039 I need comrades!

The biting cold wind swept into the Imperial Garden, whistling through the pavilion. Perhaps because Jiang Qingyun’s words were too shocking, the Shunzhi Emperor looked somewhat dazed, and Soni’s expression was as if he had seen a ghost.

Jierhalang, being a veteran Prince, frowned. "Censor Jiang, aren't you being a bit alarmist?"

"Your Highness, it is not that I am speaking sensational nonsense to further my career. I truly feel that there is an undercurrent moving within our Eight Banners."

"Are you implying that the Bannersmen would rebel against the Banners?"

"Yes!" Jiang Qingyun said earnestly. "If the people of Song can rebel against Song, and the people of Ming can rebel against Ming, why can't the Bannersmen rebel against the Banners? Your Highness, this is merely a smokescreen."

Jierhalang was left stunned and speechless. Soni felt a chilling draft creeping down his back.

"Your words, Minister, do indeed have some merit. Which people do you suspect? How can we distinguish them? And how can we ensure that we do not wrong a good Bannersman while not letting a bad one escape?" The Shunzhi Emperor’s thinking was quite meticulous.

Jiang Qingyun felt a surge of secret joy and whispered, "I have a plan..."

Two days later, the Office of Transmission notified all officials of the third rank or higher in the capital, as well as local governors and commanders, that they were required to submit memorials on "how to correctly handle the funeral arrangements for the Imperial Father Regent." The Secretariat was responsible for collecting all submissions, without issuing any replies, and forwarding them directly for the Emperor’s inspection.

Shortly after, a public notice was posted throughout the city—any Bannersman could submit a memorial, regardless of rank.

In an instant, the city was in an uproar. In taverns, teahouses, and brothels, the sons of the Eight Banners were always eager to involve themselves in such matters, treating it as if it were their own family business. Where there are topics, there are opinions. Where there are opinions, there are divisions. Within half a month, three distinct factions emerged in the city.

One faction supported Dorgon and advocated for grand funeral honors, consisting mainly of the Bordered White and Plain Blue Banners. Another faction opposed Dorgon, arguing that the honors were excessive and should be revoked; this group was the largest. The last faction remained silent, and they were the fewest in number.

The three groups argued incessantly, often making inflammatory remarks. Soni, the Commander of the Plain Yellow Banner, sensed an unusual and dangerous atmosphere, so he simply took to his bed with an illness, unable to attend court. The Imperial Hospital diagnosed him with a severe case of the common cold. The Soni household shut its doors to all visitors.

At the Ministry of Personnel, Jiang Qingyun arrived once again, handing the usual ingot of silver to the familiar gatekeeper.

"Ah!"

A familiar tone, a familiar path, and a familiar face—it was good to be back. This time, he was personally received by Ji Zheng, the Director of the Department of Selection, with his old acquaintance Zhou Shao standing beside him.

Following the procedure, handing over the silver notes, and receiving the official appointment documents—though Jiang Qingyun was arrogant, he still played by the unspoken rules.

After half an hour of busy work, he stepped out as an official of the fifth rank, having advanced quite rapidly.

At noon, it was a private banquet. The location chosen was the top floor of the newly opened Zhimei Restaurant in the Dashilan district. Jiang Qingyun and Zhou Shao sat opposite each other, with four hot dishes, a hotpot, and a pot of warmed yellow wine. It was not exactly luxurious, but it sufficed.

"Brother Zhou, have you ever considered entering officialdom?"

"When I was young, I was quite keen on it, but now I have little interest. I work in the Ministry of Personnel myself, so I know the procedures by heart. As long as the money and connections are in place, I could likely secure a minor eighth-rank post, earn a salary of a few dozen taels, and then go hide in some obscure corner, flattering those above and acting harshly toward those below. Why bother?"

Jiang Qingyun smiled, knowing these were his true feelings. The hotpot began to bubble. Zhou Shao used the serving chopsticks to pick up a mouthful of thinly sliced lamb, swished it briefly in the pot, lifted it into his sesame paste dish, and then switched chopsticks to eat it. He followed it with a sip of yellow wine.

He smiled and said, "Brother Jiang, this is southern wine."

