Take control of Wei Zhongxian at the start and confiscate 100 million from him!

Chapter 14 Which Path Will You Choose?

Midnight had passed, and deep within the imperial city, all was silent.

The carriage of Duke Zhang Weixian of England, without any entourage, and escorted only by two personal guards, quietly drove across Chang'an Street and stopped outside the side gate of Donghua Gate.

Beneath the leaden sky, the massive palace walls, like a silent behemoth, lay prostrate in the darkness, exuding a chilling majesty.

A young eunuch was already waiting inside the gate with a lantern. When Zhang Weixian got out of the carriage, he bowed and said in a very low voice, "Your Excellency, His Majesty is waiting for you in the Qianqing Palace."

Zhang Weixian nodded, straightened his plain dark blue uniform, his back still ramrod straight, a mark left by years of military service. But his once sharp, eagle-like eyes were now tinged with the turbidity and weariness of time.

Being summoned to the palace late at night would normally be an honor for the head of a founding noble family, but for some reason, the wind blowing against his face tonight carried a chilling intent. Zhang Weixian had a premonition that tonight's summons was no ordinary event.

Passing through a series of deep palace gates and walking along the long and empty imperial road, the warm and bright lights of the Qianqing Palace finally came into view at the end of the road.

The light, in this boundless darkness, was like a lonely island.

Stepping through the threshold of the Qianqing Palace, a wave of warmth greets you, mingled with a faint scent of ink and an unfamiliar, dry aroma of charcoal.

Zhang Weixian paused slightly, his demeanor lacking the solemnity he had imagined.

The young emperor was not sitting on the dragon throne; he was dressed in a simple black narrow-sleeved robe and was leaning over a huge imperial desk.

Instead of memorials to the emperor, several huge maps were laid out on the table, covered with all sorts of strange lines and markings drawn in charcoal.

The flickering candlelight cast a long, focused shadow of the emperor, projecting it onto the gilded dragon screen behind him, creating an effect of loneliness and concentration that seemed out of place amidst the palace's opulence.

"The Duke of England has arrived." Zhu Youjian did not look up; his calm voice came from between the blueprints. "Please take a seat."

Wang Chengen quietly moved a brocade stool and placed it not far from the imperial desk.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Zhang Weixian sat down as instructed.

He calmly observed the scene before him. The various measures taken by this new emperor since his ascension to the throne had already stirred up a storm among the nobles and civil officials in the capital.

People fear him, speculate about him, but no one can understand him.

At this moment, standing in the Qianqing Palace, which resembled more of a secret workshop than a main hall of the imperial palace, Zhang Weixian's unease grew even stronger.

Zhu Youjian finally straightened up. He walked around the imperial desk to Zhang Weixian. His face showed neither the majesty of a monarch nor the naivety of a youth, but only a calmness beyond his years, as if he had already calculated everything.

"Duke, I summoned you here late at night because I want you to look at something."

He did not have the eunuchs do it for him, but personally picked up a stack of documents bound with hemp rope from the imperial desk and handed them to Zhang Weixian.

The document felt heavy in my hand.

The paper was of the finest Xuan paper, but it lacked the elegant, flowing script of the Hanlin scholars; instead, it featured neatly arranged Song typeface characters printed using woodblock printing.

Zhang Weixian's gaze fell on the large characters on the cover—

Project Plan for the "Asset Restructuring" and "Turnaround" of Beijing Military Region.

His pupils suddenly shrank.

"Asset restructuring"? "Turning losses into profits"?
What kind of talk is this? This is the talk of a merchant! How can the mighty Ming Dynasty's capital garrison, the pillars of the nation, be described with such vulgar language?
An angry feeling of being offended rose within him.

However, when he turned to the first page and saw its contents, his anger was instantly replaced by a chilling cold.

"I. Project Background and Problem Analysis (Current Situation Assessment)..."

Words are cold, but the data behind them is like a red-hot iron, searing his heart.

"The three major battalions of the Beijing Garrison have a total registered strength of 127,452 men."

"After cross-verification by the Dongchang Training Ground, the Armory Bureau, and the Grain Depot, the actual number of soldiers was less than 50,000."

"The number of soldiers capable of fighting is less than ten thousand."

"There are 31,000 registered warhorses, but there are actually over 3,200..."

"It costs the national treasury 1.8 million taels of silver every year..."

Zhang Weixian's hands began to tremble slightly.

He was well aware of these figures. As the head of the nobility in charge of the Central Military Commission, he knew better than anyone the corruption within the Beijing Garrison.

Embezzling salaries without working, occupying military land, stealing and selling military equipment... Which noble family hasn't profited from this murky water?
Even his own British Ducal residence was not immune to this practice!

He knew it was rotten, but he never dared to, and never wanted to, see for himself just how deep or how foul this rotten mud was!
These nobles were like a group of spendthrift sons living in a century-old mansion. They knew that the foundation of the house had been eaten away by termites and the beams had rotted, but they still whitewashed the exterior walls and indulged in a life of debauchery in the house that was about to collapse, fighting for the last bit of wealth.

