Chapter 4: Reviewing Memorials (Seeking Favorites)

The Ming dynasty had no folded memorials; folded memorials only began in the Shunzhi reign of the Qing dynasty.

The documents submitted by Ming officials were called memorials and position papers, written on a base of Shu brocade or Hangzhou satin, with the text mounted on top — much like the imperial edicts seen in television dramas, looking extremely high-class.

The only difference was that imperial edicts were bright yellow, while memorials came in blue, red, green, and other colors, with the base color determined by the official's rank.

Though it was called reviewing memorials, in reality it was just a glance through — most were trivial, inconsequential matters.

For example, one memorial said that the abbot of Mount Wutai had passed into nirvana, and another official submitted that a woman in Nanjing had returned lost money she found.

"What kind of nonsense is this?" Zhu Cilang was speechless. So this was what officials submitted day after day — these broken trifles? Completely different from what he had imagined!

No wonder the Ming implemented the draft rescript system, letting the Grand Secretariat handle it — that is, for memorials coming from all parts of the country, before being sent to the Emperor for endorsement, the Grand Secretaries would "write in small script with ink," putting their suggested comments on paper and pasting them opposite each memorial, for the Emperor's reference.

Even so, the Emperor was too lazy to study them. Aside from personally writing red endorsements on a few memorials concerning matters of military and state, he left the rest to the seal-holding, brush-holding, and attendant eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial to write on his behalf, copying out the Grand Secretariat's draft rescript suggestions with the imperial vermilion brush.

This also led to the rise of eunuch autocracy under Liu Jin, Wei Zhongxian, and others in the Ming dynasty. If the Emperor was lazy and looked at nothing, matters naturally fell to the brush-holding and seal-holding eunuchs to handle. With the vermilion brush and jade seal in hand, they came infinitely close to imperial power.

Zhu Cilang was flipping through these memorials beside the Chongzhen Emperor when he suddenly heard Chongzhen ask, seemingly offhandedly: "I hear you've formed a five-hundred-man Eastern Palace guard. What's that about?"

Zhu Cilang, hearing this, was straightforward about it. Looking at his imperial father, he said seriously: "Father, Your Majesty, now the Ming has the Jianzhou barbarians ravaging in the north and the roving bandits causing chaos in the south. Your son wishes to share Your Majesty's burdens, and one day take to the battlefield to slay the enemy and pacify the realm."

Chongzhen was quite surprised by Zhu Cilang's answer. He thought to himself: this crown prince of mine truly has a clever, perceptive heart — to understand filial piety at such a young age.

Chongzhen didn't think much more of it. He sighed and said: "You're only a few years old, still a child. Wait until you've grown up to share your father's burdens. As for the Ming now, your father will do his utmost to sweep it clean for you, so that when you ascend the throne in the future, you can be a ruler of peace."

Hearing this, Zhu Cilang couldn't help but want to roll his eyes. He thought: "Oh, give it a rest. If you keep flailing around like this, we're all going to end up dead."

Of course he didn't dare say it out loud. Not only did he not say it, but deep down he actually felt a small stir of emotion.

Whether this cheap father of his qualified as an emperor or not, as a father he was a good one. Looking at the little details, Chongzhen's instruction of him had been fairly thorough, and his hopes for him were fervent.

As for the matter of killing his daughter after the fall of the state, Zhu Cilang could understand. Once those bandits accustomed to plunder took the palace, how they would treat a princess — everyone knew the outcome without needing to say it.

At the very least, Chongzhen hadn't killed his three sons, which proved he wasn't a man bereft of all reason.

Even though he felt some emotion, Zhu Cilang still asked: "Father, Your Majesty, what counts as being grown up?"

Chongzhen was taken aback. After pondering for a moment, he said: "Having mature thoughts of your own, solving problems independently and effectively, learning to endure and bear suffering — that is what counts as being grown up."

Seventeen — that was a beautiful age. And at seventeen, the Chongzhen Emperor, through a series of circumstances, ascended the dragon throne, becoming the helmsman of a Ming empire in its twilight.

At that time, internal troubles and external threats emerged one after another, problems too deep-seated to remedy, the empire swaying in the wind and rain, gasping for its last breath.

The Chongzhen Emperor worked from before dawn until after dark, straining to hold things together for ten years, just to make it to the present. In those ten years, he had truly grown up.

"Father, Your Majesty, your son has already grown up." Zhu Cilang said seriously. He was fighting for it.

If he truly waited until his body grew up, the Ming would already be cold, and his own fate would be miserable.

Hearing this, Chongzhen smiled, not angry. He glanced at Wang Cheng'en, who had been standing silently to one side the whole time.

Wang Cheng'en understood the look. He pulled several memorials from a stack on the other side and presented them to Chongzhen.

Chongzhen took them but didn't open them. He directly handed them to Zhu Cilang, asking him to analyze them and offer suggestions.

One of the memorials had been sent from Ningxia. The soldiers stationed there, their pay having run out, had mutinied.

The starving soldiers rose up in a mob and besieged the government offices. Governor and Right Censor-in-Chief Wang Ji, unable to produce the pay, faced soldiers demanding their wages with nothing to give, so they raised an uproar and killed him.

Vice Military Commissioner Ding Qirui led troops to suppress the revolt, captured the seven ringleaders, and executed them on the spot. Only then was the mutiny pacified.

Several other memorials expressed much the same meaning — many places had suffered great famines again. These disaster victims had no grain to eat, so they could only eat tree bark and grass leaves; when the tree bark and grass leaves ran out, they turned to eating each other.

