Da Ming: I told you to die for your cause, why are you actually going to die?

Chapter 37 Sleeping? You can still sleep?! [Requesting monthly votes]

Although Zhang Biao's "The Art of Success Through Death" was too outrageous for these low-ranking officials in Beijing.

But a man who could survive and retrieve fifty taels of silver, three pig heads, and a bowl of imperial clear soup noodles from the Fengtian Hall was absolutely one of a kind in the Ming Dynasty officialdom.

Therefore, no matter how outrageous it was, they all felt that Lord Zhang was right.

After all, Zhang Biao's "fierce" experience is already quite outrageous.

As Zhang Biao looked at them, his gaze shifted from shock to confusion, and then to clarity, a fleeting smile playing on his lips.

"Cough cough."

He cleared his throat and said loudly, "We just said that timing is the most important thing. As long as you seize the opportunity, you've already won half the battle!"

"So, what happens after you've seized the opportunity?"

He paused deliberately, whetting everyone's appetite, before raising his voice and saying, "Secondly! We need top-notch props!"

As he spoke, he magically pulled out a well-worn little book, its edges worn smooth as if chewed by a dog, titled "Give Me Back My Hard-Earned Money," from his pocket and proudly declared, "See this? This is the magic weapon!"

Beep!
In just a moment, it attracted everyone's attention.

Among those gazes were those yearning to possess the divine artifact, those worshipping idols, those seeing hope, and those suddenly realizing something.

Various complex gazes converged, their eyes becoming incredibly fervent.

But Zhang Biao continued to speak eloquently: "Don't be fooled by this tattered ledger. It's eye-catching enough to let people know at a glance your blood, tears and bitterness!"

"Moreover, when we take out the account book, we must make detailed records, such as how many shi, how many dou, how many sheng are owed! What is the current price of rice! How much is the rent! How much is the firewood! We must even record how much meat you owe Wang Mazi! The time must be accurate to the day, the more miserable the better! The more specific, the more impactful!"

"Only when the Emperor sees this will he think—'Holy crap, are our officials really in such a miserable state?'"

"See? Doesn't that bring out the shame and a little bit of guilt?"

Swish swish!
There was no sound of people talking in the crowd, only the sound of frantic note-taking.

"Third! And the core of the core!"

Seeing that the people below had finished writing, Zhang Biao suddenly raised his voice, forcefully slapped his shiny, oily lips, which still smelled of pig's head meat, making a crisp 'slap slap' sound: "Mouth! It has to be oily!"

As he spoke, his eyes shone brightly, as if he were imparting the secrets of a peerless martial arts technique:

"Think about it, everyone. The Emperor is a heartless and ruthless man. If you try to play the victim using the normal methods, do you think he'll sympathize with you? Will he give you money? Dream on!"

"Therefore, we must break the mold!"

"If a censor, whose lips are cracked from hunger and whose voice is weak, goes to the emperor to plead poverty, he will only think you are pretentious! Useless! He wouldn't even want to waste a blade on you!"

"But a censor who had just finished devouring three large pig heads, his mouth greasy, face ruddy, and voice full of energy!"

At this point, Zhang Biao puffed out his chest, his voice booming loud enough to scare away the sparrows on the roof: "Go and complain about being poor again! The effect will be—"

He made an explosion gesture: "Amazing!"

"The Emperor would think—this fellow eats with his mouth greasy and still complains about being poor? How shameless! How arrogant! How infuriating!"

"But at the same time, you might think—hmm? He does seem quite eloquent. His outburst just now was so logical, and now he's crying poverty with such conviction? Could it be that we really owe him a lot?"

"Look at that! What a strong sense of contrast and absurdity!"

"This!"

He looked around and said confidently, "This is our winning formula!"

Wow!
The whole place was in an uproar!

Some people have a sudden enlightenment, their thoughts become clear.

Some people are like those who hold a divine weapon, unable to control themselves.

"so!"

Zhang Biao concluded his speech with resounding conviction: "To remonstrate to the death is a high-risk, high-reward technical job! And to demand unpaid wages is an extension of remonstrating to the death, a more refined skill within that technical job!"

"The key is—eat your fill! Eat oily food!"