Now, this young emperor, with such a ruthless "inspection report," has torn apart all the pretense of this mansion, exposing its riddled and crumbling structure to him in a bloody manner.

After the initial shock came a deep-seated shame.

He thought of his great-grandfather, Zhang Yu, a hero of the Jingnan Campaign, the "Prince of Hejian" who fought to the death to save Emperor Taizong in the Battle of Dongchang. He also thought of the word "loyalty and bravery" that had been passed down through generations in the Duke of Ying's mansion.

Look at this now! Look at this report!

Where does loyalty lie? Where does courage lie?

All that's left is a bunch of parasites sucking the blood off the empire!
His breathing became heavy.

He continued reading. "II. Core Objectives of the Project..."

"III. Project Execution Path..."

"Asset verification," "organizational restructuring," "core business upgrade"... these unfamiliar terms are like a sharp scalpel, precisely dissecting the problems of the Beijing-based military camp and providing the most direct and brutal treatment plan.

"Abolish the hereditary system of garrison posts and reduce the number of the elderly, weak, sick and disabled."

"Officer selection should be based solely on merit, breaking the monopoly of the nobility."

"Introduce new firearms and implement the 'triple-layer formation'..."

Zhang Weixian's face changed from red to white, and then from white to green.

If the data analysis earlier made him feel ashamed, then the reform plan that followed filled him with utter fear.

This is not reform.

This is a revolution!

This is to uproot the very foundation upon which the nobility depend for their survival—their hereditary control over the army!
He could almost imagine the furious backlash that would ensue if the plan were implemented.

The entire elite group in the capital will pounce on the executor like a hornet's nest that has been stirred up, tearing him to shreds.

He saw the last part.

IV. Resource Budget and Incentive Mechanisms...

"Military Merit Award: Twenty taels of silver for each headshot!"

"Military merit-based land grants: For every hundred li of lost territory recovered, the meritorious soldiers can receive forty percent of the land!"

"Loot distribution: 60% of the spoils shall go to the soldiers!"

Zhang Weixian's pupils shrank to the size of pinpoints.

He suddenly raised his head and stared intently at Zhu Youjian in front of him.

At this moment, he finally understood.

The emperor's task was not merely to rebuild an army.

What he wants to do is create a completely new military bloc bound by war and interests!
He wanted to use the most naked land and money to feed a war beast that would only obey his orders!
And the food for this beast is not only the flesh and blood of the Jurchens outside the Great Wall, but also everything within the Ming Dynasty that hinders its progress!
This plan is not an imperial edict addressed to a subject.

This is a devil's contract.

"Duke, have you finished reading?" Zhu Youjian's voice brought him back from his shock.

Zhang Weixian slowly closed the document. Those thin pages, though only a few dozen pages, now felt as heavy as Mount Tai. He remained silent, not uttering a word.

Inside the main hall, only the soft crackling of burning candlelight could be heard.

Zhu Youjian did not force him, but simply walked to the window and opened it.

A gust of cold wind, carrying fine snowflakes, rushed in.

"Please look, Your Excellency." He pointed out the window to the vast land shrouded in darkness.

"This empire belongs to me, and it was also won by your Zhang family, who fought alongside Emperor Taizong, sword by sword. But now, it is sick, terminally ill."

His voice, carried on the night wind, sounded somewhat ethereal, yet it possessed an undeniable firmness.

"I invited you here today not to discuss the great principles of loyalty between ruler and subject, nor to talk about loyalty to the emperor and serving the country. I have said those things, and you have heard them, but once you leave this room, you may forget them all."

He turned around, his gaze piercing Zhang Weixian's heart.

"I only ask you, I want to invite you to be the 'CEO' of this 'project'."

"I know this plan is fraught with peril."

His tone was less like issuing an order and more like conducting a cold-blooded risk assessment.

“If you succeed, in the history books, you, Zhang Weixian, will be Yue Fei of our Great Ming Dynasty, the Lord of Wu'an who rebuilt the capital garrison.”

“If you fail…” He paused, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his lips. “You will be the Shang Yang of the nobility. Whether you succeed or fail, you will be crushed to dust by your own kind, by your former relatives and friends.”

Zhang Weixian's heart sank suddenly.

Shang Yang!

That loyal minister who worked to reform and strengthen the Qin state, but ultimately met a tragic end by being torn apart by chariots!
"I've laid out the path for you here." Zhu Youjian's voice was like the devil's whisper, full of temptation and deadly danger.

"The century-old glory of the British Duke's Mansion, the title your ancestors earned with their lives, must either be reforged in your hands with blood and fire, making it even more glorious than during the Jingnan Rebellion."

"Either let it rot into the mud along with this decaying Ming Dynasty, and be trampled underfoot by those barbarians from beyond the Great Wall."

Which path will you choose?

(End of this chapter)