The most stubborn holdout of the “Eviction Order,” Zhu Yougou, finally surrendered. With his capitulation, the remaining officials, gentry, and landowners followed suit in quick succession.
Under the leadership of People’s Servant and Imperial Censor Su Yan, the clerks of the Two Offices, along with their subordinates, launched a grand campaign of land reform—er, rather, they remeasured land holdings, redefined grazing boundaries, dismantled illegally occupied estates, and gradually reclaimed farmland for pastoral use.
The newly surveyed land areas from various provinces were steadily reported to the Shaanxi Horse Administration Reform Command Office (a department personally founded and named by Censor Su). However, fully restoring the peak-era 1.6 million qing (approx. 100,000 hectares) of pastures would still require a transitional period.
Su Yan assigned this task to the newly appointed Minister of the Imperial Stud.
He had bigger priorities.
—
Forbidden City, Hall of Heavenly Purity
The eunuch’s crisp, resonant voice echoed through the grand hall:
“…..Thirdly, increase the number of herdsmen in the military.”
Herdsmen were of low status and lived in harsh conditions, leading many to flee.
Some took refuge in towns and villages, living as unregistered drifters beyond the reach of government oversight. Others fell in with crime, becoming bandits and causing unrest. Those caught were forced to flee further, eventually forming outlaw groups such as the infamous “Xiangma Bandits,” led by Wang Five and Wang Six in Shaanxi.
By law, these vagrants and criminals should be executed. However, considering their lack of livelihood, if they willingly returned to their posts, they could be spared from punishment.
Proposal: Issue an official notice:
Any fugitive herdsmen who voluntarily surrender shall be pardoned and re-enrolled in their former posts.
Allocate grazing land based on household size, provide state-owned horses for them to raise, and register them under their respective regional stud farms.
Conduct an audit of all provincial lords, generals, and captains. Any fugitive soldiers found in their households should be arrested and reassigned to military service.
Request 15,000 taels of silver from the treasury to improve herdsmen’s living conditions—build proper housing, increase wages, and reduce further desertions.
“…..Fourthly, increase the number of breeding stallions.”
Proposal:
Allocate 120,000 taels of silver to purchase 20,000 breeding stallions from inland markets for the Shaanxi Branch of the Imperial Stud.
Expand trade with the Northern Tribes and Western Frontier, acquiring large quantities of high-quality breeding horses.
“…….Fifthly, construct military fortifications for horse camps.”
Shaanxi’s stud farms had long lacked proper administrative offices and fortifications. Even the existing strongholds were dilapidated, offering no barracks or stables. Official horses roamed outside day and night, and during the winter months, countless froze to death.
Without these defenses, border security weakened, allowing northern raiders to invade and plunder thousands of state-owned horses each year. The safety of both officials and livestock was gravely compromised, causing widespread fear.
Proposal:
Construct 14 new fortified military outposts (e.g., Chang Le Fortress).
Repair 18 existing strongholds (e.g., Kai Cheng Fortress).
An estimated 2,000 fortifications and 4,000 stables, granaries, and housing units must be built.
The construction should be a joint effort between military personnel and civilians, with all necessary timber sourced locally from Shaanxi to minimize transportation costs.
Request 85,000 taels of silver from the treasury to cover materials and labor.
Minister of Revenue Xu Ruiqi let out a helpless chuckle.
“This Su Qinghe either asks for nothing or demands the entire treasury in one go!”
As the empire’s chief financial officer, every department came to him for money—military provisions, infrastructure repairs, disaster relief… Every single request required funding. And now Su Yan was demanding 220,000 taels of silver all at once! Did he think the Ministry of Revenue had an endless gold mine?
The ever-frugal Xu Shangshu felt a pang of heartache. He turned toward the emperor on the dragon throne, hoping His Majesty would at least cut Su Yan’s budget in half—preferably twice.
Their ruler, after all, was known for his frugality. He built no extravagant palaces, refused to hold beauty contests for concubines, and even had the imperial consorts and palace maids sew winter clothes for border troops to inspire nationwide solidarity. Surely, as a leader who understood the value of money, he wouldn’t approve such reckless spending.
To his shock, Emperor Jinglong only pondered for a moment before speaking: “State funds must be spent wisely—what should be saved must be saved, but what must be spent must be spent. This budget is well-accounted for, and there is nothing unnecessary. Approve the full amount.”
