great-warnovel Chapter 246 Empty words can't compare to real money
Chapter 246 Empty words can't compare to real money
To control the Northern Expeditionary Army?
The Chen family army isn't afraid of the battlefield, so why would they need something like this to manipulate them?
This second-rate newspaper seems to have quite a bit of influence!
Mo Huixin didn't speak, but glanced at the accounting office. There was no anger in her eyes, but her voice came clearly.
"The accounts can be used to manipulate people, but only if the accounts are inaccurate. If the accounts are accurate, then it's not manipulation, it's making the obvious losses clear in black and white. When the army borrows a passage, it's not like a god crossing a bridge; someone has to provide rice, carts, docks, and medicine. Since they want to take a share of everything, then everything should be accounted for clearly. Making the accounts clear isn't about making things difficult for anyone, but about preventing everyone from saying they've been cheated in the end, while the losses ultimately fall on the shoulders of the common people."
She paused, then added a sentence, very softly, yet like a nail hitting a wooden board.
"When a gunshot rings out, some people can cover their ears and pretend they didn't hear it. But once the tent is opened, it's not so easy to play dumb."
Upon hearing this, the accountants exchanged glances. Their initial caution of "not getting involved in military and political affairs" gradually transformed into a more realistic and sober understanding.
What do chamber of commerce accountants believe in most?
It's not about who shouts the loudest or who raises the highest flag; it's about whose accounts are closed and whose votes are cashed.
Half an hour later, the first batch of calculation results were copied out. It wasn't official rhetoric, and there wasn't even any passionate wording; it was just a few lines of cold conclusions: without special accounts, grain prices would rise first; without restrictions on routes, transportation capacity would be disrupted first; without cash settlement, trade routes would be damaged first.
Once this kind of thing gets out, it's much worse than cursing in the street. Because it doesn't play along with your act; it just exposes the rotten pillars under the stage for everyone to see.
Guangzhou is often a temporary office.
The room reeked of cigarette smoke. Several clippings from Shanghai lay spread out on the table. The tabloids that had been fighting for them in the morning had by the afternoon seen two of them change their tune. The latest reprint no longer focused on "shortcuts in the southeast," but instead on "whether the bylaws are indeed intended to prevent disturbances to the public" and "the Chamber of Commerce's accountant raises concerns about transit purchases."
Chiang Kai-shek's secretary turned pale and slammed the rolled-up newspaper onto the table.
"Useless! A bunch of useless people who eat ink and drink water!"
His voice shrill with anger, "They were cursing in the morning, but by the afternoon they've learned to talk big? They've posted the accounts; how are we supposed to label them now?"
A clerk nearby whispered, "They say in Shanghai that Su Guiying personally met with several business owners. Now everyone in Wangping Street knows that if she continues to write about 'Aiwai's lines,' she'll probably end up in the Military Intelligence Bureau's files."
The secretary's eyelids twitched, and she turned around and snapped, "The case file? They're afraid of the case file, but aren't they afraid of the principal putting it on their books?"
No one in the room dared to speak for a moment. Everyone could tell he was furious.
It's infuriating as it may be, but the political winds on paper have changed. Tabloids are masters at reading the weather; they might be on your side this morning, but by evening they can be backing themselves up and finding a way out.
Besides, what good is it for you, Principal Chiang, to keep accounts? The National Revolutionary Government is thousands of miles away, but the Chen family's Military Intelligence Bureau is right here!
The secretary paced back and forth a couple of times, then suddenly stopped, his voice lowered, becoming even more sinister: "Since the 'borrowing a passage' excuse isn't working, let's find another one. Go write it down, go spread the word, that Chen Zijun isn't discussing the charter, he's establishing a central government. He's controlling the transit, accounting, newspapers, and banks all in one place—how does that seem like borrowing a passage? He's clearly paving the way for a separate military and political system."
The clerk hesitated, "Isn't that a bit too harsh?"
"Only heavy items are useful."
The secretary sneered, "Borrowing a route is a minor matter; legitimacy is the real issue. As long as we frame this as 'independence,' some of the people heading north will naturally become restless. Doesn't Chen Zijun like to talk about rules? Then let the world see whether his rules are rules for borrowing a route or rules for sitting in the palace."
After he finished speaking, he picked up his pen and wrote down a phrase quickly and hastily, as if he was afraid that the dirty water would cool down and he wouldn't be able to make a sound when he poured it out.
Fuzhou, temporary coastal defense command center.
As evening approached, several pieces of news converged.
Several major newspapers in Wangping Street have not yet launched an attack, but instead have begun to suppress the headlines; several copies of the Chamber of Commerce's accounting summary have been copied and are being distributed to the Chambers of Commerce in Shanghai and the provincial capital; while in Guangzhou, new rumors have begun to circulate, clearly indicating that they do not intend to continue to dwell on the "cost of borrowing a route" and are preparing to ignite the issue of "political legitimacy".
Shen Li handed the compiled summary to Chen Zijun, frowning as he said, "Su Guiying has suppressed Wangping Street, and the tabloids have started to change their tune. However, the more evidence we release, the more scrutiny the outside world will pay to how we obtained it. If the Military Intelligence Bureau keeps making an appearance like this, many of our leads will become difficult to follow in the future."
