MLMD -Chapter 389 Ruthless and Cruel

The Shandong merchants’ plot was naturally far from flawless. When Yue Yang arrived in Shandong to assume office, he didn’t just bring ten thousand elite troops—he also brought along a team of You Shan Si (Mountain Service) spies, who, over the past few days, had been continuously sending intelligence reports to his desk.

Looking at the information before him, a sense of déjà vu crept into Yue Yang’s mind.

“Eh… this old fellow surnamed Mo has some guts. He’s actually coordinating with merchants in Jinan Prefecture to plan a market strike?”

Yue Yang shook his head with a wry smile. He had encountered such situations before. A few years back, when he first arrived in Hunyuan Prefecture, the father-and-son duo Fang Jiuming and Fang Yingdi led local merchants in a similar protest. At the time, Yue Yang had unhesitatingly deployed the military to suppress it, resulting in hundreds of casualties—a sensational case. But it was precisely because of this that the merchants in northern Shanxi learned to pay their taxes under the threat of guns and bayonets.

He hadn’t expected that now, in Shandong, someone would attempt a market strike again. Would he have to unleash the sword every time he entered a new region just to implement reforms?

Seeing Yue Yang lost in thought, Jiang He, standing before him with his usual stern expression, spoke:

“Marquis, from the intelligence we’ve gathered, it appears that all these actions are being instigated by that old man Mo Ren. If you don’t want things to escalate, perhaps we should have him arrested first. Without their ringleader, the others probably won’t dare act.”

Yue Yang shook his head with a sigh. “It won’t help. Interests are at stake. Even if we deal with Mo, the merchants will continue resisting to protect their own gains. And if we want to implement the policy of integrating officials and gentry for duties and taxes smoothly in Shandong, there is one family we simply cannot bypass—they are the largest landowners in the province.”

Seeing Yue Yang’s troubled expression, Jiang He cautiously asked, “Marquis… are you referring to the family in Qufu?”

Yue Yang nodded solemnly. “Yes—the Kong family of Qufu.”

At this, Jiang He’s face darkened. Although not a scholar himself, he understood the weight of the Kong family of Qufu. This was no ordinary clan. Qufu was the birthplace of Confucius, the sage revered by all scholars in the Ming Empire. Any move against this family would likely make Yue Yang the enemy of every scholar in the realm.

After a moment of silence, Yue Yang asked, “Jiang, as the Deputy Director of You Shan Si, you must be familiar with the situation in Qufu. Tell me what you know about them.”

Jiang He nodded. “Naturally. Even if you didn’t ask, I would still report it to you.”

He then gave Yue Yang a detailed report on the Kong family in Qufu.

Qufu was inseparable from the Kong Mansion, as the direct descendants of Confucius—the “Yan Sheng Gong”—resided there. Nearly 80% of the land in Qufu belonged to the Kong family. Though Qufu County was nominally under Ming jurisdiction, it was practically their private domain. Most of the residents were tenants of the Kongs. To say the Kong family’s word carried absolute weight in Qufu was no exaggeration.

If Yue Yang wanted to push reforms in Shandong, gaining the Kong family’s support would make things far easier.

Yue Yang frowned. As Qufu’s largest landowner, the Kong family possessed over a million acres of land. Implementing the integrated official-gentry duties and taxation policy would inevitably involve them.

“Ugh… such a headache,” he muttered.

After Jiang He left, Yue Yang pondered the situation for a long time, but no solution came to mind. Eventually, he decided he would personally travel to Qufu to meet the current “Yan Sheng Gong” of the Kong family and seek his support.

From Jinan to Qufu was over two hundred li. Yue Yang rode with a thousand bodyguards, and by the time night fell, they arrived at Qufu’s city walls. But the gates were closed. He sent Chen Dazhi to request entry, only to be told to return the next morning—much to Chen Dazhi’s annoyance.

Yue Yang, however, was unfazed. Most cities closed their gates at night unless there were special circumstances, fearing bandits might sneak in. He ordered his men to rest in the nearby woods, and at dawn, he and several dozen guards entered the city.

Yet when they arrived at the Kong Mansion, they were met with a closed door.

The Kong Mansion sat at the center of Qufu, facing south. A large white-and-pink screen wall stood in front, flanked by a pair of two-meter-tall male and female stone lions. The black-and-red gate featured engraved Suanni lion heads, and above it hung a blue-and-gold plaque inscribed with “Sacred Mansion,” reportedly penned by the Ming Chancellor Yan Song himself. Even a glance at this gate exuded solemnity and majesty.

But Yue Yang wasn’t here to admire the mansion. Presenting his credentials to the gatekeeper, he waited half an hour before the man returned, lazily announcing that the Yan Sheng Gong was unavailable and he should come another day.

Yue Yang, patient, said: “Brother, please tell the Yan Sheng Gong that Marquis Yue Yang has urgent business with him. Kindly accommodate us.”

The gatekeeper, however, ignored etiquette. He scowled and snapped, “I said he won’t see you. Does the Yan Sheng Gong meet just anyone?”

“Bastard… you…”

Chen Dazhi, loyal to Yue Yang for four or five years, nearly lost his temper at such insolence. He stepped forward, hand on his sword, ready to strike. But Yue Yang stopped him with a calm gesture, then fixed the gatekeeper with a piercing gaze:

“I’ll ask you once more—does the Yan Sheng Gong truly have no time today, or does he simply not wish to see me?”

