Chapter 39: Yu E'shui's Research

Jiang Shan was quite intrigued. “I think if we can secure the position of this prefect, we can try to get him transferred to another post ahead of schedule. We could spend some money to get him transferred to a central department in Nanjing or Beijing. Isn’t it said that many in the Donglin Party are also very enthusiastic about selling official positions, and that things can be done with money?”

“It’s the same question again: who will go?” Chen Tianxiong shook his head. “Logically, it’s beneficial and harmless to place such a person, but we can’t pick such a person from among the council members.”

“Is it very dangerous?”

“The danger is based on the fact that no council member has the ability to play a qualified Ming official. They would be exposed as soon as they appeared. Not to mention the most obvious problems of accent and appearance, none of the council members have the basic qualities of a Ming intellectual.” Lin Biguang shook his head with some regret. “This is not something that can be learned through a few months of cramming. This opportunity is actually very good…”

“If only it were the Qing Dynasty, there would be official-buying groups everywhere, and any rotten person could become an official,” Wang Ding said.

Lin Biguang said, “I propose selecting a trustworthy native to impersonate the Leizhou prefect. This is the only possible way for the ‘Tang Monk Project’ to succeed.”

“Can the natives be trusted? Will they get carried away with being an official and betray us for a real official hat? Other things are not a problem, but I’m afraid the council member controlling him from behind will suffer. If the distance is too great, we won’t have time to rescue them.”

“Then his own crime would be great enough,” Lin Biguang said. “I think we can still control him. If we put our minds to it, we can still think of a way. Yu E’shui was very interested in this matter back then. I suggest you talk to him about it.”

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“This matter is very difficult,” Yu E’shui said, repeating his old tune. “The ideal situation is for us to find a council member to be the prefect. But I’ve studied it, and even if we start training him now, and this person is smart and studies hard, it will still take two or three years.”

He was in charge of historical data retrieval and compilation in the Great Library, and he didn’t have much to do. In his spare time, he spent a lot of effort researching the feasibility of the “Tang Monk Project.” It wasn’t so much that Yu E’shui really wanted to promote this plan, but rather it was a kind of recreational research, similar to the hypothetical topic of “how a modern person can be an official in the Great Ming.” The more he researched, the more interested he became. It felt like writing a thesis or doing a research project in the past. And he had the biggest advantage: he was living in the Great Ming. Although the imperial examinations were not prevalent in Lingao, it had at least produced one jinshi, several juren, and a batch of xiucai. The imperial examination system was alive and well around him. He didn’t have to constantly guess what the books said and verify their authenticity.

Besides flipping through historical materials, he also visited a group of local figures who had participated in the imperial examinations, asking them for all kinds of knowledge about the examinations. This included several local xiucai and juren, the county school’s instructor Wang, and even Liu Dalin received him once. Liu Dalin didn’t know his plan and thought this young Australian was “inclined towards civilization” and intended to participate in the imperial examinations. He was greatly impressed and not only talked at length about his own examination experiences but also shared many techniques for writing the eight-legged essay and examination poems. He even recommended the examination papers of several contemporary masters of “white-paper essays” for him to copy.

“During the palace examination, the paper should be written large, bright, and round. A good hand is better than a good essay,” Liu Dalin taught him earnestly. “The palace examination is said to be personally administered by the emperor, but in reality, it is based on the recommendation of the chief examiner. The emperor just uses his imperial brush to rank them. The ranking is decided in a moment. Who has time to read your essay? The first thing the chief examiner looks at when recommending a paper is the calligraphy.”

Finally, Liu Dalin took out a few collections of recent examination papers he had just bought from Guangzhou and talked about the changes in literary style in recent examinations, as well as his views on the court’s preference for certain types of essays when selecting officials.

Although this knowledge was of no use to Yu E’shui’s research, it made him very impressed—it turned out that things like guessing and spotting exam questions had been around since ancient times.

However, as a result, Yu E’shui was basically desperate about the idea of a modern person being able to be an official in the Great Ming.

