Chapter 145: The Great Ming's Problem Today (III)

After Wu Kongjia withdrew, just as everyone thought this storm could finally pause for a while and let them catch their breath—

Another figure stepped out from the ranks.

It was Qi Xinxiao.

At once, another irrepressible stir rippled through the hall.

There was more?

That earth-shattering, cognition-upending speculation just now—was it still not the end?

This new sovereign, this young Son of Heaven—just how far did he mean to drive them today!

Qi Xinxiao ignored the gazes around him. He simply walked forward in silence.

Imitating the Emperor's manner, he swept an expressionless glance around the hall, and wherever his eyes fell, those officials who had still been whispering involuntarily shut their mouths.

Only when the hall had fallen utterly silent did he begin to speak slowly, in a tone entirely devoid of emotion.

"The estimate of one hundred ninety million—truly, as you all suspect, we too worried it might contain errors or omissions."

His very first sentence made many officials in the hall subconsciously exhale in relief.

So they knew this figure was inaccurate after all.

"Over the years there have been frequent floods, droughts, and pestilences; frontier wars; and in the south, the widespread practice of drowning female infants… All such factors reduce the population. Therefore, this number may well be too large."

Qi Xinxiao's tone was flat, as though he were speaking of a matter that had nothing to do with him.

"For this reason, to be prudent, we have provisionally set this number at one hundred fifty million."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembly.

"Gentlemen, does this seem reasonable?"

A deathly silence filled the hall.

He had lopped off forty million—that was nearly seventy percent of the entire population recorded in the Great Ming's official registers!

This "concession," so enormous yet so deft, instantly bypassed the psychological defenses of those officials who had just been hoping to find solace in data errors.

What could they say now?

That one hundred fifty million was still too many?

But the man had already voluntarily cut forty million. To question it further would be to argue for argument's sake—to shrink from facing the problem.

Seeing no one refute him, Qi Xinxiao continued: "Nevertheless, one hundred fifty million is still a figure unprecedented in all the dynasties of Huaxia since antiquity. And after this number is reached, it will continue to grow."

He extended a hand.

The junior eunuchs beside him immediately understood and turned the page.

Everyone looked over in unison.

This time, what appeared on the screen was no longer a strange diagram, but the tabular format that the capital had gradually grown accustomed to in recent days.

The table on the left was "Estimated Future Population Growth and Grain Consumption of the Great Ming."

The table on the right was "Estimated Total Grain Output of the Realm."

"Calculating at five dou of grain per person per month, the yearly requirement is six dan of grain."

Qi Xinxiao's voice was like an icy engraving knife, carving this brutal reality stroke by stroke into everyone's mind.

"The left-hand table here lists the population growth figures for each successive year, and the total amount of grain they will require for consumption."

The gazes of the assembly were drawn irresistibly to that table.

When their eyes slid to the line reading "After one hundred seventy-one years: three hundred fifty million," many pupils abruptly contracted.

Qi Xinxiao gave them ample time to digest this set of suffocating numbers.

He waited until he reckoned everyone had seen enough, then continued speaking, his voice carrying a trace of hoarseness that was barely perceptible.

"The right-hand table is an estimate of the realm's total grain output."

"During the Wanli era, Grand Secretary Zhang Taiyue implemented the Performance Evaluation Law and re-audited the realm's acreage. Though the figure was not exact, it was not far off."

"The Great Ming's farmland totals roughly seven hundred million mu."

"However, land varies in fertility, and crops are divided into rice, wheat, millet, and broomcorn millet—their yields are high or low. Some fields produce three dan per mu, some one dan, and even those yielding a mere three or five dou are not few."

"We did not know how to define the realm's average yield per mu, so we had no choice but to use a crude method."

He extended a finger and pointed to the right-hand table.

"We calculated the realm's average yield per mu separately, from one dan all the way to three dan."

"If the realm's average yield per mu could reach three dan, then the Great Ming's land could still sustain the needs of three hundred fifty million people. That is to say, the Great Ming could hold out for another one hundred seventy-one years."

At this point, imitating Zhu Youjian's manner, he paused deliberately.

"However—can the realm's average yield per mu reach three dan?"

He asked and answered himself, his tone carrying a trace of icy mockery.

"I fear it cannot even reach two dan."

"Therefore, the Great Ming's land can at most sustain a little over two hundred thirty million people! Any more than that, and the per capita ration can only be reduced from five dou per month to four dou, or even three dou!"

"Three dou!"

Qi Xinxiao's voice suddenly rose!

"Do you all know what standard three dou represents? The almshouse that our Great Ming's capital maintains specifically for widows and orphans—its provision is precisely three dou per month!"

He enunciated each word, using every ounce of his strength to repeat the sentence that young emperor had spoken into his ear the day before yesterday—the sentence that still sent chills through him whenever he recalled it.

"When that day comes, in every river and every ditch across the Great Ming's two capitals and thirteen provinces, dead infants will float!"

The moment these words were spoken, the whole of Huangji Hall seemed struck by an invisible bolt of lightning.

Everyone felt a blast of cold air shoot from the soles of their feet straight to the crowns of their heads, every hair on their bodies standing on end.

