Chapter 678: Calculate Exactly How Much They Owe Me!

The craftsmen's resentment has boiled over and can no longer be hidden.

When we arrived at the Southern Office, the craftsmen wanted to beg for an audience, while the powerful elites assumed we, sitting high above the Nine Heavens as Emperor, would never receive craftsmen. They were wrong—terribly wrong. Every year in the Northern Office, we meet with officials from outside, craftsmen, soldiers, and poor laborers, asking about their hardships and genuinely resolving their difficulties.

"We are indeed Emperor," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, seeing the craftsmen still tense, "but we are also a farmer. Just treat us as one."

This seemed contradictory—Emperor and farmer appeared incompatible, even mutually exclusive identities. The Emperor had a court, the court had offices across the land, and the court always seemed to squeeze silver from farmers to indulge in luxury. It looked contradictory, yet these two roles were unified in the Emperor himself.

"Your Majesty," a spokesperson for the craftsmen finally spoke up, "we harbor resentment, but fear we cannot articulate it clearly. We beg Your Majesty's forbearance."

Zhu Zhu Yijun still spoke gently: "Take your time. There's no rush. We have plenty of time."

This gentle demeanor eased much of the craftsmen's tension. They spoke more freely, pouring out their grievances like beans spilled from a bamboo tube, rambling but clear.

The craftsmen spoke at length, their information scattered and their specific demands unclear—even they didn't know exactly what they wanted. They simply felt wronged. Craftsmen weren't scholars; they couldn't organize their thoughts neatly. But Zhu Zhu Yijun excelled at extracting the core issues from such fragmented accounts.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng believed the Emperor possessed exceptional political talent, for he excelled at summarizing from phenomena, applying the Four-Step Analysis Method based on contradiction: phenomenon, problem, cause, solution. Only by analyzing matters through these four steps, and connecting the myriad interlinked threads, could true political wisdom be demonstrated.

"I understand. Let me restate it. Listen, the three of you, and Feng Da—have the eunuchs relay my summary to the listeners and ask them if I got it right." Zhu Zhu Yijun instructed Feng Bao. Listening was mandatory—it concerned the Emperor's dignity and the court's credibility.

"Long-term laborers must sign contracts and register with the household offices of county, prefecture, and provincial administrations. These contracts have minimum wage standards. So in the Jiangnan region, the common practice is to turn long-term laborers into short-term laborers: no direct hiring, only through brokers and middlemen." Zhu Zhu Yijun began his summary.

The three craftsmen spokespersons nodded continuously as the Emperor spoke. Though he claimed he was unlearned, his logic was crystal clear.

Since the court began enforcing labor wage protections, the powerful elites and workshop owners devised their own countermeasures.

For workshop owners, this was extremely convenient.

Using brokers to hire labor allowed greater flexibility. Most handicraft work depended on agricultural output, which in turn followed seasonal cycles—not year-round labor. For example, weavers were busiest before and after silkworms spun silk, but needed far fewer workers in summer, autumn, and winter.

Through brokers, workshop owners avoided the headache of labor disputes. All wages were negotiated with the brokers. If problems arose, craftsmen dealt with the brokers, not the owners. Even if wages were withheld, they could simply find work through another broker, without excessive worry.

The greatest advantage—and most important reason—of hiring through brokers was saving money.

Savings were comprehensive: during slack seasons, labor costs were cut; during busy seasons, production accelerated. The court's mandated minimum wages didn't need to be followed, since no labor contracts existed. Wages could be driven extremely low—Great Ming had everything in shortage, except poor laborers. And bribes were easy: just bribe the brokers.

"These powerful elites exploit the diligence of Great Ming's people. The natives of the South Seas, the Japanese, and the black Africans brought by Arab ships won't work unless whipped—they'd rather starve than lift a finger. They cling to fertile lands yet refuse to till them properly. But our people? They can't sit idle. Even a moment of rest makes them anxious."

"I understand. Just like I can't bear to see land left fallow—it's a sin."

