Transmigrating to the Chongzhen era, I started by confiscating the Donglin Party.

Chapter 32 Breaking the deadlock on two fronts

On the seventh day of the twelfth lunar month of the fifteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, in Shenyang City.

The snow was falling even heavier than in Beijing. Snowflakes, as large as goose feathers, swirled among the banners of the Eight Banners army camp, landing on armor, on bow tips, and on the hunched shoulders of the Han Chinese bondservants captured from Shandong and Zhili.

The eaves and corners of the Shenyang Imperial Palace were covered with a thick layer of white, as if they were wearing mourning clothes.

Chen Xinjia, wrapped in a mink cloak, trudged through ankle-deep snow, following behind a Plain White Banner officer.

His deputy, Wu Changshi, a junior official in the Ministry of Rites, lagged half a step behind, his face blue from the cold, clutching the sandalwood box tightly in his arms—inside was a letter of state stamped with the imperial seal and a meticulously drawn map of the nine border regions of the Ming Dynasty.

"Lord Chen," the guide suddenly stopped and pointed to a side hall ahead, "the Fourteenth Prince is waiting for you in the warm pavilion."

Chen Xinjia looked up. A dim, yellow light shone through the paper windows of the warm chamber, and the window frame was carved with a coiled dragon—not a five-clawed golden dragon, but a four-clawed python. He sneered inwardly: Having overstepped their bounds to this extent, what peace talks are they talking about?

Pushing aside the heavy cotton curtain, a wave of heat rushed out.

The warm room was small, with an underfloor heating system in the center and a complete black bear skin spread on the floor. Dorgon was not wearing court robes, but only a dark blue robe with arrow sleeves, and sat cross-legged on the kang (heated brick bed).

On the kang table sat a pot of wine, two cups, and a plate of sliced ​​pork. He was using a dagger to pick up a piece of meat, dipping it in the sauce, and putting it in his mouth.

"Minister Chen," Dorgon said without looking up, "sit."

Chen Xinjia took off his cloak and handed it to his attendant, then sat cross-legged opposite the kang table. Wu Changshi stood to the side, holding a wooden box, his head bowed.

"It's cold, have a drink." Dorgon pushed a wine cup over and cut himself another slice of meat. "You Han people believe in 'not talking while eating,' but we Manchus don't have that rule. Let's talk while we eat."

Chen Xinjia did not touch his wine cup: "Your Highness, I have come by imperial decree for the well-being of the people of both nations, not to drink and eat meat."

Dorgon laughed. He put down the dagger, wiped his hands with a cloth, and then looked directly at Chen Xinjia: "The well-being of the people? Minister Chen, when your Emperor Chongzhen killed Yuan Chonghuan, did he think about the well-being of the people?"

When you civil officials were embezzling military pay and exploiting the soldiers, did you ever think about the well-being of the common people?

Every word was piercing to the heart.

Chen Xinjia's expression remained unchanged: "Times have changed. Now our Emperor is wise and virtuous, rectifying the court and eliminating redundant officials. The new policies in Jiangnan have already shown results. If Your Highness insists on going south, you will not be facing the corrupt army of the past, but a new army of 200,000 well-equipped and well-funded soldiers."

"Two hundred thousand?" Dorgon scoffed. "How many years have you been in arrears with your pay, soldiers in Xuanfu and Datong? Are you so hungry you can even draw your bows?"

"Therefore, I have come here precisely to end the war." Chen Xinjia took the wooden box from Wu Changshi, opened it, and took out the letter of state. "My emperor is sincere."

The agreement is for a period of two years, with the existing control line as the boundary, and neither side is allowed to encroach upon the other's territory. Three border markets will be opened in Zhangjiakou, Fushun, and Guangning, with an annual transaction limit of 500,000 taels of silver.

Dorgon did not accept the letter of credence; instead, he picked up the map and slowly unfolded it.

On the map, the Great Wall winds like a dragon from Shanhaiguan to Jiayuguan. Every pass, every military fortress, and even water sources and supply routes are clearly marked.

What's even more striking is that the names of the main generals and the garrison strength of Xuanfu and Datong are written in dense small regular script next to them.

"This drawing," Dorgon pointed to the three characters "Xuanfu Town," "is drawn in great detail."

