Chief Armaments Master of the Ming Dynasty

July of the third year of the Chongzhen reign.

The capital city.

Before dawn, the Forbidden City was already brightly lit.

It wasn't a court session, it was a prayer for rain.

Emperor Chongzhen issued another decree at the end of June: "This year has been a severe drought. Since last autumn, several provinces including Beijing, Shaanxi, Shanxi, and Henan have not received a drop of rain. The land is barren for thousands of miles, and people are resorting to cannibalism. I will fast and reflect on my actions, and send my ministers to offer sacrifices at the altars in the northern and southern suburbs and at the mountains and rivers, praying to the gods for rain."

Once the imperial decree was issued, all the temples and Taoist monasteries in the capital were bustling with activity. Monks chanted scriptures, Taoist priests drew talismans, and civil and military officials took turns kowtowing and burning incense at various altars and temples.

The sacrificial offerings alone involved the slaughter of hundreds of cattle, sheep, and pigs, not to mention countless incense oil and candles. Money was spent like water, yet the sky remained a clear, almost white expanse, without a single cloud in sight.

Today is July 19th, and Emperor Chongzhen personally offered sacrifices at the southern suburbs.

The southern suburbs lead to the Temple of Heaven. Since the founding of the Ming Dynasty, the ceremony of offering sacrifices to Heaven has been the most important, and it could not be held except on the winter solstice, the first month of the lunar calendar, or on major national events. This year, Emperor Chongzhen made an exception in order to pray for rain.

At the beginning of the hour of Yin (3-5 AM), it was still dark. Outside the Meridian Gate, a dense crowd of people knelt—civil and military officials, from Grand Secretaries of the Inner Cabinet to Secretaries of the Six Ministries, from Censors of the Censorate to Compilers of the Hanlin Academy; all the officials in the capital had come. They wore court robes and official hats, kneeling on the cold stone slabs, their knees aching from the hard surface, yet no one dared to move.

Emperor Chongzhen, dressed in ceremonial robes and wearing a twelve-tasseled crown, departed from the Qianqing Palace aboard his imperial palanquin. Before and behind the palanquin were imposing generals of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, wielding golden maces and axes. Eunuchs, carrying palace lanterns, stood in two rows, their light illuminating their pale, submissive faces.

The imperial carriage exited the Meridian Gate, and all the officials kowtowed in unison. Emperor Chongzhen did not look at them. His gaze passed over the prostrate crowd, fixed on the hazy, gray sky. No clouds. No wind. Only a deathly, suffocating gray-white expanse.

The outline of the Circular Mound Altar in the Temple of Heaven was revealed in the morning light.

It was a three-tiered circular stone platform, entirely constructed of white marble, surrounded by the Lingxing Gate and the Liaolu Furnace.

At this moment, the area around the Altar of Heaven was filled with officials in charge and musicians and dancers from the Court of Imperial Sacrifices. The offering table was laden with sacrificial offerings—the three sacrificial animals, the five grains, jade and silk, wine and spirits, and everything else was present.

Emperor Chongzhen alighted from his imperial carriage and walked up the Circular Mound Altar.

He walked slowly, each step steady.

The tamamo-a-matrix on the crown swayed gently in the morning breeze, making a soft clinking sound.

Civil and military officials knelt beneath the Circular Mound Altar, a dark mass of people, utterly silent.

Music began. It was the "Zhonghe Shaoyue," a solemn and dignified piece played by musicians from the Taichang Temple using chime bells, jade chimes, zithers, and sheng and xiao. As the music played, Chongzhen walked to the offering table and knelt down.

His forehead slammed heavily against the cold white marble. Once, twice, three times.

Then he stood up, unfolded the eulogy, and began to recite it.

"Your subject, Youjian, dares to solemnly report to the Supreme God of Heaven..."

His voice, hoarse and weary, echoed across the empty Circular Mound Altar. Among the kneeling officials, some had their heads bowed, some had their eyes closed, and some were silently counting the cracks between the bricks in the ground. No one spoke. No one dared to speak.

After reading the eulogy, Emperor Chongzhen knelt down again. He raised his hands above his head, holding a bundle of lit incense. The smoke curled up, swaying in the breeze like a slender white ribbon drifting towards the hazy sky.

