While Chen Biao was attending to his mother, looking after his younger brothers, and packing for Brother Ying’s first campaign with the army, he heard that Marshal Zhu had apparently gone mad again.
Marshal Zhu’s earlier order banning foot-binding had already met resistance from many quarters. Even his own subordinates had been pretending to obey while secretly ignoring it.
Now, in a fit of anger, he had actually ordered the scholars under his command to wash the feet of the bound-foot women in their households, paint pictures of them, and then write poems and essays arguing against the ancient sages who had praised bound feet?
What kind of absurdity was this?
Feet were filthy and unclean things. How could such things be allowed to pollute the eyes of men held up as moral exemplars? Zhu Yuanzhang was humiliating scholars!
How could the feet of one’s own wife or daughter be painted for other men to see? Zhu Yuanzhang was trying to drive the women of every household to their deaths!
This was an outrage against propriety!
A complete collapse of morality!
Zhu Yuanzhang was a brute among brutes. No gentleman would stoop to associate with him. Never!
After Zhu Yuanzhang captured Yingtian Prefecture, quite a few scholars had begun to regard him as a promising rising force, and many had been tempted to join him.
Although Zhu Yuanzhang’s attempt to claim kinship with Master Zhu Xi’s family had been treated as a joke by scholars, and the Zhu clan itself hadn’t taken him seriously, the fact that he respected Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism had at least convinced them he wasn’t completely beyond redemption.
Compared with the other warlords, Zhu Yuanzhang treated scholars the best. Many scholars had therefore felt they should return the favor and give him priority when choosing whom to serve.
But after this ridiculous stunt, not only were the scholars who had been watching from the sidelines enraged—even the civil officials and advisers already serving under him began submitting letters of resignation, throwing down their seals and demanding to leave.
“Such an uncouth fool! I refuse to serve alongside him!”
Li Shanchang’s head was throbbing.
Winning battles required generals.
Managing logistics and governing conquered territory required scholars.
Li Shanchang had worked painstakingly to improve Zhu Yuanzhang’s reputation among the literati. Even the famous “Four Scholars of Eastern Zhejiang” had begun to show some interest.
Such a bright future—and Old Zhu had destroyed it all with one bout of mule-headed stubbornness.
Now scholars everywhere believed Zhu Yuanzhang could never achieve great things. Many renowned men were instead flocking to Xu Shouhui and Zhang Shicheng, while others had become even more determined to remain loyal ministers of the Yuan dynasty.
Every Yuan emperor after Kublai Khan had respected scholars and vigorously promoted Neo-Confucianism.
Compared with them, Zhu Yuanzhang wasn’t even worthy to carry the Yuan emperors’ shoes.
He absolutely must never become Emperor. Otherwise, ritual and music would collapse, morality would decay, and the people would be plunged into misery!
Zhu Yuanzhang did not try to persuade any of the resigning scholars to stay.
After dismissing everyone else, he sat alone in the council hall, high upon a tiger-skin chair that looked more suited to a mountain bandit chief than a ruler.
One elbow rested on his raised knee as he silently gazed across the empty hall.
When Zhu Yuanzhang dismissed everyone, there were still a few exceptions—people who were always permitted to disturb him.
For example, Li Shanchang, the foremost civil official under his command.
Li Shanchang walked into the hall. Seeing the loneliness written across Zhu Yuanzhang’s face, countless words clogged his throat, and for a long while he could not speak.
“Master Li,” Zhu Yuanzhang said first, before Li Shanchang could open his mouth. Resting his chin on one hand, he repeated, “I wasn’t wrong. I did nothing wrong.”
Li Shanchang looked up at the bandit hero who had studied the classics for only a few short years.
After a long silence, he finally said, “Marshal… I went home and washed my mother’s feet.”
Zhu Yuanzhang lowered both his chin and his propped-up leg, looking quietly at Li Shanchang.
Li Shanchang continued, “When my daughter first had her feet bound, she cried that it hurt. I knew… but I didn’t pay it any attention.”
