Regarding the "Jisi Incident," regarding Yuan Chonghuan, regarding the cacophonous factional strife before his eyes...
The causes and effects, the threads of logic, were perfectly clear.
Put simply, a group of officials led by Wen Tiren and Wang Yongguang—who had lost political standing after the imperially decreed treason case—were eager to suppress the Donglin Faction and stage a comeback.
Their essence was nothing more than exploiting a national crisis to reignite factional conflict, eliminate dissenters, and seize power—
Wen Tiren wanted to topple Han Kuang and Qian Longxi and ascend to the Grand Secretariat throne;
Wang Yongguang, a remnant of the Eunuch Faction, sought to remake his own influence while taking revenge on the Donglin Faction.
In the end, the political struggle culminated in Yuan Chonghuan's execution by lingchi in the third year of the Chongzhen reign, while Qian Longxi was imprisoned and then exiled to Dinghai.
From this point, factional strife towered above state affairs:
Civil officials, for the sake of private grievances, did not hesitate to expand conflicts and frame their colleagues;
The Chongzhen Emperor's suspicion and paranoia also became a catalyst for the factional strife.
The two complemented each other, accelerating the fall of the Ming Dynasty.
"Ha."
Zhu Youjian let out a cold sneer in his heart.
Foolish.
How utterly foolish.
For the sake of petty power and private gain, these ant-like mortals dared to make a racket in the very palace where he quietly cultivated?
A frigid killing intent surged from the depths of Chongzhen's heart.
Wen Tiren, Wang Yongguang... and the Donglin Faction...
Although the first layer of the Embryonic Breath Realm was merely the entry level of cultivation, killing dozens of powerless civil officials would still be quite easy.
Zhu Youjian did indeed raise his hand, and faint spiritual power began to gather.
But just as the killing intent was about to erupt—
His hand stopped in midair.
'Since I possess a complete cultivation system, why not reshape this world with my own hands and transform this spirit-dead land into a blessed land suitable for cultivation?'
When that time came—
Re-walking the Immortal Path, assailing the Grand Dao of the Golden Core, and reaching even higher realms—wouldn't that be far smoother than in my previous life?
However, reshaping the world required a massive amount of resources:
Special metals, jade, spiritual materials, treasures...
As well as countless laborers who obeyed orders and operated with high efficiency.
Even more necessary was an absolutely stable, highly unified dynastic machine capable of implementing his will to coordinate all of the above.
Therefore...
Zhu Youjian's gaze slowly swept past the figures quarreling beyond the curtain, swept past the cold, magnificent palace, as if seeing a vast empire engulfed in beacon fires yet brimming with limitless potential.
This current Great Ming, on the verge of collapse.
Seemed to still hold some use.
At the very least, it was a ready-made framework with countless millions of subjects and a massive resource mobilization capacity.
'Great Ming must endure, and it must endure according to Zhen's will.'
For the sake of his great cultivation enterprise, Zhu Youjian—now he should be called Chongzhen—thoroughly accepted his new identity and the responsibilities that came with it.
The killing intent in his heart slowly receded, transforming into a condescending calculation.
Donglin Faction?
Eunuch Faction remnants?
In his eyes, the two no longer possessed categories of loyalty and treachery, righteousness and wickedness.
There was only the distinction between useful and useless, obedient and disobedient.
'Perhaps letting them die with greater value is the true meaning of utilizing everything to its fullest.'
A preliminary plan took shape in Chongzhen's heart.
He steadied his mind, his spiritual sense spreading like flowing mercury, capturing every expression and whispered conversation of every person in the hall with perfect clarity.
Like the most brilliant spectator, he calmly continued listening to the performance of the ministers beyond the screen.
Sure enough, after Wen Tiren opened the floor, successive attacks immediately sprang up.
Gao Jie, who was serving as a censor, immediately stepped forward, his voice impassioned as he fabricated charges:
"We ministers impeach Yuan Chonghuan on three major crimes. First, he unauthorizedly killed Mao Wenlong, using an imperial mandate as a pretext to carry out a personal execution, thereby severing the Eastern Jiang arm and leaving the Jiannu with no worries to their rear, allowing them to drive straight in! This is the beginning of calamity for the state!"