"May Heaven have mercy... forgive my sins... and relieve the people's suffering..." he murmured, his forehead striking the stone slab again.

He kowtowed for a long time. So long that the eunuch Cao Huachun couldn't help but step forward to help him up. But Chongzhen didn't move. His forehead pressed against the cold stone, his shoulders trembling slightly.

Some of the officials raised their heads, stole a glance, and then quickly lowered them again.

The ceremony to worship Heaven ended at Chenshi (7-9 AM).

Emperor Chongzhen did not return to the palace. He went directly to the Wenhua Hall—where a drought-relief ritual awaited him. The Taoist priests had already set up the altar, drawn the talismans, and prepared peach wood swords and sweet dew.

Emperor Chongzhen knelt before the altar, watching the Taoist priests brandish peach wood swords, chant incantations, and burn talismans.

Smoke billowed, and bells and chimes rang out in unison.

An old Taoist priest with white hair walked up to him carrying a copper basin filled with so-called "sweet dew"—which was actually dew collected from the Imperial Garden in the early morning.

The old Taoist priest dipped his finger in the dew and gently flicked it onto Chongzhen's forehead.

"Your Majesty, Heaven is moved by his sincerity and will surely send down sweet rain." The old Taoist's voice was hoarse but resolute.

Emperor Chongzhen nodded. He didn't know whether he should believe these words. But he had to believe them. Because he knew what else he could do besides believe them.

Meanwhile, a grand ceremony to worship the earth was also being held at the Temple of Earth in the northern suburbs.

The chief officiant was Grand Secretary Zhou Yanru. Dressed in sacrificial robes, he knelt on the altar, performing three kneelings and nine kowtows before the earth deity, offering three sacrificial animals, and reciting the sacrificial text. His voice was even more steady and formulaic than that of Emperor Chongzhen, as if he were reading an official document unrelated to himself.

On the other side of the Altar of Mountains and Rivers, the chief officiant was Wen Tiren, the Second Assistant Minister.

His recitation of the eulogy was even more perfunctory—his voice was neither loud nor soft, his pace neither fast nor slow, so that he neither appeared disrespectful nor devout. He just wanted to get this ritual over with as quickly as possible so he could return to the cabinet to deal with the mountain of official documents.

But one thing forced Wen Tiren to stop.

As he stepped out of the Altar of Mountains and Rivers, a junior official from the Ministry of Rites jogged up to him. "Your Excellency, Vice Minister Xu requests an audience."

"Xu Guangqi?" Wen Tiren frowned slightly. "What does he want with me?"

"Minister Xu said there was urgent business. It concerned disaster relief in Shaanxi."

Wen Tiren was silent for a moment, then nodded.

Xu Guangqi was waiting for him in a side hall of the Ministry of Rites. The side hall was filled with books and drawings, a celestial globe he had made himself sat on the table, and a hand-drawn map of Shaanxi hung on the wall. He himself sat in an old armchair, holding a bowl of tea that had gone cold.

"Grand Secretary Wen." Xu Guangqi stood up and cupped his hands in greeting.

"Lord Xu, there's no need for such formalities." Wen Tiren waved his hand and sat down opposite him. "I heard you have urgent business?"

"Yes." Xu Guangqi picked up a memorial from the table and handed it over. "This is a newly drafted memorial concerning disaster relief in Shaanxi. I would like to ask the Grand Secretary to forward it to you at the Cabinet meeting."

Wen Tiren took the memorial but did not open it immediately.

He looked at Xu Guangqi—this 67-year-old minister, with white hair and beard, and a thin face, but his eyes were still bright, still revealing a persistence that was not commensurate with his age.

"Lord Xu, your previous memorial—regarding calendar reform, water conservancy projects, and sweet potato cultivation—is still being held up in the cabinet." Wen Tiren's voice was unhurried. "The Emperor only wrote 'Understood.' What do you think those three words mean?"

Xu Guangqi was silent for a moment. "I know. But the starving people of Shaanxi can't wait. Every extra day they wait, more lives will be lost. In this new memorial, I don't want the court to allocate funds or send troops. I only ask that the court allow me to try planting sweet potatoes in Shaanxi. I have the seedlings myself, I find the people myself, and I cultivate the land myself. As long as the court doesn't stop me, I can save a number of lives."