The confusion on Zhu Yuanzhang’s face resembled that of a child on his first day of school.
“How could you not care?”
Li Shanchang answered, “Ever since the Southern Song, girls with unbound feet have found it difficult to marry into good families. It has been that way for over a hundred years. My daughter’s crying seemed no different to me than a boy getting his palms struck while studying—it was simply suffering that had to be endured.”
“Who decides what suffering is necessary?” Zhu Yuanzhang asked.
“The sages.”
“But foot-binding only began at the end of the Northern Song and became widespread in the Southern Song. During the early Northern Song, during the flourishing Han and Tang dynasties, and certainly during the Great Zhou that scholars always praise, there was no foot-binding. Why should the sages of the Southern Song be allowed to create something that even earlier sages never did?”
Li Shanchang fell silent for a long while.
Rather than answer the question, he changed the subject.
“Marshal, I understand your desire to prohibit foot-binding so ordinary women can work outside the home. But your methods have suddenly become so radical that you’ve begun interfering even in the households of scholars and gentry whose women don’t need to labor. This cannot be a whim. What happened? Or… who said something to you?”
Zhu Yuanzhang remained silent.
Li Shanchang continued, “Even if you firmly believe you’re right, you must distinguish between what is right and what must be done now. Is it truly worth alienating the scholars, leaving yourself without capable officials, and delaying your great ambition of conquering the realm—for the sake of women’s feet?”
Still Zhu Yuanzhang said nothing.
“Marshal!” Li Shanchang raised his voice.
“This matter will be shelved for now,” Zhu Yuanzhang finally said. “Break camp and prepare to march on Yangzhou. I’ll lead the campaign myself.”
Li Shanchang sighed helplessly.
“Half the civil officials have resigned. Who’s going to handle logistics?”
“Chen Guorui.”
Li Shanchang: “…”
“Gather together everything that no one else is handling,” Zhu Yuanzhang said calmly. “I’ll do it myself.”
This time, it was Li Shanchang’s turn to fall silent.
After a long pause, he said, “Very well. I’ll organize it. Marshal, you… sigh.”
Li Shanchang knew all too well that once the Marshal’s mule-headed stubbornness surfaced, persuading him in the short term was hopeless.
The only person capable of changing Zhu Yuanzhang’s mind was Madam Ma.
But Li Shanchang had a strong feeling that on this matter, Madam Ma would undoubtedly stand on Zhu Yuanzhang’s side.
Fortunately, there wasn’t an overwhelming amount of work at the moment. Since the Marshal was overflowing with energy and believed he could shoulder it all himself, then let him try. Once he reached his limit, perhaps he could be persuaded.
As Li Shanchang was leaving, Zhu Yuanzhang suddenly asked, “You… are you still making your daughters bind their feet?”
Li Shanchang snorted.
“Bind them my ass! I had them stop immediately! I brought in a physician. My eldest girl’s feet can’t be restored anymore, but my second girl’s still have hope.”
His eyes reddened before he finished speaking. He wiped them with the back of his hand, then stormed away angrily.
Zhu Yuanzhang stood frozen.
His expression remained blank for a long while.
Then he covered his face with one hand and burst into hearty laughter.
It was the lightest, most carefree laugh he had laughed in a long time.
…
“Biao’er! The Marshal has suffered so much!” Zhu Yuanzhang wailed dramatically at Chen Biao.
Chen Biao sat cross-legged in his chair with both hands clamped over his ears, looking utterly done with life.
He slowly shuffled his bottom around until all Zhu Yuanzhang could see was the back of his bald little head.
After finishing his dramatic lament, Zhu Yuanzhang simply picked Chen Biao up, turned him back around, and gazed at him pitifully with wide, pleading eyes.
A rugged, burly man in his thirties striking a tragic beauty pose with one hand over his chest almost made Chen Biao throw up.
