The Ming Dynasty: Starting with the Carpenter Prince!

Liaodongtang has reported for duty.

That morning, when Zhu Youxiao went to the warm pavilion, he heard someone shouting inside as he turned the corner of the passageway.

The voice wasn't loud, coming through the curtain, but the tone was very sharp, clearly not a report on official business.

Wang An greeted him at the door with a look that said, "Here you come again."

"What's wrong?"

"The Liaodong military report arrived last night. There's movement in the direction of Puhe, and the military governor's office sent an urgent dispatch. Yang Lian arrived early this morning with a memorial to impeach Xiong Tingbi. Grand Secretary Fang is also here, as is Minister Li of the Ministry of Revenue."

The three groups of people got together, and they were all there.

When Zhu Youxiao lifted the curtain and entered, Emperor Taichang was leaning against the couch, his face not looking too good.

His lips were dry and chapped, and he had dark circles under his eyes; he probably didn't sleep much last night.

There were three groups of people standing below, clearly separated.

Yang Lian stood on the left, her back ramrod straight, clutching the test book in her hand, her knuckles white.

This guy is like a knife when he's putting on a test. Last month he impeached Cui Wensheng, and this time he's impeaching Xiong Tingbi.

He didn't do all the work at Donglin, but he was the one who made the most glaring cuts.

Fang Congzhe stood on the right, his expression gentle.

Compared to Yang Lian's posture, they looked like two different species: one was there to fight, and the other was there to take a stroll.

Li Ruhua stood in the middle, slightly towards the back. He was an old man in his early seventies, hunched over, looking at the floor tiles.

As the Minister of Revenue, it's inappropriate for him to stand at the front in this kind of situation. If someone in charge of money stands too far forward, people will think he's going to make a statement, and if he does, he'll have to spend money.

Standing at the back isn't good either; standing too far away makes it seem like you have nothing to do with this matter, and you might not be able to find someone if funding is needed.

So standing slightly to the back of the middle is a perfect, unbiased position.

Even seasoned officials who have spent their entire lives are adept at navigating social situations.

The Crown Prince entered, bowed, and sat down on a low stool to the left of Emperor Taichang.

Nobody paid him any attention; he was too busy taking care of himself in the warm room.

Yang Lian was speaking.

"Your Majesty, Xiong Tingbi, the military commissioner of Liaodong, has been stationed in Liaoyang for more than two years, sitting idly by with a large army without engaging in battle, wasting more than a million taels of silver every year, while the Jurchens are becoming increasingly rampant, with Puhe and Fushun successively reporting alarms. I beseech Your Majesty to consider the suffering of the soldiers in Liaodong and to quickly discuss replacing the military commissioner in order to boost morale."

The voice was not loud, but every word was clear and impactful.

Yang Lian had a habit of emphasizing the last two words of each sentence, like hammering nails onto a table.

The phrase "having a large army but not fighting" sounds like a military assessment, but it is actually impeachment rhetoric.

The Battle of Sarhu severely weakened Nurhaci's forces. Xiong Tingbi spent two years there repairing city walls, rectifying military discipline, and stockpiling provisions, yet Nurhaci was unable to launch a counterattack.

Is it not a merit to hold onto something?

The problem with the Donglin Party was that if they didn't fight, they were considered inactive; if they fought and lost, they were even more inactive, and they were always blamed.

Fang Congzhe then spoke.

"Yang's concerns are quite valid, but the change of military commander is a matter of great importance. Military affairs in Liaodong are complex and cannot be decided in a few words. Although Xiong Tingbi has his shortcomings, the new dynasty has just been established, and a sudden change of commander may further disrupt the morale of the army. It would be better to first have the military commander's office report the military situation in detail, and then have the cabinet and the Ministry of War discuss it together before making a decision."

Zhu Youxiao sat beside him and listened.

From beginning to end, he couldn't tell whether Fang Congzhe wanted to protect Xiong or not.

"It would be better to report in detail first, then discuss and decide," the three "then"s stacked together sound grand and dignified when taken apart, but when put together they mean "to postpone."

Yang Lian threw a punch, and Fang Congzhe handed him a wad of cotton.

It's not that I'm not taking the challenge; it's that I took it and then threw it back at you. If you keep hitting me, it's like hitting cotton.

The skill he honed over seven years of dedicated practice.

Yang Lian was indeed anxious.

