Chapter Ten: Memoranda and Progress

Having recruited three subordinates, Zhu Xiaoqi was in high spirits. Unfortunately, he was only the Crown Prince at this time; no matter how imposing his presence, few would rally to his side. Within the palace, things were somewhat better—the eunuchs gravitated toward him because of his status, which was why matters proceeded so smoothly in both the Armory Bureau and the Imperial Gardens Bureau. Outside the palace, however, he was utterly in the dark. For instance, with the Embroidered Uniform Guard, he didn’t know a single soul; even if he wanted to recruit someone, he had no means to do so. He couldn’t very well announce, “Next year I’ll be Emperor—join me!” Such words would see him instantly confined by his grandfather, either for alleged madness or dangerous ambition—a cup of poisoned wine would likely be the best outcome he could hope for.

Li Jinzhong had gone to the Capital Garrison and had yet to return. With nothing to occupy him, Zhu Xiaoqi took out a sheet of paper covered with Arabic numerals and began to list the things he had accomplished, those still to be done, and people to remember—a sort of memorandum. On the first line he wrote “High-Yield Crops,” beneath which he listed maize, sweet potatoes, and potatoes, noting Wang Tiqian and Xu Guangqi beside them. The second line read “Minting Machine, Telescope, Clocks, Cannons,” and again Xu Guangqi was noted. The third line: “Weapon Improvements,” with Li Chaoqin and Sun Yuanhua. The fourth: “Naval Affairs,” with Zhang Qianfang, Li Dan, Yan Siqi, and Zheng Zhilong. The fifth: “Military Reform,” with the Capital Garrison and the names Lu Qin and Zhou Yuji. The sixth line: “Imperial Secret Services,” noting Wei Zhongxian (unusable, the Eunuch of Nine Thousand Years), Li Jinzhong (Eastern Depot), and Luo Yangxing (Embroidered Uniform Guard). Once everything was written out, he carefully reviewed the list to ensure nothing important was missing, then folded it neatly and tucked it into his copy of "The New Book of Effective Discipline."

Zhu Xiaoqi had always believed that the emperor was the true master of the nation—like Ah Q once said, whatever one desires becomes reality, and one’s favorite will always be favored. As long as the right people were employed, domestic prosperity could be achieved by boosting agriculture, while external threats could be dealt with by strengthening the military. No one could shake his dynasty, and he could revive the Ming and become a ruler remembered forever for both civil and military achievements. That was why he had once argued online with the Parallel Timeline Management Bureau’s Number One, insisting that a good emperor was the root of everything. In truth, his understanding of the Ming’s fall wasn’t as thorough as he believed—just a few names, events, and rough timelines from books, films, and television. Even so, he was determined to use what he knew to remake the Ming dynasty, and he brimmed with confidence. With the help of the virtuous ministers of the Donglin faction, he would establish a new Ming—one where the people lived in peace and prosperity, the economy thrived, and politics were clean.

Li Jinzhong returned, reporting that the men had been selected. The eunuch in charge of the Capital Garrison agreed to their temporary assignment, and they would even continue to receive their stipends. Zhu Xiaoqi was very pleased and told Li Jinzhong to remember this favor from the supervising eunuch.

Li Jinzhong also brought potatoes sent by Xu Guangqi, along with simple planting instructions. Zhu Xiaoqi immediately sent him to deliver both the potatoes and the instructions to Wang Tiqian—autumn was the right time to sow them—and relayed that this crop was even more important than sweet potatoes. Wang was to tend them with utmost care, experiment with planting methods, and keep detailed records.

Discovering these three crops had not been difficult. Sweet potatoes and maize had already been cultivated in many places before; the main challenge was widespread adoption, especially in the north, where famine was more severe than in the south—though the southern mountains could be planted as well. Once the granaries were overflowing, people would have no cause to rebel. Without rebellion, the Ming could focus on dealing with the Later Jin, and the Manchus would never supplant them.

He wondered further: should he try to spark an industrial revolution? How did a steam engine work, anyway? He tried to recall his middle school textbooks—all he could remember was the teapot lid being pushed up by steam, but nothing else. That was troublesome. He hoped to ride a train in his lifetime, but without the steam engine, there could be no trains. Clearly, this task was beyond him; he would have to find others to do it. There simply weren’t enough capable people—he couldn’t keep relying on Sun Yuanhua; weaponry was more urgent. Destroy the Jurchen first, then worry about trains. He sighed once more at how little power he wielded, unable to accomplish all he wished. All he could do was wait, lonely and patient.

The days that followed were unremarkable. Each day he exercised and practiced martial arts. Zhou Yuji believed the Crown Prince could barely handle an adult opponent, but Zhu Xiaoqi was already satisfied—after all, he was only fifteen, or thirteen by Western reckoning.

He would occasionally visit the Imperial Gardens Bureau to check on the progress of the new crops. Everything was growing well, and it looked like there would be a bumper potato harvest this year. Zhu Xiaoqi praised Wang Tiqian heartily and set even higher standards, especially emphasizing rigorous grouping in experiments—each group’s conditions must be precisely controlled, records must be detailed, and vague, descriptive language was forbidden. Only clear numerical data would suffice.

