Volume Two: The Great and the Petty Chapter Eighty-Three: The Emperor’s Strategy—Thunder and Rain (Part One)

June 23rd.

After noon, a thunderstorm swiftly cooled the unbearably hot city of Beijing, even bringing a faint scent of autumn to the air.

For the common people, this was naturally a blessing. The relentless midsummer heat of more than half a month had brought immense hardship to the impoverished masses, and rumors spread that several bodies were being added daily to the morgue at the chemical factory.

For the low-ranking officials and soldiers, this was good news as well. After all, who else but they would discover these bodies and, according to regulations, send them away?

Centuries ago, during the Ming Dynasty, a comprehensive system of epidemic prevention had already been established. In seasons like midsummer, when disease was prone to break out, the government naturally paid special attention.

Perhaps in other local offices such matters might be treated lightly, but here in Beijing, under the very feet of the Son of Heaven, everything was different.

However, the cooling of the weather was where the impact ended. For the true dignitaries, the survival of such common folk was hardly worth their concern.

Compared to changes in the climate, the sudden upheaval within the court was far more eye-catching, demanding far more thought and scrutiny.

At the Residence of the Duke of the Nation—today’s Duke Xu Guangzuo—he leisurely sat in a pavilion by the water. Before him, a troupe performing Kunqu opera from the south sang softly, while maids on either side fanned gently, wafting a cool breeze towards their lord.

Beside him sat a delicate and charming servant, carefully peeling a lychee imported at great expense from the Lingnan region, always ready to offer it to the duke when he wished to eat.

Opposite him stood a middle-aged man with a steady expression, recounting in detail the various recent upheavals in the capital.

This man, publicly only the second steward of the Duke’s household, rarely meddled in daily affairs.

Yet, many knew that this man named Jiang Yunhao was the duke’s most trusted and valued confidant and strategist. Whenever trouble arose, Xu Guangzuo’s first choice for counsel was always him.

Moreover, he managed all external intelligence for the duke’s household. Every whisper of change within the court or the capital was gathered by him and reported to the aging duke, who seldom ventured outside.

After Jiang Yunhao finished relaying all the confirmed information, Xu Guangzuo closed his eyes softly.

At this simple gesture, the servant nearby took a cautious step back, quieting her breath; the fanning ceased; even the actors on the distant stage fell silent, as though a pause button had been pressed in that very moment.

With eyes closed, the duke pondered for a good while, about the length of a meal, before slowly opening them. A faint, ambiguous smile curved his lips.

“When His Majesty came to the capital last year, I already sensed that though young, he was extraordinary. Now, it seems I have still underestimated him.”

“So, Your Grace means all this is actually under His Majesty’s control?” Jiang Yunhao inquired, playing along.

“Is it not so? Seizing the moment when the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Shuntian Prefecture were both in turmoil, His Majesty acted decisively and reaped the greatest benefits.”

“You mean the changes within the Embroidered Uniform Guard? Not only were over twenty captains and commanders dismissed, but the commander was also replaced—Luo An took Zhu Chen’s place!”

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“I just can’t understand—why was it Commander Luo, and not Wan Tongzhi, who carried the burden of this matter, appointed as the new commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard?”

At the Huang residence, Huang Bingkun, already six or seven parts drunk, spoke carelessly, voicing what was on his mind.

Ah, yes, he was satisfied with his own promotion—from captain to commander—something he had never dared to dream of before.

After all, there was an old tradition in the Embroidered Uniform Guard: rising from banner leader to captain was a hurdle, and from captain to commander even harder, unless one had the patronage of a noble or performed great deeds sanctioned personally by the emperor.

Huang Bingkun was merely venting on behalf of his superior. Though Liu Botao had also been promoted—leaping from commander to chief commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, filling the vacancy left by Nie Zhenfu—many others had been reshuffled.

Huang Ming chuckled, “Captain Huang… no, Commander Huang, you’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not drunk…”

Clearly, he was.

Huang Ming smiled wryly, deciding not to argue with a drunkard. He lowered his voice, “There are several layers to this matter.”

“You’re so clever, Young Master Huang. Whatever happens, you always manage to make sense of it all. I really admire you,” slurred Huang Bingkun.

Huang Ming did not look at him but glanced at another at the table, Qi Changfeng.

“The first layer is Luo An’s background. Like Zhu Chen, he was with the emperor during his secret residency before accession—someone from His Majesty’s inner circle, naturally more trustworthy. I believe Wan Tongzhi was prepared for this as well.”

“That makes sense. And the second layer?”

“The second lies in what Luo An has done. As a southern chief commander, he led investigations into many colleagues within the Guard and even brought down his old superior Zhu Chen. Do you think he can sit comfortably as commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard?”

Huang Bingkun nodded drunkenly, though whether he truly understood was unclear.

Qi Changfeng’s eyes flickered with realization.

“This is…”

“The emperor’s scheme. You must use people cautiously, keeping a watchful eye. After the lesson of Zhu Chen, how could His Majesty trust Luo An completely? If I hadn’t held a trump card back then, this matter might have been truly ruined by Zhu Chen.”

Indeed, Huang Ming had a backup plan in this scheme—using Gu Dayong’s palace connections to leak many pieces of information to his father, enabling the sudden turnaround within the chief commander’s office.

Otherwise, would the palace truly have such omniscient control to know everything?

“Is there… a third layer?”

“There should be. Promoting Luo An is merely a temporary move for the emperor. I’m certain there are better candidates, but they cannot be used just yet.

“When the time is ripe, a position that can never be held securely and must be maintained through palace influence—the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard—won’t be so easily held, or taken, either.”

This left Qi Changfeng dumbfounded. This was no longer speculation but prophecy.

How could Huang Ming know the emperor had such a candidate?

But Huang Ming was supremely confident—after all, he was a time traveler, and he knew that during the Jiajing reign, the Embroidered Uniform Guard was at its peak, even surpassing the Eastern Depot, which was supposed to control it.

Why? Because at that time, the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was Lu Bing!

A childhood friend of Jiajing’s since they wore open-crotch pants together, whose mother was even Jiajing’s wet nurse.

As for why Jiajing had not yet appointed Lu Bing now?

That was because Lu Bing was only just over ten years old—not yet the right time.

Thus, Luo An was merely a transitional figure.