Dawn of the Empire

Chapter 37: I Am Not the One Threatening You

Ou Yang’s shout was so loud that it momentarily stunned everyone. But in reality, he was somewhat shifting the focus—the Magical Arts Society’s funds weren’t entirely spent on apprentices and those few dozen mages. In fact, their expenses accounted for only a tiny fraction of the Society’s budget; the ones who actually consumed the bulk of the funds were the even fewer Grand Sorcerers and Grandmasters. Master Yu should understand this as well, but bringing it up here would only fuel suspicion about the Magical Arts Society’s integrity—why would the Society’s old farts squander so much of the Empire’s funds while being so stingy with investments in truly vital grassroots education? What’s the point of letting Zuo Shuijing join at all? After all, the Left family’s Sixteenth won’t become a Grand Sorcerer the moment he joins the Magical Arts Society; even if Master Yu’s earlier boasts were true, it would still take at least ten years. Seizing the opportunity, Ou Yang immediately pressed his advantage: “The Empire’s crackdown on the Shaolin Temple, in my view, looks more like a rectification campaign targeting professions that contribute little or nothing to the nation’s growth. After all, since the founding of the Republic, even the tax exemptions for the gentry have been abolished. The Imperial Household leads the way in paying taxes, yet an enterprise like the Shaolin Temple—operating under the guise of religion—actually dares to evade taxes.” He glanced around; General Zuo, Wei Xuezheng, and Master Yu were all deep in thought. “Master Yu, do you personally believe the cost-benefit ratio of the state’s investment in the Magical Arts Society yields a positive return?” The middle-aged Taoist nun’s expression shifted abruptly. This was the real crux of the matter. In the first year of the Republic, the Emperor had proactively ordered the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Justice to conduct a joint, comprehensive audit of all imperial holdings—including factories, estates, ranches, timberlands, merchant fleets, and shops—and then pay taxes in accordance with the law. This was immediately followed by audits of the holdings of imperial clan members and noble families across the country, and the following year, numerous preferential policies for the scholar-official class were abolished. As a result, during the early years of the Republic, the Emperor and his cabinet were subjected to fierce criticism from literati and intellectuals. But empty rhetoric doesn’t kill anyone, and the Emperor himself led by example. More importantly, the ever-expanding empire and the deepening Industrial Revolution brought even greater rewards to all strata of society—a textile factory equipped with a steam engine, employing thirty to fifty workers, whether spinning cotton, wool, or silk, could generate at least 100,000 yuan in net profit annually, roughly equivalent to the income from 5,000 mu of prime farmland in the “land of fish and rice” of Jiangnan. Consequently, in recent years even the pedantic literati have grown too lazy to criticize; wouldn’t it be better to spend that time writing a popular novel for the major newspapers? Once you become famous, money and beautiful women truly do come rolling in. However, a rentier class that has formed over thousands of years cannot be eliminated within thirty years. The emperor and the Cabinet’s hope that every part of the empire would strive tirelessly for its betterment remains nothing more than a noble aspiration. In Ou Yang’s view, the purge of the Shaolin Temple and the Beggars’ Sect followed the same logic as the abolition of privileges granted to the imperial clan, the nobility, and the scholar-officials. After all, these groups had never made any outstanding contributions—indeed, they could even be considered cancerous tumors—which is why the empire’s measures against them were so ruthless. The imperial clan, the nobility, and the literati represent the empire’s upper echelons, while martial arts sects such as the Shaolin and the Beggars’ Sect represent the empire’s underworld. If the Emperor and the Cabinet have taken corrective action against them, would they really stand idly by and do nothing about the Magical Arts Society—an organization that gobbles up vast sums of money each year yet produces next to nothing? I doubt even this Taoist master himself would believe that. Since the Republican Era—no, since the mid-to-late Hetao Era—incomes across all strata of the Empire have been steadily rising, and there is no shortage of those who have become overnight millionaires amid the Empire’s expansion. As incomes have risen, spending has naturally increased year by year. To the point where some who live too comfortably seem to have forgotten that the current Republican Emperor is a “tyrant” who, abroad, has annihilated dozens of nations—including the Tartar Empire—slaughtered millions, and sold tens of millions into slavery; and at home, has undermined the interests of the noble and scholar-official classes, and ruthlessly suppressed the “prestigious schools” of the Green Forest underworld. Does