activa-t Chapter 1 I, the Emperor, Want to Kill
Chapter 1 I, the Emperor, Want to Kill
"His Majesty!"
"The national treasury only has 190,000 taels of silver left!"
"Liaodong is three months behind on pay, Shaanxi is five months behind, and the soldiers along the nine borders are about to mutini!"
"You have no choice but to increase the Liaodong military pay today, whether you like it or not—"
He paused, raised his head, and fixed his gaze on the dragon throne, piercing through the dim candlelight in the hall:
"—We fear we cannot hold onto this Ming dynasty!"
Zhou Yanru knelt on the third step of the imperial throne, the hem of his crimson python robe trailing on the cold gold brick floor.
He was fifty-three years old, his temples were completely white, and his eyelids were swollen, but his back was straight—too straight, so straight that it didn't look like he was kneeling, but like he was standing.
His voice echoed beneath the dome of the hall, each word striking the ground with undisguised urgency.
The words fell.
The hall became even quieter.
It was so quiet that you could hear the crackling of the candle wicks popping, the suppressed breathing of a young official in the back row, and the distant howling of the wind whistling across the glazed tiles outside the hall.
More than thirty high-ranking civil and military officials knelt in the main hall, their faces filled with darkness.
The front row consists of high-ranking officials in scarlet robes, while the back row consists of officials in blue-green robes.
Some people kept their heads down, while others secretly raised their eyes, their gazes shifting between the dragon throne and the chief minister.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for that familiar response—fear, anger, and then, compromise.
This has been the case for the past fifteen years.
But today, the person on the dragon throne remains silent.
Li Ce opened his eyes.
The first feeling was cold.
A bone-chilling cold came from beneath him—it wasn't a bed, but a dragon throne made of hardwood covered in gold, which was still uncomfortable even with brocade cushions.
At that moment, unfamiliar memories, like ice water bursting through a dam, rushed into my mind.
It's not "remembering," it's "smashing in."
—The Ming Dynasty. Emperor Chongzhen. Li Zicheng. Huang Taiji.
—Liaodong. Shaanxi. The Nine Border Regions. Turmoil.
—Qianqing Palace. Zhou Yanru. Coup. Liaodong military pay.
Images and sounds, mixed with the original owner's fifteen years of fear, suspicion, and despair, and fragments of his own memories from six lifetimes of reincarnation, churned and collided within his skull.
He closed his eyes, then opened them again.
This time, the confusion in his eyes faded.
He saw it.
Seeing the kneeling crowd in the main hall, seeing the determined weariness on Zhou Yanru's face, seeing the furrowed brows of Minister of War Zhang Guowei, and seeing the thin but straight back of Left Censor-in-Chief Liu Zongzhou.
I also saw the slightly trembling hands of several young censors in the back row, hidden in their sleeves. I saw the flickering shadows cast by the candlelight on everyone's faces.
This is the sixth time.
This is the seventh time.
Li Ce's fingers gently caressed the gold-lacquered dragon carving on the armrest of the dragon throne.
It feels cool to the touch and has clear texture.
It's really back. Back to this point in time, this moment, and this scathing statement.
He took a slow breath.
The scent of the Qianqing Palace before dawn in late autumn—candle smoke, ink, aged wood, and… the human scent emanating from the kneeling group, a mixture of fear, scheming, greed, and the resentment of a few.
Then he spoke.
His voice was so calm that even he was surprised:
"Grand Secretary Zhou".
In three words: neither high nor low.
But like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, all eyes in the hall suddenly focused on it.
Zhou Yanru raised his head and looked at the emperor on the dragon throne.
It was still the same face—thin, pale, with dark circles under its eyes from years of insomnia. But its eyes… were different.
In the past, when driven to the brink of despair, the emperor's eyes would either be filled with suppressed anger or childlike fear.
But at this moment, those eyes were as deep as an ancient well, reflecting the flickering candlelight, yet they held no warmth whatsoever.
Are you threatening me?
Li Ce asked again, his tone even quite gentle.
The main hall was deathly silent.
Zhou Yanru's Adam's apple bobbed. He suppressed the strange feeling that momentarily overwhelmed him—it was just an illusion, surely the flickering candlelight. He knew Zhu Youjian all too well after all these years.
He kowtowed, his forehead touching the gold brick, producing a dull, soft sound.
"Your subject dares not."
When he looked up again, his face had regained its composure, but his words were sharper, like a razor-sharpened knife:
"I am merely stating the facts."
"If the Liaodong troops are not increased, the border troops will rebel, the Jurchens will breach the pass, and the capital will be in grave danger. At that time..."
Zhou Yanru paused, his gaze sweeping across the assembled ministers before finally settling back on the dragon throne. He then uttered, word by word, those words that pierced the heart:
"Does Your Majesty intend to become a ruler who brings about the downfall of a nation?"
"A monarch who lost his country".
The four words, like four ice-cold knives, hang over everyone's head.
Several veteran officials swayed. From the back row came suppressed sobs, the authenticity of which was unclear.
Zhou Yanru's lips curved into a very subtle smile. He knew how heavy those words were.
