MLMD -Chapter 374 Chongzhen’s Worries

As the saying goes, when minds don’t meet, there’s no point talking at length. After Tang Hu refused Yang Sichang’s proposal to purchase grain, he did not linger. He rose, cupped his hands to the others in farewell, and took his leave.

Watching Tang Hu’s retreating figure, Yang Sichang fell silent, while Cheng Guoxiang wore a thoughtful expression. With both of them quiet, Guo Si—who had been little more than a spectator up to this point—finally spoke.

“Grand Secretary Yang, this Tang Hu really is impervious to persuasion. It seems some people are going to be disappointed.”

Yang Sichang no longer showed the anger he had displayed earlier. His expression returned to normal, and he even revealed a faint smile as he spoke indifferently, “All within expectations. I know Yue Yang quite well. His defining trait is that once he gives his word, he will carry it out without fail. But anyone who thinks he’s easy to talk to and tries to take advantage of him had better be prepared for a counterattack.”

Guo Si burst out laughing, pointing at Yang Sichang as he joked, “If that’s the case, then why did you still put on this little performance today? Aren’t you afraid of offending the Marquis of Loyal Bravery? If someone like him sets his sights on you, even as the Grand Secretary of the present dynasty, you won’t have an easy time.”

Yang Sichang smiled bitterly and said somewhat unwillingly, “Yue Yang may be arrogant and domineering, but he isn’t that narrow-minded. Even if today’s matter reaches his ears, at most he’ll just laugh it off. But if I hadn’t made this gesture today, then when those people start making things difficult for me later, I’d really have a hard time dealing with it.”

Guo Si sighed softly as well. “Those people have really gone too far. The capital is already littered with starving corpses, the people can barely survive, yet they’re still hoarding grain on a massive scale, hoping to make a killing. I truly don’t know what to say about them.”

Cheng Guoxiang interjected from the side, “Grand Secretary Yang, Director Guo, in my humble opinion, this isn’t something we can manage. We might as well hand it over to His Majesty and let the Emperor decide.”

After hearing this, Yang Sichang and Guo Si could only sigh quietly and say no more. Although Yang Sichang could be said to be the most powerful man in the Ming besides the Emperor himself, there were certain matters he would not touch unless absolutely necessary—after all, involving himself in such things brought him no benefit whatsoever.

“Enough,” Yang Sichang said at last. “My position has already been made clear. From here on, this matter has nothing to do with me. If they still won’t give up, they can go argue with Yue Yang themselves. There’s nothing more I can do…”

Leaving aside the reactions of Yang Sichang and the others, Tang Hu exited the Imperial Academy and turned back to glance at the two ancient locust trees by its gate. His eyes narrowed, so small against the backdrop of his large, fleshy face that they were nearly invisible. He muttered under his breath, “Hmph… The Marquis was right after all. Yang Sichang and his kind are nothing but people who seek advantage and avoid harm. If something isn’t beneficial to them, they won’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. But now that you’re the Grand Secretary, are there really things you can simply choose not to touch?”

Not long after Tang Hu left the Imperial Academy, a servant dressed in a short jacket led two horses up to him and stood respectfully. Tang Hu took the reins and said calmly, “Return to the grain shop headquarters immediately. Also, pass word down the line: starting tomorrow, all grain shops will begin selling grain.” With that, Tang Hu mounted his horse, gave it a gentle squeeze with his legs, and the horse broke into a light trot toward the distance…

Night had already fallen deep, yet the Warm Fragrance Pavilion was still brightly lit. As usual, Chongzhen sat before the dragon desk, head lowered as he reviewed memorials. When he absentmindedly picked up a memorial that was clearly different from the others, his gaze fell upon it—and he immediately noticed that the paper was unlike that used for ordinary memorials. His spirits instantly lifted.

There was a reason this memorial stood out. In the feudal era, papermaking was already quite advanced, but high-quality paper was still produced in limited quantities. Thus, the paper used by officials submitting memorials to the Emperor came in all kinds—some even absurd enough to use toilet paper as memorial paper (don’t laugh, this actually happened). Even Chongzhen himself, in order to economize, used only ordinary paper. Yet among all the civil and military officials at court, there was one man whose paper was always distinctive—and that man was Yue Yang.

