For the first time, the officials in court truly understood what it meant to have core technology controlled by someone else, because the moment those blue-cap managers disappeared, their factories did not merely slow down but instead lost all ability to function, turning expensive facilities into silent and useless shells that could not even sustain basic operations.
Only then did the realization begin to settle in, slow at first and then all at once, that those managers had never truly belonged to them, and that what they believed to be aggressive poaching through high salaries was in fact a carefully orchestrated placement by Liang Shixian himself, who had deliberately allowed them to take these people away.
They thought they were exploiting talent.
He was exploiting their capital, their networks, and their hunger for profit.
They wanted money.
He wanted scale.
And now that the system had spread, the roles of master and tool had quietly reversed without anyone noticing until it was far too late.
"This cannot possibly be done by Liang Shixian alone," one official muttered, his voice carrying both frustration and unease as he tried to reconstruct the logic behind what had happened.
Another immediately followed, "There must be someone backing him, and the only possible answer is the Emperor."
At first, that explanation seemed natural, because power at that level usually flowed from the throne, yet the moment it was spoken aloud, doubt crept in from all directions, because the same officials who served Zhu Youjian daily also knew his limitations all too well.
"Do you truly believe His Majesty has this kind of foresight," a third official said with a dry laugh, unable to fully suppress his disdain.
"Then who is it," someone else asked, and that simple question exposed the most dangerous part of the situation, which was not the existence of the system itself but the fact that its true architect remained completely invisible.
For the first time, they were not merely facing a political opponent but a hidden force that operated beyond their understanding.
Silence lingered briefly before one official spoke again, this time with a more grounded tone.
"No matter who stands behind Liang Shixian, we have already learned one thing, and that is that technology cannot remain in another person's hands if we wish to survive in this new system."
That statement did not meet any opposition, because the lesson had been learned through loss rather than theory.
"But where do we get such knowledge," someone asked, voicing the practical difficulty that none of them could ignore.
"I have heard of something," another official said, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing a valuable secret, "in Kunshan of Southern Zhili, there is a man named Gu Yanwu who sold a large portion of his ancestral land to establish a school, and it is said that this school teaches not only classical texts but also practical knowledge such as astronomy, geography, and various unconventional studies."
This piece of information spread quickly among them, not because of its novelty but because it provided a possible path forward that aligned perfectly with their existing family structures.
One official immediately began outlining a plan, "We can send our collateral branch members to study there, because our main line will continue pursuing official careers while these side branches learn commerce and technical skills, and once they return, we will no longer depend on outsiders."
The others nodded in agreement, because this was a model that had sustained elite families for generations, where political power and economic strength reinforced each other in a stable cycle.
"This is a sound approach," another said, and within moments the decision spread across the group.
Soon after, a wave of collateral descendants from powerful families began traveling toward Luoyang, carrying with them expectations of strengthening their clans and reclaiming control over industry.
What none of them realized was that knowledge does not simply reinforce existing structures, because once new ideas take root, they often begin to reshape the very systems that gave birth to them, and these same individuals might one day become the force that fractures large clans into smaller, independent units.
---
While the court remained entangled in its struggle over industry and control, Lu Xiangsheng returned to the capital once more, and the news of Dorgon's death had already reached the city ahead of him, spreading rapidly and igniting a wave of excitement among the people.
For decades, the northern threat had pressed heavily upon them, shaping their fears and limiting their movement, yet now that balance appeared to have shifted, and confidence began to return in a way that could be seen not in speeches but in actions.
Refugees who had once crowded into the capital began to leave, returning to their villages with carts loaded with fertilizer, their faces carrying a mixture of relief and anticipation as they imagined the coming harvest.
At the same time, the rapid expansion of fertilizer factories, driven ironically by the same officials who had tried to resist the system, created competition that pushed prices downward, making these goods more accessible to ordinary farmers.
Industrial changes extended beyond agriculture, as improved mining and steel production increased the availability of tools, reducing costs and gradually replacing older methods of production.
For the common people, the change was immediate and tangible, and for the first time in years, life no longer felt like an endless struggle for survival.
---
During the next court session, Lu Xiangsheng stepped forward once again, and this time his presence carried not only authority but also momentum built from recent victories.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady and filled with conviction, "Jinzhou has been reclaimed, and the enemy cavalry has been completely destroyed, so this is the best possible moment to advance into Liaodong and recover our lost territory."
He did not hesitate to call Shenyang by its original identity, emphasizing that it remained land belonging to the Ming despite being renamed Shengjing by the enemy, and his words struck directly at the core of imperial pride.
Zhu Youjian felt the pull of that argument immediately, because no emperor could tolerate the existence of a rival regime claiming sovereignty over his territory, and past rebellions had always been met with decisive force whenever possible.
Now, for the first time in years, he felt that such action might actually succeed.
"Lu Xiangsheng," he asked, his voice rising slightly with restrained excitement, "do you truly believe that victory is certain?"
Lu Xiangsheng did not hesitate, and his answer came with the weight of absolute certainty.
"Victory is certain."
That confidence resonated through the court, strengthening the momentum toward war, and for a brief moment it seemed as though the decision had already been made.
Yet just as the tide reached its peak, Gao Qiqian stepped forward and disrupted the flow.
"Your Majesty, this course of action is unwise," he said, his tone calm but firm, and his presence immediately shifted the atmosphere from momentum to resistance.
He argued that the nation had only just begun to recover from disaster, that internal stability remained fragile, and that launching a large-scale campaign at such a moment would place unnecessary strain on the state.
Lu Xiangsheng reacted instantly, rejecting the premise of the argument.
"This is not an external war," he said, his voice carrying both logic and force, "Shenyang is our land, and these so-called enemies are merely rebellious subjects, so how can reclaiming our own territory be considered an external campaign."
Gao Qiqian realized his earlier wording had been flawed, and he quickly adjusted his stance while maintaining his opposition.
"Even so," he continued, "these rebels have grown powerful over decades, and their strength should not be underestimated, so to attack their core immediately after a single victory would be reckless, and in my opinion, it would be wiser to pursue a policy of appeasement and consolidation."
At that moment, the court stood divided between two directions, one driven by momentum and opportunity, the other by caution and control, and beneath their arguments, the deeper system conflict continued to unfold, because war required industry, industry required stability, and power itself had already begun to interfere with both.