Chapter 355: Monks Are Foolish Masses, Demons Are Evil Spirits

No defense, no excuse, no concealment—only a declaration: So what if I hate northerners?

The Ministry of Rites hall fell silent.

He Luowen, seated at the main position, slowly set down the dossier.

The tea in the cup grew cold, leaves curling and sinking to the bottom.

Someone who stands without principle or bottom line, always siding with their own region, speaks no differently from an uncivilized beast.

Yet Fang Liangshu was no beast trapped in mental inhibition.

On the contrary, as a jinshi of Jiajing thirty-two, Fang Liangshu had served in the Ministry of Justice, Yunnan, and Huguang; he lectured at the Wuhua Academy, instructing scholars; in both officialdom and the literati circles, he was renowned as “one who attained the Dao and broad wisdom.”

Yet such a wise man had just openly spoken words worthy of a beast.

He was not less wise—he had merely chosen to temporarily abandon reason. Too rational a slogan cannot stir fools; this pure outburst was perfectly suited.

This was the very essence of public opinion since the land survey began.

The Emperor had his way of uniting the majority; the bureaucratic elites opposing historical trends had theirs.

Those with vested interests actively merged with various secondary conflicts, blurring right and wrong, twisting positions.

When facts favored them, they emphasized facts; when rules favored them, they emphasized rules; if neither helped, they simply declared their stance and muddied the waters.

“I ignore crimes by southerners; I question violations by southerners; I defend faults by southerners.”

“Southerners have no homeland; any argument using national identity to pressure southerners into supporting the land survey is either foolish or malicious.”

“I am delighted to overthrow the court alongside my Jiangnan compatriots.”

These were not fabricated words—they were slogans He Luowen had seen on posters and tabloids along his journey, with documented sources.

It was bloody, shocking!

More terrifying still: no matter how filthy the methods, they were remarkably effective.

Phrases like “bearing the heaviest tax burden of the realm,” “the northern frontier has bled us for centuries,” “fourfold oppression”—all manner of empty indulgences poured forth, inviting Jiangnan’s commoners to redeem true silver and gold in tax relief from the center.

“Uphold the principle of leniency and severity in balance, treat southern violations differently”—the Surveillance Commission and Nanjing Ministry of Justice simultaneously spread heartfelt mercy.

“Beware of media amplifying isolated tax resistance cases to damage Jiangnan’s image”—hundreds of newspapers rushed to whitewash; even if one committed crimes and moral outrages, one could still boldly demand northerners kneel and reflect.

If a rival classmate was northern, he could instantly be ruined; if northern merchants came to compete in salt, grain, cloth, or silk, they were easily thrown into prison; even the ignorant common folk were fed the lie that “the south is self-sufficient, taxes can be halved.”

Exactly like ordinary factional struggles to win over the masses.

Jiangnan’s common folk had genuinely gained benefits in this north-south conflict.

Benefits flowed from top to bottom; identity was constantly reinforced; the ideological current sparked like lightning in an empty room—suddenly, storms surged. It seemed the idea of a minority oppressing the majority was indeed alluring.

Few could withstand the storm without being swept along.

Quietly enjoying the benefits was already the most conservative attitude among Jiangnan’s townsfolk.

This was not an accusation against Jiangnan’s people—it was genuine pity.

The bureaucratic elites opposing historical trends, abusing their positions, perverted “principle learning,” used these filthy tactics to stir the darkness and ignorance in men’s hearts, willing to divide the realm to resist the path Emperor Wanli intended to tread—truly insane.

But as the Emperor said, political tactics may not be right or wrong, but the paths they lead to are always clearly distinct.

Uniting the majority is no different.

In terms of effectiveness, these tactics of the bureaucratic elites opposing historical trends were no worse than the Emperor’s years of new policies—perhaps even more immediate.

But on the question of path, factional struggles that ignore right and wrong are forever mere snarling barks unfit for the court.

