Transmigrating to the Chongzhen Emperor of the Ming Dynasty: Becoming a Great Emperor Through Idlene

"What time is it now?" Chongzhen asked. He needed time to sort out his thoughts.

"Your Majesty, it is already 3:45 AM," Wang Chengen said cautiously. "The officials are still waiting outside the Huangji Gate for today's morning court. Should I go and deliver the decree that Your Majesty is unwell and has cancelled the court session today?"

early morning.

The scene flashed through Chongzhen's mind: at dawn, before the sky was even light, officials were already lined up outside the Huangji Gate. The wind was biting, their breath freezing into frost. Bells and drums tolled as civil and military officials entered the hall in their respective ranks. They shouted "Long live the Emperor!" Then came the reports, always bad news. Shaanxi pleaded for help. Liaodong was in dire need. Henan pleaded for help. They wanted money. They wanted grain. They wanted soldiers.

The emperor, sitting on his dragon throne, listened to these problems that could never be solved, and was gradually hollowed out.

"No," Chongzhen said.

Wang Chengen was very surprised.

"Issue the imperial decree." Chongzhen's voice was soft but clear: "From today onwards, the morning court session will be changed to the lunar calendar sessions. They will be held on the first and fifteenth of each month. In terms of government affairs, the Grand Secretariat will be responsible for drafting and approving the proposals, and the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs will be responsible for affixing the seal of approval."

The palace was completely silent.

Wang Chengen opened his mouth wide, as if he hadn't understood. The two palace maids standing by secretly raised their heads, their eyes filled with terror. Even the imperial physician who was writing a prescription for a patient stopped writing.

"Your Majesty..." Wang Chengen's voice trembled, "This... it's an established law from our ancestors; the daily morning court session is a fixed rule. The rules set by Emperor Hongwu have remained unchanged for over two hundred and seventy years. If we suddenly change them, both the court and the people will object, and the remonstrating officials will certainly..."

"My head hurts terribly," Chongzhen said, pressing his temples. The gesture was half genuine pain, half feigned. "Consort Wang, you heard it too, the imperial physician said I need to rest for a hundred days. Am I supposed to drag my sick body around, listening to those ministers arguing for three hours every day?"

That makes sense. Wang Chengen's heart softened at the thought of the emperor falling into the water. However, he still hesitated: "But what about Grand Secretary Wen… and the Six Ministries of Censors, the Thirteen Circuit Censors… Your Majesty, this matter involves too many people. Shouldn't you reconsider?"

Wen Ge Lao.

Wen Tiren succeeded Zhou Yanru as Grand Secretary in June of the sixth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign. He referred to himself as a lone minister and enjoyed the emperor's deep trust.

Or rather, he enjoyed the deep trust of the original owner, Zhu Youjian.

Li Wei immediately recalled the relevant information in his mind: Wen Tiren, courtesy name Changqing, was from Wucheng, Zhejiang. He was a Jinshi (a successful candidate in the highest imperial examinations) in the 26th year of the Wanli reign. He appeared humble, but was very sharp-witted.

The History of Ming describes him as "deeply cunning and piercing." He served as Grand Secretary for eight years, the longest tenure during the Chongzhen reign, and was one of the key figures who contributed to the downfall of the Ming Dynasty.

"It is precisely because this matter involves such great importance that I have asked Mr. Wen to handle it," Chongzhen said. "Summon Wen Tiren to see me."

"Now?" Wang Chengen looked at the emperor's pale face.

"Now."

Wang Chengen dared not say another word, bowed, and withdrew.

Silence returned to the palace. The two young palace maids lowered their heads, their breathing becoming faint. After administering the prescription, the imperial physician also left cautiously.

Emperor Chongzhen leaned against the headboard, closed his eyes, and gathered his thoughts.

I am Li Wei. I am also Emperor Chongzhen. It is now the first month of the seventh year of Chongzhen's reign, February 1634 AD.

There were still ten years and two months until the fall of Beijing and the suicide of Emperor Chongzhen.

ten years.

What can I do?

