Chapter 52: Coming and Going, Deceiving to Claim Rewards

Longqing Sixth Year, tenth month.

Two months remain until the era change.

But for ordinary people, whether the throne had changed hands made little difference.

In more isolated places, some would even ask, “Huh? Has the old Daoist finally died?”

Yet for Jiningzhou, the populace was relatively well-informed and even treated this as conversation fodder.

This was because it lay only sixty li east of the prefectural capital and some three hundred li from the Shandong Provincial Administration Commission.

More importantly, this prefecture bordered the Huitong River to the south and met the Ji River, situated at the southern terminus of the entire Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal.

During the Yongle era, the Nanwang water control hub was constructed here, and the Office of the Grand Coordinator of Rivers was established.

It was unquestionably a vital transportation artery for waterborne traffic between the Northern and Southern Directly Governed Territories.

As Li Chengming and Chen Yinzhao stepped off the boat, they immediately felt the bustling energy of daily life.

The dock teemed with people: scholars, wealthy merchants, and men in martial attire with headcloths and straw sandals.

Voices rose in a cacophony of dialects.

As soon as they disembarked, strange individuals approached, trying to sell them goods, but were pushed aside by their attendants behind them.

Li Chengming ignored them, grinned, and stamped his foot: “Finally arrived in Jiningzhou—finally solid ground underfoot. This luxury barge was enough to make anyone dizzy.”

It was his first long journey, and the constant boat rides had left him shaking his head.

Each transfer between vessels was a rare chance to catch his breath.

The Emperor had granted Li Chengming’s maternal grandfather, the Imperial Father-in-Law Li Wei, permission to operate a maritime trade consortium.

As Li Wei’s eldest legitimate grandson, Li Chengming had been sent in late June under the pretext of training, to survey the ports of Zhejiang and the state of maritime merchants—though, of course, he merely lent his name; the actual work fell to the shopkeepers.

Now, three months had passed, and it was time to return to the capital.

He had just visited elders in the Southern Directly Governed Territory and now turned north from the Huai River into Shandong, preparing to change boats in Jiningzhou for the journey north.

Chen Yinzhao felt no discomfort.

He glanced back at his attendants, confirmed nothing was left behind, and said: “The boat leaves tomorrow morning. Let’s head to the official relay station first and rest.”

Chen Yinzhao was the heir of the Pingjiang Marquis’s household, slightly older, having just turned twenty-eight last month.

Li Chengming was seventeen, still youthful and restless.

As he followed, he asked: “Brother Shi, aren’t we going to Fujian?”

To form a trade consortium for maritime transport, you must survey several ports and see what profits others are making.

Chen Yinzhao looked at him strangely: “Didn’t the Wuqing Marquis tell you? He sent someone else there.”

“We just need to bring back our observations of Ningbo Port and the shopkeepers’ records.”

He nodded toward their packs, which contained summaries compiled by the traveling shopkeepers.

Li Chengming slapped his forehead: “Oh, right, I remember.”

He quickly forgot it and asked again: “Brother Shi, do you think this business will work?”

Chen Yinzhao hesitated: “I don’t understand commerce, but if all the shopkeepers say there’s great profit, it’s probably genuine.”

As heir to the Pingjiang Marquis’s household, he was born into wealth and had broader horizons than Li Chengming.

Though he claimed not to understand, he privately believed it held great promise.

Of course, he couldn’t say so aloud—otherwise, his father, the Pingjiang Marquis, would have less leverage in negotiations with the Wuqing Marquis.

Family ties were one thing; when it came to making money together, you still needed room to maneuver.

Li Chengming nodded thoughtfully, yet accepted his words without question.

The two walked side by side, one attendant following behind, another leading ahead.

Jiningzhou was no Beijing—its streets were old, and you often saw poultry droppings on the road.

Li Chengming pinched his nose, fanned the air with his hand, and held his breath intermittently.

In the Wu Yuan year of the Hongwu Emperor, Jining had been Jining Prefecture; it was downgraded to a state in the eighteenth year.

Though its official status had been lowered, its population had grown steadily over two centuries.

As a result, the city had been repeatedly expanded beyond its original walls, adding an outer city.

The official relay station was located in this outer city.

The two walked slowly, observing.

The narrow cobblestone street stretched all the way to the city gate, flanked by shops with wooden signs swaying in the wind.

Crowds flowed endlessly, carts and horses never ceased.

Occasionally, a few officials in robes walked slowly, accompanied by servants carrying loads, exuding an air of dignity.

Most were plain-clothed commoners, shouldering burdens or carrying families.

Li Chengming suddenly tugged Chen Yinzhao’s sleeve and pointed in astonishment at a residence: “The Hongwu Emperor’s edict forbade civilian homes from exceeding three rooms and five rafters.”

