Chapter 30: Dialogue

Whether they had memorized tson lines or not, Mr. Gui and Mr. Hai had spent the past half month near the Crown Prince, and it could be said they had gotten a bit of practice. 

After a brief and suffocating silence, the two men casually changed the topic, starting to discuss the recent poetry and literary gatherings, as if the previous two lines of poetry had never been spoken.

Zhang Taiyue’s emotional intelligence was certainly top-notch, unparalleled, and invincible. 

People who leave a mark in history generally don’t have poor emotional intelligence, after all.

No matter how much future generations criticize the examination system for selecting officials based on rigid essays, the imperial examination system to this day remains the most rational and fair method of advancement in this world. 

After two rounds of improvements during the reign of the founding emperor and his successor, the Ministry of Rites’ imperial exams hardly allow for any private influence or corruption. 

Even when senior officials want to promote tson protégés, they can only engage in some indirect maneuvering at such literary gatherings, using poetry and essays to bring tson outstanding disciples to the forefront, thereby paving the way for future recognition in the imperial exams.

Such high-end, exclusive literary gatherings are obviously beyond the reach of ordinary scholars. Even Mr. Gui Zhenchuan and Mr. Hai Gangfeng’s qualifications to attend were secured by Mu Qi, who shamelessly leveraged his position as the son of the Duke Mu’s residence, using a formal invitation to demand entry. 

Frankly speaking, it was a rare and shocking event for the son of the Duke Mu’s residence to show interest in a literary gathering, something so unusual that it would make the literati in the Beijing drop tson jaws in disbelief. 

And the two gentlemen, holding the invitation of the Duke’s residence, could not avoid subtle discrimination:

“Even the son of the Duke Mu has to fawn over you, so how poor must your taste be?”

However, such arrogant condescension often leads to nothing more than an embarrassing slap in the face, and today was no exception. 

Both gentlemen were magnanimous and often helped others cover up tson faults. But Mu Qi, paying close attention, quickly sensed something was off. 

High-end literary gatherings in the Beijing were costly, and the people who organized them were not likely to do so out of the kindness of tson hearts. 

Such large-scale efforts to court scholars were usually aimed at giving tson own sons a chance to shine, accumulating some reputation before they officially entered the government.

This intent was understandable, and the operation was simple enough. The direction of the gathering was, after all, vaguely controlled by the hosts. 

With prior preparation, some advance information, and a couple of flunkies to set the mood, it was usually easy to maintain the atmosphere at the event.

But since it was “usually,” there were bound to be exceptions.

For instance, one of the more well-known gatherings in the Beijing recently was the “Spring Appreciation Banquet” hosted by Vice Minister Yan of the Ministry of War, who used a medicinal wine given by the Feixuan Zhenjun as the theme of the literary gathering. 

Officially, it was a way to share the Emperor’s grace with the scholars preparing for the exams, but in reality, it was an opportunity to promote Yan’s nephew, Yan Zhiming, and push him onto the stage, making sure the benefits stayed within the family.

For this purpose, the Yan family had prepared carefully. They even discarded the commonly used poetry and essays, deliberately choosing to focus on the prose and policy discussions that they were particularly skilled in, hoping to achieve something unexpected and win through confusion.

And then they ran straight into Gui Zhenchuan.

Mr. Gui was quite understanding of social nuances, and even when writing essays, he held back just enough, not using his most familiar subjects. 

But still, as the saying goes, there is a huge gap in literary talent between people. While others may not have put much effort into it, tson opponent was utterly defeated with no room to even struggle.

In short, Gui Zhenchuan wrote effortlessly, and the entire room passed around the article, each person silent after reading it. 

Although it’s often said that there is no second in writing, the gap was so vast that even a fool could see it. It would be rude to slap the host’s face in front of so many literati, but surely they couldn’t pretend to be deaf and blind, blindly praising it?

Moreover, since everyone present was well-read, it was obvious to them what the situation was—this kind of humiliation, where the facade is shattered, was just like a reissue of King Teng pavilion from years ago. 

And the host’s family name was also Yan! If things went badly, this could even make it into history books as an anecdote. Were they really trying to become immortalized as fools for future generations?

Of course, a mere essay wasn’t anything in the grand scheme of things. When it came to officialdom and positions in the Beijing, the true test would be in the imperial examinations. 

The Yan family was strong in this area, and no common scholar could surpass them.

