Chapter 101: The Empress Dowager Finally Relents

Xue Rui had never expected his proposal to be rejected so outright, leaving him momentarily embarrassed. Instinctively, he glanced toward Mrs. Wang, who was seated on the main platform.

“Why have you come? Didn’t you see there are guests present?” Mrs. Wang asked, a hint of irritation in her tone as she looked at Zhao Jinyu with a stern expression.

“Mother, I just came to have a look. Please continue,” Zhao Jinyu said with a slight smile, settling herself comfortably in the chair.

“Truly lacking in manners,” Mrs. Wang shook her head helplessly before turning to Xue Rui apologetically. “Young Master Xue, my daughter and I share the same view. As you know, we are just a widow and her daughter, with no extra energy to engage in other businesses. Regarding your earlier suggestion, I’m afraid we must decline.”

Xue Rui looked at Zhao Jinyu, somewhat puzzled. “Miss Zhao mentioned earlier that next year your family plans to expand the ice production business. In my humble opinion, this will require no less effort than the methods I suggested, but the profits will be lower. I urge you to reconsider my proposal—it’s quite simple to implement and could possibly yield several times the profit.”

“Our Zhao family has only ever been involved in ice production and nothing else. To be prudent, we prefer not to engage in other ventures. Do you understand?” Zhao Jinyu, though young, was remarkably composed. She remained unmoved by Xue Rui’s enticements.

Ah, so they feared losses...

Pondering carefully, Xue Rui could understand the mother and daughter’s mindset. The Zhao family was now down to two women, managing their ice business and earning several thousand taels of silver annually. There was no need to dabble in unfamiliar trades; they understood the wisdom of mastering what they knew rather than venturing into the unknown.

Since they were unwilling to take risks, Xue Rui saw no reason to persistently press for collaboration. In the capital, there was no shortage of businessmen eager to make money; what was scarce were profitable avenues. As long as one had a good idea, cooperation could be sought with anyone.

His desire to partner with the Zhao family stemmed purely from gratitude. If they were unappreciative, he had nothing more to say.

“Very well. Although the business partnership is off the table, I have another reliable way to make money. Soon, the capital should see a large number of properties and farmlands up for sale. If your family has sufficient ready silver, you might consider acquiring some. Once the political situation stabilizes, their value will rise significantly. This is no less profitable than other ventures. That’s all I have to say, madam, Miss Zhao. I have pressing matters to attend to, so I shall take my leave.”

Xue Rui rose to depart.

“Thank you for your advice, Young Master Xue. Since you have affairs to attend to, I won’t keep you... Xiao Qian, see Young Master Xue out,” Mrs. Wang stood and called over the maid who had accompanied Xue Rui earlier, instructing her to escort him out.

After watching Xue Rui exit through the second gate, Mrs. Wang immediately scolded Zhao Jinyu with a stern face. “You girl, how could you sneak out again? You’re a grown young lady—what if you encountered danger outside?”

“Mother, I left in the British Duke’s carriage, with many guards protecting me; there was no danger!” Zhao Jinyu stuck out her tongue playfully, then linked her arm through her mother’s, shaking it gently. “Don’t be angry. I just wanted to see what he looked like. Also, the ice production method I told you about was his idea; he even said he could help us expand our business next year.”

“That’s enough. You’re a respectable young lady, yet you secretly went out to meet a man. What will people say? If I catch you sneaking out again, I’ll marry you off to anyone just to have peace of mind,” Mrs. Wang said with a tired sigh, tapping her daughter lightly on the forehead.

“I know, I won’t run off again,” Zhao Jinyu breathed a sigh of relief.

Earlier, upon hearing that Xue Rui had come, she had hurriedly freshened up and rushed over to see what he wanted. She hadn’t expected news of her visit to the Xue household to leak out. Fortunately, her mother was understanding and had not made a fuss.

Mrs. Wang sat back down, pondering aloud, “He mentioned there will still be many properties and farmlands for sale in the capital. Could it be that the crisis here is not over?”

After the devastating defeat at Tumu Fortress, many families in the capital had hurried to flee, selling off properties and farmland in haste. But in the face of such turmoil, who dared to buy? Prices plunged to historic lows.

Even so, few buyers came forward. Thankfully, as the capital’s situation gradually stabilized, prices began to rise again.

Hearing Xue Rui’s words about more such sales to come, Mrs. Wang realized the crisis they thought had passed might return.

Zhao Jinyu, familiar with Xue Rui’s character and affairs, believed him to be truthful—this was likely real.

After some thought, she said to her mother, “It’s quite possible. Xue Rui is very purposeful and has foresight. He probably reminded us because the gifts you gave him before were too generous, and he wants to repay us a little.

