Chapter 13: So the Ming Emperor Was Once This Rich…

Qianqing Palace.

A bowl of steaming hot noodles went down, and Zhu Youjian let out a satisfied sigh.

He set the large blue-and-white bowl down on the table with a heavy thud — clang!

"Delicious! Changqiu's cooking is truly excellent!"

The sharp clatter made Wang Tiqian and Si Zhili, who had been eating delicately from their own bowls at the side, jump in fright.

Startled by His Majesty, the two men set down their chopsticks in unison, rose to their feet, and stood with bodies bent, poised to receive orders at any moment.

Beside the imperial throne, Zhou Yu fought to keep a straight face, but her eyes still curved like crescent moons.

Delighted inwardly, she maintained a demure expression and said, "If Your Majesty enjoys it, that is all that matters. This concubine made a point of consulting the old master in the Directorate of Imperial Meals. He said that in the art of cookery, this concubine is truly… a prodigy of heaven-sent talent, and he even gave me a secret ancestral recipe for the broth."

Watching her barely concealed pride, Zhu Youjian felt a warmth in his heart. He reached out, quite naturally, and brushed a tiny smudge of white flour from her cheek.

Zhou Yu's cheeks instantly flushed crimson, as if scorched by fire. She hastily lowered her head, raised her sleeve, and wiped left and right across her face, her heart pounding like a startled deer.

Only then did Zhu Youjian turn to the two trembling eunuchs. With a mild tone, he waved his hand.

"Enough, you two needn't be so nervous. This was made by Changqiu herself. Eat it properly — you are not to leave a single bite."

"I will first look over the account books myself, then question you."

"This slave… obeys the decree."

As if granted a great reprieve, the two hurriedly sat back down, picked up their noodle bowls, and wolfed down the rest quickly and quietly.

Paying them no further mind, Zhu Youjian drew the topmost volume from the stack of documents Si Zhili had presented and opened it.

His heart was full of anticipation.

My Tianqi brother, just how much money did you leave me?

Yet after only a few minutes of reading, Zhu Youjian felt his scalp prickle and go numb.

Traditional characters, vertical columns, no punctuation, and all the numbers written in formal Chinese long-form.

Not to mention the so-called "four-column clearing method" — opening balance, new receipts, disbursements, closing balance… all manner of categories tangled and jumbled together, dazzling the eyes and making his head ache.

Accustomed to the clear, intelligible tables and Arabic numerals of later ages, Zhu Youjian simply could not endure this bookkeeping method that read like a heavenly scripture.

Suppressing his impatience, he flipped back a few more pages. Everywhere his eyes fell were dense clusters of tiny regular-script characters, and at last he lost all patience.

Thwack!

With a dull thud, Zhu Youjian shut the heavy account book.

He looked up. Wang Tiqian and Si Zhili had finished their noodles at some point and were now standing at attendance with bodies bent, not daring to breathe too loudly.

Zhou Yu, on the other hand, was speaking softly with a palace maid, a smile on her face.

"Si Zhili," Zhu Youjian called.

"This slave is here." Si Zhili hurriedly stepped forward, his head drooping even lower.

"How goes the handover of the Inner Bearing Treasury?"

"In reply to Your Majesty, the archives and account registers have all been handed over, and this slave has also given them a general review. It is only… the physical goods in the treasury have not yet been inventoried one by one and checked against the accounts," Si Zhili answered with extreme caution, his voice quavering.

Zhu Youjian nodded, unconcerned with such minor details. He asked directly, "Tell me plainly: at this moment, how much silver remains in my privy purse?"

Si Zhili's body gave a violent shudder. Bowing, he said, "In reply to Your Majesty, on the books of the Inner Bearing Treasury, the total silver on hand is one million four hundred thirty-seven thousand five hundred twenty-three taels and four mace."

Zhu Youjian thought he had misheard. His voice involuntarily rose a pitch. "How much? How can it be so little?"

"One million four hundred thirty-seven thousand…" Si Zhili repeated, his voice now as faint as a mosquito's hum, barely audible.

Zhu Youjian was utterly stunned.

The majestic Emperor of the Great Ming, master of all within the four seas, the Son of Heaven upon the ninefold throne — and in his private little treasury, only this handful of loose coins remained?

A powerful sense of absurdity surged through him. For a moment, he did not know what to say — whether he should rage or laugh.

