How can one be Emperor Chongzhen without money?

Chapter 240 King Zhou: Zhang Xianzhong, you are truly too loyal!
December of the third year of the Chongzhen reign (1644), Yan'an Prefecture, Shaanxi Province.

The drought was severe. The sun hung overhead, a dull yellow, without a trace of heat. The wind blew, carrying yellow dust that stung our faces.

There wasn't a single patch of green to be seen on either side of the official road. The ground was cracked, with gaping fissures like mouths waiting to drink. The withered trees, their branches pointing to the sky, stood motionless.

Five or six miles from Yan'an City, the wild beach was teeming with people.

The porridge kitchen set up by the imperial court was right here. Several large pots were set up, with fires burning weakly underneath. The porridge in the pots was so thin you could see your reflection in it, and it was a grayish color, mixed with something that looked like bran or sand.

The queue stretched from the soup kitchen all the way to the main road, winding and endless. Each person was ragged, their faces gaunt and emaciated, their eyes sunken and lifeless. Occasionally, a child would cry out, but their voice was hoarse.

Prince Zhu Gongxiao of Zhou, dressed in a slightly worn blue cloth robe, mingled in the crowd. His face was smeared with dirt, but his tall stature and straight back still set him apart from the hunched, starving refugees around him. He was accompanied only by two burly men, his personal guards, whose eyes vigilantly scanned their surroundings.

King Zhou frowned deeply as he looked at the scene before him.

When he arrived, he saw a minor official in charge of the soup kitchen secretly scooping a spoonful of thick soup that was meant for the disaster victims into the earthenware pot at his feet. King Zhou didn't say anything, but gave a signal, and a guard stepped forward, pinned the official down, searched him, found the pot, and caught him red-handed.

The clerk was so frightened that he wet his pants and kowtowed repeatedly, saying that his elderly mother was starving to death and he had no other choice.

King Zhou felt a tightness in his chest. He brandished his imperial envoy's seal and ordered the minor official to be bound and displayed as a warning. But this punishment seemed so powerless in the face of such boundless suffering.

"Your Highness, this..." the guard beside him whispered, watching as more and more starving people gathered around.

King Zhou waved his hand without speaking. He walked to the porridge pot, picked up a spoon, and stirred it. The bottom of the spoon touched the bottom of the pot without any resistance. He scooped up half a spoonful, brought it close to his nose, and smelled a musty smell mixed with an earthy odor.

Under the shed of the nearby grain depot, several clerks sat behind a table, slowly registering items. A man came in, handed over a "work point grain coupon" stamped with a red seal, and said he wanted to exchange it for grain. The clerk didn't even look up, saying that there was no grain for today, and he should come back tomorrow. The man got impatient and argued a few words, at which point a soldier standing guard came over with a stick and scolded him.

King Zhou's face grew increasingly grim. His "grain rationing regulations" had, to his advantage, become such a disastrous situation. The anger burning within him was stifling and simmering.

Just as they were getting impatient, a rapid sound of horses' hooves came from the other end of the official road, accompanied by shouts.

A commotion arose in the crowd, and everyone turned to look.

A dozen or so riders came rushing over like a whirlwind, only stopping abruptly a short distance from the soup kitchen. Leading them was a dark-skinned man in his thirties, with a robust build. He wore a brand-new royal blue silk robe, over which he wore a fox fur vest, and his belt was adorned with jade that glittered in the sunlight. He rode a magnificent Hetao horse, its hooves pawing restlessly at the dry earth.

The riders behind him were also neatly dressed, with knives at their waists, and fierce-looking, unlike ordinary servants.

The appearance of this group of people was completely out of place in the lifeless environment around them.

The dark-faced man dismounted nimbly. He glanced at the crowd queuing in front of the porridge stall, a sneer playing on his lips. He strode to a slightly higher mound, hands on his hips, gathered his strength, and roared in heavily accented Mandarin:
"Fellow villagers! What's the point of lining up for a ball? Look at that porridge, it's thinner than urine! What good is it?"

His voice was loud and clear, attracting everyone's attention.

King Zhou frowned as he looked at the man, wondering where this powerful figure came from, so arrogant.

The man continued shouting, "What are you doing staying here in this dead end? Waiting to starve to death? If you're a real man, come with me! To the Hetao region! I'll take any woman who's willing to marry. There are plenty of men with grain but no wives over there!"

He pointed north: "There's the Yellow River there! The land is so fertile it's practically dripping with oil! You can grow a living just by sowing seeds! When you get there, everyone will get ten acres of good land! For the first three years, if you don't pay rent, work hard, and are willing to do odd jobs for me and Master Gao, you'll get plenty of white flour buns!"

A follower behind him took a cloth bag off his saddle at the opportune moment, grabbed the fragrant white flour cakes inside, and threw them into the crowd.

