MLMD -Chapter 404 Shockwaves

Facing rows upon rows of gleaming spearpoints, not only did the steward’s face drain of color—even the shop clerks and guards behind him visibly paled. Though these guards carried weapons themselves, many showed clear hesitation. After all, the men before them were bona fide government troops. To actually fight officials would be no small crime.

Staring at the coldly flashing blades and spears, the steward hesitated for a moment, then clenched his teeth and turned back to shout at those behind him, “Everyone, charge together! If anything happens, I’ll take responsibility!”

After he finished speaking, he waited—yet no one stepped forward. Immediately, he grew anxious and began yelling at the clerks and guards behind him, “You bunch of idiots, why aren’t you moving? Does the master keep you just to eat for free?”

Dozens of guards and cart drivers exchanged uneasy glances, but still no one advanced. Many were muttering to themselves, “Sure, we’re hired to guard the house—but we didn’t sell our lives to them. Is it really worth committing a capital crime just for two taels of silver a month?”

“You… you cowards! Go on, charge!” Seeing them all shrink back, the steward stamped his feet in frustration.

Before he could curse again, however, a soldier stepped forward and swept his spear shaft sideways. With a loud thud, the steward was knocked to the ground. A heavy boot pressed down on his chest, and a face slowly leaned close as a soft voice spoke, “Well, well. You’ve got some nerve—violent tax resistance, huh? Get ready to enjoy prison food. Men, take this fool away. And haul all the goods to the yamen. Have the Zhang family send someone to claim them.”

Very quickly, the steward was dragged away by the soldiers, and the goods were taken by the tax officials as well. When they took him, the soldiers didn’t even bother asking his name. By then, the city gate was surrounded by curious onlookers. Seeing this scene, they clicked their tongues in amazement.

A middle-aged man watching the excitement said to those beside him, “Hey, brothers—looks like the authorities mean business this time. Even Master Zhang’s caravan got seized. They’ve got some nerve.”

“Who knows?” another man sneered. “Could just be for show—water off a duck’s back. You all know how rich Master Zhang is here in Yanzhou, one of a kind. I bet this steward will be released in half a day at most.”

“Not necessarily,” someone else chimed in. A man with narrow, triangular eyes leaned in and said mysteriously, “I’ve got a brother working at the prefectural yamen. He heard that this new governor is serious. Supposedly he’s raised the commercial tax to fifteen percent, no favoritism allowed. Anyone who disobeys gets their official hat knocked off. How could they not panic?”

“Knock off the official hat?” The others were startled. The oldest among them said, “Do you even know what you’re talking about? Our dynasty has rules—appointments and removals above the seventh rank need imperial approval and the Ministry of Personnel. Does this new governor really have that kind of authority?”

“You don’t get it,” the man with triangular eyes said disdainfully. “Who do you think this new governor is? He’s the Loyal and Brave Marquis! He commands an invincible army. The Manchu barbarians were fierce, weren’t they? He wiped them out all the same. Bandits were raging not long ago—didn’t they even seize Qufu? He sent just a few thousand men and drove them off. Do you think prefects and magistrates would dare disobey him?”

“Is that so?” Not only those two were absorbed—people nearby were drawn in as well. A sixteen- or seventeen-year-old youth slapped his thigh and said, “That’s how it should be! Why should the government only tax us poor folks’ farmland while those officials pay nothing? People like Master Zhang are rolling in money—why shouldn’t they pay taxes? If you ask me, taxing the rich is exactly right. They’ve got plenty of silver; taking more won’t hurt. Am I right?”

“Right… absolutely right!” The crowd buzzed with agreement. Why should only the poor be taxed, while the rich lived with concubines and paid nothing? If taxes were to be paid, then everyone should pay.

From early March onward, the tax controversy grew larger and larger, eventually spreading across all of Shandong. In many places, armed resistance to taxation even broke out. Local governments everywhere cried hardship, and urgent reports flew like snowflakes to the Jinan prefecture.

“Everyone, discuss this—what should be done?”

Inside the governor’s yamen, Yue Yang sat in the seat of honor. Holding a teacup in his left hand and the lid in his right, he gently stirred the leaves, his face calm as he surveyed the crowd.

