Chapter 1000: The Currency Issue Cannot Be Viewed Solely Through Currency Itself

“Grand Secretary of Revenue, there is a matter I must inform you of,” Zhu Yijun said with a solemn expression. “The Great Ming Treasure Notes have been severely overissued; therefore, we must halt all issuance for five years, recall these notes, and then issue new ones.”

“Your Majesty collects one million two hundred thousand taels of gold annually and issues no more than six million guan of Treasure Notes each year—so far, only twenty-four million guan have been issued, backed by six hundred thousand taels of gold. Can’t six hundred thousand taels of gold support thirty million taels’ worth of Treasure Notes?”

“I do not believe the Treasure Notes are overissued,” Zhang Xueyan replied, more obstinate than even the most upright minister—each word from the emperor met with immediate counterargument.

Zhu Yijun explained in detail: “The overissuance occurred with the Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes. For convenience, all Nanyang Notes redeemed in Songjiang Prefecture were uniformly exchanged for silver coins, after which the Treasure Note Bureau and Baoyuan Bureau went to Songjiang’s treasury to exchange for sufficient red copper and copper coins.”

During the Wanli era, the Great Ming issued three types of Treasure Notes.

The Japanese Notes were of the worst quality, non-redeemable, and could circulate only within Japan; next came the Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes, which were redeemable but only for red copper or copper coins;

Finally, the Gold Treasure Notes issued in Wanli fifteenth year could be directly redeemed for silver.

The issuance of the first two types had many reasons—for instance, the Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes were created because Luzon, Jiugang, and Yuanxu Islands lacked currency, and the twelve copper towns of Luzon had no capacity to mint coins, while the Great Ming urgently needed more currency, so the court issued the Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes.

After the Gold Treasure Notes began issuance in Wanli fifteenth year, the Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes quickly received the same treatment and could be directly exchanged for silver at the Baoyuan Bureau and Treasure Note Bureau of the five major maritime customs offices.

This equal treatment was for convenience—to facilitate coordination among court bureaus—and was inevitable; otherwise, the Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes would lose all meaning and become worthless, ultimately leading to good currency driving out bad, leaving Nanyang without any money at all.

“The Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes were issued at six million guan annually for nine years, so the actual overissuance totals fifty-four million guan, Grand Secretary. Paper notes are essentially debt. If I do not recall these fifty-four million guan of overissued notes, a run on the notes will instantly collapse their credibility,” Zhu Yijun clarified why issuance must cease.

“With this, does Grand Secretary still have any doubts?” Zhu Yijun asked, seeing Zhang Xueyan had fully understood his intent, and sought his opinion.

Zhang Xueyan glanced left and right, then said with deep emotion: “Your Majesty’s decree to recall all Treasure Notes and merge the Gold Treasure Notes and Nanyang Notes into the Great Ming Circulating Treasure Notes will firmly preserve the credibility of the Great Ming Treasure Notes.”

“Yet, Your Majesty, since you severely punished the family of the Marquis of Wuxing for profiting from Treasure Notes, the credibility of the notes has become extremely robust.”

When facing a superior’s idea, one must first agree, then present one’s own opinion.

The Grand Secretary understood the emperor’s intent: to preserve the credibility of the notes—but the current credibility was not in danger of collapse.

Zhang Xueyan did not believe the Great Ming Treasure Notes could ever lose credibility. After Empress Dowager Li’s biological father, elder brother, and younger brother were severely punished, no one would dare doubt the notes’ credibility—this was precisely why Songjiang Prefecture dared to directly exchange all Nanyang Notes.

As long as the emperor issues notes, everyone accepts them.

Every action of the emperor is watched by millions, revered by billions. Even imperial relatives dare not undermine note issuance. Once this political correctness was established, more and more people came to accept the Great Ming Treasure Notes.

Paper notes have always been about credibility. Few in the Great Ming have ever seen the gold in the Tonghemen Treasury, and even fewer truly care how much gold the emperor has stored—whether there is any, how much, makes no difference to note issuance.

Zhang Xueyan’s words carried deeper meaning: halting issuance now would actually damage the notes’ credibility.

Imperial decrees are like carts rolling downhill—once they start, there is no stopping. Either the cart crashes and everyone dies, or it rolls smoothly to climb the next mountain. Stopping midway is treating state affairs as a child’s game.

