MLMD -Chapter 386 A New Official Brings Three Fires (Part 1)

Yue Yang’s words immediately caused an uproar among the assembled officials. The moment he opened his mouth, he made it clear to everyone: I’m here to smash the old order—watch yourselves. Such an arrogant attitude instantly enraged a large number of people.

A young official dressed in a blue official robe immediately stood up, clasped his hands toward Yue Yang, and said proudly, “Marquis Yue, I’ve long heard that you are skilled at commanding troops. I didn’t expect you to be so insightful when it comes to governing as well. However, this humble official does not quite understand what you mean by ‘handling affairs.’ What exactly is your method?”

“Oh?” Yue Yang glanced sideways at the official. He was about thirty years old, clean-shaven, fair-skinned, the very picture of a scholarly type, though the stubborn upturn at the corners of his mouth marked him as someone who clung fiercely to his principles.

Yue Yang asked calmly, “And who might you be? Don’t you know that before speaking to a superior, you must first report your name and official position? Where did you learn your court etiquette?”

“You—”

Publicly reprimanded by Yue Yang, the young official’s fair face flushed red at once. He wanted to retort, but realized that he truly was in the wrong—he had spoken too hastily and forgotten proper protocol. Suppressing his indignation and anger, he reluctantly cupped his hands toward Yue Yang and said in a muffled voice, “This humble official begs your pardon, Marquis. I was discourteous just now. I am Yan Hongfeng, Censor dispatched to Jinan from Shandong. Greetings, Governor.”

Seeing that this inspecting censor addressed him by office rather than by noble title, Yue Yang smiled faintly but did not speak. At that moment, the Provincial Administration Commissioner Ke Zhen’nan beside him hurriedly scolded, “How dare you! How can you address Marquis Yue in such a manner?”

Yue Yang understood why Ke Zhen’nan rebuked the censor. It stemmed from a long-standing habit: when addressing others—especially superiors—people liked to inflate titles. In modern times, people often dropped the word “deputy” when addressing someone in a vice position, which sounded better and satisfied vanity. In ancient times it was the same. Among Yue Yang’s many titles, “Loyal and Brave Marquis” was the most prestigious. As a state marquis, people instinctively called him “Marquis.” Yet this man bluntly addressed him as “Governor” in public. To most officials, that would sound like deliberate mockery—hence Ke Zhen’nan’s rebuke.

However, whether Ke Zhen’nan was truly muddleheaded or intentionally stirring things up was unclear, for Yan Hongfeng stiffened his neck and said, “Commissioner Ke, your words are mistaken. Lord Yue is the highest parental official of Shandong. Is it wrong for this humble official to address him as such?”

“You—” Seeing Yan Hongfeng dare to contradict him in public, Ke Zhen’nan was so furious his beard bristled and his eyes bulged. Just as he was about to stand and curse, Yue Yang waved his hand, signaling him to sit.

Yue Yang then said to Yan Hongfeng, “Commissioner Ke, calm yourself—there’s no need to lose your temper. Since Censor Yan does not understand what I am here to do, I can explain it once more myself.”

After clearing his throat twice, Yue Yang said with a smile that was anything but warm, “This time, I have come to Shandong for several matters: land-tax equalization, returning surcharges to the public treasury, requiring officials and gentry alike to perform labor and pay taxes, and reopening maritime trade. Once these matters are properly handled, my task here will be complete. Have you all understood?”

“I have understood,” Yan Hongfeng replied, a trace of disdain flashing through his eyes. He said, “Governor Yue, the matters you speak of—equalizing land taxes, returning surcharges to the public treasury, making officials and gentry pay taxes alike, reopening the sea ban—every single one shakes the court and the realm. Let us put aside the rest and speak only of requiring officials and gentry to pay taxes. Our August Ancestor Emperor long ago set the rule that any scholar with an official degree is tax-exempt, and all land under his name pays no grain tax. This is ancestral law. Yet now you wish to destroy the rule set by our founding emperor—this is an act of great rebellion! This humble official absolutely cannot agree!”

“Censor Yan speaks most reasonably!” Another middle-aged official in a blue robe stood up and said, “This humble official is Lü Zibu, Magistrate of Fangzi County. In my opinion, this policy is one of competing with the people for profit. Have you not heard of the calamity of taxation in the Wanli reign? Tax collectors rushed like fire, searches were as dense as ox hair; scoundrels and desperadoes clung to tigers and wolves. Shandong is already poor. For the gentry to do a bit of trade is no easy thing. If even officials and gentry are taxed, it will only escalate—ten coins today, a hundred tomorrow, a hundred taels the day after. Before long, families will be ruined and lives destroyed. I firmly believe this must never be done.”

