Chapter Twenty-Six: The Reporting System

An incident occurs, followed by handling, investigation, and arrest...

This general workflow is not wrong in itself. It is indeed never too late to mend the fold even after some sheep have been lost. But why must one wait until the sheep are actually stolen to take remedial action? Would it not be far more perfect to mend the gap in advance the moment it appears?

Looking through the various files in the archives of the Censorate, Pei Min made a sensitive discovery: a large proportion of these offenders were recidivists who had been committing crimes for a long time. Starting with minor wrongdoings, beginning with the embezzlement of a mere string of cash, they gradually grew bolder, step by step marching uncontrollably toward the abyss of death. The harm caused by such individuals was long-term, yet because they had not touched the vital roots or caused exceptionally severe impacts, the Censorate remained completely unaware. It was only when public grievances accumulated bit by bit and the harm to the state grew day by day that the paper could no longer wrap up the fire, and these culprits were finally apprehended and brought to justice.

Capturing the masterminds was naturally a good thing that gladdened the hearts of the people. However, the losses suffered by the state and the damage inflicted upon the populace could no longer be reversed. If these threats could have been detected earlier, if they could have been perceived sooner, the risks and harms could well have been minimized.

Pei Min originally intended to consult with Cheng Xingzhan to see if it was possible to establish an intelligence department. On second thought, however, he realized the idea was improper and muttered to himself, "I have been in the Censorate for merely ten days, yet I have already perceived this flaw. Elder Cheng has worked in the Censorate for ten years; how could he possibly be unaware of this? They know yet refrain from reforming it, which presumably has its reasons. That is right, the authority of the Censorate is already extremely heavy. If it were to also command an intelligence organization, would that not be equivalent to the Jinyiwei?"

At the thought of the Ming dynasty's Jinyiwei, Pei Min instantly shivered.

The Jinyiwei system of the Ming dynasty had both advantages and disadvantages, acting much like a double-edged sword. The embroidered uniform guards had indeed accomplished many major feats for the country, but because their power was overly immense, it led to them acting recklessly and causing considerable harm to the Ming dynasty. There were pros and cons. The crux of the matter was that the existence of the Jinyiwei stemmed from the needs of the imperial family; the emperors of the Ming dynasty needed this blade to consolidate their own power. Unless Li Longji himself proposed creating something similar to the Jinyiwei to monitor court officials, what difference would it make for an outsider to suggest it other than seeking death?

Apart from strengthening the control over the Censorate's intelligence, what other methods could enhance its sources of information?

Pei Min pondered deeply, wondering if any systems from later generations could be utilized. Suddenly, the Independent Commission Against Corruption came to mind, and his heart stirred. He did not know much about the ICAC, but he knew that before its establishment, corruption was rampant in Hong Kong, whereas after its inception, the social atmosphere of Hong Kong transformed dramatically, achieving miraculous results in just a few short years.

The status of the Censorate was quite similar to that of the ICAC, as both were institutions that reported directly to the emperor. Their systems could not be copied wholesale, given the distinct differences between ancient and modern times. Nevertheless, their methods of reporting, filing cases, and protecting whistleblowers could entirely be put to use. Without needing to establish a special intelligence agency of his own, making all citizens act as scouts and providing informants with a safe way to report—would he still need to fear that corrupt officials were hiding too deeply?

The world has never lacked well-informed insiders; what it lacks is a means to protect them, leaving those in the know too afraid to blow the whistle. If a rational reporting procedure and an effective confidentiality method could be devised to safeguard the safety of whistleblowers, the Censorate would no longer need to be as passive as it was now, having to wait until matters blew up and everyone knew before performing the final cleanup.

With this in mind, Pei Min fetched pen and paper to record his thoughts. After pondering over them repeatedly for the better part of the day, he wrote a flowing essay of over a thousand words. Only when he was satisfied did he seek out Cheng Xingzhan.

"Elder Cheng, this junior has written down some thoughts. Do you think this is feasible?" Instead of submitting his writing directly to the Department of State Affairs, Pei Min handed it to his immediate superior. Cheng Xingzhan had spent many years in the Censorate and possessed far more experience in various matters than a newcomer like him.

Cheng Xingzhan was exceedingly pleased with Pei Min's diligent performance recently and treated him with great friendliness. He took the writings and motioned for him to take a seat nearby. Taking merely a single glance at the text, Cheng Xingzhan's eyes lit up, and he smiled, "As expected of the literary star descended to the mortal realm, Imperial Censor Pei! This regular script is truly written with exceptional beauty and is gradually developing its own style. Remarkable."

He praised with a smile.

Reading downward along the content, Cheng Xingzhan's smiling expression turned solemn and grave. Initially reading ten lines at a glance, he finished it once and then read it again from the beginning, finally scrutinizing it word by word. After reviewing it three times over, he looked at Pei Min with a complex expression and said heavily, "Imperial Censor Pei, you are setting my Censorate on a fire to be roasted!"

Pei Min smiled and said, "Does true gold fear the tempering of fire? The Censorate's very purpose is to rectify the moral conduct of officials, inspect the hundred officials, and impeach the lawless. It is simply that the reporting methods available to our Censorate are too outdated, to the extent that people are driven to extremes: the commoners dare not report, and the insiders fear being implicated and dare not blow the whistle. Consequently, apart from the supervisory censors of the Investigative Office accurately fulfilling their duties, the supervision by our Trial Office is practically a mere scratching of an itch through a boot, failing to land solidly."

Cheng Xingzhan said in a deep voice, "Then do you know the reason?"