"But they exploit our people's diligence," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, now addressing the impact—he saw this as oppression.

Diligence is relative. The Annamese who crossed Zhennan Pass into Guangxi and Guangdong to cut sugarcane were undoubtedly more diligent than Great Ming's idle scholar-officials. But compared to the Annamese, Great Ming's people appeared more diligent.

Hiring through brokers had extremely harmful effects.

Most directly, Great Ming's craftsmen received insufficient wages and lived in hardship. The indirect consequences were far deeper.

Even from the perspective of the powerful elites, this was dangerously unstable—because times had changed.

In the past, the ruling class could completely ignore the fate of producers—their poverty or prosperity—and the Emperor could comfortably co-govern with scholar-officials, because producers could only earn meager wages through their own initiative and creativity, surviving on the scraps provided by the ruling class, with no alternative but obedience.

That was the limitation of small-farmer economy: leave this patch of land, and where else could you survive? Five li apart, dialects differ; ten li apart, customs change.

But if laborers receive insufficient wages and no hope, they will refuse progress and refuse self-accumulation. Take the Southern Office as an example: hiring through brokers seems beneficial short-term, but if extended over five or ten years, an inevitable problem emerges.

If this hiring system spreads unchecked, the Southern Office's workshops will never produce skilled craftsmen, forever stuck at the level of handicraft workshops, filled only with short-term laborers, never long-term ones. They will be incapable of efficiently, swiftly producing high-value goods—and will be eliminated by the market.

Then these workshop owners will curse the world: "What kind of rotten era is this? What kind of rotten court?" They'll never look inward to ask why they were eliminated. Never! They'll blame the Emperor, the court, the offices, the times—not themselves. Add the noise of the scholar-officials, and the delusion becomes even more convincing.

Even from the purest elite perspective, the problem isn't just their own elimination—it's a more severe one: labor is no longer cheap.

Abundant, cheap labor was never a good thing. Low labor costs lead to shrinking profits. The ruling class will always squeeze harder to extract greater profits. Labor is a resource. When labor resources dry up, all prosperity collapses.

Zhu Zhu Yijun himself used the Huo Family Fist to expose contradictions. He never viewed problems from a single standpoint. He never concealed his sympathy for the poor laborers or his bias toward them.

Excessively long working hours and lethal exploitation must be strictly limited—not only to protect producers, but also to protect the ruling class.

This contradiction will grow far more pronounced and complex as vast amounts of silver flood in and the small-farmer economy gradually transforms. If the Emperor and court lose the ability to regulate social contradictions, they too will be eliminated.

Zhu Zhu Yijun smiled and said: "Let's look at the most urgent matters now."

"First, simplify the complicated. These brokers must be eradicated entirely—strip them of their soil for survival. This is urgent. I have several methods. Within a month, these brokers will vanish."

Zhu Zhu Yijun meant to solve problems. After describing the phenomenon, he didn't delve into policy details with the craftsmen—he gave a promise: within a month, the broker labor system would vanish from the heartland of Great Ming.

"This is hard, Your Majesty," one craftsman pleaded. "Without these brokers, how will we find work? If we sit idle, we face our families' daily needs—food, drink, waste—oh."

In Great Ming, labor recruitment mostly relied on word-of-mouth: bringing relatives from home to the Southern Office. Without brokers, craftsmen feared they'd find no work.

Zhu Zhu Yijun nodded: "Rest assured. I understand. To eliminate them completely, replacements must appear. I will provide solutions."

"Second: housing, food, clothing, and transportation."

Amid the craftsmen's rambling, the Emperor had organized their concerns by urgency. The second issue was the basics: firewood, rice, oil, salt. Craftsmen worked in workshops; their wives cooked at home, bringing meals to the workshop at noon. Housing, food, clothing, and transportation were the craftsmen's greatest headaches.

Everything in Nanjing was too expensive.