Xu Shangshu instinctively prepared to protest: “But Your Majesty, the year is drawing to a close, and the treasury has already allocated most of its budget. Producing 220,000 taels all at once will be difficult. If we overspend now, we’ll have no choice but to raise taxes next year…”
Emperor Jinglong remained unmoved. “I am well aware of the Ministry of Revenue’s accounts. The national treasury brings in over 4 million taels of silver annually. If you factor in grain, cloth, and other goods, the total value exceeds 20 million taels. How can we possibly not afford a mere 220,000 taels of silver? Xu Shangshu, you’ve always been tightfisted. If you truly can’t bear to part with the funds, then take it from my private reserves.”
The imperial reserves were essentially the emperor’s personal treasury, used for paying allowances to the harem, rewarding officials, and covering the daily expenses of the emperor, princes, and princesses.
If national infrastructure projects required tapping into the emperor’s personal funds, it would be a blatant humiliation for the Minister of Revenue.
Sensing the shift in the emperor’s tone, Minister Xu immediately changed his stance. “Of course, we can allocate the funds! Besides, the 220,000 taels won’t need to be paid all at once. The amount can be disbursed in phases according to the project timeline.”
As he spoke, he quickly reassessed the situation. That’s right—the construction will take years! Given Censor Su’s ambitious, all-encompassing approach, it will take at least three to five years to complete. Why was I even arguing with His Majesty? Was my official hat sitting too securely on my head?
Emperor Jinglong nodded approvingly and cast a glance at the crown prince.
The crown prince immediately understood his royal father’s unspoken message—Did you see that? You must have a thorough grasp of the Six Ministries’ affairs to avoid being misled by these seasoned officials. Learn well from your royal father. When I assign you readings, remember them. Study hard and stop slacking off.
Zhu Helin nodded vigorously, fully convinced. He didn’t want to slack off. In fact, he constantly set ambitious study goals:
Today, I will finish reading all these books on my desk.
Within three days, I will write eight policy essays that satisfy Father.
This month, I will attend every lecture at Wenhui Hall without skipping or being late.
And so on.
But setting goals was one thing—following through was another. To maintain the same self-discipline and diligence as his royal father for fifteen years straight? That was incredibly difficult!
Zhu Helin felt a bit dejected, but more than that, he was inspired to strive toward his royal father’s example. He gazed at Emperor Jinglong with bright, determined eyes, silently conveying: Rest assured, Royal Father, I will work hard!
The emperor’s lips curled into a faint smile.
—
Even before the court funds were disbursed, Su Yan had already begun procurement and construction. Thanks to his recent windfall of over 10,000 taels from horse racing, he had enough capital to proceed without worry.
Unfortunately, the project’s scale was far too vast. That initial 10,000 taels barely made a ripple. Realizing he needed additional funding, he turned to an unconventional method—not horse racing this time, but fines.
He ordered all provincial, prefectural, and county offices in Shaanxi to pool together the year’s collected atonement payments from prisoners and fines from corruption cases, depositing them in the Pingliang Prefecture Treasury to cover expenses.
Inspector General Wei Quan of Shaanxi, an expert in managing finances and household registers, was brought in from Xian Prefecture to oversee the funds. Su Yan essentially appointed him as his chief personnel and financial officer.
For the first month, before the court funds arrived in Shaanxi, Su Yan enjoyed an unusually stress-free period. Having enough money for infrastructure—what a fantastic feeling!
As the overseeing censor, Su Yan handled his role with ease.
He structured the local administration using a modern bureaucratic framework, forming a reform leadership team. Officials were required to sign “dual responsibility” agreements, making them accountable for both administrative duties and ideological work.
Each month, officials had to hold discussions with their subordinates, reinforcing loyalty to the emperor, dedication to governance, integrity, and innovation—creating a top-down ideological chain. Those who received top-tier evaluations in monthly assessments were rewarded with substantial year-end bonuses, while defiant or incompetent officials faced progressive disciplinary measures: first a warning, then a public reprimand, and finally dismissal on the third offense.
Inspector General Wei, observing this highly unorthodox yet remarkably effective system, was astounded. A mere sixteen- or seventeen-year-old scholar, supposedly absorbed only in the classics—where did he learn such administrative strategies? After much contemplation, he could only attribute it to natural genius.