Can the benefits such a spine-broken dog offers southerners truly be costless, forever guaranteed?

Before Wanli’s second year, when principle learning had not yet been established, the later followers of Yangming taught people to discard robes and caps, discard morality, discard external things, to follow their hearts—how free and easy! Why, then, did the literati circles then radiate an atmosphere of apocalyptic despair?

Because everyone knew: what you take out, you must pay back.

Just as the Southern Song abandoned Yan and Yun’s sixteen prefectures—perhaps it felt easy at the time—but how was that debt later repaid?

The central ministers of the Southern Song were all decrepit, utterly blind to the dangers budding in this ideological current.

Fortunately, our dynasty is different.

He Luowen, dispatched as the Emperor’s advance envoy, came here precisely to confront Shi Guan, Lin Shao, Fang Liangshu, and others—wasn’t that the purpose?

A draft swept through the hall; those inside felt a faint chill of the Winter Solstice.

He Luowen did not lightly brush past it, as before, nor move to harass another colleague—he carefully reviewed Fang Liangshu’s dossier.

Others glanced furtively at He Luowen, exchanging glances repeatedly.

Was the Vice Minister of Rites angry?

Surely he wouldn’t imprison someone for speaking out?

When Grand Secretary Jiao Fang headed the Ministry of Personnel, he openly declared that several southern provinces had “inherently evil natures,” even attempted to murder Grand Secretary Peng Hua outside the Wumen Gate—yet Jiao Fang was never punished.

Fang Liangshu stood tall in the hall.

The hall remained silent for a long while; only the sound of turning pages remained.

After what seemed an eternity, Vice Minister He finally closed Fang Liangshu’s dossier, his expression clearing.

Just as everyone exhaled in relief—

He Luowen slowly raised his head, his gaze sweeping the assembly, finally settling on Fang Liangshu: “What is your governance strategy, Master Fang? Territorial division? Two emperors, north and south?”

At his words, the officials in the hall snapped their heads up.

All stared, dumbfounded, fixed on He Luowen.

Territorial division? Two emperors?

How dare this mere Vice Minister of Rites hurl such an accusation?

Fang Liangshu was the first to react, erupting in fury: “You insolent brat, you go too far!”

Shi Guan and Lin Shao exchanged glances, then rose solemnly one after the other.

“He Luowen, this is the Ministry of Rites, not the Northern Capital Security Bureau. Don’t bring your eunuch faction’s tactics into the outer court.”

“We serve the same court. Even with differing views, how can you bully colleagues with wolfish words? I beg you, Vice Minister, watch your tongue!”

This was the Nanjing Ministry of Rites—not He Luowen’s home turf.

Those below rose one by one, backing Fang Liangshu.

“We heard that at the Wenhua Hall, Ministers Yin Zhengmao of the Ministry of War and Xu Guo of the Ministry of Justice openly admitted to regional factionalism before His Majesty—why didn’t you, Vice Minister, denounce them for territorial division then?”

“Vice Minister, beware your words may bring disaster. If ‘territorial division’ spreads among the people, some may use it as pretext to fabricate treason—and then you, He Luowen, may become a traitor to the state.”

The assembly’s reaction was extremely fierce.

You may eat any food, but you must not speak recklessly.

Jiangnan bears the heaviest tax burden of the realm—isn’t it a land of merit? For centuries under fourfold oppression—isn’t it a disadvantaged group?

If the court shows slight leniency in policy, isn’t that precisely Confucian morality?

Yet He Luowen slaps on the label of “territorial division”—who is truly malicious is now obvious!

Facing the furious crowd, He Luowen smiled, unsurprised.

He leaned back in his high-backed chair, relaxed and at ease: “His Majesty commissioned me to come ahead to Nanjing and gave me two specific instructions.”

“The goal: to rectify the moral climate. The method: open debate.”

Hearing the Emperor mentioned, the assembly assumed he was merely leveraging imperial authority; their faces darkened.