Even the most difficult Land Return Edict, though slow, is being steadily enforced.

He who initiates such a thing shall have no descendants. Once begun, how could there be any possibility of stopping halfway?

“Allow me time to reflect,” Zhu Yijun said, picking up a pencil and sketching on the desk.

The foundation of the Gold Treasure Notes is the Tonghemen Treasury; the foundation of the Nanyang Circulating Treasure Notes is the twelve copper towns of Luzon. Gold and red copper together build note credibility. Silver is absent because the Great Ming lacks silver mines.

Theoretically, the total volume of both notes is not overissued: gold is real, the emperor has not told a great lie—he truly stores gold, and red copper continuously arrives in Songjiang.

In practice, the Nanyang Notes can be directly exchanged for silver coins, enjoying identical treatment. No matter how Zhang Xueyan argues, they are overissued.

“Your Majesty, I believe Grand Secretary’s words hold considerable merit,” Shen Shixing said, looking left and right—no other minister dared speak, so he stepped forward.

As the head of the All-Chu Hall, as the leader of the Zhang faction, as a potential Grand Secretary, when Zhang Juzheng could not openly state his position, Shen Shixing had to speak.

“Oh? Elaborate,” Zhu Yijun paused his writing and looked at Shen Shixing, urging him to explain further.

During deliberations in the Wenhua Hall, Zhu Yijun never considered ministers’ remarks as defiance or insubordination. Many arguments here prevent physical fights among those responsible for execution below.

Multiple conflicting orders cause grassroots personnel to struggle: if a grassroots officer receives four contradictory directives, whom does he follow? The result is he follows none, executing his own plan, because no one knows whose directive is correct.

As a gentleman who governs, as a superior, the most basic moral duty is not to torment grassroots execution personnel.

Though the Wenhua Hall deliberations are a makeshift system sustained by delicate balances, they are vastly superior to the previous era of conflicting orders.

“Your Majesty, Treasure Notes can be overissued,” Shen Shixing spoke confidently, presenting his view from another angle. He spoke at length, but his core argument boiled down to one point:

So what if they are overissued?

The emperor and the Ministry of Revenue had fallen into a trap, endlessly debating whether overissuance had occurred. Shen Shixing broke free—he believed overissuance was acceptable.

Shen Shixing held that the foundation of Treasure Notes is not merely the emperor’s credibility, but also the Great Ming’s military strength, land, grain, silver, red copper, coal, cotton cloth, highways, and maritime power. Viewed from this perspective, the Great Ming’s note issuance is actually insufficient.

Once Shen Shixing spoke up, other ministers quickly voiced their opinions.

Besides Shen Shixing’s argument that the anchor need not be limited to credibility, three main views emerged.

First, Treasure Notes have higher liquidity than silver coins and copper coins, making them the best medium of exchange and universal equivalent.

When people receive Treasure Notes, they immediately trade them—not hoard them. For savings, gold and silver are more suitable, not Treasure Notes. This creates the strongest liquidity trait of Treasure Notes; halting issuance would cause economic stagnation, which the Great Ming cannot accept.

Second, halting and recalling Treasure Notes would immediately plunge the Great Ming into a monetary shortage. In recent years, as tensions with Spain intensified, silver inflows decreased; Treasure Notes are the strongest tool to replenish liquidity. A monetary shortage would severely undermine the people’s confidence in the Wanli Reforms.

People think about politics not from the mind, but from the stomach. Once the stomach is harmed, the people’s unity fractures.

Third, halting issuance must mean halting all issuance—meaning the Nanyang Notes must also cease.

Nanyang would then face currency shortage. Nanyang is not the Great Ming’s heartland. The heartland can tighten its belt and endure a few lean years—no great matter, since imperial authority is strong, minor setbacks are easily endured, for people have always endured hardship. But what of Nanyang?

If the Great Ming halts issuance, the Luzon Governor’s Office, Jiugang Governor’s Office, and Yuanxu Islands will face governance crises.

Problems cannot be viewed in isolation; the full impact must be considered—this is precisely what the emperor must weigh in decision-making.