“This one has seven rooms and five rafters! Doesn’t the government care?”

Chen Yinzhao had traveled often and naturally had more experience.

He looked at this young cousin of the imperial family, visiting the outside world for the first time, and patiently explained: “The edict is the edict, but when the people universally ignore it, the government can’t enforce it.”

The court set strict rules, the people routinely broke them, and the government partially enforced them—that was the norm.

But this wasn’t something to discuss on the street, so he spoke vaguely.

Li Chengming didn’t fully understand; seeing his brother wasn’t inclined to elaborate, he let it drop.

Still, he kept glancing around curiously.

The roadside buzzed with noise.

“Bian shi for sale!”

“Long-life nuts! Long-life nuts!”

Vendors constantly called out as they carried their wares.

“I’ve been waiting a year—this is all just empty talk!”

“Wait for the child—let me rest a bit first.”

“You brat, come back! You deaf fool—I’ll beat you today!”

No one lowered their voice, regardless of class or profession.

Li Chengming complained: “The outer city is so run-down—why not stay in an inn inside the inner city?”

Chen Yinzhao had no answer: “The elders insisted that, when traveling, staying at the official relay station is safer.”

Li Chengming’s group had attendants trailing them—clearly not to be trifled with—so even pickpockets kept their distance, and no one blocked their way.

After walking about two li, they reached the official relay station.

Without needing to speak, the attendants went inside to handle the paperwork.

The two picked a table at random and ordered food.

Aside from their table, the other seven or eight tables were full.

They saw only clerks delivering messages and merchants traveling north and south, so they paid them no mind.

They began casual conversation.

Soon, the attendant returned with their room key and a copy of the official gazette.

Chen Yinzhao blinked, took the gazette, and asked curiously: “Aren’t the gazettes posted publicly? How can you just buy one?”

The gazette, issued by the Tongzheng Office, recorded events at court and was traditionally meant for local civil and military officials.

Even if the public needed to know something, it was merely copied and posted at the official relay station or city gates.

The attendant was called an attendant, but was in fact an Embroidered Uniform Guard—his methods were reliable.

Hearing the question, he immediately replied: “Master, the relay station official said this has been the case since August.”

“According to the July gazette, the Tongzheng Office changed leadership and increased the gazette’s print run.”

“But they’re quite expensive.”

He added, subtly hinting at reimbursement.

Li Chengming leaned over eagerly: “What’s new? Any major events since we left?”

Chen Yinzhao read as he spoke: “What could be bigger than civil officials being granted noble titles?”

He still remembered how grand the procession had looked the day they departed, escorting the Ding’an Marquis.

“Ah, there was a major event: in early July, the late Emperor’s posthumous title was conferred: ‘Emperor Qitian Longdao Yuan Yi Kuan Ren Xian Wen Guang Wu Chun De Hong Xiao Zhuang,’ with the temple name Muzong.”

This meant he had to retract his earlier remark.

Otherwise, someone might ask: “Are the Emperor’s affairs less important than those of ministers?”

Li Chengming pondered: “This temple name is rather ordinary—‘Mu’ means upholding virtue and justice. I thought it would be higher.”

Though it says “upholding virtue and justice,” looking at history, it really just meant balanced merit and fault.

Chen Yinzhao shook his head: “Whether it’s good or mediocre depends on how the current Emperor performs.”

“If he makes progress on opening the seas, then the late Emperor, as the original proponent, will deserve the title Muzong.”

The Emperor had granted the Wuqing Marquis maritime rights; though he didn’t fully understand why, his elders had guessed some reasons.

Li Chengming nodded, accepting the lesson, and pressed: “What else?”

Chen Yinzhao continued reading: “At the end of July, the Ministers of Justice Liu Ziqiang, of Revenue Zhang Shouzhi, and the Right Vice Director of the Tongzheng Office Han Ji retired.”

Li Chengming leaned closer, surprised: “Three of the Nine Ministers gone at once?”

Chen Yinzhao read on: “In early August, Wang Guoguang, Grand Coordinator of the Granary System, was promoted to Minister of Revenue; Wang Zhihao, Minister of War in Nanjing, was transferred to Minister of Justice.”

“Li Zaiting, a censor of the Ministry of Personnel, was promoted to Chief Censor of the Ministry of Personnel; Gu Huan, Commander of the Central Military Command, was appointed Grand Coordinator of the Capital Garrison.”

Li Chengming exclaimed: “The Zhenyuan Marquis is again Grand Coordinator of the Capital Garrison?”

Two years ago, the late emperor stirred up a storm by appointing Gu Huan, nearly causing division between court and realm—yet now he’s been reappointed?

