Chapter 624: A Prince Who Does Nothing a Human Should Is a Good Prince Indeed

Pipes run beneath the floor tiles of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, carrying cool air up from the ice chamber — even in the sweltering height of summer, it brings a trace of chill to the heart.

But as this chill seeped into the heart of the Chongzhen Emperor, it made his very liver quiver; set against the gloom of the Three Great Halls, it only sent a bone-deep cold through the body.

It was not that the Forbidden City had poor feng shui — the Three Great Halls were simply badly built, because in essence… they were never meant for people to live in. They were a temple.

The great affairs of state lie in war and sacrifice, and the Forbidden City was precisely the place for conducting the great affairs of state.

In fact, apart from the ultimate recluse, the Wanli Emperor, not a single Ming dynasty emperor ever lived permanently in the Forbidden City.

Although the Forbidden City was built by Zhu Di, Zhu Di himself did not live inside the palace city; he lived in the Longevity Palace in the Western Garden, separated from the palace city by a sea.

The Zhengde Emperor was the same — the first large-scale renovation of the Western Garden was his doing. He built a platform for reviewing mounted archery, a place specifically for inspecting drills of bow and horse. Later the platform was demolished and a pavilion built in its place, a two-story great hall called the Pavilion of Purple Light.

The Platform Dialogue between the Chongzhen Emperor and Yuan Chonghuan took place at this very spot.

The Jiajing Emperor lived in the palace city at first, but after palace maids attempted to assassinate him, he hid away in the Western Garden for decades, likewise residing in the Longevity Palace.

Over thirty years, he presided over the second large-scale renovation of the Western Garden and the rebuilding of the Three Great Halls.

He renovated the Western Garden because he wanted to pursue immortality there. He felt the name "Longevity Palace" was no good — the Chengzu Emperor was an ordinary man, so he lived in the Longevity Palace.

"I, the Dao Lord Emperor, am no ordinary man — I am an immortal, and must reside in the Myriad Years Palace."

Back then, Jiajing was so obsessed with immortality cultivation and so absurdly self-important that he styled himself Grand Master of the Five Thunders. As a result, on a night of thunder and rain, he drew the Thunder God's attention, and a single bolt struck the Three Great Halls, burning down three halls, two towers, and fifteen gates.

Later, the Grand Master of the Five Thunders wrote an imperially authored book called "Fire Warning, or Some Questions," proclaiming it to all under heaven like an edict, calling on everyone to believe in science and not superstition — thunder fires were perfectly normal occurrences, and there was no such thing as heaven-human resonance.

The Western Garden was a fine place — all the colorful, richly varied lives of the emperors unfolded there.

It was only a pity that none of those colors had anything to do with the Chongzhen Emperor.

With the realm fallen to such a state, Chongzhen simply could not indulge in pleasure. The self-inflicted torment of these years since his enthronement had nearly tortured him to death.

When he first ascended the throne, he was brimming with confidence. He devoted himself to good governance for a spell, and he was diligent in his thinking, genuinely wanting to find the realm's problems and solve them.

It was not that he lacked an emperor's authority — far from it. A weighty minister of the court could be executed at a word; a key border defense general could be replaced at a word; a single edict sent down below would see matters carried out immediately.

But once the man was killed, the new arrival still could not handle things properly. Once the man was replaced, the army still had no money or grain. The decree was carried out, yet it never achieved the desired effect — sometimes it even ran completely counter.

The realm plunged violently toward the abyss, and no matter how much strength he exerted, he could not hold it up by a fraction. On the contrary, though he clearly meant to lift it upward, it only plunged down all the harder.

Only a few years into his reign, Chongzhen was still not old — in age, he remained one of the youngest rulers under heaven.

But after years of embracing hope time and again, only to suffer devastating blows time and again, he had long since ceased to believe the ghostly talk in his ministers' memorials about "golden opportunities" or "victories."

The light of hope gradually faded from his eyes; it became very hard for anything to stir his interest, and the people he saw were reduced to a single kind.

Those with fierce rhetoric were swindlers deludedly seeking profit and rank through intimidation. Those who spoke tactfully were swindlers currying favor and flattering to angle for advancement.

Those who spoke of a golden opportunity at hand were swindlers exploiting his character flaw of vainglory. Those who said they could not defeat the enemy were cowardly, battle-shy swindlers clinging to life.

All of them — swindlers.

There was no way around it; he could not tell them apart.

He only knew that Yang Jiamo was a fine general, that Duan Fuxing was loyal and steadfast, that Zu Kuan was a bit rash, and that Deng Qi, though lax in troop discipline, was still a fine general.

This feeling was deeply regretful — only when a man had fallen in battle could one know whether he was loyal. But what other way was there?

