Chapter 564: Ready to Set Out

The sky had already darkened by nearly a third.

Standing before the desk beside the window, Zhu Ping’an reached out and pushed the lattice window open. A cool night breeze immediately swept in, carrying with it the faint dampness of evening air. The lingering traces of alcohol in his mind vanished completely beneath that refreshing gust.

His mind was now perfectly clear.

Such a fine night should not be wasted.

Bathed in the gentle breeze, Zhu Ping’an spread fresh xuan paper across the desk, slowly ground the inkstone until the ink turned deep and rich, then lifted his brush and began analyzing his current situation stroke by stroke upon the paper.

To know oneself and know one’s enemy was the key to remaining undefeated.

Too many people focused solely on analyzing their opponents while forgetting to examine themselves. By the time both sides truly confronted one another, they discovered too late that they had already placed themselves at a disadvantage.

So-called invincibility was nothing more than using one’s strengths to strike at another’s weaknesses.

Thus, it was not enough merely to know the enemy.

One had to know oneself even better.

And the information gathered today from Zhang Siwei and Wang Shizhen would help him complete that analysis far more thoroughly.

In the end, everything still revolved around one thing—

The memorial.

At the very top center of the paper, Zhu Ping’an wrote two large characters:

“Memorial.”

Then, beneath that, at the beginning of the second line, he carefully wrote:

“Jiajing.”

The matter of the memorial could not be discussed without first considering the Jiajing Emperor himself.

No matter how overwhelming Yan Song’s influence appeared, no matter how deeply he manipulated court politics, the true—and only—master of the Great Ming Empire remained the Jiajing Emperor.

Why did the Emperor obsessively refine elixirs and pursue immortality?

Was it not ultimately because he wished to hold absolute control over the empire forever?

His obsession with power was beyond question.

No matter how the Ministry of Justice handled the investigation, the final decision would still rest upon a single sentence from the Emperor.

As for how the Jiajing Emperor would decide…

No one knew.

And no one dared claim confidence in predicting him.

After years of consuming alchemical pills and immersing himself in Daoist mysticism, the Emperor had become increasingly inscrutable, half-divine and half-mad in the eyes of many. Worse still, he delighted in mystery, deliberately forcing officials to guess his intentions while never revealing his true thoughts.

Even Yan Song himself could not claim complete certainty in understanding the Emperor.

Not even Yan Shifan—the so-called genius most skilled at interpreting imperial intent—would dare boast such confidence.

And Zhu Ping’an?

Even though he came from the modern era…

Even though he had read countless historical records and unofficial accounts regarding the Jiajing Emperor…

Even though he understood the Emperor’s personality, habits, preferences, and temperament better than almost anyone alive in this era…

It still was not enough.

After all—

Even the world’s greatest psychologist could not fully predict the thoughts of a perfectly normal person.

So how could anyone hope to understand a man who spent every day swallowing heavy-metal-laced “immortality pills” and strange alchemical substances?

Who knew whether all those toxins had long since affected the Emperor’s mind?

Still—

Though impossible to predict completely, one could at least analyze probabilities.

By now, the darkness outside had fully settled.

Zhu Ping’an stepped forward and added more oil to the lamp. The flame brightened immediately, illuminating the brush, inkstone, paper, and ink spread neatly across the desk.

Then, after the word “Jiajing,” he left two spaces and wrote:

“Reward System.”

This “reward system” was a crucial factor in analyzing the Emperor’s likely attitude. It was also an issue inseparable from the memorial itself.

The system had been personally instituted by the Jiajing Emperor after last year’s Gengxu Crisis, when the Mongol leader Altan Khan had led troops directly to the outskirts of the capital.

The moment Altan Khan withdrew from Beijing’s walls, the Emperor had immediately issued a military reward decree.

Its terms were straightforward:

For every enemy killed, an official would receive one promotion in rank and twenty taels of silver. Those unwilling to accept promotion would instead receive fifty taels.

For every strong man recruited into military service, five taels of silver would be awarded.

Recruit three men, and one would gain an official promotion.

Capture a notable enemy commander, and the reward rose to three ranks and three hundred taels.

Capture a major enemy leader alive, and one could even be ennobled as a count, with ten thousand taels awarded.

The Emperor had created this system to restore morale after the humiliation of the Mongol invasion and encourage both soldiers and civilians to fight bravely.

Truthfully, he had been enraged by Altan Khan’s actions.

And Zhao Daying—

The very man Zhu Ping’an impeached—

Had been among the first beneficiaries of this policy.

One of the reasons Yan Song promoted Zhao Daying from Hundred-Household Commander to Thousand-Household Commander was precisely because of the “military merits” recognized under this reward system.

The Jiajing Emperor had once even taken pride in the system’s apparent effectiveness.

Thus, Zhu Ping’an’s memorial did, in a certain sense, place the Emperor himself in an awkward position.

The reward system was supposed to produce results.

Instead, it had produced Zhao Daying.

Which meant that, from one angle, Zhu Ping’an occupied a disadvantage in the Emperor’s eyes.

However—

That depended entirely upon perspective.

Zhao Daying had murdered innocent civilians to fabricate military achievements.

