Chapter 223: The Palace of Heavenly Purity

The night had already grown deep.

The Forbidden City, the Palace of Heavenly Purity.

Black boots with wooden soles tread lightly on the smooth square tiles, making faint sounds.

Eunuch Cao Huachun, who had attended the emperor since he was still Prince of Xin, held memorials in hand as he slowly rounded a pillar and approached the figure bent over the desk.

In the dim lamplight, he placed several memorials on the imperial desk, took a round fan from a young eunuch's hands, and stood beside the dragon throne gently fanning. He signaled with his eyes to the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old eunuch, telling him to go outside and shake out his numb, aching hands, and not to disturb the emperor's doze.

In the vast, empty hall, the smooth floor tiles reflected the moonlight outside the palace — so silent one could hear a pin drop.

Cao Huachun raised his head. High in the hall hung a plaque reading "Nine Reflections." The emperor's calligraphy bore traces of Yan Zhenqing's style — rich, thick ink and vigorous, powerful strokes.

He lowered his head. The imperial desk was piled high with memorials sent by the Grand Secretariat, awaiting the emperor's vermilion brush, arranged with extreme neatness.

The one spread open was a memorial from Zhang Lun, Grand Coordinator of Sichuan, reporting that the four cities of Zunhua had been recovered and requesting that the summons for Qin Liangyu, Regional Commander of the Shizhu native chieftain troops, and her nephew Qin Yiming to come to the emperor's aid be halted.

Cao Huachun let out a silent sigh. His heart ached for the emperor.

His father was the son his grandfather disliked most. At five, his mother was beaten to death on his father's orders. The stepmother his grandfather assigned was the enemy who had killed his elder brother's birth mother.

The two brothers clung to each other for survival at the swirling center of the realm's power, and in the end, each became emperor in turn.

Thinking of this, a smile — part relief after long hardship, part melancholy loss — could not help but surface on Cao Huachun's face.

The world is ever-changing. He had entered the palace around the thirtieth year of the Wanli reign, only twelve or thirteen then, a child from a poor family. Such was the custom in those days: people hoped that by drawing near the sovereign and supporting their parents, they could defy fate and change their lives.

"Drawing near the sovereign and supporting one's parents" was merely a pleasant turn of phrase — the eunuchs of that era wielded overwhelming power.

His family wanted him to rise above others in the palace, so he studied diligently, mastering poetry, prose, calligraphy, and painting without exception. This earned him the recognition of Wang An, the grand eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, who assigned him to the Prince of Xin's residence as a senior companion.

The Prince of Xin was just like him as a child — quiet, restrained, modest, studious, kind, even cowardly and timid, yet with a pent-up drive burning in his heart.

Only, for a very long time, Cao Huachun could not understand this self-abasement, this strength that reeked of poverty from head to toe.

How could it appear in the son of an emperor?

Only later did he understand — they were not the same.

He had no path of retreat and fought to rise; unwilling to end a broken life, he could only distinguish himself — for himself.

His master, however, had always poured everything into proving — proving that the son of a serving maid could do it too, proving that his elder brother had not misjudged him.

That he could be a good imperial grandson, a good imperial son, a good virtuous prince, a good emperor — that he could even... struggle against himself to the very end.

But those in this world who could encourage him, who could praise him, had long since all passed away.

Cao Huachun was mulling these thoughts over when the chime of the self-striking clock at one corner of the imperial desk rang out, echoing through the great hall.

The clock struck three times. Zhu Youjian, who had been dozing over the desk, propped his forehead up on his arm.

He kept his eyes shut a moment longer, then the emperor rose and moved his numb, pressed arm, turning his head with a weary smile toward his senior companion. He walked slowly and stiffly around the imperial desk, letting feeling return to his legs.

Cao Huachun urged, "Your Majesty has not returned to the bedchamber to rest for two days. Please return to the palace and have a proper sleep."

Zhu Youjian sat back down on the dragon throne, yawning and turning a deaf ear to this. He picked up his brush and wrote on the Sichuan Grand Coordinator's memorial: "They have long been under mobilization orders, yet still submit such requests at this time — where is their sense of urgent public duty? Order the relevant office to deliberate and respond."

Having finished the rescript, he leaned back against the dragon throne and said, "The peace negotiations in the southwest and northwest are not yet settled, the Grand Granary's silver reserves amount to less than a month's supply. I know anxiety is useless, but with the realm tottering, how can I lie down in peace?"

