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

Chapter 278 Version Answer: If you can't beat them, join them.

Night fell, and it was past midnight.

The moonlight, as white as frost, was obscured by thick clouds, with only a few pale rays of light occasionally piercing through the gaps in the clouds to illuminate the world.

Thirty miles outside Suzhou city, on the shore of Taihu Lake in Xishan, there is a garden called "Zhenliu".

This garden is not listed in the Suzhou Garden Directory and is unknown to outsiders. It covers an area of ​​only ten acres, but it integrates pavilions, towers, rockeries and ponds. Its exquisite scenery far surpasses those famous places in the city.

Deep within the garden lies a study called "Listening to the Rain Studio," surrounded by densely planted emerald bamboo. When the wind blows, the bamboo rustles, isolating the room from all sounds from the outside world.

No lamps or candles were lit in the room; only a three-legged bronze incense burner was placed on a rosewood eight-immortal table in the center.

A small piece of ambergris cake was burning in the stove. Its fragrance, which was originally a refreshing and invigorating aroma, now seemed like the incense offered before a shrine in this dim and oppressive atmosphere, exuding a faint aura of death.

Seven or eight figures sat in the shadows.

Their figures were indistinct, their faces obscured, only glimpses of their luxurious silks or fine scholar's robes gleaming from the occasional sparks from the incense burner.

Among them were a wealthy gentry whose family's vast farmland had to pay tens of thousands of bushels of tax overnight due to the new policy of "collective taxation"; several former high-ranking officials who had retired but still had many students and former subordinates in the court; and even a learned scholar who had once served as the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Works and had recently retired to his hometown.

In the shadows of the far corner of the study sat an inconspicuous middle-aged man.

He remained silent throughout, but his eyes, which shone terrifyingly bright in the darkness, were filled with undisguised resentment.

He was Qian Delong's cousin and the current head of the Qian family in Suzhou. The confiscation of Qian's cloth shop and Qian Delong's imprisonment almost severed half of the Qian family's source of income.

Everyone in the room was a victim of the new policy.

The air was as stuffy as a piece of cotton cloth soaked in water.

After a long while, an old man sitting in the main seat slowly spoke. His surname was Gu, and he was the patriarch of the local Gu clan. His family owned more than 30,000 mu of paddy fields and was the biggest opponent of the unified tax collection system.

"Still no movement from the north?" His voice was like two pieces of dry tree bark rubbing together.

At the next stop, a local gentryman said in a deep voice, “Sir Gu, the news from the capital is even more perplexing. It is said that not only have the troops in the Nine Garrisons not been reduced, but they have been expanding their army on a large scale, and their pay is paid in full every month without a single day of delay! The money and grain are being spent like water! At the same time, the disaster in the Central Plains is even more severe than last year, and the relief for the refugees is another hole that can never be filled!”

In the corner, Qian Delong's uncle sneered, his voice hoarse: "The national treasury is empty, and we're beset by internal and external troubles. I'd like to see what that little emperor will use to fill this bottomless pit!"

The retired Vice Minister of Works stroked his long beard, a hint of smug superiority flashing in his eyes, and said slowly, "What's the rush? Throughout history, how many reformers have met a good end? There was Shang Yang, who was torn apart by chariots; there was Wang Xiang, who was demoted and died; and more recently, Zhang Jiangling could not escape retribution even after his death. Why? Because although his reforms could strengthen the country temporarily, they shook the foundation of the gentry and the people, and alienated the hearts of scholars!"

He paused, his tone carrying the composure of a historian.

"That young emperor is still too young. Does he think he can turn the tide with brute force? Does he think that with eunuchs like Wei Zhongxian and scheming officials like Bi Ziyan and Xu Guangqi, who only know how to calculate and investigate things, he can uproot our centuries-old foundation?"

He let out a contemptuous sneer.

"I will wait, just one word: wait."

"When his funds and provisions are exhausted, when chaos reigns on the borders, and when public resentment boils over, then he will realize that the Ming Dynasty cannot function without us gentry contributing funds and provisions to maintain order in the villages. He will then turn around and beg us for help."

"At that time, the system of uniformly paying taxes can be abolished. Commercial taxes can be waived. Those rebellious eunuchs and scheming officials can all be dismissed. Everything can return to its original state. What we will lose is only a little wealth in the next year or two. But what that young emperor will gain is a profound lesson—this empire does not belong to the Zhu family alone!"

These words acted as a reassurance, easing the oppressive atmosphere in the study somewhat.

Yes, that's how history is written!

The emperor and the scholar-officials jointly governed the country.

The emperor can be capricious, but he cannot overturn the table.

Because this table is where everyone eats.

They remain players on the chessboard, possessing ample patience and resources to wait for their young opponent to make a fatal mistake.

