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On the first day of the first month of the 40th year of the Jiajing reign (1541), in Beijing.

The New Year's Day holiday, which should have been a time of celebration with officials and the people, was instead shrouded in an eerie silence in the Forbidden City.

The ceremonial canopies on both sides of the steps were still magnificent, but the civil and military officials standing solemnly in the cold wind all had solemn expressions.

For twenty years, they had not seen the emperor in this square.

The palace gates leading to the West Garden were tightly shut, just like the emperor's closed heart.

A strange scent, a mixture of incense and elixirs, filled the air, drifting from the direction of the Western Garden and enveloping the heart of the empire.

"No snow all winter..." These four words are like invisible shackles, choking everyone.

The blood of Zhou Yunyi, the Imperial Observatory official, had only been washed away half a month ago, but the stench of blood seemed to still linger in the cracks of the Meridian Gate, reminding everyone of the price of "divine wrath."

Inside the exquisite Yuxi Palace in the West Garden, the stove burned extremely brightly, yet it could not dispel a chilly atmosphere.

Emperor Jiajing, Zhu Houcong, wore a black Taoist robe, his long hair was loose, and he sat cross-legged on a bright yellow futon.

His face was thin and his eyes were sunken. Years of practicing alchemy and consuming lead and mercury had given his skin an unhealthy bluish-white color.

At this moment, what he held in his hand was not a jade tablet, but a draft of an edict of self-reproach, which had just been presented by Lü Fang, the Grand Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial. The ink was still wet.

He stared at the roll of yellow silk for a long time, his fingertips turning slightly white from the pressure.

Kneeling on the prayer mat below was Yan Song, the Grand Secretary of the Cabinet.

This nearly eighty-year-old, powerful minister was now prostrate, his wide scarlet robe spread out on the ground like congealed blood.

“Your Majesty,” Yan Song’s voice was hoarse with the characteristic unease of old age, and tinged with fear, “the celestial signs are a warning, and the people are filled with anxiety. This act of self-reproach and prayer for redress is truly… truly in accordance with the will of Heaven and an act to appease the people.”

He dared not look up, his forehead pressed tightly against the cold floor tiles.

"Following the will of Heaven?" Jiajing finally spoke, his voice seeming to drift from a great distance, tinged with the hoarseness of a burning throat from the elixir. "Yan Song, tell me, is this the will of Heaven disapproving of my lack of sincerity in cultivating Taoism, or is it disapproving of your... excessive embezzlement?"

The last word, spoken lightly, sent a shiver down Yan Song's spine, causing him to bow even lower: "Your subject... Your subject deserves to die ten thousand times!"

Standing to the side, Lü Fang kept her eyes down, seemingly lost in thought, like a clay or wooden sculpture.

Only the slight tremor of the whisk in his hand betrayed the suffocating tension within the study.

The Jiajing Emperor let out a cold laugh, which sounded particularly jarring in the empty study.

He knew all too well that this so-called "edict of self-reproach" was nothing more than a performance that everyone in the court and the country, including the emperor who hid in the deep palace practicing Taoism and alchemy, had to put on when faced with the overwhelming power of the emperor!

What Zhou Yunyi risked his life for was to force him to take this step, wasn't it?

He suddenly grabbed the imperial brush, the brush that symbolized supreme power, but now felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

The brush tip was dipped in vermilion, as if it were dipped in fresh blood.

He stared at Huang Ling, speaking slowly and deliberately, his voice filled with suppressed anger and utter humiliation:

"I, the Emperor, by the grace of Heaven, hereby address you, my subjects: I have received the Mandate of Heaven for twenty years, and have revered Heaven and followed the example of my ancestors without ever slacking off. However, this year the weather has been unfavorable, with a warm winter and no snow. This is because my sincerity has not been fully trusted, and my policies have been flawed."

With each word he wrote, his face grew even paler.

When writing about "many shortcomings in governance," his pen strokes almost pierced through the silk.

