MLMD -Chapter 406 Weihaiwei

In an era without any real sense of secrecy, officials often had loose lips. Although there were no telephones or the internet in those days, the speed at which information spread was in no way inferior to that of the modern internet. Less than half a day after court was dismissed, the news that Yue Yang had confiscated ten million taels of silver during a property seizure in Shandong spread throughout the entire capital—and continued to radiate outward across the whole of the Great Ming at an ever-increasing pace.

To ordinary commoners, ten million taels of silver was an astronomical figure they could never even dream of. Precisely because it was so far removed from their own lives, most people merely treated the matter as idle talk, something to boast about in daily conversations. But for officials of the Six Ministries, this was a matter of heaven-shaking importance.

More than ten million taels of silver—this was equivalent to two full years of the court’s tax revenue. For the Great Ming, whose finances were already on the brink of exhaustion, this sum was simply too important. Looking at the present situation, among the six ministries—Revenue, Rites, Personnel, War, Works, and Justice—which one was not desperately poor? To say nothing else, even the capital officials of the Ming had already been owed half a year of salary, which showed just how dire the court’s financial straits had become.

“Absolutely not—no matter what, we must take a big bite out of this huge cake.”

This was the shared thought in everyone’s mind.

The immediate result was that Emperor Chongzhen, who had barely enjoyed his joy for two days, was stunned to discover that the ministers of the Six Ministries—who were usually endlessly arguing on court matters—had begun openly fighting on the court floor for a larger share for their respective offices. The six ministers bickered with one another incessantly. These dignitaries who normally spoke only of Confucius and morality seemed to have transformed into entirely different people, scrambling before Chongzhen for their portions of the silver.

Grand Secretary and Minister of War Yang Sichang argued that banditry within the realm was rampant—roving rebels were ravaging Henan, Sichuan, and Hubei, and among the three armies led by Lu Xiangsheng, Hong Chengchou, and Sun Chuanting, which one did not require massive sums of silver? Therefore, the Ministry of War should naturally take the lion’s share.

The Ministry of Works immediately objected. Minister Liu Zunxian no longer cared that Yang Sichang was also the Grand Secretary. He shouted urgently, “The court has been urging the Ministry of Works these past two years to replicate the firearms, weapons, and armor of the Xuan-Da Army. But without silver, how am I supposed to make them? Am I expected to conjure them out of thin air?”

Not only that—even the Ministries of Personnel, Rites, and Justice joined in, all wanting a piece of the pie. They claimed that their operating funds had been in arrears for many years and that now was the time for repayment. These ministers, who normally carried themselves with such moral dignity, all turned into merchants in an instant, arguing fiercely over silver until spit flew everywhere.

Amid all this fighting, only Cheng Guoxiang, the Minister of Revenue, sat calmly like a fisherman by the riverbank. No matter how the others fought, the silver would first have to enter the Ministry of Revenue’s treasury before it could be allocated elsewhere. This was iron law—no one could violate it.

At first, although the ministers quarreled, Emperor Chongzhen did not take it too seriously. But as the arguing dragged on, he began to feel that something was wrong. One official even suggested that since the three million taels allocated to the Ministry of Revenue were insufficient, the remaining seven million taels—originally meant to be sent to the inner palace treasury—should simply be transferred to the state treasury for court use.

At this, Chongzhen’s face immediately darkened. He erupted on the spot in the main hall, demoted the man by three ranks, and expelled him from the Hall of Supreme Harmony. From that day on, everyone understood one thing clearly: the emperor’s own silver was not to be touched lightly.

The shockwaves caused by these ten million taels continued to expand. Soon, Yue Yang’s mouthpiece, the Great Ming Times, swiftly published an article personally written by Yue Yang himself. In it, he wrote:

When the people of the Great Ming are still worrying about how to fill their stomachs, when the emperor himself is racking his brains over how to raise military funds, a shocking case of tax resistance has occurred in Shandong. In order to curb this violent and lawless trend, the Xuan-Da Army had no choice but to carry out decisive suppression and confiscate the illegal gains of certain merchants.

Shandong is not a wealthy region. The merchants and gentry investigated this time could only be considered of average means by Shandong standards, and there were only a little over a hundred households. Yet from these people alone, over ten million taels of silver were confiscated. These very people spend money lavishly, indulge in luxury and excess, squander wealth without restraint—yet they refuse to pay even a single coin in tax to the court. They refuse to contribute even the slightest effort to the Great Ming. Possessing immense fortunes, they would rather use their silver to keep male companions or frequent brothels than hand over a single tael to the state. For the sake of a mere few hundred taels in commercial tax, they would risk rebellion, resist the court, and even kill tax officials. These are the merchants of the Great Ming—the merchants protected by the blood and lives of frontier soldiers. One cannot help but ask: what has become of these people? Even the ancients knew that when the nest is overturned, no eggs remain intact. If the Great Ming were to fall, what use would their mountains of wealth be?