Weakly, Chen Biao said, “Dad… I know you meant well, but you really shouldn’t have encouraged the Marshal. Couldn’t he have done all this after becoming Emperor? By then everything would already be settled. Would those scholars really rebel just because he abolished foot-binding? Have you heard of ‘after entering the Pass, there will naturally be Jiangnan scholars to justify me’?”
Zhu Yuanzhang shook his head vigorously.
Chen Biao explained, “Once I’ve entered the Pass, the great scholars of Jiangnan will naturally argue my case.”
Zhu Yuanzhang pondered for a moment.
“Biao’er, you mean… as long as the Marshal focuses on conquering the realm, once he becomes Emperor those scholars will shamelessly come running back and wave his banners for him?”
Chen Biao choked on how blunt his father was.
“Dad… don’t ever say that in front of scholars. They’ll curse you to death.”
Thump! Thump!
Zhu Yuanzhang slapped his chest proudly.
“Don’t worry!”
Don’t worry my ass, Chen Biao complained inwardly.
He had never imagined that after criticizing Zhu Yuanzhang to his father, his father would honestly march over and repeat every word to Zhu Yuanzhang himself.
Even more unbelievable, Zhu Yuanzhang had actually listened.
This Zhu Yuanzhang was nothing like the one Chen Biao remembered.
Could it be that the future Zhu Yuanzhang’s desperate efforts to curry favor with Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism stemmed from suffering such a huge setback here and trying to win the scholars back?
Looking at his overly kind-hearted father, Chen Biao felt both bitter and warm inside.
The bitterness came from knowing that such a father could easily bring disaster upon the family.
But he also deeply admired this simple, sincere fool.
Then another thought occurred to him.
As long as this simple fool wasn’t caught up in Emperor Hongwu’s madness during his later years, this was exactly the sort of person an emperor trusted most.
Because someone with such a personality could never become overly powerful or collude with civil and military officials.
Once he realized that, the last trace of bitterness in his heart disappeared.
After pouring out his frustrations to Chen Biao, Zhu Yuanzhang felt much better.
Outside, no matter how angry or anxious he became, he had to maintain appearances.
Even before his wife, he always acted completely confident.
Only before Chen Biao could Zhu Yuanzhang become a “simple fool of a father,” freely pouring out all the fear and unease hidden inside his heart to his miraculous little immortal son.
He hugged his chubby son and kissed him twice.
“I’ll help the Marshal conquer the realm! Then those great Jiangnan scholars will defend him!”
Chen Biao wiped the drool from his face and rolled his eyes.
“You scared away all the civil officials. Without a stable rear, what realm are you supposed to conquer?”
Zhu Yuanzhang flashed his trademark honest grin.
“Don’t worry, Biao’er. Master Li will find a way to replace the missing people!”
Chen Biao: “…”
“I suddenly feel sorry for Master Li. Why don’t you persuade the Marshal to start training his own people?”
Although Zhu Yuanzhang’s actions this time had been incredibly foolish—so foolish Chen Biao could barely bear to look at them—his opinion of Zhu Yuanzhang had improved somewhat.
For the first time, he willingly offered advice for the Marshal he had always disliked.
Zhu Yuanzhang smiled bitterly.
“Scholars aren’t so easy to cultivate.”
“You don’t need scholars who can pass the imperial examinations,” Chen Biao replied. “It’s enough if they can read, count, and understand basic principles. There are only a few hundred commonly used characters. As for numbers, have the Marshal promote the simple notation our Chen Trading Company uses throughout the army. Then translate those obscure classics into plain language. Start teaching them in the military, then select the best students from among the soldiers…”
“Dad! Don’t throw me!”
His warning came too late.
By the time Chen Biao shouted, his father had already tossed him to the highest point of the arc.
Zhu Yuanzhang caught him securely, stood up with him in his arms, and spun around in circles like a complete fool.
“Hahaha! My son is actually helping the Marshal on his own initiative! My son has finally admitted the Marshal is a good man!”