"To show our sincerity," Chen Xinjia said. "Since we are using the existing control line as the boundary, we should let the Prince know that the Ming Dynasty's border walls are much stronger than before."

"Sure?" Dorgon looked up. "Why isn't the map marked that Wang Chengyin sold the East Gate for three thousand taels of silver?"

Chen Xinjia's pupils contracted slightly.

The warm room was quiet for a moment, with only the crackling of the charcoal fire.

After a long pause, Chen Xinjia slowly said, "The news about Prince Bei is outdated. Wang Chengyin was summoned to the capital three days ago to 'report on his duties,' and the current Commander-in-Chief of Xuanfu is Zhou Yuji, the former Deputy Commander-in-Chief."

Dorgon gently placed the map in his hand onto the bearskin.

He stared at Chen Xinjia, his gaze like a knife, scraping inch by inch across the face of the Minister of War of the Ming Dynasty. Chen Xinjia met his gaze calmly, his hands secretly clenching in his sleeves—his palms were sweaty.

"Interesting." Dorgon suddenly laughed, picked up his wine cup again, and said, "Come, Minister Chen, you must drink this cup."

This time, Chen Xinji didn't refuse and drank it all in one gulp. The liquor was strong, burning his throat.

"A two-year ceasefire is acceptable," Dorgon said, putting down his cup. "But simply opening up trade is not enough. My 100,000 soldiers of the Eight Banners need to eat and wear clothes. Every year, the Ming Dynasty needs to provide 300,000 taels of silver as 'border market reward silver'."

"Absolutely impossible." Chen Xinjia refused decisively. "The Ming Dynasty is not the Song Dynasty, and the Emperor is not Emperor Huizong or Emperor Qinzong. There's no need to even mention the matter of tribute."

"Then two hundred thousand taels," Dorgon said, adding a slice of meat. "Minister Chen, this isn't annual tribute, it's a 'reward.' When you Han merchants come to trade, you have to give us something in return so business can be easier, right?"

Chen Xinjia remained silent.

He knew this was the bottom line. Dorgon needed this money—not to support the army, but to support the people. In the past two years, the Eight Banners had plundered nearly a million Han Chinese, and these people all needed to eat. But Liaodong was bitterly cold, and there was never enough food.

"150,000 taels," he began, "to be paid in two installments, spring and autumn, in exchange for tea, cloth, and iron pots. But there's one condition—"

Dorgon raised an eyebrow.

"From the second year of the Chongzhen reign until now, all Han Chinese artisans and their families who have been captured and taken to Liaodong must be released by Your Highness." Chen Xinjia said, emphasizing each word. "The first batch shall be at least three thousand people. Among them, no fewer than five hundred shall be skilled artisans."

The warm room fell silent once again.

Dorgon's fingers tapped lightly on the kang table. Once, twice, three times.

Craftsmen. The Ming Dynasty needed craftsmen.

Blacksmiths, carpenters, gunsmiths, weavers, potters... these are the real wealth. Only with them could guns be forged, cannons cast, cloth woven, porcelain fired, cities built, and mines opened.

Put it back?

He looked up and gazed outside the warm pavilion. The snow was still falling, and the world was a vast expanse of white.

"One thousand mouths," Dorgon said, "and two hundred artisans. That's the limit I can give."

"Two thousand five hundred mouths, four hundred craftsmen." Chen Xinjia did not back down.

"Fifteen hundred people, three hundred artisans." Dorgon stopped cutting the meat. "Minister Chen, this is business. You Han people have a saying, 'Slow and steady wins the race.' I can repay the people gradually. But if I repay too many at once, my workshops here won't be able to operate."

Chen Xinjia knew that this was the real bottom line.

He picked up his wine glass and slowly swirled it: "Words are no proof."

"Let's put it in writing." Dorgon beckoned, and a clerk came in with paper, pen, ink, and inkstone. "Write one copy each in Chinese and Manchu."

I'll affix the Regent's seal, you affix the Ministry of War's official seal. The first batch of 1,500 people will be delivered to Shanhaiguan before the beginning of spring. How does that sound?

Chen Xinjia put down his wine cup and took out the seal of the Minister of War from his pocket.

"Can."

On the same day, in Beijing, outside the Meridian Gate.

