Chapter 286: New Year's Day (2)

Chapter 286: New Dawn (II)

The Great Ming Empire, the capital.

To many who had lived here since childhood, the Forbidden Palace was never on the ground but in the clouds.

Where the clouds are deep, the true dragon resides.

Towering palaces rise into the sky, layer upon layer, nine beams, eighteen pillars, seventy-two ridges, their inner framework of steel and iron, their outer layers of luxurious and ornate timber.

Golden dragons coil around the pillars, nine sons lie along the ridges, square and upright, reaching from earth to sky.

This is the culmination of the Ministry of Works' architectural craftsmanship, embodying the Ming people's philosophy of "heaven round, earth square" to the fullest.

Around the palace, the office buildings of the empire's various ministries are scattered.

The New Dawn has arrived, and the officials serving here have all taken leave, their buildings now dimly lit, like black-armored soldiers guarding the four sides of the palace.

Only in the place closest to the palace, a modest Ming-style low building still emits a faint glow.

Though it is the dead of night, the square before the low building is filled with uniformly colored, vermilion vehicles.

These are the "Vermilion Chariots" issued by Shenji Heavy Industry and distributed by the Ministry of Personnel to high-ranking officials.

This is the Wen Yuan Ge, though at the foot of the palace, holds a place in the hearts of all officials.

White as snow, his face a map of wrinkles, his dignified robes draped over a hunched body, his curved fingers gripping a straight brush.

A scroll of bright yellow paper lay open on the desk, covered in elegant black script. The old man leaned forward, his bespectacled eyes scanning each character carefully.

Behind him, a grand map depicted the empire's vast territories, including the two capitals, thirteen provinces, and nearly a hundred crime zones. Each area glowed with red lights, indicating that local officials had all been linked into the Ministry of Personnel's "Tianguan Realm" in a silent, waiting state.

On either side of the desk, two rows of silent imperial officials stood.

Unlike usual, their positions were not determined by rank or seniority.

The closer to the desk, the more aged their faces appeared.

For these conservative elders, though they had experienced or even led the "Second Technological Revolution," the principle that "flesh and skin are bestowed by one's parents" had long been ingrained in their very being.

They had preserved themselves in the midst of change, refusing to accept prosthetic modifications, rigidly believing that the wisdom of life and the merit of governance they had painstakingly acquired through study were sufficient to sustain their advancement in rank.

The line extended toward the grand doors of the Wen Yuan Ge, and the age of those standing grew younger, from bearded jaws to clean-shaven faces, with the marks of prosthetic modifications becoming increasingly evident.

The Six Arts of the Gentleman were, in themselves, an immense endeavor. Ordinary people could not master even one in their lifetime.

Thus, among the young officials of the New Donglin Party, a new, grandiose ideology emerged: "Do not impose on others what you do not desire for yourself."

If the Confucian order did not accept mechanization, how could they promote this technology among the people?

The line's arrangement by age and seniority made this cabinet meeting resemble a family gathering.

A gathering of the Donglin Party's elders!

The vermilion cinnabar on the brush was as red as blood, like a general in red robes inspecting the ranks of black-armored soldiers on this yellow field.

How long had passed, no one knew, but the inspection finally ended.

The old man lifted his wrist, set down his brush, and made a heavy mark.

The yellow paper, the black script, the vermilion mark—now there was no turning back.

"This document for implementing the new policies, along with the list of newly appointed officials, let the Ministry of Personnel distribute it through the 'Tianguan Realm' to all regions."

The old man wrote his name, set down the brush, removed his spectacles, and slowly rose, leaning on the desk.

"After the New Dawn, the empire will be entrusted to you all."

"Thank you for your hard work, Elder." All bowed in unison.

"This is the last thing I can do. You need not trouble yourself in the future."

The old man smiled faintly, waving his hand toward the crowd. "As long as the new policies are implemented smoothly, leaving the empire with a stable crime zone, I shall be satisfied."

An elderly official with similarly furrowed brows and solemn eyes supported his arm and whispered, "You must not rest yet. The Donglin Party cannot do without you."

"There is an old saying in the court: 'Praise grows daily, blame grows daily.' If I cling to this position, hoarding all the credit, someone will stab me in the back, calling me 'a great villain pretending to be loyal, a great fraud pretending to be honest.'"

The elderly official growled, "I'll see who dares! Anyone from the Three Judicial Offices who speaks out, I'll skin them alive!"

The old man merely smiled faintly, glancing at the sea of vermilion around him.

"I am old. If I cling to this position, it would be inappropriate. The Confucian order is not like the Buddhist or Daoist sects. Without flow, even the clearest pool will turn to mire."

Pointing to his head, he joked, "This head has labored with me all my life. I do not wish to close my eyes with it still being dug out to toil."

"A dragon without a head cannot function. If you truly retire, who will lead the Donglin Party? Who has the qualifications and ability to command respect?"

"Ten years ago, facing the dominant Minister of Ceremonies, I was just an obscure fifth-grade scholar. Who would have thought that a power shift would kill so many wise pioneers, leaving me, a dullard, to reap the benefits. Now, another great opportunity for governance lies before you. Whoever seizes it to bring peace to the empire will be the leader of the Donglin Party."

The elder pushed away the supporting arm, his hunched form slowly walking toward the door, his oversized robes dragging on the ground.

Wherever he passed, none did not bow their heads.

Standing at the threshold, the elder slowly straightened his back, and in the eyes of those behind him, he seemed like a mountain rising from the plain.

The heavy palace doors slowly opened, revealing the deep night sky and the towering, forest-like palace.

Dong!

The resonant bell echoed through heaven and earth.

At this moment, throughout the city, whether men or women, old or young, regardless of rank or slave or free, millions of eyes turned skyward.

A beam of bright yellow light stepped forth from the clouds.

"Since my succession to the throne, ten years have passed. I have risen early and retired late, striving with all my might, never daring to slacken. Now, with the change of era, the world is renewed. I urge the people to work diligently, not to stagnate in their genes."

A slightly immature voice came from the floating airship, from the carriages in the streets, from the brain machines behind countless heads.

"Those who govern the people must cherish them with all their hearts; those who govern affairs must strive with all their might; those who govern themselves must advance with all their hearts. Rectify your hearts, be cautious in your actions, be loyal and kind but avoid petty malice, be upright but avoid crookedness. Do not be obsessed with dreams, do not waste the golden millet, do not abuse others through mechanization, nor insult them through rank! Let all in the empire abide by the Ming laws! By heaven's mandate, may we enjoy eternal prosperity!"

"Master, is what I say correct?"

A faint voice drifted on the night wind.

The old man smiled slightly, lifted his vermilion robe, and knelt, bowing his head.

"Elder Zhang Fengyue, Prime Minister of the Cabinet, congratulations to Your Majesty, ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years!"