The famines in Shanxi and Nanyang, Henan were especially severe. Among them, Prince Tang Zhu Yujian reported that in Nanyang, Henan, the famine was so bad that there were cases of mothers boiling their own daughters for food.

Zhu Cilang looked at the red endorsement. Chongzhen had issued an edict granting thirty-five hundred gold pieces for relief in Shanxi and Nanyang, Henan, and exempting the disaster-stricken prefectures and counties of Shanxi from both the old and new levies.

This made him furrow his brow. Thirty-five hundred gold pieces was only a few tens of thousands of taels of silver. By the time it reached the lower levels, after being squeezed and skimmed at every layer, barely a few coins would remain — a drop in the bucket at best.

Just like in the fourth year of Chongzhen, when Shaanxi suffered famine and Chongzhen sent Censor Wu Sheng with one hundred thousand gold for disaster relief.

In the end, when it reached the localities, it was squeezed layer by layer, and not even a third of it was actually used for relief.

With corruption like that, no wonder the peasants of Shaanxi kept rising in revolt.

The Chongzhen Emperor wanted Zhu Cilang to see reality clearly, so he spoke up: "My son, what views do you have on these memorials?"

Zhu Cilang said: "Your son has read these several memorials. The root of it all is simply a lack of money."

Chongzhen nodded, quite satisfied that Zhu Cilang could hit the nail on the head and see the crux of the problem.

Seeing Chongzhen's approval, Zhu Cilang continued: "Your son believes that for the state treasury to increase its revenues, it should open new sources — such as encouraging commerce and collecting commercial taxes. But it must not do things that kill the goose that lays the golden egg. Tax rates should be set according to merchants' profits, and arbitrary increases must not be imposed."

Additionally, could consideration be given to appropriately raising the status of merchants, allowing them to purchase noble titles and the like — this too could increase the state treasury's revenues.

Having said this, Zhu Cilang paused, glanced at Chongzhen, then continued: "The court could also issue paper currency and large coins, to increase the money supply."

After Chongzhen heard Zhu Cilang's words, his mouth fell slightly open, greatly astonished. Was this something a seven-year-old child could say? It was far too inexplicable by any normal reasoning.

An ordinary seven-year-old, no matter how sensible, would only be well-mannered and lettered. But this little crown prince — had one not heard it with one's own ears, no one would believe it. These were matters concerning the livelihood of the people!

However, Chongzhen smiled and said: "My son, to have such insight at such a tender age is already extraordinary. But these two points you've raised are indeed difficult to implement.

As for collecting commercial taxes, Wei Zhongxian of the eunuch faction also implemented it once, and I too had the intention. But those civil officials and wealthy merchants wouldn't agree, so I had no choice but to abolish it.

As for issuing paper currency you mentioned — our dynasty's founder also issued the Great Ming Treasure Notes, but that thing depreciated extremely quickly, stirring up popular resentment, and was ultimately abolished in the Zhengde reign.

The previous Song dynasty also issued jiaozi notes, but due to over-issuance they depreciated, never circulated properly, and even collapsed the state's finances. These are all lessons."

"Father, Your Majesty, your son has some rough suggestions on this. Paper currency absolutely cannot be issued recklessly. How much is issued must be backed by some tangible substance — gold, for example. If too much is issued, the state won't be able to redeem it, and only then does paper currency depreciate."

Seeing Chongzhen nod somewhat perfunctorily, without much interest, Zhu Cilang had no choice but to continue: "Our great Ming is vast in territory, but disasters in general can be reduced to four kinds: one, floods; two, droughts; three, natural calamities; four, man-made disasters.

Simply put, in the south we should dredge waterways and reinforce dikes to reduce flood damage; in the north we should divert water for irrigation and dig more wells. As for natural calamities, we humans cannot control them, but if the Ministry of Revenue has ample funds and grain, a certain measure of relief can still be achieved.

Finally, man-made disasters — those officials who embezzle construction funds and relief money, or impose arbitrary taxes that drive the people to revolt. For such people, there is only one solution, and that is: kill!"

Saying this, Zhu Cilang's face was filled with killing intent. He declared loudly: "Without killing, the people's anger cannot be appeased; without killing, the officialdom cannot be purged; without killing, Your Majesty's wrath cannot be soothed; without killing, a Yongle-era golden age cannot be restored!"

When Zhu Cilang finished speaking those four words of 'kill,' the Qianqing Palace fell utterly silent — a dropped needle could be heard.

The Chongzhen Emperor's heart stirred at these words. He looked at Zhu Cilang in astonishment.

It wasn't just him — even Wang Cheng'en and the other eunuchs on duty had never imagined that a child barely eight years old (by nominal age) could carry the majesty of a sovereign and utter such fierce words.

Han San in particular, imperceptibly touching the ten taels of silver on his person, broke out in cold sweat on his forehead. He stole a glance at Zhu Cilang, as if he had made some great resolution in his heart.

The Chongzhen Emperor lightly patted Zhu Cilang and said: "Your son's ideas here, I will ponder them all carefully. My son has grown up."

After being praised at length by the Chongzhen Emperor, Zhu Cilang felt that Chongzhen had little interest in his suggestions, which left him feeling helpless.

For now, all he could do was do his best and leave the rest to fate, hoping that things might still change. The key was still to make himself strong first.

Some say the protagonist is too young to realistically fight for military power. I'd like to point out that Dorgon, a contemporary of his, was made a Banner Prince by Nurhaci at the age of eight, deliberating on state affairs alongside the other eight Great Beiles and commanding several thousand troops. I like the saying: "If the enemy can go there, so can we!"