Wan San grinned and replied, “You should read Old Master Wang’s letter first. It’s only right that I let your father take precedence.”
Wang Cang Hai smirked internally, thinking, So he’s annoyed I spoke to the messenger before him and is now equating my father with himself to save face.
He replied, “It’s nothing more than my father asking me to go home and urging me to attend a marriage meeting. What else could it be?”
Wang Chao interrupted, “To answer the young master, the master is asking you to return for your coming-of-age ceremony.”
“My coming-of-age ceremony?” For a moment, Wang Cang Hai looked dazed. “I’ve grown another year older… I really don’t feel like celebrating my birthday.”
He finally reached for the letter, broke the wax seal, and scanned it quickly. With a sigh, he remarked, “Whether I want to or not, it seems I have to go back. My father has invoked the emperor, saying His Majesty will personally crown me.”
Before he had even finished speaking, the previously languid Wang Cang Hai suddenly rose from his recline, standing tall with an air of energy and confidence that lit up the room in an instant.
“Wang Chao,” Wang Cang Hai said calmly, “those people just told me you were in the tea room saying some things about me.”
Wang Chao dropped to his knees with a loud thud. He inhaled sharply, but the words stuck in his throat. The more anxious he became, the less he could speak, until he coughed violently and, with tears streaming down his face, choked out, “Your servant misspoke and begs the young master’s magnanimous forgiveness.”
Wang Cang Hai said, “Being too talkative deserves punishment.”
Without hesitation, Wang Chao raised his hands and began slapping his own face loudly, his cheeks quickly reddening and swelling as the flesh trembled under each blow.
Wang Cang Hai watched him coldly, silently counting as Wang Chao struck himself ten times.
Wan San, observing the bloody streaks forming on Wang Chao’s face, sighed inwardly. This little messenger doesn’t hold back, even against himself.
“Stop,” Wang Cang Hai commanded.
Wang Chao froze, lowering his hands. He knelt on the floor, dejected, as large tears rolled down his face and splattered onto the grass mat beneath him. Flustered, he tried to wipe away the tears with his palms, but the water stains on the mat only spread larger.
This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but I’ve ruined everything, Wang Chao thought, sobbing even harder.
“How old are you, Wang Chao?” Wang Cang Hai asked.
“Twenty-three,” Wang Chao sniffled, struggling to answer between hiccups.
“Have you read my Tax Reform Strategies for Great Yong’s Household Registration System?” Wang Cang Hai asked next.
Wang Chao nodded vigorously. “I’ve read it.”
He had not only read it but had memorized the entire 35,000-character text. In fact, nearly every member of the Wang family had committed the work to memory, as had every official in the Ministry of Revenue. This was no ordinary document—it was the first memorial Wang Cang Hai had ever submitted, written at the age of thirteen. It was presented to Emperor Yuan Hong as a 10,000-word petition when Wang Cang Hai was still a commoner.
Later historians would record this extraordinary story in great detail: in the 26th year of Hong Zhang’s reign, during the eleventh lunar month, Wang Cang Hai, the illegitimate son of Ministry of Revenue official Wang Cheng Xing, submitted a petition to Emperor Yuan Hong. The document, titled Tax Reform Strategies for Great Yong’s Household Registration System—also known colloquially as Wang Cang Hai’s Winter Memorial on Household Administration—was a groundbreaking 35,000-character proposal divided into two sections: a strategic overview and detailed policy recommendations.
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