Chapter 52: Emperor! Grass! Mud! Horse! Seeking Monthly Tickets
“Silence—!”
Old Zhu slammed the Blood and Tears Salary Demand Record in his hand with all his might towards Zhang Biao.
The tattered book flew in an arc through the air and landed with a ‘thud’ at Zhang Biao’s feet, kicking up fine dust.
“Look! Look at the mess you’ve made!!”
Old Zhu trembled with anger, pointing at the broken book on the ground, his voice hoarse: “Inciting a riot! Roaring in the Imperial Court! Humiliating the Sovereign! And… and drawing such treasonous things!”
Speaking, he took a deep breath, his eyes bloodshot as he looked at Zhang Biao: “Do you think… I really dare not kill you?!”
“Your Majesty jokes!”
Zhang Biao shook his head faintly, as if unaffected by Old Zhu’s thunderous rage, and calmly said, “When the Son of Heaven is angry, a million bodies fall; how can this subject not fear?”
“You!”
Old Zhu was momentarily speechless, thinking, does that look like fear?!
Zhang Biao lowered his head to look at the account book stained with his masterpiece at his feet, then looked up at the enraged Old Zhu, his expression still calm:
“Your Majesty, please quell your anger. I have a few words from the bottom of my heart I wish to say to you!”
As he finished speaking, he took a step forward, bent down, and slowly picked up the tattered account book, dusted it off, and then turned to the cartoon of the Emperor eating a pig’s head. Pointing at it, he said with a hint of regret:
“Your Majesty! You see, my drawing skills are still lacking. I haven’t depicted you as majestic enough, and the pig’s head is too small. It doesn’t reflect your hard work in governing the nation day and night, your exhaustion, and your urgent need for sustenance.”
Saying this, he nodded slightly and continued:
“I will definitely improve next time and strive to make it more lifelike, so that all the common people in the land can feel your heartfelt efforts, even when eating a pig’s head, for the sake of the nation!”
“Pfft—!”
Old Zhu felt his vision go black, a bitter taste rose in his throat, and he almost spat out a mouthful of blood.
“Your Majesty!”
Mei Yin exclaimed in anger and shock, his eyes flashing fiercely at Zhang Biao: “Zhang Biao! You are seeking death!!”
“Zhang Biao! You are presumptuous!!”
Liu Sanwu also echoed with a face full of anger.
But Zhang Biao didn’t even look at them. He simply held the tattered account book, straightened his back, and wore an unprecedentedly serious expression.
He looked at Old Zhu, who was so enraged he was about to faint again, and said clearly, word by word:
“Your Majesty! What I have done today may be absurd, may be rebellious, but I have a clear conscience!”
“Everything I have done is not for personal gain, but only to seek justice and an explanation for my colleagues who are starving while serving the court, and for the censors of the pure stream who are owed their salaries, lack adequate clothing, and have lost their dignity!”
“Yes!”
He nodded and continued, “It is easy for you to kill me, Zhang Biao! Like crushing an ant! But can you silence the public opinion of this world? Can you quell the surging public grievances? Can you address the root cause of the breakdown of the salary system and the rampant corruption and worms?”
“Today, the low-ranking Capital Officials in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the account books stuffed in their mouths are not just account books, but their last shred of dignity!”
“This is their blood-soaked accusation, sent to you after being pushed to the brink by the most humble and absurd means!”
“You ask what I want to do? I would like to ask Your Majesty!”
Reaching this point, his voice suddenly rose: “Why don’t you open your eyes and see!!”
Boom!
The entire bedroom in Huagai Hall sounded like a clap of thunder!
It shook the air.
Old Zhu and Liu Sanwu stood there, dumbfounded.
At this moment, Zhang Biao seemed to have shed all his playful pretense, like a sharp sword unsheathed, revealing his edge.
“You… you…”
Old Zhu pointed at Zhang Biao, his withered finger trembling violently, his chest heaving like a worn-out bellows, his face turning from ashen to a terrifying purplish-red.
Jiang Huan, standing outside the door, had his Xiuchun Saber drawn half a foot, its cold light sharp.
He was waiting for Old Zhu’s command to behead this treasonous individual.
“Perhaps Your Majesty doesn’t believe that I have a clear conscience…”
Zhang Biao, not waiting for Old Zhu to catch his breath, his voice carrying the calm before a storm, continued, “Then let us speak with facts. I presume Your Majesty knows Old Censor Wang Zhong from the Jiangxi Circuit of the Censorate?”
As he spoke, he slowly flipped open the tattered account book in his hand and pointed to a page with an extremely crude but shocking drawing made with a poor-quality charcoal stick.
A emaciated old man, wearing a patched official robe, was curled up on a cold earthen kang. Next to him was a broken bowl with only a few grains of rice.
Accompanying text: Old Censor Wang, starved to death at home. At the time of his death, he had nothing but three vouchers for unpaid salary, worth two taels and one mace of silver.
“Wang Zhong?! He isn’t…”
Old Zhu’s cloudy eyes contracted sharply. The name seemed to stir a vague corner deep within his memory.
“He isn’t what? Isn’t he the name of an official who suddenly died that was reported to you?”
Zhang Biao’s voice trembled as if choked with sobs, as if crying out for the wronged souls who had silently passed away:
“An official insignificant in your eyes, who has served for twenty years since the founding of the Great Ming, yet remains as poor as ever!”
“Last year, on the twenty-third of the twelfth lunar month! Little New Year!”
“When families were reunited and the aroma of food filled the air, he starved to death on the broken kang in his home!”
“Before he died, he clutched these three vouchers for unpaid salary tightly in his arms!”
“His grandson, only five years old, was so hungry he was licking the soot by the stove!”
“May I ask Your Majesty! Is this the censor of your Great Ming Dynasty?! Is this the emphasis on scholars you proclaimed!?”
With every word he spoke, he took a step forward, thrusting the drawing and record from the account book towards Old Zhu’s line of sight.
Old Zhu recoiled as if struck by a heavy hammer.
He stared intently at the simple yet incredibly glaring drawing, listening to Zhang Biao’s heart-wrenching accusations, and scenes uncontrollably flashed through his mind.
Beggars huddled in ruined temples, famine-stricken wilderness, the disdainful glances and chases he received when he himself held a broken bowl begging in his youth…
Those fears of hunger and poverty that he had deliberately sealed away, hidden behind iron-fisted rule and imperial majesty, were now being brutally torn open and laid before him by Zhang Biao in the most direct way.
“And him!”
Zhang Biao quickly flipped to another page and pointed to another drawing.
A young official, holding several scrolls, stood at the high counter of a pawnshop, his face filled with humiliation.
Accompanying text: Editor Li, pawned his ancestral Analects commentary, received four hundred coins, bought half a dou of rice, to support his sick mother.
“Hanlin Academy Editor Li Mo! His home was bare, his elderly mother was seriously ill, with no money for medicine. He could only pawn his ancestral Analects commentary, which he cherished, for four hundred coins to buy half a dou of old rice!”
“Your Majesty! Half a dou of old rice!”
“Is this the dignity of your Hanlin scholars?! Is this the grace with which you support scholars?!”
Zhang Biao’s voice was like a heavy hammer, striking Old Zhu’s heart repeatedly.
He no longer looked at the account book. His gaze was piercing, directly at Old Zhu’s bloodshot eyes, wide with anger and shock.
“Or do you think that by allocating fifty taels of silver from the Imperial Treasury to me, this matter is concluded?”
“If Your Majesty says yes, I can only say…”
He paused, faced Old Zhu, and his voice suddenly rose by eight octaves: “Fuck! Your! Mother!”
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