Chapter 301: Trimming the Relay Stations, Tightening the Currency

The Forbidden City was quiet.

Han??, the incumbent Chief Grand Secretary, exchanged a glance with Second Grand Secretary Qian Longxi, both seeing doubt and worry in each other's eyes.

The two had been summoned by His Majesty, yet after entering for some time, the Emperor had still not spoken a word, nor allowed them to rise. This cold attitude filled both men with faint unease.

Lately, rumors in the capital said that rebel activity from Nan'ao had been discovered in the Bohai and Yellow Seas. They wondered whether the imperial summons had anything to do with this matter.

By palace rules, when ministers were received by the Emperor, they were not permitted to look directly upon the imperial countenance, so the two could not see how furious Chongzhen's face was at this moment. "Smack!"

A memorial was thrown down from the imperial desk.

"See for yourselves!"

The Chongzhen Emperor's voice was extremely cold.

Han and Qian knelt and shuffled over, picked up the memorial, and saw it was a report from Sun Chengzong, Supreme Commander of Ji-Liao. At a glance they saw the news that Nurhaci was dead. This intelligence had been gathered by Ming army scouts and corroborated by the confessions of escaped Jianzhou barbarians—it had been confirmed without error.

This was tremendous good news!

They reckoned that with the old barbarian chieftain dead, the Jianzhou barbarians' fierce momentum would surely suffer a heavy blow, and Liaodong could enjoy some peaceful days. The court could also ship more grain and pay to Jiangxi. Yuan Chonghuan had already submitted multiple memorials saying that this summer Jiangxi had a bumper grain harvest, causing grain prices to plummet, and requesting the court allocate more silver—both to purchase military grain and to stabilize grain prices, killing two birds with one stone.

Both Han and Qian were members of the Donglin Faction. Han?? was Yuan Chonghuan's examination patron, and Qian Longxi had even vigorously recommended Yuan Chonghuan before Chongzhen.

Politically, the three could already be considered grasshoppers tied to the same rope—if one prospered, all prospered; if one suffered, all suffered—so naturally they would support Yuan Chonghuan with all their might. Reading further, the memorial also discussed the Joseon navy, the Dongjiang garrison, Zhenjiang, Fenghuangcheng, and other matters...

Were it not for having to mind their bearing before His Majesty, Han and Qian would have jumped up in shock by now.

This was simply too absurd—Lin the traitor was confronting Yuan Chonghuan in the southeast, yet still had spare strength to make such major moves in Liaodong?

Attacking the Ming dynasty's tributary state, inducing the Pidao Regional Commander to surrender, attacking Zhenjiang and Fenghuangcheng—every single act slapped the court's face with resounding cracks. And Sun Chengzong even had the audacity, in his memorial, to request that the court join with Nan'ao to jointly recover Liaodong?

As Grand Secretaries, Han and Qian were closest to Chongzhen and perceived that beneath this new emperor's sage exterior lay a nature that craved quick success and cherished face. If the grand Ming court were to cooperate with rebels to pacify Liaodong, what would the world think? Where would that leave the Emperor's dignity?

"Your Majesty, Sun Chengzong's words are treasonous. Your minister requests that he be punished!" Qian Longxi said hastily.

Han?? also said: "Since Sun Chengzong serves as Supreme Commander of Ji-Liao and Pidao is under his command, now that Mao Wenlong has betrayed Ming and defected to the enemy, Sun Chengzong cannot escape blame. Your minister requests that His Majesty punish him severely!"

The two were shifting the blame onto Sun Chengzong, in truth to exonerate Yuan Chonghuan—after all, exterminating Nan'ao was Yuan Chonghuan's mission.

Now, more than half a year had passed since Yuan Chonghuan's audience before the throne, where he had pledged to pacify the rebels within five years. Not only had he achieved not a single merit, he had consumed vast amounts of grain, pay, and soldiers, and there were defeats such as the complete annihilation of the Zhejiang navy and the fall of the Zhoushan archipelago.

Now he had also allowed Lin the traitor to divert forces to Liaodong and induce Mao Wenlong to surrender—this truly could not be justified.

Thus Han and Qian strove with all their might to redirect the Emperor's anger toward Sun Chengzong.

