Chapter 417: Summoned by Imperial Decree

The ministers in the hall were still embroiled in endless debate over whether the maritime trade ban should be relaxed or tightened, their voices rising and falling like waves in a storm. High above them, seated upon the dragon throne, the Jiajing Emperor seemed utterly indifferent, his eyes scanning the pages of a book in his hands, searching for the exact passages the ministers had cited in their arguments.

Standing quietly nearby, Huang Jin let out a silent sigh of relief. The emperor’s temper, once sharp and dangerous, was gradually softening.

Soon enough, the emperor’s eyes settled upon the passage referenced by the ministers. After a brief read, he pursed his lips with a faint, disdainful smirk and closed the book, turning his gaze with keen interest back to the squabbling ministers below.

Let them quarrel. If they didn’t, how could I control them?

Under the emperor’s watchful eyes, the ministers seemed to catch fire, their faces flushed, throats strained, each invoking every scrap of evidence to defend their stance on whether to enforce strict maritime restrictions or to allow freer trade.

“Your Majesty,” a minister from Yan Song’s faction began, his voice booming across the hall, “whether it is border troubles, Japanese pirate raids, or rebellious peasants gathering in Shandong, the root of these problems always comes down to one thing: money. Without funds, our border troops suffer from shortages of supplies and cannot resist the Mongols. Without funds, our coastal defenses remain weak and cannot suppress the pirates. Without funds, we cannot provide relief in times of flood, drought, or locust plagues. Were our treasury overflowing, even these minor troubles—border skirmishes, pirate raids—would be easily contained under Your Majesty’s wise leadership, and peace would blanket the land as though by a single stroke of the hand.”

“And what do you propose?” another minister from Li Mo’s side interjected.

“Reopen the maritime trade, under official taxation,” the minister from Yan Song’s faction declared, his tone sharp and unwavering. His voice rose with passion as he continued, “Revenue from the trade far surpasses any other source. Consider the Southern Song: though its realm was small and the fertile lands of the north occupied by northern barbarians, it endured for over a century, largely because maritime trade generated abundant taxes, sustaining the dynasty. As far as I know, the two main maritime offices in Fujian and Guangdong alone brought in two million strings of cash annually. If we include all maritime offices, the yearly revenue would reach tens of millions of strings. Such income from trade alone could double our tax revenue.”

“Preposterous! The pirate threat stems from maritime trade itself. It is long established that, for the sake of our dynasty’s security, maritime trade must never be reopened, no matter what flourishes of rhetoric you offer,” Li Mo snapped, sweeping his sleeve in disdain, his face dark as thunder.

At Li Mo’s sudden outburst, some of Yan Song’s supporters trembled. Li Mo was the Minister of Personnel, the very official who controlled promotions. Even Grand Secretary Yan himself treated him with cautious respect—let alone the lesser officials.

“The profits from maritime trade are immense. If managed wisely, they could yield millions. Would this not be preferable to overburdening the common people? The Southern Song was relatively weak, yet its maritime trade never endangered the state. How much more so our army, fully equipped and strong?”

Those around feared Li Mo, but Yan Shifan feared nothing. The moment Li Mo finished speaking, he sneered, ready to counter.

Meanwhile, the Jiajing Emperor listened intently. The figures from the Southern Song’s maritime offices caught his attention immediately. In the Ming dynasty, the annual revenue barely reached twenty million strings of cash. Yet here was a relatively small, southern-only dynasty generating tens of millions from just maritime trade. Imagine if the Ming reinstated its own maritime offices!

A spark lit in the emperor’s eyes. Doubling—or even increasing by half—the revenue would make governing the empire far easier. And more taxes meant more silver for alchemical experiments. His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Eager to obtain precise records from the Southern Song’s maritime offices, the emperor scribbled a small note and entrusted Huang Jin to deliver it to the Hanlin Academy, instructing them to compile and present all relevant texts concerning the Southern Song’s maritime revenue.

The same young eunuch who had delivered the previous notes hurried to the Hanlin Academy once more, clutching the emperor’s new request.

When Yuan Wei saw the young eunuch arrive with the note, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Surely, he thought, this note must be like the last one, praising Zhu Ping’an for some trivial observation. Quickly locating the emperor’s requested books would naturally earn him reward.

