The Ming Dynasty: Starting with the Carpenter Prince!

The inner cabinet office of Wenhua Hall.

Fang Congzhe had just finished reviewing the Ministry of Revenue's report on grain transport, his brush still resting on the inkstone. The curtain moved slightly, and a eunuch from the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs entered, placing three copies of the document on the desk.

"Your Excellency, here is the imperial decree." The eunuch bowed and withdrew.

Fang Congzhe lowered his gaze. The four corners of the yellow silk were not stamped with the seal of the Grand Secretariat, but only with the seal of the Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial, which was personally copied by Wang An despite his illness. Now that it had been publicly issued to the Office of Transmission, all the officials outside must have already seen it.

His hand holding the teacup paused for a moment.

The teacup was placed back on the tray with a crisp sound.

Fang Congzhe unrolled the scroll.

The copy at the very top was of the emperor's self-punishment: reducing his meals by one each day to save money for the Liaodong military.

After reading it, his heart sank.

Self-imposed dietary restrictions as punishment have been occasionally observed in previous dynasties, so it is not unusual. What is strange is that the current emperor, who has been on the throne for less than a year, is frail and sickly, and his first act of punishment is to cut his own dining table.

From this day forward, if the Liaodong military expenditure is discussed again in the court, who will dare to put pen to paper? The Emperor sets aside one meal a day to save money; who dares to challenge him on the grounds of "the granary being empty" and "living within one's means"?

Fang Congzhe's mind is as clear as a mirror.

The real power of this policy lies not in reducing food intake itself, but in silencing public opinion.

During his seven years as prime minister, whenever the court discussed the Liaodong military expenditure and sought to investigate any instances of embezzlement, he suppressed the matter by emphasizing the importance of stability.

As things continued to stabilize, the Donglin people ran out of grounds to speak. From this day forward, the word "stabilize" could no longer be used. The emperor had even altered his own dining table; for Fang Congzhe to suggest "let's stabilize for now" would be to go against the emperor's wishes.

He pushed the first portion aside and picked up the second one.

Upon reading this, Fang Congzhe's lips twitched slightly.

The prince was given charcoal, which was to be reduced by 30% immediately.

Looking at this clause alone, the punishment is directed at the Crown Prince, and has no direct connection to Fang Congzhe.

The knives used in court to impeach the Crown Prince for "forming cliques and harboring secrets" have always been sharpened in the hands of Donglin members like Yang Lian; Fang Congzhe never touches these things.

This statement effectively silenced Donglin.

In contrast, Fang Congzhe gained an advantage by doing so.

What truly chilled him was the meaning behind this statement.

If this clause was requested by the Crown Prince himself, then it was a performance by the Eastern Palace for the court officials to see; if it was added by Taichang himself, then father and son had already made their relationship clear. In either case, it shows that a path has been paved between the Qianqing Palace and the Eastern Palace that court officials cannot interfere with.

The third copy was eventually discovered.

One hundred thousand taels of silver were allocated from the imperial treasury and urgently sent to Liaodong: the families of the seventeen soldiers who died in battle at Puhe were given generous compensation first, and the remaining silver was used to provide relief to the orphans of those who died in battle over the years and to the wounded and disabled soldiers stationed in Liaodong. This was not to be handled by the Ministry of Revenue, but by the regional military commissioner.

Fang Congzhe's eye twitched slightly.

The key to success lies in using the imperial treasury, bypassing the Ministry of Revenue, and circumventing the provincial governor's office.

In the four months since Liu Yijing joined the cabinet, he has been sharpening his sword, aiming to replace the leader. The Liaodong region is in dire straits, and the Donglin Party is clamoring to investigate the embezzlement of funds, ostensibly to tighten the tax system, but in reality, to use falsified figures to force Xiong Tingbi to resign. He is sharpening his sword at three key points: the Ministry of Revenue, the Grand Canal Transport Commission, and the Military Commissioner's Office, waiting for a military defeat so he can use the momentum to launch an attack.

Now, of these 100,000 taels, not a single one is involved in any of the three key transactions.

The smashing was extremely cunning.

The first sentence, "The families of the seventeen soldiers who died in battle at Puhe," is a bloody and graphic description; the second sentence, "The remaining silver will be used to provide relief to the orphans and wounded soldiers who died in battle in Liaodong over the years," is a vague and ambiguous description.

Seventeen households were listed as such. Orphans and widows were among them, and no one dared to touch a single thing.

What's in the big basket?

