The detailed news from the west arrived in the early hours of the first day of the fifth month.

The night of the thirtieth of the fourth month had just passed. Li Pin had been discussing current affairs late into the night with several like-minded young Confucian scholars, their moods somewhat impassioned. Past midnight, it became the fifth month, and just as he was about to lie down to sleep, a steward came knocking at his bedroom door, bringing news of the Battle of Hanzhong.

The night sky over Fuzhou was clear, and summer had already arrived, the climate pleasant. After Li Pin finished reading the report, he sat for a long while beneath the banyan tree in the courtyard, wrapped in a single layer of clothing, knowing that this night, many people besides himself likely would not sleep.

The situation remained tense. Although large numbers of people had flooded into Fuzhou city, resettlement zones had been designated, and at night the city still enforced a curfew. Those who could obtain this news at this hour included himself, some members of the Grand Princess’s residence, and the Covert Investigation Bureau — and naturally, His Majesty within the palace city would certainly not miss such news either.

He could largely imagine the mood with which that young Emperor would view the report before him.

In the past, the Martial Dynasty had taken many wrong turns — if one went by what that Mr. Ning had said, it had accumulated many debts and left behind countless messes, to the point that it had once nearly reached the brink of existing in name only. By now, all that remained was this “orthodox” remnant regime, holed up in Fujian alone — and in many respects, one could even say it had brought this upon itself.

But since ascending the throne in Jiangning last year and establishing the reign title “Revival,” this new Emperor had indeed shown people a glimmer of hope amid desperate circumstances. After arriving in Fuzhou, many of this young Emperor’s actions made the conservative faction uncomfortable, but in the eyes of far more people, the new sovereign’s numerous measures displayed vigorous energy and sharp resolve.

Here, Li Pin was perhaps one of those who had followed along the entire way and seen most clearly.

From the desperate valor of the breakout battle at Jiangning, through the guilt accumulated during the long journey, to arriving in Fuzhou — Jun Wu had personally handled a great many matters himself. He would go to the sites where refugees were being processed, ask in detail about the resettlement procedures that followed, and take the initiative to ask refugees relocated from other regions about their hopes for the future. During this period, he had even been the target of assassination attempts several times.

In the fourth month, people erected a stone monument in the northwest square of Fuzhou to mourn the Jiangnan civilians who had died in the Jurchen invasion from the south. Jun Wu, wearing armor with a white silk sash tied on, cut open his palm with his longsword, mixed the blood into wine, and then bowed three times to honor the dead. These actions did not conform to the rules of the Ministry of Rites, but Jun Wu did not care.

After the memorial ceremony, an assassin attempted to strike. Jun Wu had the captured assassin brought before the monument and made to explain, face to face, his reasons for the assassination attempt, before finally having the assassin executed.

These approachable, hands-on, or iron-willed and upright actions were only the outward appearance. If these were all there was, those in high positions would not have rated him so highly — but what truly made people feel he was steady was the handling of all the fine details beneath that surface.

After arriving in Fuzhou, the court led by Jun Wu first conducted a comprehensive accounting of all money, grain, and supplies under its control. At the same time, he ordered the original officials of Fuzhou to cooperate with the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Works in submitting and verifying registers of every craftsman in Fuzhou. Fuzhou was originally a fine port, and the Martial Dynasty’s shipbuilding industry was most developed here. As Crown Prince, Jun Wu had already placed emphasis on craftsmen and the study of natural principles, so at first no one found this strange. But by late in the third month and early in the fourth, once the Ministry of Revenue clerks had been provisionally reorganized, they began a new round of census-taking and household registration.

In the former Martial Dynasty realm, the number of literate scholars had never been in short supply, nor had officials ever been lacking. After arriving in Fuzhou, while Jun Wu carefully selected officials to enter the court, what concerned him more was the reorganization of the clerical staff.

Since the second half of last year, as the Martial Dynasty’s realm faced disintegration, Jun Wu had broken through from Jiangning and made his way south, bringing many civilians with him along the way. Although it was said that no life should be ranked above another, when forced to make hard choices, Jun Wu had ultimately prioritized preserving the lives of those clerks, shopkeepers, and craftsmen who could read, write, and calculate, and who possessed useful skills.

After arriving in Fuzhou in successive batches, the literate clerks and shopkeepers were mostly assigned to the Ministry of Revenue, and the craftsmen’s names were entered into the Ministry of Works. What Jun Wu did first was use the registers of Fuzhou’s local craftsmen to drill his administrative staff; once the clerks had been provisionally reorganized, he began registering and taking a census of Fuzhou’s people — especially the refugees. Household registration might look like a tedious matter, but it has always been the most solid method by which a regime strengthens its control over the lowest levels of society.