Their dreams were sweet and peaceful.

Then, a thin sheet of paper was brought in.

A servant quietly entered the study, handed a copied manuscript to Master Gu, and then quietly withdrew.

Master Gu picked up the manuscript and, using the dim light from the incense burner, leaned closer to read it.

That was a copy of the "Edict for Pacifying the Barbarians".

All eyes in the room were focused on that piece of paper.

Gu Gong's breathing gradually became heavy, and the hand holding the paper began to tremble slightly.

"Unstoppable momentum... melting away like ice and tiles..." he murmured, his voice hoarse.

When he read that line, he felt as if he had been struck by lightning: "One battle to settle the world, three days to pacify the country!"

“The country was pacified in three days…” Lord Gu repeated the phrase absentmindedly, as if the words weighed a ton and were suffocating him.

He handed the paper to his subordinate, the former Vice Minister of Works.

The Vice Minister took it and read it quickly, skimming through ten lines.

His expression shifted from composure to astonishment, then to solemnity, and finally to deathly pale. The hand that was gently stroking his long beard froze in mid-air.

"Slay the rebellious chieftain Obama on the battlefield, and hang his head on the straw street..."

The paper was passed from hand to hand.

With each passing hand, the temperature inside the room seemed to drop a little, and the faint ambergris incense seemed to be scattered by an invisible cold current.

When the paper finally reached Uncle Qian's hands, he only glanced at it before crumpling it into a ball and slamming it to the ground!

"Crazy! He's a crazy person!"

Uncle Qian gritted his teeth and growled, his voice like that of a wounded beast, filled with anger and...fear.

"In Jiangnan, he treated our century-old foundation as nothing, killing and confiscating property as if it were nothing. I thought he was just venting his anger in his own backyard! But I never imagined... that he could stand so straight against the northern barbarians! He actually had such ruthless methods to destroy a country! How... how dare he?! How could he?!"

This roar was like a resounding slap across everyone's face, shattering their composure and dream of waiting for the right price!
Is the national treasury empty? Is there chaos on the border? Is public discontent boiling over?
No! There's absolutely nothing!

Instead of getting bogged down, he achieved a glorious victory worthy of being recorded in the annals of the Ming Dynasty, proving to the world that his new policies, which they had scorned, were successful!

The collected commercial taxes and confiscated property could truly turn them into a fierce and powerful army!
A powerful army that can fight, dares to fight, and can even fight a war to destroy a nation!
What they perceive as a dead end is nothing but wishful thinking.

The study fell into a silence as still as a lone fisherman on a snowy river, with only the ambergris incense in the burner dutifully releasing its fragrance, yet it could no longer dispel the chill rising from the depths of everyone's hearts.

In the dead silence, the retired Vice Minister of Works suddenly let out a groan as if in a dream.

His face was as white as a sheet of paper, his lips were trembling, and his eyes were unfocused, as if he had seen something extremely terrifying.

"Gentlemen..." His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, "...still don't you understand?"

He looked around at the shocked, angry, and bewildered faces of the crowd, his eyes revealing immense sorrow and despair.

"The greatest gain from this battle is not the cattle and sheep of Khorchin, nor the fertile land stretching for thousands of miles..."

He stopped, breathing heavily, as if the next words would exhaust all his strength.

Then, he uttered, slowly and deliberately, the words that sent a chill down everyone's spine:

"He... doesn't need us anymore!"

These words seemed to possess some kind of magic, causing the temperature in the entire study to plummet to freezing point.

The old man pointed at the crowd with trembling hands, but his analysis was exceptionally clear and logical.

"Gentlemen, consider this: what has the Emperor done in the past year or so? He lifted the ban on maritime trade! The profits from maritime trade are ten times greater than those from agriculture and sericulture. We cannot know the exact amount of tax revenue, but this income will likely soon far exceed the total land tax of the entire empire! And this money will not go to the Ministry of Revenue, but directly into the Imperial Treasury!"

"Furthermore, the properties of salt and grain merchants were confiscated. In Jiangnan alone, the proceeds amounted to far more than ten million taels of silver. This was all from the imperial treasury!"

"Now, a system of official artisans has been established, bringing all the crafts and skills of the world under government control and turning them into royal industries. The new Suzhou Weaving Bureau was officially opened yesterday. It specializes in silk! It has improved the 'flower loom' to weave 'cloud brocade' and 'tribute satin,' the intricacy of which is said to be unparalleled in the world! If it is sold overseas through the Maritime Trade Office, the profit from one bolt can be equivalent to the annual yield of a hundred acres of fertile land! And this is all from the imperial treasury!"

With each word he spoke, the faces of the crowd paled a little more.

