Chapter 530: Is Begging on the Streets Also Ancestral Law?

The Great Ming's Feiyun vessel officially began its sea trials, carrying only a small amount of firearms and following a conservative route: departing from Songjiang Prefecture, passing through Ningbo in Zhejiang, Yuegang in Fujian, the Penghu Patrol Office, Jilong Island's Xinglongzhuang Port, and Lu Song's Miyangang, stopping in Manila for fifteen days, then returning via the Manila harbor, with two five-masted ocean-going ships, ten Ma ships, and two star-observing vessels providing escort.

The primary purpose of the star-observing vessels was navigation, to prevent getting lost.

The entire sea trial is expected to be completed by June, with main objectives being the vessel's stability, maneuverability, and operation of the new ship design; broadly divided into two parts: first, whether onboard equipment can operate stably and requires further refinement, as the new ship's design contains many novel ideas that must be validated and modified through practice;

the second part concerns personnel—the Great Ming Navy must also train around the new vessels.

Preserving gunpowder during long voyages is a key project; over three hundred thousand jin of gunpowder are stored in the hold, and due to the sea's humid air, sealing the gunpowder is especially critical; it will be opened once in Manila for test-firing, then tested again upon return to Songjiang Prefecture.

The second project, and the most important, is the human-powered stern propeller, a unique design of the Feiyun vessel; the space for a steam engine has been retained, but due to issues with miniaturization and power output, steam engines cannot yet be installed aboard; however, the human-powered propeller has already been fully installed, requiring forty soldiers to tread and drive the propeller for propulsion.

The propeller on the Feiyun vessel is already the second-generation model.

The first-generation propeller had four windmill-style blades, forged from metal; based on a month-long experiment on the Yangtze River, the four-blade propeller's propulsion was far inferior to the paddlewheel—the large waterwheel-style propulsion devices mounted on the ship's sides; no matter how the propeller's pitch was adjusted, the paddlewheel's efficiency always exceeded that of the propeller.

Because at low speeds, the paddlewheel is absolutely superior to underwater propellers.

After repeated deliberation by the Five Classics Doctors of the Imperial Academy of Natural Philosophy, combined with Yangtze River field data, the Great Ming Imperial Academy of Natural Philosophy designed a new propeller based on the Archimedean spiral; this generation of propeller was officially named the Archimedean Propeller—the Academy was pragmatic, naming it exactly as it borrowed the concept.

Of course, this generation of propeller also has a colloquial name: Fan Jiang.

Underwater propulsion systems still face many challenges, such as terrifying resonance, wear on underwater propeller shaft bearings, dynamic shaft sealing, thrust bearing lifespan, corrosion of blade bearings, entanglement by marine plants, and attachment by marine animals—all requiring gradual solutions.

Regardless of difficulty, the first-generation Archimedean propeller passed testing and was installed on the Feiyun vessel, proceeding as scheduled with sea trials.

"Led by Zhu Zhu Zaiyu, Jiao Hong, Zhang Zhang Siwen, and Xing Xing Yunlu, the Five Classics Doctors hold great hope for the propeller's future achievements; Zhu Zhu Zaiyu said that at low speeds, the paddlewheels on either side better leverage their advantages, but at high speeds, paddlewheels become obstacles." Zhu Zhu Yijun made a peculiar gesture, extending both arms outward, imagining, then lowering them.

Feng Bao and Zhang Hong exchanged glances; the imaginative world of geniuses was truly beyond their comprehension. His Majesty understood the Academy of Natural Philosophy's research, but Feng Bao and Zhang Hong simply could not grasp it.

To explain this phenomenon, Zhu Zhu Zaiyu specially built two models; the paddlewheels on either side worked fine at low speed, but at high speed, water became rigid—paddlewheels at thirty li per hour would snap, even if mounted at the stern, resulting in numerous problems like short blade lifespan.

The propeller is the ultimate answer among propulsion systems, despite such issues.