As the two spoke louder, an old scholar dressed in worn robes overheard them.

Suddenly, he interjected with a sigh: “Wang Zhigao is a corrupt official who fills his post without doing any work—and yet he’s been promoted?”

Both men’s eyelids twitched as they turned to the old scholar; his temples were streaked with gray, clearly aged.

Chen Yinzhao took up the thread: “Esteemed elder—”

He was cut off; the old scholar snapped: “Elder? I’m barely past forty!”

Though Chen Yinzhao thought the man looked older, he still corrected himself: “Esteemed Maocai, we’re merchants—no land, no rank. Why are you speaking recklessly and endangering us?”

The old scholar retorted: “Look at you, so timid and fearful. Go to Nanzhili and listen—you’ll hear the same from everyone.”

Li Chengming tugged Chen Yinzhao’s sleeve, signaling him to ignore the man.

Chen Yinzhao withdrew his gaze and nodded.

He lowered his voice, having learned his lesson: “At the end of August, the two imperial consorts were granted honorific titles.”

“In early September, His Majesty opened the Imperial Lecture Series, and the Grand Secretariat agreed to implement the Examination and Performance System in the two capitals and one province.”

Here, he passed the official bulletin to Li Chengming.

Under current conditions, it takes nearly a month for the bulletin to be printed, transported, and reach places like Shandong and Nanzhili.

For Sichuan and Yunnan, the overland routes take even longer.

The two were still discussing this.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the official relay station.

Adhering to the principle of avoiding trouble, they had no intention of getting involved.

But the noise grew louder; a crowd had gathered outside the gate, and a woman’s sobs could be heard.

Li Chengming’s curiosity was piqued.

The two exchanged glances and pushed through the crowd to see what was happening.

Li Chengming peered out and saw a burly, tattooed giant dragging a woman.

The woman crouched on the ground, clinging desperately to the notice board outside the station.

She wept like blossoms drenched in rain, appearing pitifully fragile.

As an imperial relative and noble youth, Li Chengming could not abide cruelty toward women.

Without even greeting Chen Yinzhao, he shoved through the crowd: “How dare you! In broad daylight, under the open sky, how dare you commit violence!”

No sooner had he spoken than another man stepped forward from within the station.

The newcomer wore a green official robe—clearly a government official.

He frowned and asked: “I am Zhang Mengtong, the local clerk. What is happening here?”

A clerk was a ninth-rank official, responsible for documents and managing subordinate clerks, handling the day-to-day administrative affairs of the office—his presence here suggested official station business.

With the government now involved, Li Chengming sneered and stepped back.

The giant, though repeatedly ordered to stop, showed no restraint: “This is my family matter! None of you have any business interfering!”

But the woman cried out: “No, no! I don’t know this man!”

Zhang Mengtong strode forward and ordered the giant: “Let her go!”

The giant reluctantly stopped dragging her but still held her arm.

Then he defended himself: “I paid silver! She must come with me today!”

Outside, Li Chengming stared in shock and turned to Chen Yinzhao: “Can they really keep slaves here?”

Chen Yinzhao stammered—he didn’t understand either.

But the old scholar, who had been watching nearby, spoke up: “Of course they can.”

“They just rename it—call them adopted sons or daughters.”

After saying this, he smiled: “But clearly, there’s more to this story.”

The two servants glanced warily at the old scholar.

Chen Yinzhao paused, then bowed: “We are merchants from Beizhili. I am Chen. This is my fellow merchant and junior, Li.”

He patted Li Chengming, giving a brief introduction.

The old scholar suddenly looked surprised: “Small world—I’m also surnamed Li.”

Li Chengming had no patience for formalities; his eyes never left the drama unfolding at the station.

He asked: “Li Maocai, what do you mean by ‘there’s more to this’?”

The old scholar feigned profundity: “You’ll understand when you watch.”

The scene before them remained in dispute.

Zhang Mengtong rebuked: “What do you mean you paid silver? This dynasty has banned slavery for years—do you have no regard for the law?”

The giant bristled: “What law? Hand over the money, hand over the goods—that’s the only law!”

“Besides, I didn’t buy a slave—I paid the full bride-price to her stepfather, in proper marriage rites. What’s wrong with that?”

“Can she just say she doesn’t know me and ignore the matchmaker’s word?”

Zhang Mengtong froze.

He hadn’t expected such a twist.

Not only him—even the onlookers felt the matter had deeper roots.

Most were now perplexed.

Chen Yinzhao suddenly understood: “No wonder the Maocai said there was more to it.”

Only Li Chengming muttered: “Still, they can’t force her.”

The old scholar glanced at the two: “Though I personally don’t hold much regard for matchmaker’s word, that’s not what I meant by ‘there’s more.’”

