Chapter 307

When it came to mentioning the old general, General Li couldn’t help but sigh deeply, reflecting for a moment before asking his grandson and granddaughter-in-law to offer incense for the venerable warrior, reciting a few solemn words on his behalf.

The day chosen for the general’s tomb-sweeping was deliberately selected. Those who attended were not only Wang Xiujin and Li Linshan but also members of the royal family’s descendants. Wang Xiujin wished for future generations to remember the generals who had helped forge the realm. Compared to those who merely wielded weapons, these commanders who bled and fought on the battlefield deserved to be remembered. Official histories, often recorded by scholars, tended to emphasize the contributions of literati, glossing over the deeds of military men. Yet the true essence of war—bloodshed and sacrifice—formed the very foundation of a dynasty, a legacy that should never be forgotten.

The emperor pondered this for a long while. Though he was not the founding monarch and lacked firsthand experience of the cost of conquest, he understood that defending the realm was no less arduous. Since ascending the throne, countless skirmishes and conflicts had erupted along the borders. It was not the scholars who endlessly quarreled in court who protected the land, but the soldiers, often disparaged by those same scholars. The emperor agreed with Wang Xiujin’s proposal: not only the royal descendants but also students from various academies should participate.

Of course, with so many participants, it was impractical for everyone to offer incense personally. Wang Xiujin suggested a practical solution: each attendee would carry a small white flower, and after one royal descendant had offered incense, others would toss their flowers into the brazier as a sign of respect. Beyond the generals’ tombs, imperial mausoleums should also have an annual day designated for scholars to pay their sincere respects to the founding emperors who won the realm and those who defended it, listening to stories of how their ancestors secured peace and stability.

The emperor immediately approved, praising Wang Xiujin’s proposal but remarked, “It seems only the students in the capital will be able to hear these ancient tales.”

“To extend this to other cities, Your Majesty,” Wang Xiujin suggested, “we could erect monuments for people to visit and pay homage.”

“Excellent!” The imperial treasury was ample; building monuments in various cities was no great challenge. How to present these ancient stories and ceremonies could be left to the literati to devise.

With the emperor convinced, the tradition of royal descendants paying homage at the founding generals’ tombs took root. This initiative sparked uproar among the scholars, who submitted numerous memorials, protested loudly, and accused Li Linshan and Wang Xiujin of treacherous intent, stopping just short of calling for their execution. Naturally, defenders arose to counter these claims. Officials who had previously believed Wang Xiujin was beyond reproach took his side, engaging in fierce verbal battles with protesting scholars, their sharp tongues causing the dissenters to flush with anger, some even itching for a physical confrontation.

Unaware of the court’s turmoil, Wang Xiujin went about his duties. The emperor, meanwhile, regarded the commotion as mere entertainment. On the surface, Wang acted calm and composed, yet inwardly he scolded his son for constantly stirring trouble. “What nonsense are these people spouting? Conspiring against us? Surely this accusation is too far-fetched!” The soldiers, listening to the quarrels, would mischievously kick those who raised objections. “What’s wrong with honoring the founding generals? Are only scholars worthy of respect? Are all soldiers nothing but worthless scoundrels?”

Once the scholars’ outcry subsided, several veteran generals stepped forward to advise the emperor. They declared that the true villains were those slandering the military. While scholars prided themselves on eloquence, it was sincere, straightforward speech that truly mattered. The old generals spoke with emotion, causing the emperor’s eyes to redden. Compared to the scholars, his affection for the military ran deeper. Many soldiers were descendants of the founding emperor himself, while most scholars were remnants of the previous dynasty. The contrast was stark. The emperor, seated at the center, was no mere partisan favoring scholars over warriors. Listening to the generals and reflecting on his own journey, he grew increasingly displeased with the quarrelsome scholars. With a decisive order, he commanded those causing trouble to be dragged out and receive twenty heavy strokes of the court’s cane.

Hearing the old generals’ counsel, the scholars realized their grave mistake. Regretful for voicing their complaints so publicly, they turned pale at the thought of the punishment. Recent memories of others being beaten to death were still fresh, and none expected the same fate so swiftly. When news of this reached Wang Xiujin, he merely shook his head. “Their minds are too old and rotten. If a few blows could open their minds, then so be it. But if they remain stubborn, they will only make more enemies.” Fortunately, none of the punished officials died; all convalesced at home, albeit demoted in rank. Surviving was far more important.

News of the emperor’s plan to erect monuments in various cities quickly spread. Scholars attempted to oppose it but failed to find valid reasons. When they claimed the treasury was insufficient, the emperor immediately demanded accountability for any shortage of grain, dispatching the Censorate to investigate. Such negligence was a capital offense. If they brought up military expenditures, the emperor might even revisit recent matters and tally the accounts. With no objections left, the plan was finalized.