“Strategic essays are about political discussions and clarifying viewpoints, and Yan’s uncle is an assistant minister, which gives him a clear advantage,” Mu Qi explained, fearing the two might have misunderstandings. “With such an advantage, it would be strange if he didn’t win.”

Gui Zhenchuan remained silent, and Hai Gangfeng hesitated, pondering. After a moment of silence, Hai finally spoke in a soft voice:

“Actually, that Zhang Taiyue is also attending the literary meeting.”

Mu Qi: ………

He was stunned for a moment, unable to help but feel a bit of sympathy for Yan, the assistant minister.

The Yan family received two heavy blows, similar to the King Teng pavilion trick, and how 
Yan Ge Lao felt about it was still unknown to the outside world, but Zhang Taiyue’s reputation soared, and it quickly spread through the Beijing.

As a fellow SSR of the current dynasty, Hai Gangfeng was deeply impressed by Zhang Taiyue’s political commentary, even able to recite it in full:

“Mr. Zhang said, today’s world is full of chaos, with issues concerning the Taimiao, the Japanese pirates, and the Yuan Dynasty history, all of which are complex and difficult to resolve. 

But the current emperor is bold and decisive, never someone who hesitates. Although the court is busy, he will certainly cut through the chaos with a swift stroke and resolve everything in a short time without delay… So, there will be a major upheaval in the court soon.”

At this point, Hai Gangfeng hesitated. Zhang Taiyue’s argument during the literary meeting was logical and persuasive, so he couldn’t help but believe it. 

But now, upon thinking more about it, he found it unbelievable: the restoration of the Taimiao’ temple, editing the Yuan history, and establishing coastal defense were all monumental tasks that were incredibly complicated and difficult to manage. 

Even just organizing the assignments would be a huge project. How could such a heavy task be completed in such a short time?

Handling a large country is like cooking a small fish—hasn’t the court realized this?

But Mu Qi, the son of the Duke of Mu, was stunned for a moment, then slowly nodded with a very strange expression:

“Could he really predict all of this? Truly, Zhang Taiyue…”

Indeed, he was the essence of the dynasty, the concentrated wisdom of 300 years of bureaucracy, a human AI of the court. The old Taoist spent his whole life with cryptic and mysterious methods, relying on the idea that the emperor’s heart was inscrutable. 

Unless you were one of the few sharp minds in the inner cabinet, even the officials in the six ministries wouldn’t understand the emperor’s true intentions. 

For a scholar who had just arrived in the Beijing to understand the emperor’s temperament so thoroughly—this insight was truly terrifying.

Gold will shine anywhere, and it is said that the refined official Xu Shaohu had already started pulling in talents… What a perceptive old official!

Hai Gangfeng was puzzled: “Is it really going to happen this quickly?”

Mu Qi smiled faintly: “The emperor’s style is indeed like this. From the current situation, we can probably expect a resolution around the longevity festival… perhaps the emperor has other considerations.”

Whether or not the emperor had considerations, Mu Qi didn’t know, but from historical evidence, the old Taoist’s style was most likely influenced by his alchemical practices. 

Heavy metal poisoning led to uncontrollable impatience and frustration, diminishing his tolerance and making him act more hastily. 

That was why, in such complex situations, he proceeded recklessly, pushing forward with decisions that weren’t fully thought out.

In fact, this temperament became more pronounced later on, to the point where his subordinates had figured out his methods. 

The Yan Dang often sent memorials when the emperor was under the influence of his medicine, taking advantage of his sudden bursts of rage to manipulate and control things. 

It caused political chaos, with no one daring to speak out until the anger boiled over, finally bringing forth Hai Gangfeng as a major figure.

Having schemed his whole life only to be played by his subordinates—this must have been the old emperor’s karmic retribution. There was no one to blame.

However, Hai Gangfeng obviously didn’t know the underlying cause of the emperor’s downfall. 

He tried to understand the emperor’s decisions but remained deeply concerned.

“I won’t discuss other matters, but the coastal defense is an issue that shouldn’t be made too public. After all, the Japanese envoys are still in the Beijing…”

The Japanese weren’t fools—would they just watch as preparations were made to eliminate them? Even cornered animals would fight back, and the Japanese were certainly more intelligent than animals!

Now that the coastal defense was vulnerable, if chaos broke out prematurely, how would they handle it?

Mu Qi shook his head and sighed.

“Anyway, the emperor’s decision is final… As for receiving the Japanese envoys, that’s my responsibility. We can’t let things escalate too much.”