Red with embarrassment, Chen Biao shouted, “Admit my ass! I’m only trying to keep my idiot father from getting his head chopped off after giving the Marshal such terrible advice!”
Zhu Yuanzhang patted his little bottom.
“Mm-hmm, yes, yes. Biao’er admitted his ass. Hahahaha!”
Chen Biao swung his tiny fists, bombarding his father’s face with soft little baby punches.
Zhu Yuanzhang happily enjoyed the facial massage.
“Biao’er, that’s an excellent idea. Those textbooks you prepared for the Chen Trading Company’s clerks—can they be used directly?”
Chen Biao rubbed his aching hands, panting.
His father’s face was simply too thick and too tough.
His poor little fists had suffered far more than the target.
“Yes,” Chen Biao answered awkwardly. “I’ll pick out some suitable ones for you to take to the Marshal. But Dad, standing out too much isn’t a good thing.”
Zhu Yuanzhang laughed.
“I understand. I understand. The way of serving one’s lord. I’ll find a way to ease the Marshal’s suspicions toward me.”
Chen Biao threw back his head and sighed at the heavens.
Dad, you don’t understand a damn thing!
Forget it.
He would just take things one step at a time.
At worst, once the Ming dynasty was established, he would immediately transfer all their assets overseas. Then, as soon as Hu Weiyong rose to power, he would persuade his father to resign and retire from public life.
Chen Biao scratched his little head.
He couldn’t remember many important figures from the early Ming. Hu Weiyong was supposed to have been something like the foremost civil official of the early dynasty, so why had he never once heard his father mention him?
His father talked about Master Li Shanchang all day long. Where was Hu Weiyong?
And Liu Bowen was nowhere to be seen either. Weren’t Liu Bowen and Hu Weiyong supposed to have fought each other like cats and dogs in the early Ming?
Chen Biao scratched his head again.
Then scratched it once more.
Zhu Yuanzhang, still carrying Chen Biao in his arms, reached up and scratched his son’s head for him.
“Son, why are you always scratching your head? You’ve only got that one little topknot up there. Don’t tell me you’ve managed to grow lice?”
Chen Biao answered with a straight punch to Zhu Yuanzhang’s nose.
For the first time, he actually managed to make Zhu Yuanzhang feel pain.
…
All the scholars waited for Zhu Yuanzhang to yield.
But not only did Zhu Yuanzhang refuse to compromise, he broke camp and personally led the campaign against Yangzhou.
The scholars were deeply disappointed. One after another, they defected to Zhang Shicheng and Xu Shouhui.
Zhu Yuanzhang’s reputation plummeted. Before long, terrifying rumors spread everywhere claiming that Zhu Yuanzhang butchered scholars, sliced off their flesh, and ate it with wine.
Xu Shouhui was currently preoccupied with his increasingly rebellious subordinate Chen Youliang and had no time to concern himself with scholars.
Zhang Shicheng, on the other hand, laughed so hard it sounded like a barking dog.
Occupying western Zhejiang, Zhang Shicheng had long since surrendered to the Yuan and been granted the title of Grand Commandant.
For several years, droughts, locust plagues, and floods had struck one after another. Grain was scarce everywhere.
Having lost the grain-producing regions of the south, the Yuan capital at Dadu was in desperate straits.
Beginning in the seventeenth year of the Zhizheng era (1357), Zhang Shicheng had shipped 110,000 shi of tribute grain to Dadu every single year.
But the natural disasters and human calamities afflicting Dadu afflicted the people of western Zhejiang as well.
And they still had to support Zhang Shicheng’s army.
The grain harvested by the peasants of western Zhejiang first had to cover losses from natural disasters and warfare.
Then came the exploitation of local gentry and powerful families.
Then taxes and levies to support Zhang Shicheng’s forces.
Then another 110,000 shi shipped to Dadu.
Only what remained was their own food.
A simple arithmetic problem was enough to reveal how ordinary people lived under Zhang Shicheng’s rule.
