How can one be Emperor Chongzhen without money?

Chapter 228 The True Enemy of the Ming Dynasty! (Fourth update, fifth update at 8 PM)
On the fifteenth day of the eighth month of the third year of the Chongzhen reign, just as dawn was breaking.

Beijing has awakened. Not in its usual slow, drawn-out way, but with a restlessness that seeps into the very bones. Dew still clung to the dogwood lintels above every doorway, and mooncake banners swayed gently in the morning breeze. But few on the streets were thinking about the family reunion dinner that evening; they were all craning their necks, surging towards Zhengyangmen.

The imperial road was already lined with soldiers from the Beijing garrison.

These soldiers, dressed in newly changed padded coats over iron armor, stood ramrod straight, their long spears gleaming coldly in the dim morning light. They were imperial guards who had withdrawn from Changping and Jizhou for rest and reorganization; their faces still bore the marks of hardship, but their eyes held an unyielding spirit—the kind of vigor that comes from having fought victories and seen blood.

The common people crowded behind the soldiers, standing on tiptoe and chattering noisily. A boy, half-grown, eagerly climbed up an old locust tree by the roadside, only to be scolded by his father, who yelled, "You little monkey, you've offended the emperor and your entire family will be executed!" But he didn't care about jumping down.

"Are they here? Can you see them?"

"It's still early! How could the Emperor come out so early?"

"I heard they captured a lot of real Tartars this time! They all had pig tails trailing behind their heads!"

"We'll have to see this happen to these damned bastards!"

The buzzing of conversation, mixed with the smells of incense, dust, and the faint fragrance of osmanthus blossoms in the air, created a unique, unsettling heat characteristic of the festival.

As the sun rose higher, the bright autumn light shone down, reflecting a dazzling light off the glazed tiles.

Suddenly, the heavy tones of bells and drums resounded from the imperial city, striking the hearts of everyone present. The noisy crowd fell silent instantly, all eyes fixed on the slowly opening palace gates.

Ceremonial music began to play.

Emperor Chongzhen, Zhu Youjian, appeared on the Meridian Gate tower.

He was dressed very differently today. He wore a dark robe with twelve embroidered symbols, the sun, moon, stars, mountains, dragons, and insects in gold thread, which weighed heavily on his not-so-broad shoulders. The crown he wore had twelve strings of white jade beads hanging down, swaying gently with his steps, covering most of his face, revealing only his taut chin.

A deafening roar of "Long live the Emperor!" suddenly erupted, making people's ears ring.

Emperor Chongzhen walked step by step to the center of the city gate tower and stood still. His gaze, through the swaying tassels, slowly swept over the dark mass of people at his feet, over the layers of rooftops in the distance, and over the vast blue sky.

His face was expressionless, showing neither joy nor excitement. The scene before him, enough to ignite the passion of any emperor, seemed detached from him. Cheers surged like a tide, but he stood silently in the water like a rock.

Lu Xiang-sheng and Sun Zu-shou rode at the very front, their tall horses at the front.

Lu Xiang-sheng wore his newly bestowed bullfighting outfit, which made his figure appear even more upright. Sun Zu-shou's dark face was full of unconcealed fatigue, but his back was still as straight as a spear.

Behind them were Later Jin prisoners strung together with ropes.

There were about several dozen people, all dressed in tattered clothes, their faces bruised, blood and mud mingling, obscuring their features. Most were bondservant servants, not true slaves, but there were also several dozen genuine Manchu slaves. Their hands were bound behind their backs, white ropes around their necks, and they walked with unsteady steps, their eyes vacant, not daring to look at the angry glares of the people on either side. Gone was the ferocity they displayed when burning, killing, and looting beyond the Great Wall; only the pathetic state of stray dogs remained.

Behind them were mules and horses carrying the captured supplies. The damaged armor, the broken weapons, and especially the several brocade dragon banners and white and red flags that were deliberately dragged on the ground and trampled on, each of which drew a burst of gratifying curses and cheers from the onlookers.

