Transmigrating to the Chongzhen era, I started by confiscating the Donglin Party.

On the first day of the eleventh month of the sixteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, at the Wenhua Hall in Nanjing.

Morning light slanted in through the high window, cutting neat grids of light on the blue brick floor.

Li Ce did not sit behind the imperial desk, but stood in front of the huge map that occupied the entire east wall.

The map was new, made of silk, with clear ink lines. The location of Beijing was marked with a striking vermilion dot, with a note in small characters next to it: "Sinking on the fifth day of the ninth month."

The blue lines radiating out from Nanjing resembled a spider web—one of which went north to Xuzhou, where Sun Chuanting and the newly surrendered Zuo Liangyu were located.

One route extends eastward to Dengzhou, connecting with Zheng Sen's navy; another winds westward, pointing towards Qin Liangyu in Sichuan.

There is also a dotted line extending north to Shanhaiguan, with a question mark at the location of Wu Sangui.

"Your Majesty," Li Ruolian's voice rang out at the palace entrance.

Li Ce didn't turn around: "Has the roster from the Military Academy arrived?"

"It's here." Li Ruolian came in carrying a blue booklet. "Zuo Menggeng has been admitted to Class 3 of Grade A, with four roommates, all from poor families. As you instructed, no special arrangements have been made."

Li Ce turned and took the roster. He opened it and saw Zuo Menggeng's name on the seventh page. The remarks column read: "Voluntary application for additional training, starting at 5:00 AM and ending at 7:00 PM every day." The handwriting was neat and belonged to the instructor.

"His father is working hard in Hejian," Li Ce said, closing the booklet. "His son is suffering in Nanjing. Tell the instructors not to give him special attention, but if he can really persevere, the standards for the end-of-month assessment can be relaxed appropriately—give him a little reward for the first time."

"Yes." Li Ruolian paused. "There's one more thing. Wu Xiang went to the orphanage this morning and donated fifty taels of silver, saying it was for children to buy winter clothes. His men reported that he stayed in the orphanage for half an hour and held a three-year-old orphan who called him 'Grandpa.'"

Li Ce smiled. It was a faint smile, but there was a light in his eyes.

"Wu Sangui is in Shanhaiguan," he walked to the window, looking at the snow falling outside, "and his father is a kind old man in Nanjing. That image will keep him thinking for a while."

"Should we arrange for someone to deliver the message?"

"No need," Li Ce shook his head. "Let the merchants spread this kind of news. It's natural for caravans traveling between the north and south to chat about everyday matters. If you deliberately pass it on, it will seem fake."

Li Ruolian understood and added, "Over at the workshop, Liu Rushi is asking about the details of the profit-sharing. According to you, 10% of the profits should be distributed as dividends to the female workers, but she is undecided on the specifics of how to allocate them."

"Tell her three things." Li Ce held up three fingers. "First, pay by piecework, the more you do, the more you earn; second, set up an 'Innovation Award,' whoever has a way to improve the process and whose method is proven effective will be richly rewarded; third, those with three years of service will receive an extra 10%—let them know that working for the court for a long time has its benefits."

"The rules for noble sons to enter the military academy..."

"Rules are rules." Li Ce's voice turned cold. "That guy from the British ducal family yesterday, wasn't he making a fuss about wanting a private room? Tell him, either he needs to stay in an eight-person room, or he needs to go home. If he makes another fuss, his father's title will be downgraded by one rank."

Li Ruolian bowed: "Your subject understands."

The hall was quiet for a moment. Snowflakes fell on the glazed tiles, making a soft rustling sound.

"Li Qing," Li Ce suddenly asked, "how's the stage setup coming along?"

Li Ruolian pondered: "The framework is complete. The military academy trains officers, the workshops produce weapons, the cabinet manages the government, and the Embroidered Uniform Guard oversees everything. Only…"

"But the people's hearts are not yet fully won over," Li Ce finished for him. "Zuo Liangyu surrendered out of fear, Wu Sangui was observing, Zheng Sen was young and impetuous, and the gentry in Jiangnan were outwardly convinced but inwardly not." He paused, "So we must establish rules. Once the rules are established, the people's hearts will naturally follow them."