He slammed the pen down on the table, the vermilion ink splattering like drops of blood and tears.

"Take it!" he growled at Lü Fang, his chest heaving violently. "Proclaim it to the world! Let everyone see how I, the emperor, confess my sins to Heaven!"

Lu Fang hurriedly stepped forward and carefully picked up the "Edict of Self-Reproach," as if she were holding a red-hot branding iron.

He knew that this was not a repentance, but a humiliating compromise made against his will by the emperor under immense pressure.

Behind this compromise will inevitably come a more brutal reckoning.

……

The ceremony for issuing the edict of self-reproach was simple and somber.

There was no resounding of bells and drums, no shouts of "Long live the Emperor!"

Only Lü Fang, accompanied by a few eunuchs, set up an incense table outside the Yuxi Palace and proclaimed the contents of the imperial edict to heaven and earth.

Afterwards, Emperor Jiajing changed into a simpler fasting robe and left the study where he had lived for twenty years, arriving at the main hall of the Yuxi Palace.

He didn't look at the kneeling eunuchs and palace maids behind him, nor at the majestic Forbidden City in the distance; he simply looked up at the gray sky, devoid of any snow.

The cold wind whipped at his clothes, making his figure appear even more lonely and stubborn.

He burned incense, bowed, and began reciting the prayer for snow.

The voice was steady, even carrying a strange rhythm, as if it were truly communicating with the heavens.

But only Lü Fang, who was close by, could see that in the emperor's lowered eyes, there was no piety whatsoever, only a cold abyss brewing a storm.

“His Majesty has already repented,” Lü Fang murmured to herself, a chill rising from the soles of her feet. “Next, it will be the turn of ‘human calamity’ to bear the consequences of divine wrath. Zhou Yunyi’s death is just the beginning.”

On the first day of the first month of the fortieth year of the Jiajing reign, the emperor, against his conscience, repented and fasted in the Western Garden, praying for snow.

This humiliation, like a seed, was planted in the heart of the empire's highest authority.

After a brief moment of relief, the court officials quickly realized that the emperor's concession was not the end, but the beginning of an even more intense power struggle.

At this moment, the silent Yuxi Palace is quietly accumulating a thunderbolt powerful enough to overturn the fates of countless people.

……

The Lantern Festival falls on the fifteenth day of the first month of the fortieth year of the Jiajing reign (1541).

A long-awaited heavy snowfall finally covered the golden tiles and red walls of Beijing.

The snow fell silently, yet it seemed to temporarily conceal the stench of decay emanating from the heart of this empire.

The glazed tiles of the Yuxi Palace in the West Garden appeared even colder against the backdrop of the accumulated snow. Inside the hall, five bronze censers with coiled patterns burned intensely beneath the golden nanmu pillars, yet they could not warm the chill in the hearts of everyone present.

Emperor Jiajing, still clad in a Taoist robe, sat high behind a bright yellow gauze curtain, his figure indistinct. Only the occasional soft clinking of the sandalwood prayer beads in his hand reminded everyone of his presence.

Outside the curtain, the most powerful ministers and eunuchs of the Ming Dynasty stood on either side. A war, without the clash of swords, but concerning the fate of millions, was about to break out in this space filled with the scents of sandalwood and medicine.

At the beginning of the meeting, Xu Jie, the second-in-command of the cabinet and minister of the Ministry of Revenue, a veteran minister known for his composure, read out the numbers in his usual calm tone, but they were like thunderclaps: "Your Majesty, last year the treasury received 2.85 million taels of silver, and various expenditures amounted to 5.41 million taels, resulting in a deficit of 2.56 million taels."

He paused, his voice heavy, “The Japanese pirates in the southeast require 1.4 million taels of military expenditure; the Tatars in the north require 1.8 million taels for the defense of the Great Wall and the provisions for the nine border regions; the expenses for the palace... 1.2 million taels.”

Each number is like a heavy hammer blow, striking everyone's heart.