"Your Excellency, the phrase 'reconsider' has been used for a year! Last year's defeat at Sarhu resulted in the loss of 40,000 soldiers, and the situation in Liaodong is extremely critical. I ask Your Excellency, when will this discussion continue?"

When Yang Lian mentioned "40,000 soldiers," his voice rose a little, and he tried to suppress it but couldn't.

"Forty thousand people," Zhu Youxiao silently repeated in his mind.

He knew how those 40,000 people died.

The army was divided into four routes, but the entire force was wiped out, and the corpses covered dozens of miles of mountain roads.

That's not a number.

Forty thousand lives were lost due to a single, flawed military order.

Fang Congzhe remained calm and composed.

"Let's discuss it until it's clear. Surely Censor Yang wouldn't want the court to act hastily?"

The smile line at the corner of his mouth remained unchanged.

"Then may I ask, Your Excellency, what does it mean to have things discussed clearly?" Yang Lian pressed, raising his chin slightly. He always did this when he got excited; it wasn't arrogance, but rather that he couldn't control himself.

Fang Congzhe smiled but did not reply.

He had seen that smile several times before.

Whenever someone cornered Fang Congzhe, he would respond with this smile—no anger, no rebuttal, just a smile that meant, "Are you done?"

There's no way to deal with someone like Yang Lian, because Yang Lian's weapon is righteous indignation, while Fang Congzhe's weapon is time.

You could argue until dawn and still not be able to determine who is right or wrong, but time is on Fang Congzhe's side. You may be anxious, but he is not. If you drag it out, your test paper will be forgotten.

Yang Lian was about to say something more when Li Ruhua spoke up.

"Your Majesty, may I interject?"

Emperor Taichang glanced at him.

"explain."

"Whether the commander is changed or not, let's set aside the matter of the commander and his ministers and just talk about the Liaodong military pay."

Li Ruhua cupped his hands in greeting, but his voice was weak and his throat sounded like a leaky bellows.

"Since the 46th year of the Wanli reign, an additional 9 li has been levied on each mu of land, totaling 5.2 million taels of silver annually. The amount of silver allocated by the Ministry of Revenue is not a small sum."

Li Ruhua paused.

"But the towns keep pressing for payment every year, and the more they press, the more urgent it becomes. The Ministry of Revenue has no way of verifying where the money is actually being used."

Yang Lian frowned.

"Is Minister Li saying that the funds for military pay are insufficient?"

"I have already said quite a bit."

Li Ruhua spoke slowly, taking a deep breath after each sentence, completely out of sync with the other two in the warm pavilion.

"The Taicang treasury used the summer tax revenue to pay off old debts as soon as it entered the coffers. The autumn tax hasn't even been collected yet, and the income is insufficient to cover the expenditure. If we allocate silver, Liaodong will need it; if we don't allocate silver, Liaodong says they can't afford to support their troops. But the Ministry of Revenue isn't a treasure trove; it can't conjure up silver."

Yang Lian's expression was not good.

"Does Minister Li mean that Liaodong is no longer a concern?"

That's not what I meant.

Li Ruhua raised his head, his old eyes meeting Yang Lian's burning gaze, without flinching.

"What I mean is, even if you're in charge, you need money to manage it. Without money, even ten different strategists wouldn't help."

"What about the silver? Five million two hundred thousand taels a year is no small sum. If it's allocated, why is the front line still short?"

"Yang, the Censor, asked a good question."

Li Ruhua sighed and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He was seventy-two years old, and after standing for most of the hour, his legs were giving way.

"If I could answer this question, I wouldn't be standing here being asked at the age of seventy-two."

The warm room remained quiet for a while.

Yang Lian didn't respond.

He impeached people for over a year, but no one ever laid out their accounts in front of him and said, "I don't know where the money went."

The Ministry of Revenue keeps track of the money once it's allocated, but once it leaves the capital, it's subject to layers of corruption. The Ministry of Revenue has no control over how many hands it passes through and how much each hand takes.

This matter is shrouded in secrecy; no one wants to settle it, and no one dares to.

Fang Congzhe put down his teacup so quietly that no one in the warm pavilion noticed.

But Zhu Youxiao was sitting close by and saw him put down the bowl. He paused for a moment with his fingers on the rim of the bowl before letting go.

The seasoned veteran sensed something.

Emperor Taichang's forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hand trembled slightly as he handed the handkerchief back.