..￠〇

He Luowen ignored their expressions, paused, then continued: “Let us speak of this open debate.”

“His Majesty said: the north-south regional conflict has lasted long, involved many, and spawned many ideas. To say all are wrong makes the center appear stubborn; to say all are right contradicts facts. Even His Majesty, wise by nature, divinely literate and martially brilliant, finds himself in a dilemma.”

“Thus, after much deliberation, the imperial court has decided to hold an open debate.”

“Each side presents its stance and strategy. Let the world judge who is right, who is wrong, who is merely limited by thought, and who is stirring chaos.”

“Therefore, my colleagues, you misunderstand me deeply. I am not rebuking Master Fang—I am respectfully seeking his counsel.”

Here, He Luowen again surveyed the assembly, his gaze finally resting on Fang Liangshu.

He Luowen smiled: “Master Fang speaks with conviction—surely your path is clear. This humble ‘panbi’ does not understand: what, precisely, is your governance strategy?”

Hearing this self-designation, the assembly’s expressions grew even more complex.

What is “panbi”?

“Panbi” is what Fang Liangshu wishes to slaughter every northerner—though he cannot, he at least wants to slash the character “bei” into two parts, turning it into “panbi.”

Fang Liangshu was certainly not this childish—but it was exceptionally effective for stirring his fellow southerners.

Yet no one expected He Luowen not only heard it, but shamelessly adopted it for himself.

He Luowen paid no mind, lounging back in his chair.

A net’s framework, a fur’s collar, a summary’s essence—governing cannot be mere stance; it must have strategy, or political demands.

The north-south conflict cannot be only tactics, no purpose—surely it’s not enough to merely spread hatred of northerners and resistance to the center?

With all this commotion, what is the unified demand of Jiangnan’s officials and people?

Surely not to slaughter all northerners and turn them all into “panbi”?

Thus He Luowen first blocked Fang Liangshu’s path of silence with the accusation of “territorial division,” then pressed his question—Master Fang has made his stance clear; surely his demands are not worth hiding.

Lin Shao, seeing this, immediately grasped He Luowen’s tactic.

He cleared his throat and spoke before Fang Liangshu: “Vice Minister, why pretend ignorance? We’ve already stated it.”

“The Jiangnan people suffer too greatly. Though land varies in fertility and tax imbalance is normal—”

“But why squeeze one place so relentlessly?”

“Since Hongwu’s reign, taxes have been raised—Yongle, Hongzhi, Zhengde, Jiajing—each reign added more!”

“That was bad enough. Since the land survey began, the center’s eyes fixate on Jiangnan: find one percent hidden? Call it concealment. Find two percent? Still no officials will enforce it. Even Sun Provincial Governor, who found three percent extra, was dismissed.”

“Now His Majesty comes south, as if determined to squeeze every last drop from Jiangnan. Jiangnan’s soldiers and civilians hear this and wail—when will it end?”

“The people resent heavy taxes; the court naturally seeks relief—by offering leniency elsewhere.”

"Previously, the Nanjing Ministry of Justice issued a notice stating that southerners hold a crucial position in tax allocation; when the Three Judicial Departments handle cases involving southerners' violations, they must adhere to the principle of balanced leniency and severity, treating southern violations differently—not out of discrimination against northerners, but out of necessity to pacify Jiangnan!"

"Let Minister He know this..."

"If land surveying is not halted even for a single day, the enmity between north and south will grow daily!"

In the final sentence, Lin Shao was already filled with righteous indignation, his tone decisive and unyielding.

He Luo Wen cast a glance at this Lin Zhushi who had interrupted.

Why had he previously ignored this man?

Because this kind of person was unlike Fang Liangshu; Lin Shao’s political demands were obvious—he merely sought to halt the land survey, willing to abuse his authority and harm the people to achieve it.

Extreme softness advocates are not worth debating, for they do not reason at all.