Another censor named Shi Xi immediately followed:
"Second, he allowed the enemy to enter the pass, ignoring the alarm and refusing to rescue us, instead dismissing all reinforcing troops from the various routes. When the rebel army reached the city walls, he firmly rejected the generals' proposals to fight, cowering inside his camp—his actions are deeply suspicious!"
"Third, this minister has heard that he frequently exchanged letters with the slave chieftain Huang Taiji, their contents ambiguous. I fear there is suspicion of colluding with the enemy and plotting rebellion!"
"These three crimes—each one deserving death!"
How could the officials of the Donglin faction sit idly by?
Someone immediately spoke out in rebuttal.
"Absurd! Upon hearing the alarm, Marshal Yuan immediately led the Guanning Iron Cavalry to return by starlight, galloping a thousand li, fighting bloody battles to repel Huang Taiji's main force—was that false?"
"The claim of colluding with the enemy is even more baseless. Without solid evidence, how can we frame a frontier commander for rebellion based on mere speculation? This trend must not be allowed to grow."
"Mao Wenlong was arrogant and lawless, falsifying troop numbers and wasting military funds. Marshal Yuan executed him wielding the Imperial Sword; this was done to enforce military discipline. What fault is there?"
Both sides immediately erupted into chaos, citing the classics and histories, attacking one another.
The Wanshou Palace had turned into a vegetable market—where was there any dignity befitting a place of imperial governance?
Just as the clamor reached its peak—
"Clang—"
A clear, melodious note from a bronze chime distinctly entered the ears of every minister, overpowering all argument.
The ministers were startled, looking toward the sound.
They saw the lifeless white curtain parted by a long, pale hand.
The emperor, clad in a Daoist robe, slowly walked out from behind the screen.
His figure was thin, his face appearing somewhat pallid under the dim light.
But those eyes were as deep as a cold pool, carrying an unprecedented indifference and pressure.
The ministers, who had not seen the imperial countenance for so long, felt that the Son of Heaven before them possessed an aura wholly different from before.
A bit less irritable and prone to anger; a bit more unfathomable.
Emperor Chongzhen's gaze swept flatly across the deathly silent crowd, his voice cold and clear, without the slightest emotion:
"Zhen has listened for quite some time. The focus of your dispute is nothing more than Yuan Chonghuan's execution of Mao Wenlong. Was it merit or fault, crime or innocence?"
He paused slightly, seemingly in thought.
Then he proposed a suggestion that left everyone dumbstruck:
"Since this is so, why not bring the man here and ask him clearly face-to-face?"
Wen Tiren was stunned, hesitantly looking up:
"Your Majesty, Yuan Chonghuan is currently imprisoned in the imperial prison. Are you saying he should be brought here for interrogation?"
A secret joy welled in his heart; he assumed the emperor's intention to personally interrogate Yuan Chonghuan was to publicly seal the verdict on this traitor's crimes.
But Chongzhen slowly shook his head.
"No."
"The one Zhen spoke of is Mao Wenlong."
...
One could hear a pin drop.
The hall fell into a deathly silence.
The crowd stared at the emperor in stupefaction, as if they had heard the most inconceivable words in the world.
Mao... Mao Wenlong?
That Eastern Jiang Commander-in-Chief Mao Wenlong who, half a year ago, was struck down before his tent by Yuan Chonghuan with the Imperial Sword on Shuang Island on charges of "twelve major crimes"?
His head had been sent to the capital for inspection, his body interred in a coffin, his son Mao Chenglu accompanying the coffin into the capital. At present, the coffin seemed to be temporarily stored in the Ministry of Punishments' morgue...
Wait!
The point wasn't that the coffin was indeed in the capital.
It was summoning a dead man to court?
Summoning someone who had been dead for half a year, probably already decayed to bones?
After this brief, deathly silence.
A buzz of suppressed voices rang out in the hall.
Everyone looked at the emperor with gazes mixing horror, absurdity, and pity.
Mad.
His Majesty has truly cultivated himself into qi deviation...
Even more outrageous than the Jiajing Emperor of former days, who was obsessed with alchemy and Daoist cultivation!
At least Jiajing still knew how to play political games. This one, on the other hand, is spouting nonsense in broad daylight.