Zhu Youjian picked up another memorial, glanced at it, and put it back. He looked at Cao Huachun. "You moved the memorials. This one should be the memorial from Liu Kexun, Grand Coordinator of Shuntian, requesting funds and provisions."

Cao Huachun hurriedly prostrated himself and kowtowed. "This slave would not dare move them. It is only that Grandfather has been far too anxious of late. This slave thought these few newly arrived memorials might perhaps improve Grandfather's mood."

Cao Huachun knew all too well: three years since ascending the throne, the little cat who had once been harmless and gentle under his elder brother's protection had been driven by circumstances into volatile moods.

Zhu Youjian's face showed anger. He looked at Cao Huachun with a dark expression for a long time before sighing and saying, "Get up first. This once, and only this once."

Once Cao Huachun had risen, the Chongzhen Emperor looked at him and said, "How difficult it is to be an emperor? Since I ascended the throne, the affairs of state have steadily declined. It is my virtue that is insufficient, my talent that is lacking — not enough to make Heaven recall the drought demon, nor to reverse the indolence of officials and the frivolity of soldiers. I lack the discernment to judge men, unable to tell the loyal from the treacherous."

He raised a hand and gestured across the imperial desk. "Memorial after memorial is laid before my eyes, and I do not know which are true and which are false. Proposal after proposal is delivered to my face, and I do not know which can be used and which cannot."

"Yesterday's have not yet been fully read, and today's are already delivered. You meant well, but this once and only this once. I am the sovereign of the nation — can covering up the memorials make them go away?"

Having said this, Chongzhen took a memorial from the imperial desk and then placed it back, letting out a sigh. Only then did Cao Huachun notice that the emperor's eyes, reflecting the lamplight, glistened as if with tears.

"I have not dreamed of my late elder brother, the former emperor, for a long time. Zhixuzi, go and fetch the late emperor's miniature mountain."

Cao Huachun bowed his head in acknowledgment and walked quickly to the bedchamber. When the Palace of Heavenly Purity was at last left with only Chongzhen, the immense pressure and grievances of successive defeats surged into his heart like landslides and tidal waves, and at last clear tears streamed down from his eyes.

He was only remembering the year he turned ten, when his elder brother ascended the throne. Back then he still understood little, and seeing everyone treat his brother with the utmost deference, he tugged on Tianqi's hand and asked: Brother, what sort of official is an emperor? Can I be an emperor too?

That year, his brother was already sixteen and understood what being emperor meant. The palace attendants were so frightened they kowtowed repeatedly, but his brother only smiled and said: Let me do it for a few years, then I'll give it to you.

Later he became the Prince of Xin, studied the classics, and understood propriety and the distinction between noble and base. The childhood jest was utterly forgotten. He only wished to be a virtuous prince, to bring no shame to his mother, to bring no shame to his brother.

Only, he remembered his imperial brother falling into the water and growing mortally ill, summoning him to the palace. His complexion was terrible as he stood by the dragon couch and spoke: Little brother, why are you so thin? You must take better care of yourself from now on.

His brother's words were feeble. He only said: Come, my younger brother shall be a Yao or a Shun.

Chongzhen's tears fell like rain. How he wished that the one lying in bed with little time left were himself.

The Tianqi Emperor's final words were only four characters, spoken with a smile: Little brother loves me.

In the three hundred years of the Great Ming, a willing succession from elder brother to younger brother happened only this once.

In the empty Palace of Heavenly Purity, the Chongzhen Emperor's face twisted ferociously as he roared in silence. The dim lamplight cast his shadow upon the plaque, like a huge, enraged, wounded beast in a trap.

When Cao Huachun returned from the bedchamber bearing the miniature aloeswood mountain handcrafted by the late emperor, the sovereign in the Palace of Heavenly Purity had already regained his usual composure. He was writing an edict for the Ministry of Rites instructing them to summon the Shizhu native chieftain Qin Liangyu, bestowing upon her coins, livestock, and wine.

At the same time, he had composed a poem to extol Qin Liangyu's meritorious service.

"A battle robe of Sichuan brocade, cut and sewn by her own hand; upon a dappled steed, she asks to take up the long rein. How many so-called extraordinary men are there in this world — who among them is willing to ride ten thousand li across the battlefield!"

