Chapter 1: A Heaven-Dealt Opening Hand — Great Ming, Here I Come!

The twenty-second day of the eighth month, seventh year of Tianqi. Inside the Prince Xin Residence.

Zhu Youjian sat quietly cross-legged on a rush cushion, eyes closed in contemplation.

So the Prince Xin Residence actually doesn't have Wang Cheng'en...

Isn't that the standard-issue sidekick for anyone transmigrating into late-Ming Chongzhen?

The Zhu Youjians may come and go, but Companion Wang is forever.

And he's always utterly loyal, never greedy, never grasping — practically the perfect newbie-starter NPC.

But where has this newbie-guide NPC gotten to now?

Never mind, forget it — whether Wang Cheng'en is here or not hardly matters.

After all, looking across every dynasty through the ages, no other last emperor ever had a heaven-dealt opening hand like Chongzhen's.

Don't believe it? Just look at what the last emperors of other dynasties faced:

Qin's Ziying reigned a mere forty-six days — no sooner had he killed Zhao Gao than Liu Bang broke through Wu Pass, and he could only surrender with his hands bound behind his back, only to be slaughtered by Xiang Yu in the end.

Emperor Xian of Han reigned thirty-two years, the longest of them, yet his early years were spent in destitute wandering, and later he met his General Who Conquers the West, living out his whole life as a rubber stamp in unwilling resignation.

Emperor Ai of Tang reigned three years, a puppet emperor from beginning to end, forced in the end to abdicate, and poisoned to death by Zhu Wen the very next year.

The young emperor of Song — his capital fell when he was barely four, he fled ever southward, and at seven, with nowhere left to flee, Lu Xiufu took him on his back and leaped into the sea, dying for his dynasty.

And Chongzhen?

When he ascended the throne, the venerable empire he took over from Tianqi was weak, yet also strong.

Weak — truly weak. They could not defeat the Jurchen, they could not collect taxes in full, corruption ran rampant from top to bottom, and natural disasters and peasant uprisings struck one after another.

Strong — it was still the strongest power in East Asia. The Northern Metropolitan Region alone held over eight million people, to say nothing of the Southern Metropolitan Region, which paid half the empire's taxes.

Any other last emperor, handed such an opening, would probably laugh out loud in his dreams.

Yet in seventeen years on the throne, he went through nineteen Chief Grand Secretaries and fifty Grand Secretariat ministers in total.

Through this flurry of maneuvering, he went from bearing the hopes of all under heaven at the start, to a point where no one even dared bring up the matter of moving the court south.

Zhu Youjian could not help but shake his head helplessly at this thought.

One can only say that the inheritance of a feudal dynasty sometimes truly comes down to fate.

Both lacking a proper imperial education, the Longqing Emperor Jiajing was cunning as a ghost.

Had Chongzhen possessed even half his skill, he would never have ended up hanging from a southeastward bough.

One can only say: a mediocre ruler content to hold the line, meeting the end of a dynasty — the harder he tries, the more he truly errs.

It cannot be helped. When Chongzhen took the throne, he was, after all, just a seventeen-year-old high-schooler who had never really studied properly; his knowledge and ability were indeed merely average.

But the most critical thing was not even his knowledge and ability — it was that sensitive, suspicious nature of his!

One can only say that a broken family of origin truly ruins a person beyond repair.

When little Chongzhen was four, his mother, Lady Liu, was beaten to death by cudgel on the order of his own father, the Ming Guangzong Emperor.

Which is to say, the man who murdered his mother was his own father... What kind of hellish joke is that?

After his father had his birth mother beaten to death, fearing the blame of his grandfather Wanli, he simply had her hastily dumped on West Mountain and buried.

Four-year-old little Chongzhen woke up one morning — mother gone, and he didn't even know where her grave was.

No one knows what that tiny Chongzhen felt in his heart.

But perhaps there was not even a single person to comfort him.

After all, who would risk the ire of the heir-apparent for the sake of an unfavored prince?

But with his birth mother dead, a tiny thing of four could not simply be left with no one to care for him.

So the Guangzong Emperor assigned him to Consort Li Kang to raise.

Then when he was nine, Consort Kang became pregnant and excused herself, saying she could not manage the care — why not hand him over to her sister, Consort Li Zhuang, to raise?

Little Chongzhen stood amid the crowd, head lowered, not daring to speak.

In his heart he could not understand — why can you take care of Brother Tianqi, but you cannot take care of me?

Fortunately, Consort Zhuang was gentle and kind, and treated Chongzhen as if he were her own.