Both men were startled.

They looked at him strangely.

The old scholar gestured for them to keep watching.

The crowd fell silent; the giant now stood taller, emboldened: “It’s the upright magistrate’s duty to rule in my favor!”

Zhang Mengtong remained silent, saying nothing.

Instead, he knelt and asked the woman gently: “Did your stepfather sell you?”

The woman wept: “My father recently went to the gambling den and lost all our family wealth. Yesterday, he planned to sell me and my mother to pay his debts.”

With that, she broke into loud sobs.

The crowd erupted in outrage.

Li Chengming cursed loudly.

The giant stood tall, unafraid: “Don’t call it selling—it’s parental command and matchmaker’s word!”

Zhang Mengtong knelt there, speechless.

The situation was indeed difficult.

As the saying goes: even an upright magistrate finds family affairs hard to judge. Everyone knew it was a sale, but with the facade of matchmaker’s word, it was hard to act.

Zhang Mengtong slowly rose and turned to the giant: “How much silver did you pay?”

The giant eyed him warily: “What are you planning to do, my lord?”

Zhang Mengtong ignored him and turned to the woman on the ground.

After learning the amount, he nodded, then raised his voice to the crowd: “I am the clerk of this prefecture. Though not a high official, I hold ninth-rank status.”

“All people of this prefecture are my charges. As an official of this government, I dare call myself their parent—do you agree?”

Many in the crowd had already guessed his intent and responded in unison.

Li Chengming realized it too and remarked to Chen Yinzhao and the old scholar: “This man truly has both benevolence and skill.”

The old scholar sneered.

“Zhang the clerk is indeed a parent to us!”

“Yes! Zhang the clerk is our father!”

The chorus of agreement gave Zhang Mengtong strength.

He nodded and continued: “Then I shall act as her guardian—her biological father is dead. I will decide this marriage for her.”

He pulled out a pouch and turned to the giant with haughtiness: “I do not approve of this marriage.”

“I return the bride-price on her behalf!”

With that, he threw the pouch of silver at the giant.

The giant stood stunned, uncertain what to do.

Zhang Mengtong suddenly barked: “Since the debt is settled, let go of her!”

Seeing the magistrate’s decision both just and satisfying, the crowd clapped and cheered.

“Good!”

“Well done!”

The crowd roared in approval; the giant counted the silver, confirmed he hadn’t been cheated, grunted coldly, and slunk away.

Next came the expected scene: the upright magistrate and the grateful commoner woman bowing in thanks.

Chen Yinzhao watched with great interest.

He sighed: “Our dynasty truly produces capable men—even a ninth-rank clerk has such skill.”

“Truly, there was more to it.”

Not to mention—if this had been his own problem, he never would have thought of such a resolution.

These minor officials, after all, had their own methods.

The old scholar beside them watched the two and sighed repeatedly, laughing: “What I meant by ‘there’s more to it’ wasn’t this!”

Both turned their heads at once.

Huh?

There’s more to it?

Li Chengming had grown impatient: “You fellow, stop playing coy!”

The old scholar clasped his hands behind his back and swayed his head: “I’m heading to the capital myself, just passing through here—I don’t know much.”

“But I suspect the Minister of Justice, Wang Zhihao, whom you two mentioned as heading to the capital for his post, may be right upstairs right now.”

Li Chengming was utterly baffled.

Chen Yinzhao suddenly realized it and exclaimed: “You mean this whole scene was staged on purpose!?”

The old scholar snapped: “Isn’t that obvious? How many tales of upright magistrates do you think exist? Do you think this is a storybook?”

“Isn’t it plainly a display of his absurd, ignorant use of the Spring and Autumn Annals to render judgments?”

Li Chengming finally managed to speak up: “So who’s behind this? Is the big man deliberately staging this to reclaim his bride-price?”

The old scholar, exasperated, refused to answer him.

But Chen Yinzhao couldn’t help asking: “May I ask your honorable name, sir?”

The old scholar waved his hand: “I’m just a down-on-his-luck scholar—no grand name. Call me Li Zhi.”

Out in the world, one’s identity is self-assigned; all three silently avoided revealing their true identities.

Just then.

A boy in the likeness of a personal attendant indeed came down from the second floor.

He ran all the way to the outskirts of the posthouse, pushed through the crowd, and approached Zhang Mengtong with courtesy: “Esteemed official, my master wishes to see you.”

The attendant explained a few words to the bewildered Zhang Mengtong.

Only then did the latter reluctantly follow.

They passed right by the three onlookers.

Li Zhi suddenly pointed at Chen and Li and called out: “Wait! My two young masters also wish to meet your master!”

(End of Chapter)