“Exactly…”

“Magistrate Lü is absolutely right—this is competing with the people for profit. It cannot be done!”

With someone taking the lead, the surrounding officials all began speaking up. Those with gentler temperaments said the measures were too hasty and required careful deliberation. The hot-tempered ones nearly accused Yue Yang of incompetence outright. In short, everyone insisted these policies were utterly unworkable.

Watching the officials unanimously oppose him, Provincial Commissioner Ke Zhen’nan, Surveillance Commissioner Ma Ke, and Commander Lu Zhili—the highest-ranking officials in Shandong—said nothing, merely narrowing their eyes, flashes of smug satisfaction occasionally passing through them.

In their view, Yue Yang’s actions were sheer madness. Not only in the current dynasty, but even under the Mongol-ruled Yuan or as far back as the Song, officials and gentry were never required to pay taxes. And Yue Yang went even further, implementing land-tax equalization—meaning taxes would no longer be levied per head, but by actual acreage. Was this not absurd?

Even worse was “returning surcharges to the public treasury.” After the Single Whip Reform, taxes were paid in silver rather than goods. While this facilitated collection, it caused losses when small pieces of silver were melted into ingots. Officials demanded extra payments to cover this “loss,” called huohao (surcharge). Though actual losses were only 1–2%, officials often levied an additional 20–30%, sometimes even 50%. It had become a common means of lining their pockets. Yue Yang’s policy would cut off that income entirely.

If you, surnamed Yue, want to flip the table and stop us from eating, then don’t blame us for being ruthless, they thought. Let’s see what waves you can make in Shandong without our help. After all, you can’t personally go to the countryside to collect taxes.

They argued noisily for nearly half an hour. Yue Yang listened for the same amount of time. When things finally quieted down, everyone looked at him smugly, eager to see what the aggressive Marquis would do in the face of unanimous opposition.

“Are you finished?”

A light, almost casual voice came from Yue Yang.

He looked at the officials—faces flushed with excitement—and said slowly, “Perhaps you have misunderstood one thing. I was not asking for your opinions just now; I was ordering you to handle matters according to this plan. If any of you believe you cannot do it, or lack the ability, submit your resignation. I will approve it immediately. To put it bluntly, three-legged toads are hard to find, but two-legged men are everywhere. If you won’t do the job, plenty of others will. Have you all understood?”

At this, everyone’s faces changed drastically. Yue Yang’s words were outrageously arrogant. He was making it clear: whether you agree or not, this will be done—or you’ll be replaced.

Lü Zibu stood up again, anger written all over his face. “Governor Yue, this humble official and my colleagues received our posts from His Majesty, not from you. It will not be so easy for you to strip us of our offices!”

In officialdom, speaking to a superior in such a tone was tantamount to openly tearing off the mask. But Lü Zibu’s anger was understandable—Yue Yang was about to smash his rice bowl.

In the feudal era, however, officialdom differed greatly from modern times. Today, an official’s appointment depends on higher authorities, who can remove him at will. In the feudal age, however, the power to appoint or dismiss officials of seventh rank and above lay solely with the emperor. Their only object of loyalty was the man in the Forbidden City.

Thus, officials feared their superiors far less than modern officials do, and subordinates defying or even impeaching their superiors was commonplace.

Yue Yang looked at Lü Zibu, narrowed his eyes, and said calmly, “Sorry, Magistrate Lü. Before I came, His Majesty granted me a power: anyone who dares obstruct my implementation of the new policies in Shandong, I may dismiss. If you think I’m lying, feel free to try.”

If Yue Yang’s earlier words were a threat, these were outright intimidation. He had made it crystal clear—obey, or get out.

Some might think that if all Shandong officials went on strike, the administration would grind to a halt, forcing Yue Yang to back down. That would be a mistake. Any era lacks manpower in many fields, but never in official posts. Even in later generations, a single civil-service janitor position attracted PhDs fighting tooth and nail—let alone posts like county magistrate or prefect. Even if every one of the hundred-plus officials present resigned, Yue Yang needed only to shout once, and several times that number would rush to flatter the Loyal and Brave Marquis in hopes of an appointment.