The snow stopped, but the wind grew stronger. It blew in from the direction of Zhengyang Gate, whipping up the remaining snow and stinging the faces of the onlookers. No one dodged; everyone craned their necks to look at the makeshift platform.

The platform was three feet high, with three wooden pillars standing on it. Three people were tied to the pillars—all civil officials in scarlet robes and jade belts, but now their robes were torn, their hats were gone, and their hair was disheveled.

The one on the left is Li Daiwen, the former Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue; the one in the middle is Wu Zhizhong, the Director of the Department of Military Affairs of the Ministry of War; and the one on the right is Wang Aoyong, the Right Councilor of the Department of Transmission.

Li Ruolian stood to the side of the platform, dressed in a flying fish robe with an embroidered spring knife at his waist. He didn't speak, but simply watched quietly. Standing beside him were Xu Shiqi, Minister of Justice; Liu Zongzhou, Left Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate; and Ling Yiqu, Chief Justice of the Court of Judicial Review.

The time has come.

Xu Shiqi stepped forward, unfolded the file in his hand, and read aloud:

"After a joint trial by the Ministry of Justice, the Censorate, and the Court of Judicial Review, it was found that: Li Daiwen had colluded with the Jurchens, leaked border information, and accepted ten pearls and fifty sable furs, worth eight thousand taels of silver."

Wu Zhizhong secretly colluded with the rebel leader Li Zicheng, betrayed defenses, and accepted 200 taels of gold; Wang Aoyong colluded with Shanxi merchants to smuggle iron ore saltpeter out of the country, profiting 15,000 taels…

Each time a sentence was read aloud, the crowd below stirred.

"According to the Great Ming Code, those who secretly communicate with foreign countries shall be beheaded; those who aid the enemy shall be beheaded; those who leak military secrets shall be beheaded. The evidence for these three crimes is conclusive, and the confessions are unequivocal. After being drafted by the Grand Secretariat, approved by the Directorate of Ceremonial, and approved by the Emperor—"

Xu Shiqi paused, then took a deep breath:

"Sentenced to be executed immediately!"

The audience was completely silent.

Then, someone shouted, "Well done!"

Like a spark splashing into a pan of oil, instantly exploding:

"Kill these corrupt officials!"

"Your Majesty is wise!"

"The Imperial Guards are ridding the people of this scourge!"

Li Ruolian remained motionless. He simply watched the three prisoners, limp as mud, watched the executioner raise his executioner's blade, and watched the blade fall.

Three heads rolled off.

Blood spurted out, spreading like three glaring red plum blossoms on the snow.

Xu Shiqi continued reading: "The property of the three offenders is confiscated in its entirety. The total amount is 280,000 taels of silver, 520,000 taels of land, houses and shops, and 200,000 taels of antiques and paintings. The total is one million taels."

He looked up at the sea of ​​people below the stage:

"This one million taels of embezzled silver will be used entirely for the repair of the border walls in Xuanfu and Datong, and for the compensation of soldiers who died in battle over the years. The Ministry of Revenue has set up a special account, and a notice will be posted at the beginning of each month to publicize the use of the funds. Anyone found embezzling or misappropriating this money, regardless of their official rank, will be executed!"

The crowd erupted in cheers once again.

An old man knelt down, a woman cried, and a man threw his hat into the air.

Li Ruolian then stepped forward. He took out a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and pasted it on the notice board on the side of the stage.

That is the "List of Confiscated Assets".

How many pearls, sable pelts, and silver ingots were confiscated from Li Daiwen's residence; how many acres of land and shops did Wu Zhizhong own in Tongzhou; how many ingots of silver were hidden in Wang Aoyong's hometown in Shanxi...

Each and every item is clearly documented.

After finishing posting, he turned around and bowed to the officials of the Three Judicial Offices, saying, "Thank you for your hard work, sirs."

Liu Zongzhou returned the greeting and said in a low voice, "Commander Li, if this law can be adopted as a precedent, corruption can be eradicated by more than half."

"I hope so," Li Ruolian said, gazing at the eaves of the Forbidden City in the distance. "This is just the beginning."

That same evening, in Nanjing, at Deyue Tower on the banks of the Qinhuai River.

Outside, the wind howled, but inside, it was warm as spring. Not because of the charcoal fire, but because of the warmth in people's hearts.