Zhu Zhu Yijun's gesture imagined the motion of swimming underwater—his arms as the paddlewheels; installing paddlewheels on both sides is mechanically simplest, but as a warship, mounting paddlewheels on the Feiyun vessel's flanks is somewhat foolish—a single cannon shot to a paddlewheel could cripple the ship.

In the development of science and technology, many mechanical devices were widely used before their performance or principles were fully understood—for example,

liquid fertilizer is one such case.

But before people fully understood its physical laws or developed complete theoretical analysis, these devices could never reach optimal performance.

Hence the need to develop Natural Philosophy, to increase the number of Ming Jinshi candidates, to comprehend its physical laws, to summarize and analyze theoretically, requiring continuous exploration of humanity's unknown frontiers.

The advancement of science brings sustained momentum, driving Great Ming forward.

"Have arrangements been made for tomorrow's liquid fertilizer application?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked Feng Bao; thirty thousand mu of experimental fields will use liquid fertilizer exclusively; the Xishan Coal Bureau has prepared the fertilizer and transported it to the imperial lands in the capital region, awaiting the proper season.

As the spring breeze blew, the trade winds shifted; the warm, humid southeast monsoon had begun spreading across the North China Plain, and the Emperor's annual ritual of personally tending to agriculture and sericulture was about to begin again.

Every year on this day, Zhu Zhu Yijun would don a short tunic and trousers and personally till the soil at Baoqisi.

Zhu Zhu Yijun understood farming; he knew the importance of seasonal timing, and chose Baoqisi for his personal agricultural ritual.

If the Ministry of Rites delayed the ceremony waiting for His Majesty's availability, resorting to empty formalities and missing the fertilizer application window, it would be counterproductive; thus, applying liquid fertilizer involved no grand ceremony, only quiet implementation.

And Zhu Zhu Yijun himself would personally fertilize the ten mu of land at Baoqisi.

Xu Zhen was still overseeing reclamation in Suiyuan and had not returned to Baoqisi; Baoqisi was now under the Imperial Academy of Natural Philosophy, and agronomy was one of its most important specialized branches.

"Everything is arranged," Feng Bao said hesitantly: "Your Majesty, when Baoqisi harvested its first crop, you invited ministers to join; since then, no one has been invited. Should we invite them this year?"

Feng Bao wanted to drag the ministers into the mud; if the most honored Emperor himself tilled the soil, surely this was a chance to embarrass the ministers—any eunuch who didn't embarrass ministers wasn't a good one.

Zhu Zhu Yijun shook his head: "No, better not."

The Great Ming ministers were all elderly; those who reached the rank of court minister were at least fifty years old; farming was hard labor, and those unable to work only caused trouble; Baoqisi's purpose was primarily seedling cultivation and scientific research, not to embarrass ministers.

Originally, ministers were summoned to the back hill for harvest to promote sweet potatoes—and indeed to embarrass them, especially the Jin Party; since then, Zhu Zhu Yijun had never done so again.

But every year he tilled the soil and personally tended agriculture—this too was ancestral law.

"Your servant obeys." Feng Bao, seeing His Majesty refused to embarrass ministers, did not press further; the Emperor's will surpassed heaven.

"The regional princes everywhere are asking when they can relocate; why, after the five princes of Henan moved to the capital, has nothing happened? Why are only the five Henan princes enjoying comfort? The princes ask…" Feng Bao's face grew uneasy as he placed a memorial before the Emperor.

"What do they ask?" Zhu Zhu Yijun opened the memorial; the Directorate of Ceremonial had already drafted its response—clearly Feng Bao was too embarrassed to speak it aloud.

Feng Bao glanced left and right, avoiding the subject: "Your Majesty, please read it yourself; I simply cannot utter it."

Having served the Emperor so long as a close minister, Feng Bao had never been so awkward!