"Kill them!"

"You bastards! Give me back my parents' lives!"

"Long live the Emperor! Long live the Ming Dynasty!"

Minister of War Wang Zaijin walked to the city gate, unfurled a scroll of yellow silk, took a deep breath, and began to read aloud the "Memorial to the Imperial Ancestral Temple announcing the victory." The common people mostly couldn't understand the literary language, but they understood phrases like "several heads," "recapture of a certain place," and "the overwhelming might of Heaven." With each passage, the cheers from below grew even louder.

Chongzhen listened and watched quietly, but several other memorials clearly surfaced in his mind.

These are the reports and requests for help sent from Shaanxi, Shanxi, Henan and other places over the past two or three months.

Hong Chengchou's memorial to the throne: "...In northern Shaanxi, there has been no rain in August, and this summer has been particularly harsh. The wheat seedlings have withered, and the fields are barren. The land is red for thousands of miles, and people are resorting to cannibalism... Although I have tried my best to appease them, the granaries are empty, and I fear that trouble may arise from within. I humbly request Your Majesty's decision..."

An urgent report from Song Tongyin, the governor of Shanxi: "...The famine in Shanxi Province has spread rapidly, with refugees blocking the roads and people burning food on the bones of others. The granaries in various prefectures and counties are nearly empty, and the petitions for grain are filled with fervent pleas..."

A secret letter from Yang He, the governor of Henan: "...Drought is ravaging western Henan, resulting in a complete crop failure in autumn, and the corpses of the starving are gradually appearing in the fields. Although strict orders have been issued to local authorities to provide relief, I fear that their capacity is insufficient, and the starving people are in great distress, and I fear they are not good citizens..."

These words, along with the terrifying memories he had hidden deep in his soul about the "Chongzhen drought" and "child-exchanging cannibalism," suddenly overlapped.

He seemed to see, on the cracked earth, skeletal corpses lying haphazardly, children with swollen bellies and empty, staring eyes, and desolate hillsides devoid of any greenery...

This is a natural disaster from the Little Ice Age! And we're far from the worst of it yet!
He had just defeated Huang Taiji, winning the Jisi Incident. But in history, what truly destroyed the Ming Dynasty was not Huang Taiji, nor Li Zicheng or Zhang Xianzhong, but the devastating, prolonged Little Ice Age natural disaster that no dying dynasty could withstand!
Although Huang Taiji and the Jurchens were defeated, the true enemy that destroyed the Ming Dynasty and caused the collapse of China was only now beginning to show its power...

"Your Majesty, Empress Dowager Sutai of the Chahan tribe requests an audience—"

The high-pitched voice of the eunuch from the Directorate of Ceremonial pulled him back from his icy thoughts.

Emperor Chongzhen took a deep breath, composed himself, and turned his gaze to the steps below. Empress Dowager Sutai, dressed in a sapphire blue Mongolian robe and wearing a tall "Gugu crown," wore a sorrowful yet submissive expression. In her arms, she tightly held an infant wrapped in a gold-embroidered swaddle. Supported by two maids, she walked to the front of the city gate and, following Han Chinese etiquette, knelt down deeply, performing three kneelings and nine kowtows.

The interpreter loudly translated her statement, his voice choked with emotion: "...I, Su Tai, am deeply grateful for His Majesty the Emperor's grace in avenging my husband, Hu Dun Tu Khan... We, the people of Chahan, are willing to forever submit to the Great Ming Dynasty, to guard the northern border for the Emperor, and to serve as his eternal bulwark..."

Emperor Chongzhen took a small step forward, cleared his throat, and said loudly:

"Your sincere submission greatly pleases me. I bestow upon your son the name Altan Chechen! May he be as loyal as gold and as wise as the stars, forever protecting the peace of the northern border of the Great Ming!"