The article was written in vernacular language, with a very straightforward meaning. To the scholarly elite, it could even be described as crude. Yet it was precisely this article that struck like a sharp sword into the hearts of all merchants and gentry. Many of them were so enraged after reading it that their lungs nearly burst, but there was nothing they could do about Yue Yang, the instigator. His destructive power was simply too great—he had money, grain, troops, and high office. To their sorrow, they realized that such a man was no longer someone they could deal with.

After Yue Yang’s article was published, the Jinling Times hastily commissioned scholars to write rebuttals. However, its reach was far weaker than that of the Great Ming Times, and more importantly, Yue Yang’s argument made sense. Once commoners heard it, they felt indignant as well. Why should those with immense wealth pay no taxes at all, while poor commoners bore heavy corvée labor? Why?

The chess piece Yue Yang had placed in Jinling two years earlier was now beginning to show its effect. The advantages of controlling discourse gradually became apparent. In the past, the power of public opinion in the Ming had been firmly in the hands of the scholarly elite. Whomever they criticized was labeled a villain; whatever they declared impermissible was deemed wrong. But now things were different. Yue Yang’s Great Ming Times had emerged as a dark horse, quietly planting seeds in the hearts of commoners and people of all social strata. Through it, Yue Yang gradually spread certain ideas from later generations. He did not seek immediate support—only to sow seeds that would bear fruit when the time was right.

After this upheaval, most merchants and gentry were thoroughly frightened by Yue Yang’s thunderous methods. They had no choice—he was simply too ruthless. Not only did he confiscate your property and land, he also smeared your name in the newspapers. Even now, the names of over a hundred confiscated households were still prominently displayed in the Great Ming Times. People across the empire knew that these were the ones who, for a few dozen or a few hundred taels of silver, resisted taxes, opposed the court, and ultimately destroyed themselves.

Even so, a certain voice arose within the court, questioning whether Yue Yang’s actual haul had been limited to only ten million taels and demanding a thorough investigation. Yet this voice quickly vanished without a trace. Even the Censorate and the remonstrance officials—normally eager to oppose Yue Yang—did not pursue the matter. As for why? Everyone knew the answer. He had handed over so much silver to the court—couldn’t he be allowed to take a little for himself?

In truth, Yue Yang had indeed taken quite a lot. Over the half-month-long confiscation campaign, the Xuan-Da Army seized gold and silver worth a total of 21.36 million taels. Yue Yang had reported only half of that to the court. It wasn’t greed—he himself had countless expenses. Feeding and paying over a hundred thousand troops under his command, plus tens of thousands stationed in Liaodong, was already an astronomical cost. Add to that the funds needed for Shandong’s development, and the silver required was immense. Having encountered such a rare opportunity to “rob the rich,” it would have been foolish not to take advantage.

Today was another meeting day. The Shandong Provincial Administration Commissioner Ke Zhen’nan, Surveillance Commissioner Ma Ke, General Liu Zeqing, and even Commander Lu Zhili—whose injuries had not yet healed—were all present. Because today was the day to divide the spoils—no, rather, to reward merit.

Looking at the packed hall, Yue Yang went straight to the point. “Gentlemen, I have summoned you today to fulfill my earlier promise. Over the past half month, you have all worked hard on the matter of collecting commercial taxes. In particular, over a dozen tax officials lost their lives—our losses are not small. Therefore, I believe the remuneration originally promised to everyone should be distributed in advance.”

“Cough, cough, cough…”

Seeing how blunt Yue Yang was, Ke Zhen’nan had no choice but to cough loudly to interrupt him. With a reddened face, he said, “Well… this official would like to correct that. The Marquis may have misspoken just now. It should be the ‘clean-administration silver’ allocated to our various offices. Please do not misunderstand.”

“Indeed, indeed—Lord Ke is correct. We naturally would not misunderstand the Marquis!”

It was rare for Ke Zhen’nan to address Yue Yang as “Marquis.” The others tacitly avoided mentioning Yue Yang’s slip of the tongue. To them, everything else was illusory—only what they were about to receive truly mattered.

Seeing the burning, eager gazes of officials who normally appeared so upright, Yue Yang did not despise them. Having grown up in modern society, he believed that pursuing wealth was not wrong, as long as it was not gained in violation of law or morality.

He slowly took out a slip of paper filled with writing and read aloud:

“From the confiscation of illegal merchants and gentry, a total of 117 households were investigated, yielding illegal gains worth 21.36 million taels. Of this, 10.26 million taels have been handed over to the court, leaving 11.10 million taels. According to our prior agreement, each office may receive ten percent as clean-administration silver, totaling 1.1 million taels. This silver will be distributed to each office according to the agreed amounts. But remember—silver may be good, yet it must not be embezzled. This generous reward was achieved not by any single person or office, but by the collective efforts of all Shandong officials. You must ensure that it reaches every individual below. If anyone dares to skim even a fraction and is reported, this Marquis will settle accounts after autumn. Do you all understand?”