Zhu Zhu Yijun opened the memorial—from Prince Dai, Zhu Zhu Naixuan; the Great Ming Emperor read it; the opening was normal, praising His Majesty and detailing his hardships, pleading for early approval to relocate—content much like previous memorials.

But uniquely, at the end, Zhu Zhu Naixuan asked: "Is begging on the streets also ancestral law?"

Is begging on the streets ancestral law?

This was the phrase Feng Bao could not bring himself to say—utterly unspeakable!

Almost certainly, the preceding words were written by the Prince's Chief Secretary; those appointed to such posts were mostly juren, capable of drafting memorials; but this audacious final line came from Prince Dai Zhu Zhu Naixuan himself.

The Great Ming relocated only the Henan princes; the other princely houses were also Zhu family blood—yet the imperial clan had sunk to begging on the streets! Hurry and relocate them! Stop dithering and debating—it won't yield results.

The Great Ming's regional princes held no administrative, military, or fiscal power; without force, they could not protect their interests. As Great Ming's power declined, the Emperor Jiajing era continuously slashed princely stipends; regional princes lost even the right to beg the Emperor for food.

Zhu Zhu Yijun stared at the memorial, eyes wide, then glared at Feng Bao: "This is outrageous! How could he say such a thing! For relocation, he dares say anything!"

"Prince Dai has no choice; his household includes 4,118 royal relatives receiving stipends—he's likely been pushed to desperation," Feng Bao defended Prince Dai; Prince Dai's household was large and populous, and Datong Prefecture suffered constant warfare, unable to sustain production; people must eat. With stipends long withheld, while Henan princes enjoyed comfort in the capital, Prince Dai of Datong remained stagnant.

"What's the hurry? If he asks again, relocate the Dai household to Suiyuan! He wants to move? Make him a frontier prince!" Zhu Zhu Yijun slammed the table, furious at the question, but calmed and decided to counsel gently, setting a clear date: relocation in Shanxi will occur in June.

The Ten Princely Cities have indeed been constructed and are sufficient, but princely stipends and benefits—whether lower-ranking commandery princes still receive no stipend and must support themselves, and the allocation of palace maids and servants—all require resolution; relocating them is not enough. These five Henan princes serve as the benchmark set by Zhu Zhu Yijun for all princes and the realm—to demonstrate that he still values kinship and deprive princes of any pretext for rebellion.

Of course, the system of rank reduction and overseas enfeoffment are under discussion; expressing kinship now prepares the ground for those reforms, but these two matters cannot be rushed—they must wait until all princely houses have relocated to the capital.

Yet Prince Dai's memorial reveals that regional princes everywhere are eagerly awaiting relocation; now, relocation is their only hope. Zhu Zhu Yijun had never understood princely life—they were imprisoned for life within their palaces, seeing only four walls of sky.

Are the Great Ming princes even human? Humans are the sum of social relations; they are utterly isolated, with nearly zero social ties. Originally, enfeoffment was to win the people's hearts; now, relocation is to win the people's hearts. Criticism of the imperial clan is rampant—even Zhang Zhang Juzheng listed excessive princely expenditures as one of the Six National Ailments.

Those inside the city want out; those outside want in. Princes, fed like pigs, live a life the common people of Great Ming yearn for.

The next morning, clear skies and bright air; the southeast wind overpowered the northwest wind. Zhu Zhu Yijun rushed early to the Lu Prince's mansion, personally dragging the Lu Prince's ear to Baoqisi to till the fields; Zhu Zhu Changzhi, as Crown Prince, began urinating and muddying the soil—once, Zhu Zhu Yilou had followed the Emperor, doing the same.

When the sun rose high, Zhu Zhu Yijun finally finished fertilizing; he wiped sweat from his brow and smiled: "You little rascal—you knew I'd drag you out to work today, didn't you?"

Zhu Zhu Yilou was full of energy, not the slightest fatigue; years of martial training gave him a muscular frame—this physique was his license for debauchery, and it was all shaped by Zhu Zhu Yijun himself.