A bell tolled outside the window; it was exactly 7:00 AM.

It's time for the morning court session.

At the same time, at the military academy's training ground

The snow had piled up to an inch thick, leaving messy footprints. Zuo Menggeng stood in a horse stance, his legs trembling violently, sweat dripping from his forehead and melting into the snow, creating small puddles.

"Hold on tight!" The one-eyed instructor paced around him, carrying a thorny branch. "Your father fought the Tartars in Hejian so you could live like a pampered young master here?"

Zuo Menggeng gritted his teeth and straightened his back. He recalled the night he left Wuchang, when his father saw him off at the dock and said, "Once you get to Nanjing, you will be the face of the Zuo family. Whether that face is glorious or utterly disgraced is up to you."

He didn't fully understand it then. Now, after half a month at the military academy, he understands.

Background doesn't matter here. At breakfast, a farmer's son sat next to him, his hands covered in calluses, his eyes filled with resentment when he talked about renting land back home. The boy wasn't very literate, but he was incredibly fast at handling flintlock pistols, able to disassemble and reassemble them even with his eyes closed.

"You," the instructor nudged Zuo Menggeng's shoulder with a thorn branch, "go move the ammunition boxes. Today's live-fire exercise is going to be done, and your group is in charge of loading them."

Zuo Menggeng staggered to his feet, his legs so numb he almost fell. He walked to the warehouse, where ten boxes of ammunition were piled in the corner, each weighing fifty pounds. He tried to lift one box; it was heavy, extremely heavy.

"One person carries one box, ten round trips," the instructor said from behind. "If we don't finish, the whole group won't get lunch."

The other three from the same group came over. One was a farmer's son named Chen Erniu; another was a soldier from the garrison named Zhang Yong; and the third was the son of a merchant named Qian Youcai.

The four men didn't speak, each picking up a box. Zuo Menggeng took five steps before his arms started to ache. He glanced at Chen Erniu, the farmer's son, who carried the boxes steadily and firmly.

"Brother Zuo," Qian Youcai said, panting, "shall we switch hands? I'll take over for a bit."

"No need." Zuo Menggeng shook his head and gritted his teeth as he continued walking.

After ten trips, it was nearly noon. Zuo Menggeng slumped in the snow, his arms trembling so badly he could barely lift them. Chen Erniu handed him a water bag: "Have some."

Zuo Menggeng took it, took a sip, and found it was cold.

"Thanks." He returned the water pouch.

Chen Erniu sat down next to him, looking at the shooting range in the distance: "I heard your father won a battle in Hejian."

Zuo Menggeng was taken aback: "How did you know?"

"The battle report is posted on the bulletin board," Chen Erniu said. "Commander-in-Chief Sun repelled Hauge, but your father's Zhongwu Battalion held the right flank to the death, suffering three hundred casualties without retreating a single step."

Zuo Menggeng felt a surge of warmth in his chest. He stood up, brushing the snow off his clothes: "Let's go eat."

The four walked toward the canteen. The snow was still falling, and the footprints on the drill ground were quickly covered by fresh snow, as if no one had ever walked there.

Workshop Accounting Office, 12:45 PM

Liu Rushi manipulated the abacus, the beads clinking crisply and frequently. Zhao Chenshi stood before the table, her hands nervously twisting together.

"Last month, the workshop produced 8,000 bolts of cloth," Liu Rushi looked up. "According to the rules set by His Majesty, 10% of the profit is distributed as bonuses, amounting to 800 taels of silver. There are 320 female workers, paid by the piece. You worked for 30 days and wove 42 bolts of cloth, ranking third in the entire workshop."

Zhao Chenshi swallowed.

"This is yours." Liu Rushi pushed a small cloth bag over.

Zhao Chenshi took it, her hands trembling as she untied the knot. Inside were loose silver pieces, in various sizes; she counted them—three taels and seven mace.

"This...so much?" Her voice trembled.

"The more you work, the more you earn." Liu Rushi pushed another piece of paper over. "This is the 'Innovation Award.' Your proposed method of blending reeds and cotton has been proven effective, saving 30% of cotton. The reward is five taels of silver."