Earlier in the year, when Tie Sanwu had held power in Fuzhou, Zhou Pei, Cheng Zhouhai, and others had secretly maneuvered, joining forces with local powers to cut off Tie Sanwu’s head and easily seize Fuzhou. Naturally, the local gentry and armed factions had their own demands regarding the new court. In everyone’s imagination, with the Martial Dynasty collapsed to this extent, the young monarch newly risen to power would surely be eager to counterattack, and, facing enemies on all sides, would also actively court every faction, lavishing rewards on his supporters in hopes of the effect of “buying bones at a thousand gold pieces” — showing generosity to attract more talent.

But once the re-registration and household census began, people discovered that this seemingly radical young monarch had instead adopted a style of thoroughly chewing through and digesting one place at a time. In Fuzhou during the fourth month, refugees poured in from all directions and were transported in by fleets of boats; the work of registration and resettlement was extremely busy, and there was occasional chaos and assassination attempts, but none of the disturbances caused were ever very large. Ultimately, this was because the new monarch and his team had treated all these matters as training exercises — every single item had a contingency plan prepared in advance, so that once something happened, there was already a response ready.

For this reason, in the eyes of the perceptive, the Fuzhou of this moment was in an atmosphere that was busy and complicated, yet relatively well-ordered. The new sovereign’s control over the city was expanding with each passing day, and for anyone who truly hoped for an enlightened ruler and was loyal to the Martial Dynasty, the sight before them could only bring comfort.

And even for those who harbored resentment, there was little point to it. During the breakout and relocation from Jiangning, Jun Wu had forcefully reorganized the army, and now over a hundred thousand elite troops were under the control of generals like Yue Fei and Han Shizhong. Though vast tracts of the Martial Dynasty’s territory had already crumbled, with these remaining forces, Jun Wu still had more than enough strength to swallow Fuzhou whole — or even all of Fujian.

While reorganizing the Ministry of War and cleaning up military discipline, and drilling the Ministry of Revenue’s clerks as the household census began, reform of the Ministry of Works was also proceeding with sweeping force. At the upper levels of the Ministry of Works, several quick-thinking craftsmen were promoted to head positions. Among the craftsmen who had followed the Institute for the Study of Natural Principles in Jiangning, anyone who had made a great contribution was promoted by Jun Wu, and two of them were even granted titles of nobility. He also publicly promised that anyone who, in the future, achieved great accomplishments in the development of the study of natural principles would never be denied official rank or noble title.

Under the old class hierarchy of the Martial Dynasty, scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants had followed in that order. In past years, merchants had used the power of money to slightly elevate their own status, but this had never been recognized by the ruling power. When Jun Wu was Crown Prince, he had not held such authority; but now, he was in fact going to substantively raise and recognize the status of craftsmen.

Some of the old Confucian scholars and old officials who had followed Jun Wu south had, to varying degrees, voiced their opposition, and some had only obliquely reminded Jun Wu to think twice and not act so radically. But now that the army was in Jun Wu’s hands, the clerks below were usable, intelligence was supported by the Grand Princess’s faction and the Covert Investigation Bureau, and propaganda was handled by Li Pin’s newspaper — while these great Confucian scholars and old officials could, to varying degrees, rally the gentry and clan forces of the Martial Dynasty across various regions, with Jun Wu determined to digest one piece of territory at a time, these officials’ influence and restraint over him had, without anyone quite noticing, sunk to their lowest point.

Under the influence of these methods, the conservative Confucian scholars perhaps had some complaints about the new Emperor’s rebelliousness and “instability,” but for the large number of young Confucian scholars, such a monarch was without doubt inspiring. In recent times, many scholars had come to see Li Pin, and in speaking of the new sovereign’s methods and strategies, their hearts surged with excitement and they were full of praise.

Indeed — as long as Fuzhou could be thoroughly digested and mastered, the effect achieved would be far greater than hastily restoring all of Fujian, or even obtaining a Jiangnan that was not truly united in purpose. Once the new sovereign’s control over Fuzhou became meticulous and thorough, it could in the future be extended more broadly, and the whole realm could likewise become well-ordered. Under such a premise, the situation in which the gentry and powerful clans of every region looked only after themselves and were feeble and ineffective might also undergo reform.

Looking across history, in which dynasty, under which reign, had anyone achieved this kind of control over the lowest level of society, without resembling the image of a martial emperor?

While praising Jun Wu’s actions without reservation, people also began to reflect on many matters of past Confucian scholarship, and over these past two months, the most frequently discussed topic in Fuzhou’s Confucian circles was the ranking order of scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants. In the past, it was believed that these four types of people ranked in descending order of importance; now, it seemed, this notion needed to change, and the status of the artisan and merchant tiers needed to be taken seriously.

Various theories subsequently emerged. The two most representative views were these: the relatively conservative view held that scholars, as the managers and coordinators of this world, should occupy a tier of their own, while farmers, artisans, and merchants should each have their function, all to be treated equally and encouraged to develop; the more radical view held that scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants should all be treated equally, belonging to the same tier with no distinction of higher or lower. Of course, this view was considered radical precisely because it ran into difficulty on the question of how farmers could be treated as equal to scholars — for instance, people could grant official rank and noble titles to craftsmen and merchants to demonstrate their elevated status, but how should farmers be honored and encouraged? Because of this problem, most people considered this idea a good one, but largely impossible to put into practice.

