Emperor Zhu Haolang's first imperial decree, issued from his bed, sent shockwaves through the Forbidden City.
"Bring me the Grand Secretary and the Minister of Revenue. And someone fetch me a bowl of those icy longan fruits. The iced ones, mind you."
The court physicians fretted about his health, but the new emperor was insistent. Lying in bed, enjoying sweet, chilled fruit—thank you, ancient ice-house technology—was his kind of ruling.
The Grand Secretary, a stern old man named Zhang, and the Minister of Revenue, a portly man named Wang with a perpetually worried expression, arrived and kowtowed.
"Your Majesty, we are overjoyed at your recovery," Zhang began, his voice like grinding stones. "The matters of state, however, are pressing. The drought in the northern provinces of Shaanxi and Shanxi worsens. The spring rains never came. The crops have failed utterly."
Minister Wang wrung his hands. "The refugees, Your Majesty… they number in the hundreds of thousands. They are migrating south, towards the capital. Banditry is on the rise as desperate people turn to desperate means. The local granaries are empty. We face a crisis of famine and civil unrest."
The old Zhu Haolang would have waved a dismissive hand and asked for another poem to be read. Li Wei, however, felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He might want to be lazy, but he wasn't heartless. Hundreds of thousands of people starving? That was a statistic he'd only seen on his computer screen, not outside his palace walls.
He sighed dramatically, playing the part of the indolent monarch. "Ugh, such tedious problems. Very well. Minister Wang, open the imperial granaries. Set up porridge kitchens along the main refugee routes. No, wait." He paused, a modern idea sparking. "Don't just give them porridge. That's inefficient. Create a 'food-for-work' program."
The two ministers stared blankly. "Food-for… work, Your Majesty?"
"Yes, yes," Zhu Haolang said, waving a lazy hand. "We will feed them, but in exchange, they must work. Have them dig new irrigation canals, repair roads, build sturdy shelters for themselves. It gives them dignity, keeps them from becoming bandits, and improves our infrastructure. A trifling idea, really. See it done."
Minister Wang's eyes widened. It was a simple, brilliant solution to multiple problems. The lazy drawl with which it was delivered made it seem both obvious and beneath the emperor's concern, yet its impact would be profound.
"And you, Grand Secretary Zhang," the emperor continued, popping another iced longan into his mouth. "Stop looking so grim. It's bad for your digestion. Now, about these failing crops… what are they planting out there? Millet? Wheat?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. As always."
"Boring. And low-yielding," Zhu Haolang muttered, thinking of the data charts he used to study. "I had the most fascinating dream while I was unconscious. A vision from the Jade Emperor, perhaps. He spoke of miraculous crops from lands across the southern seas. One was a tuber, grows in the ground, called 'sweet potato.' It's drought-resistant, grows in poor soil, and yields three, four times more per acre than grain."
He described the corn cob. "Another, a tall grass with golden kernels stacked on a 'ear.' Incredibly versatile."
The ministers were speechless. Visions from the Jade Emperor?
"So here is what you will do," the emperor said, settling back into his pillows as if exhausted by the effort. "Dispatch the Treasure Fleet. Or what's left of it. Send ships south with my edict and descriptions of these plants. They are to find them and bring them back. This is now the empire's highest priority."
"But Your Majesty," Zhang stammered, "the Treasure Fleet voyages are expensive, and the southern seas are treacherous—"
"Then they should be careful," Zhu Haolang interrupted, his voice taking on a sharp edge he didn't know he possessed. It was the voice of command. "Or would you prefer to explain to me why we let our people starve when a solution might exist? I wish to nap. You are dismissed."
Terrified and exhilarated, the two highest officials of the realm kowtowed and scrambled out. The lazy emperor had just issued the most radical, decisive orders of his reign without even getting out of bed.