“…Altan Chechen!” the interpreter repeated loudly in Mongolian.

An even louder cheer erupted once more.

……

Night fell over the Forbidden City.

The daytime hustle and bustle completely subsided, and the Mid-Autumn Festival moon was large and round, like a cold jade plate hanging on the dark blue sky. Its clear light shone on the glazed tiles of the palace and also seeped through the windows into the West Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace.

Emperor Chongzhen had changed out of his heavy imperial robes and was now wearing only an ordinary blue casual robe. He leaned against the soft couch, his brows furrowed with an overwhelming weariness that had been stripped of its disguise.

These days, the soldiers at the front only need to fight bravely, but the emperor has many more things to consider.

Wang Chengen quietly added tea for the third time, and couldn't help but whisper, "Your Majesty, we haven't had a proper meal all day. The Imperial Kitchen has prepared mooncakes and a few side dishes. Would you like to have some?"

Emperor Chongzhen waved his hand but did not speak.

Just then, light footsteps sounded outside the door. Liu Yueying and Yang Yujiao entered one after the other.

Liu Yueying held a small white jade bowl filled with ginseng soup, steaming gently. She walked to Chongzhen's side and said softly, "Your Majesty, the ginseng soup is still warm. Please have a sip to refresh yourself."

Emperor Chongzhen did not accept the ginseng soup, but his gaze fell on Yang Yujiao's hands.

Yang Yujiao held a sandalwood tray covered with bright yellow brocade. On the brocade were several items that had been roasted to a golden brown, some even cracked open to reveal their golden flesh inside. A simple, sweet aroma with a hint of caramelization filled the warm room, diluting the scent of incense.

“This is…” Chongzhen sat up straight.

"Your Majesty," Yang Yujiao said in a clear, slightly smug voice, "these are sweet potatoes that I personally grew at the Imperial Estate in the Western Garden. They were just picked today, and while they're still fresh, I roasted a few. Would you like to try some?"

Chongzhen reached out and picked one up. The sweet potato was still hot, and he subconsciously tossed it in his hand. The rough, warm skin, with wisps of steam rising from the cracks, made the sweet aroma even stronger.

He slowly peeled away the hardened outer skin, revealing the soft, golden sweet potato flesh inside. He took a small bite and chewed it slowly. It was very sweet, a simple, earthy sweetness.

He swallowed the potato, looked at what was in his hand, then glanced at the cold, full moon outside the window, as if speaking to Liu Yueying and Yang Yujiao, or perhaps talking to himself:

"Mooncakes are sweet, they're for show. This sweet potato filling is sweet too, it can save lives."

He paused, his voice lowering.

"Today I have won face and received cheers from the people. I hope... next year on this day, this thing can help me win back substance. Let the people of the North have a sweeter taste... and countless lives will be saved."

The warm room fell silent for a moment, with only the occasional soft crackling of the candlelight.

Emperor Chongzhen finished the small roasted sweet potato in a few bites, then wiped his hands and mouth with a warm handkerchief. He turned to Wang Chengen, who had been standing respectfully to his side, and, his tone returning to its usual calm, gave the order:

"Tomorrow, aren't the Prince of Qin and the Duke of Yansheng going to the palace to express their gratitude? The banquet will be held in the West Garden. Instruct the Imperial Kitchen not to prepare any of those delicacies, mooncakes, or fruits."

Wang Chengen quickly bowed: "Yes, Your Majesty. Then... what should we prepare?"

Chongzhen pointed to the few roasted sweet potatoes that remained on Yang Yujiao's tray.

"Let Consort Yang dig up all the sweet potatoes she planted. Roast them thoroughly, and there will be plenty."

His tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable air of authority.

"Let them have a good taste of this 'freshness' too."

Wang Chengen's heart skipped a beat, and he lowered his head even further, replying respectfully:
"This servant... obeys the decree."

(End of this chapter)