Another cloth bag.

Zhao Chenshi was stunned. She stared at the two cloth bags, then suddenly squatted down, covered her face, and began to cry. It wasn't a wailing, but suppressed sobs, her shoulders heaving.

Liu Rushi didn't try to persuade her; she simply waited. The hum of spinning wheels could be heard outside the window; the female workers were still at work.

After a long while, Zhao Chenshi raised her head, her eyes red and swollen: "Mr. Liu... the year my husband died, the government gave us three taels of silver as compensation, saying it was 'the emperor's boundless grace.' I used those three taels of silver to buy a simple coffin, and the rest... wasn't enough for my son and me to eat for three months."

She wiped her face: "Now, I can earn eight taels and seven qian a month. Eight taels and seven qian..."

"This is what you deserve." Liu Rushi stood up and walked to her. "The rules in the workshop are very simple: you get what you put in. We don't care about your background or who your husband is; we only care about the quality and quantity of the cloth you weave."

Zhao Chenshi nodded vigorously and hugged the cloth bag tightly to her chest.

"There's one more thing," Liu Rushi said. "From today onwards, the workshop will establish a 'mutual aid fund.' Anyone who encounters an emergency can apply for a loan, interest-free, and it will be deducted from their wages monthly. You will be in charge of managing this money."

Zhao Chen's eyes widened: "I...I don't care?"

"You can read, you can do accounts, and you're someone everyone trusts," Liu Rushi smiled. "I've written down the rules; just follow them."

She handed her a booklet. Zhao Chenshi took it, opened it, and found that the terms and conditions were clearly written: how to apply, how to get approved, when to return it...

"Mr. Liu," she suddenly asked, "will this rule... always remain the same?"

Liu Rushi looked out the window. The snow was still falling, but the old plum trees in the workshop courtyard had already sprouted red buds.

“His Majesty said,” she answered softly, “that good rules should be allowed to take root.”

On the shore of Xuanwu Lake, in the warm pavilion of the Wu residence

Wu Xiang placed a black piece, and the situation on the board became clear. Ni Yuanlu stroked his beard, pondering for a long time without responding.

"Grand Secretary Ni," Wu Xiang picked up his teacup, "is something on your mind?"

Ni Yuanlu sighed and conceded defeat, saying, "General Wu is a step ahead; I have lost."

The two put away the chess pieces and rearranged the board. The charcoal crackled in the copper basin, and the warm room was filled with the aroma of sandalwood and tea.

"I heard," Ni Yuanlu said casually, "that there has been heavy snow in Shanhaiguan these past few days."

Wu Xiang paused for a moment: "The north is bitterly cold, year after year."

"Your son has worked hard guarding this strategic pass." Ni Yuanlu placed a piece on the board. "His Majesty said the other day that the soldiers of the Guan Ning Army are facing difficulties and has ordered the workshops to speed up the production of leather boots, which will be sent to the front lines soon."

Wu Xiang looked up: "Your Majesty is benevolent."

"It's not about being kind, it's about following the rules." Ni Yuanlu looked at him. "The rules of the new dynasty are that soldiers guarding the border will not be treated unfairly by the court. They will receive sufficient rations and pay, warm winter clothing, and double compensation for those who die in battle. Your son can rest assured while he is outside the pass."

There was a hidden meaning in his words. Wu Xiang understood.

He recalled his son's words in his last secret letter: "The imperial court is powerful, and the Qing dynasty is in turmoil. My son is in prison; how should he conduct himself?"

He didn't reply then. Now, looking at Ni Yuanlu's calm face, he suddenly understood—this Grand Secretary came today not to play chess, but to deliver a message.

"Lord Ni," Wu Xiang said, placing his piece, "During my time in Nanjing, I have witnessed the prosperity of the city and the happiness of the people. Every day I visit the orphanage and see that the children have clothes, food, and books to read. This is a sign of a prosperous age."

"It's not exactly a golden age," Ni Yuanlu said, "but rules have been established. With rules in place, people's hearts are at ease."

