Chapter 414: Fire in the Court, Misfortune Falls Upon the Hanlin Academy

“How did the Grand Secretariat vote?”

After hearing Huang Jin’s report, the Jiajing Emperor closed his eyes for a brief moment. From his expression—or rather, the lack of one—it was impossible to discern any particular emotion. He asked the question casually, as if discussing a matter of ordinary routine.

“Your Majesty, the Grand Secretariat’s opinions are divided, and the differences are attached for your consideration. One view holds that the maritime prohibition is an ancestral institution and must never be violated. Fishermen and woodcutters may operate on inland lakes and rivers, but no vessel, however small, should venture into the sea. Especially given the disasters wrought by the Japanese pirates on the official trading ports, the rules of the maritime ban must remain strictly enforced. There is no room for leniency.

“The other view argues that the rise of the Japanese pirates was not caused by the closure of the ports, but by the people of Fujian and Zhejiang going overseas to trade with foreign lands for profit, gathering followers, and then plotting reckless schemes. In previous years, they only raided the coastal areas. Since the ports were closed, however, their raids have spread inland. Reports indicate that the true number of Japanese pirates barely reaches a thousand; most are merely local coastal bandits from Zhangzhou and Wenzhou, forming alliances and guiding the rest, much as northern barbarians once led their incursions against us. If the maritime ban were relaxed, coastal residents could participate in overseas trade via official ports, and former “pirates” could turn to commerce, causing no further chaos, while the state treasury could be replenished many times over. Of course, those pirates who are dedicated criminals must be dealt with without mercy, and the full force of the law should fall upon them.”

Disagreement within the Grand Secretariat was nothing new. In the past, when opinions diverged, all perspectives were simply compiled for the emperor’s final decision.

“And what does Wei Zhong say?” the emperor asked after a moment.

Wei Zhong was the courtesy name of Yan Song. The emperor’s choice to refer to him by his courtesy name showed just how highly he valued Yan Song’s opinion. At this time, Yan Song was still in the emperor’s good graces; their relationship was harmonious, almost in a honeymoon phase.

In the emperor’s eyes, the loyal, diligent, intelligent, yet cautious Yan Song was far preferable to the fiery, impetuous Zhang Cong or the obstinate Xia Yan, who would shout and pound the table at the slightest provocation. A submissive, capable, and willing servant—someone who could follow orders and get things done—was exactly the type of aide he wanted.

“Your Majesty, Elder Yan says: the strict maritime ban has its merits, and a relaxed ban is also reasonable. I am at a loss, my head in a mess. The decision, the right course of action, I leave to Your Majesty.” Huang Jin read Yan Song’s words carefully, pausing slightly at each phrase.

“Heh… that old fox, slippery as ever…” the emperor chuckled, half scolding, half admiring.

This was typical of Yan Song’s style. Cautious to the point of cowardice, he cleverly avoided taking sides in matters fraught with danger. He presented both positions without committing to either, subtly shifting the responsibility onto the emperor: “My mind is in turmoil, Your Majesty, so the decision rests with your wisdom.” In doing so, he both avoided blame and flattered the emperor—a delicate, almost imperceptible display of cunning.

Such was Yan Song’s skill: he understood the emperor’s preferences, and could shirk responsibility without ever provoking his wrath.

“Huang Ban, summon the ministers of the Grand Secretariat, as well as the Ministers and Vice Ministers of Personnel, Revenue, Rites, War, and Works… into the hall for court assembly.” After a brief moment of thought, the emperor instructed Huang Jin to summon the relevant officials.

“At once, Your Majesty,” Huang Jin said with a bow, then rose to send the order via the junior eunuchs.

The issue of the maritime ban had been debated by court and country for years without resolution. Observing the emperor now, it seemed he intended to settle it once and for all today.

Soon, several junior eunuchs clutching ceremonial dusters hurried from the Western Garden to deliver the summons.

In no time, senior ministers began arriving from various offices, guided to a waiting hall in the Western Garden by the eunuchs.

Once the ministers had gathered, subtle factions became apparent. One faction was led by Minister of Personnel Li Mo, while the other naturally aligned under Yan Song and his son. Curiously, Xu Jie, at some unknown moment, had grown close to Yan Shifan; the two whispered and chuckled together quietly in the hall.

Li Mo cast a look of disdain at Xu Jie. He had once hoped that Xu Jie might join his side, and that together they could rival Yan Song. With some effort, perhaps even overcome him. But unexpectedly, this spineless fool had instead attached himself to Yan Song.