Compared to Yuan Chonghuan, whether Sun Chengzong lived or died was not so important. He was not a member of the Donglin Faction, and moreover, during the Battle of Fuzhou, he had stubbornly gone his own way, rebuffing his Donglin colleagues' face. A great victory at Fuzhou had made the eunuch faction's arrogance soar.

Now, for the sake of the greater situation in the southeast, sacrificing Sun Chengzong—the two felt perfectly at ease.

The Emperor gave no indication of his view.

Han?? gauged the imperial will and pressed the attack further: "Your Majesty, in this old minister's view, Governor Sun's memorial says very little about his own failure to control his subordinates, instead blaming Mao Wenlong's defection on insufficient grain and pay. This is clearly shirking responsibility and shifting blame onto Your Majesty—his heart deserves death."

Upon hearing these words, Chongzhen finally let out a cold snort.

Both Han and Qian secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

The Chongzhen Emperor said with hatred in his voice: "Sun Chengzong failed to control his subordinates, lost troops and territory, and instead of reflecting on his own faults, blames his superior—truly detestable!"

After a pause, he said: "Draft a stern edict—strip this man of his post and investigate him! The Grand Secretariat shall deliberate and recommend a new Supreme Commander for Ji-Liao!" Chongzhen rose from the imperial seat, looked at the two old ministers prostrate before the steps, and said coldly: "Governor Yuan has been commanding Jiangxi for over seven months now, has he not."

The two men's hearts tightened—they thought to themselves that His Majesty remembered very clearly.

Qian Longxi said: "To answer Your Majesty, it has been exactly seven and a half months."

The Chongzhen Emperor said: "Nearly a hundred thousand troops massed in Jiangxi, achieving not a single merit, instead allowing Lin the traitor to divert forces and invade Liaodong. For this matter, I want an accounting." Cold sweat broke out on Qian Longxi's forehead, and he stammered, unable to speak.

Han??, who grasped the Emperor's mind accurately, quickly said: "This matter is entirely the fault of the Grand Secretariat's lax oversight. The Grand Secretariat will explain this matter to all officials tomorrow and urge Governor Yuan to advance."

The Chongzhen Emperor felt somewhat better: "I understand the principle that when the general is capable, the sovereign who does not interfere wins. Do not press Minister Yuan too hard... But Lin the traitor occupies the southeast's key tax-producing lands, and the court's funds are insufficient. There must be some way to increase revenue and reduce expenditure."

"This old minister believes the root of financial insufficiency lies in governance. As long as we govern with benevolence, rectify official discipline, crack down on corruption, and add Your Majesty's personal example in championing frugality, in time the treasury will surely grow ever fuller."

Before Han?? could speak, Second Grand Secretary Qian Longxi, as if his tail had been stepped on, spouted a long string of correct nonsense.

Since Chongzhen's ascension, to cope with wars on four fronts—northwest, northeast, southwest, and southeast—the treasury had long been scraped cleaner than a beggar's bowl bottom. Chongzhen could only rack his brains to expand the treasury; for this, the Liaodong levy had been increased to nine li of silver per mu, and still it was not enough.

He then set his sights on the suppression levy that Wei Zhongxian had added to pacify Lin Qian—another three li of silver per mu—and still it was insufficient.

Chongzhen wanted to restore the commercial taxes of the Wanli and Tianqi reigns—specifically the customs duties at toll passes, market taxes, brokerage taxes, and mining taxes—but all met with fierce opposition from Donglin Faction ministers.

Afterward, he thought up many other schemes to raise revenue, such as calling on all civil and military officials and imperial relatives to donate silver for military funding. In the end, everyone wailed about their poverty, and he obtained only a hundred-some thousand taels—a drop in the bucket.

He also minted inferior copper coins and attempted to restore paper currency—both failed.

Forced to the wall, Chongzhen could only sell off palace treasures and suspend officials' salaries.

But Ming officials had always been paid extremely low salaries anyway; no one actually lived on their salary, so suspending them was no great matter.

And so the matter of increasing revenue and reducing expenditure dragged on and on, until now.

Chongzhen had originally wanted to use Yuan Chonghuan's affair to rap the Grand Secretariat's knuckles and force them to yield on the commercial tax question. He never expected Qian Longxi to be stubborn as a rock, impervious to reason. Chongzhen remained silent, anger gradually rising in his heart.