Ever since arriving in the Ming dynasty, Yue Yang had been full of complaints about the paper of the era. Ordinary paper was either not absorbent enough, not white enough, too thin, or too thick, while good paper such as xuan paper was far too expensive. As a result, Yue Yang had brought in a batch of high-grade A4 printing paper from the modern era. Whether for office work, correspondence, or handling documents, he used this paper exclusively. Later, even the official documents he sent to the court and the memorials he wrote to Chongzhen were all on this paper. Over time, this “self-produced and self-used” Yue-family paper came to be jokingly called “Yue paper.” Since Chongzhen had received several memorials written on it before, he remembered it very clearly.

Zhu Youjian was known in history as a diligent emperor, and rightly so. Regardless of whether matters were major or minor, he insisted on reading every memorial himself—otherwise he couldn’t put his mind at ease. Writing brief summaries on the cover of each memorial was probably his own innovation. When Zhu Youjian saw the paper and the name written on it, his heart skipped a beat, and a mix of joy and unease surged up within him.

The author of this memorial was, of course, Yue Yang. In it, Yue Yang first reported on recent developments. Although he did not describe in detail how fierce the fighting at Shanhai Pass and Jinzhou had been, when Chongzhen saw that nearly fifty thousand enemies had been killed between the two battles, his heart couldn’t help but twitch. Zhu Youjian felt pain—deep pain. Those who had died were originally the elite troops of the Great Ming, yet because of certain people’s greed and selfishness, and because of one of his own commands, they had died at the hands of their own countrymen. In theory, the Ming had over two million registered soldiers, but for reasons well known to all, fewer than one-tenth of them still possessed real combat capability—and even that tenth included the Xuan–Da Army under Yue Yang.

The Ming’s usable forces were so few, yet in one stroke forty or fifty thousand had died. Zhu Youjian felt as though his heart was bleeding. When he reached the final line of the memorial—“At this point, all of Liaodong has been fully recovered. Your subject shall defend the land and expand the territory for our Great Ming”—a surge of joy rose in his heart, followed immediately by a deep, chilling fear. Did the Ming still have anyone who could restrain Yue Yang?

Feeling that he could no longer continue reading, Zhu Youjian stood up and strode to the door, pushing it open.

“Creeeak—”

A harsh sound rang out. As the door opened, a blast of frigid northern wind carrying flurries of snow swept inside, instantly jolting awake the two young eunuchs dozing by the doorway. When they saw that Chongzhen himself had opened the door and seemed intent on going outside, all traces of sleep vanished. One of the eunuchs fell to his knees in fright and cried, “Your Majesty, it’s already deep into the night. You mustn’t go out! If you were to catch a chill, Eunuch Wang would skin this servant alive!”

Seeing the two eunuchs trembling on the ground, Chongzhen could not bring himself to get angry. Lowering his voice, he said, “Why are you two crying? I’m just feeling vexed and wanted to step outside for a bit. What are you afraid of?”

“Your Majesty, you are the most precious person in the realm—your safety concerns the entire world. How can you go outside in such bitter cold? If you truly wish to go out, you must at least wait until daylight tomorrow!” The two eunuchs knocked their heads against the ground with loud thuds, refusing to let Chongzhen leave.

Looking at the eunuchs kneeling there, their foreheads already turning bluish-purple, Chongzhen let out a self-mocking smile. “Everyone envies me as the Son of Heaven, but who knows that I can’t even go out to enjoy the night scenery? What’s the point of being an emperor like this?”

The two eunuchs said nothing, only continuing to kowtow desperately. In the palace, servants’ lives were worth very little—countless eunuchs and maids died every year for various reasons. They had no desire to become the next wronged souls beaten to death.

“Enough, enough. Get up,” Chongzhen sighed. “All right, get up. I won’t go out.”

“Thank you for Your Majesty’s mercy!” Only then did the two eunuchs scramble to their feet and work together to close the door.