The new sovereign’s brilliance and vigor, and the transformation of the age, were able to inspire some young people. Li Pin often exchanged views with these people — on the one hand guiding them to undertake practical work, and on the other hand, vaguely feeling that the emergence of a new Confucianism might truly have reached a critical, possible turning point.

Of course, as far as he himself was concerned, his feelings and emotions about the events and changes before him were far more complicated.

Young people who had not seen much of the world, or Confucian scholars who had seen a great deal of it, could all potentially feel inspired by the changes taking place here — indeed, the Martial Dynasty had suffered such enormous upheaval that, having now reached the point of a broken nation and shattered families, people had largely come to realize that without thorough reform and change, it seemed there was no way to save the Martial Dynasty.

For this reason, even some of the old-school officials who had followed Jun Wu south, upon witnessing Jun Wu’s sweeping reforms — even going so far as to cut open his own palm and mix blood into wine, bowing at a memorial ceremony — might voice complaints, but in substance they took no real action to resist. Because even these old men knew that adherence to convention could only preserve what already existed; to seek genuine expansion and breakthrough might truly require exactly this kind of unconventional action from Jun Wu.

From a historical perspective, a monarch like Jun Wu — one with hot blood in his chest, method and discipline in his hands, and who had even seen blood on the battlefield — would, in almost any dynasty, any era, qualify as a ruler capable of a great restoration. At the very least, in this initial stage, with his own responsiveness, and with the assistance of people like Cheng Zhouhai and Wenren Buer, things had already reached something close to perfection. If one placed oneself at any point in past history, one would indeed feel overjoyed at such a monarch.

But at present, amid the sincere hopes, praise, and admiration of these Confucian scholars, there was always a certain feeling that would rise up from deep within him, suppressing his joy, and questioning him.

— At this moment in history, how do our efforts compare to that person in the southwest?

— Does a powerful and brilliant ruler working toward national restoration stand a chance of victory against that person in the southwest?

In the eyes of those young Confucian scholars who came to discuss matters of governance with him — many of them capable and perceptive — the answer to this question was beyond doubt. But only within Li Pin himself did he find that he did not even want to answer such a question. He understood that this reluctance itself already reflected the weighing and answer within his own heart.

And so, whenever every Confucian scholar felt excited and inspired, only he would always smile calmly, able to point out with a single incisive remark the flaws in the other’s argument, guiding their thinking. This state of affairs had, if anything, made his reputation in Fuzhou grow even greater.

In the early hours of the first day of the fifth month, not long after he had finished his discussion with several Confucian scholars, this question buried in his heart arrived once more before his eyes, delivered through intelligence reports.

On the twenty-fourth of the fourth month, with Ning Yi’s reinforcements not yet having arrived, Qin Shaoqian, leading the Huaxia Army’s Seventh Corps of twenty thousand men, had head-on crushed the assault of Zonghan and Xiyin’s army of one hundred thousand, even beheading Zonghan’s own son, Wanyan Sheyema, before his very eyes. From this point on, the two most accomplished of Zonghan’s sons — the Pearl Prince and the Treasure Mountain Prince — had both perished at the hands of the Huaxia Army in this battle in the southwest. Zonghan and Xiyin, leading their remaining troops, fled in panic eastward…

In the year when the Jurchens had invaded south a second time and besieged Bianliang, causing the Martial Dynasty its greatest humiliation — the Humiliation of Jingping — Zonghan, Xiyin, the Pearl Prince, and the Treasure Mountain Prince had all taken part. In addition, Yinshuke, Balishu, Yuyu, Dalai — these ferocious Jurchen generals were, in the hearts of every conscientious person of the Martial Dynasty, mortal enemies they would have wished to kill with their entire lives’ effort. And now, one by one, they were being cut down in the southwest.

He should have been happy…

But a far more complicated emotion rose up instead, entangling him, interrogating him… This feeling kept Li Pin sitting beneath the great banyan tree in the courtyard for a long while, the night wind drifting lightly past, the banyan swaying back and forth. At some point, a Confucian scholar who had stayed the night came out of his room, saw him, and came over to bow and ask what had happened. Li Pin only waved his hand.

“It’s nothing.”

The scholar went back to sleep, and only then did Li Pin turn his gaze toward the direction of the palace city, and sigh.

He then called for a servant.

“Prepare the carriage. I am going into the palace.”

This was news that the entire realm would cheer and rejoice over — but whether it could be released was something that would need to be discussed first.

Not long after, within the palace city, he saw Zhou Pei, Cheng Zhouhai, Wenren Buer, Tie Tianying, and…

The only one showing his excitement without any restraint whatsoever — the Emperor himself.