But when Chongzhen was thirteen, Consort Li Zhuang died too — word among the palace folk was that Wei Zhongxian and Madam Ke had driven her to death with rage.

And so his own mother was gone, and his foster mother was gone too.

Ah...

At this point in his thoughts, a teardrop suddenly struck his brocade robe, slid along the satin weave, and fell to the floor, shattering silently into seven or eight fragments.

Expressionless, Zhu Youjian wiped the corner of his eye with a finger, yet the tears would not stop flowing.

It cannot be helped — perhaps because he had only just transmigrated.

This body, it seemed, still held an intense muscle-memory response to its deepest obsession.

He simply rose to his feet, worked the numbness out of his legs, and resolved to shift his attention elsewhere.

Just then, a flurry of urgent, panicked footsteps approached from afar, and with a piercing, wailing cry, shattered the quiet of the princely residence.

"His Majesty... has passed away!"

Before the words had faded, the door was violently flung open. A gale poured in from outside, scattering the talismans on the desk — written to pray for Tianqi's recovery — in every direction, swirling like paper funeral money.

Xu Yingyuan, the Chief Usher of the residence, came scrambling and crawling through the door, a retinue of inner attendants behind him, and all fell to their knees in unison, weeping and wailing to heaven.

Xu Yingyuan lay prostrate on the floor, his voice trembling, his tone steeped in grief — yet unable to conceal a thread of excitement that even he himself did not perceive:

"Your Highness, His Majesty has ridden the dragon back to heaven! Tu Wenfu, seal-holder of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses, has come bearing the Empress's oral decree to escort Your Highness into the palace for the mourning rites — he is even now waiting outside the residence!"

Xu Yingyuan's heart pounded violently. He waited a moment, but saw no response whatsoever from Prince Xin.

Unable to restrain the wild elation and ambition in his heart, he furtively lifted his eyes and stole a swift glance at that silhouette.

The merit of following the dragon!

These four words, like an incantation, echoed madly through his mind.

In the Ming dynasty, whenever an emperor ascended the throne, it was always a case of the man attaining immortality while his chickens and dogs rose to heaven.

Over these past ten-odd days, he and the entire princely household had already, more than once, openly and privately discussed and dreamed of this glorious future.

And now, that day had finally nearly arrived! Wealth, rank, and glory were within easy reach; power over the court and the realm was but a turn of the hand away.

If Wei Zhongxian could become Nine Thousand Years, why could I, Xu Yingyuan, not do the same!

Just as he was lost in these reveries, Zhu Youjian finally turned around slowly.

Xu Yingyuan's heart jolted in alarm. He saw that Zhu Youjian's eyes were red and swollen, his face streaked with tears, his expression grieved to the extreme.

A chill instantly shot from Xu Yingyuan's tailbone straight up to the crown of his head.

He realized he had lost his composure!

At such a critical moment, before the future new sovereign, what he had been thinking of was his own prospects and riches, not mourning for the late emperor!

If this were seen through, never mind the merit of following the dragon — he would likely lose his head on the spot!

Terrified out of his wits, he hurriedly knocked his head heavily against the floor, and at the same time fiercely pinched his own thigh.

When he raised his head again, his aged face was already awash with tears, weeping more bitterly than anyone.

"His Majesty… His Majesty had barely reached his prime. I never imagined Heaven could be so unjust!"

Zhu Youjian's voice was choked. It seemed as if he had used every ounce of his strength to force out these words.

"O vast blue Heaven, why are you so cruel, bearing to make His Majesty abandon the realm and depart!"

He staggered a step, as if he might faint at any moment. Xu Yingyuan rushed forward at once and caught him firmly.

Zhu Youjian leaned against Xu Yingyuan, but inwardly he was utterly calm.

An act. All of it, an act.

Some trivial acting skills from the officialdom of a later age, combined with the muscle memory of this body that had come at just the right moment, together produced this best-actor-level performance.

He had only moved out to reside at the Prince Xin estate at the end of last year, a mere nine months ago.

Before the Tianqi Emperor fell gravely ill, he had been nothing but an unnoticed young princely fief-holder, utterly lacking in deep-seated authority.

For instance, this very man before him, the seemingly loyal and devoted Chief Usher of the princely household, Xu Yingyuan, was a veteran member of the eunuch faction.

The man was a colleague and former gambling buddy of Wei Zhongxian, and also the old uncle of Tu Wenfu, the current seal-holder of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses and commander of the Four Guards Camp.

