Chapter 80: Kind Words of Advice, Monkeys Cry, Cranes Lament

December 11, light snow.

In Huai’an Prefecture, too many untouchable dragons and tigers now gather.

Besides the already exalted Viceroy of Grain Transport and Regional Commander of Grain Transport, a newly appointed Imperial Inspector has arrived.

The Prefect of Huai’an, possessing considerable wisdom, had already vacated the official offices before the Imperial Inspector’s arrival.

After the incident involving the prefectural yamen suspected of spying on the Imperial Inspector’s confidential matters, the Prefect, to avoid suspicion, conveniently moved his operations to Shanyang County, temporarily ceding the prefectural yamen to the Imperial Inspector, Hai Rui.

The Huai’an Prefectural yamen had never been this bustling in recent days.

Within just a few days, dozens of Salt Tax Office Directors and Deputy Directors, Salt Warehouse Directors and Deputy Directors, Inspection Office Directors and Deputy Directors, like dumplings dropped into boiling water, were arrested and thrown into prison—the jails were nearly full.

The day before yesterday, a Salt Tax Clerk deliberately destroyed the ledgers, and the Imperial Inspector, invoking his imperial credentials, had him beheaded on the spot.

With his status as Imperial Inspector, Hai Rui, returned to Nanzhili, now radiated terrifying fury.

At this moment, within the prefectural yamen.

Hai Rui and Wang Zongmu stood side by side in the main hall, watching over a dozen clerks flipping through ledgers, their abacuses clicking so fiercely sparks seemed to fly.

The former could not help but sigh: “I owe you great thanks, Viceroy Wang. Without these skilled clerks from the Grain Transport yamen who understand accounting, I truly wouldn’t know how to proceed.”

Even with the ledgers in hand, one must know how to calculate; though the Imperial Inspector’s entourage was large, it was unrealistic to expect every specialized role to be perfectly filled—it’s not as if the Embroidered Uniform Guard could handle accounting.

Fortunately, there was the Grain Transport yamen.

Those responsible for grain transport never lacked clerks skilled in accounting.

This was the advantage of being backed by a high-ranking yamen—only the Emperor could have thought so thoroughly.

Without Wang Zongmu’s support, Hai Rui would have had to summon clerks from the Ministry of Revenue’s Clear Accounts Bureau.

Whether they would even respond was uncertain, but the extra days wasted alone would be considerable.

Wang Zongmu accepted the thanks calmly and said: “A trivial matter—we’re all serving the Court.”

“But… the salt field ledgers probably aren’t limited to just these.”

Such deceitful schemes always involve one set of ledgers for show and another hidden beneath.

The implication was that much of their effort might be wasted.

Hai Rui nodded: “I know this too, so I will cross-check them with the salt merchants’ ledgers.”

Officially, the Two Huai regions produce 700,000 salt certificates annually—a figure unchanged since the founding of the dynasty—so the central court has never known the true output.

But before departing, the Emperor gave him a bottom line.

The empire’s population is roughly 150 million; though Hai Rui didn’t know how this figure was derived, he accepted it and calculated that, at five catties of salt per person per year—with losses and substitutes like salted fish offsetting slightly—the minimum production must be around 700 million catties.

Since the Two Huai regions account for most of this, their output must be around 300 million catties—that is, 1.5 million salt certificates.

This further confirms Xu Fuyuan’s claim of “double.”

Hai Rui’s task now is to determine the actual salt production.

Is it the unchanged 700,000 certificates since the dynasty’s founding—or the Emperor’s estimated 1.5 million?

This is all money!

Only by confirming the output can the Two Huai regions properly pay their taxes.

Wang Zongmu looked curiously at Hai Rui: “Salt merchants’ ledgers? Will they cooperate?”

He had witnessed firsthand how fiercely things had been shaken up these past days.

Chen Dong went to Taizhou and, upon arrival, burned down two salt fields.

The salt storehouses and evaporation towers were reduced to ruins; when the buildings collapsed, the salt naturally sank back into the brine pools, mixing with the brine.

Though no one understood why so much salt dissolved without a single grain crystallizing, it was a minor technical detail—unimportant, at least politically, the ledger had already been erased.

Though Huai’an hadn’t seen such dramatic fires, the situation was much the same.

Several salt fields’ evaporation towers, long neglected, had been jolted by soldiers and broken, collapsing into the salt pools.

The Transport Office’s ledgers, needless to say, were burned clean.

It could only be blamed on the dry winter—the Imperial Inspector arrived at the wrong time.