“All your words have merit,” Zhu Yijun said, after ministers had voiced their views, with a touch of resignation. “But if we continue overissuing like this, in five years, the Treasure Notes will collapse like Felipe’s gold bonds.”

“It is precisely because I foresaw this that I resolved to cut off my own arm—to prevent the Treasure Notes from collapsing into utter chaos like Felipe’s gold bonds.”

The problems raised by ministers, Zhu Yijun had already considered during his second reflection—indeed, he had thought even further.

If the Great Ming halts issuance, it must rely even more on overseas silver imports, meaning the Great Ming must concede further profits to the East Asian Trade Alliance’s governors of Mexico and Peru to send more silver to replenish the drained liquidity.

Zhu Yijun is no longer a ten-year-old child. Treasure Notes are indeed of immense consequence, affecting everything. He was willing to cut off his own arm, but ministers did not agree.

In actual note issuance, the leverage of overissuance is enormous. Felipe’s gold bonds collapsed three times at the sevenfold overissuance threshold, ultimately destroying all his credibility.

The Great Ming’s system differs from Spain’s—it cannot withstand three collapses of Treasure Notes.

Why did Zhu Yijun conclude it would happen within five years? That was Wang Guoguang’s estimate.

The reason is simple: the Great Ming lacks sufficient precious metal reserves—in other words, silver is insufficient.

Continued issuance will increasingly strain redemption capacity, ultimately triggering a run and credibility collapse.

According to Wang Guoguang’s argument in the “Memorial on Anchoring Treasure Notes,” if precious metal reserves fall below twenty percent, the Great Ming Treasure Notes cannot survive a run—and these reserves are not gold or red copper, but silver, for the Great Ming’s currency is silver-based.

Silver flowing into the Great Ming is limited: Japan’s silver mines yield at most 4.5 million taels annually; the Governor of Mexico pledges 2 million taels; the Governor of Peru pledges 4.5 million taels; global trade fleets deliver 6.5 million taels annually; the Antarctican silver mines produce less than one million taels annually—negligible in the short term.

Annual silver inflow into the Great Ming ranges between 13 and 17 million taels. According to Wang Guoguang’s calculations, even under the most optimistic scenario, the Great Ming can circulate no more than 145 million guan of Treasure Notes before redemption becomes impossible—this is already the most optimistic estimate.

Silver scarcity is the Great Ming’s greatest problem. No wonder the Golden Kingdom covets the three silver mines of the Mexican Governor’s Office.

At the current annual issuance of 12 million guan, by Wanli twenty-fifth year, the danger line will be crossed.

“Halting issuance shifts pressure to the court—the court must find ways to acquire silver to make up the shortfall. Continuing issuance shifts pressure to the people—if the notes collapse, it will be a cataclysm for the common folk,” Zhu Yijun further clarified his stance.

If this towering structure of notes collapses, the people who trusted the court will lose all their accumulated wealth, causing massive upheaval—a true loss of state credibility, sowing doubt in men’s hearts.

This is why no Ming emperor since Hongwu has dared to lightly reintroduce Treasure Notes—the cost and consequences are too great, even for an emperor to bear.

Politics is always about trade-offs: whether the cost is borne by the court or by the people. Zhu Yijun pinpointed the fundamental contradiction.

“What is your view, Master?” Zhu Yijun turned to Zhang Juzheng, who had remained silent, eyes downcast, feigning ignorance—the Grand Secretary had said nothing throughout.

“Your Majesty, I believe your considerations are correct, and I also believe the ministers’ considerations are correct. After listening for so long, I feel everyone is right. I am truly old—I am becoming confused,” Zhang Juzheng said, as if just waking from reverie, quickly stepping forward and bowing.

Zhang Juzheng was feigning confusion, not truly confused. His words seemed vague, yet his stance was clear: when the emperor needed his support, his evasiveness was itself a clear signal.

He did not support halting issuance; he did not support placing the entire burden of monetary shortage on the court.

He favored Shen Shixing’s view: Treasure Notes need not be rigidly tied to precious metals; they can be anchored to broader, more concrete factors—military strength, land, grain, and so on—essentially, the Great Ming’s national power.

