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

Chapter 47 Do you still have any respect for the law?! Do you still have any regard for the imperial court?!

Beijing.

In those countless streets and alleys that were bustling with traffic during the day but were now deserted, the moonlight dividing them into light and shadow, black shadows, like ink-black ghosts seeping from the underworld, silently emerged from the shadows of the corners of the walls like mercury spilling onto the ground.

They wore uniform black linings, a color that almost blended into the darkness of the night, and had identical narrow sabers hanging at their waists, the scabbards also jet black, reflecting no light whatsoever.

Their movements were as light as a pack of wildcats hunting at night, landing without a sound.

They were servants of the Western Depot.

It should have long since rotted away in the dust of history, but after more than a hundred years of silence, it was summoned back from the dust of history by the young emperor in the Qianqing Palace, who gave it even sharper claws.

Zhou Quan was neither like Tian Ergeng, who exuded an aggressive and suffocating aura of violence, nor like Wei Zhongxian, whose every move was imbued with a sinister charm intertwined with power struggles and desires.

He was like a blank sheet of paper.

A blank sheet of paper that is absolutely clean and absolutely obedient.

A blank sheet of paper on which the young emperor in the Qianqing Palace could draw any crazy or cruel picture at will.

At this moment, Zhou Quan stood quietly at the corner of an alley, on the boundary between light and darkness.

Behind him were hundreds of the most elite guards of the Western Depot, who looked like a group of lifeless black sculptures, waiting for their master to infuse them with soul and commands.

Zhou Quan raised his head and glanced at the half-obscured moon in the night sky.

Then, he gently raised his equally pale hand.

It's just a simple gesture.

Hundreds of guards seemed to be injected with a silent command in an instant, transforming into dozens of black streams that silently scattered in different directions along predetermined routes.

Their target was a dozen or so mansions and businesses scattered throughout the capital.

There was the Shanxi Guild Hall, a place of immense wealth where people would wear out their doors every day; and the mansions of some high-ranking officials in the imperial court who appeared to be honest but were actually extravagant.

A death net, woven by the emperor himself and executed by the most ruthless butchers of the Western Depot, instantly enveloped the entire capital under the cover of the midnight bell.

Zhou Quan, along with the remaining hundred or so men, set off towards their most important goal.

—The residence of Zhou Yanru, the Right Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites.

The Zhou family mansion is located in a hutong called Jing'an in the western part of Beijing.

The name is excellent, and the alley is indeed secluded.

The three-courtyard complex doesn't look ostentatious from the outside; it's just ordinary blue bricks and gray tiles, far less grand than the mansions of high-ranking officials and ministers. There are no imposing stone lions at the entrance either.

However, anyone who knows their stuff can tell at a glance that the bricks of this mansion are tribute bricks fired in Linqing, and the tiles are cylindrical tiles custom-made in Liulichang.

The mansion itself is a hidden paradise, where every plant and tree exudes a refined elegance that is deeply ingrained in the soul.

This reflects the aesthetics and dignity of civil officials. They disdain displaying their wealth openly like warriors and nouveau riche; they prefer to hide it in seemingly insignificant details.

Zhou Yanru was still awake at this moment.

He was sitting alone in his study, carefully reading a scroll of handwritten notes by Dong Qichang, a famous calligrapher of the previous dynasty, which he had just borrowed from a friend, by the light of a large mutton tallow candle held on a white jade lamp stand.

In the study, a small bronze incense burner with animal heads held high burned fine benzoin, its sweet fragrance mingling with the unique scent of ink from ancient books and Xuan paper, creating an atmosphere that could instantly calm the mind and make one forget oneself.

He enjoyed this feeling.

As a rising political star in the imperial court, Zhou Yanru was filled with unwavering confidence in his future.

He was talented and became the top scholar in the imperial examination at the age of twenty-six, making him famous throughout the capital.

He had connections, with mentors and classmates throughout the government and the country. More importantly, he believed he truly understood the essence of being an official.

He knew when to stand tall and speak eloquently to gain a reputation for integrity, and when to be humble and accommodating to seek practical benefits.

For example, his interactions with Shanxi merchants like Fan Yongdou.

In his view, this is the latter, a necessary pragmatism.

Although those merchants came from humble backgrounds and reeked of money, the silver in their hands was real and carried a pleasant warmth.

This money could help him bribe key figures in the court, make more like-minded people, and even allow him to easily live a life a hundred times more comfortable and respectable than the meager salary he could receive from the court.

