Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

Beijing, the Forbidden City, Wenyuan Pavilion.

In March, Beijing is still chilly.

The willows outside the palace walls had just sprouted tender buds and were shivering in the cold wind.

Inside the Wenyuan Pavilion, several cabinet ministers were sitting around a long table, discussing state affairs.

Leading the group was Grand Secretary Zhou Yanru, who was thirty-eight years old this year and the top scholar in the imperial examination in the forty-first year of the Wanli reign. He was young, successful, and full of vigor.

Sitting opposite him was the Second Grand Secretary Wen Tiren, who was in his early fifties, with a thin face and eyes that were always half-closed, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"You gentlemen are surely aware of the drought in Shaanxi," Zhou Yanru said, his voice not loud, but carrying the unique authority of a Grand Secretary.

"Last autumn was a drought, winter brought no snow, and this spring there has been no rain at all. In the three prefectures of Yan'an, Qingyang, and Pingliang, famine is rampant, and reports of cannibalism are frequent. The Ministry of Revenue says the disaster relief funds allocated by the court have been distributed, but the governor of Shaanxi says he hasn't received them. What exactly went wrong?"

Minister of Revenue Bi Ziyan bowed slightly: "Your Excellency, the Ministry of Revenue has indeed allocated the funds. However, the journey from the capital to Shaanxi is long and arduous, involving multiple layers of transport, which inevitably causes delays. Moreover, local garrisons, prefectures, and counties are all requesting funds. Liaodong needs military pay, Jizhou needs to repair the border wall, Dengzhou and Laizhou need to build warships... The Ministry of Revenue's funds are truly stretched thin."

"Struggling for funds?" Zhou Yanru sneered. "Lord Bi, the starving people of Shaanxi don't care whether you're short of money or not. They're hungry, so they eat. If they don't have anything to eat, they'll rebel. Wang Jiayin, Li Zicheng, Zhang Xianzhong—one after another, they rebelled. Or are you planning to have Shaanxi produce a few more 'rebel generals' or 'eight kings' this year?"

Bi Ziyan's face turned pale, and he lowered his head, no longer speaking.

Wen Tiren, who had been keeping his eyes half-closed, suddenly opened them and said slowly, "Your Excellency, disaster relief is certainly important, but disaster relief alone cannot save Shaanxi."

"Oh?" Zhou Yanru looked at him. "What insightful opinion does Lord Wen have?"

"The disaster in Shaanxi was due to both Heaven and man," Wen Tiren said, stroking his beard. "In recent years, the imperial court has imposed additional taxes on Liaodong, the suppression of rebellions, and military training. With these three taxes levied simultaneously, the people's strength has been exhausted. Even without the drought, the people would not have survived. The drought has only pushed Shaanxi, which was already riddled with problems, off the cliff."

The cabinet ministers looked at each other in bewilderment.

Wen Tiren was telling the truth, but no one dared to say it openly in the imperial court.

The three allowances were decreed by the Emperor; who would dare to make a fuss about them?

Wen Tiren seemed oblivious to the expressions on everyone's faces and continued, "Therefore, disaster relief can only provide temporary relief. To save Shaanxi, we must address the root causes."

"What root?" Zhou Yanru asked.

Wen Tiren did not answer directly, but instead took out a memorial from his sleeve and placed it on the table.

"This is a memorial from Xu Guangqi, the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites. He asked me to forward it to the Grand Secretariat."

Zhou Yanru took the memorial and began to read it carefully. The other cabinet ministers also gathered around to read it together.

The memorial was very long, containing thousands of words.

The opening describes the devastation of the drought in Shaanxi: the land was barren for miles, people resorted to cannibalism, tree bark and grass roots were dug up, and the sale of children became commonplace.

Then, he abruptly changed the subject and made a suggestion that surprised everyone.

