That night, Emperor Jiajing embraced Lady Shang, whose name tablet he’d chosen, and they tangled passionately on the dragon bed, lost in fervent intimacy.
Feng Bao, clutching a golden hairpin gifted by Lady Shang, couldn’t stop grinning. All he’d done was casually mention to the Emperor during the tablet selection that on a snowy day, Lady Shang had been playfully snowball-fighting with her beloved dog and a group of palace maids, tumbling over with the dog in the snow.
Huang Jin worked through the night, arranging for his factory guards to ride hard and fast to verify the Suzhou defence campaign.
Meanwhile, Luo Longwen and other members of Yan Song’s faction stayed up late, pressing their scribes to draft memorials impeaching the Suzhou victory report as fraudulent.
Outside, the heavy snow fell relentlessly, showing no sign of stopping.
Ten-odd miles from the capital, Liu Mu led a battalion of Zhejiang soldiers and Suzhou Prefecture militia, driving carts laden with the heads of Japanese pirates and herding shackled captives through the swirling snowstorm on a night march.
“Brothers, let’s push on a bit harder for another five miles, then find a village to set up camp and rest for the night. By then, the capital will be within reach. We’ll set out before dawn and arrive in time for breakfast in the city.”
“Once we reach the capital and present the captives, there’ll be plenty of hearty meat, good wine, and a couple of days’ proper rest for everyone.”
Liu Mu rode back and forth along the column, shouting encouragement to the group.
“No need for more words, Brother Mu. We’re heading to the capital to present captives for the Lord. He’s treated us with immense kindness—let alone five miles, we’d march fifty!”
“Exactly! The Lord’s been nothing but good to us. Every meal on this journey has had meat and soup. Even in this snow, we’re sweating from the heat. Marching to the capital overnight would just be working off the meal!”
The Zhejiang soldiers shouted back with gusto. Despite trudging through a snowy night, their morale was sky-high.
In contrast, the Suzhou Prefecture militia and runners were slightly less spirited.
Still, before departure, Prefect Shang Weichi had handsomely rewarded them, so their morale held steady enough.
As for the pirate captives, they were like walking corpses—no morale, no spirit left at all.
They were steeped in sin and deserved worse than death. If not for the purpose of presenting them as captives, they wouldn’t have been allowed to die so easily.
But they weren’t going to have it easy either.
Clothing? In the depths of winter, no cotton-padded garments—just tattered sackcloth, enough to keep them from freezing to death. Food? They got scraps, just enough to avoid starvation. Sleep? On the bare ground, no bedding to speak of. And the march? Shackled, they had to keep up with the pace—fall behind, and the whip awaited, with no one holding back.
Zhu Ping’an and Prefect Shang had given Liu Mu and the others a mortality threshold: as long as the captive death rate didn’t exceed twenty percent, they were fine.
For now, Liu Mu and his team felt no pressure—their losses were still far below that mark.
Braving the snowstorm, they pressed on. After about an hour, they covered five or six miles and reached the outskirts of a village.
The village was called Wulihou—Five Miles Back—because it was just five miles from the capital.
To avoid disturbing the villagers, Liu Mu took a few men to meet the village head and elders, explaining their identity. Through them, they bought a slab of cured meat and some rice and flour from the village. They set up camp outside, lit fires, and cooked a pot of hearty cured meat stew, baked flatbreads, and simmered rice porridge. The men ate heartily, steaming in the cold.
The pirate captives, meanwhile, got only the cold leftovers after everyone else was done—barely enough to keep starvation at bay.
It was already late. Following Zhu Ping’an’s instructions, Liu Mu arranged night watchmen to ensure everything was secure before resting.
The night passed without incident.
As Liu Mu and his men camped and rested, a group of over fifty factory guards in flying-fish robes galloped past the village.
“Why are there so many people outside the village? It looks like a troop camped here,” one guard remarked warily, noticing Liu Mu’s makeshift camp.
“The Overseer ordered us to head south quickly to verify the Suzhou campaign—it’s a matter the Emperor’s watching closely. We’d best not stir up trouble. We should travel day and night to get there,” another guard cautioned. “Besides, this is near the capital—there are plenty of officials and offices to handle things. Without proper papers, they wouldn’t have made it this far; they’d have been stopped and dealt with long ago.”
“Zhao Baihu’s right. Let’s hurry south—hyah, hyah!” the first guard nodded vigorously.
The factory guards sped past.
“Alright, we can rest now. That unknown group’s gone,” one of the camp’s night watchmen said, relieved as the guards disappeared.
On this journey, their nerves had been taut, terrified of any mishap that might ruin Zhu Ping’an and Shang Weichi’s grand plan.
Whenever suspicious figures approached, they’d go on high alert, raising their guard just in case.
Like this group of factory guards—though not in uniform, dressed in plain clothes for investigation, their swords and sabres marked them as threats in the captive escort’s eyes. Their departure eased the tension.
The night passed uneventfully.
The next day, before dawn, Liu Mu and his men broke camp and hastened toward the capital, now tantalisingly close.
Likewise, before dawn, Luo Longwen and his cohort, with their drafted impeachment memorials, headed straight for the Office of Transmission.
They specifically instructed the officials there to delay sending it to Xiyuan until after the hour of Si (9-11 a.m.), creating the impression of “learning of Suzhou’s victory report this morning, feeling indignant, and immediately submitting an impeachment”—requiring a deliberate time gap.
Just as Luo Longwen left the Office of Transmission, a note came from Xiyuan, summoning the duty cabinet ministers and the chief and deputy officials of the Ministries of War, Revenue, Works, Personnel, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Censorate to the Wuyi Hall in Xiyuan for a meeting.
This was practically a court assembly.
For the capital’s ministers, this was rare. Emperor Jiajing hadn’t held a full court session in years, usually summoning one or a few ministers to Xiyuan irregularly. A gathering like today’s, with so many officials called at once, was exceptional.
Even in past years, at year-end, the number of ministers summoned to Xiyuan never matched today’s scale.
The eunuch delivering the note from Xiyuan also informed the summoned officials of the meeting’s main agenda.
The discussion would cover major events in the realm over recent months: strategies for the Mongol Altan tribes, military funding for the borders, relief for northern snow disasters and southern floods, long-term appointments and transfers of border and local officials, the Ministry of Works’ coin minting, salt law reforms, provisions for princely households, and the Japanese pirate threat in Jiangnan.
The Suzhou victory was listed as the final topic.
“No need to send it through the Office of Transmission to Xiyuan now—I’ll take it myself,” said Vice-Minister Wang, one of those summoned, retrieving his memorial from the office with some excitement.
Several others did the same.
Yan Song’s faction dominated much of the court, and among those summoned, they made up the majority.
As for Luo Longwen and his ilk, they weren’t senior enough for the Emperor’s summons—their impeachment of Zhu Ping’an still had to go through the Office of Transmission to reach Xiyuan.
