The silence in the throne room was thicker than the smoke in the Valley of the Screaming Ghosts. Trade? With the Mongols? The concept was so alien, so antithetical to centuries of "barbarian" policy, that the courtiers' minds simply refused to process it. They had been prepared for a decree of glorious pursuit, for a call to raise a mighty army to chase the scourge from the earth. They were not prepared for… commerce.
Minister Liu found his voice first, a strangled croak of outrage. "Your Majesty! This is… this is… unthinkable! To treat with those butchers after their aggression? To reward their savagery with our bounty? It is an insult to the thousands who have died defending our borders! It would show a weakness that would invite every tribe from here to the deserts of the west to test our resolve!"
Zhu Haolang sighed, the picture of a man forced to explain a simple concept to a particularly slow child. "Minister Liu, your passion is noted. And misplaced. How many men did we just lose in the Black Raven Valley?"
General Li, who had returned to deliver his report, stood stiffly. "Minimal casualties, Your Majesty. Fewer than a hundred Ming soldiers. The enemy lost thousands."
"And how many men would we lose in a protracted campaign to chase Batu across the steppe? How much silver would it drain from the treasury? How many fields would go untended because the farmers are off playing soldier?" the emperor asked, his voice flat. "Pursuit is expensive. Occupation is a bottomless pit. This," he gestured vaguely with a pastry, "is cheap. We have too much food. They need food. We sell it to them. Their horses are still weak, their morale is shattered. They will pay our price."
"But they are barbarians!" Liu insisted, his face purpling. "They understand only strength!"
"And we just showed them a strength they cannot comprehend," the emperor countered. "Now we show them a generosity that will confuse them even more. We are not rewarding them. We are making them dependent. Why raid when you can trade? Why starve when the Ming are your grocers? Within a generation, their children will grow up knowing that full stomachs come from our caravans, not from their bows. It is a far more durable wall than any stone you could build. And it doesn't require garrisons. It pays for itself."
He could see the dawning understanding on the faces of the more pragmatic ministers, like Wang. They saw the balance sheets. They saw the bottom line. Peace was profitable. War was a loss.
"The envoy will leave within the week," Zhu Haolang declared, ending the discussion. "The terms are non-negotiable. And to ensure there are no more… misunderstandings… General Li."
"Your Majesty?"
"You will take a detachment of men. You will not pursue Batu. You will go to the Valley of the Black Raven. You will build a monument."
"A monument, Your Majesty?"
"Yes. A tall one. Of stone. Inscribe upon it, in Chinese and Mongol script, the following: 'Here lies the ambition of those who mistake Ming generosity for weakness.' Then, below that, list the market prices for corn, sweet potatoes, and millet. And our rates for hired labor on irrigation projects."
General Li blinked. "You wish to… advertise our crops… on a memorial to a battle?"
"It's a multi-purpose monument," the emperor said, as if it were obvious. "It reminds them of the cost of aggression and informs them of the benefits of peace. Efficiency, General. Now, if there is no other business—"
"Your Majesty!" Minister Liu cried out, a last, desperate gambit. "This entire strategy, however unorthodox, relied on these new weapons! Weapons developed in secret, without the oversight of the full ministry! How can we be sure of their continued reliability? Or their safety? For all we know, they could be as dangerous to our men as to the enemy!"
It was a weak attack, but it was all he had left. He was trying to cast a shadow of doubt on the emperor's greatest triumph.
Zhu Haolang looked at Liu for a long, silent moment. The court held its breath.
"You raise an excellent point, Minister Liu," the emperor said, his tone dangerously pleasant. "Oversight is crucial. Which is why I am appointing you head of the newly formed Imperial Bureau of Technological Verification."
Liu's jaw dropped. "I… what?"
"All new inventions, all innovations, must pass your bureau's rigorous inspection before being deployed," the emperor continued, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You will be personally responsible for testing the safety and reliability of every new crossbow mechanism, every new formulation of 'loud fertilizer,' every improvement in agricultural tools. You will sign off on every one. Your name will be on the reports."
He leaned forward. "After all, who better than a man so concerned with tradition and safety to ensure our new methods are sound? The burden of proof is now on you, Minister. I expect your first report on the standardization of crossbow manufacturing by the end of the month. Do not disappoint me."
It was a masterstroke of bureaucratic assassination. Liu, the arch-traditionalist, was now shackled to the very innovations he despised. His career, his reputation, were now tied to their success. If he sabotaged them, he sabotaged himself. If they succeeded, he became their reluctant guardian. He was utterly neutered.
Minister Liu bowed, his body trembling with a mixture of fury and utter defeat. "As… as Your Majesty commands."
"Excellent. This audience is over." Zhu Haolang waved a hand. "I have a nap that is now several hours overdue. The realm is saved. Try not to break it before I wake up."
As the court dispersed, buzzing with the seismic shifts in policy and power, the Lazy Emperor retired to his pavilion. The immediate crises were averted. The famine was over. The invasion was broken. The opposition was leaderless.
He lay down on his divan, the sounds of a changing empire a distant lullaby. He had enriched the people and secured the border. All with a few simple, modern ideas and an overwhelming desire to avoid tedious work.
Just as he felt the sweet embrace of sleep, Eunuch Xi entered, clearing his throat softly.
"Your Majesty… forgive the intrusion… but the envoys from the Portuguese trading fleet have arrived. They are asking about setting up a permanent mission. And they have brought… a gift of something called 'chocolate'?"
Zhu Haolang opened one eye. A slow grin spread across his face.
"Send them in," he said.