Chapter 137: The Feudal Princes

Speaking of Taizu Zhu Yuanzhang, he was indeed a man of extraordinary talent and vision, a figure who appears once in several centuries. A beggar, at the very bottom of society, who ultimately became the founding emperor—what profound cunning and heaven-defying luck that must have required.

In modern society, he would be the quintessential inspirational figure. How much chicken soup for the soul must have come from his kitchen? He probably kept more than twenty clay pots simmering at all times, each filled with plump old hens, but it was hired chefs who brewed the broth, sold to the public under his name. As for whether the chefs secretly added various seasonings to the soup, that remains unknown—those curious enough may test it with their own lives.

But Taizu also left behind burdens his descendants could scarcely bear, and the system of princely fiefs was a typical example.

Taizu, your reproductive capacity was simply too formidable! Chongzhen grumbled inwardly.

The twenty-three sons enfeoffed as princes by Taizu, after more than two hundred years of breeding, conservatively numbered over one hundred thousand by now. This enormous black cauldron now fell to Chongzhen to carry.

These twenty-three predecessors, including Chongzhen's own ancestors, could inherit the title of Prince—fine. But what about the Commandery Princes, the Town-Protecting Generals, the Assistant-Protecting Generals, the Service-Protecting Generals, the Town-Protecting Commandants, the Assistant-Protecting Commandants, the Service-Protecting Commandants? Taizu, why didn't you just make the gatekeepers of the princely mansions hereditary too?

Now let's look at the stipends.

A Prince received an annual stipend of ten thousand shi of grain, a Commandery Prince two thousand shi, a Town-Protecting General one thousand shi, an Assistant-Protecting General eight hundred shi, a Service-Protecting General six hundred shi, a Town-Protecting Commandant four hundred shi, an Assistant-Protecting Commandant three hundred shi, and a Service-Protecting Commandant two hundred shi!

In the late Jiajing era, when the imperial clansmen had bred to over twenty thousand, their expenditures already consumed nearly forty percent of the entire state treasury's revenue. Now with one hundred thousand people?

There is always some clansman plotting against me! Chongzhen thought gloomily.

Speaking of which, thanks must go to the ruthless and scheming Emperor Shizong, the Jiajing Emperor.

It was precisely because of two incidents during the Jiajing reign where clansmen rioted over grain stipends that thoroughly enraged Jiajing. Under the inflammatory instigation of Second Grand Secretary Xu Jie, he issued the Order of Grace Diminution that made the clansmen wail as if mourning their own parents.

First, any clansman who violated ritual propriety or broke the law must be suppressed by the Prince; those who disobeyed restraint would be reprimanded for minor offenses and investigated for major ones. Second, clansmen who violated the ban and left the city posed a worrying threat, so they should be investigated and disciplined at all times to prevent trouble. Third, those stripped of their titles or born as commoners without registration in the jade registers or the census rolls were difficult to verify, true or false indistinguishable, so the Office of the Elder should divide them by lineage and record them clearly. Fourth, decrees should be issued to facilitate control—confine them in a single residence, with regulations modeled on the high walls; if they were allowed to come and go freely, how could the law be demonstrated? The princely establishment should select eunuchs and banner guards to maintain strict vigilance. Fifth, since grain stipends were in arrears by large amounts, request that a portion of the province's tax remittances be retained to make up the shortfall. Sixth, at the time of distribution, only the Elder should receive the silver and bring it to the mansion for distribution, and clansmen must not be allowed to go in and out of prefectures and counties bullying officials.

Emperor Shizong also decreed that sons of princes by concubines could obtain princely titles. But the stipends were tiered: those over sixty received the full amount, and for every ten years younger, the amount was reduced by twenty percent, down to forty percent—so that the elderly would be provided for, the young and able-bodied would support themselves, and those in between would receive a combination. This made it easier for the clansmen to accept.

These various measures greatly limited the number of clansmen eating from the imperial granary and basically resolved the stipend problem for the imperial clan.

But though these peripheral issues were settled, the most critical problem—the hereditary succession of the twenty-three Princes—remained untouched.