Chen Zijun flipped through the summary, his expression unchanging: "So it's not the Military Intelligence Bureau that's showing its face, it's the evidence. The knife for arresting people should be hidden in your sleeve; the account for slapping someone in the face should be laid out on the table. When others come to throw dirty water, we can't expect them to close the door and clean up the mess without saying a word."
Shen Li nodded, then added, "The new rhetoric from Guangzhou is even worse. They want to steer the regulations towards 'establishing an independent central government.' It's not about whether you give way or not; it's about whether you have the right to establish these rules."
Hearing this, Chen Zijun laughed instead: "That makes sense. In the end, the discussion about borrowing a passage will inevitably lead to a discussion about status. I just thought they would pretend to be respectable for a few more days. I didn't expect that these guys from the Chang family would not even bother to put on their costumes properly and would jump directly from the passage to the dragon throne, walking faster than a newsboy shouting numbers."
As he spoke, he put down the Chinese telegram in his hand, walked to the Southeast Railway map on the wall, and slowly glanced at the Shanghai-Nanjing, Zhejiang-Jiangxi, and Fujian-Zhejiang lines.
"What they're afraid of is never me collecting any border crossing fees."
Chen Zijun said calmly, "What they fear is that the Southeast will establish rules, and that these rules will actually be accepted by some. After that, chaos will ensue. Does that mean that guns can take down a city, tents can support an army, and newspapers can legitimize rules? Once these three things are united, can't anyone imitate me, Chen Zijun, and become a mountain bandit?"
Shen Li understood and said in a low voice, "So they have to first portray these rules as ambition."
"Yes." Chen Zijun looked at the diagram, his voice even more indifferent, "Because they can't come up with any cleaner rules, they can only say that other people's rules don't deserve to exist."
As night fell, another urgent telegram arrived from Shanghai. It wasn't an official telegram, but a private message forwarded from Wangping Street, saying that an anonymous letter had been delivered to the newspaper office, with only four words written on the cover: "A Matter Concerning the Foundation of the Nation."
Shanghai, Wangping Street Teahouse.
After the lights are turned on at night, the streets are even more bustling than during the day. The windows of several printing factories are lit up, like a row of sleepless eyes.
When Su Guiying returned to the teahouse, there was an extra leather envelope on the table. It was sealed neatly and cleanly, neither sloppy nor ostentatious, but rather exuded a kind of refined composure.
When the newspaper manager brought the letter up, his forehead was still damp with sweat: "Director Su, someone slipped this under the door. It's quite long, specifically requesting that several major newspapers on Wangping Street see it. It says that the Southeast's passage through the area is a pretense, and that the real purpose is to establish a separate central government. It also says... it also says that the Young Marshal's actions over the years—building coastal defenses, reforming banks, controlling newspapers, and establishing regulations—are not about defending the territory, but rather a warm-up for future unification."
Su Guiying opened the letter and read it slowly, page by page.
Her face remained expressionless, and the more she did so, the less people around her dared to make a sound.
When she saw the last sentence, "Today we establish regulations for border crossings, and tomorrow we can establish a central government authority," she chuckled softly and folded the letter back.
The shopkeeper asked cautiously, "Does this... need to be weighed?"
"Pressure?"
Su Guiying looked up at the strings of lights on Wangping Street outside the window. "They've already put on this show so well, what's the use of suppressing a letter? Today they say he's using the road to set up a checkpoint, tomorrow they say he's establishing his own central government, and the day after tomorrow they'll be making up an imperial edict for someone. These people from the Changxi faction might not be able to catch up in the battle every time, but they're always ahead of the pack in labeling people."
She placed the letter on the table, pressing it gently with her fingers. Her tone remained warm, yet carried an indescribable chill.
"However, this also shows that they are getting anxious. They can't win the battle over the issue of passage, so they've started fighting over the issue of legitimacy. To put it bluntly, they've discovered that the Chen family army can not only defend the line and fire artillery, but they can also actually mold the regulations, banks, newspapers, and trade routes into a functional system. This is what makes them most uneasy."
The shopkeeper smiled wryly, "But once these words explode in the newspapers, they'll probably be even harder to handle than those tabloids this morning."
As Su Guiying looked at the anonymous letter, a faint smile finally appeared in her eyes, like moonlight reflecting off the back of a knife.
"It's good that it's hard to clean. Things that are easy to clean are mostly worthless."
She pushed the envelope back, "Send a backup copy, and send a copy to Fuzhou. Tell the Young Marshal that things on Wangping Street are no longer just about borrowing a passage."
She stood up and walked to the window. Newsboys were still running downstairs, their shouts for the evening magazine growing louder and louder. The wind swept up the scent of ink, bicycle bells, and clamor all at once. The whole of Shanghai was like a newspaper being reprinted, every line still warm.
Su Guiying looked down at the advertisements vying to be published on the street, and suddenly smiled. The smile was not deep, but it was enough to make the people behind her tense up.
"This is getting interesting."
She gently shook the anonymous letter in her hand, and the pages made a crisp sound.
"They stopped talking about borrowing a passage and started talking about the throne."