As expected, the news of coastal defense reforms spread, and within two days, the Japanese envoy, Nan Yexiren, stormed into the court, furious, rude, and far from the respectful figure he had been just a few days earlier. 

Clearly, after the heavy crackdown on Japanese spies and the emperor’s increasingly tough stance, the envoy, provoked repeatedly, had finally lost patience and was now openly testing the waters.

“I’ve heard that your country is preparing for war against us!” he said angrily, “We come here to pay tribute, and this is the treatment we receive? What betrayal and dishonor!”

The Duke of Mu’s son, who was carefully reviewing official documents, didn’t even raise his head. He motioned for his attendants to leave, then spoke slowly:

“Allow me to correct your esteemed envoy on a few points. First, based on the situation of our negotiations, it is by no means ‘a breach of trust.’ 

Such statements are irrelevant, and you, esteemed envoy, should practice Chinese more. Second, speaking of ‘breach of trust,’ our country certainly cannot compare to the lofty ideals of your nation, the knowledge of Japan. Third…”

He finally glanced at Nan Yexiren and smiled slightly.

“Who said our country is strengthening its maritime defense to target the Dongying? The imperial edict is very clear; it’s to guard against the deceitful Japanese pirates. Could it be that the whole of Japan is made up of such pirates?”

Nan Yexiren froze for a moment before quickly defending, “What is the heir apparent saying? 
Leaving aside the fact that our country has always been respectful, even if there were a few rebels, it would only be a minor issue, not worth such a large-scale response from your esteemed country. Is this really necessary?”

While this statement was an explanation, it also carried a tone of subtle sarcasm, likely mocking Da’an’s display of strength in dealing with a few pirates. Mu Qi smiled faintly and did not respond. The Japanese man’s words, though laced with sarcasm, contained some truth. 

Without a revolutionary technological change, the gap in national strength between the two countries was enormous, a gap that could never be crossed. Even a lazy old leader like Deng, with a little effort, could still easily defeat the Japanese.

…But would Japan’s reckless ambitions stop due to a little inconvenience?

It could be said that Japan’s strength was always somewhat lax, but their imperialist ambitions, combined with their cunning and malicious nature, perfectly compensated for this weakness. 

A neighbor so vicious, cruel, and lowly, like a disgusting pest that doesn’t bite but nauseates—having such a neighbor lurking so close by really made one’s stomach churn.

Mu Qi remained calm and unruffled. “It’s not just about Japanese pirates; we are also targeting other ambitious foreign enemies.”

“Foreign enemies?” Nan Yexiren immediately spoke up. “What kind of foreign enemy are you referring to? Does your esteemed country consider us a foreign enemy?”

The son of the Duke of Mu remained silent, but Nan Yexiren was unwilling to let up. He could clearly see the Duke’s son harbored animosity toward Japan but was certain he wouldn’t dare define Japan as an enemy outright. 

As long as Mu Qi ran out of justifications, Nan Yexiren believed he would have a good chance of winning the argument and gaining some benefit.

So, he pressed on, quickly seizing the opportunity: “I cannot understand what you mean by foreign enemies. But I can assure you that our country has no intention of invading your esteemed country! As for what you mean by ‘targeting,’ please do explain.”

He leaned forward, staring intently at Mu Qi, attempting to compress the space for movement and apply invisible pressure. 

Mu Qi lowered his gaze, his expression calm but clearly somewhat embarrassed by the direct questioning. For a moment he struggled to answer.

After a brief standstill, Mu Qi finally spoke softly:

“At present, Japan certainly has no intention of invading the Central Plains, and I believe this.”

Nan Yexiren’s face broke into a slight smile.

“The disparity between China and Japan is so vast that an invasion would be like a snake attempting to swallow an elephant. 

How could it possibly succeed? I think Japan’s noble figures understand this principle.” Mu Qi’s voice was calm, almost as if speaking to himself. “Therefore, it’s best to proceed slowly and steadily, first consolidating a foothold on the continent before talking about the future. 

In short, ‘To conquer China, one must first conquer the Manchus; to conquer the Manchus, one must first conquer Goryeo.’ If they truly intend to strike at China, they should first deal with the Goryeon Peninsula, use it as a springboard to sweep northeast, and then move south… Am I right?”

He smiled broadly and looked up at Nan Yexiren, whose face had suddenly drained of color. Mu Qi’s gaze was clear and innocent, not at all heated.

…So, the grand strategies of nations were often so boring and cliché. Even after hundreds of years, the core ideas hadn’t changed. From every angle, it was simply dull.