Such vigor clearly meant he hadn't been debauched yesterday.

"Of course," Zhu Zhu Yilou chuckled. "People don't fear scarcity, only inequality. I revel in comfort while my elder brother can't sleep well?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun set down the hoe, gazing at the deeply tilled fields, filled with profound satisfaction; perhaps an instinct encoded in his genes, the moment he saw land no longer fallow, Zhu Zhu Yijun felt deep peace.

Li Kaifang once explained benevolence: "Peace of mind is benevolence." Zhu Zhu Yijun's benevolence was roughly these ten mu of visible land.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" Zhu Zhu Yijun washed his hands, uncorked his canteen, and drank deeply.

Military canteen, produced by the Xishan Coal Bureau, issued one to every soldier of the Capital Garrison, replaceable every three years; its

quality was excellent, yet flawed: poor insulation, heavy, wooden stoppers easily fell off, necks froze, rusted—but it was already an exceedingly rare item.

Zhu Zhu Yilou nodded: "I know—you fear I'll become like Li Kaizao, that fool. He relies on petty cleverness, stirs up trouble, seeks fame, looks down on the world, ignores rules, acts recklessly, and leaves you to clean up his messes."

"Li Kaifang risked his life; had His Majesty not valued his talent and shown mercy, Li Kaizao would be dead or mad."

"You're not ignorant of affairs outside your princely mansion." Zhu Zhu Yijun nodded; he brought this brother to farm once a year, simply to show him: "At noon, hoeing the fields, sweat drips into the soil." Everything he enjoys is painstakingly produced by human labor—learn to cherish it, and never unjustly blame or abuse servants, let alone murder them.

This isn't about benevolence; the elder brother is like a father. We are born to be human, not beasts. Zhu Zhu Yijun didn't want this brother, who once toddled after him calling "Big Brother," to become a beast.

But judging by his current state, the education has been successful; though somewhat lazy, the Lu Prince is sensible—he doesn't think goods grow on shelves.

"The Chief Secretary drones on in my ear every day—I'm sick of it," Zhu Zhu Yilou complained.

But Zhu Zhu Yilou understood: he was one of his elder brother's last resorts. If His Majesty perished in fierce struggles, the realm could not remain without an adult ruler—Zhu Zhu Yilou would have to raise the banner, not to become Emperor, but to serve as regent and protect the nephew's growth.

Though Zhu Zhu Yilou was debauched, he truly could not bear to see all his elder brother's hard-won efforts vanish—this was the Great Ming's revival, earned day by day by His Majesty's diligence.

So Zhu Zhu Yilou could not yet idle away his days; he must understand the affairs of the realm.

Moreover, the Emperor planned a southern tour—known to all; the Crown Prince Zhu Zhu Changzhi would govern in his stead, and as uncle, Zhu Zhu Yilou must remain in the capital to guard the realm—just as Prince Cheng of Jing, Zhu Zhu Qiyu, once did.

"Ha," Zhu Zhu Yijun laughed, watching Zhu Zhu Yilou grow into manhood with deep satisfaction; except for his fondness for foreign beauties, everything else was excellent.

Zhu Zhu Yijun and Zhu Zhu Yilou chatted about court gossip: Zhang Zhang Juzheng's chili war with You Qi; since the All-Hubei Association acquired a dog with an extraordinary sense of smell, Zhang Zhang Juzheng could no longer hide even a single chili.

"Li Kaifang's entry into the Academy of Natural Philosophy brought a surprise." Zhu Zhu Yijun walked as he recounted Li Kaifang's rise from obscurity.

"What's eleven equal to?"

"Positive one," Zhu Zhu Yilou replied matter-of-factly. "Negative times negative equals positive—didn't you teach me that?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun immediately asked: "Why does negative times negative equal positive?"

"Huh?" Zhu Zhu Yilou froze; he'd never thought about it. When he learned it, he never questioned it—Zhu Zhu Yijun taught, he learned; why?

