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

Chapter 273 Eunuch Wei really has a grand gesture.
Three days later.

As the sun dipped below the western mountains, its afterglow, like a streak of blood, painted the towering city walls of Songjiang Prefecture.

It took Wei Zhongxian's ship three days to travel from Nanjing to this point.

The ship was not a fast ship; the cabin was comfortably furnished, and there was even a soft couch for taking a nap.

The boatmen changed shift after shift, and the boatmen's chants never stopped; it was the people's hearts that were anxious, not the speed of the boat.

As soon as the boat docked, a small blue sedan chair carried by four people was already waiting.

As Wei Zhongxian emerged from the cabin, an invisible pressure emanated from him even before he moved. His face showed signs of weariness from the journey by water, but deep within his triangular eyes flickered two unusually excited flames.

The accompanying servants carefully carried a box made of boxwood, about a foot and a half square, into the sedan chair. The curtain was drawn, blocking all prying eyes.

"Go to the construction site in the east of the city."

A soft, feminine voice emanated from the sedan chair; it was quiet, yet clearly penetrated everyone's ears.

The sedan chair bearers lifted the sedan chair, their steps steady yet swift. The group did not enter the bustling city or go to the government offices or residences, but instead drove around the city, heading towards the newly built construction site where scaffolding and sheds stood like a forest and people were bustling about.

Their arrival was silent and unexpected, yet it was as if an invisible hand had grasped the evening air of Songjiang Prefecture.

The farmers working on the ridges of the fields and the laborers unloading goods by the canal seemed to sense something. They stopped what they were doing, looked at the speeding sedan chair, and felt a sudden tightness in their hearts.

……

As night fell, the crescent moon hung like a hook.

In the southern part of Songjiang Prefecture, amidst a cluster of low-rise residential buildings, are countless family-run workshops.

The sounds of looms rose and fell, weaving together a song of poverty and resilience.

The wooden door of "Zhang's Cloth Shop" was tightly closed, with only a tiny sliver of light shining through the crack.

Zhang Zhuo, who was over fifty years old, was hunched over under the oil lamp, holding a small file in his hand, carefully polishing a broken wooden tooth on the loom.

The lights were dim, and fine beads of sweat were already on his forehead. This old buddy had been with him for thirty years, and now, like him, it was old and sick.

"Dad, don't fix it."

A figure blocked part of the light; it was his son, Zhang Xiaowu.

At the age of twenty-seven, he should be the pillar of his family, but now his face is full of irritability and resentment.

"What good will it do to fix this piece of junk? The Qian family's cloth shop only offered three more coins per bolt of cloth, not even enough to buy rice. Next month, that old bastard Qian Delong will come to collect his dues again. What are we going to give him? I think we should sell this shop and this pile of junk too. My son can join the army. Even if he has to go to Liaodong to eat sand, it's better than suffering humiliation here!"

Zhang Zhuo stopped what he was doing, looked at his son with his cloudy eyes, and stammered, "Nonsense! This is a craft passed down from our ancestors. How can it be lost with me? Join the army? How many soldiers can come back unscathed!"

"That's still better than sitting here waiting to die!" Zhang Xiaowu's voice rose a little. "Look at your hands! Look at your back! You've woven cloth your whole life, and what have you gotten in return? A body full of illnesses and endless debts! In this world, craftsmanship is nothing! Money and power are what matter!"

The father and son, one conservative and the other seeking change, argued for half their lives but could not convince each other.

"Boom, boom, boom."

The knocking sounded, neither too loud nor too soft, yet it struck the hearts of the father and son like a hammer blow.

"Who?" Zhang Zhuo's voice trembled.

Zhang Xiaowu grabbed a carrying pole by the door and whispered, "It must have been sent by that old dog Qian Delong! Dad, you stay out of the way, I'll fight him to the death today!"

There was no response from outside the door, but then there were three more knocks, with the same rhythm and force.

In the dead silence, a soft, feminine voice pierced through the thin wooden door, carrying a chill: "The Eastern Depot is on business. Open the door."

“East...Eastern Depot?” Zhang Zhuo’s legs went weak and he almost collapsed to the ground.

Zhang Xiaowu's hand gripping the carrying pole froze; those two words were a hundred times more terrifying than the three words "Qian Delong".

Zhang Xiaowu's hands trembled as he pulled open the door latch.

A servant stepped in first, his gaze sharp as a knife, slowly sweeping over the small, damp workshop filled with cotton wool and the smell of sweat.

His gaze finally settled on Zhang Zhuo's weathered, calloused hands, then moved to the dilapidated loom. He just stood there, silent, watching.

Behind the other servant was a craftsman dressed in ordinary clothes, about the same age as Zhang Zhuo, but with a sharp glint in his eyes, clearly an expert.

