How can one be Emperor Chongzhen without money?

Chapter 178 Casting a Long Line to Catch a Big Fish (Fourth Update, Requesting Monthly Tickets)
In July, Beijing was shrouded in the scorching heat of late summer. The sun beat down mercilessly, and a layer of smoky haze rose from the ground.

Inside the West Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace, the window lattices were all open, yet there was hardly any wind. Emperor Chongzhen was only wearing a light, casual Taoist robe, but beads of sweat still appeared on his forehead. He seemed oblivious, his gaze fixed on an open memorial on his desk.

That was a summary of the court deliberations on organizing local militias in Beizhili, which had just been handed over by Grand Secretary Huang Liji.

The court debate has passed, but there are still many dissenting opinions.

Standing below were three ministers: Grand Secretary Huang Lijie, Imperial Tutor and Left Censor-in-Chief Sun Chengzong, and Minister of War Wang Zaijin. Each wore heavy official robes, their backs soaked with sweat, clinging stickily to their skin. No one uttered a sound; the air seemed to freeze.

Emperor Chongzhen gently closed the memorial, his voice calm and revealing no emotion: "I have read Mr. Huang's memorial."

He tapped the cover of the questionnaire with his knuckles: "There are some who seconded it. But the dissenting voices are also quite loud. Especially these points about 'competing with the people for profit' and 'easily triggering the disaster of regional warlords,' which are all very reasonable."

Huang Lijie quickly bowed, his tone carrying just the right amount of helplessness: "This old minister is incompetent and has failed to fully understand His Majesty's intentions, resulting in a great deal of conflicting opinions in the court." He emphasized the words "court opinions" slightly more.

Chongzhen did not respond to his words, but turned his gaze to Sun Chengzong beside him, and his tone became particularly sincere: "Mr. Sun was the late emperor's teacher, and he is highly respected. The scholars of Beizhili also value him highly."

He paused slightly, looking into Sun Chengzong's eyes: "After much thought, I believe that if you, sir, were to take charge of the militia training in Beizhili, it would surely reassure the people and achieve twice the result with half the effort. This matter concerns the very foundation of the capital region. Sir... are you willing to share my burden and shoulder this heavy responsibility?"

The warm pavilion grew even quieter. Wang Zaijin kept his eyes down, seemingly lost in thought. Huang Liji also held his breath.

Sun Chengzong's gray eyebrows twitched slightly. He stepped forward, bowed deeply, and said in a steady and clear voice, "Your Majesty's trust in me is deeply appreciated."

He straightened up, his gaze frank and unwavering: "However, it is precisely because I am a native of Gaoyang and am well aware of the risks involved that I dare not obey your orders."

"Your Majesty, the core of organizing local militias lies in 'food and provisions,' and the foundation lies in 'the hearts of the people.'" He spoke slowly and clearly, "To raise food and provisions, we must touch the interests of the local gentry; to win the hearts of the people, we must eliminate the long-standing local abuses. If I, an old minister, were to step forward, my fellow villagers and friends would be spread throughout the eight prefectures, and my personal connections and influence would surely come flooding in."

He shook his head slightly: "If we respond, the laws will fall into disuse; if we refuse, resentment and slander will arise. This old minister is old and frail, and I fear I do not have the iron fist, nor do I wish to see my hometown become disloyal because of me. In that case, not only will we fail to consolidate the capital region, but we may also breed internal strife. This is the first point."

He paused briefly, then continued, “Secondly, the militia training is an extraordinary system, requiring capable and ambitious ministers to personally travel to the prefectures and counties to supervise and inspect it. It cannot be accomplished without swift and decisive action. This old minister is nearing the end of his life, and his energy is waning; he is truly incapable of undertaking such a demanding and arduous task. If he were to remain in the imperial court and exercise control remotely, it would inevitably lead to discontent among the people and diminish the effectiveness of his efforts. It is not that this old minister is afraid of harming his own life, but rather that he fears it will jeopardize the country. I earnestly request Your Majesty to select another virtuous and capable person.”

