Chapter 1670: This Emperor Isn't Easy to Fool!

"Ke'ai!" Mao Wenlong's curiosity was piqued, and he called out a very cute name.

"Your grandson is here!" A young man with a baby face stepped forward at the call and saluted Mao Wenlong. The young man was also wearing a brigandine and a flying-saucer helmet, dressed exactly like Mao Wenlong's personal guards. But he was no ordinary guard — he was Mao Wenlong's adopted grandson, named Mao Ke'ai. Whoever came up with that name really outdid themselves.

Of course, the name "Ke'ai" had not been given by Mao Wenlong, but by Mao Ke'ai's own father, Shang Xueli. Shang Xueli was an old subordinate who had helped Mao Wenlong rise to prominence, and had later died in battle against the Later Jin army, becoming a loyal martyr of the Great Ming. He left behind five sons with no one to depend on, named Shang Kejin, Shang Ke'ai, Shang Kehe, Shang Kexi, and Shang Kewei. Of them, Shang Ke'ai, because he was cute, and Shang Kexi, because he was likable, both became Mao Wenlong's adopted grandsons.

Shang Ke'ai then changed his name to Mao Ke'ai, while Shang Kexi changed his to Mao Yongxi. Mao Yongxi now served with his own elder brother Shang Kejin in command of troops, while Mao Ke'ai attended Mao Wenlong at his stirrup and bridle.

Mao Wenlong ordered, "Go find out whose cavalry that is. The year is almost over — why are they still drilling so hard?"

"Your grandson will be back in a moment." Mao Ke'ai answered, then scrambled up from the ground. One of Mao Wenlong's personal guards led a horse over to him, and he swung into the saddle and galloped off toward the distant cavalry training ground. When he arrived, he found that the cavalrymen were practicing massed charges inside a fenced enclosure.

Outside the fence, quite a few common folk had gathered to watch. It was nearly year's end, the slack season for farming, so the peasants at the foot of the imperial city were all resting. With nothing to do and not enough to eat, the farmers had drifted over to watch the horses run.

Mao Ke'ai was cute and a smooth talker, and he quickly struck up a conversation with an old man in the crowd and began asking questions.

"Old sir, do you know who these people running the horses are?"

"Of course I do! They're the Son of Heaven's household retainers who live in the Eastern Park — cavalrymen of the personal army before the imperial tent."

"Living in the Eastern Park? Isn't the Eastern Park—"

"The Eastern Park used to be an imperial garden, but His Majesty doesn't care for gardens. What His Majesty likes is household retainers. So the Eastern, Southern, and Northern Parks, along with the rebel party's lands around Beijing, and many of the imperial estates and imperial fields, have all been parceled out to these retainers one after another. Each household gets five hundred mu!"

At the mention of five hundred mu, the old man was practically grinding his teeth!

Five hundred mu! And five hundred mu around Beijing at that — worth an absolute fortune! And these five hundred mu were official allotment fields, exempt from taxes and safe from extortion and levies by local officials.

"That much!" Mao Ke'ai swallowed too.

The old man glanced at Mao Ke'ai and chuckled. "Young fellow, don't envy the Son of Heaven's retainers — they're still recruiting! You're a soldier too, aren't you? Go give it a try. It's hard, but you really can get land, a house, silver, and coin. And if you haven't found yourself a wife, the Son of Heaven will even arrange a match for you!"

"You say it's hard? How hard?" Mao Ke'ai pressed.

"How hard? You've seen it yourself — they started drilling the moment the land was divided!" the old man said. "They drill every day, without stopping, and they're still drilling with the new year almost here! Mornings they practice riding, afternoons archery. Sometimes in the middle of the night they're dragged out of bed to drill! And it's not just drilling — there are examinations too. I hear there's a test once a month, and His Majesty personally spot-checks the results. Those who fail are in for a miserable time!"

Zhu Youjian had clearly learned the rebel son's "997" and "elimination system." His five hundred mu of land, plus the generous pay and rewards, were not so easy to earn!

You really had to throw yourself into the training!

For now it was only the men being trained; next would come "training the horses" — the horses had to be well kept and well drilled too!

"A miserable time? What kind of miserable?" Mao Ke'ai asked.

"Beating with the plank, fines in silver, and outright dismissal. Then you're no longer a retainer of the Son of Heaven, and the five hundred mu of official fields have to be handed back. Tell me that's not miserable?"

"They'd really dismiss people?" Mao Ke'ai still found it hard to believe.

"Absolutely true!" the old man said. "I've heard people talk about it — something called 'cutting the tail.' Every month at least one household is cut!"

Zhu Youjian was playing for real!

