Chapter 1382 - Smear Him

Cao Guangjiu was nothing remarkable. The first time Gou Chengxuan laid eyes on him, he recognized him instantly as a member of the "Broken Boots Party"—though Lingao lacked that particular term, the type was the same. Back then, Gou Chengxuan himself had been reviled by those Lingao literati as a disgrace to scholars.

"They called me a disgrace," he often muttered to himself during sleepless midnight hours, pained by his fallen state, "yet one by one, those same people surrendered to the bandits!" He hated the bandits even more for failing to recognize talent—for not approaching his Gou family first—for insisting instead on colluding with those salt dogs.

In truth, his family would have felt no psychological burden about surrendering to the bandits. The problem was that the bandits had "farmed" his family as enemies from the start, making it impossible for the Gou clan to sell out the country even if they wished to. Now it had become a blood feud—a national enmity and family hatred born of "having no door through which to betray."

This profound sense of loss, compounded by his own degradation, had forged in Gou Chengxuan an intense hatred of the bandits. He was determined to fight them to the death.

This was not his first visit to Hao Yuan's dwelling. The man was strange: clearly living in a stinking slum, yet keeping his room meticulously clean.

He behaved with elegance, loved cleanliness, could read and write, and spoke with layers of nested principles—his essays on heavenly propriety and human sentiment were watertight. Gou Chengxuan was convinced he was no "weaver" but came from a scholarly background.

Yet this scholar was unlike any other. He didn't flaunt his education, yet could dwell in such miserable conditions without complaint. One had to consider: Gou Chengxuan's own master gave him ten taels of silver monthly for personal expenses. As for funds used in "affairs," that amounted to dozens of taels more each month—and in recent months, sometimes several hundred taels at once.

In an era where taking a thirty percent cut was not merely common but openly accepted—where even great gentry households tacitly allowed their servants to skim from purchases—Hao Yuan could easily have taken personal benefits from the silver passing through his hands.

Even if he were truly too lofty to profit, ten taels monthly would have been more than enough to rent a decent house in the city and find a woman to attend him. A private secretary in a yamen earned only a hundred and twenty taels a year, after all.

Yet Hao Yuan showed no interest in leaving this broken shack. Every day he ate rice mixed with coarse grains. His vegetables were gifts from villagers in nearby settlements—he regularly wrote letters and contracts for them and read government announcements aloud. As for meat, it was the cheapest stinking fish and rotten shrimp from the riverside. He had never been seen eating proper meat.

Gou Chengxuan had secretly sent people to inquire about Hao Yuan's reputation here. It was excellent—everyone respectfully called him "Mr. Hao."

Hao Yuan usually worked as a "scribe" for the locals. Not only was his handwriting good, but his compositions were thorough and appropriate. When people came to him with difficult problems, he always offered sensible advice. He also ventured out to visit households in their broken hovels. When someone fell ill and the family lacked helping hands, he would stay through the night. When there was no money for medicine, he paid from his own pocket. Whatever hard hurdle anyone faced, he helped as best he could.

The hearts of common people were honest. Whoever treated them with sincerity received their devotion in return. Hao Yuan was the "saint" in their minds. They liked him, respected him, and trusted him more and more. His prestige throughout Nanxiawa was immense.

Gou Chengxuan found this deeply unsettling. He believed in "every man for himself." He, too, had endured great hardships—but that had been forced upon him. It was hatred that sustained his struggle, hatred that powered his quest for revenge. And given half a chance, he would absolutely not let go of any silver that came his way, nor any opportunity for proper enjoyment.

A man without desires—one who didn't covet wealth or pleasure, who was content with poverty, yet willingly extended kindness to others everywhere—could only mean one thing: his ambitions were enormous.

Gou Chengxuan had read some history. He had raised this concern with his master many times, but the master always dismissed it with a profound, inscrutable smile, leaving him confused. Perhaps what superiors and inferiors understood was simply different.

Sometimes, Gou Chengxuan even felt an envious twinge: his master and Hao Yuan seemed to understand each other better than he ever could. This impression deepened through their few interactions. Though Hao Yuan claimed to be a weaver by birth, his manner of speech was always neither humble nor arrogant, with quiet determination and confidence showing through his gentleness. It was completely unlike the demeanor of those from humble origins—neither the cringing subservience that dared not speak, nor the prickliness of men who seemed to have swallowed gunpowder.

"...The Master's intention is that the Rice Riots must continue, and the momentum must grow." Gou Chengxuan continued relaying his master's instructions. "Not only bigger, but wider in scope—especially into the other counties of Suzhou Prefecture. The Rice Riots must be linked into a connected whole."

A look of worry crossed Cao Guangjiu's face, but Hao Yuan remained calm. After a moment's thought, he said: "This won't be difficult. Though Suzhou Prefecture didn't suffer disaster last year, the common people's lives are hard enough. This year's sericulture income was also badly damaged by Zhao Yingong. Moreover, there's been a large influx of flood refugees from north of the river and Shandong. These people are all powder kegs—one spark will set them off."

