Chapter 128: Breaking Bad
When Mu Chun left, he said he’d return in two years. After two years came another two years, then another two years. Six years passed, and by the twenty-fifth year of Hongwu, the one million immigrants had finally been properly settled.
It wasn’t that Mu Chun was incompetent, but that Yunnan’s actual situation was too complex.
Initially, Mu Chun naively thought immigration was like planting trees—transplant the tree (people), dig a hole (build a house), put it in (settle down), water it (provide rations and farming tools), and the tree would live.
But reality slapped him hard—it wasn’t that simple.
First was the people. Central Plains folks had ingrained attachment to their homeland, plus regional prejudices about Yunnan being a miasmic land full of snakes as thick as water buckets and man-eating tigers. When the imperial proclamation for immigration was issued, very few responded. They’d rather remain tenant farmers exploited by landlords than venture out to pioneer a new world.
Mu Chun used both carrot and stick approaches. On one hand, he brought out imperial registers and household records, making immigration mandatory for everyone registered regardless of wealth. On the other hand, he gave immigrants more subsidies—provisions, seeds, and three years tax exemption on land.
Additionally, he hired storytellers and traveling troupes to create new books and plays, going into the mountains and countryside to promote Yunnan as a paradise—fertile land, mighty horse-herding men, and fairy-beautiful ethnic maidens.
In short, Yunnan was a “four-haves” new homeland with land, money, men, and women.
Once the people problem was solved, Mu Chun faced the massive housing project. Local indigenous people also harbored prejudice and hostility toward outside immigrants, harassing, robbing, even killing immigrants, frightening new settlers into fleeing.
First, immigrants needed security, or they’d all run away.
Mu Chun abandoned the Central Plains lifestyle of scattered farmstead living and built fortress after fortress of solid stone, housing immigrants concentrated by their place of origin.
Each residential area was like a small city with water sources, sewage systems, guard posts, and arrow slits in every household’s walls.
After building these stone cities, immigrants could finally settle. Next came land reclamation, and more problems arose: Yunnan remained in the most primitive stage of rain-dependent agriculture, with no dams or irrigation channels and no disaster response measures—completely dependent on heaven’s mercy.
Mu Chun urgently requested personnel from the Ministry of Works, mapped hydrological surveys, selected dam and embankment sites, and brought in craftsmen and miners to open mountains, mine ore, and locally smelt steel and iron to make farming tools and weapons.
Initially, local indigenous people often disturbed the dams and drove away immigrants, but after several natural disasters—torrential rains and droughts—when the dams proved their worth by protecting harvests, when water mills and waterwheels spread, when prices of iron pots, bronze vessels, and salt dropped to one-tenth their original cost, when cotton and hemp plants plus textile technology arrived and people were no longer barely clothed, indigenous attitudes toward immigrants began changing.
Shared interests made people choose to lay down weapons and maintain peace.
Four years later, Yunnan began generating tax revenue, giving back to the national treasury. Mu Chun felt he’d completed his mission and petitioned Emperor Hongwu to return for reporting duties (to see Sister Shanwei).
Emperor Hongwu saw returns for the first time—where immigrants thrived, rebellions and wars dramatically decreased. Having tasted immigration’s benefits, he grandly waved his hand and arranged another 1.5 million people for Mu Chun to resettle in Yunnan following the same pattern.
Mu Chun: I have something to say, not sure if I should say it…
Mu Chun dared not voice his anger. Like a sheepdog howling at the moon, the next day he did what needed doing, making outrageous demands—specifying that among the 1.5 million new immigrants, 300,000 must be skilled technical and investment immigrants:
Technical civilian households (scholars, doctors, geomancers), military households (officers, strongmen, archers, military craftsmen), artisan households (cooks, tailors, boat and horse specialists), salt households, merchant households, scholarly households, postal relay households, and so on.
Mu Chun wanted to establish schools where both local indigenous people and immigrants could study and learn literacy, promoting civilizing efforts.
If you want horses to run, you must feed them grass. Emperor Hongwu agreed and met his demands, enfeoffing Mu Ying as Duke Qianguo and Mu Chun as heir to Duke Qianguo, raising their rank by one level.
Another 1.5 million immigrants streamed into Yunnan. Mu Chun again began water conservancy projects, building stone cities, paving roads and bridges, opening mountains and mines, promoting agriculture and sericulture.
Thus six years hurried by. The 2.5 million immigrants barely established themselves in their new homeland, nearly matching the local indigenous population!
