Longcheng University had been established for many years, producing a wealth of research achievements and contributing enormously to the development of Longcheng. Currently situated in the Longzhong District, the university offered more than thirty departments and enrolled over ten thousand students in total.
The vast majority of these students advanced through hands-on practice — put plainly, they studied and worked for the master at the same time. The wealth they created was immense.
Whenever an invention or innovation was put to practical use and confirmed to have meaningful applied value, a medal would be awarded. It had been decided several years ago that the holders of these medals would receive not merely flowers and acclaim, but concrete, tangible benefits. Every single medal represented a lifelong stipend and income. Even the most ordinary medal carried a supplement equal to twenty percent of a first-grade salary standard. And this was for life — no exceptions. A civil servant who resigned would lose their pay entirely, but a medal holder, as long as they drew breath, kept collecting. What's more, the supplement was pegged to the standard wage, so even if the currency depreciated, it made no difference.
This drove people half mad. And they had been half mad about it for years now.
When Longcheng University was first founded, there was no suitable candidate for the position, so Zhao Baihui had stepped in as chancellor. The chancellorship now belonged to Wen Jingran — yes, that very same Wen Jingran, Governor-General of Guangdong and Guangxi. He had put himself forward for the post the previous year, and after some reflection, Zhao Bairen had agreed.
Zhao Bairen understood the man's sense of crisis. The longer Longcheng developed, the more immovable it became. Even if Zhao Baihui himself were to call a halt, there would be no stopping it anymore. When that day came, where would people like them — people of the old world — go?
This was not an isolated situation.
Take Li Xuanji: emperor and warden of Longcheng Prison rolled into one, managing affairs on both sides. He no longer went around proclaiming himself Wukong either. Especially after the vernacular edition of Journey to the West was published — he had gone around with a black expression telling everyone that this chapter of the past was never to be mentioned, or he would fall out with them on the spot.
Then there was the Juren scholar Lin Xuejin, currently serving as prefect of Qingjiang Prefecture. After Taoyuan Street in the prefectural city developed and grew, it became the Taoyuan District, and he took on the concurrent role of district chief. And he put far more heart into that district chieftainship than he ever did into his post as prefect.
This all seemed to be settling into a kind of pattern.
At that moment, in the chancellor's office, Wen Jingran sat behind his desk in a Zhongshan suit, attending to matters. A sharp-looking young aide knocked and entered.
"Chancellor, you have a court meeting to attend shortly."
"Mm, noted." Wen Jingran looked up, considered for a moment — things on this side were more or less wrapped up.
He stepped into the small adjoining room and emerged having changed into his full official court regalia.
"Let's go."
"Yes, my lord." The young aide's shift in form of address was utterly seamless, without the faintest trace of awkwardness.
"Chan— Your Excellency the Governor-General." Along the way, everyone they passed made the same adjustment in how they addressed him. No one gave it a second thought.
They descended the stairs and boarded a Longcheng Series Two sedan. Wen Jingran patted the genuine leather seat with satisfaction. Comfort indeed — a car provided at no cost, and not a penny spent on fuel.
---
To the north, in the capital.
Though the Emperor was absent, and Mingxin, the Regent Prince whose word carried the most weight, was likewise away, there were still two regent princes in residence. The Ministers of the Six Boards were all present, and the assembled officials were all in their places — court had to be held. Without it, would the government not descend into chaos?
Well — perhaps not.
In former times the steppe men had held great sway, for they were the masters and the Han were the conquered. In principle this remained the case, but the atmosphere in the court hall had been quietly shifting. The Han officials no longer trod so carefully; their voices had grown gradually louder. The steppe men, by contrast, had grown ever more cautious and circumspect. Even the two regent princes had moved, by degrees, from issuing commands to seeking consensus.
They deliberated on affairs in greater Hebei, discussed matters on the steppe, settled on how to proceed, and then court was dismissed.
The senior figures dispersed to their various destinations. A portion of the mid- and lower-ranking officials made their way to Taoyuan Street — not to enjoy themselves, but to report for work.
One official of relatively modest rank changed his clothes and walked through the doors of a bank. He was the manager here, and it was not a low-ranking position either.
"My apologies, General Manager — today was the court's grand assembly, held once every five days. I'm late."
"No matter. Once every few days — the impact is slight. Let's carry on with the meeting."
Another official changed out of his court robes and entered a large restaurant, making straight for the kitchen.
"Chef Wu is here! Hurry, hurry — so many guests are waiting for your signature dishes!"
"Right, let me at it!"
This official's bureaucratic rank might have been unremarkable, but his culinary arts were nothing short of extraordinary. He had chosen the wrong profession.
Capital officials' salaries were not generous — especially now that Mingxin held the reins. In earlier times there had at least been opportunities to line one's pockets by hook or by crook. Now there was only the court stipend to live on, and it made for a wretched existence.
Even getting a foot massage required considerable deliberation beforehand. After all, a Longcheng civil servant earned only four yuan a day, while a proper foot massage from one of the pretty local girls at Yixiang Parlour cost a minimum of forty yuan.
One had to earn money somehow. Otherwise one couldn't even afford to have one's feet rubbed.