Zhu Zhu Yijun squatted, picked up a twig: "Look, this is a number line. Do you remember what positive and negative signs represent on the number line?"

"Direction!" Zhu Zhu Yilou replied instantly; his math skills weren't bad—he simply disliked deep study.

Zhu Zhu Yijun nodded: "We mark the length of one: 1×1=1, representing point 1 on the number line. Rotating 180° around the origin gives -1. So 1×(-1) means rotating point 1 by 180° around the origin, yielding positive one. The negative sign represents direction."

"Multiplying a number by a negative number means rotating the point representing that number 180° around the origin, then scaling it up or down."

Zhu Zhu Yilou tried a few times, astonished: "Fascinating! But what use is it?"

Zhu Zhu Yilou immediately grasped this novel idea, yet didn't understand its significance.

"Its significance: now mathematics has imagery—it's no longer abstract numbers, but a fusion of number and form. Many past problems dissolve effortlessly."

Zhu Zhu Yijun clapped his hands; Zhu Zhu Yilou understood, proving it wasn't difficult. Zhu Zhu Yilou didn't want to be a mathematician—no need to delve deeper.

The concept of fusing number and form existed in China since antiquity—Yang Hui's Triangle is the classic example—but representing negative numbers as rotation on a number line was pure mathematical fusion, profoundly significant, greatly aiding in solving mathematical problems: essentially, understanding change became concrete, visualized on imagery.

Zhu Zhu Zaiyu's lifelong dream wasn't the speed of light, but building a steam turbine—requiring complete understanding of its physical laws and theoretical analysis.

Achieving this, advancement in mathematics was absolutely unavoidable.

Li Kaifang was highly sensitive to numbers; upon joining the Academy, his mathematical talent propelled Great Ming's arithmetic forward by leaps.

Li Kaizao left the capital, utterly unlike his arrival amid flowers and glory; now he was like a vermin despised by all, infamous. His ghostwriting caused little harm—it was the Imperial Examination Board striking his name that made him reviled. Those students from the Imperial Academy who joined Li Kaizao's rebellion only realized the magnitude of their crime when Zhang Hong coldly erased his name; self-exclusion from the imperial examination terrified scholars more than heaven falling.

All this was instigated by Li Kaizao.

Adding fifty Ming Jinshi slots for mathematics—was that truly unbearable? It didn't harm Confucian scholars' interests; these math Ming Jinshi primarily entered the Academy of Natural Philosophy for selection. Thus, only the Five Classics Doctors and Hanlin Academicians became equals; their power struggle was far removed from the lives of Imperial Academy students and juren.

The Hanlin Grand Secretaries didn't oppose—why did the Imperial Academy students?

The Hanlin Academicians didn't oppose because they were afraid.

Because it was the Emperor's explicit decree, with the Emperor, the Grand Secretaries, and the court ministers all in agreement, what could the Hanlin Academy scholars possibly oppose? In the officialdom, everyone understood too well how overwhelming the top-down pressure could be—if even the Grand Secretaries and court ministers opposed, the Grand Secretaries would never endure such humiliation!

Moreover, the Great Ming needed mathematicians; this was a very practical and urgent issue, an inevitable trend.

The court was deeply concerned about the Nagasaki Viceroyalty, for at the end of last year, the Nagasaki Viceroyalty suddenly transported all its stored silver to Songjiang Prefecture, then onward to the capital—sparking a sense of storm clouds gathering before the wind.

These were Xu Wei's worries—he feared that Oda Nobunaga would panic and lash out desperately.

In the third month of spring, Xu Wei did not receive an attack from Oda Nobunaga, but instead received a message both absurd and heartbreaking: Oda Nobunaga had been assassinated.

Even though Oda Nobunaga had not launched attacks elsewhere, he was still assassinated in the capital.

In Xu Wei's view, this was Oda Nobunaga's inevitable fate.