Having gone this far, there was no reason to expect salt merchants to willingly hand over their ledgers.

Hai Rui smiled: “Squeezing a wet towel—first squeeze always yields the most water.”

“I’m holding those few minor clerks, waiting for the Yama lords to show their hand.”

As Imperial Inspector overseeing the Two Huai salt administration, these Yama lords wouldn’t dare offer no respect at all.

This is the space for negotiation—both sides are waiting for this discussion.

The Emperor himself told Hai Rui that officials ranked fourth rank and above are recorded and subject to his sole judgment.

He wouldn’t begin his duties by leaving no room for these senior officials.

If they’re wise, surrendering five or six tenths of what the Emperor demands, they might still shake hands in peace.

Speaking of this, Wang Zongmu couldn’t help but warn: “Gangfeng, be cautious. These men aren’t united—your actions might backfire.”

Among them are descendants of founding meritorious nobles, local power brokers of Nanzhili, two former Grand Secretaries of the Zhongji Hall, and several high-ranking officials—all their relatives and subordinates have been detained; regardless of prior arrangements, they will inevitably form alliances.

Hai Rui looked at Wang Zongmu with a strange expression: “Viceroy Wang, may I ask you a private question?”

Wang Zongmu froze.

Then nodded, signaling Hai Rui to proceed.

Hai Rui hesitated a moment, then asked: “Viceroy Wang, do you believe my authority as Imperial Inspector, acting on the Emperor’s behalf, comes from the Emperor’s will—or from the Grand Secretariat’s orders?”

Wang Zongmu stared at Hai Rui in puzzlement.

Though he constantly invoked imperial grace and heavenly mandate, he was not so naive as to believe an eleven-year-old emperor could manage state affairs.

Gao Gong, though retired with a noble title, instructed him to assist Hai Rui in inspecting salt—clearly a deal struck with Zhang Juzheng, the new head of the Grand Secretariat.

Wasn’t this obvious?

What did Hai Rui’s words imply? Was there hidden meaning?

Seeing Wang Zongmu’s expression, Hai Rui naturally understood his thoughts and sighed helplessly.

It was no wonder these old men of Nanzhili resisted stubbornly—they clearly didn’t understand whose will had sent him to the Two Huai.

He had made his intentions clear, yet they still refused to surrender, believing this was merely the Grand Secretariat trying to assert authority, thinking they could stall for years until the current Grand Secretariat was replaced.

Too bad—they’ll regret it only when they see the coffin.

Just as Wang Zongmu was about to speak, Chen Yinzhao entered: “Inspector, six heads of the Huai’an Salt Merchants’ Association are waiting outside the prefectural yamen to see you.”

Hai Rui perked up—so they came.

Wang Zongmu tactfully bowed: “I have other matters—I won’t disturb Gangfeng further.”

Hai Rui immediately escorted him out personally.

Then he turned to Chen Yinzhao: “Go, bring them to the study.”

…

All salt transactions are brokered by intermediaries who take a commission; these intermediaries are appointed by the Transport Office and issued “official permits,” hence called official brokers.

To some extent, salt prices are controlled by these official brokers; the Transport Office uses them to regulate the salt market and ensure tax collection.

What is a major salt merchant?

A major salt merchant is a merchant in name only—a government agent holding an “official permit” with the power to set prices independently.

Small salt merchants can only look up to them, accepting whatever price and quantity the association dictates.

In other words, these major salt merchants are the first-tier subcontractors, just below the Transport Office.

The Transport Office’s selection criteria are obvious—whoever’s master is powerful gets the choicest bones.

The six salt merchants before Hai Rui are the largest in the Two Huai regions.

Shen Chuanyin, as head of the association, was elected to sit in Hai Rui’s main seat, visibly uneasy.

He bowed stiffly and replied: “In response to your inquiry, Inspector Hai, we have come because we heard the Transport Office’s ledgers were burned—we bring the Association’s ledgers for your cross-checking.”

Salt fields produce salt; the Transport Office sells salt; salt merchants buy salt.

Each has its own ledgers.

The Transport Office’s are burned; the salt fields’ are scattered and incomplete.

Only the merchants’ private ledgers remain—though their authenticity is uncertain.

Hai Rui raised his hand to stop him: “I’m not asking about the ledgers—I’m asking who sent you.”

Shen Chuanyin and the five others exchanged glances.

After a long pause, Shen forced himself to say: “Inspector, we come out of public spirit…”

Hai Rui interrupted again: “I’m holding many people. Tell me who sent you, and I’ll release them.”