This caused an uproar. The starving crowd surged forward to grab it, a chaotic cacophony of cries, curses, and shouts. The flatbread was substantial and far more appealing than the thin porridge in the pot.

King Zhou's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't attracted by the cakes, but rather by the man's words and his imposing manner.

"The Hetao region? Plenty of white flour buns? This person must have grain! A lot of grain!"

What he lacks most right now is grain. Although he has transferred a lot of grain from Wangzhuang in Guanzhong, it is far from enough to help the disaster victims all over northern Shaanxi. If he could buy 100,000 to 200,000 shi (a unit of dry measure) at once, it would at least ease the situation.

He suppressed his anger, straightened his robes, and walked towards the dark-faced man.

The two guards immediately followed nervously.

King Zhou approached, cupped his hands in greeting, and tried to make his Kaifeng Mandarin sound as gentle as possible: "Greetings, sir."

The dark-faced man turned his head and looked the King of Zhou up and down. Seeing that although the King of Zhou was dressed simply, he had a calm and composed demeanor, unlike an ordinary commoner, so he casually clasped his hands in greeting: "What? Brother, what can I do for you?"

Zhou Wang spoke up, "My surname is Zhu, and I am from Kaifeng. I am just passing through this place. Seeing your generosity and righteousness, I know you must be wealthy. There are starving people in Yan'an who need food. I am willing to purchase your surplus grain at market price... no, I am willing to pay slightly above market price to relieve your urgent needs. I wonder if you would be so kind as to do me this favor?"

He spoke politely, but in his heart he was calculating that even if he could only buy a few thousand bushels of grain, it would last him a few more days.

Upon hearing this, the dark-faced man was taken aback at first, then burst into laughter, the sound so loud it made everyone's ears ring. He stepped forward and, surprisingly, reached out his large hand and patted Zhou Wang's shoulder heavily, with considerable force.

“Master Zhu! I think you’re a kind man! Setting up a soup kitchen here is doing good deeds! But your method is wrong!” He pointed at the few broken pots and the chaotic crowd: “Your meager grain, if you threw it in, wouldn’t even make a splash! Buy grain? Where are you going to buy real grain in northern Shaanxi? Those who have grain have already hidden it away!”

The King of Zhou felt a tingling sensation on his shoulder from the pat, and was somewhat displeased, but he was more concerned about the meaning behind the man's words: "Then, in your opinion, sir..."

The man leaned closer, lowered his voice, but still spoke with an air of pride: "We have plenty of grain! Not in northern Shaanxi, but in the Hetao region! I have farms there, with wheat piled high enough to eat! I'm just worried you don't have the ability to transport it over!"

King Zhou was greatly alarmed. The Hetao region? He only knew that it was a chaotic area where the Mongols roamed. Moreover, the journey was long; transporting grain over hundreds or even thousands of miles was no easy task.

Seeing his disbelief, the man spat in his face, "Brother, I think you're a reasonable man, so I'll tell you the truth! The government of this Ming Dynasty is unreliable! What grain coupons? They're a bunch of idiots! Grain is a gift from heaven! If this damned heaven doesn't send rain, no matter how hard we struggle, we won't survive! I'm in the Hetao region, where the Yellow River flows down from upstream. Even if it doesn't rain all year round, the fields are full of wheat in the autumn. That's a real way to survive! You're here, guarding this dilapidated soup kitchen. How many people can you save?"

King Zhou fell silent. These words struck him like a hammer blow. From Kaifeng to Xi'an, and now to Yan'an, he had witnessed nothing but the incompetence of the government and the corruption of its officials. The man's words were rough, but the reasoning was sound.

"The Hetao region... isn't that Mongolian territory? Is it safe?" King Zhou couldn't help but ask, finding himself somewhat persuaded.

"Nonsense! The Mongols were crushed by Gao Chuangwang long ago!" The man waved his hand. "Now in the Hetao region, whoever has grain and a sword is the boss! We'll build our own villages there and defend them ourselves! It's a hundred times better than suffering under the government's wrath here!"

He looked at King Zhou, his tone somewhat seductive: "Brother Zhu, you're no ordinary man. If you have connections, why not join me? Let's bring people to the Hetao region! Once there, we'll have food, land, and countless lives—that would be a great deed! Much better than your petty schemes! I won't let you work for nothing; I can exchange wheat for fertile women and capable men—three shi of wheat for each. How about that?"

Isn't this human trafficking?

King Zhou was deeply troubled after hearing the other party's conditions. From childhood, he had been taught Confucian principles, emphasizing loyalty to the emperor, patriotism, and the protection of the people. He was strongly opposed to relocating people beyond the jurisdiction of the Ming Dynasty. However, with so many disaster victims in northern Shaanxi, the amount of food he could obtain was far too little. Even worse, it was already the dead of winter, and there was hardly any snow in northern Shaanxi!
A timely snowfall promises a bumper harvest. What does the absence of snow mean?
Well, let's find out anyway!

