How can one be Emperor Chongzhen without money?

Chapter 88 Is this an exam? This is more like a test than a test of loyalty to the emperor! (Eighth update)

Inside Yihai Hall.

Eight ministers, each holding a fine Huzhou writing brush, sat before a sheet of snow-white Xuan paper. The ink was top-grade Huizhou ink, ground to the perfect consistency, its fragrance wafting gently through the air.

But this pen, when lifted, feels as heavy as a thousand pounds.

The twenty-three-character title—"Asking about the vast number of officials, the impoverished people of Qin and Jin, and the exhaustion of resources in the Central Plains, what is the best course of action in such a difficult situation?"—was like a cold lock, locking away all their talent and courage.

It's not that I can't write.

I dare not write it!

Which of you here isn't a seasoned veteran of decades in the political arena? They know the situation in Shaanxi and Shanxi, the hardships faced by the common people and military households, inside and out. Those two impoverished provinces barely yield any food from their land, yet they're forced to support eight princes, a multitude of dukes, and countless members of the imperial family. And that's not all; they also have to shoulder the burden of eight military garrisons: Yansui, Ningxia, Gansu, Guyuan, Yulin, Datong, Taiyuan, and Xuanfu (partially)! Two to three hundred thousand mouths are waiting to be fed!
Hubei, Hunan, Jiangnan, and Sichuan are indeed lands of fish and rice, but they are separated by thousands of mountains and rivers. If a little grain is transported there, the loss of food and fodder on the way means that if one out of ten shi (a unit of dry measure) ends up in the mouths of the border troops, that would be considered good!

Originally, they hoped that Henan could provide some assistance, but Henan itself has seven powerful figures sitting in its own backyard! King Zhou, King Zhao, King Zheng, King Chong, King Lu, King Fu, King Tang—which of them didn't have numerous descendants? The royal palaces occupied land and evaded taxes through "deceptive registration," having already devoured most of Henan's good land. How could they possibly have the spare capacity to help Shanxi and Shaanxi?
Everyone understands this principle. But who dares to put pen to paper on this? What they're writing is about shaking the very foundation of the Zhu family clan! It's about digging up their own ancestral graves (for some)! Who can bear the brunt of this massive injustice of overturning ancestral rules?

The ink was almost dripping from the pen tip, but the paper was still blank.

Emperor Chongzhen sat above, not urging him on. He slowly picked up a thermos carved from rosewood, lifted the lid, blew on it to cool it down, and sipped the warm tea inside.

He put down his cup, his voice ringing out clearly in the quiet hall.

"Sigh..." He sighed first, and began as if having a casual conversation, "Actually, the suffering of the people in Shaanxi and Shanxi is not the most troublesome thing."

The eight ministers' hearts skipped a beat at the same time, and their ears perked up.

Chongzhen's gaze slowly swept over them, his tone flat yet carrying an undeniable weight: "The most troublesome are the eight military households who hold the reins of power; they suffer even more."

"When the civilian grain supplies couldn't be raised, the local officials just shrugged and said, 'What can we do? Let them do whatever they want!' But what about the military farms under the names of the eight garrison households? They were all divided up by those old royal mansions set up in the border towns years ago, and... by the local military families, who colluded from the inside and outside!"

"The border troops and their households are now without land or grain. And what about the imperial funds for transporting supplies to the capital? The Ministry of Revenue has been in arrears for months, even years!" Chongzhen's voice rose slightly. "What do you call this? This is called having no way to survive!"

He paused, his gaze sharpening as if scraping across everyone's face with a knife: "Ordinary people will rebel when they have no food. How much more so these border soldiers who have knives in their hands, who have seen blood and killed people?"

"Shaanxi and Shanxi have two or three hundred thousand border troops capable of fighting, plus an even larger number of military households and their families. If they are forced to rebel... what should I do?"

"The Jurchens are eyeing us covetously in the northeast, and if the northwest falls into chaos..." Chongzhen's voice deepened, "Does the Ming Dynasty have anything else to worry about?"

He leaned forward slightly, staring at the pale-faced old ministers below: "If the Ming Dynasty is gone... will those members of the imperial family still exist? Do you think I'm bluffing? Shanxi and Shaanxi provinces are already plagued by famine and popular uprisings! It's just one last spark away from exploding!"

