But many opinions were malicious—such as writing heretical texts, inciting north-south division, stoking regional tensions, all to resist the land survey and coerce the court.

How could such political challenges be tolerated?

Yet the court remained silent for too long, allowing heretical texts to spread wildly—even phrases like “Southern Monarch, Northern Court” appeared in newspaper articles!

Suddenly, officials across court vied to urge: this could no longer be ignored!

Patrols and constables must be deployed to hunt down the authors of heretical texts!

Even Vice Minister of Revenue Fan Yingqi openly petitioned, urging the emperor to tour the south and purge this heretical tide.

The controversy grew louder, and after half a month of debate, no resolution emerged.

Finally, at the end of June, a coincidence completely ignited this powder keg.

Zhang Fuzhi, a newly minted Jinshi, Shujishi, Hanlin Academy Compiler, and Secretary of the Qiushi Academy, submitted a memorial stating that today’s heretical texts were merely resistance to land and household surveys—after all, every province followed procedure, yet only the Jiangnan provinces lagged, sparked unrest, and stirred public outcry; now even “Southern Monarch, Northern Court” had surfaced. If the emperor did not tour the south now, when would he?

This was hardly a weighty memorial—after all, Zhang Fuzhi held only the rank of Secretary.

Even Cai Ruxian, Minister of the Imperial Stable, submitted a memorial impeaching him, directly scolding Zhang Fuzhi as “obsequious,” “mindless,” “only capable of guessing,” “specializing in petty reports,” and a “henchman,” and so on.

Clearly, his influence was negligible.

Yet precisely this insignificant man seemed to have triggered the villains’ unrestrained actions, leading to something no one had anticipated unfolding openly upon him.

Someone anonymously wrote an article, published it in the press, and openly threatened Zhang Fuzhi!

The article stated:

Although Zhang Fuzhi has now risen to the position of Secretary, in the past he had been a fierce critic of the court—now he has become a tool of the tyrants, truly the height of shamelessness!

Warn Zhang Fuzhi: turn back while you still can! Otherwise, the people of Jiangnan will not forgive you!

If the court trusts only men like Zhang Fuzhi, it will inevitably bring about its own destruction!

How outrageous!

Fan Yingqi, who had advocated the emperor’s southern tour, immediately seized this opportunity.

He sought out Shen Shixing and said this threatening article was excellent.

It was excellent precisely because it was anonymous—anonymity allowed people to broadly associate it with a tendency, an idea, a force, prompting the scholarly community to reflect deeply.

Shen Shixing, upon hearing this, deeply agreed.

Thus, a letter signed with the name of Deputy Grand Secretary Shen Shixing, titled “Why?”, was delivered as scheduled to the Nanjing Tongzheng Office and disseminated throughout Jiangnan.

This was precisely the court bulletin now before the Three Zhangs of TaiCang.

It first recounted the origins and course of the heretical text case from the Grand Secretariat’s perspective, then refuted each heretical text one by one, followed by expressing dismay that the emperor’s leniency had been met with slander and division.

Finally, it ended with an angry question:

Why!?

Everyone should ponder: against the backdrop of the new policies, amid the privileges of a lifted press ban, and amid the clamor over north-south division, how could such a thing emerge—openly, in the name of Jiangnan’s people, calling for the court’s destruction?

Why!?

This was a rhetorical question, leaving no room for debate.

At the end of the bulletin, Shen Shixing delivered the final verdict, defining the matter once and for all.

It was a signal—a signal that certain individuals were exploiting the lifted press ban to sharply fracture the nation. The new policies had reached such a dire state that the emperor must tour the south! Notably, the victim of this affair, Zhang Fuzhi, was assigned the task of “investigating the heretical texts” during the court deliberation.

And this was precisely the point of greatest confusion for the Three Zhangs of TaiCang.

They simply wanted to ask the same question as Shen Shixing: Why?

Isn’t our own child one of us?

Zhang Xing, the one being questioned, naturally could not answer.

He glanced at his two brothers and shook his head helplessly: “I’ll write a letter right away and ask Fuzhi what’s going on.”

Zhang Yi clenched his fist in frustration: “It’s too late! By the time a reply arrives, the emperor will likely have reached Jiangnan before it!”

