The Portuguese envoys were a spectacle the Forbidden City had never witnessed. Their garish doublets and puffy hose were a stark contrast to the elegant silks of the Ming courtiers. They smelled of sea salt, sweat, and a strange, pungent odor that Zhu Haolang recognized as unwashed European. They marched in with a swagger that was both comical and dangerously ignorant, their eyes wide with a mixture of avarice and awe at the unimaginable wealth surrounding them.
Their leader, a man with a florid face and an impressive red beard named Captain Silva, offered a bow that was more of a stiff nod. He launched into a speech in halting, poorly practiced Mandarin, extolling the power of King Manuel I, the wonders of Portugal, and their desire for trade, missionaries, and a permanent foothold.
Zhu Haolang listened while idly examining the gift they had presented. It was a large, ornately carved wooden box. Inside, nestled on velvet, were several dark, gritty-looking bricks.
"…and we bring you a delicacy prized by the nobles of Europa!" Captain Silva announced with pride. "The cocoa bean! A drink of the gods!"
A eunuch, following the emperor's lazy gesture, brought a brazier and a pot of hot water. The Portuguese demonstrated, grating the brick into the hot water, creating a murky, bitter-looking sludge. They added copious amounts of sugar from a separate pouch and offered the cup to the emperor.
The court watched, repulsed. It looked like mud.
Zhu Haolang took a sip. It was awful. Gritty, overly sweet, and weak. The primitive processing of the beans left much to be desired. But underneath the crudity, he tasted it. Chocolate.
He closed his eyes, a beatific smile on his face. The taste of his past life. The memory of convenience stores and candy bars was so vivid it was a physical ache.
Captain Silva beamed, taking the emperor's expression for one of profound pleasure. "You see! A marvel!"
Zhu Haolang opened his eyes. "It is… passable," he said, his tone dismissive. "The Aztecs prepare it with chili peppers and vanilla. Far superior. You have clearly misunderstood the recipe."
The Captain's smile vanished. "The… the Aztecs? Vanilla?" He paled. How could this emperor, who had never left China, know of the New World ingredients they had only just begun to exploit?
"Your information is outdated, Captain," the emperor continued, waving a hand. "We are aware of the lands beyond the seas. Your 'India' is not the only source of spices." He took another sip, making a show of his disappointment. "This is a peasant's drink. The Ming palate is more refined."
He saw the Portuguese deflate, their confidence shattered. They had come to impress a backward monarch with exotic wonders, only to find he knew more about their own treasures than they did.
"However," Zhu Haolang said, as if struck by a sudden, merciful thought. "The bean itself has… potential. We might find a use for it. You may establish your trading mission. In Canton. Not here."
The Portuguese perked up immediately.
"But," the emperor's voice turned icy. "There will be no missionaries. The gods of the Ming have served us well enough for five thousand years. We are not in the market for new ones. You will trade according to our rules, our prices, and our schedules. You will bring us these cocoa beans. And vanilla. And the seeds of the chili pepper. And samples of your best steel and glassmaking. In return, you may purchase limited quantities of silk and porcelain."
It was a brutal negotiation. He was demanding their most valuable biological and technological secrets in exchange for the privilege of buying luxury goods. He was treating them not as esteemed partners, but as slightly incompetent suppliers.
Captain Silva could only nod, utterly outmaneuvered. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. Now, as for this…" Zhu Haolang pointed at the cup of gritty chocolate. "Our imperial chefs will… refine the process. You may go. Minister Wang will see to the details."
As the bewildered Portuguese were led away, Zhu Haolang turned to Minister Wang, his eyes alight with a new, lazy ambition.
"Find me a clever artisan. Someone who works with metals and tools. I have some ideas for a… pressing mechanism. And a grinding stone that produces a much finer powder. And we'll need to source milk from those northern pastures we just saved."
"You wish to improve the barbarian drink, Your Majesty?" Minister Wang asked, confused.
"I wish to create a product so delicious, so addictive, and so exclusively Ming, that we can sell it back to them for a hundred times what we pay for the beans," the emperor said. "We'll call it… 'The Emperor's Divine Nectar.' Or something suitably pompous. The point is, we take their raw material, add value through Ming ingenuity, and sell them the finished product. It's the ultimate lazy business model. We let them do the hard work of sailing around the world to get the beans, and we make all the profit."
He leaned back, a new vision unfolding in his mind. A vision of a Ming Dynasty that wasn't just agriculturally and militarily superior, but also the global epicenter of luxury and technology. A nation so advanced and so wealthy that potential enemies would rather do business than fight.
It was the laziest foreign policy of all: make yourself so rich and useful that conquest is more trouble than it's worth.
Eunuch Xi approached cautiously. "Your Majesty, the nap?"
Zhu Haolang sighed. "Postponed. It seems I have to invent conching and tempering. The things I do for this empire." He picked up the gritty chocolate brick. "But first, someone find me a chili pepper. This is undrinkable."