The six salt merchants froze.

They were aware of the detentions, but their patrons had given no instructions regarding this.

Shen Chuanyin, quick-witted, bowed again: “Inspector, we are salt merchants—we come for the greater good of the Two Huai salt system.”

“If anyone obstructing this cause is detained, we hope you will show mercy.”

“If those detained are unrelated, you may act as you see fit.”

Hai Rui looked at him in surprise: “Are you a juren?”

Shen Chuanyin nodded shyly, admitting it—scholars who turned to commerce were, in serious terms, lowering themselves.

Hai Rui did not press further: “Where are the ledgers?”

Shen Chuanyin hurriedly replied: “Two chests are outside the prefectural yamen—I’ll send men to bring them in immediately!”

Hai Rui glanced at Gu Cheng.

The latter acted swiftly and stepped out.

Hai Rui nodded approvingly at Shen Chuanyin: “No need to beat around the bush—how many thousand certificates?”

The specific pretext doesn’t matter—what matters is how much tax is paid.

If you can pay forty thousand yin in tax, next year the Two Huai regions can deliver one hundred ten thousand yin in salt tax, and Hai Rui can immediately return to Beijing.

He watched the great salt merchant, waiting for his answer.

Shen Chuanyin answered immediately: “Provincial Governor! Last year, the Salt Merchants’ Association handled eighty thousand yin of salt!”

The Two Huai salt tax quota is seventy thousand yin; the extra ten thousand yin naturally evades central taxation—that is, stolen tax revenue.

Ten thousand yin of salt means tens of thousands of taels, yet Hai Rui frowned.

Ten thousand yin?

These people won’t shed a tear until they see the coffin!

His Majesty said half the profit must be surrendered—that means at least thirty-five thousand yin must be handed over! Ten thousand? Are you trying to bribe beggars?

The gap between their expectations and reality is too wide.

Hai Rui turned away, his expression dark and unreadable: “Secretary Shen, have you truly thought this through? Only ten thousand yin?”

Shen Chuanyin nodded reluctantly.

There was no choice—even though several senior officials had demanded two-tenths profit, or fourteen thousand yin, the Association had nearly ten thousand mouths to feed, and he couldn’t decide alone.

He had already managed to withhold only four thousand yin—that was his absolute limit.

Hai Rui said nothing: “Then where did these ten thousand yin come from? Why aren’t they recorded in the Canal Transport Office’s accounts?”

Unpaid tax means contraband salt!

The crime of embezzling tax must be traced to someone’s head.

Shen Chuanyin hurriedly said: “It was the Director of the Imperial Academy, Wan Hao, who ordered Wang Ruyan to conceal the surplus salt from the salt fields!”

“This man disregards all discipline and secretly controls the Transport Bureau. When selling to our Association, he lied and claimed all eighty thousand yin had been taxed.”

“The embezzled tax revenue must have gone straight into his pockets!”

Southern Zhili also has temples and academies; the Director of the Imperial Academy is a fourth-rank official, not a minor position.

Hai Rui hadn’t expected them to throw out a Director to take the blame—he sat up straight in surprise: “Do you have proof?”

Shen Chuanyin nodded firmly: “The ledgers of all transactions bear this villain’s traces!”

That meant both witness and physical evidence were complete.

Hai Rui said nothing for a moment.

Slowly he rose and paced back and forth in the room, deep in thought.

The six salt merchants were puzzled but dared not interrupt.

Long moments passed.

Finally, Shen Chuanyin hesitantly called out: “Provincial Governor…”

Hai Rui came back to himself, ending his long deliberation.

He turned to Luo Sigong: “Arrest all these men and throw them in prison. Let the Embroidered Uniform Guard interrogate them thoroughly.”

The sudden turn of events threw the six salt merchants into panic.

Shen Chuanyin’s face turned ashen—he leapt to his feet and threatened: “Hai Rui! Think before you act!”

Before he finished speaking, Luo Sigong shoved him to the ground and dragged him out.

The other five salt merchants were no less spared—they were subdued one by one by the Embroidered Uniform Guard and taken away.

Hai Rui watched silently as they were led away, a faint sneer in his heart.

Before he came, His Majesty had said: kill as many of these salt merchants as possible; he was counting on seizing their estates and returning to Beijing with their silver.

If these salt merchants are innocent, fine—but if guilty, why should they walk away unscathed?

Hai Rui waited a little longer in the office, then turned and opened the door to the side room.

Inside, several men were bound—clearly the very men Hai Rui had detained in the prefectural yamen several days ago.