In the past, relying on those two layers of connections, he had truly thrown his weight around in the princely household quite a bit, taking kickbacks and skimming off the top.

The rest of the staff likewise had no fear of the so-called authority of Prince Xin; passing news outside was utterly commonplace.

Even if these people were now already thinking of the merit of following the dragon and intended to turn over a new leaf, such trifling matters as passing news were still truly hard to stamp out entirely.

At this critical juncture, his every move would be scrutinized by civil and military officials, the nobility, the palace eunuchs, and the Eastern Depot and Embroidered Uniform Guard as if under a magnifying glass.

Filial piety was precisely the best display at this moment.

First, the greatest support for his journey today was none other than the Tianqi Emperor's widow, Empress Zhang. Her attitude was of paramount importance.

Second, this could, to a certain degree, signal that he would maintain some continuity with the policies and old hands of the Tianqi era, and would not so swiftly negate everything and settle all scores. This would help ease the eunuch faction's stance and reduce confrontation.

Finally, whatever reputation he accumulated now would, in the future, transform into tangible power and position. Fame and rank have been two sides of the same coin since ancient times, yin and yang giving birth to each other.

He drew a deep breath, suppressed the churning thoughts in his heart, and concealed all his calculations beneath that grief-stricken face.

"Help me… change my clothes."

"Quick, quick, attend His Highness as he changes!" Xu Yingyuan's eyes were swollen and aching, tears still streaming, yet he still hurriedly bustled the others about.

Just as the palace attendants were frantically draping the mourning robes over Prince Xin, a figure stumbled and rushed in through the doorway.

"Your Highness!"

The newcomer was none other than Princess Consort Zhou. Her hair was slightly disheveled; she had clearly received the news suddenly, her mind thrown into chaos, and had come running all the way.

Her face was utterly bloodless, and her lovely eyes were filled with terror and helpless bewilderment.

Zhu Youjian waved a hand at the crowd, gesturing for them to withdraw.

Xu Yingyuan took the hint and hurriedly led the entire group of palace attendants out of the room, gently pulling the door shut behind them.

Once everyone had withdrawn, Zhu Youjian stepped forward and supported the swaying Princess Consort Zhou.

"Changqiu, listen to me carefully."

Zhou Yu started violently, looking at him through tear-blurred eyes.

Before she could think further, Zhu Youjian, in a tone that brooked no doubt, spoke low into her ear:

"The moment I enter the palace, go at once to find your father. Have him spread word of my entry into the palace as widely as possible."

"You must go in person. Have him use trusted servants from within the household to do it. Under no circumstances use men from the Southern City Troops and Horses Office. Do you understand?"

Zhou Yu, suddenly struck by such a great upheaval, could not grasp the deeper meaning for a moment.

She merely clutched Zhu Youjian's sleeve instinctively and asked in a panic: "Wh-why must we do this? Wouldn't the men from the Southern City Troops and Horses Office be faster?"

Zhu Youjian looked at her, a flicker of approval passing through his eyes. That she could still ask the key question in such alarm was already rare.

He explained in the most concise terms: "This journey into the palace is, after all, uncertain in fortune. I judge that Wei Zhongxian would not dare to act, but it is still best to spread the news. The more people know I have entered the palace, the safer I am."

"But affairs succeed through secrecy and fail through disclosure. If using the Southern City Troops and Horses Office were detected, it would make me appear to harbor sinister designs and act in an underhanded manner. Weighing the two, it is better to use trusted servants; a little slower is no matter."

Zhou Yu nodded rapidly, repeating quickly: "The moment you enter the palace, I will go find Father and use the household's trusted servants to spread the word."

She drew a deep breath and added: "After I have done this, I will return to the residence at once and arrange the mourning setup there, indirectly spreading the news as far as possible. And there are also Sister Tian and Sister Yuan — their parents are also in the capital. I can arrange things indirectly as well."

Zhu Youjian could not help but inwardly marvel. He patted her hand firmly and consoled her gently: "There is no need to be overly alarmed. Inside the palace, my imperial sister-in-law will also provide protection. Acting this way is merely to prepare against any contingency."

Seeing that his instructions were complete, he turned around and was about to push open the door.

"Your Highness!"

But at that moment, Zhou Yu suddenly called out and stopped him.

Zhu Youjian halted his step and turned back. He saw the sixteen-year-old girl standing in the room, her cloud-like hair disheveled, tear drops still clinging to her face, yet her eyes were utterly earnest.

She gazed at him, and word by word, clear and resolute, she said:

"If ill befalls you, I shall not survive alone."