The hall stiffened. Everyone answered in unison, “This subordinate will obey the Marquis’s instruction and dare not forget it!”

Seeing their solemn expressions, Yue Yang could not help but smile bitterly inwardly. It seemed that since arriving in Shandong, this was the first time they had followed his orders so wholeheartedly.

Ke Zhen’nan added, “You’ve all heard the Marquis’s words. This silver is different from previous funds. Whoever dares to reach out improperly—before the Marquis even acts, this official will deal with him first!”

“With the lord’s assurance, this subordinate would never dare disobey.”

With both leaders making their stance clear, everyone understood perfectly. They were not fools—after so many years in office, they knew exactly what money could be taken and what could not. This silver belonged to all Shandong officials. Even its name—clean-administration silver—made that clear. To embezzle it would be to steal everyone’s livelihood, making oneself the enemy of all officials. In that case, one might be torn apart without Yue Yang lifting a finger.

Some might ask: with so much silver, only 1.1 million taels were distributed—didn’t the remaining ten million all benefit Yue Yang? Wasn’t his share excessive? Those who asked such questions were outsiders. As Shandong’s highest civil and military authority, it was only natural for Yue Yang to take the largest share. Moreover, troops had been mobilized from Shanxi and even Liaodong—armies do not move for free. Once deployed, the daily expense was astronomical. Soldiers could not be made to work for nothing. Afterwards, they had to be rewarded, or who would risk their lives for you? Besides, Yue Yang had already stated that the silver would be used for Shandong’s development, and detailed accounts would be made public later.

The distribution meeting concluded successfully. Everyone who received silver was overjoyed. More than a million taels were spread across Shandong’s officialdom, ensuring that everyone benefited to some degree. Figures like Ke Zhen’nan and Ma Ke each received tens of thousands of taels; others received hundreds or thousands depending on rank. Even the lowest clerks got ten or several dozen taels. As the saying goes, “A soft hand takes, a soft mouth eats.” Having accepted Yue Yang’s silver, naturally fewer people spoke ill of him.

The most immediate consequence was that tax inspections across Shandong became stricter than ever before. After all, no one was at odds with silver—the amount of clean-administration silver they received each month was directly tied to tax revenue. The old practice of merchants bribing one or two tax collectors to evade taxes disappeared entirely. Everyone was watching now. If you dared bend the law, try it and see—so many eyes were on you. If you collected less tax, your colleagues would earn less clean-administration silver. As the old saying goes, cutting off someone’s livelihood is like killing their parents. If you failed to collect or under-collected taxes, others would not spare you. Where there is profit, there is motivation. Under Yue Yang’s thunderous methods and the lure of silver, Shandong’s tax system gradually became regularized. Land measurement, commutation of corvée into land tax, and equal taxation for officials and gentry would follow step by step. What remained was reopening the maritime ban…

More than ten days later, Yue Yang led Wu Qing, personal guard captain Chen Dazhi, and five hundred guards to Liugong Island in Weihai Bay, under Dengzhou. Though Yue Yang knew little about naval affairs, he knew that the famous Beiyang Fleet of later generations would be annihilated here—and that Weihaiwei had once been its base.

After landing on Liugong Island and seeing the stretches of excellent harbors, Yue Yang made up his mind.

“This is it.”

Pointing ahead, he smiled and asked Wu Qing, “San Shi, what do you think of establishing a naval base here?”

“A navy?” Wu Qing froze, then quickly asked, “My lord, do you intend to build a navy at Weihaiwei?”

“Exactly.” Yue Yang nodded slowly.

“Hiss—”

Wu Qing sucked in a sharp breath and hurriedly advised, “My lord, building a navy is no easy task and requires enormous resources. In the days of the Yongle Emperor, the state expended immense national strength to establish a mighty navy, yet after his passing, our Ming navy gradually declined. If you rely on your own strength alone, I fear it will be very difficult.”

Yue Yang glanced sideways at him and smiled. “Do you think I don’t know that?”

Yue Yang understood full well how difficult it was to build a navy. But he understood even more clearly that a country with such a long coastline could not do without a strong navy. A nation without a navy was like a giant missing an arm—crippled and incomplete.

As for the cost, Yue Yang already had plans. He intended to develop Dengzhou into a prosperous international port, selling Ming tea, silk, and porcelain to Europe, and bringing European gold and silver back to the Ming. At the same time, he wanted the Ming to engage more with the outside world, lest it remain isolated for too long. A country cut off from the world would only stagnate—until one day, enemy warships arrived at its doorstep while its officials ordered soldiers to splash black dog’s blood to break “evil magic.”

Seeing Yue Yang’s resolute expression, Wu Qing knew his lord would not be dissuaded. He could only sigh softly and say no more.

Yue Yang chuckled lightly. “San Shi, I know your intentions are good. But once this navy is built, it will bring immeasurable benefits to the Great Ming. You’ve spent time in this region before—do you know anyone in Shandong who is familiar with naval warfare?”