But when Yuan Wei read the words on the note, he couldn’t help laughing.

“Search for materials on the Southern Song maritime offices.”

So it was another request to locate rare texts.

Earlier, Zhu Ping’an had been lucky—he happened to glimpse the books the emperor sought and narrowly escaped trouble, even gaining subtle recognition for it.

This time, the task was far harder. The library’s holdings were vast, an ocean of texts, and it seemed nearly impossible that Zhu Ping’an had ever seen such material.

How would he manage this one? This time, the emperor’s note offered no guidance.

Yuan Wei, watching the scene, felt a thrill of satisfaction, his gloom lifting, replaced by a rich sense of amusement.

As before, he followed the young eunuch to the library where Zhu Ping’an worked. Many Hanlin officials trailed behind, eager to witness—or perhaps assist—in this search.

“Maritime offices…” one official muttered after reading the note, “let me think… I recall a book called Hai Tu Kan Yu which mentioned them, but I don’t know which corner of the library it’s in now.”

“I remember a compiled volume, Nan Song Fu Shui Lue, that included tax records from the maritime offices,” another suggested.

“And there’s Nan Song Shi Huo Zhi. I believe I saw it on the second floor, east side of the shelves… though I don’t remember exactly where,” added yet another.

One by one, officials whispered their suggestions in Zhu Ping’an’s ear, offering numerous possibilities—but none knew precisely where the texts rested in the vast library.

Yuan Wei observed this with a sly smile. Perfect. Exactly as it should be.

“Thank you all, gentlemen,” Zhu Ping’an interrupted the cascade of advice. “If you don’t mind, please stay for a cup of tea inside the library.”

Tea?

The officials exchanged wary glances. A tea invitation at this moment surely meant Zhu Ping’an would soon ask them to help locate the book. No, they declined politely.

Yuan Wei’s grin widened.

But before his satisfaction could last, Zhu Ping’an repeated his previous actions: he thanked them, then disappeared into the library, climbing the stairs with purposeful steps.

“Ahem… do you think… could he really have encountered a similar book before?” whispered one official, still doubtful.

The others exchanged uneasy looks. Luck once—perhaps. Twice—maybe. But every time? Impossible. Surely this time Zhu Ping’an would fail.

Yet not long after, Zhu Ping’an emerged, clutching a thick, heavy tome.

A crow’s luck, they muttered silently.

The officials gaped at the one who had doubted him. Indeed, Zhu Ping’an had found the book effortlessly, just as predicted.

“This volume of the Yongle Dadian contains detailed records of the Southern Song maritime offices. I’ve marked the relevant pages with a bookmark—here begins the record of the maritime offices. Your assistance is much appreciated,” Zhu Ping’an said, handing the tome carefully to the young eunuch.

“Master Zhu, you are too kind. I shall report back immediately,” the eunuch replied, cradling the hefty book with care and bowing respectfully.

“I suspected the Yongle Dadian would hold such records. Following the orthography of the Hongwu era, I located it precisely. This volume contains everything—from administrative structure to annual revenue,” Zhu Ping’an explained to the curious Hanlin officials peeking outside.

Of course, they realized. The Yongle Dadian encompassed all knowledge—how could it lack the maritime offices?

The officials nodded in enlightened admiration at Zhu Ping’an’s quick resourcefulness.

Yuan Wei, meanwhile, stormed back to his seat, face dark as ink. Such a young man cannot remain in the Hanlin Academy!

When the young eunuch returned to the Western Garden Hall with the Yongle Dadian, presenting the results to the emperor, Jiajing was astonished. The efficiency of the Hanlin Academy had improved remarkably, a stark contrast to previous times.

If the earlier search had only stirred a flicker of curiosity in the emperor, this successful retrieval ignited it fully. After examining the maritime revenue records, Jiajing summoned the young eunuch to ask questions.

Facing the emperor, the eunuch answered with complete transparency, recounting everything he had seen—from the Hanlin Academy, to the library, to Zhu Ping’an himself.

“Interesting, very interesting! It seems he is my champion scholar,” the emperor exclaimed with a smile. “Huang Ban, issue a decree: summon Zhu Ping’an. I shall reward him handsomely.”