Chapter Fifty-One: The Royal Bank of Great Ming (Part One)

After returning, Zhu Youxiao went straight to the Empress’s palace. Zhang Yan happened to be doing embroidery with Duan Ying and Wang Wan. Seeing the Emperor appear in the harem during the day, all three were startled, unsure what had happened, and rose in surprise to greet him. Zhu Youxiao lifted them up one by one, lightly pinching each wrist in a playful manner, earning a few beautiful sideward glances in return.

“It’s good to have all my beloved consorts here. I happen to have a lotus painting that I’d like to revise. Why don’t we all share our ideas?” Zhu Youxiao produced the lotus design from the Mint and spread it out on the table.

“Your Majesty, what is this drawing for, and how is it to be changed?” Duan Ying asked curiously.

“This is the design the Mint intends to use for silver coins. I don’t know how to improve it, so I’m asking for your suggestions.”

“Your Majesty, consorts are not to interfere in state affairs. I must decline to be involved,” Zhang Yan objected immediately upon hearing the topic.

“The Empress is being overly sensitive,” Zhu Youxiao replied, glancing at her. At the word ‘sensitive,’ Zhang Yan’s cheeks flushed. This incorrigible Emperor—how could he bring up words spoken in private before others?

“It’s not as though you’re making any decisions—just offering opinions on a pattern. The three of you are all skilled in painting, so I came to consult you. I recall that the lotus on the Empress’s purse is far better than this one. Why not use that instead?” It was the very purse from when they first met; to Zhu Youxiao, the lotus had special meaning, and he wished to use it on the new coins.

Zhang Yan’s face reddened again. She had always kept that purse. After she brought it out, they copied the lotus from it for a while, and in the end, all agreed that Wang Wan’s rendition was the most lifelike, so her drawing was chosen. Zhu Youxiao asked her to write ‘One Yuan’ above the lotus, and beneath it, ‘Great Ming Royal Bank.’ On another sheet, he wrote ‘Worth Half a Tael’ in the middle, and below that ‘Second Year of Tianqi of Great Ming.’ Thinking of modern coins, he added a note: To prevent people from shaving the coins, make the outer rim into milled edges.

After sending the design to the Mint for Li Zhizao, Zhu Youxiao smiled and said, “With you three helping in the making of these silver coins, what reward would you like?”

The three women conferred briefly and put forward Duan Ying, who blushed and said, “Your Majesty, we all wish for a child.” She lowered her head, cheeks crimson.

Zhu Youxiao had not expected to invite trouble onto himself and regretted it instantly. But since they brought it up, it was clear his previous explanation hadn’t convinced them. He could only respond, “Please sit, my dear consorts, and let us discuss this together.”

The three women sat around a small round table. Zhu Youxiao gathered their hands and spoke gently, “It’s not that I don’t wish for a child myself, but as I told you before, you are all still so young; your bodies have not matured. It is not suitable yet for pregnancy.”

Zhang Yan pursed her lips, thinking: Wasn’t it you who said my body was perfectly developed last time? And now you say this. Duan Ying also thought, I’ve practiced martial arts for years and am in excellent health—the Emperor even praised me last time—but she couldn’t bring herself to say so.

Wang Wan said, “I know Your Majesty is being considerate, but I too wish to bear a son or daughter for you, to honor our ancestors.” The other two nodded in agreement, finding that Consort Liang had spoken well.

Unable to persuade them otherwise, Zhu Youxiao had to assume the authority of a traditional patriarch: “This is not up for discussion. Whether you understand or not, you must obey. Each of you is only thirteen or fourteen and already thinking about having children—don’t even consider it. I will say this now: you may only prepare for children after turning sixteen.”

Duan Ying’s face lit up. “Your Majesty, I am already seventeen.” But Zhu Youxiao’s next words dashed her hopes: “I mean sixteen full years, not by the Chinese reckoning. Understand?”

The three counted on their fingers and all looked down in disappointment. By the Emperor’s reckoning, even the eldest, Duan Ying, would not turn sixteen until next April; Zhang Yan until October next year, and Wang Wan until March the year after. Thus, their carefully plotted campaign for a child was defeated.

When Li Zhizao received the design, he immediately entered the palace. It turned out that, ever since the Ming Dynasty, the word ‘yuan’ was avoided because of Zhu Yuanzhang’s name; even ‘yuanbao’ was forbidden. Now the Emperor had written ‘One Yuan’—that would not do. So he came to seek instructions.

Zhu Youxiao found such taboos irritating, but there was no way around them. He tried to suggest using the character for ‘zhu’ (tael), but that too was rejected, since it matched the Emperor’s surname. Having no alternative, he decided to call it ‘one dollar.’

As for copper coins, Zhu Youxiao’s original plan was to mint coins of various denominations, but Li Zhizao recommended issuing only the ‘one wen’ coin at first, with higher values to follow. Zhu Youxiao accepted the expert’s advice.

After more than a month of intensive work, the Mint finally completed the dies. Li Zhizao brought the sample coins to the palace. Zhu Youxiao was very pleased with the milled silver and copper coins. He issued an edict: Li Zhizao, Deputy Minister of the Imperial Household and concurrently Director at the Ministry of Works, was promoted to Director of Revenue and made President of the Great Ming Royal Bank and Chief of the Mint. Silver and copper coins would begin circulation in the capital, with a fixed exchange rate of 500 copper coins to one silver coin.

Most court officials had no idea what a bank or mint was. Upon seeing the imperial edict, they hurried to inquire. Once they understood, a faction led by Zuo Guangdou began to protest, arguing that the state already had the Baoyuan and Baoquan Bureaus, so creating a new mint was wasteful. Furthermore, there were already private money shops—wouldn’t the Great Ming Royal Bank be competing with the people?

To the Donglin faction, the state must never compete with the people. Any commercial venture run by the people should not be touched by the state, or it would be seen as rivalry. Now the Emperor was opening a bank—was this not competition? Why else would he do it but to seize the people’s wealth? Thus, they were determined to oppose it, regardless of whether it benefited the state or not.

Zhu Youxiao ignored them and decreed: All provincial Baoquan Bureaus were to cease minting coins immediately and seal their accounts, pending joint inspection by the Ministry of Revenue and the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Any discrepancies or missing accounts would result in imprisonment by the Guard. He did not order immediate investigation, hoping to give them a chance to return embezzled funds.

The head office and capital branch of the Great Ming Royal Bank were established on the eighth day of the tenth month in the first year of Tianqi, located on the busiest Chessboard Street. The bank’s sole business was to exchange silver coins for silver ingots and vice versa.

Because the tenth was payday for most government offices, the Emperor ordered that, starting this month, all officials, regardless of rank, would receive only thirty percent of their salary in silver; the remaining seventy percent would be paid in silver and copper coins. Knowing that some might prefer silver to coins, the bank provided exchange services: to convert coins to silver required a one percent fee, but exchanging silver for coins was free.