Chapter 92: The Wild Deer Feeds on Clover; Night Ends, Dawn Breaks

As the saying goes, a new year brings a new atmosphere; Beijing had canceled its lantern festival and fireworks, but the festive spirit was made up for by Nanjing.

This New Year in Nanjing was exceptionally vibrant.

Not only had public celebrations been curtailed, but the officialdom was even more bustling.

The first of these vibrant events was a feud between Zhang Jing, Nanjing Garrison Commander, and Sun Shizhong, Nanjing Garrison Commander and Director of the Central Military Commission, Marquis Huaining.

Their subordinates clashed violently, spilling considerable blood—a truly fiery start to the New Year.

The cause of the private brawl was simple.

As Nanjing Garrison Commander, Zhang Jing held authority over all Nanjing garrisons; under his strict orders forbidding any troop movement without authorization, a corporal from the Flying Bear Garrison left camp without permission and returned only after several days. Upon discovering this, Zhang Jing demanded the corporal be executed publicly.

Sun Shizhong learned of the matter and immediately intervened, confirming the corporal had merely returned home to visit family, with his subordinates escorting him partway—all procedures were legal and proper, and no crime had been committed.

Both sides held firm to their positions.

Eventually, the Nanjing Ministry of War intervened to mediate, administering military lashes to the corporal, and the matter was settled.

Yet Zhang Jing, that sly and venomous man, harbored a serpent in his bosom.

After the New Year, while Sun Shizhong was away, Zhang Jing had the corporal dragged out and personally executed him before all officers of the garrison.

By the time Sun Shizhong arrived, only two severed corpses remained.

Naturally, conflict erupted between the two sides, yet neither dared escalate too far, so their subordinates engaged in another private brawl.

The Ministry of War was again drawn in, and even the Director of the Grand Canal Transport, who happened to be on official business in Nanjing, intervened to negotiate and mediate.

Only after great effort was the turmoil finally quelled.

The second vibrant incident involved Chen Dong, Vice Minister of the Dalisi , whose detainee, Deputy Director of the Transport Bureau Chang Ke, died mysteriously in prison, prompting relatives and family members to demand an explanation.

Chen Dong produced documents from the Three Judicial Departments, declaring Chang Ke guilty of capital crime.

But the family refused to accept this, insisting that although Chang Ke had been sentenced to death by the Three Judicial Departments, he had not been publicly executed—there must be foul play.

Thereafter, the family and friends took to the streets weeping, beat the gong of injustice, and turned the matter into a major scandal.

Soon after, righteous individuals from miles around rushed to offer support.

Rallying the common people, they demanded justice from this Vice Minister of the Dalisi .

The climax came when Chang Ke’s elderly mother, unable to bear the injustice, dashed her head against Chen Dong’s feet and died on the spot.

Public outrage in Taizhou Prefecture surged instantly; crowds gathered to demand justice for Chang Ke and his mother.

The prefectural government attempted mediation but could only urge Chen Shaoqing to flee immediately.

After Chen Dong refused, many righteous individuals vowed to die alongside this cruel official.

Thanks to Jiao Ze’s protection, no one was actually killed, but the situation grew increasingly dire by the day.

The third vibrant incident was the Huai’an Prefectural Office catching fire once again.

After Hai Rui had confiscated the properties of several salt merchants—including Shen Chuanyin—the entire Nanjing region’s salt merchants were thrown into panic.

They believed Hai Rui lacked sufficient evidence and was deliberately plundering salt merchants’ wealth for personal gain, fabricating false charges.

They collectively converged on the Huai’an Prefectural Office to demand an explanation from Hai Rui.

Of course, throwing eggs and rotten vegetables was nothing unusual.

But among them were some unknown individuals who broke into the prefectural office, targeted a stack of crates, and set them ablaze.

Fortunately, the crates were empty, so no major damage was done.

Thus, one incident followed another, and Nanjing stumbled forward until the sixteenth day of the first lunar month.

…

The Lantern Festival had just ended last night, but the Prefectural Office, as a solemn institution, felt no festive joy.

It wasn’t just today—over the past half-month, the Huai’an Prefectural Office had been shrouded in an eerie atmosphere.