The previous chain of connections had already caused so much turmoil.

In Shandong, the peasant uprising killed and wounded hundreds of civilians and officials; in Zhejiang, the unrest drove Shen Shixing’s teacher to illness, and the ancestral tombs of Fan Yingqi were overturned; several manuscripts terrified Wang Daoqun into refusing office and frightened Sun Piyang into outsourcing the land survey to gentry.

At this point, why hadn’t the emperor yet reined in his actions?

How could he even entertain the idea of a southern tour—doesn’t he fear the climate and terrain?

That alone would be bad enough.

We could simply continue our alliances and confront again.

Who knew that Wanli’s southern tour had been personally engineered by our own nephew!

Now, not only were alliances shattered, but the TaiCang Zhang family’s decades of prestige were ruined!

Prestigious families shut their doors to us; local gentry hurled insults without end.

Letters of accusation from scholars nearly flooded the Zhang family’s front gate!

Zhang Yi still couldn’t tell whether his nephew’s memorial urging the southern tour was merely political opportunism, or whether he had betrayed his own family’s legacy to climb the ladder!

Thump!

The sound of a hand slamming the table startled his two brothers.

Zhang Qing’s palm remained pressed on the desk, as if he had reached a decisive conclusion, his face expressionless.

As the eldest brother, he must make a decision now—no matter what.

He turned to Zhang Xing and declared firmly: “Lizhi, go immediately and deal with the seventeen newspaper offices under our control.”

The sudden order left Zhang Xing momentarily stunned.

Deal with them? What does that mean?

Seventeen newspaper offices? Those were the very foundations of our influence!

Though our three brothers were renowned for our literary fame,

we frequently exchanged writings with Wang Shizhen, Gui Youguang, Wang Daoqun, and others, regarded as kindred spirits; even after the publication of the “Lou Dong Poetry Anthology” for over a decade, we finally established a school, with students flocking to study under us, our scholarly prestige renowned throughout Jiangnan.

But in truth,

the literary reputation gained through newspapers in one year surpassed what we had built in the previous ten.

To reach this point, we had spent countless resources—our descendants’ rise to leadership in the scholarly world, their ability to command a hundred responses, depended entirely on this!

And now you say we abandon it all!?

He hesitantly confirmed: “Big brother, Fuzhi only submitted one memorial—is it really this dire?”

Zhang Qing left no room for negotiation, his brow furrowed as he snapped: “What foundation isn’t built by hard work? Don’t argue—clean it all up!”

As long as the green hills remain, firewood will never be lacking. The eldest brother is father; when making choices, no explanation is needed.

Seeing his elder brother’s resolve, Zhang Xing gritted his teeth and reluctantly agreed.

Zhang Qing paused, his gaze sweeping over his two brothers before settling on Zhang Yi: “Daozhi, you must go to Zhejiang immediately.”

Zhang Yi met his elder brother’s gaze, bewildered.

Why send him to Zhejiang? Fan Yingqi’s ancestral tombs had already been dug up—they’d won decisively. What was the point of returning?

Urgent as he was, Zhang Qing had no time for games. He gripped Zhang Yi’s shoulder and explained: “In recent years, I’ve devoted myself to studying Confucian scholarship and have no spare energy—I’ve had to entrust everything at home to you.”

“Thus, matters involving the Duke of Qufu in Shandong, Yin Shidan, the Dong family of Huzhou, the Regional Governor of Nanjing Sun Piyang, and the Provincial Governor of Zhejiang Wang Daoqun—all were handled by you personally…”

Zhang Yi’s expression shifted slightly; he began to glimpse his elder brother’s plan.

Zhang Qing tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder and spoke slowly, each word deliberate: “Go to Zhejiang, find a private boat to sail overseas, and do not return until you receive my letter.”

As soon as he finished, both brothers’ faces turned pale.

“Big brother…”

Zhang Yi understood his elder brother’s intent—he was too visible; if the emperor caught even a trace of his involvement, the entire family would face execution!

This was both a retreat from danger and an unavoidable act of hedging bets.

But to force him to abandon home, fortune, and legacy, fleeing across the ocean—it was too much to ask!

He had no time to speak.

Zhang Qing swept his sleeve aside, his voice stern and commanding: “No more debate—do as I say!”

