Chapter 643: Anti-Intellectualism

Using a jar of Bihai Tide to exchange for a perfectly timed opportunity, presenting himself at the moment of the other party’s optimal choice, and suddenly revealing a kind of deeply hidden wisdom—Yang Shu waited for an outcome that greatly satisfied him.

Bai Changqing nodded in agreement; if, in the future, the power over financial austerity truly fell into Yang Shu’s hands, he would fully support Yang Shu in advancing the various fiscal tasks.

The underlying meaning was agreeing to side with Yang Shu, but the closeness would have to be tested step by step; he wouldn’t throw himself heart and soul into his camp right away.

This was already a very good result. For Yang Shu was convinced he would soon gain authority over the financial austerity measures for the state. Years of being the “weaker power” would hardly be altered just because he “became wealthy”—Yang Shu understood well the Royal Family’s ingrained perceptions.

Sure enough, on the very night after his secret discussion with Bai Changqing, Yang Shu received an Order from the palace, summoning him to attend the imperial assembly the next morning at the Ten Thousand People’s Palace to sit in and observe state affairs.

Once this Order to observe was delivered, it basically confirmed Yang Shu’s earlier suspicions.

The next day was the Great Court Assembly. Yang Shu arrived at the Ten Thousand People’s Palace on cue and stood at the forefront, beside the civil and military ranks.

Rarely did a Prince have the chance to participate in court deliberations. Ordinarily, if a Prince appeared in court, either it was because he’d been impeached and needed to offer concessions or defend himself face-to-face, or because some special assignment had been placed upon him.

Upon seeing Yang Shu today, all the officials in attendance already had an idea in their hearts. The recent financial austerity policy, kept unreleased by the Emperor, was an urgent and intriguing matter. Many had privately speculated on the Emperor’s intentions, and now, with Yang Shu’s presence, it was clear.

Yet Yang Shu’s reputation as the “disgrace of the Royal Family” was well-established. Over the years, everyone had grown accustomed to it. He simply exchanged greetings, and no one showed him any familiarity. Some thought this Prince “was unreliable—best to keep one’s distance.” Others believed it was not the right occasion; approaching the Prince under so many watching eyes would seem sycophantic and risk staining one’s reputation.

Yang Shu did not greet anyone either, standing at the front without saying a word. Though dressed in court robes, he still bore a lazy, nonchalant air, until the Eunuch loudly announced the Emperor’s arrival. Only then did he hurriedly stand proper, prompting civil and military officials nearby to shake their heads in silence.

Only Bai Changqing, who had shared tea with Yang Shu the day before, mused secretly: Prince Ling truly had fooled almost everyone.

Once the Emperor took his seat and received the deep bows from the civil and military officials below, he raised his hand for all to rise. Then, following the proceedings of the Great Court Assembly, reports and new matters began with the Ministry of War, each Ministry presenting in turn. That the Ministry of War now spoke first was a recent change, prompted by southern warfare; formerly, it would speak last—a sign of how swiftly things shifted in the Temple Hall.

The former Minister of War, Yang Yansi, once a fixture at these assemblies, had not appeared in some time. Replacing him in the ranks now stood Vice Minister Wen Mingju. All the officials now clearly saw Wen Mingju as the Emperor’s puppet, while Yang Yansi, though still holding the title of Minister of War, was in reality set aside and left to wither. Whatever occurred last time had soured the Emperor against Yang Yansi, the National Pillar General; yet, unwilling to burn bridges and dishearten the Military, the Emperor could only freeze him out like this.

Thus it appeared there were still Six Ministries, but in truth, they now counted only five. The Ministry of War had, for now, lost its relative independence.

After the Ministry of War finished, the other Ministries spoke in turn. Once all six had made their statements, the Emperor then threw out the day’s final, and also most important, matter.

“Given the Ministry of Revenue’s overwhelming affairs and the urgent need for financial austerity, the authority to execute this nation-wide financial austerity strategy shall be transferred to the Prince Ling’s Mansion, to be carried out under Prince Ling’s command.”

The Emperor had barely finished speaking when Prince Ling, Yang Shu, had yet to step out to accept the order—yet Ye Lansheng, standing in the first row beside him, stepped forth instead.

He bowed and declared, “Your Majesty! I believe entrusting such a heavy responsibility to Prince Ling is most inappropriate. I beg Your Majesty to reconsider and retract this decree!”

The Emperor was slightly surprised. He truly had not expected Ye Lansheng to leap forth and object at this moment. In his prior estimation, having deliberately withheld the order, he’d expected these cunning courtiers to use the intervening days to fully grasp his intent—especially someone as brilliant as Ye Lansheng. Could he truly not see this was the Royal Family’s balancing act before the Major Examination? How could he dare to intervene?

Seeing the Emperor’s frown, Ye Lansheng showed not a trace of fear and continued bowed: “Your Majesty, though His Highness Prince Ling is clever, the matter of financial austerity is of grave importance and requires competence and experience from all sides to coordinate and execute. It cannot be mastered or managed smoothly in a short time. Furthermore, the southern war is urgent and perilous. Thus, I urge that His Highness Prince Ling is not suited to take on such a weighty task at this time. I beg Your Majesty to reconsider—three times over!”

This was Ye Lansheng’s opening gambit, setting up a stance. Before the Emperor could reply, one minister after another, both Ministers and Assistant Ministers, stood forth to join the protest—questioning ability, then timing, experience, and the state of affairs. Their eloquence, though stopping short of lengthy harangues, sounded reasonable enough: after all, what right had a “disgrace of the Royal Family” to shoulder such a burden?

Each rose to remonstrate. Once finished, they knelt where they stood, awaiting the Emperor’s reply. Soon, a swathe of kneeling officials filled the front of the hall—a sight showing that at least half the civil officials had stepped out.

The Emperor’s lips curled upward. It had been a long time since he encountered such an interesting situation. Somewhat amused, he gazed at Ye Lansheng, kneeling at the forefront, his thoughts turning anew.

By contrast, among the Military ranks, though there was some whispering, no one stood out to refute the Civil Servants’ arguments. First, the financial austerity strategy belonged to civil governance, not military matters; they had no business to interfere. Second, Prince Ling’s reputation was, indeed, not good, and given his seemingly unserious, unreliable appearance, placing such vital authority in his hands was viewed by many in the Military as equally inappropriate—especially as it would directly affect military operations in the south.

Yet amidst it all, Yang Shu, the person in question, remained unperturbed. He did not glance at anyone else’s expression; he merely looked up at the Emperor, seated above.

Would the Royal Family’s Major Examination truly permit outside meddling and debate?

Would the Emperor, who had painstakingly plotted his foremost cause for decades, alter his plan for the sake of a few dissenting ministers?

Nevertheless, Yang Jian did not respond with direct rebuttal. Instead, he pointed at Bai Changqing, the Minister of Revenue, who had remained in formation without stepping forward all this time, and asked, “Bai Changqing, what does your Ministry of Revenue say? Can you work with Prince Ling to fulfill this great responsibility?”

The Emperor was curious why Bai Changqing, the Minister of Revenue who ought to take the lead, had not uttered a word today. So he called him by name, eager to hear if this Minister would have other opinions to offer.

“In reply, Your Majesty. Your servant proposes the policy; the direction is for Your Majesty to decide. No matter Your Majesty’s final decision, your servant will give his utmost to see it done.”

Yang Jian’s smile deepened. He waved his hand, his tone laden with meaning: “What I ask is—can you, or can’t you?”

“Your servant can!”