That image was too concrete, too brutal, so much so that merely imagining it was enough to shake the spirits of these pampered high officials of the court.

Qi Xinxiao finished speaking, turned around, bowed deeply toward the imperial throne, and withdrew in silence.

In the hall, a deathly silence fell.

Just as everyone thought this relentless barrage of shocks had finally ended, they instinctively turned their gaze toward the last person in the ranks who had yet to speak — Luo Yangxing, Centurion of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Yet Luo Yangxing simply stood where he was, head lowered, motionless.

Only then did the assembled officials let out a collective sigh of relief, as if they had just struggled to the surface from the very brink of drowning.

Thank heavens. Thank heavens. No more.

At that moment, Zhu Youjian, who had been sitting upright upon the imperial throne in silence all this while, finally spoke.

His voice was calm, yet it carried an unquestionable authority that shattered the suffocating stillness.

"My ministers, share your thoughts."

He turned his gaze toward Huang Liji, seated in the front row.

"Chief Grand Secretary, you first."

A faint, cool autumn breeze drifted in from outside the hall, brushing against Huang Liji's official robes.

Only then did this Chief Grand Secretary of the reigning court — a man adept at navigating officialdom, smooth and suave in all directions — realize with a start that the back of his inner garment, he knew not when, was already soaked through with cold sweat.

He rose to his feet, his graying beard trembling faintly, his mind a complete blank.

He deliberated for a moment, marshaling his words, and finally spoke, his voice strained.

"Your Majesty… this document cuts to the very marrow, standing high and seeing far, possessing almost… almost the perspective of the blue heavens looking down upon the mortal world. This subject believes it may well be called the foremost statecraft essay of all time, past and present."

Having first delivered this exceedingly high appraisal, he then shifted his tone.

"Judging by this essay, the decline of the Zhou, the end of the Han and Tang, the fall of the two Song dynasties — the difficulties they faced were none of them as severe as those confronting our Great Ming today."

After this preamble, he raised his head to glance at the young Son of Heaven upon the throne, whose expression was inscrutable, and ultimately set aside his lifelong official principle of self-preservation.

Many things can be compromised.

But some things… cannot be compromised!

He gritted his teeth, as if steeling himself for an immense resolution, and said in a deep voice: "This subject dares to ask, Your Majesty, in undertaking this matter today, is it… that you intend to launch a campaign of conquest?"

At these words, the reactions among the assembled officials varied.

The nobles of merit looked excited, exchanging glances with one another, all eager and ready to act.

The civil officials, on the other hand, mostly had their brows tightly furrowed, their faces etched with worry.

Opening up new territories, launching external campaigns — this was nearly the most direct and effective solution to the problem of "insufficient land to sustain the people."

After all, the total acreage of farmland under heaven was fixed; could they truly equalize production at three dan per mu? That was nothing short of fantastical thinking.

Thus, faced with such a brutal and perilous situation, even though the civil officials harbored concerns in their hearts, they could offer no forceful rebuttal.

Yet Zhu Youjian on the throne merely raised an eyebrow, then shook his head and chuckled softly.

"Chief Grand Secretary, you still see me as an impetuous young man."

His tone was light, as though speaking of some trivial matter.

"At present, the civil service is not yet cleansed, the people not yet soothed, the frontiers not yet pacified, the finances and taxes not yet abundant — how can we recklessly speak of campaigns and conquest?"

"I am no fool like Yang Guang. Chief Grand Secretary, set your mind at ease."

Hearing these words, Huang Liji felt his suspended heart finally settle back into his stomach, and he let out a long breath of relief.

He had truly been terrified!

He had feared, deeply feared, that this new sovereign — brilliant to the point of being almost uncanny — had been laying the groundwork all this time, from the very day of his enthronement, for the ultimate purpose of emulating the histories and expanding the realm through conquest.

But Emperor Wu of Han and Emperor Yang of Sui — what ends those two had met!

Zhu Youjian paid Huang Liji no further attention. He thought for a moment, then turned his gaze toward Han Kuang.

"Minister Han, what is your view?"

Han Kuang rose to his feet and sighed, his expression complex.

"In reply to Your Majesty, this 'struggle between man and land' is indeed the foremost dilemma facing our Great Ming today. To have clarified this question today — even if it stirs some unrest among men's hearts — is truly no great matter by comparison."

Having first affirmed the value of today's Daily Lecture, which served as a revision of his own earlier vehement opposition, he then bowed and asked:

"Does Your Majesty already have a solution in mind for this problem?"

Zhu Youjian shook his head once more.

"Today we do not discuss solutions; we discuss only the problem. If the problem is not thoroughly examined, any solution is but a castle in the air."

He scanned the great hall and called upon a few more ministers at random, but their answers were either the stale refrain of "emphasize agriculture, suppress commerce, strictly prohibit vagrancy," or the vague platitudes of "promote frugality, grant the people respite" — none of which satisfied him.

The entire hall sank once more into contemplation.

How could this problem be explored any further? It had already been dissected to the heart and laid bare to the bone — had it not been taken to its very limit?

At last, Zhu Youjian's gaze settled upon an inconspicuous corner of the hall.

