Da Ming: The system granted me immortality; I clock in every day.

The spring breeze of the twelfth year of the Zhengtong reign finally melted the remaining snow on the glazed tiles of the Forbidden City.

After a whole winter of hard labor in the Xishan coal mines, the three thousand "warriors" of the Oirat delegation had all become thin and silent.

When Hu Ying, the Minister of Rites, with a warm smile on his face, delivered cartloads of musty-smelling aged tea from Jiangnan.

And the faded coarse silk that had been piled up at the bottom of the warehouse for many years was handed over to the Oirat envoy Angke as an annual gift from the Celestial Empire.

This once arrogant eagle of the grasslands couldn't help but tear up.

Angke gripped the packets of cheap, stale tea, which were as hard as bricks, so tightly that his hands trembled with excitement.

Having spent the entire winter mining coal in the capital of the Ming Dynasty, his rough edges had long been smoothed out by the strict rules.

Before they left, the Ming emperor not only spared their lives but also kept his promise and paid them their wages.

This kind of "magnanimity" filled Onk with a sense of gratitude for surviving a disaster.

The delegation marched out of Desheng Gate in a grand procession and sped off toward the desert, as if a deadly demon was chasing after them.

On the city tower, Emperor Zhu Qizhen, wearing a black fox fur cloak, fiddled with a sandalwood abacus in his hand.

Listening to the report from the Minister of Revenue, the Xishan Coal Mine reported a net profit of 100,000 taels of silver this winter and a surplus of 500,000 taels of silver in annual savings.

The young emperor, facing the spring breeze, laughed loudly.

This grand welcoming spectacle, unprecedented in history, hastily came to a close amidst its absurdity and scheming.

Time flies, and years pass like a flowing river.

The years of the Ming Dynasty passed by under Gu Yannian's unhurried and deliberate manipulation.

The time quietly shifted to the fifteenth year of the Zhengtong era.

In these three years, the Ming Dynasty's treasury had already overflowed.

The silver reserves in Taicang were so large that they couldn't be stored in the ten newly built warehouses. They had to temporarily build thatched sheds in the Ministry of Revenue compound and send heavy troops to guard them day and night.

The nine strategically important border towns were relentlessly measured by Prince Zhu Qiyu of Cheng's iron shovel and abacus.

Corrupt officials were executed in droves, and millions of acres of fertile farmland belonging to the military were confiscated by the state.

The entire world is perfectly sealed, without a single leak.

It was late autumn in the fifteenth year of the Zhengtong reign.

Inside the East Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace, there was a strong, lingering smell of bitter medicine.

The windows were tightly shut, not even a wisp of autumn breeze could get in.

The warm room, usually filled with the crisp sound of abacuses, was now eerily quiet.

On the large dragon bed, the twenty-something-year-old Emperor Zhengtong, Zhu Qizhen, lay supine in a bright yellow brocade quilt, looking emaciated.

His once handsome face was now sunken, his eyes dull and lifeless, tinged with a deathly gray.

The once-wide dragon robe now hangs loosely on his thin, bony body.

It looked as if it were hanging on a piece of dead wood.

"Cough cough... cough cough cough..."

A heart-wrenching cough shattered the silence.

Zhu Qizhen struggled to turn to his side, spitting out a mouthful of bright red blood into the copper basin beside the bed, a shocking sight.

Wang Zhen, the Grand Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, knelt by the bedside, his hands trembling as he held the ginseng soup, already a tearful mess.

"Your Majesty...please have another sip of ginseng soup! The Imperial Medical Academy said that as long as you rest and recuperate properly, you will definitely recover..."

Wang Zhen wept uncontrollably.

Zhu Qizhen waved his hand weakly, pushing the ginseng soup away.

He struggled to lift his hands, which were covered in thick calluses, and stared unfocusedly at his fingertips.

He knew better than anyone that his body had truly reached its end.

From a young age, under the strict tutelage of the Grand Tutor, he ate coarse food.

He suffered from the cold and did hard labor in the wasteland of Xiyuan.

After ascending the throne, in order to protect the treasury of the Ming Dynasty, he worked day and night, racking his brains to calculate the accounts of all the officials in the country.

Each outburst of thunderous rage, each instance of confiscation of property and extermination of clans, consumed the already weakened strength of his body.

Years of mental and physical strain, coupled with chronic illnesses from his early years.

In the autumn of the fifteenth year of the Zhengtong reign, it finally erupted like a flood bursting its banks, eroding his internal organs and leaving them riddled with holes.