The aloeswood miniature mountain was held in his hand. This was something the Tianqi Emperor had made for Chongzhen when he was still the crown prince.

In those days, they were raised by Western Li and often suffered abuse. Zhu Youxiao often told him: Consort-Select Western Li is not your birth mother. Your birth mother is buried in the Western Hills. When you grow up, you must remember to go and pay your respects.

But Zhu Youjian had been born in the palace and lived there many years — he knew only "west," and had never seen a "hill."

So Zhu Youxiao made this wooden miniature mountain, so that his little brother would know: this is what a mountain looks like.

For a very long time, this little miniature mountain was Zhu Youjian's vessel for the longing he carried for his mother. Now, it had become the means by which he missed his elder brother.

The aloeswood touched his hand, and his eyes threatened to grow wet again. Chongzhen hurriedly placed the miniature mountain on the imperial desk and, in a calm tone, asked Cao Huachun, "Zhixuzi, where is Yuan Chonghuan now?"

Cao Huachun was taken aback for a moment, then answered, "Your Majesty, Yuan Chonghuan's severed head reached Xuanfu last night."

Chongzhen leaned back against the chair and looked up at the hanging lanterns of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, his face filled with hatred. "Two years. One hundred fifty thousand troops. Ten million eight hundred thousand taels of pay and provisions. I bled the people dry, emptied the national treasury — all for him."

"The Eastern Invaders have reached the Forbidden City... They're all liars!"

With that, Chongzhen picked up the Shuntian Grand Coordinator's memorial again. It spoke of gathering one hundred thousand shi of grain and seventy thousand taels of silver to meet the urgent needs of Zunhua and Jizhou. After writing his rescript, Chongzhen placed it among a stack of memorials destined for the Ministry of Revenue and then the Ministry of Works.

The two ministries were to cooperate fully — one to provide funds and grain, the other to manufacture arms.

Cao Huachun had been watching the several memorials he had brought. Finally unable to hold back, he said, "Your Majesty, among the memorials this slave brought is one from Shi Zhong, the Supplementary Junior Minister of the Court of the Imperial Stud."

Chongzhen furrowed his brow. He did not like others reminding him what to do, because he could trust no one.

But hearing the name, he thought it over — this should be someone he had dispatched himself — and asked, "He is the one supervising military funds?"

"Yes, Your Majesty sent him to supervise the Fujian military funds."

Someone bringing money. The court was desperately short of funds. Chongzhen hastily picked up the memorial and read it. At a glance, his mood lifted greatly, and he could not help but say with delight, "Well done! Issue an imperial commendation and announce it to all officials!"

The military funds Shi Zhong had been tasked to transport amounted to over two hundred forty-seven thousand and thirty taels, yet he had now delivered over two hundred ninety-seven thousand eight hundred eighteen taels — a surplus. Compared to others, he was simply immeasurably better.

The man sent to Shaanxi to transport silver, a mere one hundred thirty thousand taels, had it stolen by routed household retainers.

Look at Shi Zhong — he brought over fifty thousand extra taels. In one stroke, the military pay for Jizhen, Zunhua, and other places was secured.

In a moment of good cheer, he casually picked up the remaining two memorials. His eyes froze on them at once. "The Han Princedom?"

The many princedoms were, in truth, all relatives Chongzhen had never met. Kinship was especially precious to him — but these princely relatives did not count.

Chongzhen was extremely dispassionate toward the princedoms, without a trace of personal feeling, for he had never experienced a father's love, let alone from relatives whose branches had split off two hundred years ago.

But a princedom could not be allowed to fall. It concerned his brother's expectations of him, and even more, the realm his brother had personally placed in his hands.

He opened and read them. These several memorials recounted the process of the Han Princedom's siege and fall from multiple angles — from the perspective of the Prince of Han, from Yang He's perspective, from Zhou Riqiang's — laying out the entire course of Pingliang Prefecture's fall with complete clarity.

Along with them came the Prince of Han begging for silver to rebuild his princely estate and requesting a waiver of this year's taxes on the princely fields; Yang He also took the opportunity to beg military pay for the Guyuan troops and relief for the famine victims in Shaanxi.

It was a scandal of colossal proportions. A man of the Zhu clan had led starving people to breach a princedom of the Zhu clan, yet the court had no troops to deploy and no funds to issue. In the end, the siege was broken by a rebel army.