All craftsmen envied the resident craftsmen of official workshops, for they had official housing and ate in large canteens. The food was terrible, but it was filling—and no one starved. If many fell ill from bad food, the entire chain—from chief overseer to head foreman—would be held accountable.

According to these craftsmen, only resident craftsmen were true craftsmen. They, the private workshop workers, were treated like beasts of burden.

Zhu Zhu Yijun's expression turned grave: "This issue will ease slightly as brokers vanish—but only slightly, not solved. The coal markets, vegetable markets, grain and oil mills in Yingtian Prefecture and the Southern Office are controlled by a few. We've made the coal markets state-run in the Northern Office. I guarantee the same for the Southern Office. As for vegetable markets and grain/oil mills, the court will find solutions."

"Recently, the treasury and the Ever-normal Granaries burned. Grand Coordinator Hai has reformed the treasury—now let the Ever-normal Granaries fulfill their function."

"Buy grain when prices are low; sell when prices are high."

Buying grain when prices are low is called "di"; selling when prices are high is called "tiao." The Ever-normal Granaries stabilize grain prices. But this function has failed. The court must now restore it.

The problem with the Southern Office's Ever-normal Granaries is most severe. Nanjing is the secondary capital; the thirteen prefectures of the Southern Directly Governed Region have no oversight. The governors, censors, and household officials sent by court are useless, for the Great Ming's administrative structure has only "blocks," no "lines." Hence the chaos.

"Third: education. Frankly, I have no good solution," Zhu Zhu Yijun sighed. He was a man, not an omnipotent god. Facing the craftsmen's third most pressing concern, the Emperor admitted his helplessness.

By normal logic, the ruling class should want producers literate, adaptable, disciplined, rule-abiding, and cooperative—only then can they perform well. For example, boatmen on ships—how can they learn celestial navigation without literacy?

But today's ruling class seems to fear literacy among producers. They'd prefer every craftsman be utterly illiterate.

This fear mirrors Chen Chen Wuyin's high barriers to registering soldiers as residents, and the Southern Office officials' seizure of monthly grain rations from soldiers' wives—all rooted in the desire to monopolize political power.

Beyond power monopoly, illiterate producers are easier to control.

Official court schools instill in students a collectivist ethos of "worry before the world worries." Private academies, however, lean toward rootless individualism.

Man is the sum of social relations. All social relations constitute man. There is no absolute individual. Thus, such extreme individualism is a tree without roots, water without a source.

Now, Zhu Zhu Yijun can only establish schools in official workshops, primarily training craftsmen. This is already the Emperor's limit.

Since he cannot do more, he will not make empty promises.

But what he cannot do now, he may do later. He will record this: public education spending, once begun, will be larger than military expenditure. Great Ming must grow richer, its material wealth greater, before implementation becomes possible.

"Fourth and final: like the first, within a month, I will sweep away these idle, degenerate people entirely—and send them to Java to open new lands." Zhu Zhu Yijun gave a direct response to the craftsmen's fourth concern.

Craftsmen lived close together. Criminals targeted them: theft, robbery, gambling dens, trafficking—repeated offenses. This was why a weaver was recommended: many weavers' children had been kidnapped.

Craftsmen mentioned many things—like theft. If craftsmen were so poor, why steal? Because wealthy households had retainers; if caught, they'd be beaten to death, and the Southern Yamen wouldn't care. Breaking in and killing was legally permitted under Great Ming law. But craftsmen's homes carried less risk.

Gambling dens were rampant—part of the wage-recovery scheme.

"Your Majesty, something's happened," Zhang Hong rushed up, whispering urgently. Zhu Zhu Yijun frowned, then relaxed.

A bloody incident occurred during the meeting between the Emperor and the craftsmen's foremen. Fortunately, the capital troops and Southern Yamen runners were present—no serious casualties.

"No one died? Then it's not an incident. If they dared incite craftsmen to gather at Fuxi Pavilion, they must be ready to pay the price. Send my order: release the arrested men." Zhu Zhu Yijun spoke loudly, giving Zhang Hong specific instructions, then explained to the three craftsmen what had happened.

