Chapter 152: Half the Analects to Govern the Realm, Half a Mu of Spinach to Save the Realm

Wang Tiqian drew his python robe tighter around himself; the weather, he felt, was growing colder by the day.

He stepped out of the Eastern Depot, turned smoothly into Donghua Gate, but instead of heading toward Qianqing Palace, he followed the palace wall and veered toward the Western Park.

A few days earlier, His Majesty had suddenly moved to the Zhaohua Hall in the Western Park, saying he wanted a change of scene, a bit of peace and quiet.

Yet this "bit of peace and quiet" had lasted until now, with no sign of moving back to Qianqing Palace.

Wang Tiqian hurried along the foot of the wall and soon passed the Western Park Gate; Zhaohua Hall was now distantly in sight.

Speaking of this Zhaohua Hall, there was a little anecdote about it, neither too big nor too small.

After staying only two days, His Majesty had declared that the two characters "Zhao He" were utterly out of tune with the Ming's current predicament, beset by troubles both at home and abroad, and said he would rename it.

Yet he had been mysteriously secretive, refusing to let them know what name he had changed it to.

When Wang Tiqian reached the front of the hall, he saw that the plaque had indeed been replaced with a new one — but the three large characters upon it made the corner of his eye twitch involuntarily.

— Earnest Hall?

Was he being earnest?

Was this drawn from that day's face-to-face talk with Lu Xiangsheng? Wasn't it a little too blunt?

Wang Tiqian muttered to himself, but his feet did not stop; he strode quickly to the front of the hall.

The young eunuch at the entrance saw him and hurriedly bowed: "Eunuch Wang."

"Is His Majesty in the hall?" Wang Tiqian asked.

The young eunuch shook his head and replied respectfully:

"To answer Eunuch Wang, His Majesty's schedule changed today; he is not in the hall at the moment."

"If you have urgent business, you may seek him at Rabbit Hill to the west. If it is not urgent, you may also wait here a while."

Wang Tiqian was momentarily taken aback.

This multiple-choice question was not a hard one to answer.

He nodded to the young eunuch, turned around, and continued walking westward.

The Western Park was still rather large; Wang Tiqian walked a while longer before he finally caught sight of that not-very-tall Rabbit Hill.

He halted, steadied his breathing a little, and carefully adjusted his robes and headpiece before striding forward.

Before he had even drawn near, a scene he would never forget for the rest of his life burst into his view.

At the foot of Rabbit Hill, a plot of land about half a mu in size had been cleared and cultivated, he knew not when.

A young man dressed in ordinary coarse brown cloth was bent over, laboring in the field.

Not far from the edge of the field, Gao Shiming, the seal-holding eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, stood with his hands at his sides, his expression solemn.

Farther off, a dozen or so guards and attendant eunuchs stood waiting at a distance, serving off to one side.

That young man in the field — who else could he be but the most exalted Son of Heaven of the Great Ming, the Yongchang Emperor, Zhu Youjian?

Wang Tiqian's pupils abruptly contracted.

He instinctively quickened his pace, and heedless of the mud and filth at the field's edge, he dropped straight to his knees.

"This slave kowtows before Your Majesty! Long live His Majesty, long live, long, long live!"

His voice, shaken by the shock in his heart, carried a tremor.

The young man bent over his labor heard him, slowly straightened his back, and turned his head.

Sweat was sliding down his youthful cheeks, but a trace of a smile lingered on his face: "Companion Wang, you've come."

He stretched out his arms, hunched his shoulders, and wiped the sweat by rubbing it against his clothes, then added: "Rise, and wait a moment. Wait until We finish sowing this furrow, then We'll talk."

With that, he actually bent over again and went back to his busy work.

Wang Tiqian knelt there in a daze until Gao Shiming came over and helped him up.

"Eunuch Wang, get up. His Majesty told you to rise."

Wang Tiqian rose to his feet and stood shoulder to shoulder with Gao Shiming at the field's edge, but his gaze was fixed rigidly on that figure in the field, the stormy waves in his heart unable to calm for a long time.

The more he watched, the more frightened and uneasy he grew.

This was too outrageous.

The scene before his eyes was simply too outrageous!

The Son of Heaven of the Great Ming, personally going down to the fields to work?

He could not help lowering his voice, practically pressing it to Gao Shiming's ear to ask: "Eunuch Gao, why has no one gone down to lend a hand? We just stand here and watch?"

Gao Shiming glanced at him with a complicated expression and slowly shook his head.

"His Majesty said that each performing his own duty, each keeping to his own role — that is the way to save the Ming now."

