Rise of the Poor

Chapter 424: Yan Shifan, a Heaven-Bestowed Prodigy

At the banquet table, Yan Shifan had all but become the unquestioned protagonist of the evening, while Zhu Ping’an faded quietly into the background, reduced to little more than a supporting character. Several officials from the Hanlin Academy took turns approaching Yan Shifan, lifting their cups to toast him and drink heartily in his company. Yan Shifan accepted every cup without refusal, draining them one after another, and the atmosphere at the table steadily warmed, laughter and boisterous voices rising as the wine flowed more freely.Lowering his voice slightly, yet unable to hide the smug curl at the corner of his mouth, Yan Shifan leaned toward Zhu Ping’an and said, “Let me tell you something, Zihou. His Majesty has already issued an edict approving Censor Dong of Zhejiang’s memorial requesting a relaxation of the maritime ban. The ban has been loosened for now. The Maritime Trade Office is already making preparations—official ships will be permitted to sail along the coast.”

By the time he said this, Yan Shifan was already pleasantly tipsy, his cheeks flushed, his eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction as though the news itself were another cup of fine wine.

Zhu Ping’an was mildly surprised by this revelation. In his recollection, the maritime prohibition during the Jiajing reign had indeed gone back and forth more than once, but he had never heard of it being relaxed to the extent that sailing was actually permitted. Still, since it was limited to official ships, the decision was not entirely incomprehensible.

Official ships being allowed to sail… Judging from the triumphant look on Yan Shifan’s face, Zhu Ping’an could almost predict what would follow. With Yan Shifan’s methods, this would likely turn into a form of “official smuggling” in all but name.

That said, Zhu Ping’an knew full well that Yan Shifan’s confidence would not last. The Jiajing Emperor’s maritime policies were notoriously fickle, especially now that Japanese pirates were running rampant along the southeastern coast. This so-called relaxation of the ban would probably endure only for a brief stretch of time.

If the Japanese were not eradicated, the sea would never truly be opened.

All of this Zhu Ping’an understood clearly in his heart, but he said nothing aloud. Yan Shifan was in high spirits, already dreaming of profits—why spoil the moment by dousing him with cold water? Besides, regardless of Yan Shifan’s motives, the fact that someone was at least turning their gaze toward the seas and overseas trade was, in itself, not a bad thing.

The dishes brought up by the proprietress were genuinely delicious. The mutton was rich and tender, and the famed “fish-and-mutton harmony” dish was particularly exquisite, its flavor lingering long after each bite. The only drawback was the price—painfully expensive.

Remove AdsWhen Zhu Ping’an slipped away from the table to settle the bill, nearly all the silver he had brought with him vanished into the shopkeeper’s hands. After paying, he was left with less than ten copper coins jingling forlornly in his pouch. Before returning to the table, he spoke to the proprietor in advance, arranging that any additional wine or dishes ordered later would be recorded on credit, which he would come back to pay the following day.

No wonder so many officials of the Great Ming resorted to corruption. With salaries like these, it was barely enough to keep up with social obligations—let alone support an entire household.

It was about time to seriously think about how to make money. If this continued, he would soon be reduced to “drinking the northwest wind.” Fingering his now-empty purse, Zhu Ping’an let out a bitter smile before heading back to the table.

To be an official, it seemed, one first had to learn how to make money.

When Zhu Ping’an returned, Young Master Yan was already eight-tenths drunk. Yan Shifan sat at the table, tongue thick with wine, brazenly boasting about his “glorious exploits” in the pleasure quarters of Yanyan Alley, his voice loud and unrestrained. His arrogance was staggering—he showed not the slightest concern for who might overhear him.

If Yan Shifan had been living in modern times, Zhu Ping’an thought wryly, recalling certain infamous scandals, he probably wouldn’t dare be so shameless even if beaten to death.

Outside, the night had deepened. Darkness was so thick it felt as though one could not see their own hand in front of their face. Yet Yan Shifan was drinking with gusto, and no one at the table dared suggest leaving.

Just as the merriment reached its peak, a young servant hurried in from outside, his face pale with anxiety, as though fire were licking at his heels. He made straight for Yan Shifan.

