The Ming Dynasty: Starting with Emperor Chongzhen's crackdown on factionalism

That wasn't exactly a polite way of putting it.

Wang Chengen said expressionlessly: "Copy."

"Yes, yes."

It took half an hour to copy it.

When the original document was resealed and sealed with sealing wax, it was nearly 9 PM.

Wang Chengen personally carried the memorial out of the palace and headed towards the Office of Transmission.

The Office of Transmission had a night watchman, an experienced official, who was startled to see Wang Chengen arrive in person.

"Eunuch Wang, what's wrong...?"

"A memorial approved by His Majesty, urgent." Wang Chengen handed over the memorial.

"Tomorrow morning, you must deliver this to Chen Zhiyuan, a compiler at the Hanlin Academy."

The old manager took it, glanced at the envelope, and understood.

"Your humble servant understands."

"And one more thing," Wang Chengen paused, lowering his voice, "tell Chen Xiuzhuan that His Majesty... attaches great importance to his memorial. Tell him... to give a proper reply."

The old steward was taken aback for a moment, then bowed and said, "This subordinate will certainly convey the message."

Wang Chengen nodded and turned to leave.

The night was deeper.

Chen Zhiyuan received this memorial at dawn on March 20th in his office at the Hanlin Academy.

The person who delivered the memorial was a minor official from the Office of Transmission, whose attitude was excessively respectful.

"Chen Xiuzhuan, this is your memorial, which has been approved by His Majesty."

Chen Zhiyuan accepted it and thanked him.

The minor official didn't leave. He leaned closer and whispered, "The Director of the Court of State Affairs, Fang, asked me to pass on a message: His Majesty takes your memorial very seriously and wants you to... give a proper reply."

Chen Zhiyuan's heart skipped a beat, and he nodded: "Thank you."

The minor official then left.

There were several other editors in the room, and they all looked over curiously, but no one dared to ask.

Chen Zhiyuan sat down and removed the sealing wax.

Unfolding the memorial, he first saw his own handwriting, and then—the line of vermilion annotations.

The bright red words were glaring.

"You have pointed out the flaws in the system, which have existed in every dynasty. But how did the Han, Tang, and Song dynasties manage to govern? Since you are well-versed in history, you must have insight. I require feasible methods, not empty talk. Please explain in detail."

Chen Zhiyuan stared at the line of text for a long time.

Then he smiled.

It wasn't a happy laugh, but a laugh of relief.

The emperor asked.

This is enough.

What he feared most was that the emperor would read the memorial, fly into a rage, and then ignore him completely.

In that case, all his plans and preparations would be in vain.

But now, the emperor asked—though not very politely, and though his question was tinged with doubt and dissatisfaction, he still asked.

Asking a question is giving someone an opportunity.

Chen Zhiyuan carefully put away the memorial and spread out a new sheet of paper for it.

He needs to write a reply.

This time, he can write things he couldn't write before.

Because the emperor asked.

On the same day, in Tan'er Hutong, Xicheng District, Beijing.

This is an inconspicuous alley, deep inside which is a three-courtyard house with a simple facade, but a hidden world inside.

In the main hall, a middle-aged man in his forties sat in the main seat, slowly sipping his tea.

He was dressed in a silk robe, made of the finest Hangzhou silk, in a subtle indigo color. But anyone with expertise could tell at a glance that a bolt of this fabric was worth twenty taels of silver.

He wasn't particularly good-looking; he had a square face, thick eyebrows, and a steady gaze.

She wore a jade thumb ring on her finger, with excellent translucency.

He is Fan Yongdou.

The head of the Fan family, a Shanxi merchant family.

At that moment, a butler in his fifties stood before him, reporting in a low voice.

"My lord, we've found out everything. That Chen Zhiyuan is from Changzhou Prefecture in Southern Zhili. He was a second-class Jinshi in the first year of the Chongzhen reign and entered the Hanlin Academy. He was originally an editor, but he was just promoted to compiler the other day."

Fan Yongdou grunted in response but didn't say anything.

The steward continued, "This man has a simple background. His father was a scholar, and his family is of ordinary means. He has no powerful connections in the court, and he doesn't interact with others much. He's a quiet, reserved person."