Say, Emperor Shizong, since you displayed such mighty prowess and fought with such shameless determination, subduing the clansmen until they were completely obedient, why didn't you take the opportunity to eliminate the hereditary succession issue as well?

Now, look at the Prince of Fu in Luoyang, the Prince of Zhou in Kaifeng, the Prince of Chu in Wuchang, the Prince of Qin in Xi'an, the Prince of Shu in Chengdu, the Prince of Dai in Taiyuan—which of them doesn't hold hundreds of thousands of mu of prime farmland exempt from taxation, dozens of shops, and mountains of gold and silver piled up at home?

If it weren't for his own transmigration, all these riches would eventually become the spoils of the roving bandits and the Dashing King's forces.

At the thought of the immense wealth in these princely households, Chongzhen's heart itched unbearably. He wished he could disguise himself as a roving bandit and plunder them all, conveniently eliminating this swarm of parasites. Then no one would inherit the titles anymore, and those farmlands and shops would all become assets of the Four Seas Trading Company.

After thinking it over carefully, Chongzhen felt these feudal princes were actually rather pitiable.

Chengzu rose from being a feudal prince himself, seizing his own nephew's inheritance. To prevent later generations from imitating him, he formulated a series of restrictive policies toward the princes, imposing maximum constraints on them militarily and politically.

The most important provision stipulated that feudal princes "may not arbitrarily employ a single soldier or a single civilian."

That was a masterstroke of cutting the firewood from under the cauldron. You think you're capable? You're dissatisfied with the reigning emperor? You want to raise an army in rebellion? Fine—all your soldiers have been confiscated. Go ahead and rebel.

What? Still not convinced? Still thinking of joining forces with other princes to rebel together? Then let's continue: two princes may not meet each other, may not enter the court, may not travel freely, may not befriend officials, may not appoint their own mansion officers.

Violate any one of these provisions, and you can expect to be stripped of your fief. Your son still wants to inherit your title? Don't even think about it!

This wasn't the familial benevolence Taizu spoke of—this was raising pigs. After more than two hundred years of feeding, congratulations, Chengzu—you've raised several dozen fat pigs. But before they could even leave the pen, they were stolen and slaughtered for meat by the neighbors, Li the Second and Zhang the Third.

Such stringent restrictive policies bred intense resentment among the feudal princes, along with fury toward the court.

"Thus the imperial clansmen, by and large, all delight in others' misfortunes; whenever the state faces any upheaval, none fail to harbor the wish that 'the sun may perish, and I shall perish with it.'"

You treat us like pigs? We'll make paper effigies, write your name on them, and stab them with needles every day, cursing that you'll be destroyed along with us.

This attitude of not minding how big the funeral gets meant that when the roving bandit armies pressed against the cities, with local treasuries empty as washed and troops urgently needing pay, no matter how the local officials reasoned with them or appealed to their emotions, the princes simply refused to donate funds for military wages. When the local garrison troops saw the princely treasuries piled high with gold and silver, yet were told to go hungry and defend the walls alone, their indignation was only natural.

"The princely mansions have millions in gold and feast on fine meats, while we starve and die at the hands of bandits?" Mutiny in the ranks was inevitable. If even the wealthy feudal princes behaved this way, the lower-ranking clansmen living in destitution could hardly be expected to share the nation's burdens.

Zhu Chongba enfeoffed the imperial princes, hoping that Zhu descendants would unite against common enemies and jointly preserve the Great Ming's long-term stability. Who would have known that his dark-skinned, fat fourth son would alter his feudal policy beyond recognition? Old Zhu probably wished he could crawl out of his grave and add another layer of fat to Old Fourth Zhu's chubby face.

After all, they were all relatives, bound by blood. Watching these relatives live like prisoners serving life sentences, trapped in their small cages for their entire lives, was simply inhumane. For Chongzhen, a transmigrator from later ages who cherished freedom, it was indeed hard to bear.

Moreover, the lower-ranking clansmen, barred from politics and from the four common occupations, lived lives of utter misery—worse off than ordinary commoners.

People should have some human rights, shouldn't they? Not excessive rights—just the basic right to survival.