"Your subject respectfully notes that although natural disasters are unpredictable, human actions can still be remedied. The ways to remedy this are threefold: first, to revise the calendar to teach the people the seasons; second, to develop water conservancy to prepare for droughts and floods; and third, to plant new grains to broaden food sources."

"Revising the calendar?" A cabinet minister frowned. "Lord Xu...is he going to change the calendar?"

Zhou Yanru continued reading.

In his memorial to the throne, Xu Guangqi elaborated on his reasons in detail: the current Datong Calendar is inherited from Guo Shoujing's Shoushi Calendar of the Yuan Dynasty, and has been used for more than 300 years, with the accumulated errors becoming larger and larger.

The discrepancy between the calculated solar terms and actual celestial phenomena leads to inaccurate agricultural timing, causing people to miss the optimal time for sowing and harvesting.

He suggested that the Ministry of Rites organize scholars proficient in astronomy and calendrical calculations to revise the calendar by referring to new Western methods.

The "Western New Method" that he relied on was the European astronomical knowledge brought by Catholic missionaries such as Matteo Ricci and Johann Adam Schall von Bell.

"Lord Xu also recommended two other people." Zhou Yanru's gaze fell on the last part of the memorial. "One is the Jesuit Johann Adam Schall von Bell, and the other is Li Zubai, the Director of the Imperial Observatory. He said that these two are well-versed in Western calendars and can oversee the revision of the calendar."

The cabinet ministers were abuzz with discussion.

Some agreed, saying that the calendar should indeed be revised; some opposed, saying that the ancestral laws should not be easily changed; some questioned, saying that how could Western knowledge be applied to the calendar of our Great Ming Dynasty?

Wen Tiren remained silent until everyone had finished discussing, then slowly spoke up: "Lord Xu's memorial is not just about revising the calendar. He also mentioned developing water conservancy and planting new grains."

Zhou Yanru turned to the second half of the memorial.

As expected, Xu Guang devoted a great deal of space to discussing in detail the necessity and feasibility of building water conservancy projects in Shaanxi.

He suggested utilizing existing river channels in Shaanxi, dredging and improving them, and then excavating new channels to divert the Jing and Wei rivers to irrigate the arid highlands.

He also recommended a man named Xu Zhenming, saying that this man was an expert in water conservancy and authored "Lushui Ketan," and that he could be entrusted with important responsibilities.

As for "planting new grains," Xu Guangqi was referring to a new crop introduced from the West—sweet potatoes.

"Sweet potato?" a cabinet minister asked doubtfully. "You mean that red-skinned, white-fleshed thing that's crisp and sweet when raw and soft and glutinous when cooked? I've heard it's already being grown in the south, and the yield is indeed quite high. But that's a southern crop; can it be grown in Shaanxi?"

"In his memorial, Lord Xu said that sweet potatoes are drought-resistant and can grow in poor soil, and can be planted on hillsides, sandy land, and wasteland. Moreover, the yield is extremely high, with one mu yielding dozens of shi (a unit of dry measure), several times that of the five grains," Wen Tiren said. "He tried planting them on his farm in Tianjin, and the harvest was very good. He believed that if sweet potatoes could be promoted in Shaanxi, even in years of severe drought, the people would not starve to death."

The cabinet ministers fell silent.

Xu Guangqi's memorial was well-reasoned and supported by evidence, containing both long-term plans and emergency measures.

Revising the calendar is to ensure that people do not miss the farming season; developing water conservancy is to ensure a stable harvest regardless of drought or flood; planting sweet potatoes is to ensure that people have something to eat when they are starving. If these three measures can be implemented simultaneously, Shaanxi's predicament may indeed have a turning point.

But everyone knows that knowing is easier than doing.

Revising the calendar requires a large number of people who are proficient in astronomy and calendrical calculations. But what else can the people in the Imperial Astronomical Bureau do besides reading the almanac and calculating auspicious days?

Water conservancy projects require huge investments of money and grain, but the imperial treasury was empty. It couldn't even pay the military salaries in Liaodong, so where would it get the money to build canals in Shaanxi?

