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

Zhao Delu did not answer immediately.

He stood beside the desk, watching the thin back of the Vice Censor-in-Chief, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Are you short of money?" Zhao Delu asked tentatively.

"Lack of troops? Lack of food?"

Chen Zhiyuan turned around, his face expressionless.

"Ischemic".

Zhao Delu was taken aback.

"The courage of an official." Chen Zhiyuan walked back to his desk, sat down, and tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

"The courage of civil officials, the courage of military generals. The courage to act, to take responsibility, and to be pioneers."

He paused, then looked at Zhao Delu.

"When Mao Zedong founded the country, did those who followed him have any backbone?"

"Yes. Officials back then dared to argue in the court, dared to fight on the battlefield, and dared to point their fingers at the emperor and say, 'You're wrong.'"

"Why? Because they believe they are doing the right thing, and they believe this court is worth fighting for."

Chen Zhiyuan spoke in a flat tone, as if stating a simple fact.

"But what about now? Look at these people in the court. Cheng Jiming, the Grand Secretary, what is he thinking about every day?"

"How to retire smoothly, how to avoid trouble, how to remain neutral in factional struggles—or rather, how to avoid offending anyone."

"What about Zhou Yanru? He's thinking about how to climb the ranks, how to win over allies, and how to suppress his rivals."

"What is Cao Yubian thinking? How to protect the Censorate and how to avoid getting burned?"

With each name he uttered, Zhao Delu's heart sank a little deeper.

"What about the military commanders? Wang Chengyin, the general of Xuanfu, and Wang Pu, the general of Datong? What are they thinking?"

"What they were thinking about was how to embezzle salaries, how to cut military rations, and how to collude with merchants to make a fortune."

"What is Zu Dashou of Liaodong thinking about now? How to protect himself, how to avoid being implicated in the Yuan Chonghuan case, and how to find a way to survive between the imperial court and Jianzhou."

Chen Zhiyuan paused and took a deep breath.

"Nobody thinks about how to win the war, nobody thinks about how to improve the border defenses, nobody thinks about how to make life better for the people."

"Everyone is calculating—calculating their own interests, their own safety, and their own future."

"The nation? That belongs to the emperor. The common people? They're just ants. As long as I'm safe, what does it matter if the Ming Dynasty falls? We'll just get a new emperor and continue being officials."

That's too blunt and too harsh.

Zhao Delu felt a chill run down his back.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.

Because he knew that what Chen Zhiyuan said was true.

Zhao Delu worked in the Censorate for twelve years, rising from a clerk to an official, and witnessed far too many such incidents.

Honest officials are sidelined, while corrupt officials rise through the ranks.

Those who want to get things done will find it difficult to make any progress, while those who know how to scheme and plot will thrive.

Over time, everyone learned the rules—speak less and kowtow more.

Do less and shirk more.

Offend fewer people and cultivate more good relationships.

Bloodlust?

What is that? Can it be eaten? Can it save your life?

Zhao Delu lowered his eyes and looked at his toes.

His official boots were old, and the soles were worn thin, but he couldn't bear to replace them—a new pair of boots cost three qian of silver, enough for his family of three to eat for half a month.

He thought of his father.

My father was an old scholar who spent his whole life taking the imperial examinations but never even became a Juren (a successful candidate in the provincial-level imperial examinations).

She held his hand and said this before she died.

"Delu, when you work in the government office, remember three things: speak less, kowtow more, and don't take sides."

He remembered it, and he did it.

So he worked in the Censorate for twelve years. Although he didn't get promoted much, he didn't make any mistakes either.

Some of his contemporaries were transferred to other posts for impeaching powerful figures, some were dismissed from office for being involved in factional struggles, and some even died in office for no apparent reason.

Only Zhao Delu has survived to this day.

But now, Chen Zhiyuan stands in front of him, saying he needs "courage".

Zhao Delu raised his head and looked at Chen Zhiyuan's young face—a face that was only in his twenties, with a light still shining in his eyes.

He wanted to say: Qianxian, you are right, but what's the use?

What can you change by yourself? If you continue like this, you'll die.

But he didn't say.

He just stood there silently, his fingers clenching tightly inside his sleeve.

Chen Zhiyuan understood what was going on when he saw Zhao Delu's reaction.

After a long silence, Zhao Delu finally spoke, his voice very soft: "Vice Minister, the platform will summon you for an audience in three days... Do you really intend to do that?"

"want."

"It will offend a lot of people."

"What's the point of investigating a case if you don't offend anyone?"

"Zhao, if you're scared, you can quit now. I'll talk to Chief Censor Cao and get you a less demanding job."

Zhao Delu's lips trembled slightly.

quit?

Of course he wanted to quit.

Who doesn't want to live a peaceful and stable life?

Who wants to work for a boss who's destined to cause them endless trouble?

But he recalled the days he had spent checking accounts with Chen Zhiyuan over the past two weeks.

Those piles of account books, those shocking figures, those petitions from border soldiers whose pay had been withheld...

He recalled the shock he felt when he first saw those numbers, and the anger Chen Zhiyuan felt when he said, "This money should have been used to support the army."

He is thirty-eight years old this year and has worked in the Censorate for twelve years, copying countless impeachment memorials and organizing countless case files.

But never before had he felt like he was doing the "right" thing.

Even if it would cost him his life.

"This humble official... will not leave."

Zhao Delu heard his own voice, dry but firm.

"This humble official follows the Vice Commissioner."

Chen Zhiyuan glanced at him, nodded, and said nothing more.

"Go and rest. You'll be busy tomorrow."

Zhao Delu bowed and withdrew.

When I stepped out of the house, the two Imperial Guards were still standing outside, like two statues.

Zhao Delu nodded to them and quickly left.

The night wind blew on my face, chilling me to the bone.

Zhao Delu walked on the empty street, his pace slowing down.

He recalled what Chen Zhiyuan had just said, the numbers on those account books, Cao Yubian's gloomy face, and the intricate network of relationships in the court.

He suddenly realized that he might really not live much longer.

They weren't killed by the enemy, but crushed by the system itself.

But he didn't turn around.

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

Over these three days, Beijing appeared calm on the surface, but undercurrents were surging beneath.

News that Chen Zhiyuan, the Vice Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, was investigating military expenditure accounts spread like wildfire throughout the Six Ministries and Nine Ministers.

No one knows who leaked it, but those who need to know know it now.

Inside the Ministry of War, several senior officials gathered together, discussing in hushed tones.

"Have you heard? Chen Zhiyuan has transferred all the accounts for Liaodong military expenses since the first year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign."

"It's not just Liaodong, all nine border regions have been transferred."

"What is he planning to do? Is he really going to cause a huge uproar?"

"Who knows? But it seems like Chief Constable Cao isn't too happy."

"How can you be happy? The Censorate has produced such a hothead, and in the end, isn't it Chief Censor Cao who has to take the blame for the trouble they caused?"

The atmosphere was even more tense at the Ministry of Revenue.

Several officials in charge of money and grain did not go home for two consecutive nights, but stayed in the yamen to "organize" the account books overnight—in reality, they were just patching up the holes.

Make up for what can be made up for, and for what can't be made up for, you need to come up with a good excuse.

"The 50,000 taels of silver for the Shanxi garrison last year is recorded as having been disbursed, but the receipt from the Shanxi governor's office is nowhere to be found... What should we do?"

"Just say you were robbed on the way."

"Robbed? Fifty thousand taels of silver were stolen. Why didn't you report it then?"

"Then say... the document was lost. Yes, say the receipt was lost in transit and the relevant officials have been punished."

"This is the only way."