Finally, rubbing his temples, he said, "Gentlemen, please express your opinions. Please leave your proposals here for me to consider further," and then dismissed the group.

…………

The way the three of them left home was more interesting than what they said.

Fang Congzhe took the most steady path.

He walked at a leisurely pace, his robe hem remaining perfectly still. As he stepped out, he tilted his head to glance at the sunlight streaming through the corridor, as if considering whether he should bask in the sun for a while.

Winners all adopt this posture.

Yang Lian walked the fastest.

She walked with a huff, and almost bumped into the eunuch waiting at the door when she went out. She turned around and glared at the eunuch.

The little eunuch shrank his neck.

Li Ruhua was the last to leave.

I sighed as I went outside.

A 72-year-old's sigh is different from a young person's; it has little strength, and the air in his chest slowly escapes, causing him to shrink an inch.

He knew he was telling the truth, but no one was listening.

Three people, three different ways of walking; half a day's drama in the warm pavilion is condensed into these few steps.

Zhu Youxiao stood up from the low stool, his back aching.

After sitting for nearly an hour, my fifteen-year-old body could stand but not sit. The low stool had no backrest, and my back ached and went numb after sitting for so long.

He twisted his waist, mentally reviewing what had just happened.

Three people, three directions.

Yang Lian demanded a head, Fang Congzhe tried to smooth things over, and Li Ruhua cried poverty.

Personnel, procedures, and accounting are three parallel lines that never cross each other.

However, the problem in Liaodong is precisely at the intersection of these three lines.

After all that arguing, not a single person asked: Where did the money go?

…………

Two days later, the lecture was held.

The matter that was being argued in the warm pavilion is still unresolved, and the issue remains unresolved.

Last time, Sun Chengzong spoke at the lecture about the route of the grain supply lines and the distribution of troops. The Crown Prince followed up with the question, "If Shenyang is lost, can Liaoyang be defended?" This question startled everyone in the hall. After the lecture, most people treated it as a casual question from a child and didn't take it to heart.

Today it was Sun Chengzong's turn to continue the story. He started from the foundation of the grain transport route and began to talk about the garrisons of each castle.

When the topic of the garrison in Shenyang came up, a Hanlin scholar interjected.

"Shenyang has 30,000 soldiers, which is sufficient for defense."

That was just something said offhand, a mere recitation of what was written.

The number reported by the Ministry of War is the number; who needs to verify it?

Sun Chengzong paused for a moment.

The other lecturers in the hall were still flipping through their lecture notes, while others were looking out the window at the sun, trying to figure out when the session would end.

"Shenyang actually has fewer than 15,000 soldiers."

The hand that was turning the pages of the speech stopped.

Look, the sun's neck has turned back.

The person who estimated when the show would end stared wide-eyed.

"Nearly three thousand people fled last year. The number you are referring to is from the Ministry of War's records, not the actual number."

The Wenhua Hall seemed to have been whipped; it was so quiet that you could hear the birds chirping outside the window.

Thirty thousand and fifteen thousand.

It's a full half short.

The register says 30,000, but there are actually 15,000. 3,000 escaped, leaving 12,000.

If this number is true, then the city walls of Shenyang are practically useless, no different from being made of paper.

The Ministry of War's pamphlet was exposed to the face of an official lecturing on the Four Books, and the entire hall, filled with distinguished officials, remained silent.

The Hanlin editor's face turned from white to red. He opened his mouth but didn't say anything, probably weighing whether to argue that "the Ministry of War's data is also an official document." After a moment's hesitation, he didn't dare.

The lecturers next to them exchanged glances, and several of them turned their gazes toward the Ministry of War officials sitting in the attendant's seat.

The man from the Ministry of War stared at the tip of his boot for a long time, as if a flower had suddenly sprouted on the boot.

A thin layer of sweat seeped out from the back of his neck, trickling down his collar.

Emperor Taichang put down his teacup.

The bowl was placed with a bit of force, and the bottom of it hit the table with a loud thud, which was heard by everyone in the hall.

The new dynasty had just been established, and the emperor had only been sitting on the throne for about thirty days when the number of troops submitted by his subordinates was already half of what it should have been.

Emperor Taichang did not speak first.

He glanced at the man serving in the Ministry of War, and stared at him for three breaths.

Three full breaths.

What's it like to be stared at by the emperor for three breaths during a lecture? The man's knees buckled, and he dared not move or look.