As Chongzhen was about to return to the dragon desk, he suddenly turned back and asked, “Where has Attendant Wang gone?”

One eunuch hurried forward and replied attentively, “Reporting to Your Majesty, Eunuch Wang has already returned to rest. If Your Majesty wishes to summon him, this servant will go fetch him at once.”

“Oh… no need,” Chongzhen said.

He then remembered that Wang Chengen, due to his advanced age, no longer had the energy to stay up late accompanying him. Still, having grown accustomed to Wang Chengen’s presence, Chongzhen felt rather uncomfortable when he didn’t see that familiar figure behind him. Fortunately, most of the memorials had already been dealt with. He skimmed through the remaining few, found nothing of great importance, scribbled a few brief approvals, and set them aside.

With the day’s work done, Chongzhen finally stood up and stretched. The eunuchs nearby had been carefully watching the number of memorials on his desk; seeing that he was finished, they hurried over and asked eagerly, “Your Majesty, will you be staying the night at the Warm Fragrance Pavilion, or will you go to one of the consorts’ residences?”

After some thought, Chongzhen said, “I haven’t visited the Empress in quite some time. Tonight, I’ll go to the Kunning Palace. There’s no need to summon the imperial palanquin—we’ll walk there and get some exercise along the way.”

“Yes!”

One eunuch brought over a thick cloak and wrapped Chongzhen up tightly, while the other ran to open the door.

The Kunning Palace was not close to the Warm Fragrance Pavilion—nearly a li away. By the time Chongzhen arrived, two quarters of an hour had passed. Empress Zhou, who had already gone to bed, hurried to rise and welcome him in. She instructed the palace maids to close the doors and bring in the braziers. After everything was arranged, she stood behind Chongzhen, brushed the snowflakes from him, and removed his cloak.

Leading him to sit by the brazier, Empress Zhou reproached gently, “Your Majesty, it’s already the hour of Hai. It’s so late—you should have rested earlier. Why come here instead? You still have to attend court early tomorrow.”

Chongzhen smiled. “I haven’t seen you for several days, my dear. After finishing the memorials, I wanted to see you, so I came. Could it be that you dislike seeing me so much?”

Empress Zhou shot him a playful glance. “Your Majesty is talking nonsense again. You are the true dragon Son of Heaven—how would I dare dislike you?”

“True dragon Son of Heaven…” Chongzhen fell silent at the phrase, then after a moment smiled bitterly. “The days of this ‘true dragon Son of Heaven’ are anything but easy. Sometimes I truly wish I weren’t one at all. I just want to live a few years of ordinary life with you, like common folk, without having to review those endless memorials every single day.”

As Chongzhen vented his frustrations, Empress Zhou said nothing, merely gazing quietly at her husband. She knew that at times like this, all he needed was someone to listen.

After speaking for a while longer, Chongzhen looked at her and smiled. “My dear, after listening to all this complaining, are you tired of it?”

“Not at all,” Empress Zhou replied gently. “Though Your Majesty is the ruler of the realm, you are also my husband. To personally hear a sovereign grumble is, in itself, my good fortune.”

“Heh… you,” Chongzhen said, pointing at her with a warm smile in his eyes.

Empress Zhou was from Suzhou. Her father, Zhou Kui, and her mother, Lady Ding—Zhou Kui’s second wife—were poor. From a young age, she had managed household affairs. After moving to Beijing, Zhou Kui made a living in the bustling area of Qianmen Street by reading faces and telling fortunes.

After marrying Chongzhen, she continued the virtues of frugality and diligence. The bond between husband and wife was deep, and Chongzhen had always respected this first wife of his. Their daily interactions were easy and natural.

After enjoying this rare moment of marital warmth, Chongzhen sighed. “My dear, I just received a memorial. After reading it, I felt both joy and worry, my mind in turmoil. That’s why I came here to sit for a while.”

Empress Zhou’s beautiful eyes turned slightly as she smiled. “Your Majesty, don’t tell me yet—let me guess. This memorial must have been sent by the Marquis of Loyal Bravery, Yue Zhenghong. And the matter in Liaodong has already been settled by him, hasn’t it?”

