Da Ming: I told you to die for your cause, why are you actually going to die?

Chapter 52 Your Majesty! Damn it! [Requesting monthly votes]

"shut up--!"

Old Zhu suddenly hurled the book "A Record of Blood and Tears for Wages" in his hand at Zhang Biao with all his might.

The tattered notebook arced through the air before crashing to Zhang Biao's feet with a 'thud,' kicking up a cloud of fine dust.

"Look what you've done!!"

Old Zhu was trembling with rage. Pointing at the tattered notebook on the ground, he roared, "Inciting a disturbance! Roaring in the court! Insulting the emperor and father! And...and drawing such treasonous things!"

As he spoke, he took a deep breath, his eyes bloodshot as he looked at Zhang Biao: "Do you really think... we wouldn't dare kill you?!"

"Your Majesty is joking!"

Zhang Biao shook his head slightly, seemingly unaffected by Zhu Yuanzhang's wrath, and calmly said, "When the emperor is angry, millions will die. How can I not be afraid?"

"you!"

Old Zhu was taken aback, thinking to himself, "Do you look scared?"
Zhang Biao glanced down at the ledger at his feet, stained with his own handiwork, then looked up at the furious Old Zhu, his expression remaining calm.
"Your Majesty, please calm your anger. I have a few words from the bottom of my heart that I would like to say to you!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he stepped forward, bent down, and slowly picked up the tattered account book. He dusted it off, then flipped to the cartoon illustration of "The Emperor Eating a Pig's Head," pointed at it, and said with a hint of regret in his voice:
"Your Majesty! You see, my painting skills are still lacking. I haven't painted you majestic enough, and the pig's head is too small. It doesn't reflect your hard work, your overwork, and your urgent need for some nourishment."

As he spoke, he nodded slightly and added:
"I will certainly improve next time and strive to make the painting even more lifelike. I want all the people of the world to feel your deep concern for the country and its people, even to the point of eating a pig's head!"

"puff--!"

Old Zhu felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, a metallic taste rising in his throat, and he almost spat out a mouthful of blood.

"emperor!"

Mei Yin was filled with shock and rage, her eyes flashing coldly as she pointed at Zhang Biao: "Zhang Biao! You're asking for death!!"

"Zhang Biao! How dare you!"

Liu Sanwu echoed this with a face full of anger.

But Zhang Biao didn't even glance at them. He simply held the tattered ledger, straightened his back, and wore an unprecedented seriousness on his face.

He looked at Old Zhu, who was so angry he almost fainted again, and said, word by word, with perfect clarity:

"Your Majesty! What I have done today may be absurd or rebellious, but I have a clear conscience!"

"Everything I have done is not for personal gain, but only to seek justice and a clear understanding for my colleagues who are still serving the court on an empty stomach, for those officials who are owed wages, poorly clothed, and disgraced!"

"Yes!"

He nodded and said, “Killing me, Zhang Biao, would be as easy as turning your hand! Like crushing an ant! But can you silence the voices of the people? Can you silence the raging resentment among the populace? Can you stop the root cause of this corrupt salary system and rampant corruption?”

"Today, those low-ranking officials in the Fengtian Hall, their mouths weren't stuffed with account books, but with the last shred of their dignity!"

"It is their desperate act of making a heart-wrenching accusation against you in the most humble and absurd way after they were driven to the brink of despair!"

"You ask me what I want to do? I'd like to ask Your Majesty!"

At this point, his voice suddenly rose: "Why don't you open your eyes and look?!"

Boom!

The entire bedroom of the Huagai Hall resounded as if a thunderclap had exploded!

The air itself trembled from the shock.

Old Zhu and Liu Sanwu were both stunned.

But at this moment, Zhang Biao seemed to have shed all his playful pretense, like a sharp sword drawn from its sheath, its edge fully revealed.

"you you."