He Luo Wen did not answer, but turned directly toward Fang Liangshu, giving him a signal with his gaze.

Though Fang Liangshu spoke in extreme terms, he still left room for redemption.

He had taken no concrete action, merely spreading rhetoric of north-south regional hatred, condemning the court as unjust, and loudly extolling scholarly morality—even his call for official academies to govern themselves seemed more the act of a foolish man dissatisfied with the court than a malicious schemer.

Seeing He Luo Wen’s provocative gaze, Fang Liangshu finally pushed past Lin Shao half a beat late and declared loudly: "I have no strategy—only the demand for justice!"

"The tax burden on She County is unjust compared to the other six counties; the tax distribution between north and south is unjust to the people of Jiangnan!"

He Luo Wen paused, then remembered that Fang Liangshu was from She County.

After a moment’s thought, he pressed: "What exactly does Director Fang mean by 'unjust'?"

Hearing this, Fang Liangshu sneered repeatedly: "I am sixty-six years old this year—I have no fear of instructing you youngsters."

"What is unjust? The injustice lies in status!"

"The tax burden borne by She County in Huizhou Prefecture equals the sum of the other five counties. Who is truly responsible for Huizhou’s present prosperity? Yet when debates raged in the Wenhua Hall, the only outcome was 'equalizing the bowl of water.'"

"What proportion of the empire’s taxes comes from Jiangnan? Had there been no Jiangnan, how many of you would have starved to death! Now you refuse to show gratitude, yet shamelessly incite His Majesty to openly suppress Jiangnan and divide its tax authority!"

"How can this be justified!?"

Fang Liangshu, relying on his age, nearly pointed his finger at He Luo Wen’s nose as he cursed.

The officials around him stole glances at He Luo Wen’s face, seeing only an expressionless visage, and held their breath for Fang Liangshu.

Unbeknownst to them, He Luo Wen let out a long, slow breath.

Excellent regionalism!

This is exactly what I wanted!

The bureaucratic elites resisting historical progress have willingly aligned themselves with regionalism, attempting to obstruct the land survey—can the central court simply crush them all?

Of course not.

The lesson of overreach is too recent; we must peel away the layers.

Why did His Majesty call for open debate?

Precisely to isolate the ignorant masses entangled by these bureaucratic elites resisting historical progress!

A foolish monk can still be taught; a demon in disguise will surely bring disaster.

Only by making the ignorant understand the truth can we expose the naked frauds resisting historical progress—only then can His Majesty freely strike them down!

Thinking this, He Luo Wen suppressed his emotions, fixed his gaze on Fang Liangshu, and said coldly: "Excellent—how utterly unjust!"

"Given His Majesty’s teaching to hold open debate, Director Fang, why not join me in drafting a document today, laying out your reasoning?"

"Let the whole empire judge who truly acts unjustly."

Fang Liangshu, instantly inflamed, seized his hat and hurled it violently onto the desk!

"Fine young man! I’ll write it for you shortly!"

Hearing this, He Luo Wen shook his head.

He turned his head toward the lead official beside him, Hanlin Academy Academician Zhou Ziyi.

Zhou Ziyi silently fetched paper and ink.

While waiting for Zhou Ziyi to prepare his writing materials, He Luo Wen explained to the officials below: "No need to wait later—since this meeting is ordered to rectify the moral climate, there must be a conclusion. I will now state the conclusion to my colleagues, and have it printed and published for the empire to discuss."

Zhou Ziyi had already prepared ink, paper, and brush.

As the scribe, polishing the text was Zhou Ziyi’s duty.

Affirming prior achievements and describing the current situation were essential content—indeed, they must be completed before He Luo Wen even spoke.

He wrote:

In the past eight-plus years of new policy implementation, southern officials have played a significant role, but generally lack a spirit of seeking truth from facts and sufficient theoretical grounding; governance remains shallow and ungrounded. In particular, certain southern officials merely recite slogans like 'tax autonomy' and 'opposition to fourfold oppression' without ever considering actual conditions...