“Guh… what’s all the hurry about?” Yan Shifan hiccupped, his words slurring as he squinted at the servant.

“Young Master, Young Master! The Prime Minister has sent a note from within the palace, urging you to provide an answer as quickly as possible,” the servant said breathlessly, handing over a small slip of paper.

Watching the servant present the note, and hearing that it had been sent from the palace by the Prime Minister, Zhu Ping’an was immediately reminded of an anecdote recorded in unofficial histories.

It was said that on one occasion, Yan Song and several other Grand Secretaries were on night duty in the West Garden when they received a note from the Jiajing Emperor. The note instructed them to deliberate on an important matter of state. After discussing it among themselves, each Grand Secretary drafted his own proposed response. They revised and polished their drafts repeatedly, yet none felt confident enough to submit them, fearing they had failed to capture the Emperor’s intent.

The Jiajing Emperor sent a young eunuch to urge them on several times. With no alternative, Yan Song and the others revised their drafts yet again and finally handed them over.

Not long after, the eunuch returned.

“His Majesty is displeased and requests that the memorials be redrafted.”

The drafts were returned, heavily marked with the Emperor’s brush—strike after strike, correction upon correction—each blot of ink radiating dissatisfaction. Terrified, Yan Song and the others deliberated anew, but the more they thought, the less clarity they had. They were completely at a loss.

Remove Ads“My lords, please hurry. His Majesty is waiting, and his countenance shows anger,” the eunuch urged anxiously.

The eunuch came to press them several more times. Chastened by the Emperor’s earlier displeasure and utterly unable to discern his intentions, Yan Song and the others were trapped in humiliation and fear, still daring not to submit anything.

At that moment, Yan Shifan happened to arrive at the West Garden, having been sent by his mother to deliver medicine to Yan Song. This, too, was a mark of imperial favor—Yan Song had been unwell, and the Emperor had graciously permitted his son to enter the palace to bring him medicine.

Seeing his father and the other Grand Secretaries milling about the duty room like headless flies, pale with anxiety, Yan Shifan grew curious and casually asked what had happened.

“Ha, this is easy enough,” he said with a soft chuckle.

After reading the Emperor’s original note and the returned drafts covered in corrections, Yan Shifan smiled faintly. Without further discussion, he seized a brush and swiftly drafted a new proposal.

His writing flowed like drifting clouds and running water. In mere moments, the draft was complete. He tossed the brush onto the table with a crisp finality.

“Donglou, why are you making trouble at a time like this…” Yan Song muttered, unable to hide his reproach.

The other Grand Secretaries, too, looked displeased. A mere youngster—what right did he have to be so presumptuous?

Yet after scolding his son, Yan Song picked up Yan Shifan’s draft and read through it. To his surprise, the perspective Yan Shifan took was one none of them had considered. It carried a freshness that caught the eye. After finishing, Yan Song passed it around for the others to read.

Just then, another eunuch arrived with the Emperor’s command. “His Majesty finds the delay unacceptable and demands an immediate reply.”

Immediate meant now—not a moment to spare. There was no time to draft anything anew. With no other choice, they submitted Yan Shifan’s proposal simply to meet the deadline.

Once it was sent off, regret set in. Yan Song and the others felt they had acted rashly in presenting Yan Shifan’s draft.

Yet to their astonishment, the Emperor’s response arrived swiftly.

“My heart is greatly pleased. Approved.”

Remove AdsFrom that day on, Yan Song and the others were completely convinced of Yan Shifan’s abilities. Whenever the Jiajing Emperor sent down some thorny question that the Grand Secretaries could not answer, a note would be passed out of the palace for Yan Shifan to respond. Each time, he resolved the matter smoothly and flawlessly, earning imperial praise without fail.

“No need to worry.”

Thus a routine was established. Whenever a difficult question came from the Emperor, Yan Song would first soothe everyone, then write the question onto a slip of paper and have it passed through the narrow crack of the West Garden’s palace gate, sent at full gallop to Yan Shifan, demanding an immediate reply.

This was precisely why people both within the court and beyond called Yan Song the “Grand Chancellor,” and Yan Shifan the “Lesser Chancellor.”

Most likely, Zhu Ping’an thought, this servant’s urgent visit tonight followed that very same pattern.