Chapter 146: Fat Sheep

Although there were many donors for this construction project, the amount of money and grain contributed was not very large—apart from the thirty thousand taels given in the name of Empress Zhou and others, the rest altogether contributed just over ten thousand taels of silver and over a hundred dan of grain.

What Chongzhen valued was not how much silver each person donated individually; what he valued more was the hearts of the people, and the result naturally left him very satisfied.

Forty thousand taels of silver was already more than enough—not only could it build two almshouses capable of housing several thousand people, it could even provide sufficient silver to guarantee several months' worth of living supplies for them.

But there were still those who felt this amount was insufficient, not enough to allow more of the helpless to receive aid.

And so, Zheng Zhifeng, who had been in the capital all along, made his dazzling appearance.

The man struck with fifty thousand taels of silver at one go, single-handedly overshadowing everyone else's contributions.

It was still because he understood too little of officialdom—if anyone else had followed with donations, no matter how wealthy, would they dare exceed the Empress's contribution amount?

No, this Zheng Laosi didn't care about such conventions; his move stunned the entire scene.

Nothing to be done—when you're rich, you can be willful.

As for those open and veiled criticisms, he still had the same reply: I am but a man of pure heart!

As for the Zheng family's rough-and-tumble ways, Chongzhen rather appreciated them.

Whether it was to court fame or curry favor, or out of genuine desire to help the needy, what they took out was solid, real gold and silver. As for those gossiping critics—come here, how much did you donate? What? Not a single coin? Then get as far away as possible! What right do you have to point fingers? You're the kind of keyboard warrior who can find fault with whatever anyone does! Keep yapping and watch yourself thrown in jail to eat prison food!

Last time the Zheng family had donated a hundred thousand taels, and he had only sent a eunuch with a pair of jade ruyi to express his commendation—indeed a bit shabby.

This time they had again made a generous move, so he ought to show some recognition as well, right?

What to reward them with?

Honorary titles, then.

This sort of thing cost nothing yet conferred favor, and besides, it also signified the court's recognition of the Zheng family's status.

Although the Zheng family had both a Regional Commander and an Assistant Regional Commander among them, none held substantive brevet rank. Those in the know understood this was just to fool outsiders—a Regional Commander without official grade was merely a temporary appointment, whereas one with brevet rank was a regional general truly certified by the court.

Soon the imperial edict was delivered to Zheng Zhifeng's residence in the capital. To make sure he understood this was an imperial favor from the Emperor, the Ministry of War's edict-reader specially explained to him the difference between the ranks.

Zheng Zhilong was promoted to Military General of the Second Rank, grade 2a.

Zheng Zhifeng was promoted to Commandant of Martial Prestige, grade 4b.

Zheng Zhibao was promoted to Cavalry Commandant of Martial Virtue, grade 5.

Only after the Ministry of War official's explanation did Zheng Zhifeng understand that the Zheng family had finally been recognized by the Emperor—these days of lavish spending had not been in vain.

Accompanying the edict came two large characters, "Loyal and Kind," written personally by Chongzhen's own hand. The Ministry of War official delivering the edict, while enviously admiring the Emperor's vigorous, flowing calligraphy, congratulated Zheng Zhifeng and told him with meaningful emphasis that being loyal to the court and treating others with kindness were His Majesty's earnest expectations for the Zheng family! He must have the calligraphy properly mounted and hung in the center of the main hall, and never allow it to be soiled or damaged.

After the Ministry of War official left, Zheng Zhifeng immediately dispatched several personal guards to find a place to have the calligraphy mounted, then sent riders at full speed to Tianjin Garrison to board a Zheng family ship and take it back home for hanging.

The content of the Emperor's calligraphy was not complicated; what mattered was the attitude it represented—affirmation of the Zheng family's contributions of funds and grain.

Having been in the capital for nearly a year, as Zheng Zhifeng came to understand all aspects of affairs, he witnessed the changes taking place throughout the capital, high and low, inside and out. Combined with the several major victories of the government armies, Zheng Zhifeng, who had previously held a dim view of the Ming court, had unknowingly undergone a tremendous shift in his thinking.

So the roving bandits were not so powerful that they could not be wiped out; so the Jianzhou barbarians were not invincible; so the Emperor was not the hot-tempered, stubborn autocrat of legend; so there were capable ministers among the court officials; so the government armies were truly this formidable; so the common people of the capital were not living in such dire straits after all; so the Great Ming's mandate could still be extended.

These observations led Zheng Zhifeng to adjust his strategic thinking—he had come to the capital seeking opportunities, planning to assess the situation and defect to whichever side held the advantage—and he now rapidly drew closer to the court.

As for the money spent over the past year, to the Zheng family with its annual income of ten million taels, it was nothing at all. As long as they could win unanimous praise from court and country alike, the Zheng family's interests along the Fujian coast could be preserved all the longer.

At Chongzhen's direction, two large stone steles had already been carved by stonemasons in advance, inscribed with the names of all those who had donated funds and grain for the construction of the almshouses, along with the amounts contributed. When the almshouses were formally completed, a pavilion would be built within the grounds, and the steles would be placed beneath it for posterity to view and pay respects.

This move won praise from virtually everyone from Wen Tiren on down. This was something that would leave one's name in the annals of history—as long as the Great Ming did not fall, the steles would be preserved forever.

The names of Empress Zhou and the others would not appear on the steles; what was recorded on each family's behalf were the names of their own masters. In that era, women were never given much regard.

At the Tongzhou docks on the Grand Canal southeast of the capital, several two-hundred-liao passenger ships were moored along the shore, and ranks of Embroidered Uniform Guard officers in blue armored surcoats with sabers at their waists were boarding in orderly file. Liang Qi, a Centurion of the Northern Bastille Office, dressed in green brocade robes with a black cloak over his shoulders and a wide-brimmed brown-wrapped hat on his head, stood with his back to the official vessel, hands clasped behind him, watching the soldiers waiting to board.

Liang Qi had been ordered this time to lead a hundred Embroidered Uniform Guard riders to Huai'an Prefecture to carry out an arrest operation against the Huai'an Salt Distribution Office of the Lianghuai Salt Transport Commissioner's Office.

Since Chongzhen had dangled a big carrot before the officials—and although it would not place great fiscal pressure on him, it was still spending money rather than taking in revenue—he had to find some fat sucker to foot the bill, didn't he? The plump sheep of the Huai'an Salt Distribution Office were the perfect marks.

Because the overland route was too long and took more time, these hundred riders and their warhorses would travel to Huai'an by boat. After all, the capital was nearly two thousand li from Huai'an, and the water route was far more convenient and less taxing.

Since boats could sail day and night, whereas on land one had to make camp at night, on this long journey, aside from the provisions carried aboard, they only needed to replenish drinking water when the boats stopped to rest.

Traveling overland from the capital to Huai'an Prefecture, even if these hundred riders pushed on without stopping during the day, considering the endurance of the warhorses, covering a hundred li a day was already good going. That would take at least ten-plus days to arrive, and after arriving, both men and horses would need several days of rest to recover.

On the boats, however, boatmen took turns at the oars, sailing without interruption through all twelve double-hours. With a favorable wind they could make forty li per hour, and even against the wind around twenty li—saving nearly half the time of the overland route. Moreover, both men and horses could get ample rest and would recover within just a few hours of arrival.

Chen Qiyu had spent over a month traveling upstream by boat, inspecting the Huai'an section of the Grand Canal all the way to the Linqing section in Shandong, and examining the Huai'an and Linqing customs houses along that stretch. In the end he reached a conclusion: judging by the forest of masts and mountains of goods at every dock, these two major customs houses, with so many checkpoints between them, collecting less than a hundred thousand taels in total each year was simply an outrage against heaven.

Having spent so long in officialdom, Chen Qiyu naturally knew that customs tax collection could not possibly be so little—but a considerable portion had already been stuffed into the pockets of the various personnel within the customs offices.

This was evident from what he had received along the way.

The stretch from Yangzhou to Linqing was the busiest section of the entire canal. Official vessels of every kind, grain barges large and small, salt-inspection boats, and merchant ships shuttled back and forth like shuttles on a loom, while queues of fleets waiting to pay duties and be released at each customs dock stretched for several li.