This side room, of course, could hear everything outside.

Their expressions varied.

Hai Rui’s face remained unchanged: “Who is the brother-in-law of the Director of the Imperial Academy?”

Their mouths were stuffed with gags, so they could not speak.

One of them was lifted up by the Embroidered Uniform Guard and brought before Hai Rui.

Hai Rui nodded: “Let him go.”

Wan Hao’s brother-in-law knew exactly what Hai Rui intended—he looked at Hai Rui with a complex expression.

As the Embroidered Uniform Guard began shoving him out, he limped toward the door.

Before leaving, he glanced back at the bound men on the floor, a flicker of venom in his eyes.

Hai Rui turned to Nanjing Censor Zhang Huan: “Well, Censor Zhang, have you made up your mind?”

He gestured for the Embroidered Uniform Guard to remove the gag.

The moment Zhang Huan could speak, he began to curse: “Hai Rui! You pervert justice, defy law and order—you will be executed!”

Hai Rui shook his head and couldn’t help a sarcastic remark: “Too bad you’re already trapped.”

He ordered the Embroidered Uniform Guard: “Throw him in prison. Apply torture.”

Zhang Huan’s face changed: “How dare you! I am a Censor! Even His Majesty won’t lightly condemn me!”

“I will impeach you! I will impeach you!”

Before he could continue, the Embroidered Uniform Guard punched him hard in the stomach—he spat saliva, curled into a ball, and could no longer speak.

Hai Rui turned to the man with the mustache: “I wondered what your status was—how bold you were to block me openly at the ferry.”

“Turns out you’re just Xu Jie’s household servant.”

After saying this, he didn’t order the gag removed. Instead, he pulled out a document bearing the seals of the Three Judicial Offices and said: “Evidence is conclusive. Execute him.”

The mustached man’s eyes bulged in disbelief.

He groaned incoherently, his body writhing wildly, as if trying to speak.

But before Hai Rui spoke, his movements suddenly stopped.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard withdrew his blade and dragged the body away—the man’s limbs still twitched.

As he was dragged past Hai Rui, he stretched out a trembling hand, grasping at Hai Rui’s robe hem, as if trying to say something.

Hai Rui didn’t blink. He said solemnly: “My actions conform to the Great Ming Code. If Xu Jie disagrees, let him come to me personally to protest.”

Only then did he turn his gaze, gentle now, toward the Marquis of Wei’s heir.

The mustached man’s blood had splattered all over Xu Weizhi—he was trembling, staring at Hai Rui.

Hai Rui nodded, signaling the Embroidered Uniform Guard to remove his gag and untie him.

Xu Weizhi pointed at Hai Rui with fear in his eyes: “You… you murder innocent men!”

Hai Rui had no patience for further words.

He spoke bluntly: “Go tell the Marquis of Wei: I will temporarily accept this ten-thousand-yin tax payment on behalf of His Majesty—but it is not enough.”

“The Marquis of Wei’s house has enjoyed imperial grace for generations. Whether you are stripped of your title and exterminated, or preserved with the state, rests entirely on his decision.”

Xu Weizhi looked up in shock, meeting Hai Rui’s resolute gaze.

He opened his mouth wide, his expression one of utter disbelief—a grin stretched across his face, eyes wide, pointing at himself: “My family has served the Great Ming! We shed blood for the Taizu Emperor! You, a mere fourth-rank official, dare threaten to exterminate my clan!?”

He kept glancing around, seeking agreement in others’ eyes—but no one responded.

At that moment, Chen Yinzhao stepped forward, looked at Xu Weizhi, and spoke softly: “Marquis of Wei’s heir, His Majesty has a verbal decree.”

Xu Weizhi froze.

The Emperor… a verbal decree?

He had never received one in his life—he turned, bewildered, toward Chen Yinzhao.

Chen Yinzhao stood facing north, his expression solemn, each word deliberate: “I ascended the throne as a child, ruling like clouds and rain, never forgetting those who served with merit.”

“Marquis Zhongshan’s merit to the state is great; I have always admired him and often thought of building a temple in his honor.”

“In June, I specifically instructed the Grand Secretariat to order Marquis of Wei Xu Bangrui to return to Nanjing for retirement.”

Here, Chen Yinzhao paused, mimicking the Emperor’s tone as closely as possible: “I have already given you enough face.”

“Xu Bangrui, don’t seek death.”

Xu Weizhi’s expression shattered.

Then his eyes rolled back, his legs stiffened—and he fainted.