Wen Tiren stared at him for a long time. Then he slowly opened the memorial and read it from beginning to end. The memorial was short, less than a thousand words, but every word was substantial—it contained information on sweet potato cultivation methods, yield estimates, drought resistance analysis, successful trial planting experiences in Tianjin, and feasibility suggestions for promotion in Shaanxi. There wasn't a single wasted word, not a single empty phrase.

"Lord Xu," Wen Tiren closed the memorial, "I have a question for you. Do you think the bandits in Shaanxi are due to natural disasters or man-made calamities?"

Xu Guangqi did not hesitate. "Natural disasters are the root cause, while man-made disasters are the accomplices. Without natural disasters, the people will not go hungry; without oppressive policies, the people will not rebel. Natural disasters coupled with oppressive policies leave the people both hungry and wronged; it would be strange if they did not rebel."

Wen Tiren nodded slightly. "Then tell me, should the imperial court first suppress them, or should it first appease them?"

"Provide relief first," Xu Guangqi said. "If the people are starving, they will rebel even more if you suppress them, and they will not survive if you appease them."

Wen Tiren did not respond.

He stood up, walked to the wall, and looked at the hand-drawn map of Shaanxi.

The map is marked with densely packed prefectures, counties, rivers, and roads, as well as red circles indicating the areas where "bandits" were active—Fugu, Ziwuling, Bao'an, Ansai, Yichuan, Yanchang… The red circles are scattered throughout northern Shaanxi, like bleeding scars.

"Lord Xu, do you know how many people Hong Chengchou killed in Shaanxi?"

Xu Guangqi remained silent.

"In Yichuan, to make up for lost merits, he massacred a village of 'bandits' to make up the numbers. His staff said privately that the village had more than 130 people, including men, women, and children, all of whom were good citizens."

Wen Tiren turned to Xu Guangqi and said, "Some people in the court know about this, but no one dares to impeach him. Because Hong Chengchou is the only capable governor of Shaanxi. If we impeach him, who will suppress the bandits?"

Xu Guangqi's lips trembled slightly.

Wen Tiren walked up to him. "I will forward your memorial to the Cabinet. But Lord Xu, you should be prepared. The Cabinet is currently most concerned with two things—the Jurchens in Liaodong and the bandits in Shaanxi. As for disaster relief, calendar revision, and sweet potato cultivation, these are all icing on the cake. Who cares about icing on the cake?"

Xu Guangqi remained silent for a long time. Then he stood up and bowed deeply to Wen Tiren.

"Your Excellency, it is precisely because no one is doing the icing on the cake that we need someone to do it all the more. I don't ask the court to allocate any amount of silver or send any number of soldiers. I only ask that the court not stop me. If they don't stop me, I can save a few people."

Looking at his aged yet resolute face, Wen Tiren felt a complex emotion welling up inside him.

This old minister was obsessed with those "useless" practical skills his whole life and was ridiculed by others his entire life.

But looking back now, where are those who mocked him? What did those officials who were keen on factional strife, self-interest, and internal strife do during the nation's time of crisis?

"Lord Xu," Wen Tiren suddenly said, "if the court approves your memorial, what do you plan to do?"

Xu Guangqi's eyes lit up.

"I have already sent Johann Adam Schall von Bell to Xi'an ahead of time. He brought with him a batch of sweet potato seedlings and seeds. If the court approves my memorial, I plan to go to Shaanxi myself and select a few counties in each of the three prefectures of Yan'an, Qingyang, and Pingliang as pilot areas to teach the people how to grow sweet potatoes. Sweet potatoes are drought-resistant and can grow in poor soil, and they have a growing period of three to six months. Although this is a long-term solution, as long as we can get through these few months, the famine next year will be greatly alleviated."

Wen Tiren nodded. "Okay. I'll do my best to help you."

Xu Guangqi bowed deeply once again.

Then he turned and left the side hall, his steps much lighter than when he came in.

Wen Tiren stood alone in the side hall, gazing at the map of Shaanxi.

Red circles covered northern Shaanxi, like bleeding scars. He knew that Xu Guangqi's sweet potatoes couldn't save everyone. But he could save as many as he could.

In this world, saving even one person is already an immense act of merit.

He withdrew his gaze and turned to walk toward the cabinet.