Emperor Chongzhen listened quietly, his face showing no sign of disappointment.

Sun Chengzong's refusal was within his expectations. However, the resistance to fully implementing local militias in Beizhili was indeed considerable... After all, the Jurchens hadn't yet held their knives to their throats, so who would be willing to shed blood easily?

But when the knives come down, is it too late to organize local militias? Probably not! The Jurchens are not the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom; their knives are faster and their attacks are more ferocious. Once they launch their offensive, they don't give the local militias a chance to grow slowly.

He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was different: "Sir, you are wise and experienced in governing the country, and your words are reasonable. It was I... who was a little too hasty."

He let out a soft sigh, as if he had made a decision: "Since there are so many obstacles to a full rollout, let's start with a pilot program. Of the eight prefectures in Beizhili, Shuntian and Yongping are the most on the front lines, facing the most pressing threat from the Jurchens, and the gentry should be most eager to protect their property. Let's start by piloting local militias in these two prefectures!"

Huang Lijie and Wang Zaijin both secretly breathed a sigh of relief almost simultaneously. The Emperor's willingness to back down made things much easier.

"As for the selection of the people to oversee the local militias in Shuntian and Yongping prefectures..." Chongzhen's gaze swept over the three men again, finally settling on Wang Zaijin. "Minister Wang, you are the Minister of War and are well-versed in military affairs. I have heard of Lu Xiang-sheng, the Prefect of Daming. How is he doing in his duties?"

Wang Zaijin was taken aback, then replied, "Your Majesty, since Lu Xiang was promoted to Prefect of Daming, he has been diligent in his duties, and the local administration and customs have improved. He is indeed a capable official."

"Hmm." Chongzhen nodded—Lu Xiang-sheng had experience in organizing local militias (he did in his previous life), making him the true first choice. "Issue an imperial decree summoning Lu Xiang-sheng to the capital for an immediate audience. I want to question him personally!"

On the grasslands of northern China, after some renovations, Daning City finally began to resemble a city, but a sense of tension lingered in the air.

A large open space was cleared on the north side of the city, where some makeshift sheds were erected. Several stoves were lit, and plumes of black smoke rose into the air. The captured Han Chinese craftsmen and Mongol slave laborers silently moved earth, stones, and timber, their eyes numb.

Hauge, dressed in a prince's everyday robes, with a dagger at his waist, stood on a small earthen slope, his belly protruding, overlooking the newly enclosed "cannon foundry" area below, a hint of smugness on his face. His father, the Khan, had appointed him as the garrison general of Da Ning, in charge of both military and political affairs—this was a sign of his trust.

Dorgon stood half a step behind him, his face calm and his thoughts unreadable. "Fourteenth Uncle," Hauge turned his head, "Father Khan has given us a deadline to cast usable cannons, and time is of the essence. Please take good care of the site selection and the recruitment of craftsmen."

Dorgon bowed slightly: "Your Highness, rest assured, I will do my best to fulfill the Khan's instructions. However..." He changed the subject, his face showing difficulty, "Skilled craftsmen who know how to cast cannons are really hard to find. Many of the Han craftsmen in Liaodong have fled, and those we can find now can only cast some crude and easily blasted iron lumps, which are far inferior to the cannons of the Southern Barbarians."

Hauge frowned upon hearing this and waved his hand impatiently: "Then let's think of something! Aren't Fan Yongdou and his group of Shanxi merchants well-connected? Let them go through the Great Wall to get it! We'll spend as much silver as we need! If that doesn't work, we'll go to Korea and capture them! I heard they can also cast cannons!"

"The eldest prince is the best at finding solutions. I will follow his method to find the right person."

Dorgon answered while inwardly sneering. That brat Hauge only knows how to use brute force. Is something as delicate as casting cannons so easy? But he wouldn't point it out. In short, everything would be done according to Hauge's wishes; let's see how his father, the Khan, will clean up the mess when Hauge botches the job.

The nights in Beijing have cooled down a bit. But in some places, it's even become more eerie.

