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

Chapter 159 A Subtext That Everyone Understands

When Duke Dingguo Xu Yunzhen lifted the carriage curtain, his hand paused almost imperceptibly the moment it touched the cold silk.

Outside the car window was not the familiar streets of the capital, but the dirt road outside the Beijing outskirts, hardened by the hooves of countless military horses.

Three steps to a post, five steps to a sentry.

The roadsides were lined with soldiers of the Beijing garrison, all clad in armor and armed with weapons.

They were not the lazy, arrogant soldiers who used to swagger around the capital. Their eyes were calm, as calm as a deep well with no bottom, from which one could only feel the chill rising.

The spears in their hands, their blades reflecting a cold white light in the gloomy daylight, their shafts straight, blended into their upright bodies, as if they were iron thorns growing from this land!

Xu Yunzhen's carriage was the second to arrive; the first was that of the Duke of England, Zhang Weixian.

Through the crack in the car window, he saw that Zhang Weixian had already gotten out of the car. This nobleman, who held a prestigious position in the elite group and had been in charge of the Beijing Garrison for many years, showed no signs of aging at this moment.

He was dressed in a simple official uniform, his back ramrod straight, and he was talking quietly with a general who came up to him. His face was expressionless, showing neither joy nor worry, only a deep certainty, as if this sudden summons was exactly what he had expected.

Xu Yunzhen's heart sank even further.

He knew that Zhang Weixian was different.

From the moment the current emperor ascended the throne, this Duke of England stood behind the new monarch without hesitation, becoming the first living stone in the stagnant pool of nobles to be enlightened by the emperor.

There was a tacit understanding between him and the emperor that outsiders could not fathom.

His composure today can only mean one thing—he knows what is going to happen, and he completely agrees!

Before long, the Marquis of Dingxi, the Earl of Huian, and many other magnificent carriages arrived one after another.

The dukes and earls, who used to live a life of ease and leisure in their respective mansions, all stepped down from their carriages, their faces bearing similar solemnity and unease.

They exchanged glances, trying to find some comfort or answer in each other's eyes, but all they saw was the same confusion and fear as their own.

The nobles gathered together, talking in hushed tones, deliberately keeping their voices low, as if afraid of disturbing some unseen force lurking in the camp. An oppressive atmosphere permeated the air, like the deathly silence before a storm, where even birds fold their wings and fall silent.

"Gentlemen, please come in. His Majesty is waiting at the training ground."

A young, unfamiliar general approached, dressed in brand-new armor. His voice was booming, and his gaze swept over everyone present, as if he were counting livestock about to be sent to the slaughterhouse.

No one dared to say another word. The nobles straightened their clothes and, led by their general, silently walked deeper into the camp.

As they passed through the gate and stepped into the vast central training ground, almost everyone stopped and gasped, a chill rising from their tailbone and instantly spreading throughout their bodies.

This is not the training ground.

This is a massive battlefield forged with all kinds of weapons and killing intent.

On the left side of the training ground, three thousand knights stood in neat rows.

They were as silent as statues, their Mongolian horses pawing restlessly and snorting white breaths.

The knights' faces were weathered, their eyes filled with the wildness and ferocity of wolves on the northern grasslands. They looked at the nobles who filed in, their gazes like those of a group of fat, two-legged sheep who had strayed into a pack of wolves, filled with naked, undisguised scrutiny and...hunger.

These are the Mongol cavalry brought back from Xuanfu, elite warriors who have just knelt before the emperor. Even from dozens of steps away, the stench of blood on them is so strong it's nauseating.

To the right of the drill ground were five thousand soldiers from the Beijing garrison, who had just fought their way out of the hellish conditions in Shaanxi and were now part of the emperor's personal guard returning from Xuanfu and Datong.

Their killing intent differed from that of the Mongols; it was not wild, but rather a colder and more disciplined aura of death.

Behind these five thousand men, further away, lay another, even larger military formation.

Nine thousand new recruits, dressed in brand-new uniforms and armed with brand-new weapons, formed a dense, impenetrable forest. They were the new army that Duke Zhang Weixian of England had recruited and trained in accordance with a secret decree during the emperor's absence from the capital.

Xu Yunzhen's heart clenched; he understood the significance of these nine thousand people's existence.

This is not just a display of force; it is a declaration.

This signifies that the emperor's military strength is no longer unsustainable; he now possesses the ability to continuously produce troops. Even after he leaves the capital, the city's military strength not only doesn't decrease but actually increases. This means that the emperor's will can now operate independently, free from any constraints, growing and strengthening on its own!
Around the high platform in the very center of the training ground, the Imperial Guards, dressed in flying fish robes and with their hands on embroidered spring knives, stood densely packed.