He himself was cold-natured and lacking in virtue, truly not wise enough to identify loyal ministers and fine generals before they perished on the battlefield and give them his full support.

Because his judgment had proven its own failure, time and time again.

Trusting his own judgment led to error; going against his own instincts led to folly.

Yet the more this was so, the more he could not place enormous hope in those who still lived… After all, the loyal ministers were all dead, and you were still alive — what did that suggest?

Especially in this most recent month.

This emperor's work was truly not fit for a human being, especially an emperor in adversity.

Just two months ago, the news Chongzhen had received was still that Chen Qiyu, full of grand ambition, was forming a five-province coalition army, deploying a massive troop concentration in Shaanxi — Qin troops, Sichuan troops, Ningxia troops, and even reinforcement and suppression troops from Northern Zhili. Elite soldiers and strong generals were all transferred to Shaanxi, arrayed in mighty force at Liupan Mountain, determined to annihilate Liu Chengzong in a single stroke.

Then the news he received about this mighty army corps was that Deng Qi had been thrown to his death beneath the city walls, Tang Jiuzhou had been scattered across the mountain, and Zu Kuan had been beaten to death before the battle lines.

Zuo Liangyu, Cao Wenzhao, and Long Zaitian's massive troop concentration had been cut off by Liu Chengzong atop the Fengxiang Plateau — their fate unknown, whether alive or dead.

Not even a damn word of whether they were dead or alive could get out.

In truth, Chongzhen did not trust his own abilities, so unless absolutely necessary, he was unwilling to micromanage a border grand commander like a Viceroy.

Since intelligence from Shaanxi could not be sent back, Chongzhen dispatched men into Shaanxi specifically for this purpose. He did not even dare to seek out Chen Qiyu, for fear of disrupting military affairs, so he ordered his men to find the Shaanxi Governor Lian Guoshi to ascertain the situation.

As it turned out, Shaanxi Governor Lian Guoshi's skill at the sit-up was truly remarkable.

One moment he was paralyzed with rage, unable to attend to official duties; the next, he was up again, in a fleeting revival; a moment later, he was paralyzed once more, hovering between life and death.

Chongzhen was so furious he wanted to have the Embroidered Uniform Guard agents who brought the report hacked to death with a flurry of blades.

And so, back and forth, the most critical time was wasted. By the time Chongzhen sent out a second wave of agents to probe for intelligence in Shaanxi, they could no longer return.

They simply could not return — like stones sinking into the vast sea.

The unknown terrified Chongzhen beyond measure. He wondered — had Liu Chengzong taken Xi'an?

He hastily dispatched a third wave of Embroidered Uniform Guard, this time sending ten separate teams, traveling by different routes via the Great Wall border forts, the Shanxi Yellow River, Tong Pass, and other points — to Ningxia to find Hong Chengchou, and to Shaanxi to find Chen Qiyu.

The first to report back was the Ningxia route, informing him that upon reaching Yulin Garrison, to the north, Mongol tribes beyond the passes were massing men and horses to assault the border wall, while to the south, Heng Mountain bandits were about to break the forts and kill the generals.

The border wall between Ningsai Camp and Pingshan Beacon Tower had even been buried by windblown sand, but the situation was extremely strange — the gap was clearly right there, yet the Mongol cavalry massed north of the border wall and did not ride south; the Heng Mountain bandits gathered south of the border wall and did not march north.

The two sides faced each other across the sand-buried forts and beacon towers, neither making contact nor attacking one another. But the moment they spotted Ming troops nearby, they would charge up together and strike — the Embroidered Uniform Guard simply could not get through.

One Embroidered Uniform Guard did risk his life to enter Yan'an Prefecture, however, and heard that at Black Dragon King Temple Mountain, the able-bodied men from every village for miles around Fushi County had gathered to build Liu Chengzong's ancestral tomb.

The most recent news was that the Marshal's Manor had sent the great general Zhang Zhen into Yan'an, and he had led troops to garrison Bao'an County. The force he brought was not large — only about a thousand — but the respected village elders from all the counties of Yan'an Prefecture had followed him to Bao'an. The guards for these men alone numbered over three thousand civilian militia.

The route through Shanxi brought no good intelligence either. What met the eye was that around Taiyuan Prefecture city, refugees had gathered into a disaster, beyond the officials' ability to provide relief, while along the Yellow River, the populace was migrating on a massive scale — nine out of ten houses stood empty, and plague had broken out in many villages. Every household had coffins stopped and mats rolled; the hamlets had become wastelands.

Conditions on the Shaanxi side of the Yellow River's west bank were somewhat better, but they could not cross.

For one, the common folk in Jiazhou, Wubao, and other places maintained a strict defense, as if under some kind of order. All boats along the Yellow River had been seized by the villages on the opposite bank — one could walk a hundred li along the shore and not see a single boat.