This single command truly embodied the elder brother’s authority.

Zhang Yi opened and closed his mouth several times, then finally clenched his teeth and nodded.

The three fell into silent agreement.

Zhang Xing hesitated, then asked: “And what of you, Big Brother? Will you go to Nan Zhili to welcome the emperor?”

The junior had become the pivotal figure—however fleeting the emperor’s whim, one must still inquire about the senior’s official rank; such was the custom.

Zhang Qing nodded; he was a physician of the Nanjing Ministry of War, and now he was on leave returning home, but he would have to go back to Nanjing.

After a moment’s thought, he laid out his entire plan to avoid future misjudgments: “When I return to Nanzhili, I will personally seek out Li Chunfang!”

The two younger brothers froze, glancing at each other.

Though their eldest brother spoke only briefly, issuing orders with clear precision, they still felt an overwhelming wave of anxiety.

Li Chunfang is no good man!

After the salt administration case, Li Chunfang sank into moral decay, completely aligning himself with the Emperor to get his granddaughter into the palace, and since then has drifted further from the Jiangnan gentry.

Later, he took charge of the Nanjing News Office, constantly reprimanding and interrogating, and every family has suffered under his control.

Though he once suppressed them with his rank and prestige, remaining powerful on the surface as the leader of Jiangnan, in reality his household has grown far quieter.

Take Zhang Xing, one of the three brothers in this room—he once married a clanswoman of Li Chunfang and had to call Li Chunfang his clan grandfather-in-law; back then, he visited every year without fail—whether Li Chunfang was home or not, whether it meant taking a detour.

But since the Wanli reign began, their relationship has plummeted; apart from birthdays and grand banquets, they have almost no contact anymore, not even as much as visiting Wang Xijue’s household.

Zhang Yi pressed further: “Is the eldest brother trying to gauge Li Chunfang’s stance?”

Zhang Qing did not deny it, answering frankly: “When the Emperor comes south on tour, he will surely notify Li Chunfang in advance—I must test whether we’ve left any trace.”

Logically, his nephew, having passed the imperial examination, cannot be foolish—he should not act recklessly to draw attention or place himself in a dangerous position.

But if he was forced…

Thinking of this, Zhang Qing’s face darkened further; suddenly, he slumped, letting out a long sigh: “Or perhaps we should consider whether we need to kneel and beg for mercy.”

At these words, the three men’s expressions varied.

Shades of red, purple, white, and liver-colored, like banana leaves—every hue appeared, dazzlingly complex.

The Emperor had not even appeared yet, yet the pressure was already this intense.

Who knows how he will humiliate the people of the southern regions when he finally arrives?

…

Coincidentally, the Emperor was now humiliating the people of the southern regions.

“You outsider!”

Zhu Yijun’s fingers threaded through Li Baiyang’s hair: “Eat along the edge!”

The sky was just beginning to lighten.

Too late to sleep in, too early to rise—so he simply woke up in bed to clear his mind.

Li Baiyang, buried under the covers, could only hear muffled words: “I don’t like it here!”

Her tone was sharp; Zhu Yijun involuntarily drew in a breath.

The north-south divide is terrifying!

In pain, he threatened: “If you keep showing me no respect, don’t expect me to take you on this southern tour!”

Hearing this, Li Baiyang paused.

She poked her head out from under the covers, mumbling: “Has His Majesty decided who will accompany him on the southern tour?”

Zhu Yijun, at this, nodded gently, his gaze tender: “I distinguish between close and distant—I’ve chosen only you and Imperial Consort Wang.”

Saying this, he pulled her into his arms and played with her endlessly.

Li Baiyang pushed his hand away from her chest, giving the Emperor a withering look: “I know—His Majesty told the Empress he could not leave her to hold the palace, feared I, as Noble Imperial Consort, would stay behind and challenge her authority, bully her, so he took me away to avoid seeing me.”

Zhu Yijun’s expression was neither embarrassed nor comfortable.

Too many clever words lose their effect.

“The outer court has also selected candidates; Hai Rui returns to the capital today—I’ll just finalize arrangements with them.”

As he spoke, Zhu Yijun cleared his throat, shifting Li Imperial Consort onto his lap, feigning distraction: “By the way, what did the imperial physicians say about Han Yifei yesterday?”