The two looked at each other and understood what the other was saying.

The chess game continued. Outside the window, the snow gradually subsided.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard headquarters, Shenshi (3-5 PM)

Li Ruolian looked at the list on the table. The list contained seventeen names, all of whom were prominent figures in Nanjing—a retired vice minister, a wealthy merchant, and the headmaster of an academy.

Each name is marked with a red circle or a black dot.

Red circles indicate "available", and black dots indicate "to be observed".

Li Ruolian picked up her vermilion brush and drew a small red circle after the three characters "Qian Qianyi".

"Sir," the subordinate asked in a low voice, "are we really going to let Qian Muzhai go?"

"It's not about letting him go, it's about using him." Li Ruolian put down his pen. "This man has a great reputation and many students. Killing him would shake the scholars of Jiangnan. It would be better to give him an honorary title and let him compile books, give lectures, and preside over literary gatherings—in short, don't let him touch any real power."

"But before him..."

“That was then,” Li Ruolian interrupted. “His Majesty once said: People change. Give him a decent way out, and he will know how to choose.”

The subordinate seemed to understand but not quite.

Li Ruolian stood up and walked to the window. The snow had stopped, and the setting sun peeked through the clouds, casting a golden glow on the rooftops of Nanjing.

He recalled that many years ago, when he first joined the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the old commander had said: "The Embroidered Uniform Guard is a knife, and the knife must obey the one who wields it."

Now he understood that what His Majesty wanted was not a knife that could be used to cut indiscriminately, but a precise scalpel—with rules for where to cut and how deep to cut.

"Pass down the order," he turned around, "From this day forward, all investigations must be based on solid evidence, torture and forced confessions are strictly prohibited, and innocent people must not be implicated. Violators will be dealt with according to the new law."

The subordinate was taken aback: "Sir, this..."

"These are the rules," Li Ruolian repeated. "Once the rules are established, they must be followed."

He walked to the desk, picked up the list, and held it up to the candlelight. The flames devoured the paper, turning it to ashes.

The list was burned, but the names are etched in my mind.

Wenhua Hall, at the beginning of Xu hour

Li Ce looked at the newly delivered battle report from Hejian. The report was very detailed: Sun Chuanting used artillery to rout Hauge's vanguard, while Zuo Liangyu's troops held their ground on the right flank hills, suffering over three hundred casualties but not retreating an inch. The Qing army retreated thirty li, leaving behind over a thousand corpses.

At the end of the battle report, Sun Chuanting added a sentence: "After the battle, Zuo Liangyu personally collected the bodies of the fallen soldiers and bowed before each coffin. I observed that his feelings were genuine and not feigned."

Li Ce put down the battle report, picked up his pen, and wrote in red ink:

"The soldiers of the Zhongwu Battalion are commendable for their loyalty and bravery. Those who died in battle will receive double the compensation, and the wounded will be generously rewarded. Zuo Liangyu is hereby granted a jade belt as a sign of honor. Furthermore, once the reorganization of his troops is complete, he shall be transferred to Guide and placed under the command of Sun Chuanting."

After finishing his comments, he put down his pen and rubbed his temples.

Empress Zhou brought in a bowl of ginseng soup and gently placed it on the table.

"Your Majesty has worked hard."

"It's not hard work." Li Ce took a sip of soup. "The stage is set up, and the actors have started singing. This is a good thing."

Is Zuo Liangyu truly trustworthy?

"Whether it's believable or not is not important," Li Ce said. "What's important is that he stepped onto this stage and performed according to the rules. If he performs well, he'll be rewarded; if he performs poorly, he'll be punished. Over time, he'll really start to see himself as an actor—no, as a leading man."

Empress Zhou seemed to understand, but not quite.

Li Ce didn't explain further. He walked to the map and moved his finger from Hejian to Shanhaiguan.

"Next," he said softly, "is Wu Sangui's turn."

Outside the window, the snow started falling again.

But the lights in Nanjing lit up one by one, forming a warm sea of ​​light.

In this sea of ​​light, new rules are taking root, and a new order is growing.

The platform is set up.