Below him sat Ma Ke, Ke Zhen’nan, Lu Zhili, Liu Zeqing, and other high provincial officials. After hearing Yue Yang’s question, they all sat with eyes lowered, silent. Though their faces revealed nothing, many were secretly gloating: You caused this mess—now solve it yourself.

“What—no one wants to speak?” Yue Yang sneered inwardly. “Fine. Since no one will speak, I’ll call on someone. Lord Ke, as Provincial Administration Commissioner, tell us—what should be done?”

Ke Zhen’nan rose, bowed, and said blandly, “My lord, this matter is of great importance. I dare not decide on my own. Please instruct us, and we shall carry out your orders.”

The implication was obvious: We’re your subordinates and will follow your lead—but don’t expect us to plan anything for you.

Wu Qing, seated beside Yue Yang, frowned slightly. Ke Zhen’nan truly lived up to his reputation as a seasoned bureaucrat—one sentence to shirk responsibility, avoid offending his superior, and avoid alienating local gentry. Thorough indeed.

Yue Yang turned left. “Lord Ma, do you feel the same?”

Ma Ke stood and bowed. “Lord Ke speaks rightly. You are Grand Secretary of Dongyang Pavilion, Governor-General of Xuan-Da, Governor of Shandong, and Superintendent of Canal Transport. The Emperor clearly places great trust in you. Just give the order, and we will follow.”

Several officials silently applauded—Ma Ke had subtly pushed the burden back onto Yue Yang. Let’s see what you do now.

Inspector Yan Hongfeng, who bore a long-standing grudge against Yue Yang, added fuel to the fire. He rose and bowed respectfully. “Lord Ma is correct. At this time, Lord Yue may exercise sole authority. We shall execute your decisions at once.”

The others inwardly gasped. Sole authority was a term reserved for the emperor—if a censor accused an official of using it improperly, it could spell trouble. Yan Hongfeng was vicious indeed.

As if oblivious to their barbed words, Yue Yang asked calmly, “If Lords Ke, Ma, and Yan all say so, what about the rest of you? Is that also your view?”

The officials bowed in unison. “We shall obey your command.”

“Oh?” Yue Yang pressed. “Truly so?”

“Indeed. We shall follow your orders and submit to your direction.”

“Very well. Since that is the case, I shall not be polite.”

For the first time, a smile appeared on Yue Yang’s face. Yet seeing that smile, Ke Zhen’nan and Ma Ke felt their hearts sink simultaneously—an ominous premonition rose within them.

Sure enough, Yue Yang suddenly stood, his smile gone, and shouted sternly, “The new policies concern the survival of our Great Ming. Our treasury is nearly exhausted, yet certain officials, gentry, and merchants not only refuse to repay imperial grace but worsen matters by stirring local unrest. This is intolerable! Guards—”

“Yes!”

At his shout, several generals in green uniforms strode in and saluted in unison. “Your subordinates Chu Di, Yue Shunbao, Wu Chengfeng, and Wu Zhi pay respects to the Marquis and wish you peace and prosperity!”

Seeing these men, the officials froze—then realization struck them all at once. Damn it—we’ve been tricked.

Veteran bureaucrats all, they instantly understood Yue Yang’s intent. Their hearts sank in unison. Oh no… this butcher is about to strike again.

Yue Yang bowed slightly to them and said, “Since everyone supports me so fully, I thank you. I have already said that violent tax resistance must be punished severely. Therefore, I have transferred fifty thousand troops from Liaodong and Shanxi. These generals will lead them to all prefectures to assist local authorities in punishing violent merchants and law-defying gentry. Any achievements will depend entirely on your cooperation!”

It’s over—we’ve fallen for his trap. And when did he even move troops from Liaodong and Shanxi without us knowing? That was the only thought in everyone’s mind.

At Yue Yang’s command, armies led by Wu Chengfeng, Chu Di, Yue Shunbao, and Wu Zhi poured into Shandong—Yanzhou, Dengzhou, Laizhou, Qingzhou, Dongchang—each prefecture suddenly flooded with heavily armed, murderous troops. Upon arrival, they immediately launched decisive actions.

