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

The ashes from the paper slowly cooled on the brick floor, resembling a small patch of solidified darkness.

Emperor Chongzhen stared at the last ember for a long time, until the candle burned down even shorter. The sound of the night watchman's drum outside the window grew fainter and fainter; at the fourth watch, the Forbidden City became the quietest place of the day. But beneath this silence, countless eyes were fixed on the Qianqing Palace, on the dragon bed.

Someone wants him dead.

This realization was like an icicle piercing Chongzhen's chest. But strangely, he felt no fear; instead, he felt a chilling clarity.

Perhaps it was because of the modern memory in Li Wei's mind; a historian had long been accustomed to the filth of court intrigue.

Perhaps it was because of Zhu Youjian's memory; after six years on the throne, he had become accustomed to being betrayed, deceived, and exploited.

Or both.

Chongzhen sat up in bed, his bare feet stepping onto the cold, gold-brick floor. A chill ran up his spine, making him shiver, but it also made his mind clearer. He walked to the window and pushed it open a crack.

The wind in Beijing at dawn on the eighteenth day of the first lunar month carried shards of ice. In the distance, firelight illuminated the way for eunuchs on night patrol. Further still, the ruins of the three main halls lay shrouded in darkness, like the skeleton of a colossal beast, lurking in the night.

Eight hundred thousand taels of silver. For the restoration of the three main halls.

From an outsider's perspective, this was an extremely foolish decision. However, in Chongzhen's plan, this step was necessary. He needed a legitimate reason to mobilize resources, someone to draw away the enemy's firepower, and an excuse to intercept funds.

Forty thousand taels. The amount is relatively small, but it is a seed.

For a seed to germinate, it must rely on soil.

Chongzhen returned to his bedside and took out the smartphone from under his pillow. The cold touch brought him some comfort. He lit a candle and, by its light, rummaged through the drawer of the bedside table, finding a stack of Xuan paper and a calligraphy brush.

The brush was a top-quality Huzhou brush, and the ink was imperial pine soot ink. However, when Chongzhen held the brush, he felt very unfamiliar with it. The original owner's muscle memory was still there, but it would take time to adapt.

He spread out the paper, closed his eyes, and tried hard to recall.

Blast furnace. Iron-making blast furnace.

Livy had a lot of knowledge about the Industrial Revolution in his memory. But the most practical and urgent thing he could think of now was to increase steel production. Flintlock muskets needed good steel, cannons needed good iron, and steam engines especially needed high-quality cast iron.

But how do I draw it?

He attempted to sketch a vertical cylindrical structure, with a combustion chamber at the bottom and a feeding port at the top, along with a blower... The lines were crooked and the proportions were off. A Ming Dynasty history graduate student, his understanding of mechanical drawing was limited to textbook illustrations.

But he persisted in drawing it anyway. Not because he wanted to manufacture it immediately, but because he wanted to test it.

Test your ability to translate memories from your past life into the "language" of this era.

The rustling sound of the pen was exceptionally clear in the quiet bedroom.

The door was gently pushed open.

Emperor Chongzhen's hand trembled slightly, and a drop of ink fell onto the paper, forming a black stain.

He looked up and saw Empress Zhou standing at the door, wearing a fox fur cloak and holding a small palace lantern in her hand.

"Your Majesty?" Empress Zhou's voice was soft, tinged with worry. "I heard you woke up and couldn't sleep, so I came to check on you."

Emperor Chongzhen instinctively tried to cover the blueprints with his sleeve, but it was too late. Empress Zhou's eyes were fixed on the paper, a hint of doubt in them.

"Your Majesty, what is this…?" She took a few steps closer, the light from the palace lantern illuminating the doodle-like drawing: "What is this?"

"It's nothing," Chongzhen quickly flipped the paper over and casually replied, "I was bored while I was sick, so I just drew it casually."

Empress Zhou looked at him without saying a word.

In the candlelight, her face appeared very gentle.

Empress Chongzhen, the emperor's principal wife, committed suicide when the city fell, sacrificing herself for her country.

She is only twenty-five years old now, but some wrinkles have already appeared at the corners of her eyes. These are the marks left by the six years of living in fear with the emperor.

"Is Your Majesty really alright?" She sat down on the embroidered stool beside the bed, a palace lantern placed at her feet. "The imperial physician said you need to rest, but at this time..."