For another, those villagers were fierce and formidable, bearing bows and arrows and shouldering firelocks, setting up all manner of cannons along the bank. The variety and antiquity of their arsenal opened the Embroidered Uniform Guard's eyes.

A Hongwu-era cannon counted as first-rate, cutting-edge firepower among them. Along the shore, wooden ramparts and earthen enclosures even featured the silhouettes of counterweight trebuchets and crossbow chariots.

The news sent back by these two routes was already enough to strike Chongzhen as utterly absurd.

What no one expected was that Tong Pass was where things truly went off the rails.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard detachment heading for Tong Pass consisted of one centurion, two squad commanders, three guardsmen, and three squad troopers — nine men in all.

The journey all the way to Luoyang went smoothly, and they even had a meal at the Prince of Fu's estate.

But that meal was what ruined everything. Two Embroidered Uniform squad troopers broke away from the group right after leaving Luoyang. The centurion's self-impeaching report claimed the two men had been so shaken by the Prince of Fu's opulence and splendor that they collapsed under the strain, threw off their uniforms, and deserted to join Liu Chengzong.

In truth, this Embroidered Uniform Guard detachment had stopped at princely estates all along the way — not just the Prince of Fu's estate, but also the Prince of Lu's and the Prince of Zheng's. Yet only the Prince of Fu's estate was so extravagantly wealthy that it broke them.

Nor were they the first to break. Zuo Liangyu's and Deng Qi's reinforcements, marching from Henan into Shaanxi, passed the Prince of Fu's estate along the way, and several hundred of their men deserted just the same.

Because the Prince of Fu was so rich — so rich it exceeded what people could psychologically bear. For ordinary commoners, this might not have been so shocking, but for reinforcements crossing Henan to fight in Shaanxi, it was utterly devastating.

"Luoyang is richer than the imperial palace. All the world's wealth fattens Zhu Changxun alone, while we are left to fight on empty stomachs and die at the hands of bandits — how can such injustice stand!"

To be honest, it's just that the Prince of Han over in Pingliang Prefecture never had the chance to visit Luoyang. If he had taken one look, he would have instantly transformed into a new-generation Golden Cicada.

They are both princes, but the Han princely line is wealthy in a different way — wealthy because they were enfeoffed in the dynasty's early years, with a large population, many noble titles, and abundant stipend rice.

The Prince of Fu, on the other hand, is so rich that stipend rice means jack squat.

The Great Ming imperial clan comes in two varieties: the ordinary imperial clansmen, and the imperial clansmen enfeoffed by the Wanli Emperor.

Specifically, just three people: Wanli's younger brother, Prince Lu Zhu Yiliu; his son, Prince Fu Zhu Changxun; and his son, Prince Rui Zhu Changhao.

As for Wanli's other two sons, Zhu Changrun and Zhu Changying, they were delayed until the Tianqi reign before they took up their fiefs, so they never reaped such enormous benefits.

The domineering and arrogant Prince Lu enjoyed the undivided favor of Wanli and Empress Dowager Li. When he took up his fief, every single protocol exceeded the standards. The court officials raised strong objections at the time, all hoping Wanli would follow the old regulations.

But the Prince of Fu was Wanli's most beloved son, and when it was his turn to take up his fief, things went even further.

So far that afterward, court officials dared not even mention the Prince of Fu to Wanli. Whenever any imperial clan matter arose, everyone would say it should follow the precedent set by Prince Lu.

Because Wanli observed no rules when it came to the Prince of Fu. During those thirty years when Wanli neglected governance, memorials from grand secretaries, assistant ministers, and frontier governors vanished into the inner court like stones dropped into the sea — only memorials from the Prince of Fu's estate received a reply by afternoon if submitted in the morning, and no request was ever denied.

When the Prince of Fu took up his fief, he was granted twenty thousand qing of estate land. When Henan's fertile fields proved insufficient, choice lands from Shandong and Huguang were added to make up the difference.

Beyond that, Zhang Juzheng's confiscated family assets, various miscellaneous taxes along the Yangtze from Yangzhou to Taiping in Anhui, the Sichuan salt-well and tea monopoly silver, plus thirteen hundred Huai salt certificates — all were given to the Prince of Fu.

The salt certificates alone were already beyond excessive. Henan had always used Hedong salt.

The Ming salt certificate system was closely tied to grain and fodder for border garrisons. Merchants had to transport grain to the Nine Border Garrisons, which would issue proof of delivery; the merchants then exchanged these grain-transport certificates for salt certificates, which they used to collect salt at the salt fields and sell it.

The weight per salt certificate varied by salt field, depending on the distance to the Nine Border Garrisons.