Looking at birth and survival rates, immigrants had overwhelming advantages. Plus intermarriage and integration—after a hundred years, immigrants would become Yunnan’s population majority.
Mu Chun’s reputation soared among the new immigrants with considerable prestige. Even without father-in-law or father support, he still secured his position as heir to Duke Qianguo through merit and sweat.
During these six years, his subordinate Chen Xuan’s outstanding performance in water conservancy earned Emperor Hongwu’s appreciation. He was recalled to the capital to command Nanjing’s river defense navy as Commander of Longjiang Guard, a first-rank military official.
Chen Xuan transformed layer by layer from official’s son to prisoner to bandit chief to Northern Expedition army to Imperial Guards to Southern Campaign army to Nanjing Navy Commander—his future unlimited.
Mu Chun held a farewell banquet: “Should you become wealthy and noble, do not forget us.”
Chen Xuan said: “Your lordship’s grace in recognizing talent—this subordinate will never forget until death.”
As Chen Xuan went to assume his Nanjing post, Mu Chun envied him greatly. Still, envy aside, if immigration work wasn’t done well, he’d have no face to return to Sister Shanwei.
Bearing responsibility for 2.5 million immigrants’ safety and livelihood, Mu Chun dared not slack for a single day. So busy he forgot to breathe, six years passed in the blink of an eye. When immigration showed initial success, one day Mu Chun stayed up late tackling mountain-high stacks of official documents like moving bricks, finishing them one by one. Past midnight, Captain Shi brought late-night food—a bowl of noodles topped with two poached eggs.
Mu Chun sighed: “I’m exhausted like a dog. Can’t I have some meat?”
Captain Shi said: “After midnight is your lordship’s birthday. Of course you must eat longevity noodles on your birthday for good luck.”
“Today’s my birthday?” Mu Chun got a shock instead of eating noodles. “How am I having another birthday?”
Captain Shi looked at his lord, seemingly mentally impaired from frequent all-nighters and overwork: “Because another year passed. Year after year, bowl after bowl of noodles. Look at this bowl—the noodles are long and wide, topped with two eggs, big and round, garnished with scallion bits, green and fresh, very appetizing.”
“Stop!” Mu Chun woke as from a dream, counting his age on his fingers: “I was twenty-three when I came to Yunnan, twenty-four… no way, I’m already twenty-nine?”
Captain Shi said: “Indeed. My son can already fetch soy sauce. Time flies. Next year you’ll be thirty and established.”
Captain Shi deliberately emphasized the number “thirty.”
I need to find a way back to the capital. Crisis awareness arose. Mu Chun ate the longevity noodles but couldn’t taste them at all.
Meanwhile, in the capital, the Forbidden City.
Hu Shanwei was awakened by urgent voices: “Official Hu? Wake up! Something terrible happened!”
Eyes still closed, Hu Shanwei sat up with a start: “What’s so alarming?”
Haitang handed over a hot towel: “Urgent report from Yanzhou, Shandong—Prince Lu… has died.”
The hot towel hadn’t touched her face when Hu Shanwei immediately awakened, disbelieving: “Who?”
Haitang: “Tenth Prince Lu, Prince Zhu Tan, Noble Consort Guo’s son.”
Hu Shanwei pinched her arm hard. It hurt—not a dream. She quickly got up, washed her face, rinsed her mouth, changed into mourning clothes while Haitang explained the details.
After Prince Lu was enfeoffed, he spent his days exchanging poetry with literati, being an idle prince. His talents were limited, and he looked down on his advisors’ ghostwriting, feeling it fell far short of Instructor Shen’s level. To seek creative inspiration, his old illness relapsed—he again sought pills.
Before enfeoffment, Noble Consort Guo repeatedly warned Princess Lu Tang Shi about Prince Lu’s pill-taking habit. Imperial physicians said this drug was addictive—the body could detox, but the mind could never truly quit. The real world rarely gave that floating, omnipotent sensation. Once tasted, if will weakened slightly, demons would exploit the opening and seek stimulation again.
Noble Consort Guo told Princess Lu to monitor Prince Lu’s consumption carefully, giving her “Records of Virtuous Consorts of Song Dynasty.” If Prince Lu wouldn’t listen, this book represented Noble Consort Guo herself for disciplining him.
Tang Shi knew the stakes. She fulfilled her duties as Princess Lu, supervising Prince Lu. Princess Lu was Duke Xinguo Tang He’s legitimate eldest daughter with strong family backing, plus Noble Consort Guo’s unconditional support. Prince Lu dared not act imperiously before his wife. Unable to obtain pills, the troublemaker simply got several cauldrons and made his own according to pill formulas.