"Oh?"

"If you don't believe me, ask the manager. Beijing yellow wine doesn't taste like this."

The manager bowed and smiled slightly: "Master Zhou is sharp. It is indeed the newly arrived Jiangnan yellow wine. I thought I would let you taste the flavor of your hometown."

"How did you know my place of origin?"

"More than half of the secretaries in the city are from Shaoxing Prefecture; I can't be wrong. Are you satisfied, sir?"

"The Lu cuisine is very authentic."

"Then please enjoy your meal." The manager, having read the room, withdrew.

"Brother Zhou, you should still enter officialdom!"

"Hmm?"

"If you want to get things done, you must be an official. If you want to do great things, you must be a high-ranking official. I will find a way to scrape together the silver needed to grease the wheels. If you can't go to the provinces, the various ministries in the capital are the first choice. If that's not possible, Daxing or Wanping will do."

"What for?"

"For a life of grandeur and unrestrained boldness. The world ultimately needs people to do practical things. I cannot do it alone; I need comrades."

"What does 'comrade' mean?"

"People who share the same ideals!"

"Brother Qingyun, how do you view wealth and women?"

"If you compare officialdom to a hotpot, wealth is the charcoal, and women are this dish of sesame paste."

Jiang Qingyun looked through the steam of the hotpot at Zhou Shao, who was lost in thought, and did not urge him. He held the dish in his left hand, and with a gentle push of his chopsticks in his right, he dropped the mountain of lamb slices into the boiling broth. After letting it sit for two seconds, he scooped it all out with a bamboo strainer, drained the broth, and dumped the meat into an empty bowl.

"Here!"

Zhou Shao laughed; it was his first time seeing such a bold and unreserved way of eating.

Jiang Qingyun ate with great gusto, occasionally dipping the meat in sesame paste or chive flower sauce. Zhou Shao took a deep breath and raised his cup: "Master Jiang, bottoms up!"

"Bottoms up!"

The two finished their drinks in one gulp and burst into laughter. The manager downstairs heard them and was very pleased; the fact that the Master was laughing happily meant he was satisfied with the meal. Doing big business in the South City, Censor Jiang was the sky above their heads. The charcoal shops, vegetable markets, transport firms, waste management, water supply, and brickyards in the entire South City all had the Master’s rural relatives behind them.

However, he did not resent it at all. If the relatives of a dignified Censor were scraping a living in these grueling industries, what did it mean? It meant that Master Jiang was incorruptible—when he could have easily plundered them.

Half an hour later, the waiter who went upstairs to clean up came down with a thud-thud-thud.

"Manager, Master Jiang left behind some loose silver."

"Oh my, what to do? Quickly, chase after him and return the money."

"Manager, last time you told me to chase him, I had a hard time catching up, but he wouldn't take it, so I brought it back again."

"You idiot, he can refuse to take it, but I cannot fail to chase him. Go! Chase!"

The waiter, having received a ten-cash tip, ran out quickly. Of course, he couldn't understand it; if he could grasp the artistry involved, he wouldn't be a waiter, but a manager.

Lu Xun once said: In officialdom, everyone knows that some things will have no result; the key is the process. If you have done it, and someone has seen the process, that is enough.

In the evening, they drank again. The City Guard office had rented out a restaurant of ordinary quality. The environment was average, but it had the advantage of rich food, strong spirits, large bowls, and deep camaraderie. Jiang Qingyun was dressed in a plain robe, his hair half-loose, looking nothing like a civil official.

He distributed the reward money on the spot, handing it to everyone. His trusted aide, Zhao Zesheng, acted as his foil in time: "Master, does the Imperial Court give this much?" He had received 120 taels.

Zhou Cang, standing by, put down a braised pig trotter: "Nonsense, the few pennies the Court gives wouldn't cover anything. Most of the reward money today was borrowed by the Master from that old miser in Shanxi."

The room went silent.

"Master, what will we do when it's time to pay it back?"

"This official is incorruptible! I have no money! I won't pay it back! I just won't! If worse comes to worst, I'll use the City Guard office as collateral!"

Everyone burst into uproarious laughter, and the cohesion of the small group rose to a new level.