“…Our fake prefect doesn’t need to go through the imperial examinations—that’s a bit better. But he at least needs to understand the ways of the examinations. For example, writing and judging the quality of the eight-legged essay. If he doesn’t understand this, he will be exposed when dealing with the academic affairs of the prefecture. Secondly, he must be able to write poetry,” Yu E’shui said. “I don’t know who among our five hundred-plus people can write real classical poetry, but for someone who has passed the imperial examinations, it’s normal for their poetry skills to be not high, but it would be strange if they couldn’t write at all—the imperial examinations, besides the eight-legged essay, also require writing examination poems. If you can’t write poetry and don’t understand the rules of prosody and rhyme, people will have a few questions about how you got your official title!”

Everyone’s hearts sank. The eight-legged essay, examination poems—these things were like a book from heaven to them.

“…Then I have to talk about the issue of calligraphy,” Yu E’shui said with a strange smile on his face, looking like an intellectual proudly presenting a difficult problem. “Most modern people are used to using computers for word processing. Their penmanship with fountain pens and pencils is already crooked. Their brush calligraphy is probably not even as good as a young apprentice in a shop. They have to practice calligraphy—in addition, anyone who has passed the imperial examinations can write ‘white-paper essays,’ which requires separate practice.”

“So you’re saying there’s no hope at all?!” Wang Ding said.

Chen Tianxiong nodded with an “I-told-you-so” expression. “If it weren’t for these problems, why would it have been halted back then?”

“There are still many problems! There’s also the accent. We are generally used to speaking Mandarin—this Mandarin is based on modern Beijing dialect, and modern Beijing dialect developed from the Beijing dialect of the Qing Dynasty. How did the Qing Dynasty Beijing dialect come about?” Yu E’shui gave a mysterious smile. “It was mainly a mixture of the accents of the original residents of Beijing in the Ming Dynasty, the Eight Banners, and the large number of Han Chinese from the Chen army in Liaodong who they brought with them when they entered the pass.”

“You mean to say, our accent has more in common with the Tartars?” Jiang Shan was shocked.

“Strictly speaking, it is similar to the Han Chinese of the Chen army in Liaodong,” Yu E’shui said. “Of course, these two languages are not the same thing, and the similarity is not necessarily high, but there are indeed similarities.”

“I think the accent problem can be changed; it won’t be too difficult,” Lin Biguang said. “I can speak the official language of the Great Ming now—it’s similar to modern Nanjing dialect. If you are willing to learn, it’s not difficult. Three or four months is enough. Besides, the accent problem is not a major loophole. There have been no mistakes in Guangzhou or Leizhou.”

“The accent problem is relatively the easiest to solve. If an official learns the official language, he can basically get by,” Yu E’shui said. “But the first two points are very difficult, especially the first one.”

“There are still two years. It should be possible to train them intensively.”

“According to Liu Dalin and the local xiucai, it takes about ten years for a person to go from starting their education to being able to pass the xiucai examination. Of course, whether they can pass still depends on luck. The difficulty of the xiucai examination is much harder than the master’s degree examination,” Yu E’shui said. “Although the fake prefect doesn’t need to take the imperial examinations directly, he needs to be familiar with the Thirteen Classics and have a basic understanding of the eight-legged essay and poetry. I’m afraid that will take three or four years—on the premise that this person is hardworking and has an interest in learning.”

“To sum up, it’s impossible for a council member to be this fake prefect,” Jiang Shan said. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“I didn’t say that. If someone is willing to study hard and is smart enough, maybe they can do it in two years. At least there are people in Lingao who can teach this knowledge,” Yu E’shui said. “The advantage of a fake prefect is that his background and origin are all ready-made and don’t need to be fabricated. And there were no photos in ancient times, so impersonation is easy.”

“There are many smart people, but I’m afraid there are no one willing to study hard,” Jiang Shan knew very well that if these council members were asked to study the “Thirteen Classics,” the eight-legged essay, and practice calligraphy from “the third watch to the fifth watch,” they would rather go to the countryside to be agricultural technicians. At least they would be flattered and served, and maybe even get a daughter of a small landlord.