Emperor Taichang glanced at Fang Congzhe again.

Fang Congzhe remained calm and composed, just as before, as if the numbers Sun Chengzong mentioned were referring to a commentary on the Four Books and had nothing to do with his cabinet.

That's remarkable. Such composure; he remained completely still even in this situation.

Emperor Taichang tapped his fingers twice on his knee.

"Sun Qing, where did you get this number from?"

His tone was harsher than before.

"Your Majesty, I have calculated the figures based on the annual reports from the Liaodong Military Governor's Office. The numbers on the register include the old quotas for garrison units and recruited soldiers. The actual number of soldiers in the camps must be reduced by three items: deserters, the elderly and weak, and those who are not actually employed. These three items have increased over the years, but have never been reduced in the register."

In one sentence, the calculation of "turning 30,000 into 15,000" is made clear.

The numbers on the register keep increasing, those who have absconded are not removed, those who have grown old are not deleted, and those who are receiving salaries without working are even less likely to cross themselves out.

So the number on the register is always 30,000, but in reality it decreases year by year.

The Ministry of War did not reduce the number of soldiers because reducing the number would mean reducing the funding, and reducing the funding would mean that those who received salaries without working would lose their income. This was an unspoken understanding from top to bottom, and no one was willing to expose it.

Today, I was stabbed in the back during a lecture on the Four Books.

"Where did you obtain the official document from the military governor's office?"

Emperor Taichang followed up with another question, asking not just about the source, but also about whether the person was reliable.

"Your Majesty, I had many dealings with the border troops when I was in Datong in my early years, and I have been paying close attention to Liaodong affairs ever since. The document is an official document sent from the Military Commissioner's Office to the Cabinet, and it can be found in the Cabinet's archives."

That was said quite frankly.

The transfer document was an official document, not a confidential document. People from the Hanlin Academy were qualified to access the archives from the Cabinet, so the system was flawless.

But in the past twenty years, he was the only one who actually went through those files, and after he finished, he even calculated them himself.

He sat on the sidelines for twenty years, while others sat there waiting for promotions, he sat there calculating troop numbers.

Emperor Taichang picked up his teacup, this time putting it down gently.

The bowl was placed on the table without making a sound, and my fingers lingered on the rim of the bowl for a moment before I let go.

From heavy to light, two different ways of serving the same bowl of tea—the attitude towards Sun Chengzong shifted in that instant.

The soldiers from the Ministry of War looked the worst among the attendants.

The man finally looked away from the boot tips, glancing at Fang Congzhe as if to ask, "Your Excellency, would you like to say something?"

Fang Congzhe didn't look at him.

Fang Congzhe is looking at Sun Chengzong.

My gaze fell on Sun Chengzong's hand holding the speech notes. His hand remained steady throughout, without shaking at all.

Fang Congzhe withdrew his gaze, lowered his eyes, and rubbed his thumb inside his sleeve.

…………

When Sun Chengzong returned to the train, Zhu Youxiao's face remained expressionless, but their eyes met briefly.

Just like that.

This person not only has data, but also dares to show it in front of the entire hall.

Last time it was told to the Crown Prince, today it's told to everyone.

No one asked him to speak; he stepped forward and revealed the truth himself.

Several people in the lecturer group secretly glanced at Sun Chengzong's back, their eyes filled with admiration as well as a sense of "this guy's crazy."

Twenty years of sitting on the sidelines will either kill your spirit or hone your resilience.

This bone is so hard it's uncomfortable.

…………

The lecture has ended.

On the way back to the Eastern Palace, Zhu Youxiao did not walk fast.

My stomach is a little empty. I drank that bowl of porridge this morning, and then sat in the warm pavilion all morning and in the lecture hall for half a day without drinking a drop of water.

My mind isn't empty.

The matter that had been arguing about for so long in the warm chamber was half answered by a single sentence from Sun Chengzong at the lecture.

Three groups of people, three directions: some wanted manpower, some wanted to smooth things over, and some wanted to plead poverty. None of them were focused on "getting the money sorted out first."

Sun Chengzong wasn't talking about people; he was talking about numbers.

Numbers don't argue with you; numbers just tell the truth.

"If the number of soldiers is fake, what about the number of money?"

He muttered something under his breath.

Back at the East Palace, I sat down and put the two books I had picked out from the practice books a few days ago back on the table.

One million two hundred thousand versus five hundred and thirty thousand.