It seemed abolishing the restrictive policies was imperative. Allowing lower-ranking clansmen the rights of ordinary commoners would be his way of showing respect to Zhu Chongba through his transmigration. Did the old man truly want his descendants to live worse than dogs and pigs?

As for the provisions that two princes may not meet and may not travel freely—those too must be abolished.

Was the Prince of Zhou meeting the Prince of Fu an attempt at rebellion? That was pure nonsense.

Rebel with what? A keyboard? Right, there were no keyboards back then. With nothing but hot air?

Restricting travel was even more unnecessary. Even if the princes did travel, at most they'd take a trip to the suburbs. Especially now, with unrest within the realm, who would dare go far? Looking for death? Taking the Princess Consort, eunuchs, and palace maids on a long journey—twenty mountain bandits could wipe them all out. Just because they were raised like pigs doesn't mean their intelligence matched that of pigs.

The prohibition on commanding troops essentially meant the princely mansions couldn't have their own armies. That provision should be kept—to prevent future falling-outs, you don't get an army. Once the roving bandits within the Great Ming are destroyed, you won't need military protection. No one wants to kill you; your life isn't as valuable as you think.

The ban on entering politics should be changed. Your family members may enter politics, but not by demanding any office they please from the Emperor.

The eldest son inherits the title; the second and third sons want to become Prefects. Fine, no problem—go take the examinations yourself. Start from the county examination, and once you pass the metropolitan examination and earn your jinshi degree, never mind Prefect—you could even become a Governor.

What? Can't pass? Sorry, but then your second and third sons might have intellectual deficiencies. If they were put in charge of governing a region, wouldn't they just bring shame to our Old Zhu family?

As for mansion officers, the organization will arrange those for you.

It's not that we don't trust you—it's a full demonstration of the court's care and concern for you. It's also because you're inexperienced and don't understand the dangers of the world. What if you personally selected an Elder who deceived you into secretly hoarding weapons and plotting high treason?

The salaries of the officers will naturally be paid by the court. You're a Prince—earning money isn't easy, and you have so many women to support. Though the court faces difficulties, it can still spare this bit of silver.

The prohibition on befriending officials—that one doesn't matter. Go ahead and befriend whomever you like. The Embroidered Uniform Guard has a presence in every prefecture and county. If any Governor or Prefect dares get too close to you, sorry, but the Embroidered Uniform Guard will investigate whether that Governor has been taking bribes.

Those who became officials fought through the metropolitan examination—a single-plank bridge over a thousand armies. They're the cream of the crop. What allusion isn't in the books? Would they abandon the thick thighs of the Emperor and the court to embrace your sapling of a poplar tree, one finger thick? You're insulting the intelligence of us scholars!

Of course, everything comes at a price.

You want freedom? Fine—bring something to trade for it.

Your family holds three hundred thousand mu of prime farmland around Luoyang? That seems a bit much, doesn't it? Your princely household has only about a hundred people—can you eat several hundred thousand shi of grain a year? Better to give some up to those destitute relatives, so at least they can live with some dignity and not bring shame to our Old Zhu family, right?

And dozens of shops in prime commercial districts? How much money must they earn each year? More than the Emperor himself.

Of several hundred thousand mu of prime farmland, keeping twenty thousand mu is more than enough. As for those dozens of shops—keep half for now, and we'll discuss the rest later.

Uncle Prince of Fu, do you agree to the exchange?

You don't? You want the Emperor to just give it to you for free?

Fine—continue your life sentence then.

You dare curse me? Best not to. Otherwise, who knows—one day you might drink yourself to death in your bed. You don't drink? Even if you don't drink, can't you still die suddenly? Can't you die playing hide-and-seek in the latrine?

Whatever the outcome, it's worth trying. Among these twenty-odd feudal princes, surely there are some willing to trade wealth for freedom?

The Prince of Zhou had a reputation for virtue in Kaifeng; historically, he had generously opened his purse, offering his own family wealth to reward the soldiers defending the city—utterly unlike the other misers.

In the future, his own sons would not be enfeoffed to distant lands; they would simply have houses built in the capital and live there, Chongzhen thought.

Then he would send someone to sound out this convenient cousin—have the Prefect of Kaifeng drop by the princely mansion when free and probe his intentions.