He sighed and said:

"His Majesty also said, if you do not know its difficulty, you will treat the matter lightly; if you do not know its hardship, you will abuse your authority."

"Since he is the sovereign father of all under Heaven, if he does not know the bitterness of sowing and reaping, he will not know the bitterness of the common people under Heaven."

"Our duties, whether in administration, or military affairs, or oversight, are simply to do what falls within our roles. But this bitterness of sowing and reaping can only be personally endured by His Majesty; none may take his place."

Wang Tiqian fell utterly silent.

If you do not know its difficulty, you will treat the matter lightly; if you do not know its hardship, you will abuse your authority…

In his mind, he could not help but recall the various past ceremonies of "the sage sovereign personally tending the fields."

Attending to agriculture was, of course, a duty of the Ming Emperor.

But in the past, it had been no more than putting on a rice-threshing play, or performing the ritual of the imperial plowing, three pushes and three returns.

The so-called rice-threshing play was when, at the autumn harvest each year, the Bell and Drum Office would dress up as farmers, farmers' wives, and field officials to act out matters of tax collection, grain delivery, and lawsuits.

And the ritual of the imperial plowing was when, at the start of spring each year, His Majesty would go to sacrifice at the Altar of Agriculture and perform the ritual of the imperial plowing together with all the civil and military officials.

During the process, the great ministers would guide the plow back and forth nine times; the Son of Heaven needed only to go back and forth three times.

Yet even this ritual had been abolished in the time of the Shizong Emperor.

After them, neither the Shenzong nor the Suzong Emperor ever performed this rite again.

In the entire Great Ming, aside from the dynastic founder, the Great Ancestor, what other Son of Heaven would ever, like the sight before them now, roll up his sleeves, personally turn the soil and sow the seed, making himself look just like a real old farmer?

So then…

Is this what the histories call a sage and worthy sovereign?

How could it come to this… how could it come to this!

Even with Wang Tiqian's cunning and devious mind, he could not stop his heart from stirring in this moment.

Wang Tiqian remained silent for a long while. Watching the Emperor's figure recede further and further along the field ridges, he finally could not help but speak again: "This matter… should it be spread through the capital, so the myriad people may know of it?"

When two eunuchs spoke to each other, there was no need for such veiled language; bluntness was simpler and more direct.

At this, Gao Shiming finally turned his head and looked at him seriously.

"His Majesty said: the matter is not yet accomplished, do not make a show of it. Wait until something grows from this earth, then discuss the rest."

Wang Tiqian's heart jolted again.

In that instant, he suddenly felt a twinge of envy toward Tian Ergeng, the Guard Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

His Majesty had once said he wanted the Embroidered Uniform Guard to reclaim a name of unblemished integrity.

At the time, it had sounded like nothing more than a wild fantasy.

The reputation of being the Son of Heaven's falcons and hounds had been established for ages — how could it be so easily washed clean?

Yet looking at it now, as long as Tian Ergeng could seize this opportunity, this talk of remolding their integrity might not be impossible to realize after all.

But what of his Eastern Depot? Where could the Eastern Depot ever find such a path?

That day, when His Majesty spoke of "comrades" — was it true for Lu Xiangsheng? Was it true for Gao Shiming?

And for me, Wang Tiqian — was it true or not?

Zhu Youjian felt he was about to collapse from exhaustion.

That long, slender muscle along his spine was twitching, and his neck ached unbearably.

Although this young body was full of strength, after turning half a mu of earth earlier and now bending over all this time, it truly was somewhat hard to bear.

Gritting his teeth, bent at the waist, he carefully pinched a handful of spinach seeds in his hand and, following the method he had been told, dropped them in twos and threes along the shallow furrows he had prepared.

The exhaustion of tilling the soil and the exhaustion of drawing a bow were truly not the same thing at all.

Seeing that this ridge was finally sown, he let out a long breath, straightened up, grabbed the bamboo rake beside him, and clumsily pulled the soil from both sides over the seeds, covering them with a thin layer.

With every section he raked, he followed the method he had heard and turned the rake over to press the soil down a little firmer.

What he was planting was spinach.

At this time, some people also called it bōléng.

As for why he was inexplicably planting spinach here, that required some discussion of practical realities.

The north wind had swept through in several bouts; the capital had seesawed between cold and warm a number of times, and in the end, winter was about to set in.

Now, if one rose early enough, one could even see tiny icicles under the eaves.

In this awkward season, traditional crops like wheat, soybeans, and cotton could not be planted.