Provincial Governor Hai Rui seemed to have entered a mid-game pause; aside from occasional confiscations of salt merchants’ homes, he had left the Nanjing officialdom entirely untouched.

He had come to investigate a major case, yet now he remained holed up in the Prefectural Office.

Officials breathed a sigh of relief, yet couldn’t help wondering: what was Hai Rui waiting for?

“Governor, are we just going to sit here and wait?”

Chen Yinzhao was the heir of the Marquis of Pingjiang; he asked such questions without restraint.

Hai Rui sat on the floor, scrubbing his clothes with a washboard.

Without looking up, he replied: “What?”

Chen Yinzhao sighed: “Governor, even a blind man can see this is Nanjing’s counterattack.”

“If my father hadn’t gone to mediate and hold the line, those two might already have driven Zhang Jing back to the palace.”

“And as for Chen Shaoqing—those aren’t righteous commoners; just days ago, crossbows were used to assassinate him! Who are these ‘commoners’!?”

Here, Chen Yinzhao looked toward the Prefectural Office’s exterior, as if seeing through the walls to the salt merchants outside.

“The salt merchants causing trouble outside the office is bad enough—but now even censors sit in tea stalls watching, clearly overseeing the scene. It’s outrageous!”

“Governor, it’s not just me—my father and Viceroy Wang are also puzzled: why do you persist in passively enduring these attacks? Why not strike with thunderous force?”

Hai Rui wrung out his clothes, then looked up at Chen Yinzhao.

He realized why this boy was so talkative today—it was Wang Zongmu and Chen Wangmo who had put him up to it.

No wonder.

These past days, Nanjing’s counterattack had grown fiercer.

The pressure had increased daily.

Both Wang Zongmu and Chen Wangmo had faced different pressures.

These two men didn’t truly misunderstand—they weren’t asking through Chen Yinzhao out of ignorance.

Precisely because they understood too well, they urged Hai Rui to act swiftly, to cut through the chaos with a sharp blade!

Everyone had their own solution.

Zhang Juzheng wanted to shoulder this matter himself, using his authority as Chief Grand Secretary.

Gao Gong naturally had his own method.

He had no qualms about killing Xu Jie—his iron warrant of immunity still had two uses left.

If he simply cut down Xu Jie and burned the eighteen crates of evidence, Hai Rui’s case could proceed—investigate and punish whoever it led to; wouldn’t that be simpler than this colossal case?

Moreover, Xu Jie sought to seize the Emperor’s will—but the man was killed by Gao Gong out of personal grudge, and the Emperor knew nothing.

This method, to some extent, achieved a compromise, and was endorsed by Wang Zongmu, Chen Wangmo, and even Zhu Xizhong.

Now, they were pressing Hai Rui to act accordingly, to lighten the Emperor’s burden.

But Hai Rui had refused before, and he would refuse again today.

He raised his head, looked at Chen Yinzhao, and said seriously: “You may tell your father: I am waiting for the Emperor’s decree.”

Whether it’s a public edict ordering me to continue the case, or a secret imperial command urging me to cease—

Hai Rui will act only upon the Emperor’s decree.

If the Emperor wishes to stop, it’s no rush; Hai Rui will obey, and will not stubbornly press on.

He merely… wanted to see how the Emperor would act.

This was beyond Chen Yinzhao’s capacity to comment on; he was merely a messenger.

Having received the answer, he bowed slightly and turned toward the Grand Canal Transport Office.

Hai Rui lowered his gaze and took out another bag of soapberries, preparing to scrub his shoes.

At that moment, Gu Cheng strode in, three steps at a time.

He reported: “Governor, a high official from Yingtian Prefecture has arrived—it appears to be the Censor-in-Chief of Nanjing’s Censorate!”

Hai Rui’s hands froze.

He was a Vice Censor-in-Chief; the arrival of a full Censor-in-Chief could not be good news.

He gently set down his shoes and rose slowly.

He wiped his wet hands haphazardly along the hem of his robe.

He looked at Gu Cheng and nodded: “Lead the way.”

No matter the reason, he must meet this person.

Since Xu Jie’s surrender, he had already blocked too many immortals and Buddhas.

Fortunately, before departing, the Emperor had specifically instructed Gu Cheng and Jiao Ze—two military commanders—to obey his orders absolutely.