In the southern suburbs of the city, not far from the official road, there was an inconspicuous farm. It was pitch black, with only a sliver of light shining from the old man's house.

In the shadows of a small grove outside the village, two men led horses, peering out cautiously. One, dressed as a merchant but unable to conceal his disheveled state, was Fan Yongdou, a Shanxi merchant wanted by the authorities. The other, dressed in coarse cloth and looking travel-worn, was Hou Xingguo, the son of Madam Ke.

"Is this the place?" Fan Yongdou asked in a low, breathless voice.

“No mistake, not many people know about the property my mother left behind.” Hou Xingguo’s voice was hoarse and weary. He looked around warily before leading Fan Yongdou, who knew the way well, through a small side gate at the back of the village.

Inside the room, by the dim light of an oil lamp, Hou Xingguo gulped down a few mouthfuls of cold tea to catch his breath. "Master Fan, this was truly a close call, even more so than getting a haircut."

He is now filled with regret! If he had known that Wei Zhongxian could make a comeback, wouldn't he have just quietly given up? But now that he's on the wrong path, it's hard to get off!
Someone has something on him!
And how could Wei Liangqing's actions be considered so dramatic? Hou Xingguo simply didn't believe that guy could be so loyal and devoted!

Fan Yongdou also looked terrified: "Who would have thought Wei Zhongxian would be so ruthless! My Fan family is finished! Now I can't move an inch!" He looked at Hou Xingguo and said pleadingly, "Young Master Hou, we're counting on you now! The Khan is pressuring us like crazy for the secrets of the self-propelled musket and the wheeled cannon. If we don't get our hands on them soon, our heads will be on our shoulders..."

A hint of annoyance flashed across Hou Xingguo's face: "What's the panic! Now that we're back in the capital, there's always a way." He lowered his voice and said, "Although my mother is not free in the palace, she still has some old connections. With enough money, we can definitely pry things open at the Beijing Garrison's artillery factory and the Ordnance Bureau."

He stared at Fan Yongdou: "You over here, quickly trace back the clues and see if there are any more people willing to risk their lives for money. No matter what method you use, you must succeed!"

Fan Yongdou nodded repeatedly: "Yes, yes, I understand, I understand."

The two conspired in hushed tones under the lamplight, believing they would remain undetected.

Unbeknownst to them, in the woods on the hillside opposite the village, two ordinary-looking agents from the Eastern Depot were coldly watching the faint light in the village. They had been watching for quite some time.

Almost an hour after Hou and Fan slipped into the estate, Xu Yingyuan, the eunuch in charge of the Eastern Depot, received a secret report by messenger. He dared not delay and immediately ran to Wei Zhongxian's mansion. Although the Eastern Depot had long been under Xu Yingyuan's control, with Wei Zhongxian becoming increasingly loyal, Xu Yingyuan, under Emperor Chongzhen's orders, began reporting to Wei Zhongxian again—Xu Yingyuan was honest and reliable enough, but in terms of work ability, he was far inferior to Wei Zhongxian!

Inside the duty room, Wei Zhongxian had just removed his official hat and was preparing to rest. Xu Yingyuan quickly approached and whispered a few words in his ear.

Wei Zhongxian's usually half-closed eyes suddenly widened, a cold glint flashing in them: "Oh? That 'salted fish' (referring to Hou Xingguo) actually dares to swim back into this stagnant pool in the capital?"

“Absolutely true, Grandfather! The scouts were clearly seen entering the Hou family's estate south of the city.” Xu Yingyuan said with certainty.

A sinister smile, like a cat catching a mouse, slowly crept onto Wei Zhongxian's face: "Good, very good. Keep a close eye on him! Find out everything, which people he's trying to collude with, inside and outside the palace, don't miss a single one! We want to see how many fearless people in the capital dare to jump into this coffin."

He paused, lowered his voice, and said with a hint of murderous intent, "Remember this: without our permission, no one is allowed to alert the enemy. We're going to play the long game and catch the big fish."

"Understood! Rest assured, Grandfather!" Xu Yingyuan bowed and accepted the order, then quietly withdrew.

(End of this chapter)