Under Yue Yang’s gaze, the gatekeeper’s bravado wilted. Facing a marquis and provincial governor, he dared not offend. Hesitating, he finally replied, “The Yan Sheng Gong is busy. You’d better leave.”

Yue Yang’s face darkened. It had been years since anyone had dared speak to him this way, yet today he was denied entry.

He slowly nodded. “Very well. We shall take our leave. But convey to the Yan Sheng Gong that it matters little if he refuses me today—he will meet me soon enough.”

Mounting their horses, Yue Yang and Chen Dazhi, along with a few dozen riders, rode back along their path.

On horseback, Chen Dazhi fumed. “Marquis, we’ve ridden all day to Qufu, and they didn’t even offer us a drink before sending us away. I can’t swallow this anger!”

“It’s nothing—just the Yan Sheng Gong,” Yue Yang squinted. “Rest assured, he will see us soon enough. Now—” With that, he spurred his horse and galloped toward the city gate.

Meanwhile, in a lavishly decorated reception hall of the Kong Mansion, Mo Ren, dressed in a dark green robe, spoke with a stout man in his forties—Kong Yanzhi, the sixty-fourth Yan Sheng Gong.

Mo Ren wore a humble smile. “Yan Sheng Gong, I am truly grateful that you could see me despite your busy schedule. I hesitated to come at all, but this matter is critical. Without proper caution, our ancestral legacy could be destroyed.”

Kong Yanzhi nodded lightly, a hint of disdain in his eyes. “Mo Ren, don’t be too anxious. This integrated official-gentry duty and tax policy is absurd—throughout history, scholars like us have opposed such schemes. Yet this Marquis Yue Yang insists on implementing it. Watch closely—if we persist in resisting, he’ll soon retreat to Shanxi in defeat.”

Mo Ren’s face fell. “Yan Sheng Gong, I’ve heard that Yue Yang has already successfully implemented this policy in Shanxi. The emperor, impressed by that success, sent him here to Shandong, with ten thousand troops. If he acts aggressively, we won’t be able to resist.”

Mo Ren had carefully prepared: he had coordinated with the major figures of Jinan’s merchants, securing their tacit approval, then approached the Kong family for support. With both groups aligned, the market strike would be largely guaranteed. And as expected, upon hearing Yue Yang’s plans, Kong Yanzhi was furious—millions of acres of land would be subject to taxes, and even scholars would have to perform labor duties alongside commoners. For him, this was unbearable, so he refused any compliance.

Finally, Kong Yanzhi made a firm promise to Mo Ren: “Rest assured. Within a few days, I will submit a memorial to the emperor, denouncing this Marquis Yue Yang for violating ancestral customs and destabilizing the state. Should he continue with these reforms, I will publicize his actions to scholars across the realm, calling for their condemnation.”

Half an hour later, Mo Ren left the Kong Mansion with a satisfied smile, confident that with the support of the Kong family and local gentry, Yue Yang would find it nearly impossible to advance his reforms in Shandong.

The market strike preparations quietly accelerated. The date was set for two weeks later, and it would span the entire province, sending a clear message: anyone threatening the interests of the gentry and merchants would face serious consequences.

Back at the Provincial Governor’s office, Yue Yang sat calmly reviewing the intelligence reports, while Li Xiangjun, serving as his temporary secretary, reported updates in her usual gentle tone—though Yue Yang could sense the worry beneath it.

To her, it seemed Yue Yang was asking for trouble. In Shanxi, he had comfortably governed and established his policies; why venture into hostile Shandong to implement reforms? But Yue Yang smiled faintly and pinched her cheek playfully.

“Don’t trust your husband’s ability?” he teased.

“How could I not?” Li Xiangjun exclaimed, shaking her head. “I have absolute faith in you. But I don’t understand—why leave the comfort of Shanxi to risk your life in Shandong?”

Yue Yang paused, recalling all he had done since arriving in this world—rebuilding, governing, training troops, suppressing bandits, dealing with the court, even negotiating with the emperor over marriage. He had pursued all this for a purpose, and a hint of awe-struck reflection crossed his mind.

Seeing him lost in thought, Li Xiangjun panicked, fearing she had angered him, and choked out an apology.

Yue Yang, smiling warmly, drew her close and kissed her forehead. “You’re my wife. Do you need to be so cautious speaking to me? I’m not angry—I’m simply thinking. What you asked nearly stumped me, but now I can tell you—it’s all meaningful.”

He asked, “And tell me, how is Shanxi under my governance?”

Li Xiangjun, leaning against him, replied without hesitation: “Thanks to your rule, banditry is quelled, people live in peace, everyone has enough to eat and wear. Compared to the rest of the Ming, Shanxi is in a world of difference.”

“Good,” Yue Yang said with satisfaction. “Now, I’ve come to Shandong to implement reforms. It’s an ungrateful task that will offend many, yet I am here. Do you know why?”

“I understand!” Li Xiangjun nodded fervently. “You are doing it for the people of Shandong, so they can live as well as the people of Shanxi!”

He chuckled softly. “Perhaps. I just don’t want to see another tragedy of nomadic invasions ravaging the Central Plains. The farmers have suffered enough.”

Li Xiangjun frowned in confusion. “Nomadic tribes? Farmers?”

Yue Yang stroked her hair and smiled. “You don’t need to know. Just trust that I’m doing the right thing.”

She nestled closer, feeling completely at ease. And in his heart, Yue Yang resolved: if they insist on opposing my reforms, they won’t escape my ruthlessness.