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

Inside the lecture hall, the air seemed to freeze.

All eyes were focused on the blue-robed eunuch's hand. The bright yellow scroll not only represented supreme power, but at this moment it was more like a resounding slap hanging over Wang Wenxuan's pale face, ready to fall at any moment.

"May I ask, Your Majesty," Su Shi was the first to react. As the host, his professionalism forced him to break the silence, "Is Your Majesty... also going to lose?"

The eunuch smiled slightly, a smile that revealed a profound and unfathomable quality that could only be cultivated within the deep confines of the palace. He did not answer directly, but instead flicked his wrist, fully unrolling the scroll.

It was not as magnificent as I had imagined, nor did it contain any royal jewelry or jade artifacts.

What was revealed to the public was a black and white ink painting with rough lines.

The painting depicts a figure clad in armor, standing amidst a raging snowstorm. His thin clothing is billowed by the wind, conveying a sense of desolation and unwavering resolve. Beside the painting are no ornate words, only two lines of bold, blood-red characters, powerfully written:

"Hebei is bitterly cold, and our armor is thin."

"The Imperial Textile Bureau of the Great Song Dynasty urgently recruits skilled weavers from across the land to sew winter garments for the soldiers on the front lines. For each garment completed, a reward of one hundred coins will be given. I thank you on behalf of the entire army."

boom--

If anyone present had any sense of reason, they would have snapped by now.

This isn't a GG (Good Guy Order)! This is a conscription order! This is a mobilization order! The government is directly placing the lives of frontline soldiers in front of this group of money-grubbing merchants!

There was no sales pitch, no hawking, only that weighty phrase, "On behalf of the three armies, I thank you."

Who dares to charge this GG fee? Who dares to compete for this GG spot?

Wang Wenxuan swayed, almost falling over. His previous ban and threats about "not being allowed to publish GG in the newspaper" now seemed like a huge joke, or even a death sentence.

To obstruct the *Great Song Morning Post*? That's like obstructing soldiers on the front lines from getting warm clothes! That's treason!

"This...this..." Wang Wenxuan's lips trembled. He wanted to say that this was cheating, that this was against the rules, but his throat felt like it was stuffed with a tangled mess, and he couldn't make a sound.

Jiang Lin stood on the stage, looking at the painting, a playful smile curving his lips.

"The Emperor is something else," he thought to himself. He had expected the Emperor to use an imperial seal to make a show of force, but instead, he pulled off a "charity stunt."

This not only solved the problem of insufficient manpower in the inner treasury, but also won over the hearts of the people, and dealt a heavy blow to these hoarding and speculation families.

This move is even more ruthless than what I've done before.

The deathly silence below the stage lasted for about three breaths.

The first to break the silence was, as always, the unconventional merchant Afanti.

"God above!" Afanti suddenly stood up, pounding his left chest with his right fist, his eyes even reddening slightly. "The Song Emperor... is merciful! This is too hardcore!"

He suddenly turned to Su Shi and shouted at the top of his lungs, "The Emperor wants to make clothes for the soldiers. Although I, Afanti, am a foreigner, I know how to repay kindness! I still have five thousand catties of fine cotton in the Western Regions, and I'll donate it all! Also—"

He pointed to the slightly smaller booth next to "GoldenEye": "I want that booth! A thousand strings of cash!"

"I'm going to write down my cotton donation! I want everyone in Bianjing to know that only by following the Song Emperor can you have meat to eat!"

That shout was like throwing a spark into a scalding hot oil pan.

The businessmen have gone mad.

If they were tempted by the greed for traffic before, now they are going crazy to save their lives.

The emperor himself has intervened; the *Da Song Zao Bao* is the emperor's mouthpiece! If they don't express their opinion now, are they waiting to be investigated by the Imperial City Guard?

"I'll offer 800 strings of cash! I want that corner seat!"

"Li's Rice Shop is willing to donate 500 shi (a unit of dry measure) of rice! They only ask that their name be mentioned in the margins of the newspaper!"

"Don't anyone try to take it from me! I'm buying that 'center seam'! I'll offer two thousand strings of cash! I'm doing this to support the soldiers at the front; anyone who tries to stop me is going against the government!"

The situation was completely out of control.

Money, spittle, and waving arms intertwine to create a vivid picture of "human nature."

