The Great Song Dynasty: You were put in charge of teaching, and you produced a whole bunch of prime

Chuigong Hall.

Zhao Zhen nestled into the large dragon throne, holding no memorials in his hand, but instead a copy of the still-wet "Great Song Morning Post" between two fingers.

The official was thoroughly engrossed in reading it, his gaze lingering on the bolded title "The Deepest Affection in Liao Kingdom" for a full three breaths.

Wow, that title is something else! It's way more entertaining than those storytellers in the palace!

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty must do justice for this old minister!"

Your Highness, Zhang Shilian lay sprawled on the cold gold bricks, like a mangy dog ​​whose spine had been stripped. Although he had changed into a brand-new official robe, the stench of rotten vegetables had seeped into his very soul.

"Jiang Lin, you scoundrel! He's privately printing seditious documents and spreading heresy, inciting the ignorant masses! He's disgracing the Song Dynasty and treating the court's reputation like a doormat!"

Zhang Shilian wept bitterly, his white hair trembling with each sob.

Zhao Zhen put down his newspaper and lazily swept his gaze over the assembled officials.

Interesting.

The Censorate, which used to be able to argue for half an hour over a single typo, seemed to have collectively fallen silent today. Everyone was looking down at their noses, as if they had "Don't look at me" written all over their faces.

No one responded. Everyone knew that at this critical juncture, anyone who got involved with Zhang Shilian was doomed. Even Hanlin Academician Ouyang Xiu had claimed illness and not come this morning, clearly not wanting to see this disgraceful wretch.

"Minister Wang," Zhao Zhen called out, his gaze falling on the front row of the procession, "you are both a Vice Chancellor and the head of the Wang clan of Zhending. Many scholars in the north are your protégés. What is your opinion on this matter?"

The Wang family of Zhending, headed by Wang Huai.

Although this old man didn't write poetry, he held the reins of advancement for the aristocratic families of northern Song Dynasty. If Ouyang Xiu was the "face" of the literary world, then Wang Huai was the "substance" of the scholar-official class.

Zhang Shilian suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with a desperate desire to survive. Faced with such a crucial matter of right and wrong, Old Wang would definitely protect his own!

If this matter is classified as "disgraceful to culture," Jiang Lin is doomed!

Wang Huai slowly stepped forward.

He walked slowly and steadily, each step firm and measured. As he passed Zhang Shilian, he didn't even lift his eyelids, completely ignoring him.

"Your Majesty," Wang Huai's voice was old but full of vigor, "this old minister believes that civility has indeed been swept away."

Zhang Shilian was overjoyed, and his back straightened instantly.

However, Wang Huai's next words shattered his back and spine.

"But the one sweeping the floor was not Jiang Lin, but Zhang Shilian."

"?!"

Zhang Shilian's expression instantly collapsed, his astonishment, confusion, and fear distorting into a comical mess, like an overturned palette.

"A...a prince?"

Wang Huai pulled out a memorial he had written long ago from his sleeve and presented it with both hands: "Ouyang Xiu once said, 'Writing is an eternal affair, and its gains and losses are known only to the heart.'"

"Zhang Shilian, as the Minister of Rites, lost the literary contest because he was not as skilled as others. But to use words like 'starving people' and 'chaotic times' to threaten his juniors after losing is a great loss of morality."

"To have talent but lack virtue is to be a petty person; to hold a high position but lack virtue is to be a traitor to the country!"

This strike was steady, precise, and ruthless.

Leaving aside the issue of treason and the Liao Dynasty, there are only four words to describe it: morally deficient!

Colluding with the enemy requires evidence and involves bureaucratic wrangling within the Court of Judicial Review, easily giving political enemies a chance to turn the tide. But "moral failings," in the Song Dynasty, which emphasized strict adherence to etiquette, meant social death, a death sentence for one's political life!

"This old minister suggests that Zhang Shilian be stripped of all official positions and never be employed again, in order to set an example!"