The voice was not loud, yet it landed like metal striking stone — every word rang with weight.

Zhu Youjian felt a violent jolt in his heart.

He had not expected this.

He had not foreseen this.

More importantly — across his past life and this one, he had never encountered it!

A thousand words surged into his throat, but in the end they condensed into a single heavy nod.

He said not one word more, spun around sharply, pushed open the door, and strode out.

The eunuchs waiting outside immediately crowded around him, their hands deftly draping the final plain white cloak over his shoulders.

It was already the end of the shen hour; the sky was darkening but not yet dark. The north wind sweeping down from the Mongol steppes at once set the cloak snapping and flapping.

Outside the Prince Xin Residence, Tu Wenfu had been standing for a long while, his face showing not the slightest trace of resentment.

"Godfather, shall we go and hurry them along?" The young eunuch behind him lowered his voice, his tone carrying a hint of fawning.

"Silence."

Tu Wenfu did not turn his head. His voice was not loud, yet it made the young eunuch tremble all over and dare not speak another word.

Hurry them? What was there to hurry?

The one person under heaven who can never be hurried is one's master.

That he, Tu Wenfu, had been able to climb within the palace to the position of seal-holder of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses — it was not by anything else, but precisely this eye for reading a situation and this patience.

As the saying goes, "When you tread on frost, solid ice is soon to come." The passing of the Tianqi Emperor was the first patch of frost in this deep autumn.

If he still could not read the situation clearly and followed his old master down a road to blackness, that would be true stupidity.

Eunuch Wei may once have been a tree reaching to the heavens, but now that tree is about to topple.

He had no wish to be the monkey crushed beneath it.

Coming today by decree of the Empress — this was an opportunity he had secured through secret maneuvering.

Even if it was only the short journey into the palace, it was still an immensely precious opportunity.

One more face seen today means one more measure of goodwill tomorrow.

Who knows — that extra bit of goodwill might later turn banishment to the imperial tombs into mere demotion to the Divine Palace Eunuch Directorate?

The wealth and splendor of the capital dazzle the eye; unless driven to the last extreme, who would willingly step down so easily?

As long as one remains before the eyes of the supreme one, there will in the end be a chance to turn things around.

Just as he was pondering this, the tightly shut vermilion-lacquered gates of the Prince Xin Residence, with a drawn-out creak, slowly swung open.

Tu Wenfu bent at the waist and hurried forward, putting on an expression mingling grief with ingratiation as he went to receive him.

"This slave Tu Wenfu, by decree of the Empress, respectfully welcomes His Highness Prince Xin to the palace."

The personalities of the characters and the details of events in this text draw reference from the Ming Veritable Records, The National Deliberations, The Old Manchu Archives, and other Ming-Qing official histories, private histories, and literati miscellanies.

Some statistical data on the economy, military affairs, population, and natural resources will reference research papers by modern historians.

In the opening of the story, when the protagonist's butterfly effect is still small, the place and office where each character first appears follow the Chronological Tables of Ming Dynasty Officials.

Temporal and spatial factors are estimated according to ancient sources — for example, Beijing to Nanjing: normally thirty days; by fast relay horse, five to ten days.

That is to say, there will be no situation where the protagonist merely turns his head and says "restore Xu Guangqi to office," and Xu Guangqi instantly flies from Shanghai to Beijing by airplane. This book has no convenient teleportation doors.

Since this is the first chapter, I am adding this explanation within the main text; I ask for everyone's forbearance.

Subsequent historical citations will all be placed in the "Author's Notes" so as not to take up the main text word count.

Where the historical record is blank or ambiguous, I will extrapolate and supplement based on reference materials at my own discretion.

For example, this chapter mentions a population of eight million for Northern Zhili; in reality, according to the Wanli-era Yellow Registers of household population, it was only slightly over three million.

I extrapolated upward based on A Demographic History of China and Qing-period Hebei population data; in truth, I feel this is still on the conservative side.

After all, the refugees flooding into the passes from Liaodong alone number in the hundreds of thousands.

For such data that I extrapolate or invent on my own, I will also add separate annotations, lest everyone mistake them for genuine historical fact.

All kinds of street-stall literature and low-grade conspiracy theories are already rampant enough; I do not wish to become one more contributor to them.

Lastly, the sole fabrication in this chapter is Empress Zhou's maiden name… there was no way around it; I truly could not find her name.

Regarding Empress Zhou, there are many amusing little anecdotes; they may not all appear in this book. I have placed a "Memorial on the Family Affairs of Empress Zhou" in the related works section.