Chongzhen showed a hint of surprise and nodded. “Indeed, nothing escapes your eyes. It was Yue Zhenghong’s memorial. Shanhai Pass and Jinzhou have both been taken. But Wu Xiang, Zu Dashou, and their ilk were obstinate and tried to resist the imperial army. In this one campaign, tens of thousands of Liaodong troops were lost—these were all elite soldiers of the Great Ming! How could I not feel heartache?”

Empress Zhou said softly, “Your Majesty, aside from the Marquis of Loyal Bravery, I truly can’t think of anyone else who could cause you such distress.”

“Yes,” Chongzhen sighed. “You truly are my first wife—you understand my heart.”

Empress Zhou cast him a sidelong glance, her eyes full of charm. For a moment, Chongzhen was left staring.

Seeing his reaction, Empress Zhou felt a quiet joy and continued gently, “If I’m not mistaken, Your Majesty is worried that Yue Zhenghong may one day grow too powerful to control, bringing hidden dangers to the Ming realm.”

Chongzhen smiled bitterly. “Yue Yang is already too powerful to control. You know the state of our realm as well as I do—it’s no exaggeration to say it’s tottering in the wind. The ministers at court are each eloquent when it comes to moralizing, but when it comes to offering real solutions or sharing my burdens, not a single one is capable. The only one, Yang Sichang, is now isolated as well. I’m truly exhausted.”

Seeing the unmistakable weariness on her husband’s face, Empress Zhou felt a pang of heartache. She sat down beside him, wrapped an arm around his waist, rested her face against his chest, and said softly, “Your Majesty, I am merely a woman and don’t understand the grand principles of statecraft. But I often wonder: how is it that Yue Zhenghong, merely a military man of xiucai background, could rise from leading a militia to becoming today’s Marquis of Loyal Bravery in just five years—able to slay enemies on horseback and pacify the people off it, turning a barren Shanxi into today’s ‘Jiangnan of the western frontier’—while so many well-read talents at court, when sent down below, can’t even govern a single county properly? Why is that? And why can’t Your Majesty let Yue Zhenghong come to court to help shoulder your burdens?”

“Yue Yang?” Chongzhen’s heart stirred, but then bitterness resurfaced as he shook his head. “My dear, you jest. Yue Yang is unruly and arrogant—how could he be willing to enter court to serve me? And even if he were willing, how could I dare to make heavy use of someone like him?”

His words laid bare the worries of an emperor’s heart. Any person or force beyond imperial control was viewed as a threat, and never truly trusted—this was precisely why, from the Tang dynasty onward, successive Chinese dynasties pursued policies of valuing civil officials over military ones.

Empress Zhou’s eyes flickered as she quickly thought of an idea. “Your Majesty, the reason you don’t dare to make use of Yue Zhenghong is nothing more than his unruliness and refusal to submit to discipline. You fear that once he holds great power, he’ll pose a threat to the imperial house—isn’t that so?”

Chongzhen nodded silently, tacitly agreeing.

Empress Zhou also fell silent. It was an unsolvable dilemma: the court was full of men who only knew how to eat but not how to act; the one man who could act was someone Chongzhen dared not use. It was an immense irony.

Growing troubled, Empress Zhou sighed, “Ah… if only Yue Zhenghong were part of our family. Then Your Majesty could use him without worry.”

“Hmm…”

The speaker had no such intention, but the listener took it to heart. Empress Zhou’s words immediately stirred Chongzhen. His thoughts raced; his expression shifted from joy to gloom. Finally, he sighed and muttered, “Sigh… it still won’t work… too young.”

“What’s too young?” Empress Zhou asked in confusion.

Chongzhen replied somewhat embarrassed, “I was just thinking about whether there’s any princess in the palace who could be betrothed to Yue Yang. But no matter how I think about it, none are suitable—hence that remark.”

Empress Zhou’s eyes lit up, only to dim again quickly. “That would indeed be a good solution. But the Late Emperor left no offspring. Even if there were princesses, they would have already been married off. At present, there truly isn’t a single princess of suitable age to match him.”