"A silent type?" Fan Yongdou put down his teacup, his voice low. "Could a silent type write such a memorial?"

The butler lowered his head: "Yes...it was my slip of the tongue."

Fan Yongdou didn't dwell on it, and asked again, "Is what he said in his memorial true?"

The steward hesitated for a moment: "Master, our goods... are indeed somewhat... special. But every time we leave the border, the documents are complete, and the officers and soldiers guarding the border have all been taken care of. Logically speaking, they shouldn't have been noticed..."

"Logically speaking?" Fan Yongdou interrupted him, his voice turning colder.

"Now they've not only noticed, but they've also written a memorial and submitted it to the Emperor. If it weren't for someone in court speaking up, we'd be in prison by now."

The butler's forehead was beaded with sweat: "It's...it's my fault for not performing my duties properly."

Fan Yongdou waved his hand: "Now is not the time to pursue this matter. This Chen Zhiyuan must be dealt with."

The butler looked up: "Master means..."

"Let's make contact first," Fan Yongdou said, "to see what kind of person he is."

"What if...he doesn't accept it?"

Fan Yongdou's gaze darkened.

"Then let him die."

The butler felt a chill run down his spine.

Fan Yongdou continued, "You handle it personally. Make contact first, offer some benefits. If he accepts them, keep the evidence, and then..."

He paused.

"Then send a message to the Censorate, reporting him for accepting bribes. Remember, the evidence must be conclusive."

The butler nodded: "I understand."

"If you don't accept it," Fan Yongdou's voice grew even colder.

"Send lavish gifts to the officials of the Censorate. Investigate him thoroughly. If he's clean, then... fabricate some evidence."

The butler swallowed hard: "Create evidence?"

"Is it difficult?" Fan Yongdou glanced at him.

"He's from the Hanlin Academy, a historian. The Imperial Archives has so many files, so many rare books; just throw one out and say he stole it, isn't that enough?"

The butler's eyes lit up: "Enough! More than enough!"

"Or, find a few people, say they are his fellow villagers and old friends, and come to the capital to accuse him of bullying the villagers, seizing land, and driving people to their deaths... make up whatever you want."

Fan Yongdou spoke calmly, as if he were talking about today's weather.

"As long as the money is right, there are plenty of people willing to do it."

The steward nodded repeatedly: "I understand. Rest assured, sir, I will take care of it."

Fan Yongdou picked up his teacup and took another sip.

"Remember, be quick," he said. "The Emperor has already sent the Embroidered Uniform Guard to investigate border trade. We don't have much time."

"yes!"

The butler bowed and withdrew.

Fan Yongdou sat alone in the hall, his fingers gently stroking the teacup.

He recalled the route and supplies that the Fan family caravan had provided to the Later Jin army when Huang Taiji broke through the pass last year.

I remember those sulfur, saltpeter, and pig iron, which were exchanged for pearls, ginseng, and sable fur.

I recalled the greedy face of Wang Chengyin, the general of Xuanfu, and the sanctimonious appearance of Geng Ruqi, the governor of Shanxi.

These people all accepted money from the Fan family.

a lot of money.

Therefore, they will speak up for the Fan family and do their utmost to protect them.

But what makes Chen Zhiyuan, a seventh-rank compiler, so special?

What gives them the right to stir up this hornet's nest?

Fan Yongdou couldn't understand it.

But he knew that this kind of person could not be kept around.

Leaving them would be a disaster.

The sound of a night watchman's drum came from outside the hall; it was already Chen Shi (7-9 AM).

Fan Yongdou stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window is a small garden with a few plum trees, but the flowering season is over and only green leaves remain.

Looking at the leaves, he suddenly remembered an old saying.

The tree catches the wind.

Isn't the Fan family's tree too big?

In the Hanlin Academy's office, Chen Zhiyuan had already finished writing the draft of his reply.

He wrote very carefully, deliberating over every single sentence.

If the emperor wants a feasible solution, he will provide one—but it cannot be too radical, cannot infringe upon too many interests, and cannot... make the emperor feel that he is interfering.