Chapter Seven: Zhu and Xu Reunite

On the fourth day of the sixth lunar month in the forty-seventh year of the Wanli reign, the sky stretched endlessly without a single cloud.

Zhu Xiaoqi set out for Tongzhou, accompanied by Li Jinzhong, Zhou Yuji, Zhang Qianfang, and twenty guards—a party of twenty-four in all. Li Jinzhong drove the carriage; the guards rode on horseback, ten leading the way and ten following behind the carriage, with Zhou and Zhang each flanking one side for protection. Zhu Xiaoqi had barely been seated for a short while when he found the ride intolerable. The jolting was relentless; he was in a two-wheeled carriage, and though such vehicles weren't inferior to four-wheeled ones for transporting goods, they were undeniably less comfortable. He thus requested to ride a horse instead.

Zhou Yuji, an excellent horseman, chose the tamest horse for him from their surplus mounts and instructed Zhu Xiaoqi in the basics of handling it. With trepidation, Zhu Xiaoqi mounted and, following Zhou's guidance, nudged the horse forward. Gradually, horse and rider grew accustomed to each other. The procession moved at a tortoise’s pace, and though the short journey from the capital to Tongzhou was only a few dozen miles, it took more than an hour. Yet in this time, Zhu Xiaoqi more or less learned how to ride. This drew a fresh wave of flattery from Li Jinzhong and Zhang Qianfang—“Your Highness is wise and heroic!”—so much so that Zhu Xiaoqi nearly believed it himself. He knew he hardly deserved such praise, but at least he could claim to be a quick learner.

Xu Guangqi stood at the gates of the military camp, waiting to receive the heir apparent and his retinue. After the proper courtesies, they escorted Zhu Xiaoqi into the camp. Inside, troops were drilling: the soldiers’ spirits were high, their steps disciplined, their movements forceful, and their shouts shook the heavens. It was hard not to marvel, “Truly a display of valor and might!” Yet upon closer inspection, only a minority wore cloth-and-cotton armor, and only half were armed with spears—the rest wielded wooden staves. Perplexed, he looked to Xu Guangqi, who lowered his head and explained, “Last time I returned to the capital, I urged the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue for military pay and equipment. The pay eventually reached seventy percent, but as for armor and weapons, there’s simply not enough to go around—even last month’s pay was just fifty percent.”

It would not be difficult for Zhu Youjiao to reward someone with dozens or even hundreds of taels of silver—there were established customs for this, and his mother had left him some money; if it wasn’t enough, he could always ask Consort Li. But to support Xu Guangqi with his own funds—first, he lacked the means, and second, being but the heir apparent, he dared not even if he could. All he could do was shake his head and sigh, thinking: there’s only a year left; once I become emperor, I’ll have to restore this old realm.

Once inside, with tea served, Zhu Xiaoqi waved his hand, signaling Li Jinzhong, the guards, and Zhou and Zhang to withdraw. Xu Guangqi, taking the cue, dismissed his attendants as well. Zhu Xiaoqi began, “Master Xu, your urgency in drilling the troops—is it because of the matter at Sarhu?”

Last year, in the forty-sixth year of Wanli, Nurhaci had raised the banner of the so-called “Seven Grievances,” leading the Later Jin army to seize Fushun and Qinghe. The Wanli Emperor appointed Yang Hao, Vice Minister of War, as commander-in-chief of Liaodong to oversee its defense and resolved to launch a major campaign against the Later Jin. In the forty-seventh year of Wanli—this very year—an army of 110,000 men advanced in four columns in February. On the first of March, they clashed with the Later Jin and were defeated in detail. By the fifth of March, the combined losses of the four columns exceeded fifty thousand men, with over three hundred officers slain—including two column commanders—more than thirty thousand mules and horses lost, and twenty thousand firearms and cannons captured. This battle dramatically altered the strategic balance between the Ming and the Later Jin. Future generations would see the fall of Ming and rise of Qing as hinging on this very engagement.

Xu Guangqi nodded, then shook his head. “The Manchu marauders torment our border people and assail our frontier cities—every subject of the realm should resolve to destroy this great traitor. Thus have I repeatedly memorialized the throne, requesting permission to train new troops. His Majesty, wise and sagacious, granted me leave to drill recruits here in Tongzhou. Yet I believe these new troops should be armed primarily with firearms, assisted by swords and spears. But now, even swords and spears are lacking—let alone firearms.”

“Doesn’t the Shenji Battalion have firearms? Why won’t the Ministry of War issue you any?”

“The Ministry claims there aren’t enough firearms even for Liaodong. How could they possibly allocate any to our new troops?”

Zhu Xiaoqi, unable to help, shifted the topic. “Has Master Xu ever heard of a musket that does not require a matchcord?”

“I have, in fact, heard of a so-called ‘self-igniting musket’ that dispenses with the matchcord, but I have yet to see one. I’ve already sent people to Macau to inquire. May I ask how Your Highness heard of this?”

“Who have you sent to Macau to ask? The Portuguese? Do you think they’ll tell you?” Stifling his urge to boast, Zhu Xiaoqi asked with curiosity.

“I was baptized into the Catholic Church in the thirty-first year of Wanli and have foreign friends with whom I often study Western learning. When questions arise, we correspond.”