The vast empire was on the verge of collapse.

Behind the gauze curtain, Emperor Jiajing's fingers, which were moving the prayer beads, paused slightly.

Before Xu Jie could continue, Yan Song's son, Yan Shifan, who held the positions of Vice Minister of the Ministry of Personnel and Vice Minister of the Ministry of Works, stepped forward.

He was stout, with sharp eyes, and his booming voice drowned out the sound of the wind and snow outside the palace: "Your Majesty! I believe that the key to increasing revenue and reducing expenditure lies in increasing revenue! Zhejiang Province, a major tax-producing area in the southeast, has a dense network of waterways and a climate suitable for mulberry cultivation, making it a 'silk capital.' If some of the low-lying rice paddies could be converted into mulberry fields, and silk weaving could be vigorously developed, the silk produced could be monopolized by the Maritime Trade Office and sold to the West and Japan. The profits would be more than ten times that of rice! If this policy is implemented within a few years, the national treasury deficit can be offset!"

He spoke eloquently, painting a beautiful picture of "mulberry groves covering the fields, where money flows in naturally."

Several eunuchs in charge of writing at the Directorate of Ceremonial, such as Chen Hong, had shifty eyes, clearly indicating that they had already communicated with Yan's faction.

"Vice Minister Yan is mistaken!" came a sharp shout from Zhang Juzheng, the Vice Minister of War.

He was young and impetuous, his brows sharp and shrewd: "The people of Zhejiang have lived off rice for generations! 'Converting rice paddies to mulberry trees' sounds so easy! Mulberry trees take three years to grow into a forest. What will the people eat during those three years? The land will be confiscated, the mulberry seedlings will be controlled by the gentry, and the people will be reduced to tenant farmers. Isn't this forcing the people to rebel? At that time, the southeast will be in turmoil, the Japanese pirates will not be quelled, and internal strife will break out. Who will take responsibility?!"

Vice Minister of Revenue Gao Gong immediately echoed his sentiments. Known for his upright character and sharp words, he stated, "I second that! 'Converting rice paddies to mulberry fields' may seem to benefit the country, but it's actually a short-sighted solution! I would also like to ask: last year, the Jiangsu Textile Bureau reported a loss of 100,000 bolts of silk—did they truly disappear, or did they end up in someone's pocket? Is the national treasury deficit due to excessive spending, or rampant corruption?!"

These words struck at the sore spots of Yan's faction and the palace eunuchs, instantly creating a tense atmosphere in the hall.

Yan Shifan's face turned ashen, and he retorted sharply, "Gao Gong! Don't you dare make false accusations! 'Converting rice paddies to mulberry fields' is a national policy. What are your intentions in obstructing this?!"

Xu Jie spoke again, his tone still gentle but firm: "Your Majesty, the people are the foundation of the state, and when the foundation is firm, the state is at peace. Zhejiang is a major source of tax revenue for the court, and if it falls into chaos, the whole country will be shaken. I believe that the right way is to start by reducing redundant officials, verifying land ownership, and recovering embezzled funds."

The two sides argued endlessly, like the howling wind outside the palace. Finally, everyone's gaze fell upon the gauze curtain.

After a long silence, the Jiajing Emperor's voice, devoid of emotion, came from behind the gauze curtain, hoarse with a hint of weariness: "You two are arguing back and forth, it's nothing more than one wanting to increase revenue and the other wanting to consolidate the foundation. But the holes in the national treasury must be filled. The Japanese pirates in the southeast and the Tartars in the north won't wait for us to come to a conclusion."

He coughed softly, and the hall fell silent instantly.

"The palace... its expenses are indeed a bit high," he changed the subject, his tone carrying an air of imperial mystery, "but I am here in the Western Garden in seclusion. Even if I reduce my expenses further, how much silver can I save?"

He paused, and finally, the rosary was gently set down, emitting a clear, resonant sound: "Yan Shifan."

"The minister is here."