A His Majesty as tight-fisted as him had given up five million mu of land — most of it imperial estates — to establish ten thousand retainer households. Did anyone think he would let them idle their days away? That he hadn't gone out in the middle of the night to crow like a rooster and roust the retainers out of bed for training was already boundless imperial grace.

Having gathered his information, Mao Ke'ai hurried back to report to Mao Wenlong and Yuan Keli.

After hearing the report, Mao Wenlong and Yuan Keli were both secretly alarmed.

The Great Ming had actually produced a His Majesty who was not so easy to fool!

But was it not a little too fine-grained for His Majesty to personally take charge of drilling his retainers?

Mao Wenlong looked at Yuan Keli, his brow already tightly knit. "Commander, it seems His Majesty is truly a wise sovereign. As his subjects, we dare not deceive such an enlightened lord."

Yuan Keli glanced at Mao Wenlong and thought to himself: How could we possibly not deceive him? Several million taels a year in Liaodong levy, plus all that military grain — how else was it all spent? The troops reported in Liaodong, Dengzhou, Laizhou, Tianjin, and Dongjiang — how many were actually there? Who knew if there were even a hundred thousand? And of those, who knew if even thirty thousand could actually fight?

If it were truly audited to the last man, the Son of Heaven's ten thousand retainers probably wouldn't be enough.

Yuan Keli and Mao Wenlong had first met Zhu Youjian on the afternoon of the tenth day of the twelfth month of the seventh year of Tianqi, the day after they entered the capital, in the Hall of Literary Splendor. Joining them in audience were Wang Zaijin, Minister of the Ministry of War, and Yang Gao, Chief of Staff of the personal army before the imperial tent.

"Rise, rise, seats for all!" Zhu Youjian was as amiable as ever, ordering seats brought for Yuan Keli, Mao Wenlong, Wang Zaijin, and Yang Gao.

Wang Zaijin and Yang Gao were already accustomed to this His Majesty's smile that hid a blade, and both sat down with perfect ease.

Yuan Keli was a veteran minister of four reigns, treated with deference wherever he went, so he too settled comfortably into his seat. Only Mao Wenlong was the most ill at ease, sitting on just half his buttocks, both hands planted on his knees, the very picture of stiff formality.

Zhu Youjian looked at Mao Wenlong, his expression complicated, and suddenly sighed. "What a pity."

What a pity? What did that mean?

Mao Wenlong's scalp prickled at those words. What did the young Son of Heaven mean? What was he planning? There weren't axemen lying in ambush, were there?

Just as he was at his most tense, Zhu Youjian spoke again: "The other day We looked over the Dongjiang garrison's troop accounts. The reported strength was two hundred thousand, and the reported pay was over six hundred thousand. The falsehood is a bit much, is it not? Six hundred thousand in pay to support two hundred thousand troops — an average of three taels per soldier per year? How is that possible?"

He really was going to audit the accounts!

Mao Wenlong's heart pounded, and at the same time he felt wronged and aggrieved, tears nearly welling up. Yes, he had padded his accounts, and he had also set up a toll-collecting operation on the seas between the Great Ming and Joseon. But he was far more honorable than those men in western Liaoning — they swindled millions a year! He, Mao Wenlong, only took a few hundred thousand a year. And he didn't take the money for nothing; at least he could tie down the eastern barbarians somewhat. True, he lost more than he won, but he wasn't afraid of defeat, and he could still take the offensive! When had those men in western Liaoning, swindling millions a year, ever taken the offensive? Didn't they just sit behind their stout fortresses?

In fact, anyone with a bit of military sense knew that western Liaoning didn't need so many fortresses at all. Properly repairing Shanhai Pass would have been enough. Unless the commander holding Shanhai Pass defected and surrendered the pass, the eastern barbarians would never attack it! Now that there were Hongyi cannon, ordinary siege equipment would be blasted to pieces before it even reached the walls of the pass.

If it came to filling Shanhai Pass with human lives, the eastern barbarians could die to the last man and still never fill it!

Moreover, from Shenyang to Shanhai Pass was a long, slow march of seven hundred li. If a great army tried to force its way through the western Liaoning corridor, not only would its supply line be far too long, it would also be entirely exposed to the Dongjiang army's blade. Cut the supply line, and the eastern barbarians' great army would go hungry.

Just as Mao Wenlong was on the verge of weeping from sheer grievance, Zhu Youjian's tone shifted, and he said with a smile: "Regional Commander Mao, give Us the true figure. Report however many troops you actually have, and We will still give you six hundred thousand taels a year, paid directly from the privy purse, with not a single cash in fees. You will receive a full six hundred thousand, solid and real. As for why We ask for the true figure — it is because We intend to issue weapons and armor to your Dongjiang army. Two hundred thousand suits of iron armor cannot be issued."

(End of Chapter)