Zhang Juzheng wished to say: as long as one can buy firewood, rice, oil, salt, meat, and vegetables, even fine woolen cloth could serve as currency. Before the Wanli Reforms, bribes were paid with salt certificates—even though the salt monopoly system had decayed, salt certificates still functioned as money because they could be exchanged for actual salt.

The currency issue cannot be viewed solely through the lens of currency itself, but through the economy. As long as the Great Ming continues to obtain endless raw materials and substantial profits from overseas, the Great Ming Treasure Notes will never collapse.

The emperor is overly fixated on silver.

“Very well. This year, issue as usual—but over the next five years, no further overissuance.” Zhu Yijun understood Zhang Juzheng’s meaning and did not persist. He ultimately agreed to the ministers’ request, rescinding his order and continuing note issuance.

So what if it’s twelve million guan a year? Issue it!

Either do not issue at all, or issue as before—this matter admits no compromise. Zhu Yijun chose to continue because no minister supported halting; even if he forced it, implementation would be difficult.

“Your Majesty is wise,” the ministers bowed together in unison, returning to their ranks.

Zhu Yijun had truly thought it through: even if the Gold Treasure Notes collapsed like Felipe’s gold bonds, the greatest loss would be his own personal credibility, not the court’s. He accepted this because his own credibility was so robust, he could withstand the shock of note collapse.

Moreover, the situation need not deteriorate to the level of Felipe’s gold bonds.

After all, the Great Ming Treasure Notes are anchored not only to gold but also to goods—unlike Felipe’s gold bonds, there is a vast difference. The problems Zhu Yijun feared may not necessarily occur.

Even if the emperor and court simply refrain from further overissuance, the risk of explosion Zhu Yijun feared is relatively low—the more successful the Wanli Reforms, the lower the likelihood.

To prevent the Gold Treasure Notes from exploding and shattering the Great Ming into pieces, we must press forward with unwavering determination, restoring the Great Ming’s greatness and sustaining it.

“Your Majesty, the Deputy Prefect of Shuntian, Yang Junmin, has uncovered a heresy case in Jizhou—a White Lotus sect branch called the Wenshang Hall. Several adherents were arrested, and among them, the peculiar detail is that the portrait they venerated was… Your Majesty’s portrait,” said Zhang Guoyan, Left Vice Minister of Justice, stepping forward to report.

Even as Zhang Guoyan spoke, he could barely contain himself—these sectarians had immense audacity.

Heresy cases rarely reached the emperor’s ears, but this case was special: the emperor’s portrait had been venerated. This sent the Ministry of Justice into high alert, thoroughly investigating the cause.

The White Lotus sect’s doctrine: all wealth acquired within the sect shall be equally distributed; those in distress shall be aided, those in peril shall be sacrificed for; one need not carry a single coin to travel the world; equality and mutual aid.

Your Majesty’s Land Return policy—isn’t that precisely equal distribution and mutual aid? Thus, the Wenshang Hall hung the emperor’s portrait for veneration. Most of its adherents were northern peasants, who burned incense before the emperor’s image, praying that the Land Return Edict would be implemented sooner in the north.

Religion and politics are inseparable. Throughout most of human history, religion and politics were two sides of the same coin—neither could exist without the other.

When the emperor truly enacted “equal distribution and mutual aid,” naturally, people would venerate and worship.

Zhu Yijun saw the portrait, held by two eunuchs.

It was remarkably lifelike. Many portraits of the Holy Son of Heaven existed on the steppes; clearly, this Wenshang Hall’s portrait was copied from one of those, further artistically enhanced by blending the legend of Zhenwu Dadi’s reincarnation.

In the portrait, the emperor wore a halo above his head, dressed in black robes, golden armor, jade belt, wielding a sword with furious gaze, standing on a tortoise and snake, hair unbound and barefoot—his image was fearsomely majestic.

“Venerating my portrait is no immunity from execution. If it must be crushed, crush it. Displaying my portrait cannot serve as an amulet or shield.” Zhu Yijun gave Zhang Guoyan his directive: should any issue arise with the portrait during the suppression of heresy, it was not the fault of soldiers, archers, or yamen runners.

Zhu Yijun had heard of this Wenshang Hall. Their reason for venerating him was not genuine support for his reforms, but to create an unassailable shield that made it difficult for officials to suppress the heretics.