As a modern man, he was well aware of the various ailments plaguing this empire: climate disasters caused by the Little Ice Age, highly concentrated land ownership, a collapsing fiscal system, a corrupt military system, incessant infighting within the bureaucracy, and the inability of the lower classes to survive.

He also knew all the "solutions": promoting drought-resistant crops like potatoes and corn, reforming the tax system by merging land tax with poll tax, reorganizing the military garrisons and establishing a new army, developing firearms to counter cavalry, and expanding overseas to obtain silver...

But how can this be done?

He was the emperor, theoretically possessing supreme power. But in reality? After more than 270 years of development, the imperial power of the Ming Dynasty had been repeatedly restricted by the civil service. If he wanted to reform the tax system, all the gentry would oppose it; if he wanted to reorganize the army, the generals of the nine border regions would outwardly comply but inwardly resist; if he wanted to promote new crops, local officials would be perfunctory.

The most terrifying thing was time. Ten years was far too short. Any reform takes time to take effect after implementation. And the Ming Dynasty didn't have much time left.

The original ruler, Zhu Youjian, wasn't without effort. He eliminated Wei Zhongxian, exonerated the Donglin Party, and was diligent and frugal in his duties, personally handling every matter. But what was the result? Things got worse year by year.

Because the direction was wrong. Or rather, because the entire system was so corrupt that it could not be repaired from within.

Emperor Chongzhen opened his eyes and looked at his pale hands. They were hands accustomed to a life of luxury, with traces of red paint still lingering under his fingernails from reviewing memorials the previous day.

Perhaps... we shouldn't fix it.

Maybe... we should let it crash.

But what happens after the collapse? Will it allow Li Zicheng to capture Beijing? Will it allow the Jurchens to occupy the Central Plains? Will it allow China to suffer the pain of the "Ten Days of Yangzhou" and the "Three Massacres of Jiading" again?

No.

In Li Wei's memory, there were many tragic scenes after the fall of the Ming Dynasty. The population decreased from about 200 million in the first year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign to about 100 million in the eighth year of the Shunzhi Emperor's reign in the early Qing Dynasty. War, massacres, plagues, and famines killed nearly half of the population.

This situation must not be allowed to occur.

The only way is...

"Your Majesty, Grand Secretary Wen has arrived." Wang Chengen's voice rang out from outside the door.

"Announce."

The door opened. An official wearing a scarlet robe embroidered with crane patterns and a black gauze hat walked in. He was about sixty years old, with a thin face, sunken cheekbones, and narrow, half-open eyes. Although his steps were not fast, each step was steady.

"Your subject Wen Tiren pays his respects to Your Majesty." His voice was steady, and his bow was very proper.

"Mr. Wen, please rise." Chongzhen's voice remained weak. "Please take a seat."

A young eunuch brought over an embroidered stool. After expressing his gratitude, Wen Tiren sat down, his gaze lowered, but Chongzhen could feel his gaze sweeping across his face like needles.

"I caught a cold after falling into the water, and the imperial physician says I need to rest for a hundred days," Chongzhen said bluntly. "I'll leave the administration of state affairs to Mr. Wen and the gentlemen of the cabinet during this time."

Wen Tiren's eyebrows twitched slightly.

"This is our duty, and we dare not claim any hardship," he replied impeccably. "It is only because Your Majesty is unwell that we are filled with trepidation. I wonder if Your Majesty has given us any special instructions regarding state affairs?"

Special instructions.

Emperor Chongzhen sneered inwardly. This Grand Secretary was indeed cautious; every word he uttered was a test.

"I have thought about it," he said slowly. "From now on, the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs will no longer scrutinize the draft proposals of the Cabinet; they can simply be approved with the seal of the Emperor. Only those matters concerning the foundation of the state, important military affairs, or those involving executions or large expenditures of money and grain must be submitted to me for my review and approval."

Silence fell upon the palace once again.

Wen Tiren's eyelashes lifted slightly. When he looked at the emperor, there was a hint of scrutiny in his eyes.

Delegate power. Delegate such a large amount of power.