Precisely because of this, he had held out for half a month, neither executing nor releasing Xu Jie.

Gu Cheng led the way, bringing Hai Rui to the Prefectural Office’s main hall.

As Hai Rui stepped inside, he saw an elderly man in crimson robes seated imperiously on the main seat.

He was about to speak.

But the old man behind the desk coldly declared: “I am the Right Censor-in-Chief of Nanjing, Xu Shi.”

“You are Hai Rui?”

Nanjing’s Censorate had no Left Censor-in-Chief—only a Right Censor-in-Chief.

This meant Xu Shi was the head of Nanjing’s Censorate, a second-rank official.

A second-rank Censor-in-Chief confronting a fourth-rank Vice Censor-in-Chief.

Upon introducing himself, Xu Shi, Hai Rui could not afford to be disrespectful; he bowed in return, preparing to answer.

But Xu Shi suddenly snapped: “Is this how you salute your superior?”

The commanding rebuke from above interrupted Hai Rui’s movement.

Hai Rui froze in place.

Since it was clearly an attempt to provoke him, he skipped even the customary bow.

He straightened his posture, stared directly at Xu Shi, and said solemnly: “My official rank is only fourth grade, yet I hold the imperial commission as Provincial Governor, acting on behalf of Heaven—what bow do you expect me to make?!”

“Yet you, knowing full well that I represent His Majesty and the Two Palaces.”

“How dare you sit arrogantly upon the courtroom dais, looking down upon an imperial envoy? Are you mocking the imperial envoy—or the Two Palaces, or His Majesty?!”

“Daring to point fingers at the Provincial Governor’s insignia, boasting that you deserve the highest honors—do you even deserve them?!”

“Is your second-rank status greater than the imperial mandate? Is the Censorate greater than the Great Ming Code?!”

“Xu Shi, if you still hold any respect for His Majesty or the Great Ming Code, rise and speak to me as an equal!”

Xu Shi suddenly rose, furious.

He gritted his teeth: “When I was Provincial Governor of Jiangxi and Zhejiang, you were still nursing at your mother’s breast!”

“I will not quarrel with a mere graduate like you.”

“Where is the Censor Zhang Huan? Hand him over—I’m taking him with me!”

Last year—or rather, when Hai Rui first arrived in Nanzhili—he arrested a group of people, including the heir of the Wei Duke, Xu Jie’s servants, and Censor Zhang Huan.

Some were executed, some released; Zhang Huan remains imprisoned by Hai Rui.

Hai Rui swept his sleeve aside, displeased: “Commissioner Xu, are you interfering in an imperial case?”

Xu Shi suddenly sneered: “Imperial case? His Majesty is wise and mighty—he will decide. Hai Rui, your days fishing in Hainan are drawing near.”

Nearly a month has passed since Xu Jie turned himself in.

Yet there has been no movement from the capital.

At least this suggests the central court had not yet made up its mind by New Year’s Day.

Everyone had their own guesses about what this signified.

Precisely because of this, Xu Shi dared to intervene today, coming here to demand Zhang Huan.

It was a bid for fame—and political opportunism.

He gave Hai Rui a long, meaningful look: “A mere censor—you cannot even handle him. Why drag it out?”

“Commissioner Hai, for the sake of the greater good, hand Zhang Huan over to me—I’ll leave immediately.”

Hai Rui said nothing.

Xu Shi had clearly prepared for this visit; he understood the patterns of Hai Rui and Chen Dong.

Clearly, high-ranking officials could not be directly punished.

Though censors held only seventh-rank status, their position was extraordinary: “When censors are transferred, those within the capital rise to fourth-rank court officials; those outside become third-rank provincial administrators—indeed, a seventh-rank official may be promoted directly to third-rank.”

Meaning: though censors were only seventh-rank, upon transfer, they became third-rank provincial officials or fourth-rank court ministers.

They were not like ordinary officials.

It also meant Hai Rui had no authority to punish a censor.

When the Emperor once ordered the execution of Hu and Jia, he required full approval from the Grand Secretariat and Six Ministries—how much less could Hai Rui execute a censor on his own?

Since Hai Rui was clearly about to be removed, and could not handle Zhang Huan, there was no need to keep him detained.

Xu Shi felt certain of victory.

