Chapter Seventy-Four: Preparations for Spring Plowing

Chapter Seventy-Four: Preparations for Spring Plowing

After the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth day of the first month, the government offices resumed their work. This seemed to signify that the tenth year of Xuande had officially faded into the past, and the first year of Zhengtong had truly arrived.

Yet, even so, the imperial court still seemed rather languid.

The officials appeared to be lost in the festivities of the Lantern Festival and the lively banquets that followed, unable to extricate themselves.

By the time they recovered, the second month was already at the doorstep.

In the latter half of the first month, the court made a significant decision—or at least, what Zhu Qizhen considered worthy of his attention: the capital army would begin planting crops near Beijing.

When Zhu Qizhen heard this news, he experienced a mix of emotions and was at a loss for words. It was also the day he summoned Yu Qian for the first time.

Yu Qian, as tactfully as possible, informed Zhu Qizhen of the grim fact that out of the more than three million soldiers in the Ming military, 1.2 million had deserted.

Zhu Qizhen thought himself composed. He believed he had cultivated restraint, but upon learning this, he felt an overwhelming urge to kill. He knew well enough that this was not the fault of any single individual but a legacy passed down from the founder’s reign to the present. Killing one person—or even ten thousand—would not resolve the issue.

Still, he wanted to kill. Even if it couldn’t solve the problem, it would at least vent his fury.

This news ruined the good mood Zhu Qizhen had felt upon meeting Yu Qian.

When he considered this news alongside the decision to have the capital’s army cultivate fields, his feelings grew even more complicated.

The reason was simple: having learned that the garrison units across the empire had lost as many as 1.2 million men to desertion, Zhu Qizhen no longer harbored any hopes for their combat effectiveness.

Perhaps Yu Qian trusted Yang Shiqi’s estimates, but Zhu Qizhen did not. He preferred to assume the worst.

Could Yang Shiqi’s figures really be accurate? Was there no underreporting at lower levels?

He could not help but wonder whether half the garrison force had already deserted.

If so, then the hundreds of thousands of troops stationed in the capital were the only military strength the Ming dynasty could still rely on.

And now, even these troops were being sent to cultivate the land.

Granted, the court’s finances were not in great shape, but was it truly so dire?

It took Zhu Qizhen a long time to suppress his emotions and finally ask, “Sir Yu, do you have any advice for me on this matter?”

Yu Qian replied, “Your minister is dull-witted and dares not speak rashly. However, Minister Wang of the Ministry of War is considering replacing the stationed troops with recruited soldiers.”

Zhu Qizhen smiled faintly and asked, “And where would the money come from?”

This left Yu Qian momentarily speechless. All he could say was, “Your Majesty is wise.”

Zhu Qizhen replied, “I would rather not be wise.”

Zhu Yuanzhang’s system of military settlements was famed for raising a million soldiers at no cost to the treasury.

Yet in reality, the court did not escape expenses. The amount of land occupied by the military settlements was hard to determine—some said one-eighth, others claimed half. If all this land were gathered together, it would surely exceed the size of a province or two.

All the taxes from this vast expanse of land were forfeited by the court.

Leaving aside these hidden losses, even now, military expenditure was not included in the government’s accounts. If they switched to recruited soldiers, it would become an additional financial burden.

The court was already struggling to make ends meet. Yang Rong undoubtedly knew the importance of the capital’s garrison, yet the cabinet unanimously agreed to send them out to farm.

This alone showed how dire the Ming finances had become.

Zhu Qizhen sighed inwardly. Financial issues are the barometer of a nation’s politics. So long as the treasury remained sound, the court could withstand other crises.

This was especially true for the Ming dynasty.

But this was not a problem Zhu Qizhen could solve at present.

He changed the subject and asked, “Sir Yu, do you know how to plant rice?”

Yu Qian replied, “I am from Qiantang. In my youth I worked the fields, though I am not particularly familiar with the methods.”

“Then come with me to take a look,” Zhu Qizhen said.