Wang Wenxuan, who was at the center of the storm, became the most discordant element in the painting.

He wanted to leave, to escape this suffocating place. But as soon as he turned around, several tall, burly merchants silently blocked his way.

"Oh, isn't this Young Master Wang?" A grain merchant who had been bowing and scraping to him just moments before was now staring at him with a forced smile. "What's this? The government is calling for uniforms for the soldiers, and the Wang family... isn't supporting it?"

"Nonsense!" Wang Wenxuan shouted, his voice trembling with fear. "Get out of the way! I'm not feeling well!"

"Uncomfortable? I think it's just a guilty conscience," another cloth merchant chimed in sarcastically. "Didn't Young Master Wang just say that anyone who dared to put money in the newspaper was going against the Wang family? Now the officials have put it in, Afanti has put it in, and we've all put it in. Young Master Wang, are you going to blacklist us too?"

"You—" Wang Wenxuan was so angry that he trembled all over and raised his folding fan to strike.

"The Wang family is beating people! The Wang family doesn't want us to support the front lines!" someone shouted from the crowd.

This sound was like a thunderclap.

The merchants who had been bidding instantly turned around, their eyes gleaming with the ferocity of hungry wolves. Under the banner of "political correctness," crushing a young master from a prominent family was not only risk-free, but also the best way to demonstrate loyalty to the government.

"It's because of people like these that the situation on the front lines is so tense!"

"A ruthless businessman! A cancer on the family business!"

"Hit him!"

Someone threw out the first shoe. Then came teacups, fruit pits, and even half a brick, which someone secretly tossed out.

A hail of debris rained down on Wang Wenxuan.

The young master Wang, who usually lived a life of luxury, could only run away with his tail between his legs. His silk robes were torn to shreds, and his precious ivory folding fan had long been trampled into pieces.

"Stop hitting me! I'm leaving! I'm leaving, okay?!" Wang Wenxuan, along with several bruised and battered servants, rushed toward the gate in a disheveled state.

"That's a door for patriotic merchants!" Su Shi added slowly from the stage, "Since Young Master Wang looks down on this newspaper, why bother taking this 'access to the people's sentiments' road?"

The gate was blocked by several burly men.

Wang Wenxuan looked around in despair, his gaze finally settling on a low hole in the corner of the wall used for transporting garbage.

The angry shouts and flying debris behind him left him no time to choose.

"Jiang Lin...you just wait!"

Wang Wenxuan gritted his teeth, glared fiercely at Jiang Lin on the high platform, then humiliatingly lay on the ground, using his hands and feet like a stray dog, and crawled out of the muddy hole.

As Wang Wenxuan's rear end disappeared, the entire audience erupted in laughter. The laughter was filled with a sense of schadenfreude at the collapse of power, and a strange kind of catharsis.

The setting sun streamed through the windows into the lecture hall, casting golden dust motes dancing in the beams of light.

Jiang Lin leaned against the podium, watching the merchants below frantically signing contracts and paying money. He weighed the thick stack of cash he had just collected in his hand, then turned and whistled at Zhao Lingjun, who was sitting in the shadows.

"Zhao Ling, did you see that? This is what you call the premium of imperial power." Jiang Lin pointed to the imperial painting. "The Emperor didn't spend a single penny, not only did he get so many winter clothes for free, but he also humiliated the Wang family. This deal is a bargain."

Zhao Lingjun, however, did not laugh.

She gazed at the painting quietly, her eyes deep and thoughtful.

"From today onwards, the business world of Bianjing is likely to undergo a dramatic change. This newspaper... will no longer be just a piece of paper."

Jiang Lin raised an eyebrow, stuffed the silver note into his sleeve, walked up to Zhao Lingjun, leaned down, and stared into her eyes.

"So what?"

He suddenly lowered his voice, his tone carrying a seductive mystery: "A change of fortune is good. The bigger the storm, the more expensive the fish. You can never earn enough money."

Jiang Lin took a piece of paper out of his pocket and gently patted it on the table.

"Money is just a means; controlling people's thoughts is the goal."

Jiang Lin pointed to the center of the blueprint, a smug smile playing on his lips:

"Zhao Ling, do you want to monopolize the 'spiritual food' of the entire Song Dynasty? Let's play an even bigger game next time."