He Luo Wen waited quietly as Zhou Ziyi began.

When Zhou Ziyi paused, He Luo Wen had also organized his thoughts.

"Jiangnan regionalism constantly boasts of its economic prosperity, treating regional affluence as evidence of cultural superiority, and even harboring implicit notions of racial distinction."

As soon as he spoke, the officials below turned pale.

Zhou Ziyi ignored his colleagues’ grim expressions and silently recorded, adding vernacular annotations to facilitate printing in the new newspapers.

Jiangnan regionalism often regards its economic superiority as self-evident, abstracting regional prosperity into a hidden claim of cultural or even racial superiority.

"This argument, though seemingly praising economic and cultural excellence, actually erodes the nation’s unity—it is a trend gradually spawned by the later followers of Yangming, a mindset detached from the state’s great principles; its true intent is not power struggle, but responsibility evasion."

Zhou Ziyi recalled the Emperor’s phrasing habits and wrote without pause.

Such arguments, though appearing as expressions of economic and cultural superiority, actually weaken the national community—a current of thought shaped by Yangming’s later disciples, divorced from the state’s interests; their goal is not power, but the shedding of responsibility.

"Jiangnan has received disproportionate imperial support and policy privileges, enjoying material prosperity and cultural flourishing; yet under these conditions, it has nurtured the delusion that 'I sustain the whole empire,' a notion growing ever louder."

The officials below squirmed in their seats.

Fang Liangshu merely snorted and swept his sleeve aside, walking out!

Zhou Ziyi pretended not to notice, writing even more fluently.

Under the court’s preferential resource allocation and policy indulgence, Jiangnan gained material benefits and spurred cultural development—but precisely in this context, it has birthed the delusion that 'I sustain the whole empire,' a notion now rampant.

"It constantly denounces land surveying and tax reform, vents resentment against tax adjustments, even directly vilifies northern provinces. It further seeks to weaken the capital’s authority, abolish centralized tax control, and even fantasizes about fiscal autonomy."

"The unified realm is recast as a burden; tax redistribution is twisted into blood-sucking; the notion of 'all under heaven as one family' is slowly dissolved into a temporary alliance between Jiangnan as an elite province and the north as a redundant, inefficient appendage—its root lies in the loss of national identity."

The officials in the Ministry of Rites could no longer sit still; they offered perfunctory bows and rose to leave.

As Zhou Ziyi’s nearby colleagues departed, he felt the space suddenly open up.

He wrote even faster.

This ideology often manifests as fierce opposition to land surveying and tax reform, even evolving into direct denigration of northern provinces, followed by demands to weaken Beijing’s central authority, abolish unified tax administration, and even fantasize about fiscal independence.

The nation’s unity is reconstructed as a burden; tax redistribution is deconstructed as blood-sucking; the idea of 'all under heaven as one' is gradually dissolved into a temporary alliance between Jiangnan as a superior province and the north as an inefficient appendage—its root lies in the imbalance of national identity.

"This is a doctrine that undermines the very foundation of the state!"

He Luo Wen delivered the final judgment.

Unfortunately, the officials below had already begun to leave; Lin Shao, Shi Guan, and others lingered until the end, heard the final sentence, then silently bowed and departed.

The Ministry of Rites hall now held only He Luo Wen and Zhou Ziyi, facing each other.

After writing the final sentence, Zhou Ziyi waited for no further words.

He was about to collect his brush and ink when, unconsciously, he looked up at the cold, empty hall.

A sudden insight struck him—he and He Luo Wen exchanged glances simultaneously.

He Luo Wen nodded; Zhou Ziyi understood and wrote:

"These officials are only fifty paces away from committing the error of softness!"

"What is this 'error of softness'?"

Wu Zidong, Right Secretary of the Nanjing Tongzheng Office, stared blankly at the document sent by the Ministry of Rites for printing, utterly baffled.

