43: Chapter 43 He killed their god with a bowl of porridge.

Accept it, or not?

To accept it would be to invite humiliation upon himself.

Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng froze in place, fine beads of cold sweat seeping from his forehead.

He knew better than anyone that Shangyuan County, while seemingly prosperous as the gateway to the capital, was actually treacherous waters. The local gentry and wealthy clans there were deeply intertwined with the powerful figures at court, and the taxes and land holdings had long since become a tangled mess. Expecting him to use "virtue" to reform them? It was laughable! In a year's time, Shangyuan County would likely be littered with the starving, with public resentment boiling over. By then, Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong wouldn't even need to lift a finger; the furious populace would tear him, the "Sage Magistrate," to pieces.

But if he didn't accept...

Then he, Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng, along with the hundreds of students behind him, would have turned everything they said today into utter nonsense!

Didn't you speak of "governing by inaction"? Didn't you speak of "transforming people through virtue"? Now that you've been given the chance, why don't you dare to take it? Are you feeling guilty? Do you realize, deep down, that your methods simply don't work?

This was tantamount to slapping himself in the face in front of the entire world.

"Lord... Lord Huang..."

Behind him, a young student's voice trembled. His opening of his mouth was like lighting a fuse.

"Lord Huang, what... what should we do?"

"His Highness... His Highness is roasting us over a fire!"

Whispers spread like a rising tide.

Those young students who had originally been swept along by Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng's reputation and impassioned rhetoric finally cleared their heads.

They were not fools.

Asking them to compose poetry or write a brilliant essay was easy enough. But to actually have them govern a county, face those smiling, treacherous local gentry, handle trivial civil disputes, and collect taxes that could never be fully gathered... Could they do it? Would they dare?

Looking at the fearful, anxious, and even slightly resentful young faces behind him, Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng's heart sank little by little.

Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong did not press him further, not even bothering to glance at him again. He simply drank his porridge slowly. After a long while, he set down his bowl and patted Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng on the shoulder.

"Lord Huang," his voice was not loud, yet it rang clearly across the entire square. "Lord Huang, you hold a high position in the Hanlin Academy and are renowned throughout the world. Even if you were to starve to death here today, you would still earn the honorable reputation of a 'martyr who died by remonstrance' in the annals of history."

"But what about these students behind you?"

Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong's gaze swept over those young faces.

"Among them, some may be the only hope for their families in generations. Some may be the only scholar to emerge from their village in decades. They have studied diligently for over a decade, passed through layer upon layer of selection, and finally made it from the countryside to the feet of the Son of Heaven."

"They came to bring glory to their ancestors, to realize their ambition of 'mastering the arts of war and governance to serve the Imperial House.' They did not come to sacrifice their futures, or even their lives, for a single word of 'orthodoxy' from you."

"If you lead them to starve here today, or ruin their official careers, how will you expect them to face their elderly mothers waiting for their return? How will you expect them to face the fellow villagers who scraped together the travel funds for them?"

Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng shuddered violently, turning his head abruptly to meet the complex and wavering gazes of the students behind him.

Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng could disregard his own official position, but he could not disregard the futures of the people behind him. He was their mentor, their leader! If, because of him, these hundreds of future pillars of the Great Ming were to fall into ruin, then he, Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng, would not be a loyal official, but a sinner!

"I... I did this for the Great Ming..." Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng muttered to himself, but looking at Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong's nonchalant demeanor, he suddenly realized that the Confucian classics he took such pride in were so pale and feeble in the face of true power struggles.

The clean reputation he had built over decades, the civil official prestige he had painstakingly managed—it was all to be destroyed today by a half-grown youth. A surge of blood rushed to his throat, and he could no longer suppress it. A mouthful of blood splattered onto the bluestone floor, and he collapsed to the ground, drained of all strength.

"My Lord!" "Lord Huang!"

The scene immediately descended into chaos. Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong, however, merely brushed off his cuffs coldly and said indifferently to the flustered students: "One by one, line up and get your porridge."

The students looked at each other, falling into a brief, deathly silence. Finally, a thin student wearing a faded blue robe was the first to stand up.

His name was Centurion Xiao Huan, hailing from the very Jurong County that Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong had mentioned. Last winter, his mother, with less than two shi of grain remaining, had starved to death just to save a mouthful of food for him to travel for the examinations. Every word Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong had just spoken felt like it was carving into his heart.

Centurion Xiao Huan did not look at the unconscious Hanlin Academician Huang Zicheng; he simply walked silently to the front of the line and bowed deeply to Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong. This bow was not for power, but for the words, "Let the people have food to eat."

Then, he walked to the pot and received a bowl of steaming porridge from the young eunuch. He did not drink it immediately but carried the bowl to the side, knelt facing the direction of the Imperial City, and tears rolled down his cheeks, splashing into the bowl. He choked back sobs as he took the first mouthful—it was the heaviest, yet warmest thing he had ever eaten in his life.

With the first, came the second. Soon, the crowd began to stir. Those young students stood up one by one and silently formed a long line.

Fang Xiaoru's face turned bright red, his neck stiff as he wanted to say something, but he was held back tightly by Qi Tai beside him. Qi Tai shook his head at him, his eyes full of bitterness and despair.

The tide had turned.

Anything more said would only be self-humiliation.

Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong could not be bothered to look at those ashen-faced old officials again. He turned, brushed the non-existent dust from his robes, and with his hands behind his back, departed gracefully amidst the awe-filled gazes of the Imperial Guards.

Above the Meridian Gate tower, a tall, slightly hunched figure had arrived unnoticed. The spring breeze gently stirred his somewhat worn plain robe. Zhu Yuanzhang watched everything unfolding below and spoke slowly: "This grandson of mine..."

"If I had known how to pull this off back in the day, would there have been any need to kill so many people? A bowl of porridge, and he has pierced through the thoughts of these self-righteous scholars. Good, very good!"

There was not a trace of anger in Zhu Yuanzhang's eyes; rather, they were filled with immense gratification.

"Old Wang," Zhu Yuanzhang rubbed the thumb ring on his left hand that Crown Prince Zhu Biao had given him, nostalgia swirling in the depths of his eyes. He turned to the side, looking at the bowing old eunuch, and asked with great interest: "Tell me, how does Crown Prince Zhu Yuntong compare to Crown Prince Zhu Biao?"