With Empress Ren Xiao’s coffin being moved from Rouxian Palace to be buried at Tianshou Mountain in Beijing, Emperor Yongle again brought up the matter of moving the capital to Beijing.
Most of the Grand Canal connecting north and south had been cleared.
Through more than two years of personally campaigning against the Tatars, using offense as defense, the northern frontier’s national defense had also been strengthened.
During the campaigns, Beijing had been Emperor Yongle’s base camp. Officials from the Ministry of Works had already surveyed the land and drawn blueprints for the new capital city and new imperial palace, completing preliminary site selection work.
My wife is buried at Tianshou Mountain in Beijing, and I will be buried there in the future too.
…In summary, the meat has already been put in the pot to stew for you—do you still dare not pay and just walk away?
With Emperor Yongle being so iron-fisted, the ministers had to agree whether they wanted to or not. Thus, the wish to move the capital, which hadn’t been realized even during the mighty Emperor Gaozhu’s era, was accomplished in Emperor Yongle’s hands.
To demonstrate his determination to move the capital, Emperor Yongle ordered that the metropolitan examination two years hence—that is, in the thirteenth year of Yongle—would be held in Beijing, with candidates from all regions having to travel north to take the exam.
Hearing this decision, the ministers were simply speechless.
The Minister of Rites said: “Beijing doesn’t even have an examination hall. Where will candidates from various regions take the exam? After the metropolitan examination and the posting of results, there’s still the palace examination personally presided over by Your Majesty, followed by the posting of those results. If the examination is in the north but Your Majesty is in the south, are the candidates supposed to test for three days in the examination booths, then hurry south, traveling thousands of li to the capital for the palace examination?”
As a great ruler of his generation, these difficulties were nothing in Emperor Yongle’s eyes. He said: “The former Yuan left ready-made government offices in Beijing. I think the former Yuan Ministry of Rites office is quite good—all the buildings and quarters are complete. Just have the Ministry of Works rush to renovate them, and the metropolitan examination can definitely be held on schedule. As for the palace examination afterward…”
Emperor Yongle pondered for a moment: “I plan to campaign again next year, and I’ll also go see how the new capital construction is progressing. The metropolitan examination is held in spring, so I can conveniently preside over the palace examination in Beijing.”
After thinking, he added: “Since Beijing has been designated as the new capital, it should be renamed Beijing.”
Emperor Yongle had been enfeoffed in Beijing—no, Beijing—for many years, both farming and clearing waterways for infrastructure. The Yan region, which had gradually weakened due to warfare and the capital moving south, was revitalized because of this.
Having cultivated deeply in the Yan region for many years, Emperor Yongle had considerable prestige there. Many local people knew only of the Prince of Yan, not the Emperor.
It was also the place where he and Empress Ren Xiao had spent their youth and middle age together, loving and supporting each other. Empress Ren Xiao had also been injured defending Beijing, ruining her originally healthy body.
Whether for military, political, or the reason that Nanjing’s imperial palace was gradually sinking due to filling lakes to create land, with unstable palace foundations and frequent collapses making it gradually uninhabitable, Emperor Yongle’s deep personal feelings for Beijing were also an important factor.
Moving the capital was like the second shoe dropping from the ceiling—it was finally confirmed. Some felt dejected, not wanting to leave the gentle and wealthy lands of Jiangnan to eat wind and sand in the north.
But others saw opportunities and business prospects.
For example, the metropolitan examination two years hence—across the vast Chinese lands, the distances were far. Many successful candidates from the autumn examinations, having gained qualification for the metropolitan examination, would immediately rush to the capital to participate in next spring’s metropolitan examination. If they were close to the capital, a ten-day to half-month journey was fine, but candidates from remote regions like Yunnan, Sichuan, and Guangdong had to set out immediately. Hence the saying “traveling to the capital for examinations”—the journey was tight and required rushing.
Candidates who had failed in previous years, to focus on preparing for the next Great Ming civil service entrance qualification exam, or to save travel expenses, would simply stay in the capital to study and review, preparing to try again three years later.
Now that the examination location had changed to the new capital Beijing, these candidates arriving early in Beijing to prepare—wouldn’t they need to rent houses? Wouldn’t they need to eat? Wouldn’t they want entertainment?
School district housing had always been the most sought-after since ancient times.
While some people felt melancholy about moving the capital, others had already seized business opportunities, being first to move to Beijing to buy land and houses, waiting for housing prices to soar.
So moving the capital wasn’t just costly and troublesome for the people—moving the capital also meant more opportunities and was a massive infrastructure project.
Meanwhile, the Great Ming treasure ship factory had completed forty large ocean-going vessels. Eunuch Zheng He led over twenty-six thousand eight hundred people aboard, including officials, sailors, astronomers, over one hundred physicians, translators fluent in various languages, over one hundred forty scribes responsible for records, and dozens of eunuchs.