Without the slightest hesitation, Pei Min replied, "Of course I know. The supervisory censors of the Investigative Office are responsible for monitoring officials in other regions. On one hand, the malfeasance of local officials causes immense harm and must be severely punished; on the other hand, local officials are easier to govern and manage. But capital officials are different. Capital officials shield one another and form various factions, sometimes pulling a single hair to affect the whole body. Therefore, minor crimes and faults are tacitly understood by all and left unpunished. Only when a catastrophe is provoked does our Censorate step in to inquire. Yet once the disaster is done, what is the point of stepping in? Emperor Zhaolie of Han had a saying: 'Do not fail to perform a small good deed thinking it is trivial, and do not commit a small evil thinking it is harmless.' A small good is still good; is a small evil not evil? Does evil come in sizes? On my very first day reporting for duty, Elder Cheng told me that the Censorate is neither the netherworld nor a gathering place for cruel officials, but a place that guides people upward and urges officials not to do evil. Since that is the case, to connive at minor evils and faults until they become major evils and disasters—is this something our Censorate should do?"

Cheng Xingzhan pondered for a long time before sighing, "What you say is not without reason, but implementing such a system will not be easy."

Pei Min smiled. "Our Censorate is directly governed by His Majesty, and no department has the right to interfere, not even the chancellors. As long as His Majesty supports it, and as long as His Majesty has the will to cleanse the atmosphere of the court, this system will not be difficult to implement properly."

Recalling Li Longji's actions in the imperial court during these recent days, Cheng Xingzhan nodded in agreement. "Since that is the case, you may submit a memorial yourself. When submitting it, remember not to violate the provisions in the *Tang Code and Sub-commentaries*: 'Anyone who lodges a complaint against others out of turn or those who accept it shall each receive forty blows with a heavy stick.' Do not treat the whistleblowers as filing criminal charges; rather, make it anonymous reporting."

"Thank you for your guidance, Elder Cheng!" Pei Min smiled, bowed, and departed.

With a somewhat complex expression, Cheng Xingzhan watched Pei Min leave. He could already imagine that if the measures Pei Min wrote down were truly implemented, the Censorate would become an even greater object of dread among court officials, yet its standing in the hearts of the common people would soar, transforming it into a place that spoke out for the people—bringing both pros and cons. However, the duties and powers of the Censorate inherently involved offending officials, so he did not mind offending a few more. If it could reverse the stain left by Lai Junchen in former years, it would instead be a good thing.

Returning to his quarters, Pei Min revised the memorial according to Cheng Xingzhan's guidance, had it submitted to the Department of State Affairs, and left it for the chancellors to review.

This memorial, upon reaching the Department of State Affairs, immediately caused an uproar, with various chancellors expressing their views and opinions differing.

Those opposed argued that Pei Min was splitting hairs and encouraging commoners to sue officials, while those in favor expressed that Pei Min was opening wide the avenues of speech to warn officials to be diligent and honest. Their arguments clashed.

Yao Chong praised Pei Min's action greatly. Seeing that opinions could not be unified, he directly submitted a memorial to Li Longji for him to make the final ruling.

Li Longji, being young and vigorous, valued Pei Min's innovation far more than conservatism. Besides, even if it yielded no results, it would cause no harm to the state, so he approved the proposal. The Censorate issued an official document, establishing reporting stations across Chang'an, setting up reporting boxes, and arranging for Censorate officials to manage them.

Initially, this official announcement did not cause much impact, appearing as though a stone had sunk into the sea with no effect.

On one hand, commoners bringing charges against officials harbored psychological pressure; on the other hand, the Censorate was as terrifying as hell in the hearts of the populace, and they simply did not believe the Censorate would speak out for the people.

It was not until the son of Li Xianfu rode a horse and accidentally injured a commoner on the streets of Chang'an that a busybody wrote an anonymous letter and dropped it into the reporting box.

Pei Min had the facts investigated and directly submitted an impeachment memorial to Li Longji: Li Xianfu had failed to properly discipline his son, condoned his son's tyranny, and bullied the common people.

This was a minor matter, so Li Longji did not severely punish Li Xianfu, but ordered him to reflect behind closed doors for three months, forfeited three months of his salary, and mandated that he compensate the injured commoner for all expenses.

Once this minor incident spread, the entire imperial court was shaken, deeply stunned by the Censorate's prompt intelligence and decisive handling of affairs.

Civil and military officials alike valued their pride; punishment was a minor matter, but saving face was paramount. Upon returning to their mansions, every single one of them began to rein in their children. Consequently, the arrogant behavior of the aristocratic youths plummeted straight down. Upon learning of this, the common people's perception of the Censorate changed drastically.

Following this affair, the credibility of the Censorate rose considerably. From time to time, they would receive minor reports and accusations. Pei Min arranged for personnel to investigate them one by one, and after repeatedly confirming their accuracy, he took corresponding measures.

Faced with the Censorate's scouts all over Chang'an, officials in the capital all exercised extreme caution, lest they provide the Censorate with a handle against them.

On this day, Pei Min received yet another anonymous whistleblowing letter. The content of the letter was somewhat absurd, accusing a wealthy merchant named Yu Yun of becoming a monk to evade taxes.

Pei Min looked at the letter, between laughter and tears, feeling it was rather ridiculous. Although the anonymous reporting method had caught many lawbreakers, there were also busybodies who randomly wrote all sorts of messy things, increasing their workload. How could tax evasion ever fall under the jurisdiction of the Censorate...

Pei Min crumpled the whistleblowing letter into a ball, tossed it into the wastebasket, and idly sipped his mint tea, wondering when he would also get to handle a major case for excitement. His mind wandered, and the more he thought about it, the more wrong it felt. Suddenly, he rushed over to the wastebasket, picked the letter back up, read it repeatedly, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Someone come here! Time to work!"