Chapter 28: Action Before Reporting, Imperial Privilege Granted!

Yongle Era.

Zhu Youjian had just sent everyone back to their respective times and now stood in the Hall of Heavenly Purity, before the old Emperor Zhu Di.

The Three Yangs of the Grand Secretariat and Xia Yuanji, Minister of Revenue, were in the midst of discussing military logistics and future deployments for the campaign against Wa with Zhu Di.

Zhu Youjian bowed and said, “Ancestor, when your deliberations have concluded, I ask to borrow these gentlemen for a time to restore order to the court of the Chongzhen era.”

“Rest assured, Grandson. I have already spoken to them,” Zhu Di replied with a nod.

The situation under Chongzhen was precarious, and ministers of exceptional ability were urgently needed to handle state affairs. This had just been agreed upon in their previous discussion.

In the Ming dynasty, the emperor’s foremost skill was recognizing talent—something Zhu Youjian did not consider himself especially gifted in. Thus, he could only draw suitable individuals from across the ages.

In this way, while governing the nation, he could also discover new talents from his own era.

The Eastern Depot was a ruin; Zhu Youjian had no desire to waste effort reviving it. Instead, he thought to follow the precedent of Emperor Xianzong and establish the Western Depot directly. The scholar-officials, whether new or old, had just been slaughtered, and truly, not one of them deserved to live!

He would not allow them even a moment to catch their breath!

“Gentlemen, come with me,” Zhu Youjian said with a gentle smile.

“We obey Your Majesty’s command!” The four elders—Yang Pu, Yang Shiqi, Yang Rong, and Xia Yuanji—already knew their task: to travel to the future and assist the Chongzhen emperor in restoring the court and reordering the empire. Though it was their old profession, the thought of journeying to a future era filled them with excitement, unease, and a hint of terror.

They worried whether, upon learning the fate of their own dynasty in the future, they would live to return—or if perhaps...

“I, the Emperor, traverse the ages, steering the river of history with a flick of my finger; the course of events is now forever changed. All you must do is assist me in governing the realm—let not your hearts be troubled by other matters.” Zhu Youjian spoke with a transcendent air, and as he did, the world shifted—suddenly, they were in the Chongzhen era.

It was night.

The seventeenth year of Chongzhen’s reign.

Xu Da led the troops defending the capital; Lan Yu, with three thousand cavalry, was scouring the region, hunting down the remaining Shun rebels; Fu Youde was conducting house-to-house searches with methodical precision. Everything progressed smoothly.

Zhu Youjian selected three mansions that had already been confiscated and sent his guards to settle the newcomers there, to be formally assigned at court the following morning.

“How fares Grand Secretary Fan?” he asked.

Wang Cheng’en replied softly, “Your Majesty, Grand Secretary Fan has gathered all the craftsmen in the capital today and is now working tirelessly in the Pavilion of Heavenly Works. I have done everything in my power to fulfill your commands!”

In the Ming dynasty, high-ranking eunuchs sometimes referred to themselves as “your subject,” as Wang Cheng’en did—being the chief eunuch and trusted scribe to the Chongzhen Emperor, he was, in essence, an inner minister, and habitually used such terms.

The Twenty-Four Offices was the system by which eunuchs served the emperor and the royal family. These included twelve directorates, four departments, and eight bureaus, collectively known as the Twenty-Four Offices.

The twelve directorates were: Directorate of Ceremonial, Directorate of Imperial Stables, Directorate of Internal Affairs, Directorate of Establishment, Directorate of Imperial Household, Directorate of Divine Palaces, Directorate of Imperial Kitchen, Directorate of Treasures, Directorate of Seals and Ribbons, Directorate of Palace Attendants, Directorate of Imperial Wardrobe, and Directorate of Supervisors.

The four departments: Department of Firewood Conservation, Department of Bells and Drums, Department of Precious Currency, Department of Baths.

The eight bureaus: Bureau of Arms, Bureau of Silverwork, Bureau of Laundry, Bureau of Headgear, Bureau of Needlework, Bureau of Internal Weaving and Dyeing, Bureau of Brewing and Fermentation, Bureau of Gardens.