He would also drop by the Armory Bureau to check on Sun Yuanhua’s research. Fixed ammunition had been produced: a measured amount of gunpowder wrapped in a paper cartridge, one end attached to a bullet. In use, one bit open the cartridge, poured a little powder into the priming pan, then loaded the bullet and remaining powder into the barrel, tamped it lightly, and fired. This simplified reloading and standardized the powder charge, reducing the risk of explosions. Sun Yuanhua was also testing separating the powder in the priming pan from that in the barrel. According to him, finer powder in the pan improved ignition rates, while using granular powder there sometimes failed to ignite. These changes raised the firing rate to sixty-eight or even seventy percent.

Standardization and assembly line production, as Zhu Xiaoqi had suggested, were progressing smoothly. Li Chaoqin and his young eunuchs were drafting production regulations, amending them as they encountered issues. The management rules had already been published, which greatly boosted the craftsmen’s enthusiasm and raised productivity by fifty percent. Once perfected, further gains could be expected.

Everywhere, progress was steady, leaving Zhu Xiaoqi in a fine mood. One day, accompanied by Li Jinzhong and Zhou Yuji, he left the Eastern Palace—partly for leisure, partly to help Ti Ti restock her snack supplies. After strolling for a while, it was time to eat, so they found a restaurant.

The waiter asked, “Will you dine in the main hall or upstairs?” “Upstairs,” Zhu replied. The upper floor offered private rooms; though not perfectly secluded, they were better than the busy main hall. Upstairs, they ordered a few house specialties, cracked melon seeds, sipped tea, and chatted idly. Soon, they heard the sounds of chairs scraping and people settling into the adjoining room, followed by a flurry of voices. A moment later, an excited voice rang out: “After Salhu, we first lost Kaiyuan and then suffered defeat at Tieling. The court appointed Xiong Tingbi as overseer of Liaodong, but that big-mouthed Xiong only wants to hold his ground and advance slowly, ignoring the hardships of the people of Liao. He seeks only to avoid blame and thinks that’s merit enough. Insightful officials impeach him, but the emperor is so muddle-headed he pays them no heed. What a tragedy!”

Zhu Xiaoqi glanced at Li Jinzhong and Zhou Yuji, who sat motionless. He asked in bemusement, “Isn’t anyone going to stop him from slandering the emperor?” Li Jinzhong smiled wryly, “Criticizing the emperor is commonplace. Some ministers are even harsher, and they do it right to his face. Who would dare interfere?” So that was how things stood—Zhu could only shake his head.

Another voice spoke: “So many years without attending court, all this talk of leg ailments—who’s he fooling? He wallows in wine and women every day, caring nothing for the people’s suffering. With such a sovereign, not even the Grand Secretary dares speak out, and the scholars are all useless.”

Criticizing the emperor and the ministers—how bold! Zhu Xiaoqi knew the Wanli Emperor had leg troubles; since his rebirth, he had seen his grandfather’s painful gait firsthand. Many ministers knew as much. As for indulging in women and drink, that was pure nonsense; his grandfather barely drank because of his illness, and for over twenty years had favored only Consort Zheng. People always leapt to conclusions—if state affairs went poorly, they blamed the emperor’s incompetence, and if he was incompetent, he must be mired in pleasure. It was almost a fixed pattern. Suddenly, Zhu realized his own thinking hadn’t been much different.

A third voice spoke: “The emperor is muddle-headed, the ministers dare not remonstrate, and the soldiers lack resolve—these are reasons for our defeats. But I believe there’s another cause for our losses in Liaodong: our side rarely uses spies, while the Jurchen excel at it. In the Battle of Fushun, the traitor Li Yongfang colluded with the enemy; at Salhu, our army’s movements were known to the foe; and both Kaiyuan and Tieling fell due to spies. The Jurchen are cunning, yet we neither employ spies nor guard against theirs. This is a cause of defeat that must be investigated.” This man’s analysis was sound, and his voice seemed oddly familiar. Li Jinzhong whispered, “That’s Zhang Cheng—they’re students from the Imperial Academy.”

Then a fourth voice joined in: “Brother Zhang speaks wisely. The Jurchen are cunning; we must meet cunning with greater cunning, so that their terrain, troops, weapons, and deployments are all in our grasp. We can link with patriots, eliminate traitors, subvert those with loyalty to the dynasty, and exploit discord among the enemy for our gain. The meat-eaters in power ruin country and people alike, caring only for their rank and not the reasons for defeat. Alas, we scholars can only lament here, unable to slay the Jurchen and avenge the fallen heroes of Liaodong!”

The others chimed in, “Brother Liu, what talent! If only not for the rampant traitors at court, we would have a way to serve the nation—what can we do?”

The food arrived, and Zhu Xiaoqi listened while he ate. He found Zhang Cheng and Brother Liu clear-headed and logical, while the others were mostly loudmouths—quick to criticize the court, but offering few constructive ideas or proposals. He thought these two would make valuable recruits, but for now, there was nothing he could do but remember their names.

Soon, the neighboring table was also served, and amidst the clinking of glasses, Zhang Cheng mentioned that he would accompany his family to offer incense at Biyun Temple the next day, so he would have to miss the trip to Jade Spring Hill. Zhu Xiaoqi’s heart stirred; he thought of Baozhu’s exquisite beauty and charming demeanor, and wondered if he couldn’t arrange a chance encounter.