The Ming Dynasty: Starting with the Carpenter Prince!

Zhu Youxiao wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and left the Eastern Palace.

The snow was falling very heavily.

He walked through Chengtian Gate and Yuehua Gate through the snow, without uttering a single word. The palace lanterns under the eunuch Liu Shun walked ahead, carrying a lantern, not daring to overtake him even half a step.

The lanterns are brighter than usual tonight.

According to custom, the new paper should not be changed until the fifteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, but it was changed four days earlier.

Upon arriving at the Qianqing Palace, one noticed that the number of torches inside and outside the gate had increased by thirty percent, and the atmosphere was even more tense than usual. The eunuchs on duty stood ramrod straight, and even the two junior eunuchs who were usually there to fawn over them stared intently at their toes, not daring to look up.

Wang An, the eunuch in charge of writing, waited in front of the warm pavilion despite being ill.

Her face was paler than snow, and she was wrapped in two layers of cotton robes. She coughed and then used a handkerchief to cover the corner of her mouth. A faint dark red stain was visible on one corner of the handkerchief.

He coughed up blood, but he held it down tightly so no one could see.

Zhu Youxiao glanced at him but remained silent.

Otomo's illness has reached a point where it should not be underestimated.

Wang An stepped forward and bowed: "Your Highness."

"Daban, when will Father summon us?"

"At the end of the Wei hour, the Ministry of War sent a report via express courier, which traveled 600 li," Wang An lowered his voice. "At the beginning of the Shen hour, the imperial physician was summoned. At three-quarters of the Shen hour, Grand Secretary Fang was summoned."

He paused for a moment.

"Grand Secretary Fang went in and left after about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea. This old servant watched from outside the door, but the Emperor did not give any instructions, only ordering everyone to disperse."

Zhu Youxiao nodded slightly and did not ask any further questions.

Fang Congzhe's departure was as steady as ever. The rule of seven years as the sole prime minister hadn't been broken; what had broken was the situation on the emperor's bed. The cabinet was summoned hastily and dismissed hastily—not a single decent word was spoken in the course of a cup of tea, and this matter inevitably revolved around the word "unusual movement."

Wang An bowed and lifted the heavy cotton curtain for him.

…………

A wave of dry heat hit me in the face. The charcoal brazier was burning extremely brightly, making me feel dizzy.

Only two lamps were lit in the warm pavilion. On the imperial desk, there was a stack of petitions half a foot high. The top one was half-open, with a red ink brush, its nib dried and ink congealed, pressing down on it.

This vermilion brush, placed there from 3:45 PM until now, has clearly remained untouched for half an hour.

Emperor Taichang, dressed in a thick, bright yellow cotton robe, sat listlessly on his imperial couch.

He gripped a newspaper tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white, the paper wrinkled from being crushed.

Zhu Youxiao felt a sense of peace.

He was definitely not critically ill; he was simply extremely angry.

Being extremely angry is actually a good thing.

"Your subject greets Your Majesty."

Emperor Taichang did not respond, but stiffly raised his hand and handed over the report. Zhu Youxiao took it with both hands; the paper still retained the warmth of his father's hands after holding it for half a day. He looked down at it for a couple of breaths.

The report was urgently delivered by the Ministry of War in the afternoon. A sentry post on the northeast corner of the Puhe outpost was attacked by Jurchen cavalry in the dead of night on the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month. All supplies and provisions were destroyed, and all seventeen defenders were killed in action.

Zhu Youxiao was extremely familiar with this number.

Some time ago, while browsing through the memorials from Liaodong, I came across a line that read: "Seventeen people froze to death last winter, all because they were not dressed warmly enough."

They froze to death in the past, and they die in battle today.

The number of people who were filled in was seventeen.

Emperor Taichang spoke slowly, his voice extremely low and hoarse.

"Scholar, how much do soldiers in Liaodong actually receive each month?"

"Father, it's less than three coins."

Emperor Taichang closed his eyes and fell into a deathly silence.

Inside the warm room, only the crackling of sparks from the charcoal brazier could be heard.

Suddenly—

A sudden bout of violent coughing broke out.

He coughed violently, one cough after another. The front of his bright yellow cotton robe trembled violently. The finger that had been holding the newspaper trembled in mid-air.

Wang An hurriedly stepped forward and brought over the medicine bowl, but Emperor Taichang abruptly raised his hand to block it, his hand trembling unsteadily as he clutched his chest.

He coughed for a full quarter of an hour.

Zhu Youxiao stood before the bed, watching coldly.