As for what those merchants were secretly doing with the Jurchens outside the Great Wall...

Zhou Yanru chose not to investigate further.

"Water that is too clear has no fish, and a person who is too discerning has no followers." This is an ancient saying left by sages, and an irrefutable golden rule in officialdom. He didn't believe in his heart that the immature young emperor in the deep palace of the Forbidden City could stir up any trouble.

How much ability could an emperor have if he couldn't even completely overthrow Wei Zhongxian, a eunuch who had been entrenched in the court for many years?
It's nothing more than relying on the emperor's title to make some meaningless struggles.

He would even feel a pang of pity in the dead of night, pity for that lonely young man sitting on the cold dragon throne, caught between Wei Zhongxian's eunuch faction and the civil officials who held the power of discourse.

Just a poor creature.

Zhou Yanru picked up the teapot made of top-quality Yixing purple clay and filled the Jian kiln rabbit fur teacup in front of him with tea. The excellent Wuyi Mountain Da Hong Pao tea was poured into the boiling spring water, and the rich rock flavor instantly rose out.

He looked at it all with satisfaction, pleased with the tranquil and abundant world he had created with his own hands.

Everything is under his control.

Just then, he vaguely heard a very slight noise coming from the courtyard.

The sound was short and sharp, like someone had their mouth covered, or like... something heavy falling limply to the ground.

He frowned slightly.

"Someone come here," he called out habitually towards the door.

There was no response from outside the door.

Only the cold wind made a faint "whooshing" sound as it blew against the windowpanes.

This made Zhou Yanru feel a little displeased. When did the servants in the mansion become so lax?

Even the night watchmen dare to doze off while on duty?
It seems I'll have to have the steward thoroughly reorganize the rules in this mansion tomorrow.

He put down his teacup, stood up with a hint of anger, and prepared to go out and see for himself which ignorant servant dared to be so presumptuous in his mansion.

However, he had just reached the study door, his hand not yet touching the door knocker.

The door, made from a single piece of precious rosewood, was violently smashed open from the outside with a loud "bang," breaking in half and bursting inwards.

Broken wood chips mixed with the shaken-down dust flew everywhere like arrows, some even tearing his luxurious silk robes.

Zhou Yanru was stunned by this sudden turn of events, and froze on the spot.

He saw a group of expressionless people dressed in black clothes, like a black flood that had burst its banks, silently and swiftly surging in.

The leader was a pale-faced young man.

As a high-ranking official of the Ming Dynasty and a representative of the literati, Zhou Yanru's pride and dignity, which had been ingrained in him for decades, caused him to be instantly replaced by boundless anger after a brief moment of shock.

"presumptuous!"

He shouted angrily, his voice sharp with rage.

"Who are you?! Do you even know where you are?! How dare you trespass on the residence of an official of the imperial court?! Do you have no respect for the law?! Do you even respect the imperial court?!"

The young man stared at him coldly, as if he were looking at a lifeless object.

Then, to Zhou Yanru's incredulous gaze, the young man walked steadily toward him step by step.

"What...what do you want to do?!" Zhou Yanru finally felt a sense of fear from the bottom of his heart.

This fear filled him with shame, yet he couldn't suppress it. He instinctively took a step back, shouting with a fierce but weak voice, "I am the Right Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites! A third-rank official! A protégé of the Emperor! If you dare touch me, I..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Because Zhou Quan had already walked up to him and, with a speed that Zhou Yanru couldn't react to, grabbed his well-maintained, jet-black hair, which was tied in a square scarf.

Then, with terrifying strength completely disproportionate to his slender frame, he slammed downwards!
"Oh!"

A deafeningly loud bang.

Zhou Yanru, the Vice Minister of Rites, was usually aloof and arrogant, even his walking was meticulous, and his clothes could not be stained with a speck of dust.

He was roughly thrown to the ground!
His head slammed heavily onto the hard, cold brick floor, and for a moment the world spun around him and his ears rang.

A burning pain, as if branded with a red-hot iron, shot through my forehead!
A warm, viscous liquid slowly flowed down his forehead, quickly blurring his vision and staining the pale face in front of him a blood red.

is blood.

But what he found even more unbearable than the physical pain was the extreme humiliation.

He, Zhou Yanru, a top scholar in the imperial examination, a future pillar of the cabinet, and a role model for scholars, was treated like a stray dog ​​on the street, grabbed by the hair and slammed to the ground!
(End of this chapter)