But Hai Rui looked at Xu Shi strangely: “Commissioner Xu, I have one question I do not understand.”

After a pause, he could not help asking: “Why do all of you assume you are the greater good?”

Xu Shi sneered.

Though Xu Jie’s move had disgusted everyone,

one had to admit—it was utterly effective.

If the Emperor refused to compromise, would he truly dare to punish all high officials implicated in Xu Jie’s case?

Even punishing half would shake both capitals.

Expansion is not something only Xu Jie can do—how many officials in the two capitals are clean?

Xu Jie’s tactic was simple; anyone could copy it. The scale it might reach—no doubt not what the Emperor wished to see.

Unless most were spared, and only a few were executed as warnings.

But if most were spared, what purpose would there be? It would not warn anyone—it would only reveal weakness.

Xu Shi could not help looking down with condescension: “Hai Rui, you have never held the greater good—you do not understand.”

A lone minister can never comprehend the taste of the greater good.

Xu Shi wasted more breath explaining.

Having finished, he sat back down, waiting silently for Hai Rui’s reply.

But Hai Rui did not hesitate long—he replied sternly and bluntly: “The case is not yet concluded. Zhang Huan spied on imperial secrets—he cannot be released.”

Saying this, he turned to leave.

Xu Shi slammed his hand on the desk, stopping Hai Rui.

He pointed at Hai Rui’s back, cursing: “You’re a stone in the latrine—spit on your face and you still refuse to yield!”

“Always playing the saint, do you think you can keep this up for long?!”

“Do you believe the edict dismissing you is already on its way to Nanzhili?!”

Hai Rui slowly turned, staring at Xu Shi.

The latter loomed above, radiating authority.

The former stood expressionless, silent.

One sat upon the magistrate’s dais; the other stood in the center of the hall.

One above, one below—seemingly, the hierarchy was clear.

Only the morning light, thin and delicate, streamed through the hall and fell upon Hai Rui.

Long moments passed.

Hai Rui was finally about to speak.

At that very moment,

outside, crowds surged.

A sudden clamor erupted.

Xu Shi looked up.

Hai Rui turned around.

A shrill voice rang into the hall:

“Imperial decree!”

“Imperial decree!”

Gu Chengguang dashed in again, heading toward the hall.

Behind him followed a group of eunuchs, one of whom was still announcing.

Xu Shi’s face changed—then lit up with triumph.

He pointed at Hai Rui, sneering: “Hai Rui, how is it now? Do you finally understand what the greater good is?”

He snorted, finally regaining his dignity.

Hai Rui ignored Xu Shi.

He stood straight, expressionless, waiting silently for the decree.

Xu Shi had stepped down from the dais: “Hai Rui, do not think waving the banner of the Great Ming Code makes you invincible.”

He patted Hai Rui’s shoulder, his eyes mocking, each word deliberate: “Greater good comes first.”

Nearby, Luo Sigong kept glancing at Xu Shi, clenching his fists, lost in thought.

Not long after,

Gu Chengguang led several eunuchs into the courtroom.

Hai Rui and Xu Shi both prepared to kneel and receive the decree.

The lead eunuch quickly said: “This decree is for Senior Tutor Xu Jie—first, please bring Xu Jie forth to receive it.”

Saying this, the eunuch nodded to Gu Chengguang, signaling him to fetch Xu Jie.

Gu Chengguang departed at once.

Hai Rui was momentarily at a loss.

He could not help bowing toward the capital: “Your Excellency, may I ask after His Majesty’s health?”

Gu Chengguang had already whispered the introduction—the eunuch recognized him: “Commissioner Hai, His Majesty is well.”

The eunuch knew what Hai Rui wished to ask, and did not prolong the suspense—he smiled warmly: “There is no imperial decree for you, Commissioner Hai—but there is a personal letter.”

He nodded to a subordinate eunuch, who promptly presented a small box.

Xu Shi watched coldly from the side, silently regretting:

If it were dismissal, it should have been a formal edict.

This secretive gesture clearly meant to grant Hai Rui face—allowing him to return to the capital and retire quietly.

But it mattered little: Hai Rui, twice humiliated, was now merely a lucky charm—perfect to watch from the sidelines as the court swirled with storms.

He sneered inwardly.