the Magical Arts Society wield greater influence than the literati, or are its roots more deeply entrenched than those of the nobility? Should the empire impose reforms by force, would the sorcerers be able to hurl even harsher insults than the scholars, or would they dare to resist using the “Thunderclap Hand”? This is the true meaning behind Ou Yang’s mention of the Shaolin Temple—it is not I who threatens you, but the Emperor and the Cabinet; you are simply too blind to see it. As soon as the words were out, his purpose was achieved. Master Yu hadn’t yet mastered the various online debating tactics—like throwing tantrums and rolling on the floor—from his past life; even if he had, he couldn’t pull them off in a setting like this. Ou Yang had already clearly stated his stance in support of the state and the official academies; what the Zuo family’s child wanted to study, at the end of the day, had little to do with him. There was no longer any need for him to continue meddling in this verbal spat. Given his status, he’d already said more than enough. Having done what he needed to do, it was time to leave. Showing off and then making a quick exit—that’s the coolest move. Ou Yang bowed deeply to Wei Xuezheng, pulled a letter from Murong, the School Supervisor, from his robe, and said, “Lord Xuezheng, Murong, the School Supervisor, has asked this student to deliver a letter to you.” Wei Xuezheng smiled and nodded. He took the letter but did not open it; the letter contained nothing of great importance—it merely signified that the messenger was highly favored by Murong, the School Supervisor. His old friend Murong had mentioned this young man, who had traded his pen for a sword, to him before, and today he certainly proved himself to be quite capable. First, his stance was principled. Young people today, forced to study for several years in the imperial academies, act as if their freedom were being restricted. Many inexplicably yearn for the “carefree life of the outlaws” or “mysterious sorcery,” viewing their studies as a drudgery. As a result, these all sorts of deviant and heretical paths have come to regard themselves as the legitimate path with a straight face. This young man, however, stated bluntly: “Your contributions are far too meager. When the Empire eventually carries out sweeping reforms, don’t say we didn’t warn you.” Second, he grasps the essence of debate. Backing his arguments with historical facts is far more effective than making empty boasts about cannons and “Thunder Runners.” This aligns perfectly with the Scientific Society’s motto: “Facts as the standard.” “Sticking to the facts” is easier said than done. Hadn’t he, a Bronze Medal Member of the Scientific Society, also fallen into a blind spot in his thinking, getting bogged down in the pointless debate over whether cannons or magical arts were more powerful—a comparison he’d never actually made? Wei Xuezheng tucked the letter into his robe and said to Ou Yang, “You’re qualified as a Xiucai, aren’t you? You can stay here a few more days and leave after I’ve replied to my old friend Murong. Also, I’d like to recommend you for membership in the Scientific Society—don’t forget to fill out the application form and your resume.” Ou Yang was overjoyed; participating in this kind of verbal sparring actually came with such a generous reward. The Scientific Society was unlike the Magical Arts Society; it was an authoritative institution founded by the Republican Emperor during the He Tai era, deeply trusted by both the public and the Cabinet. Not only is the current Emperor the Scientific Society’s permanent honorary president, but five of the Cabinet’s nine chief ministers—(the term “chief ministers” refers to the Chief Minister, the two Deputy Chief Ministers, and the six Ministers of the Six Ministries, collectively known as “Chief Ministers” by the public)—are full members of the Scientific Society. Even His Royal Highness the Crown Prince has been awarded a Silver Badge for a research report on marine life and his steadfast support for maritime exploration. Based on Ouyang’s experience from his previous life, as the Industrial Revolution deepens, organizations like the Scientific Society will become increasingly authoritative and prominent. That is, until the Second Industrial Revolution begins, when members—bound by authority and outdated ideas—will become obstacles to scientific progress, leading to their reform or elimination. However, that would be a matter for after Ou Yang’s time. Who knows—perhaps there was a tiny possibility that the Scientific Society might always represent progressive ideas. None of this concerned Ou Yang. Besides, the current Scientific Society did indeed represent the advanced direction of future development. “Thank you for your guidance, Senior,” Ouyang said, bowing deeply in gratitude. The Scientific Society had its own hierarchical system, unrelated to official rank. He was thanking the other person for recommending him to join the Scientific Society; at this moment, it was inappropriate to address him by his official title. This was also a point of modest pride for the Scientific Society.