The first servant pointed to several bolts of cotton cloth piled in the corner, gesturing to the craftsman who arrived later.

The craftsman stepped forward, picked up a piece of cloth, first carefully ran his fingers over it, closed his eyes to feel the density of its warp and weft, and then brought it close to the lamplight to examine the luster and texture of the cloth.

He then asked a few questions in a detached tone.

How many twists are needed to make cotton thread into yarn?

How are the warp threads washed before being put on the machine?

"How many feet of cloth can this machine produce in a day and night? If we use forty spindles of yarn, will the threads break?"

The questions were urgent and specialized, hitting the nail on the head.

Zhang Xiaowu couldn't understand a single word, but Zhang Zhuo was jolted awake from his fear as if struck by a thunderbolt. This was an expert testing him!
Zhang Zhuo answered each question cautiously.

From cotton selection to spinning force, and the impact of different climates and humidity on sizing concentration, he shared his more than 30 years of experience and insights without reservation.

When he got excited, he even forgot his fear, gesturing and explaining the intricacies of a certain component.

His insights are simple and unadorned, yet every word is precious, the culmination of countless days and nights of hard work.

Wei Zhongxian, who had been standing in the shadows by the door, listened to all this, and a hint of approval finally flashed in his eyes.

This is one of the hundreds of "seeds" that the Emperor wanted.

It is one of the most important cornerstones of that massive factory in the future.

After Zhang Zhuo finished speaking, the craftsman who was examining the matter nodded to the servant.

The servant said no more, took out a slip of paper from his pocket, handed it to Zhang Zhuo, and turned to leave.

The group turned and disappeared into the night, as if they had never been there.

The father and son were left with a bewildered expression and a note with an address written on it.

Zhang Zhuo unfolded the paper with trembling hands; there was only one line of text printed on it.

"Tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM), go to the 'Craftsmen's Registration Office' in the east of the city to receive the proclamation."

……

The next day, the morning light was dim.

On a piece of vacant land in the city that was originally owned by a certain nobleman, a brand-new courtyard rose from the ground, with white walls and black tiles, and a large plaque with gold characters on a black background hanging above the door—"Craftsmen's Register Office".

In front of the office was a huge open space made of rammed earth.

Dozens of artisans, like Zhang Zhuo, who were notified overnight, gathered here with trepidation and confusion.

They were all well-known craftsmen in Songjiang Prefecture.

They looked at each other, their eyes filled with bewilderment.

Every ten steps around the open space stood a member of the Eastern Depot, holding a brocade spring knife.

Further away, squads of Beijing garrison soldiers, fully armored and armed with spears, surrounded the entire open space.

The atmosphere was somber that even the morning birds dared not linger there.

In the center of the open space, a three-foot-high platform had already been erected.

At the exact hour of Chen (7-9 AM), Wei Zhongxian, dressed in a bright red python robe, a jade belt around his waist, and black boots with pink soles, slowly ascended the high platform, surrounded by a group of servants. His appearance immediately silenced all the whispers in the open space.

Behind Wei Zhongxian, servants carried over a dozen large boxes, lined them up, and opened them with a bang.

In the morning light, the box was so bright that it was hard to open one's eyes, but it was not gold or silver, but neatly stacked brass squares, each about the size of a palm, thick and simple.

However, these plaques were blank, with only a temporary number engraved in the corner.

Wei Zhongxian cleared his throat but did not speak himself. He simply gestured slightly to a standing eunuch beside him.

The eunuch was tall and strong, clearly someone specially chosen for his loud voice.

He immediately stepped forward, took the simple tin megaphone with both hands, and held it to his mouth. His loud voice, amplified several times by the tin, boomed like thunder, echoing throughout every corner of the open space.

"The emperor is destined to be carried by heaven, and the edict says:"

As soon as he said that, hundreds of people on the open ground knelt down in a dark mass. Zhang Zhu knelt in the crowd, his heart pounding wildly, almost as if it would jump out of his throat.

"Craftsmen are the cornerstone of the nation, and skills are the lifeblood of the country. However, throughout history, the laborers have often suffered hardship, and the skilled have often been poor, which I deeply lament. This is a great ailment of the nation, and it is also my fault! From this day forward, establish the system of 'official craftsmen'!"
All those registered, regardless of their original place of origin, will be removed from their lowly status and classified as law-abiding citizens! Their ranks will be determined according to their skill level, and they will be granted the status of "official craftsmen," which exempts them from the obligation to kneel before the county magistrate!

"Ah?" A suppressed gasp rippled through the crowd.

Not kneeling before an official? That's the kind of dignity only scholars and officials have!

