032 Hong Chengchou Lifts a Rock Only to Drop It on His Own Feet

Yang Guangxian, the acting Director of the Imperial Board of Astronomy, arrived with a respectful attitude and gifts in tow.

"Director Yang, you are too kind. You hold the fifth rank, while I am but a sixth-rank official. How could I possibly accept this?"

"My benefactor, you humble me. You are my patron; I am merely repaying your kindness."

After this brief probing, Jiang Qingyun stopped standing on ceremony. As a Censor, he was technically superior to the official anyway.

"I have a matter I would like to consult with you, my lord."

"Please, go ahead."

"There are certain secrets within the Imperial Board of Astronomy that were held exclusively by Johann Adam Schall von Bell. Now that he has taken those secrets with him, I find myself in a difficult position."

Jiang Qingyun smiled; he had long known that Yang Guangxian’s knowledge of astronomy was insufficient to sustain the daily operations of the Board.

"Do you not have a capable man under your command?"

"Wu Mingxuan?"

"Exactly. Appoint him as your deputy. You oversee the big picture, and let him handle the technical work. Furthermore, you need not discard Schall’s calendar entirely. You can take the essence, discard the dross, integrate them, and simply give it a new name."

"Brilliant! Truly brilliant!"

Yang Guangxian immediately rose and offered a deep bow.

"Your words today, Master Jiang, are like the tolling of a great bell—they have truly awakened me and solved the dilemma that has been troubling me."

"What dilemma?"

"How an amateur can lead the professionals!"

...

Jiang Qingyun decided to make use of this man. It would serve as a pledge of loyalty, and it would also add fuel to the fire in the capital, signaling his intent to draw others into his fold.

After a brief whisper...

Yang Guangxian nodded repeatedly, patting his chest in assurance.

"Do not worry, sir. How the celestial phenomena change is up to the Heavens, but the final right to interpret those phenomena rests with me."

"Director Yang, I heard that in your early years, you submitted a memorial impeaching Wen Tiren, the Grand Secretary of the Ming court?"

"That is correct."

"So, you were once a member of the Donglin faction?"

"The past is best left buried. Ah, I am embarrassed, truly embarrassed."

Yang Guangxian used his wine to mask his awkwardness.

Jiang Qingyun, however, fell into deep thought. This man might have great utility. The Donglin faction was useless at governance but first-rate at stirring up trouble; the Qing court needed the addition of such men.

...

As the gathering neared its end, Zhao Zesheng arrived.

"My lord, most of the children in the orphanage have no names. Perhaps we could use your surname..."

The slightly tipsy Jiang Qingyun jolted. How familiar this plot was—it was exactly the same as before he had transmigrated.

He immediately waved his hand.

"No! Use the Hundred Family Surnames: Zhao, Qian, Sun, Li, Zhou, Wu, Zheng, Wang, Feng, Chen, Chu, Wei, Jiang, Shen, Han, Yang. After me, starting with 'Shen'—for instance, children admitted this year will take the surname Shen, next year Han, and the year after, Yang."

"Understood. We have the surnames, but what of their given names?"

"Choose a character from the poem 'Spring River Flower Moon Night.' If there are too many duplicates, add a number based on the month they were admitted to the orphanage. For example, 'Chun-Si' or 'Hua-Jiu'."

This was merely a small episode.

The orphanage project was a minor deed within his power that Jiang Qingyun did for this era, but the inoculation program in the Southern City was the truly significant undertaking.

...

Located on the axis extending from the capital, Nanyuan was currently at its most beautiful, filled with wetlands, forests, marshes, and rolling hills.

Jiang Qingyun had ordered a seedling farm built there.

Over a hundred itinerant doctors, temporarily recruited from Tianqiao, worked there. They all covered their mouths and noses with cotton masks and wore uniform robes.

Jiang Qingyun asked the official in charge: "The seedling farm is of vital importance! If anyone interferes, no matter who they are, tell me immediately."

"Rest assured, my lord. Right next to our farm is the infirmary for smallpox patients. Outsiders avoid this place like the plague; let alone interfering, no one dares come within three miles of us."