After Wang Huai finished speaking, he bowed deeply and did not rise.

A deathly silence fell over the hall. Everyone understood—this wasn't sacrificing family for the greater good, it was cutting off one's own tail to save one's own life!

Zhang Shilian was already utterly disgraced, and that madman named Jiang Lin used an unprecedented method—newspapers—to stir up public resentment against him.

At this point, whoever dares to protect him will be blamed, and the entire Shijia Group will be implicated.

Since it can't be saved, then cut it off!

"You...you all..." Zhang Shilian pointed at Wang Huai with a trembling hand, his lips shaking like a sieve, "You're so cruel, you've used us and then discarded us...you're so heartless..."

Wang Huai straightened up and turned back to his ranks. As he passed Zhang Shilian, he paused slightly and said coldly in a voice only the two of them could hear:

"Lord Zhang, have some dignity. If the meat rots, don't soil the whole family's bowls. Even if you leave, the clan will still have food to eat."

boom!

This sentence became the last straw that broke the camel's back.

Extreme anger and despair at being betrayed caused Zhang Shilian to catch his breath, his vision went black, and a "hehe" sound like a bellows breaking came from his throat.

"puff--!"

A mouthful of scarlet blood splattered onto the gold bricks, glaringly bright in the sunlight. Zhang Shilian rolled his eyes, then collapsed heavily into his own pool of blood, remaining completely still.

"Drag him away." Zhao Zhen waved his hand, his tone completely flat, as if shooing away a fly. "Let the imperial physician take a look. It's bad luck for him to die in the palace."

……

After the court session ended, carriages and horses lined the palace gates.

Wang Huai sat in the spacious carriage and closed his eyes to rest. In the corner, the young Wang Anshi was holding a book. When he saw Wang Huai enter, his brows furrowed, and his eyes were filled with confusion and struggle.

"Jiefu, do you think I went too far?" Wang Huai opened his eyes, his cloudy pupils devoid of any emotion.

"Your Excellency," Wang Anshi put down his book, his voice strained, "Minister Zhang may have made mistakes, but his crimes do not warrant death. Moreover, to ruin someone's future in this way is not the act of a gentleman."

"A gentleman?" Wang Huai scoffed, as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world.

He drew back the curtains, his gaze sweeping across the bustling Imperial Street.

"That young man named Jiang Lin was holding a knife."

Wang Huai's voice turned low, carrying a chilling coldness, "In the past, we set the rules. We defined right and wrong. Although Ouyang Xiu and his ilk were aloof, they were still scholar-officials, and they adhered to the same rules."

"But once that newspaper came out, the rules changed."

"He bypassed us and spoke directly to the lowest of the low, the peddlers and cart pullers. If this kind of thing becomes rampant, what dignity will the imperial court have left? What respect will the aristocratic families have left?"

Wang Anshi seemed to be deep in thought, a complex light flashing in his eyes: "Uncle means..."

"Since we can't shut him up, we'll prevent him from opening his mouth at all."

Wang Huai lowered the curtain and gave a brief instruction to the butler outside the carriage window.

"Pass on my message to the Bianjing Guild. From this day forward, not a single sheet of paper or drop of ink from any paper mill or ink workshop in the south of the city shall be allowed to enter the Jingshi Academy!"

"Anyone who dares to outwardly comply but inwardly defy us should get out of the Song Dynasty and stop doing business!"

The butler bowed and accepted the order, then quickly left.

Wang Huai leaned back on the cushion, his expression indifferent, as if he had just casually swatted a noisy mosquito.

"What good is a well-written article? Without paper and ink, let's see what you use to print newspapers and what you use to incite those ignorant masses."

Upon hearing this, Wang Anshi felt a chill run from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head. The veins on his hands, which were gripping the book, bulged.

For the first time, he realized that the classics alone could not save the Song Dynasty.

To break this deadlock, you need... a knife!