The Ministry of Rites was uncertain how to proceed, mistakenly believing the matter was unrelated to them and waiting to see how the Ministry of Revenue would handle it. Instead, they found themselves unexpectedly responsible for the project, tasked with devising the ceremonies and rituals for the monuments. The entire ministry descended into chaos. The Minister of Rites lamented to the Minister of Revenue, openly and covertly accusing him of deceitfully dragging the Ministry of Rites into this affair, which traditionally fell outside their duties. The Minister of Revenue feigned sympathy while secretly rejoicing; after all, this gave him a chance to contribute funds without attracting scrutiny from the Censorate.

Having met with a cold reception at the Ministry of Revenue, the Minister of Rites left dejectedly. Desperate, he decided to approach the Fifth Prince. Though they had no personal relationship, his son worked at the prince’s event hall, so perhaps he could gain some guidance. The minister was at a loss, completely flustered.

The Fifth Prince was momentarily stunned upon hearing the minister’s plea. Since he rarely attended court, he was unaware of the political turmoil. Even when his fourth brother visited, he only spoke of entertaining matters, such as the recent flogging of several scholars. Influenced by the emperor and his fourth brother, the Fifth Prince harbored little sympathy for the scholars, especially when scholars and warriors were in opposition, he sided with the military. Unfamiliar with the monument project, he refrained from commenting and politely responded to the minister. After the minister departed, the prince smiled knowingly, confident this scheme was Wang Xiujin’s doing. When the event hall closed that evening, the Fifth Prince did not return to his residence but instead took a carriage to the general’s mansion.

The minister’s son paid close attention to his father’s affairs. If the matter were resolved successfully, the emperor might favor his father and even promote his rank. Hearing the Fifth Prince had visited the general’s mansion, the son pondered and later suggested to his father that they seek help from the imperial merchants, who were resourceful and trusted by the emperor.

At the general’s mansion, the Fifth Prince unexpectedly arrived to offer his respects. The old general, unable to accept such formalities from the prince, quickly rose to apologize. After some polite exchanges, citing his health as an excuse, the general excused himself, aware that the prince had not come merely to visit him and that lingering might appear discourteous. Wang Xiujin invited the prince to their courtyard for a brief rest, with Li Linshan quietly accompanying.

Once in the garden, the Fifth Prince relaxed and directly inquired about the monument project. Wang Xiujin smiled but remained silent, implicitly acknowledging the matter. He then explained how unifying thoughts and fostering national identity through traditions understandable to the ancients was crucial. The prince immediately grasped why the emperor was willing to lavish funds on such seemingly pointless monuments: it was to consolidate royal authority.

Satisfied, the Fifth Prince took his leave, resolving that next time his fourth brother ventured out of the palace, he would urge him to fully support Wang Xiujin. With Wang by their side, the dynasty’s foundation would be secure, the realm strong, and the people prosperous.

Believing the matter was settled, Wang Xiujin returned to his duties. But early the next morning, as he arrived at the granary to review supplies destined for disaster-stricken regions, he was surprised by a visit from the Minister of Rites. The granary steward informed him that the minister wished to see him and seek his counsel. Puzzled, Wang Xiujin recalled their few prior interactions: Li Linshan’s coming-of-age ceremony, his own, his wedding, and the army’s return—nothing more. Why would the Minister of Rites now seek his advice?

Though curious, Wang Xiujin could not refuse. He invited the minister inside, and the steward discreetly withdrew, aware that conversations between a lord and a court official were not for his ears.

The Minister of Rites arrived in plain clothes, signaling his intent to approach as a private individual to build rapport, though no real friendship existed. Seeing this, Wang Xiujin smiled knowingly, welcomed him warmly, and offered tea and refreshments. The two began their polite exchanges. Meanwhile, those watching the minister knew he had visited the imperial merchants. Other ministers showed varied reactions; the Minister of War angrily called the minister dishonest for involving the Li family’s daughter, simultaneously threatening to send word to protect her from any mistreatment.

In the granary, Wang Xiujin skillfully extracted the minister’s true purpose. He understood the minister’s visit was to inform him of the task’s nature. A seasoned courtier like the minister would not so easily reveal his intentions otherwise.

The emperor had entrusted the monument project to the Ministry of Rites. Wang Xiujin paused in thought. This was reasonable—monument construction required researching historical records, deciding on scale and style, and devising worship rituals, even specifying staircase requirements. Such matters naturally fell under the Ministry of Rites’ purview. After this realization, Wang Xiujin studied the minister more closely, wondering if he had come solely for advice or harbored other intentions.