"As long as we use our smooth tongues and booming voices, we can bombard the Emperor's fragile heart, tormented by affairs of state and family! We'll shame him! We'll anger him! We'll force him to spend money!" "Remember our slogan!"

Zhang Biao raised his arms and shouted: "You can't do good work if you're hungry! Even the emperor will worry if you're all greasy! A glib tongue is the foundation of successful remonstrance!"

Boom!

The crowd immediately erupted in uproar, nearly overturning the entire teahouse.

"it is good!!"

"Lord Zhang's insight is brilliant!!"

"Imperial Censor Zhang's words are truly enlightening!!"

The crowd erupted in enthusiastic cheers and applause.

A group of impoverished low-ranking officials in Beijing, who were so poor they were practically selling their pants, seemed to see a new direction in their lives.

So this is how officials, especially poor ones, can operate?!

In their eyes, Zhang Biao is more than just an 'idol'.

They are mentors! They are beacons of light in the darkness! They are the gods who guide them toward the freedom of eating pig's heads!
"Zhang Qianxian!!"

The portly censor excitedly pushed his way to the front, his face full of admiration: "Then, how exactly do we do it? How can we get our mouths to eat oil?"

"Easy!" Zhang Biao waved his hand confidently, "Putting theory into practice! Perfect timing, it's lunchtime now, let's eat first!"

As he spoke, he turned to Shen Lang and said, "Brother Shen!"

Shen Lang immediately straightened his back and raised his head: "Here!"

"Go to Wang Mazi's Meat Shop! Buy two! Three pig heads! And two jars of the cheapest liquor!" Zhang Biao pulled out five taels of silver and slapped it into Shen Lang's hand.

"Yes, sir!" Shen Lang took the silver and ran faster than a rabbit.

Zhang Biao turned to the eager crowd and flashed a warm, spring-like smile: "Fellow colleagues! Talk is cheap! I, Zhang Biao, will not hold back! Today, I'll be holding a 'Success Through Death: A Crash Course in Practical Application'! The location...?"

As he spoke, he thought for a moment, then looked at the simple teahouse and said, "It's right here at my house! You live nearby too! We may not have much else, but we have plenty of pig's head meat and drinks! We can eat and chat, and I'll teach you on the spot. I guarantee you'll learn it, and if you don't, I'll treat you to pig's head meat next time!"

Wow!
The whole place was in an uproar again!

Some people beat their chests and stamped their feet, shouting, "Lord Zhang will be remembered forever!!"

Some people were so moved that they burst into tears, shouting, "Zhang Qingtian!! You are truly our second father!"

Someone knelt on one knee: "If you will not abandon me..."

In short, the crowd was completely in an uproar.

Dozens of impoverished Beijing officials, dressed in blue robes, surrounded their spiritual leader, Zhang Biao, who was also a pig's head meat supplier, and marched in a grand procession toward the small, dilapidated house that held the hopes of "The Art of Success Through Death."

The scene didn't look like someone going to study; it looked more like someone going to a 'sacred banquet'!
Surrounded by the crowd, Zhang Biao felt the weight of the remaining ten taels of silver in his pocket, listened to the enthusiastic shouts of "Zhang Qingtian" in his ears, and watched Shen Lang's figure running at the end of the alley carrying a pig's head. He felt a surge of pride and a smug smile spread across his shiny lips.

He could almost see countless mouths, armed with his "The Art of Die-to-Success," one day in the future, roaring angrily at Old Zhu on the dragon throne, demanding their unpaid wages.

That scene...tsk tsk, Old Zhu's expression must have been priceless!

"Brother Shen!"

Suddenly, as if remembering something, Zhang Biao called out to Shen Lang's retreating figure, his voice filled with hopeful anticipation for the future: "Cut up more fatty cuts! The fatter and oilier they are! The better it is for practicing your mouth!"

"Okay!" Shen Lang replied, then couldn't help but ask, "It's so late, are we going to continue training? Aren't we going back to sleep after dinner?"

"sleep?"

Zhang Biao immediately wiped the smile off his face and scoffed, "You're all so poor! Sleeping? How can you even sleep?! You have to practice all night long!!"

"Ow—!"

The crowd immediately became incredibly excited, as if they had been injected with adrenaline.

(End of this chapter)