When Song Jue returned to the Cui family home intending to help out, Zhou Weizhao and Song Chuyi had not yet left. They were planning to dine at the Cui residence—this had already been arranged with Emperor Jianzhang before leaving the palace. Ye Jingchuan also hadn’t left yet. From what Zhou Weizhao said, His Majesty and the Ministry of Revenue both had many concerns. After a long, long while, he finally exhaled deeply. He too understood the current situation: the northwest frontier was naturally a critical border region that absolutely could not be lost, but the coastal areas were equally troubled.
They couldn’t afford to neglect one for the other. Otherwise, if those Japanese pirates and sea bandits stirred up trouble, the chaos along the coast would become unmanageable as well. He himself felt utterly overwhelmed and couldn’t imagine how much pressure Zhou Weizhao and Emperor Jianzhang must be under. Feeling somewhat dejected, he stepped aside, finding the whole situation particularly distressing.
However, upon seeing Song Jue, he instinctively perked up. In the past, he had often accompanied Song Jue in and out of various teahouses and wine shops. Song Jue frequently told him that he shouldn’t display his emotions so openly that people could see through him at a glance. Although he ultimately failed to marry Song Jue’s younger sister, Song Jue’s influence still lingered, and he remained somewhat afraid of Song Jue.
Song Jue smiled. Seeing that Ye Jingchuan was also there, he wasn’t in a rush to speak with Zhou Weizhao. He first greeted Ye Jingchuan and then offered his congratulations. Ye Jingchuan felt a bit embarrassed as he replied with thanks.
Song Jue then brought up what he had previously discussed with Song Chengru, adding, “I heard that the Chief Minister disagrees, but Minister Cen wants to deploy troops northward. Your Highness, what do you think?”
The pavilions in the Cui family estate were all arranged to be extremely spacious. This particular pavilion was built against an artificial mountain. The first floor had nothing special about it, but between the first and second floors there was a spiral staircase with an exquisite and unique design. The view below was also excellent—sitting on the upper floor, one could take in almost the entire Cui family garden at a glance. Zhou Weizhao withdrew his gaze and looked at Song Jue, honestly shaking his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”
His investiture ceremony was set for February twenty-first, and it was fast approaching. The Grand Tutor and Junior Tutor for the Crown Prince had already been determined—the Grand Tutor was Chief Minister Chang, while the Junior Tutor was Cen Biliang.
These two men—one had lived his entire life steadily and without error, naturally not wanting to take risks, advising him not to interfere in this matter; the other urged him to consider the bigger picture, saying that if troops weren’t deployed, the Tatars would rampage unchecked through the northwest and sooner or later attack Tongzhou.
Both had their own valid reasoning. Zhou Weizhao had once candidly discussed his confusion with Emperor Jianzhang. The emperor didn’t brush him aside but carefully explained the difficulties and concerns of both sides, adding, “Chief Minister Chang and Minister Cen are both people who get things done, and both are thinking of the court’s interests.”
He had broken down and thoroughly explained the principles to Zhou Weizhao, then told him to go back and think it over himself, to decide which side he ultimately wanted to follow.
This was precisely what troubled him now.
Ye Jingchuan said nothing more. He had stayed at Zijing Pass before and knew very well how formidable the Tatar cavalry were. But he had also just returned from Fujian and knew that the situation in Fujian was equally urgent—military expenses absolutely could not be reduced further.
Song Jue, however, made an acknowledging sound and, after careful consideration, said softly, “What if we could get silver?”
Silver? If they could get silver, that would naturally be best. Wasn’t that exactly what they were lacking now? With silver, the Ministry of War could forge another batch of weapons. With silver, the Ministry of Revenue wouldn’t obstruct anymore. With silver, deploying troops from south to north wouldn’t be such an unbearable matter.
But how could it be that simple? The Ministry of Revenue had practically been emptied out—where else could they obtain silver? Ye Jingchuan frowned, thinking Song Jue seemed to be talking nonsense.
Zhou Weizhao, however, knew that Song Jue never spoke useless nonsense. His eyes brightened as he looked at Song Jue. “Silver? Does Old Master Song mean for me to go find silver?”
Ye Jingchuan also looked toward Song Jue, finding it somewhat incredible. This was such an enormous sum of silver—even the national treasury was empty. Who could possibly produce such silver?! For Zhou Weizhao to go find it—how could it be so simple?
Song Jue answered indirectly, instead bringing up the previous Yangzhou corruption case. Seeing Zhou Weizhao looking thoughtful and Ye Jingchuan seemingly having thought of something as well, frozen in place, he continued, “During the final years of the previous dynasty’s last emperor, the court was also exhausted from dealing with uprisings and the Tatars. When the national treasury ran out of silver, they naturally had to find ways to raise funds. To put it bluntly, how can a living person let himself be constrained to death by the need to urinate? As long as one isn’t dead, there’s always a solution.”
Hearing these words, Ye Jingchuan immediately knew Song Jue must have already thought of a method. His eyes lit up involuntarily. “Elder Brother Song, you’ve thought of a method? Yangzhou—your meaning is…” For once, Ye Jingchuan was quick on the uptake. “You’re not planning to go to Jiangnan and demand silver from those salt merchants, are you?”
Song Jue smiled slightly, somewhat surprised that Ye Jingchuan could actually think of this connection. Calmly and unhurriedly, he picked up his teacup. “What’s improper about that? What times are we in now? Wartime. Why are they still able to maintain their livelihoods and run their great salt merchant businesses? Isn’t it because the court protects them? If this realm were to fall to the Tatars, just think about it—with foreign peoples ruling as kings and overlords, would such good fortune still fall to them?”
Ye Jingchuan deeply understood the logic in his words, but still couldn’t help frowning. “Although the reasoning is sound, the funds needed for war are hardly small amounts. If we demand too much, those people certainly won’t give it easily.”
Song Jue, seeing Zhou Weizhao sitting in silence, said only enough to make his point. “I’m just sharing my thoughts. Actually, soliciting military funds has existed since ancient times—extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures.”
Zhou Weizhao didn’t express his position but asked him, “Did Old Master Song send you?”
After Song Chengru had submitted a secret memorial suggesting that Emperor Jianzhang first have Zhou Weiyun sever ties with Prince Duan, he had maintained considerable distance from Zhou Weizhao and Song Chuyi.
Song Jue neither confirmed nor denied, speaking evasively. “It’s just a random thought—perhaps it could be tried, so I mentioned it. Whether to use it, how to use it—that still requires Your Highness’s own consideration.”
When Ye Jingchuan returned and mentioned Song Jue’s remarks to Ye Jingkuan, he couldn’t help saying, “If we really could extract silver from those people’s mouths, the northwest would be saved.”
Ye Jingkuan thought much more deeply and extensively than he did. If they were to raise funds, they needn’t necessarily demand silver only from the salt merchants. If one really investigated thoroughly, whose silver couldn’t be donated a little?
Since Song Chengru would give Zhou Weizhao this suggestion, it meant he himself actually agreed with deploying troops northward.
In fact, deploying troops northward was indeed the best solution—on one hand it could relieve pressure on the capital, and secondly it would thoroughly sweep the Tatars back to their grasslands.
After pondering for a long time, he suddenly pounded the table once. “Indeed, the older the ginger, the spicier it is. The Old Master truly becomes craftier with age! But naturally we must go demand silver—the question is how? How do we demand it?”
Who would be the one to stick their neck out? And how would they begin? Could they really tell the people of the realm, “We’re out of silver, so you all donate silver for the war effort”?
Even before saying it aloud, the common people would probably already be thrown into panic and confusion.