“Although we’re not allowed to engage in other businesses, buying properties and farmland isn’t exactly business. We can watch and wait for the sales, then buy at the right moment. That’s a sure profit.”

“But mother worries that if we buy lots of property and the capital falls, won’t we lose everything?” Mrs. Wang fretted.

“That’s impossible. Given Xue Rui’s nature, he’d have already prepared backup plans if the capital was truly at risk. Remember, his master is Bao Zhangzheng, and his father is skilled in astrology and divination. They foresaw the Tumu defeat. If there’s a second danger, they will have predicted it.

“Even if the capital falls, we wouldn’t lose everything. Our own house and farmland could be moved,” Zhao Jinyu replied confidently.

“Very well. Since all the money we earn will be your dowry, if it’s lost, you won’t mind, and I don’t either,” Mrs. Wang said, seeing her daughter’s enthusiasm for Xue Rui’s proposal as an opportunity. Even if they suffered losses, the Zhao family’s foundation was strong enough to withstand it—it was a gamble they could afford.

“Mother, this business might be complicated if we do it alone. Why not involve the British Duke’s household? They can help share the burden.”

Hearing her mother’s agreement, Zhao Jinyu was pleased but carefully considered the risks.

“What kind of pressure do you think there will be?” Mrs. Wang asked curiously.

“Think about it. The last sellers of property and farmland—were they mostly commoners or wealthy families?”

“Of course, wealthy families. How many valuable properties would ordinary people have?”

“Exactly. If we buy these lands and properties, what if the sellers regret it later and want to buy them back with silver? If we refuse, we offend them; if we agree, our effort is wasted.

“You once said the British Duke’s household treasury was plundered by Zhang Zhong, and Lady Wu is worried about it. We could cooperate with the British Duke’s family, letting them purchase the properties openly while we provide the funds quietly, sharing profits proportionally.

“With the British Duke’s household standing in front, those wanting to back out wouldn’t dare to come knocking,” Zhao Jinyu said confidently.

“That’s a good idea,” Mrs. Wang’s eyes brightened. She had recently met Lady Wu, who lamented Zhang Zhong’s theft that almost prevented paying the servants their wages. Rumors even spread that the British Duke’s household was falling apart, causing unrest and some servants to flee.

Out of necessity, Lady Wu had to use the operating funds from several shops to pay wages on time, barely stabilizing morale.

Lady Wu’s urgent desire to make money was greater than ever; if approached for cooperation, she certainly wouldn’t refuse.

“No time to lose. I’ll go to the British Duke’s household now,” Mrs. Wang said, ordering her carriage to be prepared to discuss collaboration.

...

As someone who aspired to live lazily, Xue Rui was quite dissatisfied with the Ming Dynasty’s vacation system.

The court had clear rules: work five days, rest one. Yet he had been on duty for a whole month straight and only earned one day off.

Counting precisely, he had half a day’s rest before returning to work.

Actually, the affairs of the archive were not very busy. Astronomy officials took turns teaching; the class monitors supervised order and study tasks. Xue Rui only needed to schedule and handle trivial matters—quite dull.

Today, the only interesting thing was the ministers’ memorial to the Empress Dowager, requesting the Prince of Cheng be enthroned.

Recently, Empress Dowager Sun had been unhappy.

Upon learning her son’s decree to have the Ming defenders entertain the warlike Wala forces and reject cooperation with Datong generals’ rescue plan, she was deeply disappointed.

She could not understand how, unlike the late emperor who was both literary and martial, her son was so weak-willed that even his mother felt frustration bordering on despair.

Even an ordinary Ming subject committing such shameful acts would be condemned to the annals of disgrace.

But this alone did not plunge Empress Dowager Sun into hopelessness.

In the following days, she received worse news.

After the failed rescue plan at Datong, the general there, like a startled bird, abducted Zhu Qizhen and fled thousands of miles to the northern old camp at Black Pine Forest.

Such distance made rescue nearly impossible—even sending a message was difficult.

From then on, Empress Dowager Sun lost all hope of her son returning to the capital as emperor, turning instead to consider how to place her grandson Zhu Jianshen on the throne.

The Empress Dowager’s private intentions were well known to the ministers.

Though Zhu Jianshen was the most legitimate heir, he was only two years old and utterly incapable of making decisions amid the kingdom’s collapse, giving ministers ample reason to oppose his succession.

For a time, Empress Dowager Sun was helpless, resigned to wait for fate.

As expected, the next day ministers collectively submitted a memorial requesting the Prince of Cheng be made emperor.