For example, the Hedong salt field was close to the border wall, so one certificate yielded two hundred jin of salt; the Huaiyang salt field was far from the Nine Border Garrisons, so one certificate counted as six hundred sixty jin.

At the same time, each regional salt zone followed the principle of selling to the nearest market.

But the salt certificates Wanli gave the Prince of Fu ignored all that. He could sell salt in Huaiyang, and he could sell salt in Hedong — wherever he wanted to sell salt was just a matter of writing a letter to his father. This dealt a devastating blow to the salt trade in the three prefectures of Henan, Nanyang, and Huaiqing.

Of course, this kind of blatant favoritism and discrimination between close and distant kin was not a flaw unique to Wanli.

It's just that before Wanli, those princes enfeoffed and granted special privileges by earlier emperors had been in a state of continuous reduction under the Jiajing, Longqing, and even Wanli reigns.

At root, the Jiajing Emperor and the various princes were mostly distant relatives beyond the five degrees of mourning, so he never hesitated to slash their privileges.

So much so that by this era, the three princely states enfeoffed by Wanli enjoyed by far the most generous treatment.

Nothing could be done about it — the Taichang Emperor was Wanli's son, and the Tianqi and Chongzhen emperors were both Wanli's own grandsons.

Now, Prince Fu Zhu Changxun and Prince Lu Zhu Changfang are both Chongzhen's own imperial uncles, holding the most exalted status among all the princes.

To say that Prince Fu and Prince Lu live in the utmost extravagance and luxury would not be an exaggeration — yet from the perspective of the Chongzhen Emperor and the imperial house, they are actually worthy princes.

First, they have performed their fundamental duties flawlessly: enfeoffed but granted no territory, invested with rank but exercising no authority over the people, drawing stipends but managing no affairs.

Second, whenever the imperial house needed funds, they donated money with great enthusiasm, ranking second and third among all the princes, surpassed only by the Prince of Tang and far outstripping those paupers and misers of the Han, Lu, and Dai princely lines.

And the one who always donated the most was the Prince of Tang. For the Battle of Sarhu alone, the old Prince of Tang donated five thousand taels at the outset, and after the defeat, donated another thirty-five hundred taels.

But to the imperial house, the Tang princely line was far inferior to the Fu and Lu lines. The old Prince of Tang had a problem with his character — to change his heir, he imprisoned his heir apparent and grandson for sixteen years, and tacitly allowed a son born of a concubine to poison the heir apparent to death.

Had Chen Qiyu, then serving as Provincial Administration Commissioner, not warned the old Prince of Tang, the young Prince of Tang would have died long ago.

Beyond that, the princes of the Tang line all enjoyed participating in social activities — and for a princely vassal, the boundaries of such things are hard to manage.

By contrast, Prince Fu and Prince Lu were good princes precisely because they did nothing a proper human being should do.

The Prince of Fu was a greedy, lecherous drunkard who shut his gates every day and drank himself senseless, slept when he'd had too much, and drank again the moment he woke.

The Prince of Lu was an artist who loved playing the qin, keeping his fingernails six or seven inches long and protecting them with little bamboo tubes, and he produced three thousand "Prince Lu qins."

He also studied antiques, and based on the Xuanhe Bogu Tu, he reproduced several thousand bronze vessels from the Shang to the Tang dynasties, stamped with the inscription "Made by the State of Lu," then deliberately wrapped them in oxhide and buried them underground so that rust would obscure the inscriptions.

So toward these two wealthy imperial uncles, Chongzhen had no objections whatsoever.

Their wealth was given by his grandfather, and what's more, the two of them even gave him money.

Because he feared for his life, as soon as Li Zicheng entered Huguang and Zhang Yichuan entered Nanyang, Prince Lu — far away on the north bank of the Yellow River — submitted a memorial to Chongzhen requesting permission to add three thousand guards, offering to donate ten thousand taels of silver to military funds.

Chongzhen happily approved it.

Then the Prince of Tang, facing Zhang Yichuan's threat directly in Nanyang, heard the news and also submitted a memorial, likewise requesting the emperor allow him to add three thousand guards and donating ten thousand taels of silver to military funds.

Chongzhen rejected it without a second thought.

Because the court was recently embroiled in an irreconcilable debate over the issue of reassigning imperial clansmen to official posts, the core question being whether to have the Imperial Clan Court recommend talented clansmen into the bureaucracy through a talent-nomination process.

One of the strongest supporters of this proposal was the young Prince of Tang, Zhu Yujian.

Chongzhen understood perfectly: when Prince Lu requested additional guards, it was because he truly feared for his life.

When the Prince of Tang requested additional guards — that guy genuinely wanted to achieve great deeds and establish his legacy!