With a single command, he and his entourage left the Palace of Heavenly Purity. Only after passing through the Forbidden City did they mount their horses.

Many believed that the Imperial Palace consisted only of the Forbidden City, but in fact, that was merely the inner court. Beyond it lay the outer palace city, much larger, containing several lakes which the people of Beijing called “seas”—the famed North Sea, South Sea, and Zhongnanhai.

There were also vast gardens and palatial complexes, known in historical records as the Western Garden, the Southern Inner Court, the Northern Garden, and so forth.

The Grand Empress Dowager forbade Zhu Qizhen from leaving the palace, but his lessons now included agricultural matters. He was not required to work the land himself, but at least had to observe others laboring, so as to understand the hardships of the common people.

However, there was no such large plot of open land within the palace.

If they wanted to plant crops in the palace, they could do so by clearing a garden, as the founding emperor once did in Nanjing, where the palace grounds were sown with grains and vegetables rather than ornamental flowers. In those days, most palace expenses were covered by their own produce.

The Grand Empress Dowager decided to let Zhu Qizhen choose a site in the Western Garden, taking the opportunity for an outing.

Zhu Qizhen, accompanied by over a hundred guards and Yu Qian, all on horseback, headed west and soon arrived at the lake, gazing out over the vast waters. He was in high spirits.

At this time, there were not yet many palaces in the area, and the scenery was fresh and open.

The ice was beginning to melt, with waterfowl already skimming the lake’s surface.

Zhu Qizhen, unable to resist, took up his bow and prepared to shoot.

Yu Qian quickly advised, “Your Majesty, it is not fitting to hunt in spring.”

Zhu Qizhen replied at once, “I was wrong,” and ordered his attendants to put the bow away.

Spring is the season when birds and beasts breed; many are pregnant. Hunting now would be inhumane.

In truth, Zhu Qizhen did not care much; after all, he doubted he could hit anything, given his lack of skill. Archery required long practice, and Zhu Qizhen could barely shoot an arrow, let alone aim with any accuracy or distance—not a matter of talent, but of physical strength.

Still, as emperor, showing kindness to birds and beasts was the politically correct thing to do.

He had long been used to such displays. Under the Grand Empress Dowager’s tutelage, he remembered daily the importance of cultivating virtue, especially in front of others.

He asked, “Sir Yu, do you think the land here is suitable for cultivation?”

Yu Qian surveyed the area and answered, “The soil here by the water is not especially fertile, but it is suitable for reclamation.”

“Ruan An,” Zhu Qizhen called.

Ruan An immediately stepped forward. “This servant is here.”

Wang Zhen, watching Ruan An, felt a twinge of jealousy.

Now, Wang Zhen, Jin Ying, and Ruan An were the new giants among the eunuchs. Wang Zhen and Jin Ying needed no further mention, but Zhu Qizhen used Ruan An not out of favoritism, but because he had found Ruan An to be the most capable in the palace.

During the most intensive period of Beijing’s construction, when as many as seven hundred thousand workers were involved, Ruan An managed everything smoothly.

Such ability, Zhu Qizhen thought, would not be out of place even for a high provincial official.

Yet, Ruan An was, after all, a eunuch.

Whenever Zhu Qizhen wished to accomplish something, Ruan An was always the most reliable. Whether it was building roads, constructing warm pavilions, or developing irrigation, Ruan An had done it all—an expert in every practical matter.

Thus, Zhu Qizhen entrusted task after task to Ruan An, who had never failed to satisfy him. Who else could he use?

“I want a hundred acres reclaimed here,” Zhu Qizhen ordered. “Every crop that can be grown in the Ming realm must be planted here, with rice as the top priority. This task is yours. Spring plowing is not far off; you must hurry and not miss the season. Build all the necessary canals and waterwheels, and prepare for future expansion.”

Ruan An replied at once, “This servant obeys.”

Having assigned the matter to Ruan An, Zhu Qizhen felt reassured—perhaps even that the talent was wasted on such a minor task. He then said to his companions, “You all wait here; I will walk by myself for a while.”