“It seems that if we really want to implement the ‘Tang Monk Project,’ we can only choose from the natives,” Lin Biguang knew that although Yu E’shui’s high-flown arguments were suspected of showing off his research results, the reasoning was completely correct.

Jiang Shan said, “A native with this kind of ability, who is also loyal and devoted, this candidate—” he looked troubled.

“There is one person you can consider,” Yu E’shui said. “Zhang Xingjiao. You can check his file.”

“Thank you.” Jiang Shan said, “Our Foreign Intelligence Bureau intends to send intelligence personnel to the mainland. In fact, many council members are willing to do fieldwork, but after hearing what you said, I’m a little hesitant.”

“I know,” Yu E’shui nodded. “My suggestion is that it’s okay to send council members, but it’s best not to assume the identity of an official, unless they are mixed in with a remote and desolate army. Otherwise, once they have to socialize with the local gentry, it’s easy to be exposed—the gentry generally have connections with the province and the court. Even if it’s not a report, just mentioning it as a joke or anecdote in a family letter can cause trouble.”

“So, the dispatched personnel still have to follow the Guangzhou-Leizhou route, as merchants and the like?”

“Merchants, monks, and Daoists are all fine. Landlords are also acceptable. As for impersonating intellectuals and trying to plagiarize Mao Zedong’s poems or Nalan Xingde’s ci to be a literary figure or poet, it’s best to give up that idea as soon as possible—anyone with such ideas should not be allowed to do fieldwork.” Yu E’shui seemed to deeply detest this. “All phenomena of unauthorized infringement of the intellectual property of the ancients must be severely cracked down upon! All use of such materials must be approved by the Great Library! Otherwise, it is plagiarism!”

Everyone didn’t know why Yu E’shui detested this so much and was stunned for a moment.

No one knew that Yu E’shui had a rather embarrassing incident a few days ago when he was asking a certain xiucai for advice on the imperial examinations. This xiucai’s family was a small, rural household without many rules of etiquette, and he accidentally saw their daughter. Yu E’shui was quite taken with her. He took the opportunity to recite a ci by Yuan Mei to show off his “talent.” The other party’s reaction was not “prostrate in admiration” or “greatly impressed,” but rather very surprised—it turned out that a transmigrator had already plagiarized this ci by Yuan Zicai to woo her.

Thinking of this, Yu E’shui gritted his teeth. Of course, he couldn’t tell others about this. He just kept writing intellectual property memos to remind the Executive Committee to strictly control the intellectual property of the ancients and not allow it to be used by council members at will. All poems, essays, and works since the late Ming must be applied for before use…

Jiang Shan said jokingly, “Fortunately, this is the late Ming. The only ones we can plagiarize from are the Qing Dynasty writers. There aren’t many Qing Dynasty poets and ci writers we can plagiarize from…” He then coughed. “I think we need to set up our own training class to train intelligence personnel, including not only natives but also council members who are willing to do fieldwork.”

“I strongly agree with this idea,” Yu E’shui said. “Especially the council members. Their appearance, demeanor, living habits, and language are too different from the natives of the Great Ming. Without certain training, going out on fieldwork rashly can easily lead to trouble. At that time, it won’t be like Guangzhou and Leizhou, which are close by. If something happens, Lingao can start a rescue operation within two or three days. Once they are on the mainland, if something happens, they can only rely on themselves. Not to mention the Northern Administrative Office or the Eastern Depot, even being thrown into a county jail is enough to make a council member suffer greatly!”

“Researcher Yu, you know so much about Ming society. How about working for the Foreign Intelligence Bureau? You are our expert on Ming issues here,” Jiang Shan said, thinking that most of the positions in his bureau were vacant. If Yu E’shui were to come, he would be qualified to be the director of the Ming Department. If he preferred something more relaxed, he could set up an intelligence personnel training center and make him the director. As for the rank, it could be solved by giving him the concurrent position of deputy director of the Ming Department.

“Being a part-time consultant is no problem, but I won’t do it full-time,” Yu E’shui refused flatly. He was very comfortable in the Great Library. Besides completing his assigned tasks, his time was almost entirely his own to do the research he was interested in. He was too lazy to come to such a substantive government office to be buried in paperwork. “If you have any questions about historical materials, feel free to call me at any time. I will do my best to answer—that’s my job too.”