This emperor feared this most—historical records, his infamy, and the shame of facing his ancestors after death. In the past, simply uttering these four words was enough to make the emperor compromise.
Today will be no exception.
He waited. He waited for the emperor's trembling voice, for the words, "I...I grant permission."
But what he got in return was a laugh.
A very low laugh came from the direction of the dragon throne, as soft as a sigh, yet it sent a chill down the spines of all the ministers in the hall.
There was no anger or fear in that laughter, only a cold, almost cruel, sense of amusement.
Like a hunter watching its prey, still baring its teeth, fall into a trap.
A chill suddenly ran down Zhou Yanru's spine.
Li Ce slowly rose from the dragon throne. His bright yellow dragon robe rustled, and candlelight flowed over the dragon pattern, creating a shimmering, dark gold glow.
He wasn't very tall, and was even somewhat thin, but standing on the steps of the palace and looking down, he exuded an invisible sense of oppression.
"Grand Secretary Zhou is right."
He spoke, his voice carrying clearly throughout the hall:
"Without increased military pay, the Ming Dynasty will perish."
Zhou Yanru secretly breathed a sigh of relief, and a smile finally dared to appear on his lips. Sure enough, it was still…
But the next second—
"But the pay has been increased."
Li Ce's voice suddenly rose in pitch, like the clash of metal, striking everyone's eardrums:
"Where did this money come from?!"
He stepped forward, his boots landing on the edge of the steps, his gaze sweeping across the entire area like lightning:
"Snatch it from the mouths of people starving to death in the drought-stricken Shaanxi? Rob it from the fields devoured by locusts in Henan? Or take it from you—"
His fingers traced the faces of the thirty-odd people kneeling before him. Each word struck like a hammer blow:
"—These 'loyal ministers' who eat half a year's salary from the border troops in a single meal?!"
"Your Majesty!" Zhou Yanru's expression changed drastically, and he looked up abruptly.
"I have investigated."
Li Ce didn't give him a chance to speak at all, and bent down to grab a booklet from the dragon table.
The booklet was thick, with a cover made of ordinary blue cloth, the edges worn and frayed, and the inner pages yellowed and brittle.
He grabbed it, didn't even look at it, and slammed it hard onto His Majesty!
"Snapped!"
The booklets were spread out, white paper with black text, rustling all over the floor.
One of the censors glanced at it subconsciously, and in just one glance, his blood ran cold.
It was covered with dense text: time, place, people, amount, witnesses, and evidence.
"In the seventh year of the Tianqi reign, when you served as Vice Minister of Rites, you presided over the provincial examinations in Jiangnan and accepted 80,000 taels of silver as 'tribute' from the candidates!"
Li Ce's voice was devoid of any emotion, as if he were reading from a case file in the Ministry of Justice:
"In the second year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, when you were promoted to Grand Secretary, a wealthy merchant from Shanxi gifted you three estates on the outskirts of Beijing, valued at 50,000 taels of silver!"
"In the eighth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, your nephew smuggled salt permits in Yangzhou, evading 120,000 taels of silver in taxes—"
He paused, looking down at Zhou Yanru, whose face was ashen white:
"Is this silver enough to pay the soldiers in Liaodong for three months?"
Zhou Yanru was struck dumb, trembling all over: "Your Majesty! This...this is slander! Your subject, your subject..."
"Is this slander?" Li Ce interrupted him, his eyes like knives. "The hidden compartment under the third floor tile in the West Flower Hall of your residence was opened last night at midnight."
Should I have the account books inside brought in now for us to check them in court?
Zhou Yanru opened his mouth, making a "hoarse" sound in his throat, but couldn't utter a single word. The color drained from his face, as if his soul had been emptied.
Li Ce stopped looking at him and turned his gaze to another figure in the front row of the civil officials' queue—a wealthy-looking official in a scarlet robe with a gleaming eye.
"Chen Yan, Grand Secretary of the Dongge Pavilion."
Chen Yan, whose name was called, froze, nearly dropping his ceremonial tablet. He managed a weak smile and said, "Your subject... Your subject is here."
Li Ce looked at him, his tone even carrying a hint of curiosity:
"Minister Chen, you were able to be reinstated during the Tianqi era by associating with the remnants of Wei Zhongxian's faction, and in the early Chongzhen era, you used the name of the 'pure stream' to opportunistically rise to power."
"I'm very curious, how did you manage to rise steadily in rank and amass such wealth over the past ten years?"
Chen Yan's fat face began to tremble: "Your Majesty, please be wise! Your Majesty, I have always been honest and upright, with nothing to my name..."
"Incorruptible?" Li Ce precisely picked up a piece of paper from the ground and read aloud: "In the ninth year of Chongzhen's reign, when you served as the Prefect of Shuntian Prefecture, you used the pretext of dredging the canal to falsely report 50,000 taels of silver for labor and materials, which you split three-seven with corrupt officials in the Ministry of Works."
"In the eleventh year of Chongzhen's reign, you were promoted to Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue, in charge of the allocation of grain and provisions in Liaodong."