"Today, all eight of you will write this article for me. Give me some ideas on how to solve this dead end game?"

He picked up the bright yellow book of questions and patted it gently: "And here's what I'm saying. This question is the essay question for this year's Wuchen imperial examination! Whoever writes the best essay will be greatly valued by me!"

At this point, his tone suddenly turned cold and stern: "If you can't do it... or are unwilling to do it, then go home and take care of your children. Never employ you again. My court has no need for people like that." His gaze swept across the room again, and he said, word by word, "Because I know this question isn't difficult to answer. If you can't answer it, it's not because you're stupid, it's because this... isn't enough!"

He raised his hand and pointed to his heart.

"Loyalty! Not enough!"

The last three words were like three heavy hammer blows, striking hard into everyone's hearts.

The Yihai Hall was eerily quiet, with only the soft scratching of a brush tip on rice paper.

All eight ministers began writing. It wasn't that their inspiration flowed freely; it was the Emperor's words, "Loyalty! Not enough!" that lashed at them like a whip.

Grand Secretary Huang Lijie gripped his pen, his palms sweating. He knew that his position as head of the "Emperor's Party" was over today. The Emperor hadn't been joking; if he didn't write a good essay, he'd certainly lose his position as Grand Secretary and Minister of Personnel, and might even be forced to retire and never be employed again!

What frightened him even more were Sun Chengzong and Qian Qianyi. If these Donglin Party members wrote more "loyal" articles than he did, gained the emperor's favor, and rose above him, would they let him, a "capable eunuch," go? The emperor had already said "not loyal enough," which meant he wouldn't protect him. No, he had to be loyal! He had to be even more loyal than the Donglin Party members!
Huang Lijie steeled his resolve and wrote heavily with his pen: "In my humble opinion, the policy of 're-enfeoffment' should be implemented. All the fourteen princes of Shanxi, Shaanxi, and Central China (the Prince of Dai has been abolished) and their subordinate princes and generals of the rank of Zhenguo General should be moved south. They should be settled either in Southern Zhili or Huguang, in prosperous places. In this way, the heavy burden on the north can be relieved."

He paused here, then added an even more severe clause: "As for the lieutenants at all levels, they shall be permitted to engage in the occupations of the four classes of people: scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants. They shall be allowed to move freely within the city of their residence and may even study for the imperial examinations! The court shall suspend their stipends and allow them to support themselves."

After writing this, he felt a chill run down his spine. This was practically digging up his ancestors' graves! But he couldn't care less; survival and demonstrating loyalty were paramount!

On the other side, Sun Chengzong's mood was equally heavy. Having served in Liaodong for a long time, he knew all too well what the border troops would do when driven to desperation by hunger. The princes of Shanxi and Shaanxi and the border troops of the Eight Garrisons were like a pile of dry tinder meeting a flint and steel; only one could be saved. Without a doubt, it was the one with the sword.

He sighed deeply, as if he had aged several years, and finally put down his pen. He did not directly talk about reform, but instead quoted classical texts: "Your Majesty, I have carefully examined the Imperial Ancestral Instructions of the Ming Dynasty, which only explicitly stipulates that 'no prince, general, or lieutenant may come to the capital without an imperial edict.' It does not strictly prohibit members of the imperial clan from engaging in the four professions, nor does it explicitly state that members of the imperial clan below the rank of prince may not leave the country or the city."

That's a clever way of putting it! First, it brings up the ancestral rules, pointing out that the ancestral rules didn't say anything about not being allowed to do it, so doing it now doesn't count as violating the ancestral rules!
Then, he revealed his trump card: "Therefore, I believe that Your Majesty should issue an edict to summon all fourteen princes and high-ranking generals of the three provinces of Shaanxi, Shanxi, and Henan to the capital, grant them residences, and forbid them from returning to their homelands without an edict. In this way, their exploitation in the local areas can be eliminated, and their original estates and properties can be confiscated and either distributed to the border troops or sold to civilians to supplement military pay."