Actually, shop formulas were quite mature. Though toxic, they were chronic poisons requiring accumulation over ten or even dozens of years to become lethal. Otherwise, those Wei-Jin period literati couldn’t have lived to forty or fifty before dying—they’d all have died young.
Prince Lu started pill-making from scratch, not daring to openly seek expert help. He blindly figured out formulas and fire control himself. Hard work paid off—sometimes he successfully made batches of pills for personal production, sale, consumption, and enjoyment. When he failed, noticing wrong color or taste, he’d discard them and start over. He had money to buy cinnabar, astragalus, and other ingredients, claiming they were paint pigments.
Since no major problems occurred, Princess Lu didn’t realize her husband had two faces—prince in the palace, breaking bad in the basement.
Three days ago, Prince Lu made a batch of pills—bright red, pleasantly fragrant. Having not made such quality pills in a long time, Prince Lu was quite eager and swallowed five at once.
Initially very happy, playing deity all afternoon, but by evening Prince Lu had splitting headaches, bloodshot eyes, crying out in pain. Only then did Princess Lu realize something was wrong and quickly called a doctor.
At first Prince Lu wouldn’t admit it, but when his eyes hurt unbearably and began bleeding, he told the doctor he’d taken five pills.
Princess Lu quickly ordered the basement door broken down, retrieving the remaining five pills for the doctor to assess toxicity.
But it was too late. That night Prince Lu’s eye blood vessels burst, blood streaming, blinding him. Before dawn he died.
Prince Lu never became a “master” poisoner—he went straight to “breaking bad,” dying violently in his early twenties.
Princess Lu Tang Shi proved herself a noble daughter from a military family. In crisis, she was strong and quick-witted, knowing Prince Lu’s inglorious death was a royal scandal. She immediately ordered trusted people and the doctor to seal news of Prince Lu’s death, maintaining normalcy. The doctor prescribed medicine as if treating ordinary illness.
Meanwhile, Princess Lu sent confidants racing to the capital overnight, asking how His Majesty and Noble Consort Guo wanted to handle Prince Lu’s funeral.
Once palace gates locked at night, keys were collected by the Bureau of Keys female officials and wouldn’t open until dawn when keys were retrieved from the Bureau of Palace Attendants.
This news came through a note slipped through palace gate cracks.
Hu Shanwei dressed and went out, walking to Zhongcui Palace to report. It was early spring, still cold weather with light snow falling, accumulated snow already covering her feet.
Hu Shanwei clutched her hand warmer: “Immediately invite Pharmacist Liu to Zhongcui Palace. Noble Consort Guo has an old heart condition and can’t handle great joy or sorrow. Have her prepare ready pills.”
Palace maids ahead carried four pairs of horn lanterns for illumination. Hu Shanwei walked step by step, but her heart was chaotic: How should I phrase this? How can I say it? White-haired sending off black-haired.
Prince Lu truly caused his own death. Such good birth, such a good princess and in-laws, such a peaceful and wealthy fief—doing nothing, he could enjoy lifelong honor and wealth, but he chose pill-making.
Everything stemmed from Consort Dading’s revenge, using pills to tempt Prince Lu.
Fate was truly mysterious. Years ago, Prince Lu’s second uncle Guo Ying shot an arrow through Han King Chen Youliang’s eye at Caoxie Mountain, piercing his skull and killing him. Chen Youliang’s concubine Da Shi was forcibly taken into the harem due to Emperor Hongwu’s conquest complex, becoming Consort Dading.
Over thirty years later, Prince Lu swallowed pills, poisoning his eyes blind, dying that night. Both began dying from the eyes.
In the mysterious workings of fate, cause and effect cycle, retribution never fails…
Lost in thought, Hu Shanwei reached Zhongcui Palace gates. Her hand was on the door knocker, but she still hadn’t figured out how to comfort Noble Consort Guo.
Seeing her hesitation, Haitang said: “Let me tell Noble Consort Guo instead.”
Hu Shanwei shook her head: “No parent will accept such terrible news. In violent anger, you risk losing your heads. I’ll speak. All of you withdraw.”
With that, Hu Shanwei heavily shook the door knocker. The night-duty palace servant heard the sound and opened the door: “Official Hu? Why come in the middle of the night?”
Hu Shanwei took a deep breath: “I request audience with Her Ladyship the Noble Consort.”