The largest ocean ship was like a three-courtyard mansion—horses could run on the deck, and there were orchards and vegetable gardens. Chinese people, wherever they went, liked to grow vegetables for self-sufficiency.
On the day Eunuch Zheng He set sail for the Western Seas, A’Lei didn’t go to see him off.
She was in the treasure ship factory study, organizing blueprints of various parts of the great ships sheet by sheet. She had worked here for two years, and to accurately draw blueprints, she had taught herself arithmetic. Hu Shanwei had also collected various mathematics books for her. The ocean ships sailing the great seas had her contribution.
Two years had flown by in a flash. A’Lei had transformed from a girl into a thirteen-year-old budding maiden. She had also found her interests and hobbies—she loved arithmetic and drawing. When individual pieces of wood or bearing iron parts were cut, polished, and assembled together, it was like giving them new life, which excited A’Lei immensely.
Due to long periods of focused desk work, even burning the midnight oil, A’Lei’s eyes had been somewhat damaged. When reading, she felt the text was blurry, and her head unconsciously bent lower and lower. Hu Shanwei discovered A’Lei’s eye problems and immediately forbade her from reading at night, also getting her a pair of Western glasses to wear when reading during the day.
The curved glass lenses and frame were made from precious tortoiseshell from the sea bottom, light and comfortable. Small holes were pierced at the ends, with two strings threaded through—the strings hung over the ears or tied in knots behind the head to secure the glasses on the nose.
With the glasses, A’Lei no longer needed to bow her head to see text clearly, and her neck no longer hurt.
With Eunuch Zheng He’s voyage to the Western Seas, which would take about two years to return, A’Lei suddenly became an unemployed laid-off worker.
As a female, she couldn’t board the great ocean ship she had helped build to voyage far.
A’Lei also didn’t want to make her sister and brother-in-law worry and fear for her, so she had to suppress her inner yearning. Her current figure was androgynous and could still barely pass as a little eunuch following Eunuch Zheng He around. But when Eunuch Zheng He returned in two years, she would already be fifteen years old. No matter how she disguised herself as a man, she couldn’t hide it anymore. So this unemployment meant she could never work again in the future—essentially lifetime unemployment.
A’Lei felt very disappointed. She didn’t have the courage to see off Eunuch Zheng He, afraid she would cry on the spot. So she came to the treasure ship factory to pack up her things and leave this place that had made her happy and also made her sad.
All good things must come to an end.
A’Lei convinced herself to accept reality and prepared several large chests. Wearing her tortoiseshell-framed glasses, she organized the blueprints sheet by sheet, putting those that might be useful in the future or serve as references into the large chests to be stored in the treasure ship factory’s warehouse.
A’Lei packed several chestfuls, emptied the waste paper basket several times, but the things in the room had decreased by less than half.
When the waste basket piled up like a grave mound again, A’Lei carried it out to empty it. A voice rang out: “Let me help you dump that.”
It was Imperial Grand Grandson Zhu Zhanji. He was still thin and tall—if there was any change from before, it was that he was even taller and thinner.
Zhu Zhanji’s figure had transformed from phoenix-tail bamboo into a single noodle strand, the kind that hadn’t been cooked yet—straight, hard, and long.
A’Lei was busy clearing out the study and didn’t refuse Zhu Zhanji’s help, sitting down to continue organizing blueprints.
Zhu Zhanji bent over to carry the paper basket, his narrow waist making one worry he might break in half.
Zhu Zhanji returned after emptying the waste basket and helped sort the blueprints.
A’Lei quickly stopped him: “I’ll do it myself. There’s a method to which chest these blueprints should go in—don’t mix them up. Eunuch Zheng He said he’ll continue voyaging to the Western Seas, so these should still be useful.”
Zhu Zhanji said: “I’ve participated in planning the new palace city and imperial city in Beijing, and supervised the construction of Changling at Tianshou Mountain. I can understand these. With just you alone, you might not finish organizing everything by lamplight, especially with your eyes… spend less time under lamps in the future.”
Zhu Zhanji was a perfect Imperial Grand Grandson, naturally intelligent and understanding a bit of everything.
Seeing he was an expert, A’Lei didn’t stop him and let him help. The two sat across from each other at a wide painting desk—where Mu Chun had once slept—without conversation, only the rustling sound of papers filling the study.
Prince Han’s heir Zhu Zhanhe had followed his father aboard ship to escort Empress Ren Xiao’s coffin for burial. The round trip plus elaborate ceremonies would likely take half a year to return. If he were here, with three people gathered together, it would definitely be lively.
When Zhu Zhanhe was around before, A’Lei always complained he was too noisy. Now that little brother Water Pit had gone to Beijing and little brother Ji had returned instead, A’Lei felt Zhu Zhanji was too quiet.
A’Lei thought if these two people could be kneaded together, crushed, split in half, and remade into two people, that would be perfect.