The sweet potatoes, potatoes, and corn he yearned for day and night were even less suited for planting at this time.

Only after asking the veterans in the Valiant Guard Camp who had farmed before did he learn that at this moment, the only thing that could be planted was some cold-hardy spinach.

Plant it before winter fully sets in, let it sprout, let it endure the winter, and by spring the harvest would be ready.

This was the farming season.

This was why ancient warfare had such an enormous impact on agriculture.

Miss the window by ten days or half a month, and an entire season's harvest was lost.

He was a modern man; even if he possessed knowledge that surpassed this era, before this ironclad fact, he still had to bow his head obediently.

At last, the final few seeds were covered by earth.

Zhu Youjian threw down the rake, could hold out no longer, and collapsed onto his backside on the field ridge, panting heavily.

But his mood was incomparably beautiful.

This was farming, haha! Apart from the Great Ancestor, what other emperor in the Great Ming had ever personally farmed, haha?

When I harvest this spinach in the spring, I'll give it to everyone I see!

Zhu Youjian savored this delightful mood by himself for a moment, then turned his head and waved toward Gao Shiming and the other man:

"Come, tell me of today's memorials and the mood in the capital. I may as well rest a while."

"This slave obeys the decree."

Gao Shiming and Wang Tiqian bowed in unison.

Gao Shiming spoke first: "Your Majesty, today the Grand Secretariat sent a total of two hundred and ninety-four memorials. Among them, thirteen were specially marked 'New Governance.' Those specially marked 'Question of the Age'… are more numerous than yesterday again; today there are eighty-five in total…"

Zhu Youjian laughed heartily and waved his hand dismissively. "The 'Question of the Age' memorials — as before, forward them all to the Secretariat for handling."

This so-called Secretariat had no salaries, no official ranks, no institutional affiliation; it was merely a provisional body.

At present, it was specifically responsible for handling one particular category of memorials:

the statecraft documents on the "dispute between people and land" submitted by these civil officials, ennobled nobles, scholars, and military students in the capital.

As for the members of the Secretariat, aside from the five men including Wu Kongjia, who had recently risen to sudden prominence, two more had been added from among the civil officials: Sun Chuanting and Bi Ziyan.

Then Cao Huachun and Liu Ruoyu, who had performed rather well in the inner palace rectification, were also pulled in.

Altogether, that made nine people.

Later, they would gradually add more depending on the situation — striving to expand to twenty within the year, and to a hundred by next year, turning this informal body into a formal institution.

Turning the handling of statecraft documents into handling the New Governance, and then into handling all affairs under Heaven — and hollowing out the Grand Secretariat!

Of course…

Right now, these nine people were not nearly that formidable.

Now, for the greater part of each day, they could only immerse themselves in this ocean of statecraft documents, panning for gold in a river of shit.

Only documents jointly approved by five or more of them would proceed to the next circle for judgment: Xue Guoguan, Gao Shiming, Huang Liji, Li Guopu, Yang Jingchen, and Cheng Jiming.

And only with final approval from three or more of that circle would a document reach him.

Were most of the new statecraft documents shit?

No matter — produce as many as you like; not a speck of it will ever stick to me!

Gao Shiming nodded and continued, "In addition, among the regular memorials today, there are none at the first grade, seven at the second grade, and at the third grade…"

As Zhu Youjian listened, he unconsciously rubbed his aching shoulders.

Seeing this, Wang Tiqian hastily stepped forward, knelt behind Zhu Youjian, and cautiously extended his hands. "Your Majesty, this slave presumes to knead your shoulders."

Zhu Youjian had been about to say it was unnecessary, but the moment Wang Tiqian's fingers settled on his shoulders, a perfectly judged pressure came through, so soothing he nearly groaned aloud.

The words on his lips were swallowed back down, turning into a tacit silence.

— In principle, even an old farmer in the fields has a wife and children to pound his back for him; this hardly counts as cheating.

Seeing that the Emperor had not spoken, Wang Tiqian applied himself with even greater care to the pressure of his hands.

For a moment, on this ridge of the Western Park, a scene of utter grotesquerie unfolded.

The Emperor of the Great Ming, covered head to toe in mud, sat slumped at the edge of the field.

While the Director of the Eastern Depot, whose very name could stop a child's night-terrors, knelt on the ground kneading his shoulders and pounding his back.

Beside him, the Inner Chancellor of the Great Ming, the seal-holding eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, was methodically reporting affairs of state.