The Three Virtues, one of the Nine Canons of Governance, include softness, uprightness, and strength.

Uprightness points to the 'constant way'—establishing unified moral and ethical standards.

Strength points to 'great chaos'—requiring authoritative measures to swiftly stabilize the situation.

Softness points to 'exhaustion'—requiring benevolence, light taxation, and leniency toward the people and scholar-officials.

All three are sacred doctrines; no one has ever heard softness called an error—it is sheer inversion of heaven and earth!

Nearby, Dai Xun, Director of the Nanjing National Academy, stood at the window with a telescope, gazing outward. Without turning, he chuckled: "Secretary Wu has no notion of heaven and earth."

"This was the essay question for the imperial examination in February."

"It clearly states that we now live in an age of peace, and governance must follow the path of uprightness."

"If anyone advocates aggressive policies, yearning for strength, daring to impose harsh laws, does he not imply that the realm is already in great chaos? Taking too large steps is committing the error of strength."

"If anyone advocates conservative policies, yearning for softness, resisting reform, does he not imply that the age requires no improvement? Obstructing progress is committing the error of softness."

"Fang Liangshu inciting regionalism clearly obstructs the empire’s progress."

Of course, regionalism is still fifty paces from committing the error—this judgment is far more lenient than the one against Lin Shao and others who resisted the land survey.

Hearing this, Wu Zidong felt a deep sorrow.

Isn’t performance evaluation enough? Now even ideological lines are being targeted?

Filled with melancholy, his voice grew weary: "Shall we print it directly?"

The Nanjing Gazette is under the Nanjing Tongzheng Office, while the National Academy Journal, Donglin Journal, and other newspapers are decided by scholarly consensus, often requiring the National Academy’s approval.

Dai Xun gave no answer: "The Emperor wants to stir up sentiment."

Of course the Emperor wants to stir up sentiment.

When public opinion is one-sided, the Emperor has no chance to mediate.

He Luo Wen, as the lead official, rushed to Nanjing to stir up the opposite side, creating a balanced scenario.

This is a classic imperial tactic throughout history: to mediate from the center.

Only when forces are evenly matched and chaos reigns can the Emperor’s intervention seem natural.

Wu Zidong blinked, then realized: “You mean, Master Dai…”

Dai Xun picked up the previous question: “Of course the notices must be printed—they’re imperial envoys acting on imperial orders.”

“But this is the Tongzheng Office’s duty, governed by established procedures; let subordinates follow the rules.”

“Also, handle individually sensitive articles that might trigger major public outcry with caution.”

Avoiding criticism is the first lesson in officialdom.

Though unwilling to aid the Emperor by boosting He Luowen’s standing in the North-South dispute, this man is still the imperial envoy’s advance officer—on the surface, he cannot be defied.

And since this falls squarely within the Tongzheng Office’s purview, it has nothing to do with the Guozijian Gazette or the Donglin Gazette; aside from the Official Gazette, no other newspapers bear responsibility for printing related matters.

As for the simple phrase “handle with caution,” those in the Tongzheng Office naturally know how to act.

Since it’s about caution, He Luowen’s fiery articles should be printed in smaller quantities; Fang Liangshu’s pieces carry little risk and may be printed widely—everything follows established precedent.

Wu Zidong understood implicitly: this was a case of outward compliance, inward defiance.

Though avoiding criticism, Wu Zidong felt deep unease given the current court’s habits.

After nodding to signal solidarity, he sighed: “We’re only thirty paces from Ruoke’s error.”

Dai Xun laughed aloud at this.

He set down his telescope and pointed toward the direction he’d just gazed at: “Thirty paces?”

“The garrisons and imperial guards on Fugui Mountain, Fuzhou Mountain, and Zhongshan were all replaced yesterday by three major Beijing garrisons and two Embroidered Uniform Guard battalions—who are they guarding against?”

“The six gates of the Forbidden City, the eighteen gates of the inner city—now even my carriage is stopped and searched.”

