Even the Ming Dynasty had a winter break.

For the Jiajing Emperor, having Altan Khan’s forces reach the gates of the capital in August was a deeply humiliating affair. Once the Tatars withdrew, it was only natural to conduct a reckoning of the campaign: merit had to be rewarded, negligence punished, and the rot within the regional garrisons providing reinforcements was brought to light.

On November 30th of the twenty-ninth year of the Jiajing reign (1550), an edict was issued to investigate the various corrupt practices—such as illegal land occupation and exploitation—plaguing the forty-two garrisons of Nanjing. It was decreed that any original garrison soldiers who had deserted or whose households were being farmed by others were to be registered and reinstated into service; otherwise, the land would be confiscated by the state and redistributed to newly recruited garrison troops.

Back in late August, when the imperial summons for reinforcements reached the auxiliary capital of Yingtian Prefecture, the supervising eunuch of Nanjing, the Nanjing garrison commander, and the Nanjing Ministry of War had immediately dispatched orders to various garrisons, urging them to mobilize and march north as quickly as possible. In reality, however, the garrisons were so decayed that they were virtually useless. The entire mobilization process was sluggish; even after the Jiujiang Garrison had passed through Nanjing and headed toward Zhenjiang, the majority of the troops had still not assembled, which spoke volumes about the true state of the garrisons. Although the Nanjing officials at the time tried their best to suppress these rumors, the news reached the Censorate months later.

The Censorate, evolved from the Censorate of previous dynasties, was charged with surveillance, impeachment, and providing counsel. Together with the Ministry of Justice and the Court of Judicial Review, it formed the "Three Judicial Offices," which convened to try major cases. The Censorate was headed by the Censors-in-Chief (Left and Right), assisted by Vice Censors-in-Chief and Assistant Censors-in-Chief in managing its affairs. It was further divided into thirteen circuits corresponding to the thirteen provincial administrative commissions, with investigating censors stationed in each to patrol the prefectures and counties, specializing in the evaluation and impeachment of officials.

In the Ming Dynasty, the Censorate possessed the authority to "memorialize on major matters and decide on minor ones," effectively functioning as the supreme supervisory body. The political structure designed by Zhu Yuanzhang was quite fascinating; a characteristic of the Ming bureaucracy was that high-ranking officials held little actual power, while low-ranking officials held great power—a trait particularly evident within the Censorate. "Reporting based on hearsay" and "mad dogs" were common epithets for the Censorate. During the factional struggles of the middle and late Ming, the censors of the thirteen circuits and the supervising secretaries of the six offices were often the vanguard of conflict; they were the so-called "censorate and secretarial officials."

A censor was only a seventh-rank official, yet they could impeach officials of any rank in the court. According to bureaucratic custom, once impeached, an official would typically retire to await investigation to prove their innocence, rather than using their influence to suppress the matter, letting the facts speak for themselves. Despite having a position that could override various ministries and government offices, Zhu Yuanzhang did not establish a department to oversee them. In fact, throughout the Ming Dynasty, few censors were ever punished for hearsay; they were only dealt with if the Emperor was displeased or if concrete evidence of corruption and malfeasance was found. Perhaps this was why Zhu Yuanzhang assigned them such a low rank—to ensure mutual restraint and checks and balances.

This time, the performance of the garrisons around Nanjing was truly disgraceful, providing the Censorate with an opening to launch a series of impeachments against the Nanjing leadership and various ministries, targeting not only the supervising eunuch but also the Nanjing garrison commander and officials of the Nanjing Ministry of War.

When the Tatar forces were at the city gates, the Jiajing Emperor had realized that the military strength of the Ming capital had severely declined. He promptly abolished the Twelve Regimental Camps established during the Zhengde reign and returned to the model of the Three Great Camps of the capital. With the defense of Beijing addressed, he turned his attention to Nanjing.

The Jiajing Emperor intended to investigate the vacancy issues in the major garrisons surrounding Nanjing and reclaim the encroached-upon garrison lands. However, the edict explicitly stated that these lands would not be confiscated by the state but would be used to support newly recruited troops, a move aimed at restoring the combat effectiveness of the garrisons. Yet, while there are policies from above, there are counter-measures from below; the most important thing is whether they can be effectively implemented. In truth, most policies are sound at their inception, only to be corrupted during the top-down execution process. So-called "tyrannical government" is often the result of reckless execution, and the responsibility lies with the mid-to-low-level officials.

Once this order was issued, the officials in the Jiujiang Garrison who had hoped to further partition the garrison lands became quiet. The intent of the edict was clear: the land was to be reclaimed, but not for the state—it was to be returned to the local units to recruit soldiers and fill the vacancies. If they followed the edict, they would have to return the land to the thousand-man and hundred-man units to support the troops. How could they allow that? One must understand that by now, most of the garrison land had been divided up by the high-ranking military officers; the units themselves received, at most, some basic rations. When faced with greedy commanders, even those rations were withheld, which was the root cause of desertion. After weighing the options, they decided it was better to leave things as they were. This was the conclusion reached by the garrison command, and the previous discussion naturally faded into nothingness.

Well, perhaps it was the protagonist's halo of Wei Guangde at work; the Jiajing Emperor had inadvertently helped his family solve a massive problem. Along with this news came word that the "great hero" Qiu Luan had been summoned to Beijing to oversee the Three Great Camps. Of course, this news had nothing to do with the Wei family. By this time, every household was preparing for the approaching end of the year; once the year turned, it would be the thirtieth year of the Jiajing reign. Although Jiangxi was located in the south of the Ming Empire, the weather had grown increasingly cold by this season, though it had not yet reached the freezing point common in the north. Wei Guangde continued his daily routine: rising early, washing, eating, and then heading out into the cold wind to study with Master Sun.

Because people's thinking in this era was relatively narrow and their perception of things quite singular, their views on many subjects tended to converge. Consequently, the essays Wei Guangde wrote by blending two model essays in his own words were not criticized by Master Sun for plagiarism; instead, they were praised. Well, Master Sun believed that Wei Guangde had grasped the ideas the authors intended to express through his study of those two model essays. Perhaps the saying from later generations, "Can a scholar's theft be called stealing?" originated from this very mentality.

Wei Guangde, having tasted the benefits of drawing from the strengths of many, naturally began to redouble his efforts at plagiarizing—no, "learning from"—other model essays. Relying on his superior memory, everything seemed to fall into place. Of course, the essays Wei Guangde wrote were hardly masterful; he still made occasional errors that required Master Sun's guidance, and Master Sun certainly enjoyed this process and took great pleasure in it. Over the past three months, Wei Guangde's calligraphy had also improved through practice, becoming "at least presentable," which were Master Sun's exact words.

As the end of the year approached, Master Sun's private school naturally had to suspend classes. Although there was no such thing as a "winter break" in this era, the New Year had to be observed. Today was the final day of the year, and after school, the academy would temporarily close for the holidays. By this time, the children in the classroom were naturally becoming quite excited. It was no joke—in this weather, waking up early every day was very difficult, and it was far less pleasant than staying tucked away in a warm bed. Those who could afford to attend a private school certainly did not come from families where having enough to eat was a struggle, so they naturally had the luxury of sleeping in. As usual, after completing their daily lessons, the children stood respectfully at dismissal and offered their New Year greetings to Master Sun.