Fang Congzhe served as prime minister for seven years, and he had his own calculations in mind. There were 60,000 to 70,000 soldiers garrisoned in Liaodong, and the orphans and wounded soldiers who died in battle over the years were scattered in more than 20 garrisons, roughly amounting to several thousand households. Of this money, a few or ten taels per household would be used to support the orphans, and the rest would be used to purchase winter clothing, build fortifications, and provide relief to the elderly and disabled—that would be real military pay, just under a different name.

These three titles are impenetrable.

"Relief for the Dead" silences the Donglin Party's impeachment efforts—who dares to submit a memorial requesting an investigation into the relief funds for the seventeen widowed and orphaned households?

"Supporting Orphans" Blocks the Ministry of Revenue's Auditing Path - The orphans of the fallen soldiers are scattered in more than twenty garrisons in Liaodong, and the Ministry of Revenue has to run to each garrison to audit one household.

"On-site relief" blocked the military governor's right to pursue the matter—Sun Chengzong was under the jurisdiction of Puhe, and wherever the governor went, that was where he was, and the military governor's office could not advance the investigation.

One copy, three layers of obstruction.

The term "compensation" is not simply a name change. It means breaking down military pay into a thousand streams—the money flowing to the seventeen households is for relief, the money flowing to the thousand households is for orphan care, and the money flowing to the fortresses for winter clothing is for local relief.

The Donglin Academy's sword had been sharpened for four months, sharpening three large iron plates: the Ministry of Revenue, the Grand Canal Transport Bureau, and the Provincial Governor. Today, the Emperor issued an imperial edict, turning these iron plates into water.

The knife cleaved into the water, but there wasn't even an echo.

At this moment, who dares to petition for a thorough investigation into the disappearance of these 100,000 taels? — Investigating the seventeen households is tantamount to wiping out orphans and widows; investigating the orphans of the fallen is to question why the court did not provide them with compensation sooner; investigating the winter clothing for the fortresses is to speak on behalf of the Jurchens. All three paths lead to their own graves.

Fang Congzhe leaned back in his chair.

His gaze returned to the seal of the Director of Ceremonial.

Wang An personally recorded this while ill; these four characters are also worth pondering.

Wang An has served in the Directorate of Ceremonial for twenty-six years. He is by nature upright and has never touched upon taboo tasks such as imperial edicts. Today, despite his illness, he has risen to take up his pen, not because Emperor Taichang could force him, nor because the Crown Prince could command him.

Wang An himself was willing to take this trip.

He knew that this imperial edict bypassed the cabinet, and if the court officials investigated it in the future, the first person to be held accountable would be the Directorate of Ceremonial.

He bore the burden for Taichang, and also for the Crown Prince.

I did this dirty work today, something I hadn't done in 26 years.

Last night, Fang Congzhe sat alone under the lamp, weighed his options for three breaths, and made a decision: neither to obstruct nor to help, but to watch the show.

When I opened my eyes this morning, I realized that I was no longer the one watching the show; it was Taichang watching his show.

Fang Congzhe sat alone for a long time, then picked up the candle scissors and made two quick cuts in mid-air.

At the end of Chen Shi (7-9 AM), Xu Yiqing, a secretary in the Imperial Secretariat, hurried in and lowered his voice: "Your Excellency, just now, Your Excellency Han passed a message to Your Excellency Liu in the duty room."

"What did you say?" Fang Congzhe asked without looking up.

"Grand Secretary Han said..." Xu Yiqing paused for a moment, "Ji Hui, in the past few months, haven't we... underestimated the Crown Prince?"

Fang Congzhe paused, his candle scissors twitching. "Where is Grand Secretary Liu?"

"Grand Secretary Liu tore up the draft of the impeachment against Xiong Tingbi in his hand."

Fang Congzhe grunted in response, without saying a word, and simply took the candle scissors and spun the remaining wick again.

…………

At 1-3 PM, in the warm pavilion of Qianqing Palace.

Zhu Youxiao entered alone. He lifted the curtain; the heat was less intense than the previous night. The charcoal brazier was burning less, and only one lamp was lit. Wang An was waiting outside the pavilion, not following him in.

Emperor Taichang leaned against his imperial couch, his expression more composed than the night before. The violent coughing he'd endured last night seemed to have expelled phlegm and pent-up emotions all at once. Now, the dark circles under his eyes had lessened, and his breathing was easier.

"Your subject greets Your Majesty."

Emperor Taichang turned slightly to the side and raised his hand: "Sit."

Zhu Youxiao sat down on a low stool. Father and son sat facing each other, no more than three feet apart. The warm chamber was extremely quiet.

"Scholar, there are some things I must say beforehand."

"Your subject is listening."

"I issued this imperial edict not solely for those seventeen soldiers," Emperor Taichang paused for a moment, "but to solemnly warn my court officials that imperial power does not necessarily have to follow the path of the cabinet."