Zhu Youjian massaged his temples.

He could kill every person in this realm, yet he could not save this realm, which was already riddled with a thousand gaping wounds when he took it over.

Every day he looked at these same things. He had no way to tell whether what each memorial said was true or false. Every person spoke from their own vantage point, each with their own problems to solve.

The one common thread was that they came to him for money and grain — as if, after the great war with the Eastern Invaders during the Tianqi reign and the construction of a multitude of frontier forts and border towns, the over ten million taels of the privy purse left by his grandfather were still there.

This gave him splitting headaches. The sight of requests for money and grain nauseated him, even made him want to vomit.

Chongzhen very much wanted to reply to the money-begging Prince of Han with a single line: "Go fuck yourself." But his imperial status forbade him from saying such a thing. He had no choice but to write a rescript telling him to find his own way to repair the princely estate, forbidding any further expansion, and reminding him to pay the taxes on the princely fields.

If only the Han Princedom were the Zhou Princedom of Henan, or the Jin Princedom of Shanxi, or the line of Prince Qingcheng — otherwise, he would have even considered docking half a year's stipend rice.

But then he thought: the Han Princedom's total annual income was only one hundred ten thousand shi. Even if he fined them half, the gain would not make up for the loss.

As for Yang He's request for military pay for the Guyuan troops, Chongzhen gave it serious consideration. Yet in the end, he merely praised Yang He verbally — his pacification strategy had been well executed — and left the Guyuan Garrison military pay and disaster relief matters for the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue to decide.

Chongzhen wanted to provide disaster relief too, but he truly had no more money.

The last memorial, however, struck him as utterly novel. He had been hearing the label "roving bandits" for three years now, but he had never seen a roving bandit write him a letter.

The man who wrote this letter was named Liu Chengzong. It had been smuggled in along with the Prince of Han's memorial and delivered into the Forbidden City.

The calligraphy was in an extremely neat Guange style, very pleasing to the eye. He was likely no common ruffian, but someone who had received a proper education.

Liu Chengzong's own handwriting was far wilder than this. This letter was written by Yang Dingrui, who merely used Liu Chengzong's name.

The opening lines wished the Emperor good health, then recounted his life: son of a police clerk, a certified licentiate by background, served in the frontier army, returned home starving, rescued his father and became an outlaw, and rose to be a rebel chieftain.

As Chongzhen read the letter, a thought surfaced in his mind: this was a man his own age, a few months younger than himself.

Then it spoke of what he had seen and heard — leading his troops from place to place in search of food, attacking cities and seizing territory was never his true wish, it was only that the destitute were many and hunger was unbearable. He hoped the Emperor would not hold it against him.

Next it touched on the amnesty and recruitment policy, saying it was not that he was unwilling to accept amnesty, but that the frontier troops had no pay and the region suffered severe drought. Banditry arose from hunger; if hunger was not eliminated, neither would the bandits be eliminated.

Now the court was already incapable of supplying their army provisions. Even if heavenly grace were bestowed and he were given the post of Regional Commander, his soldiers could not be settled locally. They had all rebelled precisely because of lack of pay. If after recruitment there was still no pay, when they rebelled again, he too would be unable to escape blame.

Moreover, local officials were largely hostile. Neither side dared trust the other. He feared that in the future he would die at another's hands.

Therefore, he boldly sent this letter in secret to the Emperor, solely to lay bare his heart. He was unwilling to continue plundering the four corners of the land and committing evil. He sought the post of Qinghai Pacification Commissioner, to go west and fight the sea bandits, sever the collusion between the northern invaders and sea bandits, and guard the imperial fence as a defensive bulwark.

Additionally, he sought the post of Xining Guard Commander for his elder brother, to prevent frontier generals from shutting their gates and leaving him isolated and without support. His sentiments were sincere. He beseeched His Majesty to consider deeply and bestow grace, to grant a way out for a common man unwilling to be a bandit.

How to describe Chongzhen's feelings upon seeing this letter?

It was not joy.

It was a sense of being wronged.

Three years. Three years, and finally a little brother was telling him: you are the Emperor.

I don't want you to give me money, nor do I need the coordination of the Directorate of Ceremonial, the Grand Secretariat, the Six Ministries, and the hundred local officials.

All I need is for the Emperor to open his honored mouth — one word — and I will get the matter done for you.

"The Stubborn Bandit" source: