Chapter 59 Old Zhu: What a Fitting Name for This Grain!

“Oh?”

Zhu Yuanzhang’s eyes lit up with interest. He opened the sack, broke off a small piece, and tasted it. Instantly, his face brightened.

“It’s sweet and mild, not bad at all. Are these crops easy to grow? What about the yields?”

Zhu Youjian smiled. “Take sweet potatoes, for example. In a year, you can harvest two crops. In regions like Fujian, Guangzhou, and Yunnan-Guizhou, you can get even more.”

“The best part is, they need almost no tending. Just find a patch of soil, bury a piece, and when harvest time comes, you’ll dig up several, often more than ten, of various sizes. The yield far surpasses wheat or beans!”

“My dear grandson, is it truly so easy to cultivate?” Zhu Yuanzhang was astonished. He’d always thought that even if the people took great pains to tend their fields, the fruits of their labor would end up in the hands of corrupt officials and profiteers, leaving the people with little benefit.

But if it was just as his grandson said, so easy to grow—once spread throughout the land, with new shoots and cuttings from each stem, this year’s single stem would allow hundreds of acres to be planted the next year!

With fields everywhere and abundant harvests year after year, what good would hoarding do those corrupt officials and merchants? The cost of storing the grain would outweigh the worth of the produce itself!

Zhu Youjian nodded firmly. “Moreover, sweet potatoes are resistant to drought and flood, and can be grown almost anywhere—on plains or hillsides. True, they’re not as fragrant as wheat cakes nor can they replace staple grains, but they are incredibly filling. Whether roasted or boiled, one piece can keep hunger at bay for half a day.”

“Once the court promotes their planting, even if it can’t completely eliminate hunger among the people of the Great Ming, it will still allow a large portion to fill their bellies.”

“The most important thing is, its roots go deep, and even when the leaves are eaten down to the ground, it can regenerate. Locusts and pests can’t harm it. The vines cling to the earth, rooting at every joint; wind and rain can’t destroy it, and even in years of disaster, it remains undamaged!”

“In years of disaster, it remains undamaged! Excellent, excellent!” Zhu Yuanzhang was overjoyed, touching the sweet potato again and again. He had known the pains of famine since childhood, his family starved, and he understood all too well the agony of hunger.

“This crop alone is a sign of fortune for our Great Ming. No more hunger, but prosperity and abundance!”

Suddenly, a thought struck Zhu Yuanzhang. “Grandson, what do you call this plant?”

“Sweet potato,” Zhu Youjian replied, a little taken aback.

“Hongshu—Hongshu! The grain potato of the Hongwu era!”

Zhu Yuanzhang burst out laughing, greatly satisfied. “Good, good, good! What a fine name you’ve given it, grandson. You are thoughtful indeed.”

Well, he certainly knows how to claim credit for himself.

Zhu Youjian couldn’t help but admire him. Say what you will, if other emperors had even half of Zhu Yuanzhang’s abilities, the title of “Eternal Emperor of China” might not be so scarce.

“In future generations, with such resources, how could there ever be famine across the land?” Zhu Yuanzhang sighed, holding a piece of sweet potato.

“Yes, yes,” Zhu Youjian replied, a bit abashed, his conscience pricked.

Although corn and sweet potatoes had entered the Ming Dynasty by the Longqing and Wanli periods, they were never widely promoted. The lack of imperial endorsement was but one reason. The main issue was that corn and sweet potatoes did not taste as good as rice or wheat; especially sweet potatoes, which could cause bloating and stomach discomfort, so people weren’t too eager to plant them, except in certain regions where they became common.

And by the Chongzhen era, with the Little Ice Age affecting the world, and severe famines especially in Shaanxi, it was already too late to promote corn and sweet potatoes on a large scale within the Ming territories.

“By the way,” Old Zhu said with a smile, “when do you plan to wipe out the Jianzhou Jurchens, grandson?”

Zhu Youjian considered it, and replied, “I imagine it will take a dozen more days. The Jurchens are cavalry and numerous; unless we can lure them into a trap, a direct confrontation would mean heavy casualties, and it would be hard to eradicate them completely.”

“Good, good, good!” Zhu Yuanzhang was increasingly pleased with his grandson. “Why not stay here for the next few days and help me with the fields?”

“Since you command it, how could I refuse?” Zhu Youjian immediately lent a hand, storing ten sacks of seed grain in his small world.

It was a gentle July.

The breeze was mild, the sun warm.

Within the Forbidden City of Nanjing, most open spaces in the palace had already been planted with vegetables by Old Zhu, and there were still a few well-tilled plots yet to be sown.

Zhu Yuanzhang led his grandson through winding corridors to the backyard of a side hall, where several eunuchs of Korean appearance were laboring diligently, carefully tending the vegetables.

Just then, Empress Ma happened to be gathering some fresh greens from the garden.

Old Zhu walked over, teasing, “Out for a stroll, my dear? Your health is much improved—no more fasting, I hope?”

Tsk!

Empress Ma shot him a glance but said nothing, her eyes instead lighting up with warmth as she looked at Zhu Youjian. Smiling kindly, she asked, “Grandson, are you here to see your grandfather on some important matter?”

“Grandmother Empress, I’m just here to help Grandfather in the fields,” Zhu Youjian replied respectfully.

“That’s perfect! Don’t rush off at noon—I’ll roast a goose for you.” Empress Ma smiled.

Zhu Yuanzhang couldn’t help but interject, “My dear, you have no idea—our grandson just brought us future generations’ grain seeds, especially that Hongshu. It’s a true blessing…”

He added, “And Hong means Hongwu, you know—Hongwu’s potato!”

(Old Zhu, the editor keeps insisting ‘Hongshu’ is a typo, but I won’t change it!)

“Imagine, a grain that takes root underground and laughs at famine and locusts!” Empress Ma was both astonished and delighted. “With such crops, even in years of disaster, our people won’t go hungry. Grandson, you’ve done a great deed for the Ming! Don’t worry about your grandfather taking credit—your grandmother will make sure the inner court records your merit.”

“Hey, my dear, I haven’t offended you lately, have I?” Old Zhu panicked a little, cursing his loose tongue. Hastily, he ushered her away. “It’s almost mealtime—go roast your goose! Don’t keep us from our work!”

Others might have founded a dynasty, but he and his wife had founded it together. Even before their rise, they had divided power—Zhu Yuanzhang ruling the outer court, Empress Ma the inner palace. Sometimes even edicts involving imperial relatives required her approval.

Zhu Yuanzhang would complain, “What kind of emperor needs his wife’s permission before issuing an edict? She’s not just an empress, she’s the emperor’s mother! And my mother’s been dead for years!”

Empress Ma would immediately bring up old grievances from their days of conquest, shaming Old Zhu into submission.

Thus, in the inner palace, Empress Ma’s word was law. While the emperor’s authority was unchallenged in public, within the family, there was no imperial protocol—just a husband and wife who bickered as equals, neither bullying the other.

“Alright, remember to bring our grandson over for lunch,” Empress Ma said with a smile, carrying her basket of vegetables as she left.

“Heh, your grandmother loves to joke—I’m not the kind to steal credit, am I?” Old Zhu chuckled, and before Zhu Youjian could reply, he dragged him into a half-acre field.

“The emperor himself tending grain—if the court promotes this, much effort will be saved. It’s better than burying myself in memorials all day!”

Even as a traditional patriarch, Old Zhu never missed a chance to instruct. Every word and deed revealed his philosophy of rulership.

…