Hai Rui bowed with the eunuch, then received the box containing the Emperor’s personal letter.

A personal letter—technically a private message, technically a mid-level decree—held no real authority in today’s political climate; it could only offer counsel.

So… what would the Emperor counsel him to do?

Summon him back to the capital? Execute only the ringleaders? Or “greater good comes first”?

Hai Rui glanced at the signature: “Resident of Changwei”—confirming it was the Emperor’s private letter.

He took a deep breath and began reading slowly from the beginning.

At that moment, Gu Chengguang led Xu Jie out from the inner chamber.

He quickly bowed: “Your servant greets the imperial envoy.”

The eunuch hurriedly urged him to rise.

At this point, Gu Chengguang had already prepared the incense altar, awaiting the imperial edict.

Xu Shi saw how courteously the eunuch treated Xu Jie, and discarded his last trace of doubt.

He walked to Xu Jie’s side and couldn’t help sneering: “You’ve passed this hurdle, Xu Shaoshi, but many more lie ahead.”

Xu Jie’s move had placed everyone on the scales, to be weighed by the Emperor.

Now that the Emperor had spared him, those who had been weighed might not let Xu Jie off easily.

Xu Jie shook his head: “You jest, Xu Du Yu Shi. Passing one hurdle after another is a good thing.”

Xu Shi could not help but admire this man’s composure.

He spoke a few more words, only falling silent once Xu Jie went to wash his hands in preparation for receiving the edict.

He turned his gaze to Hai Rui.

The Provincial Governor, who had begun with the stern, unyielding face of a sage, unmoved by anyone, now wore an expression of shock.

Xu Shi felt a surge of satisfaction.

He had never held any fondness for this bureaucratic stone.

Now, abandoned a second time by the Emperor, he clearly showed signs of mental fracture—deservedly so.

Did he truly believe the Zhu family’s emperors could be trusted? How naive.

He glanced again, frowning: Had Hai Qingtian’s expression somehow softened?

Had he forgiven the Emperor’s betrayal?

How foolishly loyal.

Xu Shi shook his head.

He no longer cared to waste thought on this stubborn stone—at least today, he could take Zhang Huan away.

Hai Rui slowly closed the Emperor’s handwritten letter and regained his composure.

He bowed in thanks to the eunuch, who immediately stepped aside to avoid it.

Xu Shi cut short Hai Rui’s formalities, drawing everyone’s attention: “Hai Yu Shi, may we now release Zhang Huan?”

He did not believe Hai Rui could still resist this situation.

Hai Rui paused, studying Xu Shi from all angles, then smiled warmly and nodded: “It is time for Du Yu Shi and Zhang Huan to reunite.”

Xu Shi patted Hai Rui’s shoulder in satisfaction.

He turned to leave for the prefectural office’s entrance, giving Hai Rui face.

Hai Rui disregarded official decorum—he could not afford to lack such refinement.

He had taken only two steps when a voice came from behind: “Arrest this villain and imprison him next to Zhang Huan.”

Before Xu Shi could react, the words registered.

He slowly turned—and saw the Embroidered Uniform Guard lunging at him.

Only then did he understand what had been said; his face turned ashen: “Hai Rui!”

He managed only to utter two words.

Luo Sigong’s massive hands clamped around his throat and slammed him to the ground.

Xu Shi struggled wildly but produced no sound.

Luo Sigong delivered a controlled kick—Xu Shi instantly ceased struggling—and was dragged away.

The sudden turn of events startled no one.

Only Xu Jie, who had just washed his hands and lit incense, stood frozen in place.

His mind raced—he sensed something, though he could scarcely believe it.

He stared at Hai Rui in disbelief: “Hai Provincial Governor, that was a second-rank official!?”

Hai Rui’s expression cleared of all gloom; he stepped quietly aside.

He offered no explanation, smiling at Xu Jie: “Shaoshi Xu, please receive the edict first.”

Indeed, the difficulty of production was overestimated; my updates have been inconsistent—that’s my fault. But this month’s word count will certainly not be short; the update schedule may still need adjustment.

I indeed overestimated the difficulty of production; the unstable updates are my fault, but this month’s word count will definitely not be less, though the update schedule may still need adjustment.

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(End of Chapter)