“Well? Does anyone wish to leave? You may tell me now, or go back and write your resignation immediately. I will not stop you!”

Yue Yang’s icy words echoed in everyone’s ears. The message was clear: stay and obey, or leave—no mercy.

Seeing his ironclad stance, one man who feared nothing stood up—it was Yan Hongfeng. He glared at Yue Yang and said angrily, “Governor Yue, though this humble official is merely a seventh-rank censor, I still possess a scholar’s integrity. Don’t try to scare me. I will submit a memorial to His Majesty, impeaching you for competing with the people for profit and disgracing the scholarly class!”

After speaking, Yan Hongfeng sneered and lifted his chin in disdain. But to his disappointment, Yue Yang showed no anger at all. Calmly, he said, “Censor Yan, as a remonstrating official, I have no authority over you. If you wish to leave, the door is there—please go. Now, is there anyone else who opposes my implementation of the new policies? You may stand up now. I will grant your wish…”

Thus ended Yue Yang’s first welcoming banquet in Jinan, in a thoroughly unpleasant atmosphere. The Shandong officials who attended came in high spirits and left dejected, all talking afterward about the domineering Loyal and Brave Marquis and his deadly new policies.

Yue Yang returned to the Governor’s Office. Chen Zhi and Wu Qing, who had accompanied him to Shandong, followed him into the signing chamber.

“Marquis… you’ve just arrived and already treated the Shandong officials like this—is that appropriate?” Chen Zhi asked worriedly as soon as they entered.

Yue Yang sat down, sank back into his chair, took a large sip of tea brought by a maid, exhaled deeply, and then looked at them. “You both think I was too hasty, don’t you?”

Chen Zhi and Wu Qing exchanged a glance and nodded. Officialdom traditionally prized harmony—everyone getting along ensured stability. Acting so forcefully risked becoming isolated.

Yue Yang sighed and said earnestly, “You still don’t understand the situation. Do you think this is still Shanxi? Can Shandong’s problems be solved gradually?”

They fell silent. Yue Yang was here to smash rice bowls—expecting willing cooperation from officials tied closely to local gentry was unrealistic.

“Expecting Shandong officials to actively help push the new policies is impossible. So I can only prescribe a strong medicine. I don’t need them to help—just don’t sabotage me. Otherwise, don’t blame me for being ruthless!”

His face was resolute. The Ming Empire could no longer endure delay. Without reforming its finances, the decaying empire would collapse under its own weight even without external pressure.

If Yue Yang harbored ill intent, he would welcome chaos. But he had little interest in the throne in the Forbidden City—it looked tempting, but who knew how badly it might burn the one who sat on it?

They say a new official brings three fires—actions taken to show ability and resolve to reform abuses. Simply put, it’s a show of authority.

On the third day after taking office, Yue Yang issued orders to all prefectures and counties: beginning February 13 of the eleventh year of Chongzhen, land surveys were to commence, in preparation for land-tax equalization and equal taxation of officials and gentry. All surveys were to be completed within one month; inspections would follow, and failure would bring accountability to local leaders.

Once the order was issued, Shandong moved like a horse whipped hard. Whether willing or not, once the Governor commanded, subordinates had to act—or suffer later.

While Yue Yang prepared to ignite his first fire, an undercurrent quietly began to stir in Jinan.

Jinan, the provincial capital, housed the Governor’s Office, the Provincial Administration Commission, the Surveillance Commission, the Grand Canal Superintendent’s Office—nearly all of Shandong’s key institutions.

Beneath the towering city walls stood the broad gate. At the entrance, over a dozen soldiers in green uniforms holding muskets watched passersby closely.

Suddenly, the leading soldier stopped a merchant caravan about to enter the city and shouted, “Halt! Prepare for inspection!”

The caravan stopped. A middle-aged man in a blue silk robe stepped down, surprise flashing in his eyes at the sight of the green-uniformed soldiers. Then he arrogantly barked, “Which office are you from? How dare you stop our caravan? Do you know who we are?”

The soldier replied coldly, “Sorry, I don’t know who you are. But by order of the Governor, we are collecting commercial tax on all caravans entering the city. Please stop and submit to inspection.”

“Submit to inspection?” The man laughed as if he’d heard the funniest joke in the world, pointing at the soldier and cursing, “Which woman forgot to close her legs and let you leak out? Do you know who our master is? You dare tax us? Are you tired of living? Believe it or not, one word from me and you’ll be sent home to starve!”