"…The Vice Prefect of Shuntian Prefecture, Zhang Zibing, memorializes: the weather grows cold, and refugees have already gathered around the capital environs. At present, seven hundred and thirteen are registered. As directed by the previous document, they have been linked to roadworks and dispatched in groups to various sites, receiving daily grain rations — relief through labor."

"The Assistant Prefect of Shuntian, Wang Zhaodui…"

At this, Zhu Youjian suddenly raised a hand.

Gao Shiming stopped at once.

Zhu Youjian looked at the field before him, which he had turned over until it looked as though chewed by a dog, and could not help a rueful laugh.

"Convey Our edict to Zhang Zibing."

He said slowly, "Have him select from among the refugees ten old farmers who are skilled at farm work and of clean background, and send them into the palace to teach Us how to farm."

He sighed. "Our floundering about on Our own like this is, after all, no solution."

Yet this floundering about was, after all, not entirely wasted effort.

Knowledge carries a curse.

Once you have acquired a piece of knowledge, you always assume that others possess the same knowledge.

Therefore, he had to flounder about in a state of complete ignorance before he could deeply remember —

just how idiotic an idiot who cannot farm can truly be!

And this understanding would be applied by him to seventy percent of the civil officials, and one hundred percent of the nobility.

Employing men is not merely a matter of knowing their strengths; one must know their weaknesses even more.

Gao Shiming bowed in acknowledgment and then continued, "The Assistant Prefect of Shuntian, Wang Zhaodui, reports on the matter of investigating the subofficial clerks of Shuntian Prefecture. It has already…"

Zhu Youjian replied, "Excellent. Order that the clerks' confessions and all their corrupt methods be compiled and consolidated into a single 'Handbook of Petty-Clerk Corruption Memorial.' Once the clerks captured by Lu Xiangsheng's side have also been delivered to the capital, collate them together, and it can be issued as the first edition."

Gao Shiming reported, "The Duke of Ying has submitted a memorial requesting an examination to select sons of the merit nobility, to choose the worthy and appoint the capable…"

Zhu Youjian replied, "Help Us fob him off — say it's imminent, imminent; next time for certain…"

Gao Shiming reported, "Tian Ergeng reports back: the telegraph line toward Datong has been pushed through with full effort as far as the Wanquan Regional Military Commission. Everywhere, wooden towers have been temporarily erected as a stopgap, to be replaced and repaired later. At this rate, in another ten-odd days, direct telegraph communication with Ma Shilong will be possible."

Zhu Youjian rose to his feet and said with admiration, "Not bad. Old Tian's work sets my mind at ease. Send him two bolts of silk as a token of appreciation, and tell him greater rewards await from Us later; let him do his work well."

Gao Shiming reported, "The court nomination by the Six Ministries and Nine Chief Ministers for the Minister of Rites of Nanjing has yielded a result. The list contains seven names, including Wang Yongguang, Li…"

Zhu Youjian swept his hand to cut him off directly. "Pay no mind to the others. As previously discussed, choose Wang Yongguang. Have him attend tomorrow's grand court assembly before leaving for his post."

He stretched his limbs on the spot, feeling he had rested enough, and so turned back with a grin. "You two wait here a moment — I'm off to buy some oranges!"

Gao Shiming and Wang Tiqian were instantly filled with bewilderment.

Zhu Youjian was in excellent spirits today and offered no explanation. With a hearty laugh, he simply jumped down into the field and resumed his great sowing enterprise.

The sun gradually climbed higher; the hour of noon had arrived.

The thin morning mist had long since dispersed, and warm sunlight spilled over them, dispelling the chill of late autumn.

Zhu Youjian fully embodied what is meant by balancing work and rest.

At times he was in the field, sowing seeds and turning the soil — then his brain rested while his body labored.

At other times he returned to the field's edge, listening to reports and giving his replies and instructions — then his body rested while his brain labored.

Across the half-mu of land, row after row of ridges was gradually sown with seeds and covered over again with soil.

The Western Park, this imperial garden that had witnessed two centuries of the Great Ming's rise and decline, after thirteen emperors,

had at last welcomed the most bizarre emperor in Ming history.

The Zhengde Emperor had once kept tigers and leopards here, indulging in endless revelry; the Jiajing Emperor had once refined elixirs and practiced the Dao here, heedless of the common people's plight.

And now, in this seventeenth century, the Yongchang Emperor had actually carved out half a mu of wretched field in a corner of the most luxurious garden under heaven?!

And what was planted in this wretched field was actually spinach!!

What was this supposed to be?

Governing the realm with half the Analects; saving the realm with half a mu of spinach?

(Image attached: diagram for sowing spinach, much simpler than planting wheat)