46. Late

Time flies like an arrow, and the years pass like a shuttle weaving through the loom; spring fades into autumn, cold yields to heat, and the fleeting moments vanish in the blink of an eye.

After much idle talk, a whole year had slipped away. It was now the early spring of the thirty-first year of the Jiajing reign.

In this hurried year, nothing noteworthy had occurred in the Wei family.

The feared imperial northern expedition, planned at the beginning of the year, had somehow stalled and remained unmentioned.

Even more astonishing were the reports from the capital: the Jiajing Emperor had unexpectedly reopened the twenty-year-long trade with the Mongols.

However, this news never appeared in the official gazette. Along with it came information that the trade resumption was merely a delaying tactic; the court’s northern expedition plan had not been canceled and could be launched at any time.

As time slipped by, Master Wei’s anxieties grew heavier day by day.

Dispatches from the jurisdiction of Jiujiang Prefecture revealed that a large amount of grain and fodder gathered by the authorities had already been delivered there. Many boats assigned to the river garrisons along the Yangtze had also gathered, seemingly ready to set off at a moment’s notice, awaiting only the imperial edict.

At this time, aside from the grain transport fleet continuing to ship supplies northward as scheduled, official vessels had vanished from the great rivers and waterways of the empire.

According to the latest reports, although the grain transport army still bore a heavy burden this year, the planned volume of grain shipment far exceeded previous years; whether this was to stockpile supplies in the north early remained unknown.

When September finally passed, the prime season for a northern campaign had slipped away. Master Wei at last breathed a sigh of relief, and the entire Wei household relaxed, no longer fearing the possibility of war in the north.

For more than half a year, no news of northern battles appeared in the gazette, nor were there orders reallocating troops or supplies. Yet no one dared to let their guard down.

Many senior officers in the garrisons had their own sources and understood the unusual movements this year. Now they could finally rest easy.

“I never imagined that what was once discussed as a northern expedition and punitive campaign would ultimately become a project to build border walls,” Master Wei remarked.

At the end of September, he returned from the company of a thousand households and brought back definitive news: the northern punitive expedition had been canceled.

“Ha, the old emperor really had us worrying for half a year for nothing,” his eldest son, Wei Wencai, said with obvious relief.

It was a joke—though he was destined to inherit his position, he certainly did not want to rise through such a military campaign. Moreover, most of the garrisons along the line would have been swept away, forcibly conscripted. Holding his post under such unstable circumstances would have been precarious; it would hardly feel as comfortable as now.

“What about the two hundred-soldier companies that have been training? Will they be disbanded on the spot or what?”

With the northern expedition off the table, the question now was how to handle the sons they had trained for half a year.

This year’s drills had been led by Wei Meng, with Wei Wencai and Wu Dong responsible for the training. The force numbered over two hundred men, equipped with 120 matchlock guns, with thirty more held in reserve to replace damaged firearms.

Over six months, about ten guns had broken, including the first matchlock issued to Wei Guangde, which was found to be defective and could no longer be fired, so he had to exchange it for another.

Several dozen matchlocks had been privately taken by Zhang Qing and Wu Zhankui to arm their personal guards; not a single matchlock remained in the garrison.

Now, the two hundred-soldier companies of the Right Army of Jiujiang Garrison were perhaps the highest firearms-equipped units in the world, with a fifty percent firearm rate.

As for the standardized ammunition that Wei Guangde had proposed, its testing results were excellent, increasing the firing rate. It had become widespread in this firearms unit. What remained now was the question of whether this unit would remain intact.

“Lord Zhang’s opinion is to keep them for now. Training is not easy. Even if disbanded, the men should be assigned to generals within our faction as personal guards,” Master Wei said, holding his wine cup but not drinking.

“More than two hundred men isn’t easy to maintain; special funding is costly,” Wei Wencai frowned at the idea of keeping the unit.

“Just squeeze more then—cut the funds allocated to other hundred-household units and funnel them here to maintain the troops. The court’s soldiers shouldn’t be maintained on our dime,” Wei Guangde put down his chopsticks and said. Though he could enjoy some wine outside, at home, he could only watch his father and eldest brother drink.

“That’s the directive from above as well. Troops come from the hundred-household units under the thousand-household company; military pay will now be allocated based on seventy percent of the manpower, with the remainder directly transferred here, as if we’re helping them train troops,” Master Wei said after swallowing his wine. “Other thousand-household companies will do the same. The high-ups have reached a consensus: keep one firearms unit ready. We all dread another outbreak like last year.”

“The hundred-household captains probably won’t be happy,” Wei Wencai remarked. Losing twenty or thirty men means a loss of income for the captains, and the others would likely protest.

“That depends on their skill. If they can make a fuss all the way to the Nanjing Commander’s office, I’ll admire their ability. But I doubt they dare. If they stir trouble, they’ll be the first to get punished,” Master Wei chuckled.

These skimming of military pay were never matters for public debate; what grounds would they have to cause trouble?

In Jiujiang Garrison, who would pay them any mind?

The officials in charge—from commanders to staff officers—wanted to keep the firearms unit as a reserve, and they all had their shares in the profits. As long as their own portions weren’t diminished, who else would dare interfere with the thousand-household company’s affairs?

The Bengshan hundred-household company had recruited over one hundred more soldiers than usual and trained them outside the fort daily. Wei Guangde’s days remained unchanged; he still rose early every morning to study diligently at the academy.

Only the number of children studying together had dropped from six initially to four, as two families believed that learning to read and write was sufficient. They thought further study unnecessary, as their children were not destined for official examinations, and continuing education would be a waste.

On the fifteenth, and on the twentieth day of the first lunar month, Master Sun’s private academy reopened.

This year, ten children at the academy were preparing to take the county examination, students Master Sun considered to have a chance.

Why ten? Because the Ming Dynasty’s examination system required five candidates to vouch for each other.

Those who had failed in previous years and those with similar abilities this year numbered just that many.

Since the county examination was held in February, Master Sun focused on these children’s studies during this period. Daily composition of the classic eight-legged essays was mandatory, while other subjects were secondary. As long as the eight-legged essay was well done, passing the county and provincial exams would be assured.

“Why isn’t Qin Jingchuan here today?” Master Sun, seated high behind the desk, looked down and noticed an empty seat, then asked.

He could hardly be indifferent—the absent student was among those preparing for this year’s county exam, with just over half a month left and the time to study intensively.

Master Sun had already reviewed the essays from the other nine students and the few future prospects like Wei Guangde, but Qin Jingchuan was still missing. By the hour, the class had already started, so he was late.

At that moment, a student sitting beside the empty seat rose slightly, bowed, and respectfully said, “Jingchuan’s grandfather passed away yesterday. I only learned this morning when I went to call him to class.”

“What? Old Master Qin has passed?”

The town of Madang was small, with a modest population. Everyone knew each other well, so Master Sun was visibly shaken by the news.