Just then, Han?? took a memorial from his bosom and said: "Your Majesty, this is a memorial from Liu Mao, Supervising Secretary of the Bureau of Military Appointments. It arrived at the Grand Secretariat this morning. After reading it, this old minister thought it offered a rather good method of reducing expenditure, so I took the liberty of bringing it."

"Oh?" Chongzhen grew interested. "Present it."

Han?? raised the memorial high above his head with both hands. Wang Cheng'en descended the imperial steps, took the memorial, and handed it to Chongzhen.

Han?? explained: "According to what he says, the Ming postal relay system has a great many redundant personnel and consumes enormous resources. If it could be trimmed, roughly over seven hundred thousand taels of silver could be saved each year."

Beyond reducing expenditure, the Ming relay system also had many abuses—such as using public horses for private travel, extorting relay station workers, and apportioning relay costs onto surrounding commoners until they could no longer bear the burden.

But Han?? knew what the Emperor cared about most, so he only mentioned the most crucial point.

Sure enough, after reading it, the Chongzhen Emperor was overjoyed. Several hundred thousand taels was indeed a drop in the bucket against fiscal shortfalls that routinely exceeded a million.

But no matter how one looked at it, it was at least real silver—every single tael saved was a good thing.

"On the matter of trimming the relay stations, have the Grand Secretariat discuss it with Minister Liu and draft a proposal, to be implemented as soon as possible."

Han and Qian acknowledged the order. A moment later, the two left the palace, and only after walking a good distance did they both breathe a sigh of relief, feeling their hearts still racing. They had not expected that although His Majesty appeared to be inquiring about Liaodong affairs, his real killing stroke was still aimed at the southeast commercial taxes. Fortunately, Han?? had prepared the memorial on trimming relay station workers in advance—otherwise, today they might well have been forced to yield ground.

But on the matter of increasing commercial taxes—one could dodge it on the first day of the month, but not the fifteenth. To completely seal the Emperor's mouth, they would have to produce real results. Han?? said: "Zhiwen (Qian Longxi's courtesy name), send a letter to the southeast—tell Yuansu to produce some military merits as quickly as possible."

At the very moment the Chongzhen Emperor was holding his audience, Lin Qian was inspecting the glassworks in Zhangzhou.

Once the beacon signal system was successfully developed, the future demand for telescopes would rise exponentially.

And now all of Lin Qian's telescopes came from imports via Manila, where they originated from Spain itself — shipped in extremely small quantities and priced extremely high.

Relying on maritime trade to buy them in the future was impossible; there had to be self-production capability.

Speaking of which, the Zhangzhou glassworks had been running for three or four years now, and it was still in the research and development stage — the technology had been standing still, with no progress whatsoever.

So much so that when the glassworks manager saw Lin Qian, he was filled with shame, almost kneeling to confess his fault.

Geng Wu roared: "Stop being so wishy-washy!"

Only then did the manager stand up with a sigh. This man was around fifty years old, surnamed Sun, nicknamed Glass Sun.

He was a craftsman from the Shandong glassworks, with a masterful hand at grinding colored glass. Later, when Nan'ao was purchasing Qingzhou stone in Shandong, they used a high price to poach him and his entire family from Shandong to serve as the glassworks factory director.

Before boarding the ship, Glass Sun had heard that the southeast wanted to make glass, so he boarded full of confidence.

After getting off the ship, he was immediately dumbfounded.

What Lin Qian asked him to replicate was top-grade Venetian Murano crystal glass!

Glass and colored glass differ by only one character, but were they the same thing?

Glass had been introduced to the Great Ming since the reign of Emperor Chengzu — nearly two hundred years had passed, and how many people had tried to pry into its mysteries? Had anyone succeeded in replicating it? Especially this top-grade Venetian glass — completely transparent, utterly free of bubbles — in the Great Ming it was a treasure of the highest order, far more expensive than gold of equal weight, completely priceless with no market at all.

Even in Europe, it was a luxury item. Venice guarded this technology with extreme secrecy — craftsmen could not emigrate to foreign lands, and leaking the formula meant the death penalty. Glass Sun knew full well the difficulty of replicating glass, and immediately wanted to turn around and head home, telling Lin Qian to find someone more capable.