"Just now, a minor incident on the street. Some workshop owners' servants tried to disguise themselves as craftsmen and attack the Southern Yamen runners, hoping to create chaos and slip away. But they were caught red-handed. Gentlemen, my hands are calloused from farming—these servants? They never work. One glance and you know."

"Good heavens, a fight broke out immediately. The Southern Yamen runners barely pulled them apart—all the servants were beaten black and blue."

Zhu Zhu Yijun's hands were calloused, deformed, with deep palm lines and scars—mostly from martial training, accidental bumps and bruises. He also had frostbites, from last winter's ice-harvesting on the Yongding River, where he worked alongside laborers.

The servants were sent to the People's Medicine Bureau for treatment. The Southern Yamen arrested the craftsmen who beat them. A wave of anger spread. Zhu Zhu Yijun chose to release them. This was a mass incident—not a simple brawl. Delayed handling would intensify the anger, contradicting his original purpose of personally calming the people.

Of the four concerns most vital to the craftsmen, the Emperor gave promises on three—with deadlines. One he recorded in his notebook.

A craftsman who had been silent, glancing around, finally spoke hesitantly: "Your Majesty, we have one more matter. Grand Coordinator Hai said: 'Consolidate all land and labor taxes within a county, calculate them based on land and population, collect everything in silver, distribute it through the state, and hire laborers to fulfill obligations.' That is, labor obligations are assigned to land. Songjiang Prefecture implemented the Single Whip Law; now the Southern Office is doing the same."

"If I understand correctly, does that mean we craftsmen without land don't have to pay this labor tax?"

"Correct," Zhu Zhu Yijun frowned, firmly stating.

The Single Whip Law meant all labor obligations were merged into land taxes. When labor was needed, money was paid to hire workers. That was its original intent: a shift from in-kind to monetary taxation, consolidating countless labor obligations under land.

"But why do we, craftsmen with no land, still pay this labor tax? Seven cash per year!" The craftsman dared to ask.

"I never said we collect four-difference silver from those without land," Zhu Zhu Yijun sat upright, looking at the craftsman. "Has someone raised my imperial banner to demand this money?"

The craftsman hurriedly replied: "Yes. They say it's imperial grain tax. Seven cash buys two dan of rice—enough for a child to eat for a year."

"I never authorized this," Zhu Zhu Yijun said solemnly. "The Single Whip Law was proposed since Gui E to relieve people from labor burdens. After so many years, clearly implementation has gone wrong. Besides this labor tax, what other payments are demanded?"

"Yes!" The craftsmen realized: this silver almost certainly never reached the Emperor's coffers. Someone was stealing.

There's a saying: "serving the tiger as a changgui"—the ghost of someone killed by a tiger, who lures others to the tiger's lair to be devoured; the Great Ming court is the tiger, and the powerful elites, local gentry, and Southern Yamen runners are all the changgui.

But now, the craftsmen realized: the tiger doesn't even have that big an appetite!

They hadn't noticed before—but now, accounting revealed a shock: Zhu Zhu Yijun learned the craftsmen bore countless taxes!

These craftsmen could only move outside the outer city. Every day they entered Nanjing, they paid five wen for entry—daily, deducted directly from wages. They could pay at the gate themselves, but paid full price. Craftsmen guessed the ruling class paid less.

Taxes were levied on reeds, tea, and mines. Great Ming people stored coal and reeds for winter. After drying reeds in autumn, they spread them on beds for warmth. Reeds were the best material. When buying reeds at market, they had to pay the Southern Yamen runner sitting at the market entrance. Mining taxes applied to gold, silver, iron, copper, lead, tin, mercury, alum, cinnabar—all paid in silver, never in kind.

Sometimes kiln owners withheld wages, so craftsmen literally paid to work.

Besides entry fees, reed, tea, and mining taxes, there were countless others: stall fees, market taxes, house registration fees—all outside the official tax rolls.