The two stood in the sandstorm, talking for the time it takes for an incense stick to burn. They discussed everything from the drought in northern Shaanxi to the irrigation systems in the Hetao region, from corrupt government policies to the military settlements beyond the Great Wall. They even talked about the declining military power of the Mongol tribes beyond the Great Wall.
King Zhou discovered that this seemingly rough and tough man actually had a set of practical, down-to-earth methods for organizing production, managing displaced people, and developing the northern frontier, which were far better than the empty talk of many officials.

It seems that his estate in the Hetao region of northern China is real, and he is definitely not a big liar.

King Zhou felt a sense of mutual respect and admiration. Such a talented person, in a peaceful era, might have been a capable general and minister. But even now, he was doing his duty to the Ming Dynasty in a different way!
If there is one less starving person in northern Shaanxi, wouldn't there be one less potential rebel?
As the sun began to set, the man was about to leave. He clasped his hands in a fist salute to King Zhou and said, "Brother Zhu, we had a wonderful chat today! I must go now; I have to hurry back to the Hetao region!"

King Zhou returned the greeting solemnly: "Hearing your words is worth more than reading for ten years. My name is Zhu Gongxiao, from Kaifeng, and I work at the Shaanxi Grain Administration Office in Yan'an Prefecture. May I ask your esteemed name, sir?"

The man laughed heartily, his voice booming like a bell: "My surname is Zhang, my given name is Xianzhong, and I'm from Dingbian in northern Shaanxi! Brother Zhu, I'll consider you my friend! Until we meet again!"

Zhang Xianzhong! What a name! He was loyal to the Ming Dynasty!

As King Zhou watched Zhang Xianzhong mount his horse with agility, he suddenly exclaimed, "Xianzhong, Xianzhong... Brother Zhang, you led the people to the Hetao region to find a way to survive, without being bound by any rules, saving countless lives. This is truly your loyalty to the Ming Dynasty!"

Sitting on his horse, Zhang Xianzhong was visibly taken aback upon hearing this. He turned his head and gave the Prince of Zhou a deep look, then grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth: "Thank you for your kind words, brother! Let's go!"

With a flick of his whip, he led his men and a group of able-bodied refugees who were willing to follow him, raising a cloud of dust as they headed north.

King Zhou stood there, gazing for a long time in the direction they had disappeared. The wind ruffled his clothes, and yellow dust settled all over him.

"Your Highness?" the guard called softly.

King Zhou snapped out of his daze and let out a long breath. He turned to his guards and said, "Return to the city."

Back at the temporary camp, Ni Yuanlu was already anxiously waiting. Seeing the Prince of Zhou return, she hurried to greet him: "Your Highness, you're finally back. Just now in the city..."

King Zhou waved his hand, interrupting him: "Minister of Agriculture, there's no need to say anything. I've seen it all."

He walked to the table, picked up the teacup, his hand trembling slightly. He took a sip of cold tea, composed himself, and said to Ni Yuanlu, "Minister of Agriculture, I met a strange man outside the city today."

"An extraordinary person?"

"Hmm." King Zhou looked out the window at the gray sky. "Though his words were crude, they revealed a truth. It is better to guide than to block. Relocating people to the border areas may be... the fundamental way to alleviate this severe drought in northern Shaanxi. Simply providing relief here is like adding fuel to the fire; the fire will not be extinguished until the fuel is exhausted."

Ni Yuanlu was somewhat surprised, not understanding why the prince's thoughts had changed so much after going out for a while.

King Zhou did not explain who he had encountered. He simply muttered to himself, as if speaking to Ni Yuanlu: "If the Hetao region can truly be developed into vast tracts of fertile land, wouldn't the starving people of northern Shaanxi have a real way to survive? Our Shaanxi Grain Management Office will then be able to truly control a large amount of grain!" He suddenly slammed his hand on the table, "Minister of Agriculture, after spring, I must make a trip to the Hetao region to see those vast tracts of fertile land with my own eyes!"

Almost simultaneously, thousands of miles away in the Forbidden City.

In the warm pavilion of the Qianqing Palace, Emperor Chongzhen was looking at a military report delivered by express courier from Datong.

It was Sun Chuanting's memorial to the throne. It detailed the process of recapturing Guihua City (Kukuhetun) and attached a thick book, "Memorial on the Management of the Tumed River." It listed in detail the arable land and water and grass advantages of the Tumed River, and suggested that immigrants be moved from Shanxi and Shaanxi to strengthen the border, establish military settlements, and build it into a strategic base to protect the capital and nourish the nine border regions.

Emperor Chongzhen's eyes lit up as he looked at the map. He put down the memorial, walked to the huge map, and pointed from Yan'an to Guihua City, and then to the Hetao region further west.

"We've finally found a way to make a living in the Northwest," he breathed a slight sigh of relief.

A way out has been found, but making it work won't be easy.
(End of this chapter)