Lin Qian persuaded him gently, saying that if he couldn't make Venetian glass, making Dutch, French, or Spanish glass would also do, which convinced him to stay and slowly work at it. There was no helping it — Ming colored glass and Western glass followed completely different technical paths, and Glass Sun was already the most suitable talent for glass research that Lin Qian could find.

And so Glass Sun remained at the glassworks, working diligently and conscientiously up to the present day.

After rising, Glass Sun led Lin Qian on a tour of the glassworks, finally arriving at a long table covered with glass of various shapes and colors. At the very front, placed in the most prominent position, was a Venetian glass vase — the very one Glass Sun had seen upon first arriving in Zhangzhou. It was truly a work of surpassing skill, dazzling and extraordinary.

After the Venetian glass came Dutch glass — slightly inferior in transparency, with more bubbles.

Next came French glass and Spanish glass, with quality declining in order.

Last was a lump of dark green paste-like substance — that was the glass produced by the glassworks.

This thing was fired using the approach Lin Qian had provided, combined with colored glass techniques. The finished product was cloudy, brittle, full of impurities, and completely opaque. It could basically only be used for rough bottles, and would break after one or two uses — completely inferior to coarse pottery and coarse porcelain.

Geng Wu, hearing the introduction, asked somewhat unconvincedly: "I think the Great Ming's colored glass is pretty good too — is the red barbarians' glass really that hard to fire?" Glass Sun said with irritation: "Is porcelain easy to fire? Over two hundred years have passed, and haven't the red barbarians still failed to learn it?"

Great Ming colored glass was essentially lead-barium glass, chemically different from Europe's soda-lime glass. Moreover, porcelain completely crushed early soda-lime glass, so there was no motivation for technological development.

Now starting from scratch, without even chemical technology, trying to produce soda-lime glass through endless trial and error was truly harder than reaching heaven.

Historically, the Venetians spent over three hundred years of technological iteration to produce today's transparent glass.

In the thirty-fifth year of Kangxi, the Qing dynasty established a glassworks, and even with European craftsmen on hand, it still took five years to master soda-lime glass manufacturing technology. And how long had Glass Sun taken? Three years.

Even if Ming craftsmen were all Newton reincarnated, they couldn't possibly be a hundred times more efficient than Europeans.

Moreover, in this era Europeans guarded glass technology with extreme secrecy. Trying to steal the glass formula was about as difficult as stealing the gunpowder formula, and there was nowhere to recruit craftsmen either.

Of course, looking on the bright side, Ming craftsmen's gem and colored glass polishing skills were truly superb and could be directly applied to glass grinding. In this era, telescope lenses were entirely hand-ground. Once glass firing technology was mastered, grinding lenses would come naturally, and curvature matching and focal length calculations could be gradually conquered as well.

Not only that — glass itself had low material costs, and blown glass could also serve as containers, making early low-temperature water-bath canned goods possible, solving the problems of food preservation and long-distance military ration transport.

In the economic sphere, glass could be made into windows and mirrors, generating trade profits and adding precious productive capacity.

In the fields of medicine, biology, and astronomy, glass was also the essential foundation for astronomical telescopes, microscopes, magnifying glasses, and prisms. Chemical research likewise required large quantities of beakers, test tubes, flasks, and other instruments.

Glass could well be called the material cornerstone of modern science — an obstacle that Chinese civilization could not bypass.

And yet this critically important technology was being strangleheld by the Europeans — how could that be allowed to stand?

Even if this technology was all the way in Venice, they would have to send a fleet to seize it back!

Glass Sun hesitated for a moment, then said: "Helmsman, would you permit me to make a trip to Batavia?"

Nan'ao's relationship with the Dutch was delicate — there was no communication whatsoever at the official level, though civilian merchant ships occasionally had contact.

However, the Dutch did business in a very overbearing manner, which meant not many merchant ships went to Batavia, and the entire southeast knew very little about Dutch territory. "I've heard that the Dutch have opened a glassworks in Batavia. I'd like to go take a look — perhaps it would be far better than racking my brains on my own." "Oh?" Lin Qian's lips curled into a smile as he pressed for details: "How do you know about this? How large is the glassworks, and what is its technology like?" "All from what sea merchants have said. The Dutch glassworks isn't large — the glassware it produces is only enough for the city's own use. The sea merchants have only seen semi-transparent wine bottles; they've never seen glass of a higher standard."

As he spoke, Glass Sun went to a rack nearby and took down a telescope.