Jiang Shan was slightly disappointed that he couldn’t recruit this talent. Yu E’shui probably knew what he was thinking and said, “I have a candidate. He is very interested in working on the intelligence front. Are you interested?”

“Of course, I’m short of staff right now—” Jiang Shan had another half of the sentence unspoken, “especially people who are willing to sit in an office.”

“You will definitely be satisfied with this person,” Yu E’shui said. “This person is very interested in intelligence work. He is responsible for literature retrieval and translation in our department, and also helps raise bacteria in the Ministry of Agriculture. His favorite pastime is translating and studying various materials on making traps and IEDs. He has even personally tested them at the Bopu shooting range several times. He is very good at planning.”

“What’s his name? I’ll go to the Organization Department to get him.”

“His name is Li Yan, a Ph.D. in stem cell biology,” Yu E’shui said. “This person once wrote a memorandum on intelligence work. You can take a look if you want, but this memorandum should be for military intelligence and not suitable for your department.”

“Oh, is it memorandum K/BW/290322.77?”

“I don’t remember the number,” Yu E’shui shook his head. “I also wrote a comment, disagreeing with his ideas—his set of things is just a clone of the US military’s system—if we do that, we’ll go bankrupt… maybe in the future.”

Next, everyone discussed the next steps for deployment. The mainland deployment of the intelligence system involved the future strategic layout of the transmigrator group, and there was no conclusion on this issue yet. However, there was a general consensus on eliminating Liu Xiang and Zheng Zhilong, seeking opportunities to occupy important strategic locations on the mainland coast, and opening up the mainland coastal transportation lines.

“If we want to get rid of Liu Xiang and Zheng Zhilong, we have to find a way to set up a base in Fujian. Only then can we effectively grasp Zheng Zhilong’s movements,” Yu E’shui said. “Zheng Zhilong’s old nest is in Anping. He now has a legal identity and is sparing no effort in managing Anping. Anping has a large number of his industries and clans. Another one is Zhongzuosuo. It would be best to set up an intelligence station in the Zhangzhou and Quanzhou areas of Fujian to keep an eye on the movements of Zheng Zhilong and Li Kuiqi.”

As for Guangdong, everyone agreed that not much more effort was needed. The Guangzhou and Leizhou stations were already operating very well. Coupled with the coverage of the Qiwei Escort Agency’s business, there was no need to invest much more manpower and resources. Just straighten out the relationship between intelligence and trade.

As for Macau, everyone agreed that a base should be established there. Not only to collect intelligence on the Portuguese, but also to get a lot of news about Zheng Zhilong—the Portuguese and Zheng Zhilong had a very close relationship. This base could serve as both a window for foreign trade and a place to collect intelligence, killing two birds with one stone.

“We should focus on Jiangnan—or the Yangtze River Delta,” Jiang Shan said. “This will inevitably be the group’s second key target after occupying the Pearl River Delta.”

Jiangnan’s rich products, vast market, abundant labor force, and already nascent capitalist-style handicraft workshops made it a more superior base than the Pearl River Delta of this era. There had always been people in the Yuanlaoyuan advocating for “taking Jiangnan to conquer the world.” The calls to make Jiangnan the main strategic target were constant.

“Regardless of when the Yuanlaoyuan or the Executive Committee plans to take Jiangnan, we need to obtain resources and markets from Jiangnan, so it is absolutely necessary to set up a base there.”

“Not only can we take into account commerce and trade, but we can also collect various intelligence at the same time, killing multiple birds with one stone,” Wang Ding said, his eyes shining. “Whoever can be the station chief in Jiangnan would have a great job.” He thought with regret of his shattered grand ambitions.

“I’m afraid all departments will want to get involved in this place,” Chen Tianxiong said. “Delong Bank also wants to get a foothold in Jiangnan to absorb deposits and develop the financial industry.”

Jiang Shan shook his head. “It’s best for Delong Bank to be a separate system, not mixed with the intelligence and commerce departments. It should be a separate line.”