Qian Longxi's originally ashen face was now flushed red, from both anxiety and anger;
Wen Tiren and Wang Yongguang exchanged glances, their facial muscles twitching, wanting to laugh yet not daring to, their expressions extremely odd;
Han Kuang let out a heavy sigh, his aged tears nearly falling, feeling only that the Great Ming Dynasty's future was utterly dark.
"Your Majesty, watch your words!"
Several old ministers couldn't help but speak out, wanting to dissuade this absurd decree.
But Chongzhen ignored their reactions entirely, turning his gaze to a military officer standing outside the hall, clad in a flying-fish uniform and wearing a xiuchun blade at his waist.
"Luo Yangxing."
Luo Yangxing, the secretary of the Jinyiwei Southern Command Office, jolted and hurriedly stepped forward to kneel:
"This minister is here!"
His heart was also a stormy sea, completely unable to fathom what this emperor wanted to do.
"Zhen remembers that Mao Wenlong's coffin should be temporarily stored in the Ministry of Punishments' morgue."
Chongzhen's tone was calm and unrippled:
"Take a squad of men and transport it here immediately. Zhen wishes to question him personally."
Luo Yangxing's scalp went numb, almost believing he had misheard.
Transport... transport a coffin containing a rotting corpse to the Wanshou Palace where the emperor resided?
What impropriety was this?!
But when he looked up and met the emperor's eyes, which held no emotional fluctuation whatsoever, all words of doubt and remonstration stuck in his throat, leaving only instinctive obedience.
"This minister... accepts the decree!"
He kowtowed, then practically stumbled and scrambled out of the Wanshou Palace to carry out this unprecedented, bizarre order.
Inside the hall, the ministers could neither leave nor stay.
The charcoal fires had still not been lit, and the palace grew colder and colder.
But colder than the air was the icy chill in everyone's hearts.
Unable to dissuade him, they could only lower their heads, exchanging thoughts in hushed, frantic whispers.
About half a shichen later, the sound of disorderly footsteps came from outside the hall.
Luo Yangxing and several Jinyiwei bailiffs were seen carrying a heavy old fir-wood coffin emanating a stale, faint odor, stepping over the high threshold of Wanshou Palace and placing it heavily in the center of the hall.
All the civil officials subconsciously retreated a step, as if it were some extremely inauspicious, filthy object.
But Emperor Chongzhen showed no aversion at all, slowly walking down from the imperial throne to stand before the coffin.
"Open the coffin."
These two light words caused Luo Yangxing and his subordinates to turn green in the face.
Opening a coffin to inspect a corpse was already an ill-omened affair, let alone doing so inside the Imperial Palace, before civil and military officials!
But they dared not disobey, so they steeled themselves, found tools, gritted their teeth, and forcefully pried loose the nailed-shut coffin lid.
"Creak—thud!"
The coffin lid was pushed aside and fell to the floor.
A concentrated stench—a mixture of corpse rot and preservative herbs—instantly permeated the entire Wanshou Palace.
"Ugh—"
Many civil officials couldn't help dry-heaving on the spot, covering their mouths and noses with their sleeves, their faces filled with horror and disgust.
Even Wang Cheng'en was frightened until his face turned pale, nearly fainting.
"What is Your Majesty doing?!"
Some old ministers were heartbroken, almost kneeling to remonstrate tearfully.
But Emperor Chongzhen had no reaction whatsoever to this stench, enough to make an ordinary person faint.
He even took another step forward.
Under the appalled gazes of everyone, Emperor Chongzhen slowly raised his right hand.
His five fingers spread slightly, aimed at the corpse inside the coffin, as his mouth began to chant a string of cryptic, strangely toned incantations.
As if originating from the depths of the underworld, possessing a bizarre power to claim souls and captivate spirits.
The ministers could not bear to watch further, shaking their heads and sighing.
It's over...
The Son of Heaven has gone mad to this extent. How can the Ming realm endure?
The instant their contempt reached its peak—
Emperor Chongzhen's five fingers closed into a claw, pressing fiercely toward the coffin!
Hum!
Immediately after, under the terrified gazes of everyone—as if they had seen a ghost:
That already badly rotted corpse of Mao Wenlong, dead for half a year inside the coffin...
Sat up.