There sat an official of tall stature and resolute countenance, who seemed somewhat out of place among the generally frail-looking civil officials.

"Sun Chuanting."

Zhu Youjian spoke the name evenly.

Sun Chuanting, upon being called, visibly started, then immediately rose and stepped out from the ranks.

Standing up, he appeared all the more like a crane among chickens; with that brawny frame, he looked less like a civil official and more like a battle-hardened military officer.

Many officials in the hall cast puzzled glances his way, whispering among themselves.

"Who is that man?"

"Seems to be the former Bureau Director of the Merit Evaluation Bureau in the Ministry of Personnel — a mere principal fifth rank. How is he qualified to attend today's assembly?"

Sun Chuanting ignored the murmurs around him. Facing the throne, he spoke in a deep voice.

"Your Majesty, this subject believes… I fear… our Great Ming does not have ninety years."

At these words, the entire assembly was stunned!

Every gaze in the hall snapped — whoosh — and converged upon him.

Sun Chuanting met everyone's gaze, neither servile nor arrogant, and continued: "Just now, these gentlemen—" at this, he cupped his hands toward Ni Yuanlu, Wu Kongjia, and the others in a gesture of respect, "—based their arguments on the empire's average yield per mu and average grain consumption. Though their reasoning was strategically sound, it was somewhat... lacking in detail."

He drew a deep breath and raised his head to glance at the young monarch upon the throne.

"Land can be fertile or barren; people can be rich or poor. The same holds true for every prefecture, subprefecture, and county under heaven."

"Perhaps in some regions of rich soil, the common folk could still live in peace for another ninety years, or even longer."

"But in some impoverished places, I fear the kindling has long been piled high, awaiting only... a spark!"

A glint of approval flashed through Zhu Youjian's eyes. He nodded and, following Sun Chuanting's thread, asked:

"Shaanxi?"

When Sun Chuanting heard those two words, a look of astonishment first flickered through his eyes, which then turned to understanding and admiration. He nodded heavily.

"Your Majesty! It is Shaanxi!"

"Extrapolating from this official dispatch: where the land cannot feed the people, the commoners will inevitably rise in revolt and roam in all directions. Wherever the refugees pass, they burn, kill, and plunder. Fields fall fallow, and the grain produced grows ever more insufficient. The less grain there is, the more people join the bandits."

"Thus the cycle repeats and feeds upon itself. The collapse of the empire will surely begin from a single corner, and then sweep across all under heaven!"

"As for exactly when this will erupt—perhaps a natural disaster, perhaps a cruel official, perhaps a border crisis... that, this subject cannot know."

When he finished, he bowed deeply toward the throne.

In the hall, one could have heard a pin drop.

Zhu Youjian was silent for a moment. On his face, a sincere smile finally emerged.

He gently applauded.

"Bravo!"

That single word of praise shattered the silence.

Zhu Youjian looked at him and spoke slowly.

"Sun Chuanting, We shall remember you."

At these words, the assembled officials in the hall instantly cast complex glances at Sun Chuanting—a mixture of envy, jealousy, and regret.

Those who had thought of this same point but had no chance to be called upon by the Emperor, or those who had not dared to rise and speak on their own, were especially stricken with anguish.

Sun Chuanting forcefully suppressed the wild pounding of his heart, bowed in gratitude, and withdrew to his original seat.

His heart was racing.

This Son of Heaven was not the same as the Tianqi Emperor!

He seemed unlike any emperor of any previous dynasty!

Sun Chuanting's earlier earth-shattering conclusion once again froze the slightly thawed atmosphere in the hall.

"Shaanxi," "roving bandits," "not even ninety years"...

These judgments were all entirely correct. Apart from the Hanlin masters and the ennobled nobles in the hall, who perhaps had little exposure to administrative affairs and thus felt it less keenly—

the remaining civil officials, whether currently serving or awaiting reappointment, had nothing to say against this deduction.

Above on the throne, Zhu Youjian's words—"We shall remember you"—further stirred a tumult of mixed emotions in everyone's hearts.

They had assumed that this heart-stopping Daily Lecture would end right there.

After all, if even the specific location and manner of the dynasty's fall had been "deduced," what could possibly be more shocking than that?

Go home, take a bath, light some incense, and think about what statecraft essay to write next.

After all, this new sovereign's methods were so seasoned—nothing like a man who had spent his whole life deep within the palace.

Who would be so brainless as to charge straight at the issue head-on? Even if some matters were difficult or one was unwilling to handle them, they ought to be manipulated beneath the table.

Yet the Emperor did not stop.

From the throne, Zhu Youjian's voice rang out once more.

"As Minister Sun has said, our Great Ming certainly does not have ninety years. Ninety years is merely the most ideal scenario."

He paused, shifted his tone, and a deep meaning flickered in his eyes.

"But the complexity of worldly affairs is hardly limited to this single factor Minister Sun has raised."

"Enough. We shall say no more. If you ministers listen on, you will understand soon enough."

His gaze finally fell upon the Embroidered Uniform Guard Centurion who, from beginning to end, had remained as silent as a statue.

"Luo Yangxing."

"It is your turn now."