Zhu Yijun did not care at all—he would suppress them as he must.

The White Lotus sect’s ideals were admirable, but very few adherents truly lived by them; deception, fraud, theft, and robbery were all present. During the Renzong era, the sect was briefly restored as orthodox, but soon relisted as heresy.

“Your Majesty, I request that the Northern and Southern Tax Inspection Offices, and all prefectural and county tax inspection offices, conduct tax investigations on all powerful families, wealthy gentry, and local elites.”

It was called tax inspection, but in reality it was an audit—applying pressure and expanding the scope of the anti-corruption campaign.

Zhang Juzheng’s massive investigation had thrown everyone into a state of panic, and now his probe was expanding from the Zhang faction to the entire Ming bureaucracy.

If Wang Zhuan, Zhang Juzheng’s foremost henchman, could not escape the great investigation, then every other member of the Zhang faction must be scrutinized; even the Zhang faction itself would be rigorously investigated, let alone the hundred officials outside it.

Not just any rural small landowner could be called a rural virtuous gentry.

A rural virtuous gentry had to meet three conditions: first, own property within the county seat; second, have a candidate for the county examination or a family member serving in the county yamen—that is, someone in the county school or the government office; third, possess over thirty retainers, servants, or household staff.

Zhang Juzheng’s petition for tax inspection meant auditing accounts and verifying taxes; any financial transactions that were unclear, unrecorded, or untaxed must be explained, and taxes evaded by sheltering under officials must be paid in full—otherwise, a single notice of arrears from the Tax Inspection Bureau was a death warrant.

The Tax Inspection Bureau could not directly combat corruption, but it could bankrupt the collusion between officials and merchants.

“Sir, I do not think it need be so harsh,” Zhu Yijun considered, then offered a gentle word. Zhang Juzheng had grown increasingly obstinate; Zhu Yijun had never imagined he would one day urge Zhang Juzheng toward mercy.

“Your Majesty, once the bow is drawn, there is no turning back.” Zhang Juzheng knew his actions were harsh, but as an imperfect Grand Secretary determined to root out corruption, he must see it through to the end.

“What does General Qi think?” Zhu Yijun turned to Qi Jiguang.

The nominal head of the Anti-Corruption Bureau was Qi Jiguang, appointed by Lu Guangzu to command it—a move that required consulting Qi Jiguang’s opinion, for a Grand General leading an anti-corruption campaign was unprecedented.

Without the Grand General’s presence, Lu Guangzu would never have dared to establish the Anti-Corruption Bureau; before it even formed, he would have been assassinated by eighteen stab wounds in his back.

In Great Ming, fighting corruption meant keeping your head on your belt. Look at Xu Chengchu—forced into such fear he could not even visit for New Year’s greetings, terrified of giving enemies grounds for accusation.

Qi Jiguang did not refuse; instead, he carried out his duties with vigor, and many skilled intelligence gatherers—watchtower scouts, reconnaissance units, and coastal inspectors—joined the Anti-Corruption Bureau’s campaign.

Qi Jiguang could certainly hold his ground: when others accuse you of rebellion, it is best to actually possess the power to rebel—then no one dares accuse you of plotting rebellion; instead, they fear driving you into it.

Since Qi Jiguang was enfeoffed as Duke of Fengguo in the ninth year of Wanli, no censor or speech official in Great Ming dared to challenge him.

“Your Majesty, the Tax Inspection Bureau has existed for seventeen years. I believe it is time to thoroughly screen its entire personnel. After all, it handles Great Ming’s finances. Previously, it fell under the Southern and Northern Commanders’ Offices, with no one able to inspect it. Now, the Anti-Corruption Bureau also falls under the Southern and Northern Commanders’ Offices—we must monitor each other.” Qi Jiguang stepped forward and raised a problem long deliberately ignored by ministers.

Who will supervise the Tax Inspection Bureau?

This was a question everyone had deliberately avoided since the Tax Inspection cavalry appeared in the second year of Wanli and the bureau was formally established in the fifth year.

The Tax Inspection Bureau, lacking judicial power, assassinations, detentions, or private punishments, remained a secret police agency—a part of secret-politics.