“Before the Emperor’s southern tour, the Grand Secretariat reprimanded you and me; Li Chunfang even named us directly, ordering southern newspapers—especially you and me—to self-audit and self-correct.”

“Wu Tongzheng, we’re not thirty paces from Ruoke’s error—we’re already on the list!”

“In a few days, the imperial guards will come in the rain, swords in hand, to officially take over the Official Gazette!”

As Dai Xun spoke, he stepped closer to Wu Zidong.

He clapped Wu Zidong on the shoulder: “Wu Tongzheng, while you still hold office, do something.”

Wu Zidong fell silent.

After a long while, he spoke hoarsely: “Didn’t we already self-audit and self-correct?”

Dai Xun sneered: “Even if Li Chunfang is old and senile, the Emperor is no fool—do you really think this can be so easily fobbed off?”

“I heard from the Ministry of Justice they’re preparing to release those accused of violating press regulations.”

The court believes southern newspapers have many errors and serious problems, and demands the Southern Zhili authorities self-regulate.

But Dai Xun and Wu Zidong could never truly obey such orders.

What’s the difference between investigating southern journalism and alienating the literati?

If so, we certainly can’t target the Confucian scholars who run the papers—after all, even Huizhou Prefecture dared defy the court by publishing “A Petition on the Absence of Powerful Clans in Our Prefecture”; how could officials of our rank in Southern Zhili dare not outwardly comply while inwardly resisting?

But we must still satisfy the court.

Fortunately, those spreading pamphlets aren’t only from the official or literati circles.

There are plenty of troublemaking commoners who, every few days, accuse a prefect of corruption, a clerk of oppressing the people, and if not given an explanation, spread pamphlets and small newspapers to stab their superiors in the back—truly unbearable.

Dai Xun and Wu Zidong seized this chance to self-audit, claiming to follow court orders, arresting these troublemakers as examples and sending them en masse to the Ministry of Justice.

They satisfied the court and vented their anger—two birds with one stone.

Unfortunately, Li Chunfang refused to accept it.

Wu Zidong grew even more agitated: “Why release them? Don’t these people deserve investigation and correction for spreading rumors?”

Since the Jiajing era, whether among literati or commoners, the Ming had developed mature methods for manipulating public opinion.

Take the commoners and the government.

At first, when commoners suffered injustice, they exposed officials’ misdeeds in pamphlets; the government, fearing unrest, would yield at the slightest hint of trouble, reactivating the Great Ming Code as if it were toilet paper, and handle cases seriously.

After ten years, the government realized: pamphlets and small newspapers didn’t seem to cause real trouble.

The government finally understood: they simply pretended to be dead—no response became the only response.

The commoners saw this and thought: this won’t do!

So they devised a new tactic: since the government feigned death, they would respond for it.

If a constable raped a woman, the commoners spread rumors it was the county magistrate; if thugs beat up the innocent, they claimed the magistrate was their hidden patron.

The county magistrate thought: this won’t do! Only constables should take the blame—not me! Even if I’ve done plenty of evil, I can’t be held responsible for crimes I didn’t commit!

So the magistrate urgently issued an official notice: naming the criminal, detailing the case, warning people not to believe or spread rumors, and reminding them not to throw eggs at the wrong enemies.

Later, as time passed, the officials conferred and realized: this still wouldn’t do.

We can’t give the commoners an explanation every time—then who’s really in charge?

Yet no solution had been found.

But the Emperor’s edict for self-audit and self-correction was profoundly enlightening.

Yes! Spreading pamphlets and fabricating rumors is clearly a violation of state law!

So let’s put aside our own rumor-mongering for now—first, investigate and correct these troublemakers.

Seize this opportunity to strike them down with six blows in one breath.

Two birds with one stone!

Dai Xun shook his head: “Li Chunfang says that in public opinion cases, if the government’s official notices are absent, the people’s guilt should be mitigated.”