Each role was clearly defined—unlike the portrayal in the later Qing-compiled Ming History, which depicted eunuchs as mere slaves.

But now, many eunuchs from these offices had fled, and the palace was on the verge of coming to a standstill.

“I understand,” Zhu Youjian nodded. Even with detailed manuals, the development of the steam engine could not be accomplished overnight. There would also be the need to lay railways, organize construction teams, and develop steelmaking techniques along with other supporting infrastructure.

Suddenly, Zhu Youjian smiled. “Companion Wang, I intend to reestablish the Western Depot. I appoint you as its Chief Inspector, charged with overseeing the officials. Any who dare transgress, you have my leave to execute first and report later!”

Wang Cheng’en was stunned.

What was the Western Depot? The first Chief, Wang Zhi, in the annals of Ming history, was infamous—his actions left the Grand Secretariat at their wits’ end, and none dared challenge Emperor Xianzong. He was, truly, a force to be reckoned with among eunuchs.

If the Ming History gave him no good reputation, it simply meant the scholar-officials had truly suffered.

Neither of the two Chief Inspectors of the Western Depot—Wang Zhi nor Gu Dayong—were ever brought to justice; both died peacefully.

Thus, for a eunuch, being made Chief Inspector of the Western Depot was an extraordinary imperial favor.

Wang Cheng’en knelt in gratitude, choking out, “Your humble servant thanks Your Majesty for your boundless grace!”

He would go through fire and water for him, this Inspector Wang!

Zhu Youjian nodded. “Rise. See to this matter at once, before voices stir in court.”

“Yes!” Wang Cheng’en bowed and withdrew in small, quick steps.

After he left, Zhu Youjian picked up a volume of his ancestors’ veritable records and fell into deep thought.

The necessity of the Western Depot was self-evident. The gentry of Jiangnan had been purged from court, and those who bore grudges were beyond counting—he could be assassinated at any time.

Never underestimate the power of wealth.

In all the Ming emperors, which one met a peaceful end?

Of the sixteen emperors of the Ming, some were devout Buddhists, some Daoists, and even Emperor Wuzong, Zhu Houzhao, turned to Islam—but not one placed his faith in the scholar-officials.

Emperor Xuanzong died in the tenth year of his reign, because in the ninth year he sought to revive the voyages to the Western Seas to bring in silver—this unsettled the private interests entrenched in Jiangnan.

It was like the difference between state enterprises and private merchants: when the emperor sent armed fleets of tens of thousands abroad, how were private traders to compete?

It directly threatened the officials’ interests.

So, once the crown prince was established, the emperor could be disposed of.

The same fate awaited Emperor Xianzong. He held military power, yet refused to attend court sessions—though unlike Jiajing and Wanli, who hid deep within the palace and were seldom seen, for to show one’s face was to court death.

Xianzong was even more exasperating; he would leave as soon as he arrived for court, rendering hours of preparation among the officials meaningless as he departed almost immediately.

It was like sharing a bed but never consummating the union.

Who could endure such treatment in the long run?

Yet, even so, it was far from excessive, given the nature of the scholar-officials!

In the eighth year of the Chenghua reign, after being scolded by the officials, Xianzong said nothing but summoned Peng Shi to court the next day to discuss halving the officials’ salaries.

Though the founder had decreed the salaries immutable, the scholar-officials were adept at awarding themselves new titles—Grand Preceptor, Junior Preceptor, Grand Guardian, Junior Guardian—each title bringing hundreds of taels, so that by now, their compensation was hardly meager.

It was the officials who shouted about their low pay, but did the emperor not know the truth?

So, when they heard of the proposal, the officials did not protest, but only suggested that in years of famine, salaries could be halved, and restored in years of abundance.

Xianzong could not agree—if he did, there would never be another disaster reported; every year would be bountiful, and even if there was a calamity, he would never hear of it.

But the price of not compromising was grave. At the end of that very month, the Crown Prince Zhu Youji, established just two months prior at the age of three, suddenly died without cause.

From then on, Xianzong no longer received any officials; he consulted only with the Directorate of Ceremonial, and the Grand Secretariat became merely an executive office, now subordinate to the Directorate.

This act of reprisal brought the Grand Secretariat thoroughly to its knees.