Zhu Youxiao did not reply.

Emperor Taichang closed his eyes: "I waited in the Eastern Palace for thirty years, not daring to go directly to see the late emperor. The only skill I learned in those thirty years was to realize that the path of the Grand Secretariat is sometimes a dead end."

Zhu Youxiao lowered his head.

"Fang Congzhe has oppressed me greatly for the past seven years," Emperor Taichang said in a very low voice. "I couldn't suppress him back then because I couldn't afford to. I dare to suppress him today only because I have you behind me."

Zhu Youxiao's eyelashes twitched slightly.

These were the most weighty words he had heard from this sickbed in the past six months. Heavier than "I've wronged you," heavier than "Keep flipping." A man who had endured thirty years of suppressed resentment as the crown prince didn't speak empty words. If he did, he would lay bare his entire life's secrets.

Emperor Taichang stared at him for a long time, his voice low and deep: "Xiao'er, remember this, I am not here to save those seventeen dead men."

The warm room was deathly silent.

"My intention is to save seventeen people."

The charcoal fire dimmed.

Zhu Youxiao's ears were ringing. The words "twenty-four years" surged in his heart. In the countdown he had carried with him in this life, the one who died on the locust tree on Coal Hill was his younger brother, and the one who died in the snow in Liaodong was one of the thousands upon thousands of "seventeen people".

Seventeen died; the next seventeen had to be saved. Until one day, no more people were hanging under that old locust tree.

Zhu Youxiao raised his eyes and met his father's gaze.

He rose and bowed deeply: "Your Majesty's words are etched in my mind."

The six characters landed with immense weight.

Emperor Taichang nodded and closed his eyes. Only the sound of breathing could be heard in the pavilion. Zhu Youxiao stood quietly. He knew that his father had been holding back these words for countless nights, and today he had finally let them out, and was now resting.

His gaze fell on the right hand beside the imperial bed. That hand, which had left deep marks from gripping the imperial edict last night, now rested within the sleeve of his bright yellow robe, its knuckles loosened, still pale. Zhu Youxiao had spent half a year poring over memorials in the Eastern Palace, never having closely examined his father's hands. Only now did he realize that the hands of a Crown Prince for thirty years were unlike those of ordinary old men. A person who has endured thirty years will inevitably have a taut spot on their hand that never truly closes. At this moment, that hand had loosened its grip on the imperial edict, but it hadn't truly relaxed.

After a short while, Emperor Taichang, without opening his eyes, said, "I'm tired. Go and do your work."

Zhu Youxiao retreated to the curtain and looked back. The ink on the vermilion brush on the desk had dried up; all day long, the emperor had not reviewed a single memorial.

He lifted the curtain and went out.

Wang An waited in the corridor. There were red veins in his eyes. The dark red on his handkerchief last night was probably even deeper today.

Zhu Youxiao remained silent, but took out a small porcelain bottle from his bosom. Inside the bottle were lung-nourishing pills prescribed by the court magistrate last month.

He hadn't finished the bottle yet.

Zhu Youxiao placed the porcelain bottle in Wang An's hand. Wang An was stunned.

Zhu Youxiao only said four words: "My dear companion, take care." Then he turned and left.

…………

Late Shen and early You. East Palace side hall.

Liu Shun lit two lamps. Zhu Youjian was waiting inside the hall. When he saw his brother return, he respectfully placed the letter box on the desk.

"Brother, three notes today."

Zhu Youxiao took his seat. His nine-year-old younger brother stood before the table, arranging the slips of paper one by one. The handwriting was neater than last month.

Zhu Youxiao picked up the top one. It contained only a few lines of text, explaining that the two scholars had taken the initiative to go to Chen Wenju's desk at noon, and that Chen Wenju had agreed, thus temporarily easing the conflict. It was signed at the end with the four characters "Your subject, Youjian".

His lips relaxed slightly. Chen Wenju had overcome this hurdle before the ten-day period was up. He had accepted the suggestion to "look at the numbers."

He placed the first one on the left side of the table and took the second one.

It contains even fewer words, just one sentence: "Two new servants have been transferred to the Imperial Pharmacy, both from Hejian Prefecture, Zhili Province."

Zhu Youxiao tapped the paper lightly with his knuckles. Hejian Prefecture, and they were fellow townsmen. Li Jinzhong's network was incredibly swift and deep. But with Eunuch Wang ill and the system of monitoring the scales newly established, any further action against the Imperial Pharmacy would surely alert the enemy. He decided to hold off for now.

Zhu Youxiao placed this sheet on the left side of the table, stacking it together with the first sheet.

The bottom one.