Sun Chengzong is trying to round up all the princes and bring them all under the emperor's nose in Beijing! His loyalty is even greater than Huang Liji's "southern relocation"!
Qian Qianyi gripped his pen, his palms sweating, but his mind raced, calculating on the abacus. He was indeed the leader of the Donglin Party, but behind him stood the powerful gentry and wealthy families of Jiangnan! Those people were truly rich! The taxes imposed by the court on Southern Zhili, Zhejiang, and Jiangxi were heavy, but what did that have to do with the Jiangnan gentry who made a fortune daily through maritime trade, workshops, and lending? They continued to live in luxury, and their gardens still housed opera troupes!
The Emperor is now laying bare the mess of those fifteen princely residences and eight border towns in Shaanxi, Shanxi, and the Central Plains, using it as a pretext to feign poverty for the whole world to see. What is he after? Qian Qianyi knew perfectly well—they've come begging! They're after the money bags of Jiangnan!

If he dared to represent Jiangnan in a policy essay and outright refuse, the consequences… Qian Qianyi shuddered. The Emperor could simply relocate those dozen or so vassal kings, dozens of county princes, and tens of thousands of their imperial relatives to Jiangnan! They'd be begging for food at the doorsteps of the wealthy gentry in Suzhou, Hangzhou, and Songjiang! Would you give them food or not? No? Fine, each prince's residence would be accompanied by three guard posts, all burly, starving soldiers from the Northwest! Then it wouldn't be begging, it would be outright robbery! It would be a case of refusing a toast and then having to drink the penalty cup!
Thinking of this, Qian Qianyi's hand trembled, and a drop of ink fell onto the paper, spreading into a small black blot. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and finally put the pen down. He had to walk a tightrope, neither disobeying the emperor nor failing to protect the foundation of Jiangnan.

"I believe that the relocation of the imperial clan will involve a wide range of issues and cause great upheaval, and it may not be able to be accomplished in a short time. However, the burden of imperial stipends and the deep suffering of the people must be alleviated." He first set the tone, acknowledging the problem, but implying that the relocation would be too troublesome.

Then, he changed the subject: "Therefore, I dare to suggest that a temporary expedient measure may be taken: allow members of the imperial clan to leave their fiefdoms to make a living. According to the Imperial Ancestral Instructions of the Ming Dynasty, there is no explicit prohibition against them leaving the country, nor is there any prohibition against them engaging in any of the four professions. Your Majesty may issue a decree allowing lower-ranking members of the imperial clan to work, do business, attend school, and take the imperial examinations, and the court will immediately stop their stipends, allowing them to support themselves. In this way, some impoverished members of the imperial clan can find a way to survive, and the court will save a considerable amount of stipends each year."

Qian Qianyi knew that this seemingly conceding clause actually shifted the burden onto the lower-ranking members of the imperial clan, having little impact on the wealthy gentry of Jiangnan. Most of those poor members of the imperial clan who left their fiefdoms went to northern cities or ended up in the capital; only a minority could make it to Jiangnan.

But that wasn't enough. What the Emperor wanted was money! Real gold and silver enough to fill the bottomless pits of Shaanxi and Shanxi! Qian Qianyi gritted his teeth, knowing he had to cut another piece of flesh.

"Furthermore," he continued, "the strategy of increasing revenue should not be abandoned. I have heard that the southeastern coast is bustling with maritime trade, generating enormous revenue annually. However, the Maritime Trade Offices have been abolished for a long time, and much of the commercial tax revenue has gone into private pockets. The Maritime Trade Offices in Ningbo, Quanzhou, Guangzhou, and other places should be reopened to strictly inspect the goods of maritime merchants and impose reasonable taxes. Special attention should be paid to major exports such as porcelain, silk, tea, and sugar. If handled properly, this alone could increase annual revenue by... perhaps 500,000 taels of silver to supplement the national treasury."

When Qian Qianyi wrote down the figure of "five hundred thousand taels," his pen paused. This was a number he had carefully considered before arriving at—a figure that would show Jiangnan had "tried its best," allowing the Emperor to see tangible results, without crippling the wealthy merchants and gentry, or driving them to desperation. Any more? That would truly be tearing flesh from Jiangnan!

(End of this chapter)