Their icy gazes were fixed on the nobles, like ghostly soldiers waiting to collect souls before the gates of hell, just waiting for the one on the throne to softly utter a name.

The only sounds in the world were the whooshing of the cold wind whistling through the banners and the increasingly heavy heartbeats of the nobles themselves.

Just as the oppressive atmosphere reached its peak, a figure appeared on the high platform.

It's the emperor.

He was dressed only in a black military uniform, with a leather belt around his waist and military boots on his feet. He was not particularly tall or strong, but as he walked step by step toward the lonely dragon throne in the center of the platform, everyone's eyes were involuntarily drawn to him. He had an indescribable aura, as if the murderous aura of the entire training ground had become the background behind him.

The emperor sat down on the dragon throne. There were no eunuchs shouting "His Majesty has arrived," nor were there any cumbersome rituals. The emperor sat quietly, his gaze slowly sweeping over the faces of each duke, marquis, and earl below the stage.

The emperor's eyes were cold, devoid of any warmth; they were an indifference that transcended anger.

When the emperor's gaze swept over them, all the nobles being looked at lowered their heads, not daring to meet his eyes.

What they felt was not the majesty of a monarch, but the fear of being watched by a natural enemy.

After an unknown amount of time, the emperor finally spoke.

"My beloved ministers, I have been away from the capital for several months, traveling to Shaanxi."

Zhu Youjian began his narration in an almost indifferent tone.

He spoke of the barren land he had witnessed, of the people who ate tree bark and grass roots to survive, and eventually began to consume clay. He also spoke of the children whose bellies were bloated with mud, kneeling by the roadside and slowly dying.

He explained it in great detail, so much so that it was as if a painting was unfolding before everyone's eyes.

"...That Guanyin clay is fine and white, and the people say that eating it will not make them hungry. But it is indigestible; if you eat it, it will block your intestines and eventually cause you to bloat and die. I personally saw a five- or six-year-old girl lying in her mother's arms, her face ashen, her belly bulging like a drum. In her little hands, she was still clutching a handful of white clay..."

Below the stage, some young nobles began to show reluctance, their faces turning pale, and some even felt waves of physical nausea. They could never imagine such a scene in their lives.

Zhu Youjian did not stop.

"I also witnessed cannibalism. Two families exchanged children before they could bring themselves to do it. The Imperial Guards reported that in one village, the sound of babies crying at night could no longer be heard. Not because they had all starved to death, but because... they had all been eaten."

His tone remained calm, as if he were recounting a record from a history book, yet every word pierced the heart of everyone present.

The emperor made no accusations, no roars, but the impact of this extremely calm description far surpasses any thunderous rage.

After the emperor finished speaking, the drill ground was deathly silent.

The breathing of the five thousand veterans of the Beijing Garrison became even heavier; they were the ones who had witnessed it all.

Zhu Youjian paused for a moment, seemingly giving the audience some time to process this hellish scene.

Then, he abruptly changed the subject.

His calm tone vanished, replaced by a chilling, sinister air. His gaze was no longer like a calm lake, but transformed into two incomparably sharp blades, viciously slashing at the faces of every nobleman.

"When I was in Shaanxi, I saw tens of thousands of refugees."

"I would like to ask my esteemed ministers—"

The emperor deliberately stopped here, allowing the boundless fear to quickly ferment and spread among the crowd.

The nobles held their breath, feeling their hands and feet grow cold.

Zhu Youjian looked at their pale faces and said, word by word:
"Where did these refugees come from?"

"Where did their fields go?"

As the last word fell, the whole world seemed to stand still.

This question struck like an invisible hammer blow to the hearts of every nobleman. Their minds went completely blank for a moment.

No one is stupid.

Everyone present knew the answer.

The answer lies in their vast fertile fields in the capital region, Shuntian, Hebei, and Shandong; in their magnificent manors; and in their astonishing annual income from land rent.

This issue has been raised by censors before, but they always manage to brush it off with various excuses, or even retort by asking why the emperor doesn't start by taking action against Zhu's own family members first.

but now……

A name uncontrollably surfaced in Xu Yunzhen's mind—Zhu Cunshu.

That once incredibly wealthy and arrogant King of Qin.

This emperor in front of me really knows how to kill!
Moreover, he didn't even blink an eye when killing his own royal princes!
At this moment, the emperor did not give them any chance to explain, nor did he wait for their answer.

He stared at them silently with his cold, unadulterated eyes.

A hidden message, understood by everyone, seemed to echo in the air:
"The grass on Prince Qin Zhu Cunshu's grave should be starting to sprout."

(End of this chapter)