"Wait—do they tax weavers? Women aged fifteen to thirty who remain unmarried pay two cash per year; over thirty, three cash?" Zhu Zhu Yijun was stunned by these taxes, especially the unmarried women's tax.

"Wait—this tax isn't only on weavers, is it?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun had ruled for thirteen years since age nine. To collect such an absurd tax required brutal grassroots enforcement. He quickly realized: this tax could only be collected from weavers—where women were most concentrated.

"Yes," the weaver said, face pained. "Each year, Southern Yamen runners came to the weaving bureau to collect this. Later, the bureau collected it on their behalf—we paid only half, one cash. But weavers outside the bureau? No such luck."

The weaving bureau was an official workshop; most weavers worked there. To save face, the bureau negotiated and absorbed half the cost, covering it up.

Zhu Zhu Yijun took a deep breath and told Feng Bao: "Tell the Minister of Revenue: count every single silver ingot in the treasury! Whoever dares to extort under my name, pocketing the silver—dare to touch my silver, I will demand an explanation!"

"Calculate exactly how much they owe me!"

"Your servant obeys," Feng Bao bowed. Even local yamens claimed they collected taxes in the Emperor's name!

The Emperor was famously frugal. To touch his silver was like tearing out his heart and liver. A famous Jiangnan actress, even with ties to the Prince of Wei's mansion, received only ten silver coins after one performance.

Even nominal silver was the Emperor's!

"I will investigate this thoroughly and post a public edict. Whoever collects taxes under my name will be exposed. This won't take a month—within three days, there will be an imperial proclamation!" Zhu Zhu Yijun gave a concrete promise.

"You're doing exactly right now—when faced with injustice, you must band together for mutual support, you must make a fuss. Only by making a fuss will these powerful elites learn to fear you; otherwise, they'll never see your strength. Strength must be demonstrated! If you don't band together, they'll band together to oppress you." Zhu Zhu Yijun once again affirmed the artisans' actions.

This conduct conforms to ritual law. Whoever claims it does not—Zhu Zhu Yijun will pull out the Great Proclamation and slap it across their face, while activating the ancestral laws.

After all, it was Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhu Di who did it first.

As the sun set, the negotiations at Fuxi Tower concluded smoothly. Zhu Zhu Yijun pledged deadlines of three days and one month. But even before fulfilling those promises, the next morning saw imperial edicts posted on every street and alley of Nanjing.

"By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: Let all the people of the realm know—if these gentry continue to exploit you under my name, to oppress you, withhold, delay, or refuse payment, unite and bring them before the magistrates. If the magistrates ignore you, bring them to the capital—I shall judge them personally. So decreed."

This was a vernacular edict, meant for the common people. When he saw officials abusing the Emperor's name to extort and oppress, Zhu Zhu Yijun flipped through the Great Proclamation, copied its format, and issued a similar decree.

Notably, the edict was sent to the Imperial Cabinet in attendance, then posted throughout Nanjing by the Six Censorate Officials attached to the Cabinet—not issued by Zhu Zhu Yijun bypassing the Grand Secretaries of Wenyuange via Embroidered Uniform Guards. Zhang Zhang Juzheng, Wang Wang Chonggu, and Wan Shihé all endorsed this edict.

This was a collective decision.

Grand Wang Wang Situ Wang Wang Guoguang was busy auditing accounts and didn't bother to learn the details—he simply stamped his approval on the floating slip.

Wang Wang Chonggu, leader of the Craft Faction, naturally supported policies expanding the artisans' interests. Wan Shihé, an Imperial Faction member, endorsed whatever the Emperor said, and had even studied the Great Proclamation closely to silence opposition.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's reason for support was more intriguing. In his view:

Contradictions must follow one another for progress to circulate forward. Only when the poor and laboring masses are oppressed and one side grows too dominant can no spark arise from conflict; without such clashes, no harmonious consensus acceptable to all can emerge, and the Great Ming cannot move forward. Let them make a fuss—it's better this way.