"I can't sleep," Emperor Chongzhen said truthfully.

He looked at Empress Zhou, and a thought suddenly came to mind: "Empress, I have a question I'd like to ask you."

"Your Majesty, please speak."

"How is the Emperor's father-in-law doing lately?"

Empress Zhou was taken aback. Her father, Zhou Kui, was enfeoffed as the Earl of Jiading, and was considered a typical maternal relative during the Ming Dynasty: greedy, stingy, and short-sighted.

Historically, when Li Zicheng besieged the city, Emperor Chongzhen asked his ministers to donate money. Zhou Kui was only willing to contribute 10,000 taels of silver, but after being tortured, he handed over more than 500,000 taels.

"Father..." Empress Zhou said somewhat awkwardly, "is still the same as always. Just a few days ago, he sent someone to tell me that he wanted to ask for a position as a royal merchant..."

"Imperial merchants?" Chongzhen raised an eyebrow.

"They say there's a shipment of silk from the south that needs to be transported to Liaodong, and they'd like to request Your Majesty's permission." Empress Zhou's voice trailed off, "I've already refused. The nation is in peril; how could I..."

"No," Chongzhen interrupted her, "Tell him that I have agreed."

Empress Zhou's eyes widened immediately: "Your Majesty?"

"I grant your permission," Chongzhen said calmly again. "Not only do I grant it, but I will also grant him even greater convenience. He can re-export furs and ginseng from Liaodong, tribute goods from Korea, and even... he can do some business with the Jurchens."

These words were so direct that Empress Zhou turned pale with fright: "Your Majesty, colluding with an enemy state is a capital offense!"

"Who said it was an affair?" Chongzhen smiled, a smile that contained something that Empress Zhou could not understand no matter how hard she tried.

"This is a 'mutual trade' permitted by the imperial court. Hasn't Mr. Wen been saying the national treasury is empty? Let the Emperor's father-in-law earn some money to fill the gap."

Empress Zhou looked at her husband and suddenly felt that he was a stranger.

This was not the Zhu Youjian she knew.

That young emperor who saw things in black and white and hated all "unhealthy practices".

"Your Majesty, are you... delirious from illness?" she asked cautiously.

"I am fine, perfectly lucid." Chongzhen leaned against the headboard, the candlelight casting flickering shadows on his face. "Empress, you must remember what I said today: In this world, honest officials cannot save the country, and loyal ministers cannot win battles. To succeed, sometimes one has to resort to some less-than-honorable methods."

Empress Zhou fell silent. She recalled how, over the past six years, every effort her husband had made had resulted in nothing but failure.

The removal of Wei Zhongxian led to the Donglin Party strife.

The decision to give Yuan Chonghuan a prominent position led to the Jisi Incident.

The additional three taxes resulted in widespread banditry.

Maybe... the husband is right?

"Then what does Your Majesty want me to do?" she asked softly.

"Two things." Chongzhen held up two fingers. "The first thing is to keep a close watch on the harem. When I am 'seriously ill,' no one can enter the Qianqing Palace casually, especially... people from the Imperial Hospital."

Empress Zhou's heart sank: "Does His Majesty suspect the imperial physicians?"

"I don't trust anyone," Chongzhen said bluntly, "except for you and Wang Chengen."

"And the second one?"

"Secondly, keep an eye on my father-in-law." Chongzhen's eyes sharpened. "I know he's greedy. But I want to know the extent of his greed, who he associates with, and what resources he possesses. Empress, can you do that?"

Empress Zhou took a deep breath. She was the Empress of the Ming Dynasty, and also a daughter. This request was cruel to her.

But looking at her husband's pale face and the unfathomable weariness in his eyes, she finally nodded.

"I understand."

"Okay." Chongzhen took her hand. Her hand was cold, and his hand wasn't warm either. "Thank you for your hard work."

Empress Zhou shook her head, wanting to say something, but unable to utter a word. She picked up the palace lantern, rose, and prepared to leave. As she reached the door, she turned back for one last glance.

She saw the emperor pick up his brush again and begin to draw on the paper. In the candlelight, his profile was focused and serene; she had only ever seen such an expression on his face when the late Emperor Tianqi was doing carpentry.

But Apocalypse plays with toys.

Her husband seemed to be doing something very serious and significant.

The door closed gently.