He had “borrowed” the heads of commoners in exchange for rewards.

But the Emperor’s decree had spoken of enemy heads.

Not the heads of his own people.

What Zhao Daying committed could easily be classified as deceiving the throne itself.

Deceiving the Emperor.

And the humiliation of being deceived in such a manner would undoubtedly provoke the Jiajing Emperor far more severely than Zhu Ping’an’s memorial ever could.

Moreover, Zhu Ping’an’s memorial did not attack the reward system itself.

It targeted the crime of slaughtering innocents and falsely claiming merit.

The angle of attack mattered immensely.

This was something he would need to emphasize carefully.

After writing “Reward System,” Zhu Ping’an moved to another line and wrote two more names:

“Zhao and Zhou.”

The “Zhao” referred to Zhao Jin, the Yunnan-Guizhou censor.

The “Zhou” referred to Zhou Mian of the Ministry of War.

The Emperor’s treatment of those two men held enormous significance for Zhu Ping’an’s own situation.

Not merely because both had been imprisoned and stripped of office—

But because of how quickly the Emperor had acted against them.

In both cases, the Jiajing Emperor had ordered arrests almost immediately upon reading their memorials.

Yet Zhu Ping’an’s memorial had already been before the throne for several days now.

And still—

No immediate imprisonment.

No imperial fury.

No arrest warrant.

Could that perhaps indicate that the Emperor viewed his memorial differently from those of Zhao Jin and Zhou Mian?

As Zhu Ping’an continued writing beneath the lamp late into the night, the two servant girls in the side room secretly watched his silhouette through the partially open doorway.

Both stared in astonishment.

“It’s already this late… why is Young Master-in-law still reading and writing?”

“Young Master-in-law is so hardworking,” one whispered softly. “At this hour, Young Master Zhou from the manor would already be snoring like a pig—or off doing those filthy indecent things again.”

“But Young Master-in-law already became a top scholar,” the other said in admiration. “Why is he still studying so diligently?”

Her eyes sparkled faintly.

“With how hardworking he is, he’ll definitely become a great official someday.”

After their astonishment faded, the two girls gradually returned to whispering bashfully among themselves, their cheeks flushed red as they fantasized about future life within Zhu Ping’an’s household.

They imagined supporting one another in the inner courtyard…

Standing united against outsiders…

Taking care of each other…

The more they imagined, the happier they became.

Eventually, wrapped in sweet dreams and rosy fantasies, the two drifted off to sleep.

Tick.

Tick.

Deep into the silent night, the sound of rainfall gradually began striking the earth.

Rain pattered softly against leaves, flowers, the courtyard stones, and finally against the window itself beneath the breeze. Tiny droplets drifted inward, dampening the xuan paper spread across the desk by the window.

By now, more than half the paper had been densely filled with notes and analysis.

Under the flickering lamplight, several headings could vaguely be seen:

“Jiajing.”

“Yan Song.”

“Zhao Daying.”

“Ministry of Justice.”

Only when a cold raindrop landed upon his forehead did Zhu Ping’an finally realize it had begun raining.

Setting down the brush, he stretched slowly and rotated his sore wrist before gazing out the window.

Beyond the window lay only endless darkness.

The rain itself could not be seen clearly beneath the black night sky, yet its presence filled the world through sound alone—the tapping upon stone, branches, flowers, rooftops, and windowsills.

The breeze still carried faint traces of dust and earthly grime.

Rain cleansed heaven and earth alike.

Tomorrow…

The world would probably feel much cleaner.

Closing the window, Zhu Ping’an returned to the desk and finished adding the final details to the paper. He reviewed every section once more, filling in missing points and mentally memorizing each line carefully.

Only after confirming everything did he finally fold the paper.

Then he carried it toward the candle flame.

The edge caught fire immediately.

Holding one corner between his fingers, he watched silently as the flames consumed the paper inch by inch. Only when the fire nearly reached his fingertips did he release it onto the floor.

This document absolutely could not fall into another person’s hands.

Once the paper had completely burned to ashes, Zhu Ping’an carried the oil lamp into the bedchamber and placed it upon the table.

After a brief wash, he removed his outer robes, lowered the lamp cover to extinguish the flame, and quietly lay down upon the bed.

Soon, the room fell silent.

The next morning, the rain had already stopped.

Before dawn had fully brightened the sky, Zhu Ping’an was already awake and washing up.

Beside the bed hung his official robes, court hat, and ceremonial accessories.

Now that he had returned to the capital—

It was time to go to the Ministry of Justice.

And while Zhu Ping’an was still preparing himself—

Outside the residence of Yan Song, several members of the Jinyiwei had long since arrived and were waiting respectfully for permission to enter.

These Jinyiwei officers, usually arrogant and terrifying before ordinary people, now behaved like obedient lapdogs standing before a tiger.

They bowed repeatedly, smiling ingratiatingly while waiting outside the Yan residence.

Creak—

The side gate of the Yan manor slowly opened.

A middle-aged steward in his forties stepped outside while casually picking his teeth.

He did not even bother looking directly at the Jinyiwei officers.

“What do you want?” he asked lazily.

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