Iron Dynasty Chapter 1052

Without realizing it, delicate snowflakes drifted from the heavens to the ground.

Gazing at the overcast sky, Xiao Ming felt a wave of sentiment. Another year had slipped by for him, marking his fifteenth year in this realm. By the modern calendar, it was nearing the close of 1714, and over a decade of the eighteenth century had quietly elapsed.

“Thank you, Empress Dowager, for your concern. This son will keep it in mind,” Xiao Ming replied, easing Concubine Zhen’s anxious look.

In every age, pushing reforms demanded immense bravery, as it was bound to injure the benefits of some factions, yet sparing their gains would inflict grave damage on the Empire’s own welfare.

Could Xiao Ming be unaware that the edict he issued would sharpen the clash between him and the elite even further? Yet without bold measures, all his efforts for the Empire through the years would amount to naught.

Hailing from the modern world, he had witnessed the ascent and decline of today’s superpowers. The Soviet Union, once a bipolar giant, collapsed swiftly into history. This proved that mighty armies and cutting-edge tech offered no cure-all.

Above all, the Empire’s framework needed steadfastness, with no risk of inner turmoil.

Wang Chengye’s current actions posed a looming disaster. As the Empire’s populace grew ever wiser, the divide between elites and masses would spark massive unrest. Spotting this danger, Xiao Ming acted resolutely.

For letting things fester would invite inevitable strife between the mighty and the meek. Better to gradually erode the nobles’ special rights and settle the rift without bloodshed.

Yet, as Concubine Zhen pointed out, such steps would draw the nobles’ ire and grudges.

Gazing intently at Xiao Ming, Concubine Zhen let out a soft sigh, sensing he was merely placating her. He’d press ahead regardless.

She shook her head gently, took Fei Yuer’s hand, and departed.

As they walked away, Xiao Ming’s furrowed brow eased somewhat. Qian Dafu then spoke, “Your Majesty, the Empress Dowager’s advice holds merit. From here on, please take care, since you’re now facing not just one foe, but an entire bloc.”

Fist clenched tight, Xiao Ming stepped outside, embracing the biting wind. He declared boldly, “From the barren six prefectures I ascended. Endless battles north and south I waged, foes beyond count I felled. This throne, born of blade-strewn peaks and blood-drenched oceans, stands unyielding. I crushed the Golden Tent Khanate, toppled Goryeo, and smashed Japan. Why fear snuffing out these small fry? Let them not provoke me, lest they taste true infernal torment.”

Qian Dafu stood stunned by Xiao Ming’s fierce vow. Beholding the emperor’s growing poise, a thrill stirred within him.

“Your Majesty speaks true. These past ten years, no one has daunted Your Majesty!”

With a icy smirk, Xiao Ming ordered Qian Dafu, “Summon Lu Fei and Cui Shang’an to me at once.”

Qian Dafu’s spirits dropped. He knew Xiao Ming was laying groundwork ahead. Should unrest erupt, the imperial forces’ barrels would likely turn on these rebellious nobles.

Answering promptly, Qian Dafu hurried to the telegraph office and dispatched messages to Lu Fei and Cui Shang’an.

…

Wang Family Courtyard.

Soon after Ge Yiren’s exit, a piercing cry of grief burst forth here, drawing neighbors’ eyes to the uproar.

Zhu Wuliu’s fresh residence faced the Wang Family Courtyard directly. The wails pulled him over to check.

As fellow locals, with the Zhu family a leading name in Qingzhou, Wang Chengye and Zhu Wuliu crossed paths frequently. They knew each other well.

“What’s happened? What’s the trouble?” Zhu Wuliu approached the Wangs. Peering into the room, chills ran down his spine.

A figure dangled from the rafter—Wang Chengye, the Minister of Rites himself. Cold sweat beaded on Zhu Wuliu.

“Wang Ze, what… what’s going on?” Zhu Wuliu stuttered, plainly shaken. A minister’s suicide at home spelled huge scandal.

The gaunt youth kneeling and sobbing by the entrance was Wang Ze, Wang Chengye’s firstborn. Choking through tears, he said, “Father returned in a stupor. He muttered the Ministry of Rites was finished, that he’d sinned forever, and the Emperor doomed our house. We learned later of his dismissal and lost seal. He asked for wine to share a drink. But when I returned with it, he… he had hanged himself…”

Grasping the full story, Zhu Wuliu sighed deeply. “Alas, no need for this extreme. Yu Ming got sacked years back and thrives still. Why despair? A kinder imperial whim might reinstate him.”

Wang Ze sobbed harder. “Father prized his name above all, with a fiery streak. The Emperor’s shame crushed him. My failing—I should’ve foreseen it…”

Zhu Wuliu meant to add more, but words failed him. Blaming the Emperor for the dismissal wouldn’t do; court intrigues weren’t for merchants like him to stir, lest his riches crumble under one imperial nudge.

After a few consoling remarks, Zhu Wuliu departed. Officials roused by the noise soon converged on the Wangs, all moved by Wang Chengye’s end.

Zhu Wuliu, knowing the tale, pitied Wang Chengye’s fate yet backed the Emperor’s call wholeheartedly.

Though a Qingzhou magnate now, his kids still faced taunts from elite offspring at school.

True, laws equated scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants, but old divides lingered in everyday life.

Besides, Wang Chengye shone in letters as a gifted soul, yet his heir Wang Ze was pure idler. An office for such a one would scourge the locals.

Back home, Zhu Wuliu’s wife Song approached. “What’s the racket next door? Ghostly howls—did the father pass?”

Sipping tea in thought, Zhu Wuliu spewed it out laughing. “Spot on. Wang Ze’s dad is gone.”

He recounted it all.

Song sighed. “Like dwelling with a tiger beside the throne. Today bears it out. No surprise our brother calls serving the Emperor a trial.”

“Naturally. The Emperor wields life-and-death over all. He slays or spares at will. Wang Chengye courted it himself—irked the Emperor, so how expect favor in return?”