Chapter 561: I Want to Take the Stage and Put on a Performance

“Zihou is truly gifted. To glimpse a single stripe and perceive the whole leopard—how unfair Heaven can be. Your literary talent and mastery of the brush are already exceptional, and yet your political insight is just as extraordinary.”

Zhang Siwei sighed with heartfelt admiration as he looked at Zhu Ping’an, though the teasing smile at the corner of his lips softened the seriousness of his praise.

“And this counts as political insight?” Zhu Ping’an curled his lips dismissively, clearly unconvinced. He calmly lifted the teapot from the brazier, the steam rising in pale white wisps between them, and refilled both Zhang Siwei’s cup and his own with fresh tea.

“You really never stop being modest.” Zhang Siwei shook his head with a chuckle before continuing.

“Supervising Secretary Zhang Sijing and the others submitted a congratulatory memorial to His Majesty during a zhaijiao rite. In the memorial, the words ‘Ten Thousand Longevities’ were not properly elevated in the text. The Emperor flew into a rage and ordered every supervising secretary involved to be punished.”

His expression darkened as he spoke further.

“And not only that—His Majesty specifically decreed that Zhang Sijing and the others were to receive the caning while still dressed in their official court robes… Not a single member of the Six Offices of Supervising Secretaries escaped punishment. Ah… it was a complete humiliation of the scholar-official class.”

His sigh lingered heavily in the room.

The Six Offices of Supervising Secretaries formed one of the core pillars of the Ming dynasty’s censorial system. Together with the Thirteen Provincial Censors, they constituted the empire’s vast network of remonstrance officials. Though their official ranks were not high, their authority stretched astonishingly far. They held no direct administrative power, yet above, they could admonish the Emperor himself; below, they could impeach and supervise every civil and military official in the realm.

In many ways, they were the Ming dynasty’s equivalent of an imperial disciplinary commission.

The Six Offices also maintained close ties with the Hanlin Academy, where Zhu Ping’an and Zhang Siwei currently served. Both institutions belonged to what court officials collectively referred to as the “Four Yamen.” Broadly speaking, even the Hanlin Academy could be considered part of the empire’s remonstrance tradition.

The Six Offices of Supervising Secretaries, the Thirteen Provincial Censors, the Hanlin Academy, and the Ministry of Personnel—together, these four formed the political nerve center of the empire’s scholar-official class.

Which made the matter all the more shocking.

The Emperor had punished every single supervising secretary?

Zhu Ping’an could not help but stare in astonishment.

“He beat the entire office?”

This incident had never particularly caught his attention back in his previous life when reading Ming history. Yet now, hearing it described firsthand, the sheer severity of it struck him deeply.

The Jiajing Emperor had never been known for treating remonstrance officials kindly. But to order the collective punishment of the entire body over the omission of a single honorific phrase—and to have them beaten publicly in official robes—this was humiliation on a scale rarely seen before.

From now on, being a censorial official would become even more dangerous than before.

“Yes. Every last one of them.” Zhang Siwei nodded slowly.

“But even so… even after suffering such humiliation, the supervising secretaries still did not forget their responsibilities.” His tone carried unmistakable admiration.

“Supervising Secretary Wang Mingchen submitted a memorial requesting strict prohibitions against princely estates illegally seizing taxable land. In his memorial he wrote:

‘At present, members of the imperial clan are extensively acquiring civilian farmland for their private estates. Relying on their status and influence, they coerce local authorities into exempting such lands from taxation and labor obligations, thereby burdening the surrounding communities. I request that the regional inspecting censors investigate all such illegally annexed lands and redistribute the tax obligations accordingly, converting them into grain revenues designated for princely stipends. Any local officials found complicit or negligent should be punished according to law.’

His Majesty approved the proposal.”

Zhu Ping’an nodded quietly after hearing this.

Land annexation had always been one of the deadliest cancers of every feudal dynasty.

He had already realized the seriousness of the issue back when he passed the provincial examination and local villagers attempted to place their land under his protection through tax-exempt patronage.

As someone from the modern era, it was hardly surprising that he recognized the danger.

What truly impressed him was that Wang Mingchen—a man born within this era itself—had also perceived the problem clearly enough to memorialize it before the throne.

Although Wang Mingchen had only touched upon one corner of the broader issue—namely the imperial clan’s seizure of land—it was still exceedingly rare and valuable.

It proved that the Ming dynasty still possessed many far-sighted men.

Zhang Siwei continued recounting the recent affairs of court.

“The Ministry of Revenue reconsidered Supervising Secretary Wang Guozhen’s six proposals for reducing state expenditures. First: military rewards along the frontier should vary according to distance and duration of service, and inland troops must not exploit precedent to make unreasonable demands…”

“Censor Xu Shen of the Jiangxi Circuit requested the abolition of redundant and bloated official positions…”

“The Ministry of Revenue revised the salt laws, while the Ministry of Works began new coin minting measures…”

“One half-month ago, the Mongol leader Altan Khan led over twenty thousand cavalrymen through the northern defenses of Datong, breaching the border walls and pillaging the Left and Right Guards of Datong along with the Seventeen Garrisons of Andong. A few days later, they split their forces and raided Pinglu Guard, Shuozhou, Yingzhou, Shanyin, Mayi, and other regions.”

Zhang Siwei’s brows furrowed deeply as he spoke.

“Afterward, they divided again to attack the Three Passes of Shanxi and Ningxia. Fortunately, they did not continue southward. Otherwise… another great calamity would have befallen the realm.”

His voice lowered.