They went straight to the local yamen, presented documents from the governor’s office, inquired about commercial tax collection, and—guided by undercover agents already embedded—marched on the estates of wealthy gentry and merchants.

Sturdy gates were smashed open. Ferocious troops stormed inside, rounding up all able-bodied men like ruthless inquisitors, while women were driven aside. Those who dared violently resist taxation were no innocents. Many fought back, unaware that their fate had already been sealed the moment they resisted.

Those who did not resist might still survive—but once they fought back, far harsher fates awaited them. The roar of muskets, shouted curses, and women’s anguished cries blended together. For more than half of March, Shandong was engulfed in shock.

Though Shandong was not the richest province in the Ming, its coastal regions were never poor. Merchants and wealthy households were far more numerous than inland provinces. Many families of gentry and merchants had flourished for centuries—thousands of acres of land, countless tenant farmers, private guards and retainers with real fighting power. That confidence was why they dared resist in the first place.

They exploited their tenants mercilessly, accumulating wealth generation after generation—yet never once thought to give back to the state. They clung to the nation like parasites, draining its blood and nourishment. They could spend fortunes in Yangzhou to buy a famed courtesan, or throw lavish banquets without blinking—yet never spared a thought for the countless poor starving nearby. If the Ming fell, what did it matter? They would simply pledge loyalty to another master.

For such people, Yue Yang had only one order: punish them with utmost severity—so that the very thought of violent tax resistance would make all of Shandong tremble.

For more than half of March, Shandong endured a massive earthquake. Hundreds of gentry and merchant households were confiscated. Vast lands and properties were seized; shops nationalized; gold and silver hidden in cellars or buried underground were all unearthed and carted to Jinan. Wealth accumulated over centuries was swept away in the shortest time imaginable.

Yue Yang’s actions once again shocked the world. The entire Ming officialdom fell silent—then outrage followed. Memorials flew to the capital like snowflakes. Morning court resounded with venomous attacks against Yue Yang. This time, Chongzhen did not bother archiving them—there were simply too many. Every afternoon, eunuchs hauled baskets of memorials to the imperial kitchen to burn as firewood.

That morning, diligent Zhu Youjian convened court again. The shrill voice echoed through the Hall of Supreme Harmony: “By imperial decree—those with memorials, present them; those without, withdraw!”

“Long live the Emperor! Your servant has a memorial!” a voice rang out.

Again? Does this old bastard ever get tired? Chongzhen grimaced.

Even Wang Chengen beside him smiled wryly. This man was truly hard to deal with.

The speaker was nearly seventy, hair white but eyes bright—Zhong Can, the newly appointed Left Censor-in-Chief.

It was Chongzhen’s eleventh year. Officials changed as fast as water flowed. The previous Left Censor-in-Chief had been sent home to farm sweet potatoes because of Yue Yang. Zhong Can now held the post.

Zhong Can was notoriously rigid and ill-tempered—unpopular, but perfect for the job. Though Chongzhen disliked him, no one else fit better. Zhong Can repaid the trust by impeaching six officials within a month—including Grand Secretary Yang Sichang, accusing him of “standing beside the Emperor yet failing to share his burdens.” Brutal words Yang could not refute.

Recently, though, Yang Sichang’s life had improved—because a bigger target had appeared.

News of Yue Yang’s bloodshed in Shandong shocked the capital. Impeachments flooded in—Zhong Can among them. Unlike others, he submitted one memorial every single day for more than half a month, never repeating himself. Even Chongzhen admired his stamina—and felt a headache coming whenever he appeared.

Rubbing his temples, the emperor sighed, “Minister Zhong, who are you impeaching today?”

“I impeach the Loyal and Brave Marquis Yue Yang!” Zhong Can’s voice boomed. “I accuse him of indiscriminate slaughter, violation of ancestral laws, and plundering the people, stirring immense resentment. I urge Your Majesty to dispatch imperial guards to arrest him and bring him to the capital for punishment, to uphold the law of the realm!”