What rankled Li Mo most was Xu Jie’s shameless behavior regarding Yan Shifan’s newly married concubine. He had gone so far as to send gifts, boasting that Yan Shifan’s two-year-old son was extraordinary and offering his own granddaughter in marriage to the child. When Yan Shifan noted the boy’s betrothal, Xu Jie shamelessly suggested that his granddaughter might serve as a concubine instead.

Li Mo’s contempt for Xu Jie was boundless: a man who once seemed upright now revealed himself as a spineless, sycophantic coward. Worse, he was openly groveling. Truly shameless!

Li Mo glared at Xu Jie, snorted coldly, and straightened his back to stand proudly at the forefront of his faction, creating a sharp contrast with the stooped, elderly Yan Song.

After the junior eunuchs reported that the ministers had assembled, the emperor still kept them waiting. He meditated in silence, cycling through several rounds of his internal qi, before finally taking a leisurely sip of tea and walking to the hall.

Taming ministers, he thought, was like training a hawk…

This was Jiajing’s style—a self-taught master of psychological strategy.

“Ministers, we greet Your Majesty! Long live the emperor, ten thousand years, ten thousand ten thousand years!” The ministers, parched from waiting, scrambled to kneel in respect, exhausted yet eager.

“Huang Ban, distribute the memorials.” Seated high on the Dragon Throne, the emperor surveyed the ministers before him, their energy drained, and nodded with quiet satisfaction. He instructed Huang Jin to present the memorials.

Huang Jin, who had prepared multiple copies of the memorials, descended to distribute them to the waiting ministers.

The documents in their hands were from Zhejiang Censor Dong Wei, petitioning to relax the maritime ban to benefit fishermen and woodcutters and to enrich the nation.

This petition was already anticipated by Yan Song, who had warned his allies to prepare. Li Mo and others, however, only now learned that today’s assembly would discuss the maritime ban. Nevertheless, having debated the issue for years, they were not unprepared.

“Speak your minds freely. Hide nothing. Today’s discussion shall bear no punishment; no one will be prosecuted for their words. You are all my trusted ministers; speak openly, and I will listen attentively.” Sitting on the throne, Jiajing encouraged the ministers to express their opinions on Dong Wei’s petition.

Upon hearing this, the ministers all bowed, acknowledging his decree.

“Your Majesty’s kindness is boundless. We are bathed in your grace and shall strive to relieve your concerns. The maritime ban is a matter of long-standing importance, affecting many. We shall do our utmost—let us begin the discussion.” After bowing, Yan Song surveyed the ministers slowly, setting the tone for the debate. Then he turned to Li Mo: “Minister Li, you have learned counsel to offer?”

The moment Yan Song finished, Li Mo lifted his head proudly and declared, “The maritime ban is an ancestral institution, an unchangeable law of our forefathers. The current disasters caused by Japanese pirates prove this. The ban should remain strict. Vessels must be destroyed, patrols reinforced, traitors captured, and no ship allowed to enter the sea. The trading offices must not reopen. Advocating the relaxation of the ban is outright rebellion; Dong Wei and his followers deserve severe punishment.”

Within Yan Song’s faction, Zhao Wenhua immediately retorted, “Minister Li claims the pirate menace arose from relaxing the ban. I beg to differ. The pirates were already rampant under the strict ban. The so-called pirate bands are no more than local coastal bandits from Zhangzhou and Wenzhou, gathering followers and plotting mischief. Their rise is not due to the closure of ports, but to private profit gained by maritime trade.”

He concluded decisively: “Open trade turns pirates into merchants; strict bans turn merchants into pirates.”

Yan Song nodded in approval.

Li Mo’s faction countered swiftly, invoking precedents set by the founding emperor. Soon, the hall erupted into a heated debate.

The discussion gradually evolved from the maritime ban and Japanese pirates into a contest of classical knowledge and quotations.

Jiajing listened, expression unchanged, fascinated by the ministers’ verbal sparring.

This was the moment to display skill and erudition.

Each minister summoned obscure classics to strengthen his argument, delving ever deeper into esoteric references. The debate became a contest of obscure texts, a duel of scholarly prowess.

Jiajing, intrigued, realized several classics mentioned were unfamiliar to him. His curiosity piqued, he scribbled a note and sent it via a young eunuch to the Hanlin Academy, instructing them to retrieve the referenced texts from the imperial library and deliver them to the Western Garden.

Upon receiving the note, the Hanlin scholars gazed at the rare and arcane titles, wanting to curse. A fire in the court, they thought, could easily consume even the Hanlin Academy…