In the private room on the third floor, twelve people were seated. At the head of the table was Li Ce, dressed in casual clothes, wearing only a winged hat. To his left sat Ni Yuanlu, the Minister of Revenue, and Jiang Dejing, the Vice Minister. To his right were eight merchants—four from Anhui, three from Zhejiang, and one from Fujian.

There was no wine or food on the table, only tea. In front of each person was a newly printed copy of the "Chongzhen Commercial Tax Regulations," the ink still fragrant.

"Gentlemen," Li Ce began, his voice calm, "I've invited you all here today not for a banquet, but to discuss matters. Have you all read this booklet?"

Cheng Weixian, a leader of the Huizhou merchants and over sixty years old, rose and cupped his hands in greeting: "Your Majesty, if I may be so bold as to ask—is this 'one-thirtieth tax' truly a precise figure?"

"Yes." Li Ce nodded. "When merchants pass through checkpoints, the value of their goods is one thousand taels, and the tax is thirty-three taels and three mace. Apart from that, there are no other 'regularities,' 'miscellaneous expenses,' or 'donations.'"

"What if local officials send additional officials?" Shen Tingyang, a representative of Zhejiang merchants and a Ningbo businessman, asked more directly.

Li Ce took another document from his sleeve and placed it on the table.

Everyone looked and saw that it was an imperial edict to merchants and commoners.

"Whenever officials impose additional levies or extortions, merchants can take this certificate to the newly established 'Commercial Arbitration Offices' in various places to petition the authorities."

Li Ce slowly said, "The judicial office is directly under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Revenue, and is jointly handled by three elders of the Chamber of Commerce, two officials from the Ministry of Revenue, and one official from the Ministry of Justice. If the allegations are verified, additional personnel will be assigned, the officials involved will be dismissed and arrested, and the money extorted will be doubled and confiscated, with half going into the national treasury and half being used to compensate the merchants."

A collective gasp filled the private room.

Shen Tingyang asked in a trembling voice, "Your Majesty... is this true?"

"A ruler's word is his bond." Li Ce looked at Ni Yuanlu. "Ni Qing, you speak."

Ni Yuanlu stood up and solemnly said, "The Commercial Arbitration Office will initially be established in six locations: Nanjing, Suzhou, Hangzhou, Yangzhou, Guangzhou, and Quanzhou. It will be officially opened on the 15th of this month, and I will concurrently serve as the General Manager of the Nanjing Arbitration Office."

"You may all go to the Ministry of Revenue today to collect these official appointment certificates—one for each of you. With these, you can appeal directly to the court."

Chiang Te-ching added, "The official appointment certificate must be reviewed annually to prevent misuse. Moreover, if someone makes a false accusation, they will be punished."

The merchants looked at each other in bewilderment.

After a long silence, Cheng Weixian bowed deeply to the ground: "Your Majesty... Your Majesty is restoring dignity to the merchants!"

Li Ce helped him up: "Elder Cheng, merchants are also my subjects. In the past, the court regarded merchants as inferior and imposed heavy taxes and exploitation, which was actually cutting off its own source of income. From now on, merchants have their own way of doing business, and officials have their own rules. As long as you operate legally and pay taxes according to regulations, the court will be your support."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd:

"There is one more matter. I intend to establish a 'Trade Council,' with two representatives from each of the four major merchant guilds meeting once a month on the fifth day to discuss matters such as tariff adjustments, commercial disputes, and overseas trade. I have invited you all here today to ask you—are you willing to take on this responsibility?"

silence.

Then, Shen Tingyang was the first to kneel down: "This humble subject, Shen Tingyang, is willing to serve Your Majesty with utmost loyalty!"

Then, the second, the third...

All twelve people knelt down.

Li Ce looked at the kneeling merchants, these "profit-seekers" who were once despised by the literati, these people who held the economic lifeline of the Ming Dynasty but had no political status whatsoever.

He knew that from this day forward, some things were truly beginning to change.

At 7:00 PM, in the Wenhua Hall of the Nanjing Imperial Palace.

Li Ce stood alone in the hall, with three documents spread out in front of him.

One copy is a manuscript of the Liaohe Plain Treaty sent back by Chen Xinjia from Shenyang.

One of them is Li Ruolian's detailed report on the crackdown on traitors in Beijing.

One document is the draft of the Board of Directors' Articles of Association, which was agreed upon with the businessmen today.