"Then we shall trouble Mr. Hao."

Hao Yuan smiled. "How can I accomplish anything alone? It still depends on the Master's support! The matter is straightforward—but it requires Master Cao's assistance."

Providing manpower was Cao Guangjiu's domain. He was intimately familiar with the brawling societies of Suzhou and Hangzhou. A single greeting could summon a crowd. Every time a Rice Riot erupted, it was this crowd mixing among the commoners, serving as agitators. Whether inciting clamor or storming rice shops, they led the charge.

Cao Guangjiu coughed. "Manpower is no problem. They're getting paid, after all—why would these desperate souls refuse? But with this much commotion, the yamen will take notice sooner or later. If by bad luck a few get caught and interrogated harshly someday... these aren't exactly righteous heroes. A few words could implicate us."

Gou Chengxuan smiled. "Rest assured. If that happens, I guarantee they won't live to see court."

Cao Guangjiu nodded, understanding these words were far from empty. He couldn't help but feel a chill of fear—who knew if he himself might someday become one of those who "won't live to see court"?

Hao Yuan spoke up. "I agree we must keep escalating. Right now, this is the only way to win benefits for the common people. But all this noise still hasn't achieved our goal of pointing the spearhead at Zhao Yingong. The common people don't realize their suffering is a sin created by this Zhao Yingong. We must remind them!"

Gou Chengxuan nodded. "You're right. The Master also intends this. He's planning another batch of placards..."

"Placards are fine, but they must be easy to understand—preferably set to song." Hao Yuan produced the sample draft Gou Chengxuan had brought last time from beneath his bedding. "These placards are well-crafted—easy to understand by educated standards. But for common people, they're still too difficult. How many can read? Better to set them to verse: catchy, easy to memorize and repeat, so they spread on their own. The content should hammer relentlessly on his rice purchases—shipping grain out of the region for exorbitant profit."

He continued: "As for grain-and-pay conspiracies or whatever else—leave those out. Drag in too many people and they'll band together to defend each other. Focus solely on Zhao Yingong, this dog in the water, and beat him mercilessly."

"That way, the common people will hate him to the bone."

"Exactly—we want them to hate him to the bone. We want to mobilize them to burn down Zhao Family Estate." Hao Yuan suddenly laughed, took a sip of yellow wine, and continued: "The placards don't need fine printing. Cheap thin paper is enough. Print a hundred thousand or so, paste them everywhere across the prefectures and counties. Get a few people specifically to read them aloud to people. Within ten days, they'll spread on their own. By then, this Master Zhao will be famous throughout all Jiangnan."

"Mr. Hao speaks brilliantly!" Cao Guangjiu clapped and laughed. "Since ancient times, children's rhymes have been prophecies. If we can compose one for children to sing through the alleys of Hangzhou city, this Master Zhao probably won't be able to sleep at night hearing it."

"Precisely—that's my intention." Hao Yuan nodded. "The Rice Riots were to attract attention. Now everyone has noticed. Now we must shape public opinion. Once officials and gentry have taken notice, word will inevitably reach the emperor. 'Public resentment boiling over, inciting civil uprising'—those two charges alone are enough to make him suffer. By then, even if powerful backers support him from behind, they'll have to sacrifice the rook to save the king."

Cao Guangjiu said: "His backers aren't simple..."

"Aren't they just that bunch of gentry who follow the Cross Religion?" Hao Yuan was dismissive. "Grand Secretary Xu is already sickly—probably won't survive the year. Sun Yuanhua is a clay Buddha trying to cross the river. The rest are insignificant."

"There's still Fushe—"

"As long as we smear Zhao Yingong and transform him into a 'people's thief' who harms the common folk, those Fushe people—who care most about their reputation in scholarly circles—won't be able to distance themselves fast enough. Even if they collude in secret, they absolutely won't dare support him publicly. Besides, this is a civil uprising. Even if the gentry protect him and help him weather the crisis—even if the court doesn't pursue charges—Phoenix Mountain Villa and Wanbi Bookshop will vanish in flames. Trying to start over from scratch after that will be nearly impossible."

Gou Chengxuan didn't think much of it—he was an outsider, after all. But Cao Guangjiu, who had lived in Jiangnan for years and understood local customs intimately, was secretly startled. He hadn't expected this outsider who had appeared from nowhere to grasp the situation in Jiangnan and its scholarly circles so thoroughly. Such knowledge wasn't rare among literati, but for ordinary common people it was unusual indeed—especially for someone who claimed to be a "weaver."

"Mr. Hao is right. The key is to smear Zhao Yingong! The stinkier the better." Gou Chengxuan's smile was radiant. "By then, even if someone burns his house and property to the ground, everyone will clap and cheer. Perhaps someone will even write a novel about it—call it 'The Black and White Biography.'"

The three men laughed loudly together.

(End of this chapter)