Oda Nobunaga had proclaimed the slogan "Buwu Buwu Tianxia"—military rule over all under heaven—and put it into practice: his tax rate was one part public, two parts private, whereas the norm elsewhere was eight parts public, two parts private—where farmers paid eighty percent of their harvest as tax. Oda Nobunaga demanded only one-third.

On the other hand, he rapidly expanded his army, greatly improving the pay and conditions of ashigaru foot soldiers, hoping that quantitative growth would trigger qualitative change—seeking to replace the expensive samurai class and forge a civilian armed force. This was the source of his combat power, but also his death sentence.

As a samurai himself, Oda Nobunaga betrayed the interests of his own class; no one should be surprised if he was stabbed in the back at any moment.

Since childhood, His Majesty never took detours—he moved directly into the Western Garden. After Yu Yu Dayou's death, he even took up residence in Tonghemen Palace, simply to streamline personnel structure; Zhang Zhang Juzheng's Quan Chu Hall was guarded by two hundred Iron Forest Troops, yet His Majesty still dispatched the Imperial Guard companion trainer Luo Luo Sigong to remain vigilant—what was he guarding against? Of course, against someone desperate enough to take extreme risks.

To accomplish anything, one must first

protect oneself; otherwise, assassination could strike at any moment.

This assassination came from an obscure ashigaru who, when Oda Nobunaga appeared, suddenly pulled out a matchlock and fired—immediately plunging the scene into chaos.

"Could this be a ruse?" Sun Sun Keyi immediately suspected a trap, for the assassination occurred so suddenly that even the guards had never imagined someone would strike within the headquarters, let alone reach Oda Nobunaga's vicinity.

Xu Wei, Viceroy of Nagasaki, shook his head: "A ruse? A ruse against whom? Our Nagasaki Viceroyalty has no offensive capability. General Chen's navy is merely suppressing pirates. The idea of them marching straight toward the capital sounds dramatic, but as commander of the navy, Chen Lin would never take such a reckless risk."

Sun Sun Keyi frowned and said: "Mōri Terumoto, Uesugi Kagekatsu, Hōjō Ujinao—they're deliberately feigning weakness, luring enemies into attacking, then defeating them with ease."

Xu Wei laughed and shook his head: "The assassination was likely real. This is Japan, where 'gekokujo'—the lower overthrowing the higher—is common. Once news of Oda Nobunaga's injury—even a minor one—spreads, his subordinates will immediately begin to turn. Don't end up trying to paint a tiger and ending up with a dog."

Oda Nobunaga was the sole core of the entire Oda Shogunate. His assassination—even a minor wound—was a massive event that would ignite suspicion. In Japan's environment, feigning weakness was simply impossible.

"So he was indeed assassinated," Sun Sun Keyi agreed with Xu Wei.

Chen Lin walked into the Viceroyalty from outside and, hearing the two discussing Oda Nobunaga, shook his head: "The Coastal Patrol Inspector reported that Oda Nobunaga is unharmed. Even if he were hurt, he must pretend he isn't. Oda Nobunaga's third son, Oda Nobutaka of Kobe, died in his place."

"That Oda Nobutaka—the one who made several diplomatic missions and adopted Kobe Castle lord Oda Nobumori as his father?"

"He—the son abandoned by his father—ended up dying for him…" Xu Wei certainly remembered Oda Nobutaka.

Because his mother was merely a concubine, even his birth announcement was delayed. Always overshadowed by his legitimate brothers, Oda Nobutaka desperately sought his father's favor—and died in the assassination, taking the bullet meant for Oda Nobunaga.

Chen Lin's expression turned strange: "The assassin was captured—he was a man of Mōri Terumoto. But Oda Nobunaga's reaction was odd: after burying his son, he said nothing about revenge."

"If Oda Nobunaga launches a campaign against Mōri Terumoto, our Nagasaki Viceroyalty can sell far more firearms."