Chapter 24: Food Is the People’s Heaven

Chapter Twenty-Four: The People Regard Food as Heaven

In this era, the Imperial Guards established by Emperor Taizong still retained their strength—not to the extent of later times when they became utterly useless. They excelled at internal power struggles, but when it came to actual tasks, their effectiveness waned. Nearly all information about Yu Qian in Henan was delivered to the capital in daily reports, allowing Zhu Qizhen to follow Yu Qian’s every move from four or five days prior, as well as the progression of the drought in Henan.

A glance at the history books reveals that droughts are among the most frequent disasters. The common image is of thousands of miles of scorched earth, gaping cracks in the ground, and throngs of people fighting over muddy puddles. Rivers run dry, wells are barren. Such scenes depict a severe drought. But in truth, droughts often manifest far less dramatically.

Simply put, if from the first month of the year until May, no rain falls, it is a drought. If by late July, rain still has not come, then it is a severe drought. The phrase “between harvests” refers to the period after spring has begun: following winter, the people’s grain stores are nearly depleted, yet the wheat is not yet ripe, and many families run out of food at this time. If there has been no rain before this, it means the May harvest will likely see reduced yields or fail altogether. Should the drought persist into July, the autumn crops will probably fail as well.

Often, a single failed harvest is enough to drive the populace to despair—let alone a whole year without grain. That is, indeed, a disaster. In such times, the land may not be scorched or the rivers dry, but even so, people cannot endure.

The drought in Henan was just like this: since the spring, not a drop of rain had fallen, and most of the farmland yielded nothing. Upon arriving, Yu Qian’s first priority was not to distribute relief, but to find ways to keep irrigated fields alive. Every extra bushel harvested meant another life saved. He visited every affected county, inspecting each one, then returned to Kaifeng to allocate grain, adjusting according to the severity of drought.

More than once, when unrest broke out, Yu Qian went alone, without guards, to reason with the hungry masses. Zhu Qizhen watched with admiration. That Yu Qian rose to prominence in history was no accident; even in his thirties, he revealed his remarkable talent. Zhu Qizhen reflected that, were he in Yu Qian’s place, he could not have done better. This was evident even in the reports he received: the secret agents placed at Yu Qian’s side gradually changed their tone, calling him first “Inspector Yu,” then “Master Yu,” and eventually “Lord Yu,” often speaking well of him.

True fairness lies in the hearts of men. Though many Imperial Guards were ambitious for fame and wealth, most were ordinary people, sharing the likes and dislikes of the common folk.

After May, Zhu Qizhen discovered from the correspondence that the relief grain Yu Qian brought had been fully distributed. Yet total crop failure was now a fact. A mere one hundred thousand bushels were nowhere near enough. Zhu Qizhen had Ma Shun investigate, only to find that grain supplies in the capital were strained, and the Ministry of Revenue could not spare any. Anxious, Zhu Qizhen took a day off and went to see the Grand Empress Dowager, bringing all the secret reports from Henan with him.

The Grand Empress Dowager, squinting in the sunlight, read the reports in detail, taking nearly half an hour to finish. She set them aside and said, “As a ruler, one must act openly and uprightly. These methods are beneath your dignity—not that official reports are always trustworthy, but using such means leads one to believe the Imperial Guards are always right, and the officials outside are always wrong.”

“But are the Imperial Guards incapable of lying?” Zhu Qizhen replied, “I understand, Grandmother.”

The Grand Empress Dowager saw clearly that Zhu Qizhen did not truly understand. She said, “You must realize, every minister who stands before you is an expert at deceiving the sovereign. Well, you don’t grasp this yet. You brought me these reports because the relief grain for Henan is insufficient, correct?”

Zhu Qizhen said, “I inquired—the capital’s grain stocks are tight. We cannot spare any.”

The Grand Empress Dowager replied, “That is only natural. In the north, Henan and Hebei serve as the granaries. The court has long decreed that most grain from these regions is sent to the nine border garrisons. Now, with disaster here, the capital’s warehouses must supply the shortfall. We cannot let the soldiers go hungry.”

“In this way, the warehouses in the capital and Tongzhou may hold grain, but it cannot be freely allocated.”

Zhu Qizhen understood: this grain was Beijing’s lifeblood. If the capital’s stores ran dry, the consequences would be worse than the drought in Henan. He asked, “Is Beijing’s grain supply so precarious that a single mishap would leave us short?”

The Grand Empress Dowager replied, “This is why Emperor Renzong moved the capital back to Nanjing. Establishing the capital in Beijing means all grain must come from the southeast. The Earl of Pingjiang oversees canal transport—at its peak, five million bushels were delivered annually; now, four million each year.”

“These four million bushels are the capital’s lifeline.”

“Never mind the hardship of opening canals and diverting rivers; to entrust the rise and fall of a nation to a single river is reckless.”

She sighed softly. She knew that, complaints aside, nothing could be done now. The die was cast. The Ming dynasty had invested so much wealth and power in Beijing that even the political order had stabilized there. Relocating the capital would be a tremendous upheaval.

The emperor was still young; she lacked both the energy and the possibility to orchestrate such turmoil. Besides, her husband and son were buried outside Beijing—where else could she go? One day, she too would be laid to rest in Heavenly Longevity Mountain. Yet Beijing remained only a temporary court, not truly the capital; perhaps this was her last stubborn stand.

“Why not use sea transport? The previous dynasty did so, and Zheng He’s fleet sailed as far as the Western Seas. Surely grain could be shipped from Songjiang to Tianjin?” Zhu Qizhen could not help but ask.

The Grand Empress Dowager replied, “Two reasons. First, the pirates.”

“The chaos at sea has persisted for years. Like flies, they avoid large convoys but prey on small fleets.”

“In the time of the Taizu, grain ships from Jiangnan to Liaodong were plundered.”

“If we send escorts and conduct sweeps, the costs far exceed canal transport.”

“Second, the waves at sea are fierce and dangerous, and it is all too easy for ships and lives to be lost.”

Zhu Qizhen thought and said, “Grandmother, do you believe those losses are truly due to the sea?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “Though I’m old, my eyes are not blind. I see the tricks involved—easy to spot, but how to deal with them?”

“Sometimes, ships are genuinely lost to storms. Should we prosecute to the death? The people already fear the sea—if we add harsh laws, who will transport the grain? On a ship, it’s easy for everyone to collude; with islands everywhere, someone lands and claims a storm took their vessel—who can investigate?”

“The court must have evidence to punish officials.”

Zhu Qizhen suggested, “Why not increase the quotas, letting transporters profit? If losses occur, they can make up for it from their earnings.”

The Grand Empress Dowager responded, “But then, how will you face the civil and military officials? Salaries are already meager; if petty officials grow rich from transport, it’s hard to balance. Besides, human greed knows no bounds—give an inch today, and tomorrow they’ll want a foot, never satisfied.”

“The canal route is under court control, without so many troubles.”

Zhu Qizhen gradually understood: though he could not tell if the reasoning was entirely sound, he realized bureaucrats instinctively dislike things beyond their control, and sea transport was beyond their grasp.

The canal, though called a river, was not wide; any incident occurring there was easily dealt with by the court, with no escape. At sea, if trouble arose and someone fled overseas, what could be done?