"Helmsman, this is a Dutch telescope. Its clarity and magnification are at least as good as the Spanish ones. I imagine the Batavia glassworks can't be too inferior either."

Lin Qian smiled without speaking. The Dutch had a powerful navy, and leaving them around would always be a threat.

In the South China Sea, two maritime powers could not coexist. Nan'ao and Batavia would inevitably have their day of decisive battle.

According to reports from the Hirado trading post, the Dutch had rebuilt their trading post in Nagasaki and were actively repairing relations with the shogunate — clearly still reluctant to give up on the Japanese market. Dutch patrol fleets could also frequently be seen at Weilan City, Palembang, and other places.

Moreover, the spices that the Dutch East India Company most loved to sell happened to be exactly the commodities Nan'ao needed.

The people of China were not as dependent on spices as Europeans, but neither could they do entirely without them.

Take pepper, for example — in the Great Ming it was the seasoning second only to salt, and nearly every dish needed some.

Common folk certainly wouldn't starve without pepper, but it counted as an upgraded necessity.

And in traditional Chinese medical theory, pepper was also a household standby medicine for treating diarrhea, cold stomach, and colds. Cloves, sandalwood, borneol, and similar substances could all be used medicinally as well.

Never mind whether traditional Chinese medical theory was right or not — the common folk were going to buy it regardless. That being the case, why not seize control of the spice-producing regions, securing domestic supply while also using it to hold leverage over the Europeans?

Lin Qian had long been disgusted by the Dutch massacres in the Spice Islands to plunder spices. Now with old grievances and new grudges combined, plus the reward of glass technology, the temptation to attack Batavia had grown several degrees stronger.

Just as Lin Qian was scheduling matters such as fleet maintenance, relocating the capital, proclaiming kingship, and defeating Yuan Chonghuan, a personal guard came galloping up on horseback and was stopped by Geng Wu. "It's a military dispatch from Liaodong," the guard said in a low voice.

"Bring it here." Lin Qian had heard from afar and reached out his hand.

The guard handed over the dispatch. Lin Qian found that there were two documents in total — one was a normal battle report, already opened, clipped inside a document folder. The other was a thick envelope, with a note on the cover indicating it was for Lin Qian's personal eyes only.

Lin Qian found a table and sat down. He first skimmed the battle report — from beginning to end it was all reports of victory, nothing requiring his immediate attention. He set it aside and opened the sealed letter.

The letter was thick. The moment Lin Qian touched it, he felt something unusual. Bai Qing's battle reports had always been extremely concise. For him to write this many pages, and to mark it for personal reading — something major must have happened.

After tearing it open, he discovered it was a secret letter from Mao Wenlong to Hong Taiji, along with Bai Qing's handwritten account of the matter. Only then did Lin Qian realize it had been a false alarm, and he let out a light chuckle.

Historically, the original text of these secret letters was recorded in the *Old Manchu Archives*, always a royal top secret never shown to anyone. They were first made public in the thirteenth year of the Republic.

Not to mention that Lin Qian had known about this matter all along — knew Mao Wenlong's character, and knew that to his death he never made any move to surrender.

Even if Mao Wenlong had genuinely wavered in his stance when writing the letter, now Zhenjiang had been taken, Leng E'li had been killed, and Fenghuang City had been burned.

Even Zhou Yu wouldn't dare play such a self-injury trick; even someone as suspicious as Cao Cao should have been reassured about Mao Wenlong by now.

Hong Taiji using such a stupid ploy — not for sowing discord, but merely to disgust Lin Qian and Mao Wenlong — only proved that he was at the end of his rope.

Fortunately, Bai Qing handled it properly and didn't leave Mao Wenlong with any lingering resentment.

After reading them, Lin Qian stuffed the several secret letters back into their envelopes, stood up, and tossed them into the glassworks furnace, watching them slowly turn to ash.

Then Lin Qian took up his brush and personally wrote a letter of commendation to Mao Wenlong, praising his bravery in battle and his willingness to lead from the front in the two engagements at Zhenjiang and Fenghuangcheng.

He also promised to let the Dongjiang army join Nan'ao, while the soldiers under Mao's command would remain on Pidao under his leadership.