The two chief customs superintendents were only grade 8b officials, yet each presented Chen Qiyu with five hundred taels as travel expenses.

If Wen Tiren knew that a lowly grade 8b official could casually produce five hundred taels of silver—more than the annual salary of the Chief Grand Secretary himself, who had just received a raise—one wonders what he would think.

As for the travel gifts presented by the two men, Chen Qiyu naturally accepted them with a smile. Having been held in the Imperial Prison for nearly a year, during which his family had spent fortunes petitioning on his behalf to secure his early release, his household had fallen into considerable decline—this substantial sum could conveniently supplement his family expenses.

Those men belonged to the Ministry of Revenue and were not under his jurisdiction anyway; they were merely, seeing his potential for further rapid advancement, burning an incense stick early to buy a familiar face.

Returning to the Governor-General's yamen in Huai'an, Chen Qiyu began to draft a memorial, giving a detailed account of his preliminary understanding of grain transport matters and the advantages and disadvantages therein. He then also made an oblique mention of the customs houses, hoping His Majesty would remove customs authority from the Ministry of Revenue and grant it to the Governor-General's yamen for grain transport, so that the yamen could hold absolute say over management of the entire canal.

Chen Qiyu was naturally not content to spend his whole life as a local official—even in a position as powerful and prestigious as Governor-General. Returning to the capital to take his place among the court ministers was his ultimate goal.

He knew what the Emperor and the court most needed at present: suppressing bandits, pacifying the barbarians, and raising revenue.

And his position as Governor-General of Grain Transport was, for now, the best revenue-raising post available—benefiting both the court and himself.

Although in his heart he looked down on Hong Chengchou, who had succeeded him as Governor-General of the Five Provinces, and firmly believed that if he were restored to his former post he would do better than Hong Hengjiu, the Emperor had now sent him off to Jiangnan, which suggested he would not be used to suppress bandits anytime soon. He knew well the reason: it was chiefly because of that unexpected loss at Chexiang Gorge that His Majesty still harbored a grudge against him.

To secure a seat among the senior ministers, he could only achieve achievements in the post of Governor-General of Grain Transport that far surpassed all his predecessors—only then would he win His Majesty's renewed trust and favor, and only then could he have the chance to achieve the goal of commanding armies in the field and entering the Grand Secretariat.

The capital was the true center of the Great Ming; only beside the Emperor were the true senior ministers. No matter how great the power of provincial governors and grand coordinators, it extended only over their own little patch of land—once outside their own territory, their words carried no weight.

The Grand Secretariat and the heads of the Six Ministries were the focus of the empire's attention. When major provincial officials arrived in the capital, they had to pay respects to each and every one of them, regardless of whether there was enmity between them. Otherwise, if those worthies chose to squeeze them, seizing the opportunity to drop a few insinuating words before His Majesty, this Governor-General or Governor post could be lost in an instant—he himself was a perfect example.

To achieve notable accomplishments, one needed absolute authority.

The six customs houses along the canal absolutely had to be brought under the control of the Governor-General's yamen.

As long as he controlled these six locations with their dozens of checkpoints, supplemented by iron-fisted rectification, results would be immediate—the commercial tax remitted to the court would absolutely be double or even several times what it was now. Then who could still stop him from returning to the capital to take office?

Every day, tens of thousands of vessels of every kind plied the canal. There were plenty of ways to line one's own pockets from it—as long as the lion's share went to the court, who would quibble over him skimming a little benefit on the side? A perfectly good opportunity for both fame and profit, and this pack of low-ranking officials had made such an ugly mess of it—was this how they read the books of the sages?

They must not be like those dying men at the customs offices now, who take the lion's share for themselves and leave only scraps for the court—that is truly the path to self-destruction.

He only needed to hint at it subtly in his personal memorial; His Majesty would surely understand, and at a time when the court was desperate for money, the fate of those men could well be imagined.

Just as he was lost in thought, Chen Qizhi hurried into the study and reported, "Elder brother, a Centurion from the Northern Provost Office of the Embroidered Uniform Guard requests an audience!"