Once, Wang Guoguang discussed the funding levels of the Tax Inspection Bureau with the Emperor, who gave him a shocking answer.

The Tax Inspection cavalry not only traded in confidential information and protected lawbreakers, but also extorted wealthy merchants and powerful elites—once they found a single lever, they uncovered a rich mine.

Worse still, they operated private markets, smuggled contraband, and even in Lu Song, two major cases occurred where Tax Inspection cavalry colluded with coastal inspectors to traffic opium. (Chapter 547)

The Tax Inspection Bureau’s fearsome reputation was well known; Zhu Yijun was not unaware of the problems. But both emperor and ministers ignored them because, previously, Great Ming’s extravagant households generally evaded taxes, so the bureau had to be established to enforce collection by force.

Even with the three-way checks among Tax Inspection cavalry, Garrison Eunuchs, and civil officials, the lack of oversight in the Tax Inspection Bureau inevitably led to collusion among corrupt elements—though not widespread, because His Majesty tolerated restrained greed but could not tolerate betrayal.

The Tax Inspection Bureau was an unjust law, only manageable by a wise and holy sovereign; like the secret memorial system, it was a technique—and a sinister one.

With the establishment of the Anti-Corruption Bureau, also under the Southern and Northern Commanders’ Offices, the Tax Inspection Bureau could now be monitored. Of course, the Anti-Corruption Bureau’s primary mission remained crushing corruption and curbing the overall scale of graft in Great Ming.

“Then let the Tax Inspection Bureau conduct a comprehensive tax audit.” Hearing Qi Jiguang’s words, Emperor Zhu Yijun approved his suggestion and once again fully supported Zhang Juzheng’s actions.

The Tax Inspection Bureau would conduct a full audit of all rural virtuous gentry and above, while simultaneously purging its own ranks of corrupt elements, ensuring its long-term survival—not as a symbol of the court’s greed and exploitation, destroyed amid public condemnation.

Zhang Juzheng heard this, bowed deeply, and said: “Thank Your Majesty’s great grace.”

Ceng Shengwu stepped forward and reported: “Your Majesty, the Regional Commander of Sichuan, Marquis of Jiang’an Liu Ding, has sent envoys Assistant Regional Commander Guo Cheng, Wang Zhihan, and others to Hailong Tun in Bozhou to persuade Yang Yinglong to attend the inspection meeting in Chongqing and not to bring ruin upon himself.”

“Upon hearing that Marquis of Jiang’an had returned to Sichuan, Yang Yinglong grew fearful and uneasy. Moreover, with Marquis of Jiang’an’s guarantee that his life would be spared if he attended the inspection in Chongqing, Yang Yinglong finally agreed to go to Chongqing Prefecture.”

“Unexpectedly, Yang Yinglong’s eldest son, Yang Chaodong, dissatisfied with his father’s compromise, led troops to pursue and kill the envoys Guo Cheng, Wang Zhihan, and others as far as Lou Mountain Pass. Guo Cheng fought back fiercely and repelled them, killing one hundred twenty-seven enemies at Lou Mountain Pass.”

Liu Ding returned to Chengdu in Sichuan to rest and to intimidate Yang Yinglong; he sent envoys and made assurances. Yang Yinglong agreed wholeheartedly—but as Guo Cheng returned, Yang Yinglong’s son suddenly launched a pursuit.

Even caught off guard and outnumbered, Guo Cheng still won. Firearms, when held on advantageous terrain, were nearly invincible.

“Whether this pursuit was truly a rift between Yang Yinglong and his son, or merely a staged act to buy time, no longer matters. I have given him two chances.”

“Issue an edict to Marquis of Jiang’an Liu Ding: grant him the Seal of the General Who Subdues the South, place him in overall command of the campaign against Bozhou, and order the four provinces of Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan, and Guizhou to obey General Liu’s orders. Advance from eight directions and crush Bozhou.”

“Liang Menglong, attend! Take the Imperial Sword and depart immediately for Chengdu to oversee military affairs in the four provinces of Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan, and Guizhou, and command the campaign against Bozhou.” After hearing the report, Zhu Yijun issued clear orders.

Liang Menglong stepped forward, received the imperial decree, the seal, and the Imperial Sword, then bowed deeply and said: “I obey Your Majesty’s command.”