The young eunuch paused, his voice rising even higher:

"Those who are registered as 'official artisans' will be allocated official land according to their rank, so that they will have stable property and a stable mind! Royal factories will be built to ensure that they have no worries about food and clothing! Primary schools will be established so that their descendants for three generations can also read and write and participate in the imperial examinations!"

"Arita...can read..."

These words exploded like thunderclaps in the minds of the craftsmen.

For many of them, their greatest dream in life was to own a few acres of land so that their sons could attend a private school for a few days, even if it was just to learn their own names.

And now, the emperor himself has promised all of this!
"...Now, the Craftsmen's Register is established, and all those with superb skills and impeccable character may be included in the register. This is the foundation of the Emperor's boundless grace, an immutable principle for all ages! You should all be grateful and strive to serve the Ming Dynasty with your skills! So be it!"

After the imperial edict was read, the entire hall fell silent, then erupted into a thunderous roar of worship.

"Long live my emperor! Long live! Long live!"

As the shouts subsided, Wei Zhongxian did not call out names as usual. Instead, he stepped forward, and his cold voice rang out again through the metal loudspeaker, drowning out all the noise:
"Though the Emperor's favor is great, he will not support useless people! Today, the Royal Songjiang Textile Factory is established here, and only cotton cloth artisans will be accepted! Anyone who wishes to be registered must be examined on-site to determine their rank! Guards, summon the first batch of artisans to the stage!"

Upon hearing this, the hundreds of cotton cloth artisans on the open ground were immediately in an uproar, which was then replaced by even greater anticipation and tension.

The loud-voiced eunuch immediately unfurled a roster and announced in a loud voice: "First group! Li Si, a spinner from Huating County; Wang Wu, a dyer from Shanghai County; Zhang Zhuo, a cotton cloth maker from Huating County... ten people in total, come up to the platform!"

When Zhang Zhu heard his name called, his mind went blank and he almost lost his balance.

Like the other nine people, he walked up to the platform with a heavy heart and weak hands and feet under the watchful eyes of his colleagues.

The atmosphere on the high platform was solemn.

On one side were dozens of spinning wheels, looms, and rows of large vats filled with various dyes; on the other side were several master craftsmen invited from the Imperial Textile Bureau in Beijing, their expressions serious and their eyes sharp as knives.

Behind them, several craftsmen from the workshop were tending to the small furnace and anvil, their hands gripping steel engraving knives, ready to make badges for those who passed the test on the spot.

With a wave of his hand, Wei Zhongxian signaled the start of the examination.

The ten people were quickly separated and brought before their respective examiners.

"Li Si!" An examiner pointed at a ball of cotton and demanded sharply, "This is new cotton, the fibers are still short. If you want to spin a thirty-count yarn, how do you pre-treat the sliver? What should the twist be?" Li Si was a skilled spinner, but at this moment he was completely flustered, stammering and giving a riddled-with-mistakes answer. The examiner showed no mercy: "Insufficient knowledge, imperfect skills! Temporarily designated as a level nine technician! Get out!"

"Wang Wu!" Another examiner pointed to a vat of indigo dye. "This vat of dye is showing signs of fatigue. How do you 'season' it to save it? To achieve a moon-white color, how many times do you need to dye and dry it?" Wang Wu fumbled around for a moment, but the resulting fabric had an uneven color. The examiner shook his head: "Experience is acceptable, but adaptability is lacking. Temporarily rated as a seventh-level technician!"

In the blink of an eye, several people had been judged, some happy and some sad. Finally, the examiner's gaze fell on Zhang Zhuo.

Instead of asking ordinary questions, he went straight to the point, his voice stern: "Songjiang cotton cloth is famous throughout the world, but its texture is soft and prone to pilling and wrinkling, a well-known flaw! If you want to weave a crisp and durable cloth comparable to the tribute cloth of the North, what methods do you have in the three processes of spinning, sizing, and weaving?"

This question cannot be answered by anyone who has not immersed themselves in this field for decades and given it deep thought.

Zhang Zhuo, who had just been in a daze, had all his fear and distractions replaced by the instinct of a craftsman the moment he heard the question.

He felt as if he had returned to his dilapidated workshop, facing the problem he had been studying all his life.

Zhang Zhuo took a deep breath, stopped stammering, and answered fluently and steadily. He analyzed everything clearly and incisively, from changing the twisting method of spinning yarn to adding specific plant ash to rice paste to increase stiffness, and then to adjusting the tension ratio of warp and weft threads on the loom!

The examiner's eyes flashed with surprise, and he pressed Zhang Zhuo for several extremely tricky details, all of which Zhang Zhuo answered fluently. He finally nodded: "You speak eloquently, but talk is cheap. Go over there and show me how to weave a foot of cloth on that improved loom!"