"What did he do with this money that went unnoticed by the Ministry of Revenue and was not controlled by the court officials? He trained a new army in the capital region, and even the White-Spear Army from Sichuan came to Zhejiang to recruit people! They only knew the Emperor's favor, not the court officials! Their weapons were made of finely refined steel and sharp muskets! Their rations and pay were paid in full every month by the Imperial Treasury, without any delays!"

"In the past, we always thought these were just the emperor's private guards, useless and insignificant. But from the journey south from the capital, and the battle of Khorchin..."

The old man's voice trembled with tears.

"This army is capable of fighting, dares to fight, and can even wage wars of annihilation! They pacified a country in three days! What kind of fighting power is this? Since the reigns of Emperor Taizu and Emperor Chengzu, when has our Great Ming Dynasty ever had such a powerful army?!"

"Gentlemen, this has always been the case! Whoever pays for the army, the army will obey that person! This fierce army, loyal only to the emperor, has already been formed!"

"Finally, the will of the people."

“That’s the most terrifying thing.” The old man’s eyes were filled with despair.

"He used the official artisan system to turn millions of artisans across the land into his official artisans. He gave them status, land, and the opportunity for their children and grandchildren to learn to read and write. From then on, these artisans only recognized the emperor, not us!"

"He used the imperial garrison to gather refugees in the northern border towns and reclaim wasteland, saving countless lives. These rescued refugees had only the emperor's grace in their hearts!"

"Now, with this unprecedented victory, a resounding war of annihilation, he has made the people of the world worship him as a god! The people are ignorant, knowing only that the victor is king and the strong are respected! In their eyes, the emperor collects taxes to win wars, to expand territory, and to demonstrate the might of our Great Ming! And we, who oppose the emperor..."

The old man didn't continue, but the unfinished meaning enveloped everyone like a giant coffin.

The room was deathly silent; you could hear a pin drop.

The ambergris in the incense burner had long since burned out, with the last wisp of smoke rising and then dissipating into the darkness.

A chill, a bone-chilling chill, shot straight from the soles of everyone's feet to the top of their heads.

Looking at his hands, which had been pampered and had no calluses, Gu Gong seemed to see them in shackles.

What appeared before Qian's uncle's eyes was no longer Qian Delong's bewilderment, but rather the sight of his ancestral hall being sealed off, ancestral tablets thrown on the ground, and boxes of gold and silver treasures accumulated over generations being carried out and loaded onto official carriages...

And that former Vice Minister of Works seemed to hear the mournful cries of his descendants as they were being exiled to the army…

They were finally horrified to discover that their relationship with the emperor was no longer a political struggle based on differing views.

That report of victory, that glorious achievement of "pacifying the country in three days," was like a bucket of cold water scooped from an icy river, poured over one's head.

For them, that was not good news!

It was an ultimatum written by the emperor himself and sent to all of them!

It was written clearly in dripping blood: The emperor truly had an army capable of fighting and daring to kill! An army that obeyed only his orders, was fed with his private treasury, and regarded the gentry of the world as nothing!
A fatal question lingered in everyone's mind, sending chills down their spines:
What can we use to compete with the emperor?
rebel?

The moment this thought crossed their minds, they ruthlessly extinguished it with endless fear and despair.

Give me a break!

Should we use the hundreds of servants and guards we keep at home who only know how to bully the neighbors to rebel? Or should we incite the displaced people who scatter like birds and beasts at the sight of government troops to rebel?

In the face of the mighty Ming army, capable of "pacifying a country in three days," that's not considered rebellion!

That's like a bunch of fat pigs who didn't want to die fast enough, so they deliberately ran into the butcher's blade!
If the news reaches the military camp, those fierce and powerful troops will probably fight over the enormous merit of "who will quell the rebellion" before they even leave the camp!
When they actually got to the front lines, those fierce soldiers, upon seeing this rabble, would probably not have a first reaction to charge, but rather to punch their comrades to the ground—just to prevent others from stealing their military merits!
"Plop" sound.

The former Vice Minister of Rites slid straight off the armchair and collapsed onto the cold, blue brick floor.

His gaze was vacant, his pupils unfocused, and he repeatedly muttered to himself as if possessed:
"We can't hold them off anymore, we can't hold them off anymore..."

"Ancestral rules...cannot withstand swords and spears...public opinion...cannot withstand swords and spears either..."

He suddenly raised his head, like a drowning man grasping at the last straw, clinging tightly to the hem of Gu Gong's robe, his eyes filled with utter terror and despair.

"We can't...we can't go against him anymore...that's suicide!"

His voice was as faint as a whisper, yet it was as clear as weeping blood in the deathly silent, dark room.

"To be able to follow the emperor and have a sip of porridge..."

"Then let's make do... and drink it!"

(End of this chapter)