Richard Young paused, then gave Charles Howard a meaningful look: “You see... the key to right and wrong, black and white, does not lie in what something originally is, but in how you interpret it. To punish without teaching is cruelty. When the youths write their memorials, there is always room for manipulation; you can always pick out some so-called ‘outrageous’ evidence from their writings. In this way, even if the evidence is conclusive, the justification is established. When the time comes to deal with them harshly, there will be a pretext. In short... right and wrong, black and white, are all in my hands. Once presented to His Majesty, thunder and rain, favor or punishment, will each have their place!”

Upon hearing this, Charles Howard actually felt no joy at all. Instead, he shivered instinctively. Of course, he knew that Richard Young was merely giving a warning to those reckless youngsters.

But... why did he feel a chill all over himself?

Richard Young paid no attention to Charles Howard, remaining perfectly at ease.

Meanwhile, the youths were all racking their brains, submitting memorials... discussing affairs...

For the vast majority of them, this was quite a challenge.

William Bolton, however, pondered for a long time, formed a draft in his mind, and only then began to write cautiously.

After about half an hour, Richard Young stood up to collect the papers.

He didn’t look at them, but still said kindly, “Alright, you’ve all worked hard. I will personally present these memorials to His Majesty.”

With that, he left at a leisurely pace, and Charles Howard followed closely behind, determined to see him out in person.

Once the two of them had left, the youths finally let out a long sigh of relief, and the Minglun Hall immediately became lively with chatter.

Edward Grant came up to William Bolton and whispered, “Big brother, what did you write in your memorial?”

William Bolton replied, “I just scribbled something.”

Hearing this, both Edward Grant and Henry Bolton looked overjoyed. Edward Grant grinned, “Me too, me too, I just wrote nonsense as well.”

Henry Bolton was so happy he danced with joy: “I handed in a blank sheet! I really couldn’t think of anything to write. I was worried at first, but now that we all just wrote whatever, I feel much better. When trouble comes, the three of us brothers will face it together!”

William Bolton: “Ah... well...”

William Bolton gave Henry Bolton a strange look.

Chapter Six: The Son of Heaven Guards the Gates

Richard Young entered the palace in high spirits.

He was both the Yongle Emperor’s confidant and a monk. With this dual identity, he actually found it more convenient to enter and leave the palace than ordinary ministers.

That day, the Yongle Emperor was holding court at the Wenlou, having just finished a lecture.

It was obvious that George Washington was dissatisfied with the lecture. With a displeased look, upon hearing that Richard Young requested an audience, he summoned him to the Wenlou and then snorted coldly: “All these ministers keep preaching about leading by example, showing the people what to follow; governing by the Way, transforming those who do not comply... such nonsense...”

Richard Young abruptly interrupted George Washington: “Your Majesty, this humble monk has just returned from Charles Howard’s residence.”

George Washington asked, “And?”

“I tried my hand at a little experiment.”

“Oh?”

With that, Richard Young recounted what had happened at the academy. Soon after, the eunuch who had accompanied him brought in a stack of memorials.

George Washington forced a smile: “It’s just a matter of disciplining a few youngsters, why go to such lengths?”

Richard Young only smiled and said nothing.

George Washington said, “Very well, let’s take a look together and see how much insight these youngsters really have.”

Neither George Washington nor Richard Young had high expectations—what real wisdom could a group of youths possibly write?

As expected, most of these memorials were as bland as chewing wax, not arousing the slightest interest in either George Washington or Richard Young.

So, the two of them absentmindedly picked up memorials to read while chatting: “Has the edict admonishing the Crown Prince been issued?”

“It should have been sent out.”

George Washington gave Richard Young a meaningful glance.

The words “should have” were loaded with implication.

The subtext was... this matter was not handled by Richard Young, nor had he inquired about it.

George Washington withdrew his gaze and was about to nod, when suddenly, he burst out cursing: “Nothing but nonsense! What’s this kid got in his head? Straw?”

Richard Young glanced over—it was Edward Grant’s memorial.

George Washington’s face darkened, but he held back and turned to the next memorial. At a glance, his eyes widened and his beard began to tremble.

Richard Young: “...”

This memorial was even more astonishing—it was completely blank.

Only two characters... Henry Bolton!

George Washington was completely thrown off.

His face flushed, his chest heaved, and he was left speechless.

Even Richard Young was at a loss for words.

But after a moment, a faint mist appeared in George Washington’s tiger-like eyes, and at last... a single tear fell.

George Washington sniffed. This man, who had never flinched even as he slaughtered rivers of blood in chaotic battles, was now weeping in his old age.

George Washington covered his face with his long sleeve and choked out, “Back then, Shimei (courtesy name of Zhang Yu) was such a hero—how did he end up with such a useless son? If his spirit is watching from heaven and sees his descendant so disappointing, he’ll surely blame me for not taking care of the Zhang family... A tiger father, but a dog of a son, a tiger father, but a dog of a son!”

Richard Young said, “Your Majesty, please restrain your grief. After all, he’s still just a child.”