The rapid heaving of his father's shirt. The deep marks left by his knuckles on the death notice. Wang An, holding medicine beside him, trembled slightly, caught in a dilemma.

The time Father Emperor has given me is shorter than I expected.

The coughing gradually subsided, and the warm pavilion returned to silence.

Emperor Taichang finally opened his slightly red eyes after a long while, staring blankly at the lamplight in front of his bed.

"My son, I've been thinking about this all night."

Zhu Youxiao did not utter a word.

"I have been emperor for less than a year, yet seventeen soldiers have already died." He paused for a moment. "This does not refer only to the seventeen who died in battle today. Since I ascended the throne, whether they starved to death, froze to death, or died in battle, all seventeen are counted in my account."

It paused for another moment.

"I, the Son of Heaven, have been so foolish in my role."

Zhu Youxiao didn't spout nonsense like "Father, there's no need to blame yourself."

Such empty words are nothing but perfunctory flattery and deception, and cannot be considered a proper response. After thirty years as crown prince, he has long been tired of flattery and will not care about this one more word.

He stood before the bed, looking directly into his father's eyes, and replied, word by word:

"Father, every life in Liaodong belongs to your soldiers. Wherever they die, the debt will be owed to you."

The voice just fell.

Emperor Taichang closed his eyes, and a single tear slid down his cheek.

Zhu Youxiao did not turn away, but stood there letting his father shed tears. Wang An was so frightened that he took half a step back, lowered his head and stared at the ground.

After a long while, Emperor Taichang opened his eyes and very lightly wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeve. His voice suddenly became steady.

"Scholar, I wish to issue an imperial edict."

"Father, please speak."

Emperor Taichang spoke slowly and deliberately.

"From this day forward, I will eat one less meal each day to fund the military pay in Liaodong."

Zhu Youxiao was deeply shaken.

Thirty years as crown prince, plus the past six months since his ascension to the throne—this is the first time the emperor has asked to use his own money.

Before he could finish speaking, Emperor Taichang continued.

"I will bypass the cabinet and issue this imperial edict directly."

The warm room was deathly silent.

Zhu Youxiao did not try to persuade his father not to bypass the cabinet.

He understood perfectly. This was clearly the first time in thirty years that his father had truly taken personal control of the government. In the past, the cabinet drafted decrees, and the Directorate of Ceremonial approved them, following the proper procedures step by step, without daring to skip a single one. But this decree was going to bypass both of those hurdles and be issued directly.

The hurdle that seemed insurmountable, Father Emperor has overcome himself today.

He bowed his head and clasped his hands, responding steadily:

"Your Majesty is about to issue an imperial edict, and I am willing to accompany you."

Emperor Taichang gazed at him for a long time, then slowly nodded and closed his eyes to rest.

Wang An, who was standing to the side, let out a soft sigh of relief and finally dared to put down the medicine bowl in his hand.

…………

At the same time, the Cabinet is on duty.

Grand Secretary Fang Congzhe sat alone behind his desk. A copy of a government report, delivered directly from the Ministry of War at 3 PM, lay open before the lamp.

He made no hasty move. He picked up the teacup, put it back in its place, and trimmed the candle wick twice.

The timing of the accident at Puhe was just too coincidental.

Only five days after the Ministry of Revenue's investigation team left Beijing, seventeen people had already died at the front lines. The knife Liu Yijing had honed over four months in the cabinet had finally found its place. The leader the Donglin Party wanted to replace would ultimately have to be replaced. Those whom the Crown Prince tried to protect might not even be able to be protected.

To put it bluntly, this battle had already begun.

With the fundamentals changed, any further pressure from other parties would be going against the trend.

After weighing the options for three breaths, Fang Congzhe made up his mind.

I will neither obstruct nor assist, but simply watch the show.

He then folded the copy, placed it back on the table, and blew out the candle.

…………

When Zhu Youxiao stepped out of the Qianqing Palace, the snow had stopped.

The corridor was bathed in the cool moonlight. Liu Shun led the way, holding a palace lantern, his pace slower than when he had come.

Upon reaching the outside of Qianqing Gate, Liu Shun turned back.

"Your Highness, isn't this imperial decree too harsh?"

Zhu Youxiao did not reply.

I stood there and looked at the lanterns in the Qianqing Palace.

Suddenly, the words I uttered a few days ago under the corridor of the East Palace flashed into my mind: "There are still tomorrow's accounts to settle."

He suddenly realized something at that moment.

Some blood debts in this world cannot be attributed to the son.

It was calculated by the father himself.