Bai Qing had already sent men to Pidao to scout the situation; after the soldiers and civilians were transferred away, roughly five thousand people would remain on Pidao, of whom about a thousand or so were soldiers capable of fighting.

The military farmland on Pidao was enough to support these people, and the thousand-odd elite soldiers would be convenient for launching raids ashore.

In this way, Mao Wenlong was a Regional Commander in name, but in reality he had become a Battalion Commander. To save his face, Lin Qian preserved the organizational structure of the Dongjiang garrison—Mao Wenlong would remain Regional Commander, his subordinates' posts unchanged, and military pay would continue at the previous rate.

After finishing the letter, Lin Qian also appointed Meng Tingchuan as Naval Commander of the Liaodong front line, responsible for guarding Shenmi Island, Jiao Island, Jeju Island, and other locations, as well as supervising military discipline on Pidao, monitoring the Joseon navy, protecting merchant convoys, and punishing smuggling.

Ji Bai of the Foreign Affairs Bureau would remain temporarily on Jiao Island, handling diplomacy with the Jianzhou barbarians and Joseon.

As for Bai Qing's main fleet, it was to return as soon as possible and enter dry dock for repairs. The Zhulong was to have heavy cannons replaced, and the two fourth-rate ships Xingming and Yunming were to have their hulls sheathed in copper. After Lin Qian finished writing his orders, he read through them once, confirmed there were no omissions, and had his personal guards deliver them to send word to Liaodong.

Then Lin Qian added, "Geng Wu, notify the Tribunal and the newspaper office—Liaodong has shipped back a group of war prisoners, and they're all locked up on Nan'ao Island now. Tell them to come collect the men. These are all high-ranking Jianzhou officials, so they must be interrogated carefully and reported on carefully."

With that, Lin Qian rose and said, "Come, let's go take another look at the silver foundry."

Glassmaker Sun followed behind him with a pleading look. "Helmsman, about my trip to Batavia..."

"Oh." Lin Qian stopped in his tracks. "Let's leave that matter for later. In a while, I'll bring all the Dutch glass craftsmen over here, so Master Sun won't have to suffer the hardships of travel."

Having said this, Lin Qian left with his men.

Glassmaker Sun stood frozen in place. After a long moment, he sighed. "Sigh... the red barbarians guard their glass so tightly—how could their craftsmen be easy to invite..." Since the Nan'ao yuan-yang was introduced at the end of the seventh year of Tianqi, the silver foundry workers had been working in three shifts, having genuinely put in nearly half a year of overtime.

Only recently had production demand begun to taper off.

And in use, the yuan-yang had also exposed quite a few problems, the most serious of which was naturally the lack of small-denomination currency, forcing commoners to cut coins apart to make change.

So Lin Qian made a point of bringing He Kai along to discuss the minting of small-denomination currency.

Just as Nan'ao was further perfecting its currency market, in the height of summer, Jiangxi welcomed a bumper harvest.

Thanks to this year's warm spring, winter wheat, rapeseed, early indica rice, ramie, and many other varieties of melons, fruits, and vegetables all yielded excellently. In the fields, busy figures were everywhere, and the common folk were all beaming with joy, giving thanks to heaven above.

Just as the summer tax deadline approached, a flood of crops poured into the market—and then the people were astonished to discover that no one was buying at all.

At first, crop prices only fell slowly. But as grain began to mold and the summer tax deadline gradually arrived, panic set in among the people, and grain prices took a cliff-dive: a single shi of grain could drop a full fen of yuan-yang in one day, and two fen the next.

Since the Single Whip law was implemented, the people had to pay their taxes in silver. The court would not accept grain, and with the added levies of the Liaodong tax and the suppression tax, grain prices instead kept falling lower and lower.

When the people did the math, they discovered that even selling all their grain wouldn't be enough to pay their taxes. Many, fearing starvation and even more fearing the authorities pressing for tax payments and throwing them in jail, fled overnight.

Though it was clearly a bumper year, every prefecture and county in Jiangxi was filled with wails of misery—a scene of doom.

It all happened too fast, too unexpectedly. By the time Yuan Chonghuan received the reports from various regions, the actual situation was already critical beyond measure.

To make matters worse, a letter from Qian Longxi, Second Grand Secretary of the Grand Secretariat, also arrived in Nanchang that same day, urging Yuan Chonghuan to launch his attack as soon as possible.

JhengHei

Pen