Planting sweet potatoes may seem simple, but promoting a new crop requires government organization and public acceptance. It takes several years to see any results.

And these are precisely the things we lack most right now—money, people, and time.

Zhou Yanru closed the memorial and remained silent for a long time.

"I will present Lord Xu's memorial to His Majesty for review," he concluded. "As for whether it can be implemented, and what the effect will be, that depends on the will of Heaven."

Wen Tiren nodded slightly and said nothing more.

He knew that Zhou Yanru was telling the truth.

The bureaucratic machine of the Ming Dynasty was already rusted and corroded.

No matter how good the memorial or the strategy, once it falls into this rusty machine, it will be ground into dust.

Xu Guangqi's passion is likely to be wasted once again.

But he still secretly clenched his fist in his sleeve.

Xu Guangqi was his classmate and someone he admired.

This person spent his whole life doing "useful" things—studying Western learning, translating Western books, growing sweet potatoes, revising the calendar, and making firearms.

While the court officials were busy with factional struggles, self-interest, and internal strife, he alone, like an out-of-place old farmer, devoted himself to doing things that could truly save the people from suffering.

There are too few people like that.

In a side hall of the Ministry of Rites, filled with books and blueprints, Xu Guangqi was hunched over his desk, writing something down.

Xu Guangqi is 67 years old this year.

He was slender with white hair and beard, and a gaunt face, but his eyes remained bright, revealing a curiosity and focus beyond his years.

He was a Jinshi (successful candidate in the highest imperial examination) in the 32nd year of the Wanli reign (1593), and served in office for more than 30 years, eventually rising to the position of Right Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites.

But his interests were never in getting promoted or making money.

He was obsessed with "practical learning"—astronomy, calendar, mathematics, water conservancy, agriculture, firearms, and any kind of knowledge that could be applied to practical matters, he studied with great eagerness.

In the 28th year of the Wanli reign, he met the Italian missionary Matteo Ricci in Nanjing.

From that moment on, his world was completely opened up.

He studied Western astronomy, mathematics, and geography under Matteo Ricci, and collaborated with Ricci to translate the first six books of Euclid's Elements, introducing Euclid's geometry to China for the first time in a systematic way.

He also wrote "Complete Treatise on Agriculture", which systematically summarized China's agricultural technology and introduced new crops introduced from the West - sweet potatoes, corn, and potatoes.

In his view, the root of the Ming Dynasty's accumulated problems lay in its "emptiness".

The scholar-officials spent their days discussing metaphysics, morality, and the principles of heaven, but no one bothered to study how to increase the yield of crops, how to prevent rivers from overflowing, how to make weapons sharper, or how to make the calendar more accurate.

Empty talk harms the country, while hard work builds it.

He repeated this principle to himself his whole life, but few people heeded it.

"Sir, Mr. Tang has arrived," an old servant announced softly as he entered.

"Please come in quickly!" Xu Guangqi put down the magnifying glass and stood up.

A moment later, a middle-aged foreigner wearing a black robe and a cross around his neck walked in.

He was tall, with delicate features, a neatly trimmed short beard, and deep, gentle blue eyes.

He was the Jesuit Johann Adam Schall von Bell, a German who came to China in the 48th year of the Wanli reign (1594). He was an expert in astronomy and calendrical calculations and was Xu Guangqi's most trusted assistant in the work of calendar reform.

"Lord Xu," Johann Adam Schall von Bell greeted him with a bow, speaking in fluent Chinese, "You wanted to see me?"

"Ruowang, sit down." Xu Guangqi pointed to a chair next to him and sat down himself. "I've submitted my memorial."

Johann Adam Schall von Bell's eyes lit up: "What did the Cabinet say?"

"It hasn't been approved yet," Xu Guangqi sighed. "However, Grand Secretary Zhou has agreed to submit it to the Emperor for review. Whether it's approved or not depends on His Majesty's will."