So, he’s connected with the Portuguese in Macau—no, he’s in close contact. That’s excellent news! I was worried about the technology tree, and here is the answer—a true blessing! Zhu Xiaoqi rejoiced inwardly.

He continued, “As for the self-igniting musket, I do know a bit. It does not use a matchcord, but rather strikes flint with steel to ignite the powder—what we call a flintlock musket. The Bureau of Arms has already produced a firing mechanism and is now working to improve its reliability. Yesterday, I received word that the success rate has reached thirty-two percent.”

Xu Guangqi was stunned, his disbelief evident and rather deflating for Zhu Xiaoqi, who retorted, “Master Xu, if you don’t believe me, I’ll have someone bring it to you tomorrow.”

Xu Guangqi, recovering himself, quickly apologized. “Forgive me, Your Highness! It isn’t that I disbelieve, but such wonderful news is so stirring I could hardly contain myself.” Having spent his life immersed in such pursuits, he immediately grasped that the explanation was sound, not idle talk. He was simply amazed that the young heir cared not only for agriculture but also for military affairs—and spoke with substance, not empty words. Could it be that a sage ruler is about to emerge in the Ming?

“Your Highness is gifted by Heaven, possessing wisdom far beyond your years and a naturally benevolent heart. I must congratulate His Majesty and the empire!” It seems Ming dynasty scholars were quite adept at flattery too, Zhu Xiaoqi thought with satisfaction.

“To know the result, one must understand the reason—only then can one draw analogies and extend knowledge. Master Xu, a scholar of the highest order, surely knows this. If I could receive your guidance, the results would be twice as fruitful for half the effort. That is why I have come today.”

“I dare not accept such praise, Your Highness. It is you who are truly gifted; I am hardly in a position to instruct, but to discuss and collaborate—this I can do in Your Highness’s service. I have a student named Sun Yuanhua, who has some small insight into firearms. He is here drilling troops with me and has not had a chance to fully display his talents—perhaps he may be of use to Your Highness.”

Zhu Xiaoqi had neither the authority nor the means to employ Xu Guangqi directly, but a student recommended by Xu himself must be competent. Theory must guide practice; that is the scientific way. He possessed only the most rudimentary knowledge from later eras; though it was far ahead of this time, turning it into reality depended on the talents of this age.

“If Master Xu holds him in such esteem, I am confident Mr. Sun will be of great help. As you are familiar with the Westerners, may I ask you to assist me in procuring a few items?”

“Thank you for Your Highness’s trust! What items does Your Highness seek? I will do my utmost to obtain them.”

“Our coinage system is in chaos, and our minting methods are antiquated; the use of silver is often inconvenient. I have heard that the Westerners have machines for minting coins—so-called coin presses—and another device called a lathe, or something similar, which can be used for both minting and manufacturing various objects. Could you consult your friends to see if such machines or the means to build them, along with those skilled in their use, could be brought to our country?”

He wasn’t certain what the machines for minting gold coins were called, but “coin press” seemed about right. As for the lathe, he wasn’t sure whether it existed yet, but if it could be used for manufacturing, it would be useful.

“I have also heard that Westerners possess telescopes that can bring distant things near. If the method for making these could be introduced here, I would reward it handsomely.” Surely telescopes existed by now; such devices would be of military value, and perhaps also for astronomical research.

“Your Highness speaks of things I have never heard of, but if they exist, I shall spare no effort to present them to you.”

“In addition, our timekeeping methods, though simple and convenient, lack precision. Western clocks have already been introduced here, but I wish to acquire the methods for mass production. I ask that you keep an eye out.”

“The Westerners’ cannons—those weighing over a thousand catties, capable of hurling shot a mile or more—are available in Macau. In the future, we should purchase more of these, and seek experts in their manufacture and operation. The Westerners’ main desire, aside from gold and silver, is to preach their faith. You may tell them that the heir apparent is interested not only in their knowledge, but also in their mission.” He had heard of the “red-haired cannons”—the name itself suggested foreign manufacture, and Macau likely had them. Westerners, it seemed, were passionate about spreading their religion; perhaps he could use this as leverage.

Xu Guangqi was overjoyed. At that time, Western missionaries, eager to evangelize, translated scientific texts and revised calendars to expand their influence in China. If the heir apparent expressed interest in their faith, they would surely be delighted. With the future crown prince and emperor supporting their cause, missionary work would become effortless; incidents like the Nanjing affair in the forty-fourth year of Wanli would never recur. If the heir apparent asked Xu to relay such messages, the missionaries would likely vie to fulfill his requests, and the items he sought would soon be in hand.

After discussing further details, Xu Guangqi summoned Sun Yuanhua. Sun, in his thirties, had thick brows and large eyes, and was a certified scholar. He studied firearms and mathematics with Xu Guangqi. In history, he would become governor of Dengzhou and Laizhou, but was executed by the court for failing to suppress Kong Youde’s rebellion. Now, by being recommended directly to the heir apparent, his fate was entirely altered—though Zhu Xiaoqi had never heard his name before.

Elated, Zhu Xiaoqi nearly forgot his true purpose, until Li Jinzhong reminded him to inquire about the potatoes. Xu Guangqi replied that his men had not yet returned, but would deliver news the moment they did, assuring him there was no need to worry. And so, with one more member, the party made their leisurely way back to the capital.