Zhu Zhanji observed A’Lei from the corner of his eye. After more than two years, her temperament had become calm and quiet. She no longer liked running outside to play wildly as before. She buried herself in piles of paper, not leaving the house all day. Her skin was so fair it was nearly pathologically pale. She wore a round-collared robe with a black gauze cap on her head, disguised as a little eunuch, with round-framed tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose bridge. The tortoiseshell’s natural patterns resembled amber—this was her only decoration. The glasses made her face appear especially delicate and refined.
Even the lenses couldn’t block her gaze full of curiosity for knowledge. She was still the A’Lei of before, yet also not the A’Lei of before. She was like a feng shui master’s bagua compass—ever-changing, full of variables. He couldn’t fathom her and wanted to get closer but didn’t know the method.
At dusk, sunset streamed through the window, casting the shadows of the two people separated by the desk onto the ground, overlapping. Zhu Zhanji stared somewhat entranced at the intertwined shadows on the ground.
“Done, all organized.” A’Lei stood up, rubbing her sore neck. “The chests will stay here—someone will come collect them for the warehouse. Let’s go.”
Zhu Zhanji followed her out and asked: “Aren’t you taking anything as a keepsake?”
A’Lei laughed, pointing to her head: “It’s all stored in here. What you learn becomes yours—you don’t need to take even a scrap of paper.”
A’Lei forced a cheerful expression. At this moment, her heart felt as empty as the study behind her. Unemployed—what would she do in the future? A’Lei was very confused.
Opening a sore spot, Zhu Zhanji asked: “In the future… what are your plans?”
After speaking, Zhu Zhanji immediately regretted it. He shouldn’t have said that—it was too hurtful. What was wrong with him? He was clearly eloquent before the Emperor, never making the Emperor angry, so why did he keep saying stupid things around A’Lei?
To hide her sadness, A’Lei habitually pushed up the tortoiseshell glasses on her nose bridge: “First go home and rest, then…”
A’Lei smiled awkwardly: “I haven’t decided yet.”
Stop asking me all the time. A’Lei didn’t want to talk about her own affairs and turned the question back to Zhu Zhanji: “The Imperial Grand Grandson must be very busy, not idle like me. How do you have time to leave the palace today?”
Zhu Zhanji: Zheng He went to the Western Seas, and as a woman you can’t follow, so I figured you’d be sad. I left the palace to comfort you—but it backfired. I keep saying stupid things and making you sadder.
Zhu Zhanji felt useless and naturally didn’t dare state his true purpose, only saying: “Oh, I wanted to see the magnificent scene of Zheng He’s voyage to the Western Seas, and also came to see you.”
A’Lei examined Zhu Zhanji’s clothing: “His Majesty personally saw off Eunuch Zheng He and his group—you could have just followed. Why this private visit, sneaking around to watch?”
This time Zhu Zhanji finally told the truth: “His Majesty’s campaigns, clearing the Grand Canal, building new capital cities and imperial cities—everything costs money. These two years His Majesty has only spent money while campaigning abroad. The Crown Prince supervising the nation manages earning money. Only when you manage a household do you know how expensive rice and firewood are, and you can’t increase taxes.”
“The Crown Prince finally managed to fill these bottomless holes and feels Zheng He’s voyages to the Western Seas don’t have the immediate, beneficial effects for the people like the previous projects. So inwardly he doesn’t support it, but under Father Emperor’s pressure, he had no choice but to allocate silver to support Zheng He’s voyage.”
“So I can’t openly go watch Eunuch Zheng He’s fleet, lest the Crown Prince feel uncomfortable, thinking I only favor His Majesty and don’t understand the Crown Prince’s difficulties.”
Zhu Zhanji’s mind was full of holes like a wasp’s nest. As Imperial Grand Grandson, caught between His Majesty and the Crown Prince, he needed to find balance because he couldn’t afford to offend either side—he had to consider both their emotions.
Hearing Zhu Zhanji’s convoluted explanation, A’Lei felt he lived even more tiredly than before. No wonder he didn’t gain weight.
A’Lei looked at Zhu Zhanji with some pity: “Being Imperial Grandson must be very tiring.”
Zhu Zhanji said: “Being born into the imperial family, who isn’t tired?”
A’Lei blurted out: “Zhu Zhanhe—I see he lives very relaxedly, laughing and joking all day.”
Zhu Zhanji saw A’Lei’s eyes light up when she mentioned Zhu Zhanhe, and a sour feeling welled up in his heart. He said: “Yes, he has the conditions to be carefree and do as he pleases, but I don’t. I must consider consequences in everything I do. I have no choice but to do this—who told me I’m the Eastern Palace’s Imperial Grandson? Except for moving forward, there’s no other path.”
A’Lei was at a loss for words. I was just caring about you, sympathizing with you, asking if you were tired. But you responded like you’d eaten gunpowder, lecturing me. I never said what you’re doing is wrong!
After finishing his words, Zhu Zhanji wanted to slap himself: Are you stupid? Why are you arguing with A’Lei? Are you happy if you win? Why do you act foolish whenever you see her?