“Grand Coordinator Mao Boyen and others once memorialized the throne requesting construction of an outer wall around the capital to prevent a repeat of past disasters. But officials from both the Ministry of Revenue and Ministry of Works claimed insufficient funds, so the project has never begun…”

“For this matter alone, the two sides have spent months fighting endless verbal battles at court.”

He paused briefly before adding another matter.

“Because of Altan Khan’s incursions, His Majesty issued an edict two days ago converting the old Inner Drill Grounds into an Inner Palace Camp for training eunuchs. The Emperor believes the capital’s troops are insufficient to defend against enemy attack and intends to rely on eunuch forces to protect the imperial city.”

“Oh, right. There’s one more thing.”

Zhang Siwei’s expression turned somewhat complicated.

“Grand Secretary Yan believes there are too few palace women in the Western Gardens. He memorialized the throne requesting the selection of three hundred girls between the ages of eight and fourteen from the capital and the eight prefectures surrounding Shuntian to enter the palace.”

“His Majesty approved the request.”

“Yesterday, Shuntian Prefecture already began selecting girls from among the common people…”

The brazier crackled softly.

Tea steam drifted upward in silence.

Zhang Siwei spoke in fragments, recounting one event after another from the capital. By the time he finished, Zhu Ping’an had fallen into a long silence.

The political storms of the capital… the rise and fall of influence within the imperial court… all of it was a stage occupied by giants.

Xu Jie, Yan Song, the high ministers of the Six Ministries, the veteran supervising secretaries who had long since established their reputations—

They took turns stepping onto the stage of imperial politics, each performing beneath the gaze of the Emperor.

As for newly appointed minor officials like Zhu Ping’an and Zhang Siwei?

They had absolutely no place there.

Forget stepping onto the stage itself.

Even seats beneath the stage likely did not belong to them.

They were still far from qualified.

At best, they could only stand at the distant edges and watch.

Yet Zhu Ping’an’s silence did not stem from disappointment over his own insignificance.

Rather, it came from something far heavier.

The great figures in the capital wielded power like shifting clouds and storms, battling endlessly over court politics and imperial favor… yet among all these affairs, there was scarcely a single matter truly connected to the suffering of the common people.

And along his journey from Xiahe Village to the capital, Zhu Ping’an had seen far too much suffering.

Especially while passing through Henan and southwestern Shandong, he had witnessed the hardships of ordinary people with painful clarity.

For years now, those regions had suffered one natural disaster after another—floods, droughts, locust swarms. The people had been battered repeatedly without respite.

Back when he traveled for the examinations, he had already encountered refugees wandering homeless after the Yellow River’s drifting ice caused the levees to collapse. The areas around Juye and Jiaxiang had suffered especially terribly.

And throughout the journey, through what he saw, heard, and asked about, Zhu Ping’an had gradually gained a deep understanding of Ming officialdom as well.

Corruption among officials had already become severe.

Natural disasters compounded by corrupt governance inevitably led to misery.

The people could no longer survive.

The hungry wandered homeless across the land.

Just over a month ago, a salt smuggler from Henan named Shi Shangzhao had raised the banner of rebellion among starving refugees.

Another salt smuggler…

Zhu Ping’an could not help inwardly lamenting that salt smugglers truly seemed to be one of the professions with the highest rebellion rate in Chinese history.

At the end of the Sui dynasty there had been Cheng Yaojin. At the end of the Tang, Huang Chao. At the end of the Yuan, Zhang Shicheng. During the Five Dynasties, Qian Liu…

And now there was Shi Shangzhao.

Shi Shangzhao’s slogan had been:

“Do not kill. Do not plunder. Open the granaries for disaster relief. Aid the poor.”

Within mere days, tens of thousands had rallied under his banner.

The common people supported him enthusiastically, and his influence surged like wildfire. Coordinating with rebel forces in Shandong, his army swept through surrounding regions, capturing one prefecture, two sub-prefectures, and eight counties in rapid succession.

Of course, by the time Zhu Ping’an passed through Henan and Shandong, the uprising had already failed.

Shi Shangzhao himself, together with his clansmen, had been executed and their severed heads displayed atop the city walls.

This was the closest Zhu Ping’an had ever come to a peasant rebellion.

In his previous life, such things had merely existed as dry lines within history books.

But now—

It was bloody reality.

When he passed through those cities, the bloodstains beneath the walls had not yet been fully washed away.

That rebellion had exposed many of the Ming dynasty’s deepest problems.

Although government troops had crushed the uprising in barely forty days, their combat effectiveness had clearly deteriorated badly. In truth, they were scarcely stronger than the peasant rebels themselves.

And more importantly—

Shi Shangzhao had merely raised the slogan:

“Do not kill. Do not plunder. Open the granaries for disaster relief. Aid the poor.”

And with only that, he had effortlessly gathered tens of thousands.

What did that prove?

It proved just how utterly disappointed the people had become with the government.

If ordinary people still had a path to survive, who would willingly risk death in rebellion?

The people suffered without livelihood.

They wandered homeless across the realm.

Yet the powerful men seated high within the court could scarcely spare them a glance.

Could one really blame the people for following rebels when pushed to such desperation?

The rise and fall of a nation is the responsibility of every citizen.

But the survival of the people is equally the responsibility of the nation.

And as officials entrusted with governing the state, how could they shirk that duty?

Zhu Ping’an slowly lifted his wine cup and drank deeply.

Then he turned his gaze toward the window.

Beyond the distant rooftops, he looked silently toward the Western Gardens—the true center of political power within the Great Ming Empire.

A faint light flickered deep within his eyes.

I want to step onto that stage.

And put on a performance of my own.

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