"I approve the proposal to 'convert rice paddies into mulberry fields.' We will start by piloting it in a few counties in Zhejiang. As for the specific regulations, you, the Cabinet and the Directorate of Ceremonial, should carefully discuss and devise a plan."

"Your subject obeys the decree!" Yan Shifan's voice was filled with barely suppressed smugness.

Xu Jie, Gao Gong, Zhang Juzheng, and others felt a chill in their hearts, but could no longer argue.

The will of Heaven has been made.

The meeting adjourned, and the officials left Yuxi Palace.

As the wind and snow swept in, Xu Jie gazed at the swirling snow and sighed softly to Zhang Juzheng beside him, “Do you see? This snow can cover up the filth of the capital, but it cannot conceal the storm that is about to rise in Zhejiang.”

Zhang Juzheng clenched his fists, his young face appearing particularly resolute in the snowy light: "Teacher, I am only worried that this national policy of 'converting rice paddies into mulberry fields' will eventually turn into a fire that burns down the very foundation of the Ming Dynasty!"

Inside the palace, Emperor Jiajing walked alone to the window, looking at the pine branches bent under the weight of snow outside. He said indifferently to Lü Fang, who had approached silently, "The drama in Zhejiang has begun. Have the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Zhenfu Division keep a close eye on things. I want to see what kind of fruit this 'good strategy' of 'converting rice paddies to mulberry fields' will ultimately bear."

A royal council meeting began amidst auspicious snow and ended with the deliberation of a decision.

A national policy called "converting rice paddies to mulberry fields" was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake. The resulting monstrous waves would begin in Zhejiang and gradually sweep across the entire Ming Dynasty.

The fate of countless people will be changed as a result.

……

Spring of the 40th year of the Jiajing reign of the Ming Dynasty.

The ice floes in Jiaozhou Bay have not completely melted, and the dirt paths in Sujiawu are already full of mud.

Before dawn, the gate of the Su family compound creaked open, and twelve-year-old Su Ning, tidying her brand-new blue collar, stepped out of the house surrounded by her parents and younger siblings.

"Have you checked the writing brush and inkstone?" His mother, Zhou, straightened his clothes one last time, her fingertips trembling slightly.

"Don't worry, Mother. I checked it three times last night." Su Ning held her mother's hand and felt the thin calluses on her palm.

Father Su Shouzhou handed over the examination basket and said in a deep voice, "Remember, don't strive for essays that will shake the world, but strive for every word to reflect your true heart."

“Father, I understand.”

"Try not to get into arguments with other students when staying at the inn."

"No! Scholars are all well-mannered and won't quarrel over trivial matters."

"That's good."

Behind him, his younger siblings stood on tiptoe to look. Su Shun held the inkstone he had polished overnight, Su Qian held up an oil-paper umbrella, and Xiu'er clutched a peach branch she had broken at the village entrance, simply because the villagers believed it would bring good fortune in literature.

The village chief waited at the village entrance with an oxcart, accompanied by three examinees.

As the cart tracks rolled over the frosty field ridges, Su Ning looked back and saw the figures of her whole family gradually blurring in the morning mist, with only her mother's arms waving incessantly visible.

……

In front of the examination hall in Laizhou Prefecture, thousands of candidates lined up in a long queue.

Some people held books and muttered to themselves, some burned incense and prayed in the direction of the Confucian Temple, and some were dragged away on the spot after cheat sheets were found, their cries startling the crows in the trees.

"Zhang Nanting, candidate from Qingzhou Prefecture..." As the name was announced, Su Ning saw a slender young man walk by calmly.

Suddenly, the young man stopped and bent down to help an old scholar who had been pushed over.

When it was Su Ning's turn to be inspected, the bailiffs crushed his steamed bun, tapped his inkstone to listen to the sound, and even unfolded the cloth ribbon that tied his hair to examine it closely.

As Suning finally stepped through the "Dragon Gate," a cry came from behind: "My son's ink stick has been broken!"