The book lists 30,000 pairs, but there are actually 15,000.

There are two false accounts, one about money and the other about people.

He had the false accounts for the money, and Sun Chengzong gave them to him in public today.

The two lines intersect, a shocking sight, pointing to the same hole: the money was allocated, but half the soldiers were gone. Who was the money supporting?

First, check the money.

Investigating people was a method that the Donglin Party was good at. After investigating, they would replace the people with their own, and Liaodong would become Donglin's territory.

Investigating money is different; in the end, it involves investigating everyone's hands, regardless of whether they are from the Donglin Party or the Zhejiang Party. Whoever's hands are dirty will suffer.

We need to figure out how to turn this 670,000 taels into an offer that Emperor Taichang couldn't refuse.

…………

On the same evening, the cabinet was on duty.

Fang Congzhe sat alone, the tea in front of him had gone cold.

When the clerk came to change the tea, he waved his hand and closed the door behind him as the clerk left.

He was thinking about Sun Chengzong.

It's not about how many soldiers Shenyang has; the Ministry of War is handling things in Liaodong, it's none of his cabinet's business.

He was thinking about something else.

A lecturer on the Four Books, Zuo Chunfang Zuo Shuzi, a fifth-rank official, had been sitting in the Hanlin Academy for over twenty years without moving.

There are plenty of people like this in the imperial court. After court, they get together to drink tea and curse "treacherous officials in power," and then they go back to work the next day, and their lives are over.

Sun Chengzong is not that kind of person.

He went to the cabinet archives to look up the documents about the transfer from Liaodong. After he finished looking them up, he calculated the figures himself and found that the figures he got were half the number reported by the Ministry of War.

Despite all the flipping and calculations, we've remained inactive for twenty years, never revealing these things to the public.

It didn't shine before the Crown Prince left the palace to give lectures, it didn't shine before the reform of the Imperial Lectures, and it still didn't shine before the quarrel in Liaodong in the warm pavilion.

It's bright today.

Fang Congzhe picked up the cooled tea, took a sip, and then put it down.

My mouth tastes bitter.

He recalled the timing of when this person revealed the data.

The Hanlin Compiler said, "Thirty thousand is enough to defend," but Sun Chengzong immediately corrected him.

He didn't say it himself; someone else said something wrong first, and that's when he corrected them.

A person who has endured for twenty years has recently reached his breaking point.

Why did it light up today after being dark for twenty years?

Fang Congzhe picked up a pen from the table and casually drew three characters on a piece of scrap paper: Tai, Zi, Sun.

It wasn't that Sun Chengzong couldn't hold back anymore; someone made him feel that speaking out would be useful.

Last time, the Crown Prince asked at the lecture, "Are there any natural barriers between Shenyang and Liaoyang?" Today, Sun Chengzong revealed the actual military strength of Shenyang.

The Crown Prince's problem and Sun Chengzong's data are like the two blades of a pair of scissors; viewed separately, they each go their own way, but when put together, they can cut something.

The first time the crown prince went to Liaodong, it was by chance.

The second episode, where the Crown Prince pressed for further details, was interesting.

It was no accident that Sun Chengzong publicly revealed the data in the third episode.

Looking at the three times together, the direction is very clear: Liaodong.

Fang Congzhe folded the scrap of paper twice and placed it under the inkstone.

What kind of trouble can a fifteen-year-old prince and a fifty-seven-year-old lecturer stir up?

He wasn't afraid.

What he feared was that he couldn't clearly see what the relationship between the two people really was.

Sun Chengzong was the Crown Prince's lecturer, and it was only natural for a lecturer to be close to the Crown Prince.

It's one thing for a lecturer to get close to the crown prince, but it's quite another for a lecturer to hand the crown prince a knife in the court.

Was today's incident due to Sun Chengzong's outspokenness, or did someone whisper something in his ear?

Without evidence, it's just speculation and baseless accusations.

Only the sense of smell is alerting us.

Fang Congzhe stood up and walked to the window.

The old locust tree outside the duty room was pitch black, and even the birds had stopped chirping.

He opened the window a crack, and the night breeze blew in, cool and refreshing.

He made a decision before closing the window.

The name Sun Chengzong was changed from "wait and see" to "keep an eye on".

Fang Congzhe closed the window, walked back to the table, and pulled out the scrap of paper from under the inkstone.

I glanced at it and threw it into the wastepaper basket.