The palace door opened softly, and Empress Zhou entered carrying a bowl of ginseng soup.

"Your Majesty," she placed the soup on the table, "I heard that today's meeting went very smoothly?"

"Smoothly." Li Ce rubbed his temples. "Even smoother than I expected. These merchants don't ask for much, just the word 'fairness'."

The Empress sat down beside him, looking at the three documents: "The North is secured, Beijing is stable, and Jiangnan is revitalized. Your Majesty, this move has been a success."

"Successful?" Li Ce smiled bitterly. "This is only the first step. The peace talks are a delaying tactic; Dorgon won't stay put for two years. Suppressing traitors can only treat the symptoms; the root of corruption is still in the soil. The commercial tax reform has affected the interests of countless people; the counterattack will only begin next."

He picked up the Liaohe Draft Treaty and pointed to the line that read, "Release 1,500 Han Chinese people."

"Look how shrewd Dorgon is. Of the 1,500 people, 300 are craftsmen—he must have released mostly the elderly, women, and children; he couldn't bear to part with the truly strong and capable craftsmen. But I have to accept this debt. Because this is a signal, a signal to all the Han people in the world: the court has not forgotten them."

The Empress paused for a moment, then said softly, "In Beijing, Ruolian did a very good job. The trial was open, the stolen assets were made public, and the people are saying... His Majesty truly wants to reform."

"Reform..." Li Ce walked to the window and opened it.

A cold wind blew in, ruffling the stray strands of hair on his forehead.

Outside the window, the lights of Nanjing flickered on and off in the winter night. The faint sounds of singing from the pleasure boats on the Qinhuai River drifted in, while the noise from restaurants and teahouses wafted on the wind.

This once bustling city in Jiangnan is now immersed in a seemingly peaceful night.

But he knew that under the cover of night, undercurrents were surging.

Zuo Liangyu's 100,000-strong army was still observing from Jiujiang.

The gentry in Jiangnan are uniting to resist commercial taxes.

Li Zicheng and Zhang Xianzhong in the north could reunite at any time.

But his time is running out.

"Empress," he suddenly spoke, "sometimes I wonder, if I didn't have the memories of these seven lifetimes, would my passing be easier?"

The empress walked to his side and took his hand.

That hand was ice cold.

"No," she said softly but firmly. "Without this memory, His Majesty might already be... gone. It is because of this memory that His Majesty knows where to go, who to trust, and what to do."

Li Ce turned to look at her.

In the candlelight, the Empress's profile was both gentle and resolute. She was no longer the mistress of the six palaces in Kunning Palace who only knew how to embroider and chant scriptures, but a virtuous and capable wife who could stabilize half of the country in Jiangnan for him.

"You're right." He grasped her hand in return. "Knowing that there's a cliff ahead is better than falling blindfolded."

He closed the window, returned to his desk, and picked up his pen.

"Does His Majesty still need to review memorials?"

"No," Li Ce spread out a new sheet of Xuan paper, "I must write a letter to Sun Chuanting. The land reform in Henan must be accelerated. Before spring plowing, land must be distributed to at least 100,000 households of displaced people. Only with land will they truly become subjects of the Ming Dynasty, rather than a source of soldiers for bandits."

He dipped his brush in ink and began to write.

Outside the palace, the sound of the night watchman's drum rose.

It was already the hour of Hai (9-11 PM).

A thousand miles away, atop Tongguan Pass, Zhou Yuji, wrapped in a tattered battle coat, gazed at the endless campfires of the rebel army below. The wound on his left arm had festered, and the army doctor said that if he delayed any longer, he would lose his arm.

But he did not come down from the city wall.

Because of the locked storage, there's only enough food for three days.

He touched the secret letter in his pocket—it had been sent by the Emperor from Nanjing three days ago, via an urgent courier service. The letter said, "Reinforcements are on their way, and grain ships have passed Huai'an. Hold out for another ten days, and I will surely arrive."

Ten days.

Zhou Yuji looked eastward.

Your Majesty, I... will do my utmost to defend it.

The snow started falling again, landing on the mottled bricks of Tongguan Pass, on the corpses of fallen soldiers, and on countless pairs of eyes, both inside and outside the pass, filled with longing gazes.

This winter has been exceptionally long.

But some people believe that spring will always come.