The examination shed was low and cramped, and last night's rainwater had left puddles on the blue bricks.

Just as Su Ning finished grinding the ink, three clanging sounds of the clapper were heard, and the inscription was hung high:

If the people are well-off, how can the ruler lack anything?

A collective gasp filled the room—this was a riddle from the Analects of Confucius, Yan Yuan, which required discussing both people's livelihood and the economy, as well as the relationship between ruler and subject.

Sobbing could be heard from the cell next door, and the old scholar in the front row was grinding ink with trembling hands, ink splattering all over his face.

Suning closed his eyes and concentrated.

He recalled his father's hunched back as he paid taxes, his mother's sobbing as she spun at the spinning wheel late at night, and the record in the Ming Dynasty's Veritable Records that the Imperial Treasury during the Jiajing reign had an annual income of two million taels of silver but still had to cover a deficit of five million four hundred thousand taels.

He dipped his brush in ink and slashed the subject like a knife: "The people are like water, and the ruler is like a boat. When the water is full, the boat floats. This is why the sage king valued nurturing the people..."

He incorporated mathematical thinking into his writing, using the three pillars of "land tax, salt tax, and customs duty" as analogies, employing Sang Hongyang's strategy on the Ever-Normal Granary, and borrowing Liu Yan's methods to discuss the reform of the Grand Canal.

While others were still piling up "Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang," he had already drawn a tax curve on his draft.

During the second exam on the interpretation of the classics, a sudden downpour occurred.

Rainwater streamed down through the holes in the roof, and Su Ning quickly shielded the exam paper with his body.

Water droplets still blurred into ink blots on the three characters "Jade is not carved" in the Book of Rites.

The inspector of education happened to walk in front of the dormitory and frowned upon seeing the scene.

Suning remained calm and wrote in the margin: "Even when a piece of jade is covered in dust, its quality remains unchanged, just as a gentleman does not lose his integrity when he encounters adversity."

He then started anew, combining the "Record of Learning" and the "Record of Music" in a comprehensive discussion, which showed a more structured approach than the original text.

The education official lingered for a long time, and before leaving, he even signaled to his servants to bring him a piece of felt.

Amidst the envious whispers of the candidates behind him, Su Ning noticed the patched hem of the education official's robe and suddenly realized that this might be an honest official who cared about the people's livelihood.

……

Half a month later, the results were released, and the peach blossoms in Sujiawu had already blossomed with red buds.

When the messenger rushed into the village, Zhou was beating clothes by the well when the wooden mallet fell into the well with a "plop".

"Good news! Your esteemed Master Su, whose given name is Ning, has achieved seventh place in the Laizhou Prefecture Examination!"

Amidst the smoke and fire of exploding firecrackers, Su Ning saw her father shed tears in front of others for the first time.

The village head brought over a plaque that read "Scholars Pass the Imperial Examination," and the mother took out a red silk ribbon from her dowry and wrapped it on the lintel.

As Su Shouzhou trembled as he was about to bestow a reward upon the messenger, the man waved his hand, saying, "The Prefect has waived the reward money for all the newly appointed scholars!"

At dusk, Su Ning walked alone to the village school.

The teacher placed the ruler before the statue of Confucius and said in a hoarse voice, "Starting tomorrow, this old man will no longer be able to teach you."

Seeing his confusion, she smiled and said, "The prefectural school has issued a document requiring you to go to Qingzhou Academy for further studies within ten days."

Moonlight streamed over the inkstone, and Su Ning stroked the pen he had used during the imperial examination.

He recalled the thin young man in the examination hall, the patches on the official robes of the education commissioner, and even more so, the clause in the "Great Ming Code" that "scholars are not required to kneel before officials."

Spring thunder rolled across the distant sky, and the twelve-year-old newly appointed scholar looked towards the capital.

He knew that the hand that would change his destiny had already pushed open the first door.

...(End of chapter)