After a moment of silence, Johann Adam Schall von Bell said in a low voice, "Lord Xu, there's something I'm not sure if I should say."

"you say."

"I've been in China for over a decade and have observed a phenomenon," Johann Adam Schall von Bell said, carefully choosing his words. "Your country's scholars are exceptionally intelligent and learned. But they share a common flaw—they love to argue about right and wrong, but are not good at solving practical problems. A memorial to the throne can be debated for months. By the time a conclusion is reached, things have already changed. The starving people of Shaanxi cannot wait even a few months."

Xu Guangqi smiled wryly: "Ruowang, you're right. But this isn't just a problem with the scholar-officials; it's a problem with the system. The official system of the Ming Dynasty was designed from the outset to ensure checks and balances. A matter had to go through layers of reporting, review, and approval before it could be implemented. By the time it was implemented, it was too late. Changing this system is harder than climbing to heaven."

The two remained silent. Outside the window, the cooing of pigeons drifted in. Several white pigeons swept across the gray sky and flew into the distance.

"Lord Xu," Johann Adam Schall von Bell suddenly spoke up, "I want to go to Shaanxi."

Xu Guangqi was taken aback: "Go to Shaanxi?"

"Go to Shaanxi." Tang Ruowang's gaze was firm. "The three things you mentioned in your memorial—revising the calendar, developing water conservancy, and planting sweet potatoes. I can revise the calendar at the Imperial Observatory; Xu Zhenming can develop water conservancy; but planting sweet potatoes requires someone to go to Shaanxi to teach the people how to plant, harvest, and store them. I am willing to go."

Looking at this foreign missionary, Xu Guangqi felt a surge of warmth in his heart.

This person traveled across the ocean to China to spread his faith.

But over the past decade or so, he has devoted more of his time and energy to things unrelated to faith—helping the Chinese revise their calendar, help them manufacture cannons, and help them translate Western scientific texts.

Now, he is volunteering again to go to Shaanxi, a land of barren land where people are resorting to cannibalism, to teach the people how to grow sweet potatoes.

"John, Shaanxi is in chaos right now." Xu Guangqi's voice was a little hoarse. "Bandits are everywhere, and the government troops can't suppress them all. It's too dangerous for a foreigner like you to go to such a place."

"I know," Johann Adam Schall von Bell said calmly, "but it is precisely because of the danger that someone is needed. Jesus said that unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains only a single grain; but if it dies, it produces many grains."

Xu Guangqi fell silent.

He was not a Christian, but he understood Johann Adam Schall von Bell's beliefs.

It is a kind of love for all people that transcends personal safety, national borders, and race.

Wasn't he the same? He spent his whole life obsessed with those "useless" practical skills, ridiculed as "pedantic," ostracized by his colleagues, and neglected by his superiors. But he never regretted it.

Because someone always has to do those things.

"Ruowang, once His Majesty's approval is granted, I will go to Shaanxi with you," Xu Guangqi said.

Johann Adam Schall von Bell looked at him, a hint of surprise flashing in his blue eyes: "Lord Xu, you are advanced in years, why bother to make the journey yourself?"

"It is precisely because I am getting old that I must go," Xu Guangqi smiled. "In my life, I have written many books and said many things. But I have done very little with my own hands. While I can still walk, I want to plant a few sweet potato plants in the fields of Shaanxi. When they grow and bear fruit, I want to let those hungry people taste them. I want them to know that there is something in this world that, if planted, can save lives."

Johann Adam Schall von Bell did not try to persuade him further. He stood up and bowed deeply to Xu Guangqi.

"Lord Xu, it is the greatest honor of my life to work with you."

Xu Guangqi also stood up and took his arm. Two people of vastly different ages, nationalities, and beliefs exchanged a smile in this side room filled with books. Outside the window, the cooing of pigeons rang out again, and white doves swept across the gray sky, flying southwest—towards Shaanxi.