“He tells us to focus our self-audit efforts first on official and literati newspapers.”

Wu Zidong’s expression shifted between dark and light.

After a long pause, he gritted his teeth: “No. I’ll reply to Li Chunfang immediately: this matter must proceed from bottom to top, tackling the hardest first, step by step.”

Dai Xun had no objection.

He murmured in agreement: “I’ll have the literati students jointly petition the Ministry of Justice on this matter.”

Wu Zidong added fiercely: “And we must write articles too—accusing these troublemakers of fabricating rumors, slandering court officials, inciting official-popular division, and splitting the state—grave crimes indeed!”

As for accusations that the government neglected its notices and ignored public sentiment?

Nonsense—it was merely that the investigation took time, and villains took advantage of the gap.

Wu Zidong clenched his teeth, then exhaled, his anger eased.

Dai Xun whispered: “Public opinion is the perfect weapon against the Emperor—we must never surrender the discourse.”

Even if it becomes an iron block that invites suspicion, we must not self-audit!

Wu Zidong turned to Dai Xun.

He met Dai Xun’s weary gaze.

The two men exchanged a look, then sighed together.

“The Emperor took the water route—why hasn’t he drowned yet?”

“The weather is dry—shouldn’t the imperial encampment catch fire soon?”

…

“Achoo!”

In Jining City, Yanzhou Prefecture, a youth under twenty, dressed in a plain Daoist robe, suddenly sneezed.

Immediately, five or six attendants clustered around him.

“Young Master, it’s cold on Winter Solstice—shall we add another garment?”

“Master, the street is chilly; you’d better ride in your carriage.”

The youth’s attire, though plain and simple in color, was of fine fabric and proper form—clearly from a wealthy and noble household.

Now surrounded by a dozen attendants, he grew exasperated, glared with a stiff neck, and finally gained peace.

Fortunately, this was the riverside Changjie leading to the Salt Administration Office (today’s Taxation Street–South Gate Street), one of the city’s main arteries, wide enough to accommodate their entourage.

Still, such a display was inevitably conspicuous.

The gatekeeper at the Salt Administration Office walked forward from afar and blocked their path.

“Official premises—no unauthorized persons allowed!”

Places like county yamens or Surveillance Commissions allowed commoners to come and go, even providing reception areas.

But the Salt Administration Office was different—it was the critical hub for issuing salt vouchers; to prevent counterfeiting, not even commoners were allowed in, let alone mosquitoes to sneak a peek!

Especially since the Emperor’s imperial barge had just passed through Jining downstream, leaving Shandong without stopping to inspect the Salt Administration Office.

The officials felt disgraced, all wearing gloomy faces.

With the office atmosphere already sour, they couldn’t allow unsavory people to approach and disturb the officials’ moods.

But the youth, when blocked, did not leave—he pointed toward the office’s signboard: “Is this the Salt Administration Office?”

The gatekeeper frowned, studying the group.

Out of goodwill, he replied vaguely: “Yes, it is.”

The youth smiled: “There’s a man here named Yin Laobazi—if he’s present, send for him. I’ll wait here.”

The gatekeeper froze: Yin Laobazi?

After a moment, he realized: that’s the Viceroy’s nickname!

Yin Shidan’s scar was given by Duke Gao Gong; only Gao Gong and a few others dared call him by that nickname.

The gatekeeper nearly laughed in fury.

Who was Yin Shidan? Former Minister of Rites and Grand Secretary of the Wuying Palace, now the powerful, top-rank Viceroy of Salt Administration, Senior Guardian and Senior Tutor to the Crown Prince—a man of heavenly status—how could any random nobody dare mock him with a nickname?

Had the youth’s age matched, the gatekeeper might have doubted whether he was facing Gao Gong or Zhang Juzheng himself.

After one final glance, the gatekeeper’s last shred of patience vanished.

He tilted his head back, looking down and demanding, “Who the fuck are you?”

¤￠o