He urged Su Yan to formalize these management practices into legal statutes and submit them for nationwide implementation.
This was precisely what Su Yan had in mind, but as the chief coordinator, he had no time to write everything himself. Sensing an opportunity to gain political merit, Inspector General Wei volunteered to draft the documents.
Su Yan knew Wei Quan was looking to rehabilitate his reputation. As the highest official in Shaanxi, Wei had struggled for years with failing equine policies and had even proposed abolishing two horse-breeding institutions. The emperor had rejected his request and reprimanded him, leaving Wei embarrassed and anxious about his standing.
Now, seeing Su Yan’s sweeping reforms taking shape, Wei felt hopeful about redeeming himself. Eager to participate, he sought to secure a stake in the success.
Su Yan was the type to “eat the meat and share the soup”—as long as his colleagues cooperated and didn’t drag him down.
Since he was genuinely overwhelmed with work, he appointed a team of stenographers to record his directives as he dictated them on the go. These notes were then compiled for Inspector General Wei to organize into official documents.
Emperor Jinglong’s original intent was to prevent Su Yan from overworking himself, instructing Inspector General Wei to handle the legwork.
Ironically, the roles reversed. Inspector General Wei ended up buried in paperwork, overseeing financial accounts and drafting reports with a team of clerks. Meanwhile, Su Yan was constantly on the move, personally inspecting progress to ensure reforms were implemented effectively.
He traversed mountains and rivers with his guards, inspecting newly cultivated pastures and fortified military outposts. He roamed city streets gathering public opinion and meeting with displaced soldiers and horse breeders. He even conducted sample inspections of horses purchased from the interior and goods traded with foreign tribes.
Despite the grueling workload, Su Yan never compromised on his quality of life. He assembled an elite team of chefs to accompany him, ensuring he ate well.
With ample food, intense physical activity, and nightly martial arts training by skilled masters, he gradually built muscle.
It wasn’t much—just a thin layer—but compared to his past self, it was a significant improvement.
One night, during a meridian-clearing session, Su Yan excitedly lifted his robes to show his newly developed abs to his personal guard.
Actually, calling it “abs” was a bit of an overstatement. There weren’t six or eight clearly defined segments, and even the faint horizontal and vertical lines were barely visible. But the muscles were firm, elastic, and lay beneath his smooth, jade-like skin, forming sleek and graceful contours along with his waist muscles. There was a clarity to his physique, somewhere between that of a boy and a young man, which only made his perky, round backside appear even more enticing.
Jinghong Zhui couldn’t resist and reached out to touch his waist and abdomen.
Su Yan thought he was checking on his fitness progress and didn’t mind. He even said, “My chest muscles have grown a bit too. I’m not just skin and bones anymore—go ahead, feel them.”
Jinghong Zhui accepted the invitation, running his calloused fingers over Su Yan’s chest. The rough texture of his knuckles and palms left a prickly, itchy sensation in their wake.
Su Yan burst into laughter, wriggling away like a clucking hen before retaliating by grabbing Jinghong Zhui’s chest and abs—now this was what real muscles should feel like!
Su Yan’s hands had never done rough work. Aside from a slight callus where he gripped a brush, the rest of his skin was soft and smooth. The contrast nearly made Jinghong Zhui lose control on the spot.
….How am I supposed to handle this?! he thought in frustration. His lord delighted in teasing and playing around yet remained completely oblivious to the implications. Sealing his own meridians at night was becoming less and less effective. If this continued, his kidney meridians were going to suffer serious damage!
Out of a certain indescribable sense of retribution (or was it temptation?), he showed no mercy that night, pressing down on Su Yan so hard that the man yelped louder than ever before.
The county office they were lodging in that night was cramped, with rooms close together. Gao Shuo woke up needing to pee, and when he found a fellow officer’s waste already in the chamber pot, he grumbled, wrapped himself in his cloak, and stepped outside into the cold night air to relieve himself in the outhouse.
On his way back, he passed by the main residence and heard a rather… indescribable sound. It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head—his sleepiness vanished instantly.
Curious, he crept closer to the window and pressed his ear to the gap, trying to make sense of what was happening inside.
Inside, Jinghong Zhui glanced at the closed window but paid no attention to the eavesdropping Embroidered Uniform Guard agent outside. Instead, he continued his work.