Seeing the Emperor's expression shift between dark and bright, Si Zhili was so terrified that cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His legs went weak, and he nearly dropped to his knees.

He was merely a man newly promoted from the Prince Xin Residence, formerly no more than a household bureau officer in the princely establishment. Overcome with panic, he stammered and could not get a word out.

Zhu Youjian's gaze passed over him and fell upon the silent figure behind him.

Wang Tiqian.

Wang Tiqian instantly felt the Emperor's gaze upon him. He sighed inwardly, knowing there was no avoiding this.

He stepped out from behind Si Zhili, knelt and prostrated himself on the floor, and spoke in a tone both grave and reverent.

"Your Majesty, regarding the matter of the privy purse, this old slave… knows a thing or two, and may perhaps be able to dispel Your Majesty's doubts."

"Speak." Zhu Youjian's voice betrayed neither pleasure nor anger.

"Yes." Wang Tiqian steadied his nerves, organized his words, and began slowly.

"When the Shenzong Xian Emperor (Wanli) passed away, the privy purse still held nearly forty million taels — it may be called well-stocked."

He paused, stole a glance at the Emperor's expression, and then continued.

"But in the forty-eighth year of Wanli, after the defeat at Sarhu, Liaodong was in dire peril. When the Guangzong Zhen Emperor ascended the throne, he immediately issued over nine million taels from the privy purse for military funds."

"After the Late Emperor ascended the throne, there followed the defeats at Liaoyang-Shenyang and Guangning. To rebuild the armies and construct city defenses, over ten million taels more were issued from the privy purse."

"In the years thereafter, the daily expenses of the palace, the new levies for the Liaodong campaign, the reconstruction of the Three Great Halls, the departures of the three princes for their fiefs, and the investitures of princesses and honored consorts… the expenditures were enormous."

"Thus… thus it is that by today, only this scant million-odd taels remain."

Zhu Youjian seized on the key point with sharp acuity. "In the forty-eighth year of Wanli and the first year of Tianqi — a mere two years — nearly twenty million taels were issued from the privy purse for the Liaodong affair?"

"Yes." Wang Tiqian's head bowed even lower.

"The court suffered successive defeats. Cities and armies both needed rebuilding — spending money was only right."

Zhu Youjian was truly puzzled at heart and could not help pressing further.

"Yet even so, nearly twenty million taels from the privy purse in two years is far too much. At present, the annual pay for Liaodong is only five million two hundred thousand taels."

"Rebuilding armies, garrisoning cities — together with the regular Liaodong levy taxes over those two years — does that not mean our Great Ming spent nearly thirty million taels in military expenses on Liaodong in just two years?"

Wang Tiqian's heart seized with dread. Cold sweat instantly soaked through the back of his robe.

He had not expected this new sovereign — who, during his idle years in the princely residence, was spoken of by all merely in terms of benevolence, generosity, filial piety, and the like —

Now, barely seated upon the throne, to possess such piercing insight into matters a thousand miles away?

He lowered his head, his voice rough and strained: "Your Majesty is sagaciously discerning. In the years after the late emperor ascended the throne… he too sensed something was amiss and inquired repeatedly, yet… yet in the end, could never get to the bottom of it."

Could never get to the bottom of it.

Zhu Youjian sneered inwardly.

A fine "could never get to the bottom of it"!

He could almost picture it — how that snowdrift of silver had flowed out of the state treasury.

Passing all along the way through the hands of palace envoys, civil officials, petty clerks, and frontier generals, layer upon layer skimming off their cut, plucking feathers from every passing goose, until at last it reached those suffering, feeble soldiers and civilian laborers.

But by the time it actually arrived, how much truly reached its intended purpose? Eighty percent? Or fifty?

Damn, surely not as little as thirty percent?

Zhu Youjian sighed in his heart. Governance achieved through bribery, justice twisted by influence — this was, in truth, the faithful portrait of officialdom in the late Ming.

Military works and frontier defense — these two items devoured the dynasty's expenditures most ravenously, feeding heaven knows how many bloodsucking parasites!

A pity he had transmigrated as Chongzhen, not Tianqi.

Matters having reached this point, with two sovereigns gone in rapid succession, there was simply no way to trace it back. Brooding on it was profitless.

He drew a deep breath, steadied himself, and changed the subject: "In that case, how do the revenues of the privy purse presently stand?"

(Chapter 14: My! Money! (Begging for monthly tickets!))