Volume One, Chapter 19: A Once Spoken Word

Zhu Xiongying stood by the window, gazing at the few flower buds emerging on the plum tree in the courtyard outside. A faint smile curved his lips. “Having stayed in the Imperial Medical Institute for so long, I truly miss the air here.”

“But the days spent nursing my wounds may not have been entirely wasted; at least they taught me how to calm my mind.”

Xiaocui was momentarily stunned, then whispered with a touch of admiration, “Your Highness’s words make even a humble servant feel ashamed. During those days at the Imperial Medical Institute, Your Highness was either buried in books or pondering state affairs—when did you ever truly find peace?”

Hearing this, Zhu Xiongying smiled faintly and shook his head without offering any defense.

He stepped over to the desk, his gaze sweeping across the neatly stacked documents and books. His fingers lightly touched a freshly delivered volume titled *Essentials of Governance*, but he did not open it.

His eyes slowly drifted back to the window, as if lost in thought.

Outside the palace, the heavy snow had long since melted, and the sunlight bathed the winter courtyard in a crisp clarity. Yet despite having returned to his residence, Zhu Xiongying’s heart remained heavy.

Just yesterday, he had accompanied his father, Zhu Biao, to the Qianqing Palace to pay respects to his grandfather, Zhu Yuanzhang.

Though the conversation had been cordial, Zhu Xiongying detected an undercurrent of unease.

That day, Zhu Xiongying stood respectfully in a corner of the Qianqing Palace.

Zhu Yuanzhang sat upon the dragon throne, surrounded by several ministers, their laughter interspersed with solemnity.

“This year’s tax revenue has finally stabilized somewhat, but I remain dissatisfied with the situation in Shandong and Huguang,” Zhu Yuanzhang declared with his usual commanding tone. “Droughts and floods have struck one after another. How much grain remains in the granaries there? After listening to countless reports, I cannot shake the feeling that something is amiss.”

A minister standing nearby immediately bowed and replied, “Your Majesty is correct. Huguang and Shandong have indeed suffered from natural disasters, and some prefectures lack sufficient grain reserves.”

“I have already instructed the Ministry of Revenue to expedite the allocation of grain, but deliveries to certain areas have yet to be completed.”

“Not delivered?” Zhu Yuanzhang narrowed his eyes, his voice suddenly sharp and cold. “What I want are concrete solutions, not excuses about difficulties. If the grain does not arrive and the people starve, that is the incompetence of the Ministry of Revenue!”

The minister’s face paled with fear, and he lowered his head, saying no more.

Zhu Yuanzhang snorted heavily and turned to another minister. “What of Shanxi? We heard earlier that the region still bears the aftershocks of recent conflicts. Why has the report on pacification been delayed?”

Another official quickly cupped his hands in salute. “Your Majesty, due to prior military deployments, Shanxi has suffered severe damage. Grain is scarce, and many citizens have been forced to flee their homes.”

“I have dispatched relief grain, but the results have been limited.”

“Grain shortages, delayed relief... How is this emperor to rule properly?” Zhu Yuanzhang scoffed coldly, his tone filled with dissatisfaction.

Zhu Xiongying absorbed every word clearly.

At only nine years old, he should have quietly stood behind his father, listening to his grandfather’s conversations with the ministers.

Yet his eyes remained slightly lowered while his ears caught every word.

“Natural disasters, famine, displaced people... These problems must be troubling both grandfather and father,” he reflected silently. “But what is reported in court may not be the whole truth.”

He recalled passages from books he had read, describing the hardship of the people in the early Ming dynasty, the heavy burden of taxes and military expenses, the frequent calamities, and the persistent corruption among lower officials.

“Though grandfather rules with an iron hand, local officials may not all fulfill their duties; and even though father is compassionate, his status limits his control over these matters.”

Zhu Xiongying calmly analyzed in his mind, “If these hidden dangers are allowed to accumulate, they will inevitably lead to greater disasters.”

The next morning, Zhu Xiongying went early to the Eastern Palace to visit Zhu Biao.

Winter sunlight filtered through the carved window lattice, casting patterns along the corridor of the main hall.

Zhu Xiongying stepped lightly inside, crossing the threshold, and immediately sensed an unusual atmosphere.

The attendants moved with extra caution, their footsteps muffled, and the air was thick with a heavy tension.

“Is father here?” Zhu Xiongying’s voice was clear and gentle, tinged with concern.

A palace attendant promptly bowed and replied, “The Crown Prince is in his study attending to affairs.”

Zhu Xiongying nodded and followed the attendant’s direction to the study.

The door was half-open; he gently pushed it and entered.

There, Zhu Biao sat alone behind his desk, brow deeply furrowed.

His gaze fixed on an open memorial, his expression grave, burdened by heavy thoughts.

“Father,” Zhu Xiongying spoke softly, stepping closer.

Zhu Biao looked up and, upon seeing his son, some of the worry in his brow eased, a faint smile appearing.

“Xiongying? Why are you here so early? Your body is better now, isn’t it? In this cold weather, why not rest inside the palace?”

Zhu Xiongying approached and respectfully bowed, then looked up and spoke earnestly.

“Son heard that father has been busy attending to affairs these days and wished to see you.”

“Father’s face does not look well—is it... something troubling you?”

Zhu Biao paused briefly at the question, then smiled gently, waving his hand.

“It’s nothing serious. You’re still young; you needn’t worry about the trifles of court.”

His tone was soothing, clearly not intending to reveal more.

But Zhu Xiongying noticed that the smile could not fully mask the fatigue in his father’s eyes.

He hesitated a moment, blinked, and feigned casualness.

“Father, could it be... the court lacks funds for disaster relief?”

At these words, Zhu Biao’s eyes sharpened, the calm façade vanishing without a trace.

He stared intently at Zhu Xiongying, as if surprised that a nine-year-old could hit upon the very thought troubling him.

“You...” Zhu Biao began, then stopped.

His tone shifted, probing gently, “Xiongying, who told you these things?”

A faint smile played in Zhu Xiongying’s heart, but he innocently waved his hand.

“Son could not have heard such things. It was just two days ago when I accompanied father to Qianqing Palace to pay respects.”

“Hearing grandfather and the ministers mention disasters and relief grain, son merely guessed.”

“And besides... father has been frowning often lately; surely that means some difficulty?”

Listening to his son’s ‘guesswork,’ a complex expression slowly replaced the surprise on Zhu Biao’s face.

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze softening, though his voice remained cautious.

“You are still young. Don’t take these matters too much to heart.”

“These are affairs of the court, handled by the Ministries of Revenue and Works.”

Zhu Xiongying’s eyes twinkled as he deliberately adopted a childlike expression.

With a cheerful smile, he said, “Father, I don’t understand these great matters, but I do remember grandfather once said something...”