He had married Han Yifei in June, for half a month.

By month’s end, Han Yifei’s menses had ceased.

The physicians, well-versed in bureaucratic caution, after feeling her pulse, only said “possibly,” “perhaps,” “maybe,” and suggested further observation.

Only after entering August, after two missed cycles, did the Imperial Medical Bureau confidently organize a joint diagnosis, taking pulses morning, noon, and night, and even examining her morning urine on an empty stomach.

Zhu Yijun could not stay to watch, so he entrusted the Two Palaces and the Empress to inquire.

Li Baiyang lay on the Emperor’s chest, staring into his eyes: “The physicians say they still need to examine her this morning to confirm, but yesterday they said Putuo Mountain revealed its miracle—eight or nine out of ten, it’s certain.”

Zhu Yijun wrapped his arms around her waist, nodding absently.

If so, the noise from the court would lessen considerably—these ministers truly feared he might fall ill and die in the Western Garden.

Add to that Hai Rui’s return to the capital today, and everything was now in place.

Finally, he could set out on the southern tour!

Affairs in the south were a tangled mess—there was no choice but to go south!

For instance, land surveying—mere token efforts, as in history, would not do.

Though Sun Piyang and Wang Jiaoping reported decent progress in every county, in truth, none of it could be trusted!

If landholdings were properly accounted for, could Nanzhili really have only four hundred thousand mu surveyed?

If hidden households were properly registered, how could there have been the Jiangnan slave revolts at the end of the Ming?

Then there’s the tax arrears—this issue has been addressed in imperial edicts more than seven times, yet they still evade, pleading for exemptions—Suzhou and other prefectures in Jiangnan owe seventy-one thousand one hundred thirty-five taels in silver, while Huaiyang and other prefectures owe twenty-three thousand nine hundred sixty-three taels.

That’s nearly a million taels!

Could it be that the people haven’t paid taxes? Of course not.

From the oppressive taxes in Huizhou Prefecture, one can only guess how many offices have set up checkpoints to intercept taxes, then, when it comes time to transfer them to central authorities, claim they cannot collect them.

Which old debts are genuinely difficult, and which are truly corrupt?

Tax reform is the same.

Even the strongest court must go south, sit down, and negotiate gently when it comes to tax reform.

Just as the Chengzu Emperor—why did he leave the palace for a southern tour?

Precisely because his succession was not legitimate, and his control over the south was especially weak.

Since Zhu Yijun ascended the throne, he has never set foot beyond Beizhili; his control over the south is likely no better.

Real emperors must undertake southern tours—too many power weak points lie in the south.

Continue implementing land surveying and household registration.

Liberate the population, stimulate commerce.

Review the tax reform in Songjiang Prefecture, summarize gains and losses.

Redraw administrative boundaries, dismantle Nanzhili.

In ideology, try to quell regional conflicts, adding bricks to the shared imagined entity of the Great Ming.

Under the transmission of the Masters, the old schools in Jiangnan huddle together for warmth—still needing to be uprooted and swept clean.

After the southern sacrifice to Heaven, the opposition factions have clustered in Nanjing’s ministries—they will surely storm the command center.

All these matters.

Zhu Yijun could not even count them all.

This is not something that can be easily resolved in a year or two.

Thinking of this, Zhu Yijun suddenly remembered—the Tumeng Khan’s large-scale attack had not yet come as expected; he must remind Wang Chonggu and Qi Jiguang—if it happens…

Just as he was planning ahead, he felt warmth below, and his body jolted.

Zhu Yijun snapped back to reality—he was still chatting with Li Imperial Consort.

He shifted awkwardly, barely saying: “Later, let’s go visit Han Yifei together; when we head south, Consort, you may go to Putuo Mountain and offer prayers at the Guanyin Temple on her behalf.”

Li Baiyang sat beside the Emperor, not listening at all.

“Putuo Mountain can wait—Your Majesty, first take me to Wushan…”

Her hair was disheveled, her eyes sultry.

Zhu Yijun stared, entranced.

Unconsciously, he stopped his serious words, following instinct to wrap his arms around her waist, pressing tightly against her.

Like the north-south situation.

Inseparable, yet one rises as the other falls, rising and falling.