Zhang Zhuo walked up to a loom he had never seen before, one with a more complex structure. He didn't rush; he walked around the loom, touching each part with his hands, his eyes focused and fascinated.

A moment later, he sat in the nose of the plane.

"Buzz..." The sound of the loom rang out, clear and smooth, with a steady rhythm.

Zhang Zhuo's hands and feet moved in perfect coordination; the shuttle seemed to come alive in his hands, like a silver fish darting swiftly through the dense warp threads.

The surrounding noise, the scrutiny of the other nine people, and Wei Zhongxian's imposing presence all seemed to have vanished. In his world, only the yarn loom and the yarn in his hands, which was being produced inch by inch, visibly smooth and fine, remained.

He stopped after an incense stick had burned.

A piece of fabric with a uniform texture, smooth and crisp, has been formed.

The examiner stepped forward and rubbed the object repeatedly between his rough fingers, then examined it carefully against the sunlight. His serious expression finally melted away, replaced by shock and admiration. He took a deep breath and announced loudly with all his might:
"Zhang Zhuo, a cotton cloth craftsman from Huating County, is highly skilled and insightful, and has been rated as a fifth-level master craftsman!"

Before the words were even finished, a craftsman from the workshop immediately took out a blank copper plaque from the box, held it in the furnace with tongs and heated it slightly. Then, with a few crisp metallic clanging sounds, the four characters "Level 5 Craftsman" and Zhang Zhuo's name and place of origin were deeply imprinted on it.

This time, Wei Zhongxian dealt him the cards!
He took the bronze plaque, still scorching hot, that truly belonged to Zhang Zhuo from the craftsman's supervisor, and walked up to Zhang Zhuo.

Zhang Zhu knelt down, trembling, and raised his hands high.

Wei Zhongxian placed the heavy bronze plaque in his palm and said, "Zhang Zhuo, this is something you earned through your own abilities. Do a good job and don't let down the Emperor's favor."

A surge of warmth welled up from his palm, instantly washing away all the grievances, bitterness, and numbness that Zhang Zhuo had accumulated over the past fifty years.

He could no longer hold back, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching the bronze plaque that truly bore his name and glory, and wept bitterly.

His cries seemed to be a signal, and the craftsmen in the open space who were watching their companions succeed or fail and who were anxious about their own impending fate all started to cry.

The cries continued one after another.

Standing below the stage, Zhang Xiaowu watched his father prove himself under the spotlight. Looking at the gleaming bronze medal awarded by that important figure, the disdain and resentment in his eyes melted away like ice and snow meeting the blazing sun!
……

Not far from the open space, in a private room on the second floor of a teahouse facing the street.

Qian Delong, the largest cotton cloth merchant in Songjiang Prefecture, put down his celadon teacup and looked at the heated examination scene on the open ground downstairs. A disdainful sneer curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Eunuch Wei is truly generous," he said to the local officials and gentry at the table. "A few pieces of scrap metal and a grand show have made these lowly craftsmen so grateful that they are moved to tears."

A local gentry member chimed in, “Yes, land redistribution and education—it sounds better than it’s written. But this isn’t a land survey with tangible evidence. This ‘official craftsman’ status is all empty rhetoric; what good is it?”

Qian Delong took a sip of tea and said slowly, "They can't turn the world upside down. Zhang Zhuo still owes me three hundred taels of interest, and the land deed to his shop will be mine sooner or later. I want to see if that brass plaque, which can't even have a name engraved on it, can be eaten or used as money! A bunch of peasants, do they really think they can rise to the top in one step? How laughable!"

In Qian Delong's view, this was just another new trick by the eunuch faction to amass wealth.

But when he saw Zhang Zhuo actually receive the bronze plaque engraved with his name, and even receive it personally from Wei Zhongxian, a hint of vigilance and anxiety suddenly arose in his confident disdain.

He originally intended to wait a while longer, letting the interest on the three hundred taels roll over, so that even if Zhang Zhuo sold his bones, he still wouldn't be able to pay it back, including the principal and interest.

But now, he can't wait any longer!
What if this so-called "official craftsman" status really has some kind of backing?

If Zhang Zhuo really gets into that so-called royal textile factory and receives the protection of the officials, wouldn't my three hundred taels debt and the shop that was within my grasp all become a pipe dream?
He wanted both the shop and the skilled craftsman; he wanted Zhang Zhuo's shop, but more importantly, he wanted this master craftsman to serve him like a beast of burden for the rest of his life!

Qian Delong's eyes hardened, and he slammed the teacup he was holding onto the table, having already made up his mind.

We must act immediately while this "official craftsman" status is not yet confirmed and while the contract is still in our hands!
(End of this chapter)