"Work hard and do your job well. Once this is finished, each of you will be rewarded with thirty taels of silver."

"Thank you, my lord!"

The production process was simple in principle.

One would select suitable scabs from the smallpox patients next door, known as "ripe seedlings," then process them sequentially, place them in bottles, and leave them underground for several days to reduce their toxicity. Finally, the powder would be mixed with water and formed into "qualified seedlings" wrapped in cotton balls.

"Have the people from the Imperial Medical Academy come by?"

"No!"

Everything was within his expectations. How could the Imperial physicians possibly come? They had merely provided a few thin, useless prescriptions for dry-seedling inoculation.

...

After the inspection, Jiang Qingyun galloped on horseback, entering the Southern City through the Yongding Gate to reach the inoculation site at Tianqiao.

There were over a dozen sheds, quite crude in construction.

Every day, thousands of qualified seedlings from the farm were transported here and administered to the noses of the commoners, thereby generating antibodies.

"My lord..."

"How is the progress?"

"The people are very cooperative. Those who develop the pox are concentrated and sent to Nanyuan."

"Keep a close watch for related rumors in the market. If any appear, investigate and arrest immediately."

"Rest assured, my lord, there are none. Everyone is very enthusiastic."

The sight of the commoners craning their necks in anticipation seemed to confirm this.

It was a subtle psychology, essentially the same as the elderly women back in his former life queuing for free eggs—they were taking advantage of something, and in this case, they were taking advantage of the imperial court.

Every generation has its own eggs.

...

In October, Zhou Shao brought news: except for Datong, all prefectures and counties in Shanxi had fallen.

"Brother Zhou, you folks in the Ministry of Personnel are well-informed."

"The Ministry of Personnel is the head of the Six Ministries. I don't even need to ask; many people come to tell me things voluntarily, just to leave a good impression."

After clinking their cups, Jiang Qingyun asked deliberately, "What is your take on the current state of the world?"

The question was double-edged; it could be interpreted as asking about the struggle between the Ming and Qing, or as concern over the power vacuum following Dorgon’s death.

Zhou Shao blurted out, "The Ming court cannot win."

"Why?"

"Endless infighting!"

"Indeed. Zhu Youlang’s talent is, at best, fit for a tribal chieftain." Jiang Qingyun held his cup, his expression calm. "It is only a pity that the endless warfare brings such suffering to the common people."

"The official gazette records that about half a month ago, Prince Ying, Ajige, led troops to massacre over eighty thousand people across three counties and one prefecture!"

The atmosphere turned heavy in an instant.

The two men tacitly avoided this sensitive topic and turned to gossip about the capital’s official circles. One piece of news, in particular, piqued Jiang Qingyun’s intense interest.

...

"The court has appointed Minister Hong Chengchou to be responsible for inoculating the Bannermen in the Inner City?"

"Yes, it was a unanimous decision by the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and several princes. They even sent someone to Shanxi to report it to the Prince Regent."

"What did the Prince Regent say?"

"Having lost his own brothers, his original wife, and his sister-in-law to smallpox, the Prince Regent detests the disease deeply and approved it immediately. Come to think of it, it was your success with the inoculation in the Southern City that gave the palace the confidence to proceed."

"Minister Hong himself is likely less than thrilled."

"Hahaha, our Minister Hong has tendered his resignation twice, only to be rejected by the palace both times. You could say he’s lifted a rock only to drop it on his own feet. When he recommended you, brother, he certainly didn't expect things to turn out this way..."

At this, the two men could not help but laugh.

...

After seeing Zhou Shao off, Jiang Qingyun slept until dusk, when he was gently awakened by Lüzhu.

"Young Master, Master Wu, the Director of the Imperial Medical Academy, wishes to see you."

"Where is he?"

"Drinking tea in the front hall."

"Quickly, help me dress."

Jiang Qingyun scrambled up. The Imperial Medical Academy and the Garrison Command had nothing to do with each other; what could possibly have driven the Director to visit in person?

He had a premonition that Wu Yong was about to bring him news of great consequence.