The imperial physicians took the pulse with trepidation, only daring to utter the eight words: "The oil is exhausted and the lamp is dying; fate is hard to defy."

What made Zhu Qizhen even more desperate was...

In order to save on the expenses of the inner court, he has rarely visited the inner palace in recent years.

In the vast Forbidden City, none of the imperial concubines had ever given birth to any children.

He, the mighty emperor of the Ming Dynasty, was facing his imminent death, yet he had not a single one of his own flesh and blood to entrust the empire to at his bedside.

"Wang Zhen..."

Zhu Qizhen's voice was hoarse.

"Go...go to the Jianji Hall...and invite the Grand Tutor."

Half an hour later.

Gu Yannian, dressed in a dark purple casual robe, walked steadily into the East Warm Pavilion.

The strong smell of medicine and death did not cause him to furrow his brow even slightly.

He walked to the dragon bed and looked at the young emperor whose life hung by a thread on the bed.

A complex emotion, difficult to describe, flashed in his deep eyes.

"Your humble servant Gu Yannian greets Your Majesty."

Gu Yannian bowed slightly, his tone still gentle and calm, like a soothing breeze.

Zhu Qizhen struggled to sit up, but to no avail.

She could only lean weakly against the soft pillow.

He waved his hand, signaling all the eunuchs and palace maids in the hall to leave.

Only the emperor and his minister remained in the warm pavilion. Zhu Qizhen suddenly gave a bitter smile.

"Grand Tutor... I have finally settled this score with you."

He pointed with difficulty to the shiny rosewood abacus on the bedside table.

His eyes revealed a hint of resentment and self-mockery.

"I have calculated the military expenses for the nine border regions and the salt tax in Jiangnan for the Ming Dynasty, filling the Taicang granary to the brim. I thought my calculations were flawless..."

"But I have overlooked one thing: my own lifespan is so short."

Gu Yannian looked at him quietly without offering any words of comfort.

Birth, aging, sickness, and death are the natural order of human life.

Having witnessed the downfall of too many emperors, this immortal being was no longer bothered by anything.

"His Majesty is diligent in governing and loves his people, thus protecting the foundation of the Ming Dynasty. He is a wise ruler of his generation. Future generations will surely remember him in history."

Gu Yannian spoke calmly, giving this abacus-wielding emperor his final affirmation.

Upon hearing this, a tear slid down Zhu Qizhen's cheek.

To receive a single word of approval from this strict and demanding tutor is truly remarkable.

His short and tormented life seems to have been fulfilled.

"Grand Tutor, my days are numbered. Yet I have no sons, and the Ming Dynasty must be entrusted to someone."

Zhu Qizhen mustered his spirits, and a hint of imperial sharpness and decisiveness returned to his eyes.

"My princely brothers are all living a life of luxury in their fiefdoms, their minds filled with nothing but indulgence in sensual pleasures and extravagant spending."

"If I were to hand over this overflowing national treasury to them, they would squander it all within ten years! I would die with my eyes wide open in disbelief!"

Zhu Qizhen grabbed Gu Yannian's sleeve as if he had used all his strength.

"Grand Tutor, I have drafted a secret edict. I intend to pass the throne to Prince Cheng, Zhu Qiyu!"

When this name was mentioned, Zhu Qizhen's eyes gleamed with an almost fanatical trust.

"Qi Yu spent four years surveying military settlements along the nine borders, enduring wind and rain. He used the abacus and iron shovel bestowed upon him by me to subdue those arrogant and fierce generals and to clear up the mess in the land."

"He has suffered hardship; he knows how hard-won even a single coin or a grain of rice is! Only by entrusting the empire to him can the Ming Dynasty's legacy continue to be passed down peacefully!"

Gu Yannian lowered his eyelids slightly, looking at Zhu Qizhen's pitiful state of entrusting his orphan to someone else, and nodded slightly.

"Your Majesty is wise and far-sighted, and knows how to appoint the right people. His Highness Prince Cheng has been tempered by the hardships of the frontier and truly possesses the strength to maintain order. Your humble servant will certainly assist the new emperor and live up to Your Majesty's trust."

Upon hearing this, Zhu Qizhen breathed a long sigh of relief.

The hand that was tightly gripping Gu Yannian's sleeve slowly loosened.

"With the Grand Tutor's words, I... I can depart in peace. The secret edict is hidden in a secret compartment of the imperial desk."

"After my passing, the Grand Tutor shall immediately issue a decree to the world, summoning Qi Yu back to the capital to ascend the throne!"