Their memorial was concise: “The sacred court has moved north; the crown prince is young and inexperienced; the nation is in peril and hearts are restless. As the ancient saying goes: ‘A nation must have a wise ruler to ensure its prosperity.’ We petition to make the grand decision to secure the dynasty.”

Reading the attached list of officials’ names, Empress Dowager Sun trembled with anger. Torn between personal bias and the realm’s welfare, she found no sufficient reason to support her grandson.

After a day and night’s thought, she finally relented, accepting the ministers’ proposal to enthrone Prince of Cheng Zhu Qiyu as emperor to face the crisis together.

After lunch, while Xue Rui was resting in the duty room, a sudden cheer from the observatory woke him.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked out the window to see over a dozen astronomy students gathered, chattering excitedly.

Bang, bang, bang—

Just as he planned to send someone to inquire, a knock came at the door.

Opening it, Fan Yan stood outside, waving a sheet of paper excitedly. “Chief steward, the Empress Dowager has issued an imperial edict agreeing to enthrone the Prince of Cheng. The Ministry of Rites just sent for the chief eunuch to discuss the ceremony. Our Ming Dynasty will soon have a new emperor!”

“That settles it,” Xue Rui said without surprise. The developments matched his predictions perfectly. With so many ministers’ support, the Prince of Cheng’s accession was inevitable.

Taking the memorial Fan Yan copied, Xue Rui saw the brief edict of only twenty-seven characters:

“You petitioned for a national plan, which we consent to. Henceforth, the Prince of Cheng shall ascend the throne. The Ministry of Rites shall prepare the ceremony and inform us of the date!”

This terse edict showed how reluctant Empress Dowager Sun was about enthroning the Prince of Cheng.

Near the end of his shift, Xu Dun hurried back from the Ministry of Rites, gathering all observatory officials to discuss the ceremony.

The enthronement ceremony’s date had to be fixed, a task naturally assigned to the observatory.

After discussion, Xu Dun and others chose two auspicious dates: the second and sixth days of the ninth lunar month.

The ceremony’s date must be free of eclipses or other ominous celestial events; if such occurred, the court would hold someone responsible, and many heads might fall.

With the dates set, Xu Dun summoned over sixty astronomy students to suspend their current tasks and focus on calculating the likelihood of any celestial disasters on those days, even forecasting weather to avoid delays from storms.

For this, Xue Rui, as archive steward, was assigned to assist the astronomers, ensuring all necessary documents and records were on hand for reference.

Though tedious, Xue Rui gathered the listed books and archives with the students and quickly completed the task.

The observatory was usually led by the director and deputy director, but both posts were vacant, so the task fell to Xu Dun.

In the four duty rooms, many astronomy students bent over abacuses, clicking away professionally.

They needed to submit precise results by tomorrow for the Ministry of Rites to prepare. Once the Prince of Cheng accepted the throne, the ceremony would be ready within three days.

“This is too troublesome,” Xue Rui muttered after delivering the documents, shaking his head.

He actually knew a convenient method to quickly determine if an eclipse would occur on a given day.

But given his current status, no one would believe him—and he might even be considered mad.

To be prudent, he planned to visit Bao Zhangzheng’s duty room and tell Hu Zhong about this method to improve the observatory’s efficiency.

The Prince of Cheng’s enthronement meant Hu Zhong would soon retire.

Recently, Hu Zhong had been organizing affairs to hand over duties to Xue Yuanhao.

Seeing Xue Rui peeking in, Hu Zhong joked, “You, little archive steward, why come here? Aren’t you afraid the students will rebel?”

“The archive has its own monitors. I just drop by occasionally—very dull,” Xue Rui smiled as he entered.

He lowered his voice mysteriously. “Master, I discovered a good method to calculate eclipses quickly!”

“Oh? You can calculate eclipses?” Hu Zhong was shocked. Eclipse calculations were the observatory’s most demanding work, with over half of the sixty or so astronomy students dedicated to it.

Xue Rui had been a student less than ten days; such knowledge was typically learned after deep study. Claiming he could calculate eclipses was hard to believe.

“Not really, I haven’t studied it formally,” Xue Rui lied.

In modern times, aided by computers and contemporary methods, eclipse prediction is trivial.

But in ancient times, his methods were useless; even if he knew them, it was as if he didn’t.

Hu Zhong was curious. “What’s your method?”

“It’s simple. I’ll demonstrate,” Xue Rui said, pulling a booklet from his pocket.

“I discovered a very useful rule: eclipses recur in the same position after 54 years and 33 days. If we take today as a reference point and look back 54 years and 33 days, if there was no eclipse then, it means there won’t be one today!”