Before even unfolding it, he knew this one was the most important. His younger brother had already divided the tasks among the family members into three layers, and the one left at the end was definitely something he couldn't let go of.

Upon unfolding it, it was indeed true.

A line of text on the paper reads: "Father issued an imperial edict today to reduce the amount of charcoal used in the Eastern Palace by 30%. My younger brother asks how we should respond."

Zhu Youxiao's eyes flickered slightly.

The nine-year-old younger brother already understood propriety. The first document concerned the training institute; the situation was to be handled internally, with the younger brother merely informing him. The second document contained intelligence from within the palace; the younger brother refrained from acting on it, simply noting it down so the older brother would be aware. The third document concerned court affairs; the younger brother knew this was a matter not for ordinary people, so he wrote it down for the older brother to decide. This document presented the most difficult challenge: he couldn't make decisions for his older brother, nor could he feign ignorance; he needed to ask questions without offering a single word of personal opinion. The younger brother only asked "how to deal with it," offering no advice, no inclination. He remained steadfast in his principles.

Zhu Youxiao picked up his brush and wrote two words on the back of the paper: "Accept it." After writing, he folded the paper and put it back in the letter box.

Zhu Youjian tilted his head and pondered, "Brother, do you mean that if Father punishes us, we should just accept it?"

"Hmm." Zhu Youxiao's voice was not loud. "If Father punishes us, the court officials will have nothing to say. Accepting it is to save face for Father and also to leave ourselves a way out."

Zhu Youjian nodded seriously: "If anyone asks about the reduction of charcoal in the Eastern Palace in the future, how should I answer?"

Zhu Youxiao glanced at his younger brother and said, "Just one sentence: Father is wise. I won't say another word."

"I understand."

Zhu Youjian, carrying the letter box, was about to leave when he suddenly turned back at the door: "Brother, how many points did I get right on the third note next time...?"

Before the words were finished, hurried footsteps appeared in the corridor.

Liu Shun disregarded the need to announce his arrival and barged into the hall. He carried a yellow silk-sealed report with a vermilion seal, sent by the Ministry of War via a 600-li urgent dispatch, directly from the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs, bypassing the Office of Transmission.

"Your Highness, an urgent report just arrived from the Ministry of War!" Liu Shun said, slightly out of breath, "Something has happened at Puhe again."

Zhu Youxiao accepted it.

Zhu Youjian, standing by the door, froze in place. Seeing his brother's stern expression, he pursed his lips tightly, remaining silent and staring intently.

Zhu Youxiao opened the seal, and the report was extremely short.

This morning, without any cover of a night raid, under broad daylight, the Later Jin scouts once again approached the Puhe outpost, reining in their horses a hundred paces away. The rebels neither attacked the fort, nor set fire to it, nor seized its supplies.

Only one arrow was shot in, its arrowhead deeply embedded in the wooden door of the sentry post, with words carved on the shaft.

Zhu Youxiao's gaze was fixed on the last six characters of the report.

"For the Crown Prince of the Southern Dynasty."

He stood behind the table, holding the paper, his fingertip lingering on the number six for a long time. The room was deathly silent, then the charcoal fire suddenly crackled. His younger brother stood silently by the door, Liu Shun's head bowed and hands hanging limply.

Zhu Youxiao's mind raced. The blatant display of military might in broad daylight was clearly a show of force. The lack of any actual military action was merely a pretext for a message. The inscription on the arrow shaft was a provocation, a declaration of war. Nurhaci, far away in Hetu Ala, received the reply from Puhe and knew that the person behind the scenes in the capital was not the ailing Taichang, but the Crown Prince. This arrow, from afar, had pinpointed Zhu Youxiao's weakness.

Last night under the eaves, he thought, "Some blood debts are destined to be settled by my father himself."

The father had already settled the matter.

But this second debt cannot be attributed to the father.

After a long while, Zhu Youxiao slowly raised his eyelids. He chuckled softly.

He abandoned his feigned naiveté, meekness, and forbearance, and for the first time, when someone called him out by name and provoked him, he actually laughed coldly behind the desk.

"it is good."

A single word pierced the air. He casually closed the newspaper.

"Then, let's go."

With those four words, there was no more nonsense.

He handed the report back to Liu Shun: "Send it to the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs, and according to regulations, forward it to the Cabinet for a draft."

Liu Shun acknowledged and withdrew. Only the two brothers remained in the hall. Zhu Youjian silently walked to the table, not asking what serious matter had occurred, but simply reaching out his small hand to tug at his brother's sleeve.

"elder brother."

"Um?"

"It's cold."

Zhu Youxiao touched the top of his younger brother's head but did not answer.