Old Zhu pointed at Zhang Biao, his withered fingers trembling violently, his chest heaving like a broken bellows, his face turning from ashen to a terrifying purplish-red. Outside the door, Jiang Huan's embroidered spring knife was already half a foot out of its sheath, its cold light gleaming.

They were just waiting for Old Zhu's order to behead this traitor.

"I say I have a clear conscience, but Your Majesty may not believe me."

Before Zhu could catch his breath, Zhang Biao's voice carried the calm before a storm: "Then let's speak with facts. Surely His Majesty knows about Wang Zhong, the old censor of Jiangxi Circuit of the Censorate?"

As he spoke, he slowly opened the tattered ledger in his hand, his finger pointing to a page with a drawing made of cheap charcoal sticks—an extremely simple yet shocking picture.

A gaunt old man, dressed in a patched official robe, huddled on a cold earthen bed. Beside him was a broken bowl with only a few grains of rice inside.

Caption: [The old Imperial Censor Wang starved to death at home, possessing nothing of value except three unpaid rice ration vouchers, worth two taels and one mace of silver.]

"Wang Zhong?! It's not him."

Old Zhu's cloudy eyes suddenly narrowed; the name seemed to have touched a vague corner deep in his memory.

"What isn't he? Wasn't he the name of an official you were reporting who suddenly died?"

Zhang Biao's voice trembled with a sob, as if he were crying out for the silent, wronged souls who had passed away:
"A minor official whom you consider insignificant, who has served in office for twenty years since the founding of the Ming Dynasty, yet remains impoverished!"

"Last year, the 23rd day of the twelfth lunar month was the Little New Year!"

"While the family was enjoying a reunion and the aroma of food filled the air, he starved to death on his broken kang (heated brick bed) at home!"

"Even on his deathbed, he was still clutching these three receipts for the unpaid rice stipends!"

"His little grandson is only five years old, and he's so hungry that he's licking soot from the stove!"

"May I ask Your Majesty! Are these the censors of your Great Ming Dynasty?! Are these the esteemed scholars you proclaim to be?!"

With each word he spoke, he took a step closer, pressing the drawings and records in the ledger firmly into Old Zhu's line of sight.

Old Zhu was struck as if by a heavy hammer, his body jerking backward.

He stared intently at the simple yet glaring painting, listening to Zhang Biao's tearful accusations, and images flashed uncontrollably through his mind.

The beggar child huddled in the dilapidated temple, the desolate wilderness littered with starving corpses, the scorn and evictions he suffered when he begged for food with a broken bowl years ago.
Those primal fears of hunger and poverty that he had deliberately buried, concealed with ruthless methods and imperial majesty, were now being brutally torn open and laid bare before him by Zhang Biao in the most direct way.
"And him!"

Zhang Biao quickly flipped to another page and pointed to another painting.

A young official, holding several books, stood in front of the pawnshop's high counter, his face filled with humiliation.

Caption: [Editor Li pawned his ancestral copy of "Collected Commentaries on the Analects" for 400 coins, which he used to buy half a bushel of rice to support his ailing mother.]

"Li Mo, a compiler at the Hanlin Academy! His family is destitute, his elderly mother is seriously ill, and he has no money to buy medicine. He can only pawn his ancestral treasure, the 'Collected Commentaries on the Analects,' for four hundred coins, which he used to buy half a bushel of old rice!"

"Your Majesty! It's half a bushel of stale rice!"

"Is this the dignity of your Hanlin scholar status?! Is this the grace of your patronage of scholars?!"

Zhang Biao's voice was like a heavy hammer, striking Old Zhu's heart again and again.

He stopped looking at the ledgers and instead stared intently at Old Zhu's bloodshot eyes, which were red with anger and shock.

"Or do you think that allocating fifty taels of silver from the imperial treasury to me is the end of the matter?"

"If Your Majesty agrees, then I only wish to say..."

He paused, then facing Old Zhu, his voice suddenly rose eight octaves: "Damn it!"

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(End of this chapter)