Su Yan, exhausted from the day’s exertions, groaned, “Gentler… it hurts… ah, it hurts, it hurts! Ah Zhui, don’t be so rough. Slow down, be gentler…”
Gao Shuo’s mind went blank. Wait—what the h*ll?!
He had already started thinking in the wrong direction from the moment he overheard the noises, but now… there was no room for doubt.
Inside, Jinghong Zhui eased his strength by about seventy or eighty percent.
Su Yan, however, found the touch too light. His calves were too sore from excessive walking, and he grumbled in dissatisfaction, “I said gentler, not feather-light! What’s this, are you starving or something? Use more strength… yes, keep going back and forth, don’t stop… ahhh!”
Jinghong Zhui’s voice was low and slightly hoarse. “Did I hurt you again, my lord?”
Su Yan panted, “It hurts… but it feels good… don’t mind my screaming, just keep going.”
Gao Shuo thought to himself: It’s over. Lord Tongzhi’s green hat is real.
And this wasn’t just a green hat—this was a sky full of green clouds, an entire forest of cuckoldry!
Su Yan and that bandit bodyguard had been inseparable for months now. Wasn’t this… way too much green?!
He almost wanted to barge in and expose them on the spot, catch them red-handed!
But just as he raised his hand to knock, he hesitated.
Jinghong Zhui’s martial arts were terrifying. Su Yan, despite his playful nature, had the imposing presence of a high-ranking official—one sharp glance from him was enough to make subordinates tremble.
And what did he amount to? Just a lowly Embroidered Uniform Guard agent. He could monitor everything under the heavens, but did that extend to who Su Yan took to bed and what they did there?
…Better leave it to Lord Tongzhi himself. A man should handle his own wife. Nothing wrong with that. He would just be responsible for delivering the message.
Inside, the voices continued, laced with occasional choked sounds.
“My lord, change positions. Lie flat and lift your legs. Yes, rest them on my arm… does this spot hurt?”
“It all hurts… You said the first time would be especially sore, but it would get better after. How come it still hurts so much?”
“My lord, you’re just too exhausted tonight. Endure it a little longer. You’ll feel good soon.”
Gao Shuo’s face burned. He was afraid that if he listened any longer, he might have an unwanted reaction himself, so he tiptoed away and returned to his room to write a confidential report.
Even though he tried to be as discreet as possible with his wording, he could already picture Shen Qi exploding with rage upon reading it.
He knew his superior’s temper all too well. The last time he merely hinted that something might be going on between Su Yan and Jinghong Zhui, Shen Qi had nearly lost his mind. If he found out that his lover had actually done the deed with another man, wouldn’t he go berserk, ride straight to Shaanxi, and slaughter them both on the spot?
But then again… the rice had already been cooked.
A few days more or less wouldn’t make a difference….Maybe it would be wiser to hold off for a month or two.
Su Yan had mentioned taking leave at the end of the year to return to the capital for the New Year. Why not wait until then to inform Shen Qi? That way, once Jinghong Zhui was exhausted from the long journey, Shen Qi could ambush him before they even entered the city gates.
The more Gao Shuo thought about it, the more feasible the plan seemed.
For the sake of his superior’s future and his own survival, this information needed to be kept under wraps.
He burned the newly written letter in the candle flame, deciding to grant the shameless bed-climbing bodyguard a temporary reprieve. They would settle accounts after the New Year.
Snuffing out the candle, he laid down on the communal heated brick bed, trying to go back to sleep.
Just then, from the next pallet, Chu Yuan asked softly, “Where did you go just now?”
Gao Shuo hesitated. “To pee.” He realized he had been gone too long and added, “And to take a dump.”
“Constipated?” Chu Yuan asked.
Gao Shuo grunted noncommittally, hoping the man would drop it and go to sleep.
But Chu Yuan, ever the composed and unreadable one, said, “You need to stay patient. Yes, sink your qi into your lower abdomen, force it into a dead end, and then—when there’s nowhere left to go—exert yourself with full strength. That’s how you do it.”
That would split my *ss in two!
Gao Shuo muttered something vague, turned toward the wall, and pretended to sleep.
Chu Yuan, lying in the dark, murmured to himself:
“The Dao is found in excrement. But someone who spends all day sneaking around sending secret messages… wouldn’t understand.”