This was now the nineteenth year of the Zhizheng era (1359).
Another devastating famine had swept across the realm, and countless people starved to death.
Yet in the writings of scholars and poets, western Zhejiang had known no warfare since Zhang Shicheng took control. Its economy flourished, the people lived in peace and prosperity, and impoverished commoners oppressed by the barbaric Zhu Yuanzhang in eastern Zhejiang fled in droves to Zhang Shicheng’s territory, causing the population to soar.
Western Zhejiang was portrayed as thriving everywhere, as though living in a golden age.
Zhang Shicheng was said to respect the worthy and cherish scholars.
He showered talented literati with mountains of gold and silver, luxurious carriages, fine horses, fertile estates, magnificent residences, singing girls, and dancing maidens.
For truly exceptional talents, he welcomed them so eagerly that he would rush out with his shoes on the wrong feet.
The scholars sang his praises.
Zhang Shicheng possessed the bearing of a wise ruler.
The man destined to reunify the realm would surely be Zhang Shicheng.
After Chen Guorui departed on campaign with Zhu Yuanzhang, the street that had been designated a military zone became quiet once more.
The day was oppressively hot.
Chen Biao took his endlessly noisy younger brother Chen Shuang, together with the two cousins left behind—Chen Wenzheng (Zhu Wenzheng) and Li Bao’er (Zhu Wenzhong)—out boating on the lake.
The large boat floated motionless in the middle of the lake.
Chen Wenzheng took Chen Shuang to the stern to fish.
Li Bao’er sat nearby with a book, quietly reading aloud with a furrowed brow, only for Chen Wenzheng to roar that he was making too much noise and scaring away all the fish.
Chen Biao sat on the gunwale with his bare little feet dangling in the lake, lazily splashing the water while listening to Chen Di report on newly written poems and essays by scholars from all over the country.
The intelligence they gathered might have been deliberately disguised.
But when scholars wrote poetry and prose, they exaggerated—they rarely lied on purpose.
As early as the Song dynasty, Liao, Jin, Western Xia, and other states had employed people specifically to collect the poetry and essays of Song scholars, analyzing them to infer Song state policy, court politics, and local conditions.
Chen Biao was still a child and couldn’t travel far.
So he followed the example of those before him, collecting poems and essays from across the land and cross-checking them against the intelligence reports.
Listening to these songs praising a prosperous age, Chen Biao lifted one little foot, sending a spray of water into the air.
“Year after year of natural disasters, yet Zhang Shicheng still sends 110,000 shi of grain to Dadu every year and somehow guarantees that the people of western Zhejiang never lack food or clothing. Uncle Di, the land in our eastern Zhejiang just isn’t very good. It produces far less grain than western Zhejiang.”
Under the current disasters and chaos, even the best farmland in eastern Zhejiang yielded less than ten shi of grain per mu each year.
Using eastern Zhejiang’s yields as the standard, producing 110,000 shi of grain would require at least 10,000 mu of prime farmland—roughly 6,600 square kilometers of cultivated land.
Yet the territory controlled by Zhang Shicheng covered only a little over one hundred thousand square kilometers.
Subtract the mountains, rivers, marshes, tidal flats, and cities—how much prime farmland could possibly remain?
Western Zhejiang’s grain yields really were astonishingly high.
Sure they were.
Chen Di smiled.
“Perhaps the ink dripping from scholars’ brushes fertilizes the fields better than the sweat of hardworking farmers.”
Chen Biao stared at the ripples spreading across the lake, his cheeks puffed out.
He disliked Zhu Yuanzhang.
But in this chaotic age at the end of the Yuan…
While Chen Biao was “envying” western Zhejiang’s miraculous grain yields, another group of scholars in Wenzhou, eastern Zhejiang, were discussing the very same matter.
Unlike the mainstream scholars who avoided Zhu Yuanzhang as though he were a venomous snake, these scholars had already packed their luggage and were preparing to set out for Yingtian.