Of the grain and salary you issued, six out of every ten shi (a unit of dry measure) was moldy, sandy soil; the difference went into the money exchange you jointly owned with Shanxi merchants.
He raised his head, his gaze sharp as a needle:
"Should I summon the quartermaster who returned from Xuanfu to complain, and the manager of your Shanxi bank, to the palace for a confrontation right now?"
Chen Yan's legs went weak, and he knelt down with a thud, sweat pouring down his face, soaking the front of his official robe instantly. He tried to explain, but his tongue seemed to be tied in knots, only managing to utter strange "uh...uh..." sounds.
Li Ce ignored him and shifted his gaze to the ranks of military officers on the right.
There knelt a dozen or so armored generals, their heads bowed, not daring to utter a sound.
"Wang Pu, the General Commander of Xuanfu!"
A burly general with a fierce face trembled violently, his inner shirt instantly soaked with cold sweat: "Your Majesty... Your Majesty is here!"
Li Ce looked at him, his tone as calm as if he were asking about the weather:
"In the winter of the eleventh year of Chongzhen's reign, the Jurchen invaded. You led your troops to avoid battle, resulting in the massacre of three villages in Xuanfu."
"Afterwards, he falsely reported that two hundred people had been beheaded and fraudulently claimed 15,000 taels of silver as military merit."
Wang Pu's knees buckled, and he almost collapsed to his knees: "I am innocent! That was..."
"Your subordinate, Zhao Dezhu, confessed in prison last night at the hour of Chou (1-3 AM)."
Li Ce took out a piece of paper from his pocket and shook it gently. The paper was new, the ink was new, and a bright red handprint was pressed on it, dazzling in the candlelight.
"The ledgers containing your misappropriation of military pay and resale of military rations are now in the Jinyiwei's office."
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze seemingly able to penetrate the palace walls:
"Should I have Li Ruolian deliver this now, and read it to you in front of all the veteran soldiers?"
Wang Pu collapsed, like a skinned corpse with its bones removed, sprawled on the cold gold bricks, a dark stain spreading beneath him. His lips trembled, unable to utter the words "injustice."
You could hear a pin drop in the main hall.
The only sounds were the occasional crackling of the candle flame and heavy, suppressed breathing.
All the ministers were stunned. Those who were still kneeling began to exchange glances furtively—glances of terror, disbelief, and utter despair.
This emperor, who has always been indecisive and controlled by the civil service for fifteen years, seems like a completely different person today!
No. It's a different knife. A knife that, once drawn, draws blood and is piercingly sharp.
Li Ce's gaze slowly swept across the entire room.
My gaze lingered for a moment on the face of Zhang Guowei, the Minister of War—his face showed shock and solemnity, but his eyes were open and honest.
My gaze lingered for a moment on the face of Liu Zongzhou, the Left Censor-in-Chief—his gaunt face was filled with deep sorrow, yet his back was ramrod straight.
His gaze finally settled on those pale-faced, trembling figures.
"Now,"
After an unknown amount of time, Li Ce finally spoke again, his voice regaining its previous calmness, yet sending a chill down everyone's spines:
"Let's talk about the pay rise again."
No one dared to speak. Even the faintest sobs ceased.
"Liaodong owes 1.2 million taels of silver for three months. Shaanxi owes 800,000 taels of silver for five months. The total amount owed by the nine border garrisons is 2.4 million taels of silver."
Every time Li Ce announced a number, a group of ministers would tremble uncontrollably.
"In total, four million four hundred thousand taels."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces in the room—faces that were either deathly pale, sallow, flushed, or blank—as if icy cold.
"But the national treasury only had 190,000 taels."
Another suffocating silence descended.
Then, Li Ce suddenly laughed.
The smile was faint, almost invisible, yet it sent chills down the spines of everyone who saw it.
"But in your homes,"
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered, as if sharing a secret only they could hear, yet every word pierced clearly into everyone's ears:
"It seems... there's much more than that number."
"His Majesty!!"
An elderly minister, his hair and beard completely white, finally broke down, crying and collapsing to the ground, his forehead pounding against the gold bricks with a series of dull thuds.
"We, your subjects, are honest and upright in serving the country, with nothing to our name or wealth! This must be a frame-up by the secret police, a treacherous person deceiving Your Majesty! Your Majesty, please see the truth! Please see the truth!!"
"Do you have it?"
Li Ce's voice suddenly turned cold, and the temperature plummeted:
"My word is law."
He stopped looking at the old minister who was kowtowing repeatedly, and instead cast his gaze into the dark corner deep within the hall, as if he could penetrate the layers of palace walls and see into the distance.
He took a deep breath, a breath that seemed to inhale all the chronic illnesses and burdens of the Ming Dynasty, and then shouted in a deep voice:
"Someone come here—"
All the ministers trembled violently, and many almost collapsed.
The palace gates burst open with a roar.
He was neither a eunuch nor a palace maid.
They are armored soldiers.
He wore gleaming mountain-patterned armor, a scarlet helmet plume, a goose-feather saber at his waist, and iron-mesh boots on his feet.
Twenty armored soldiers filed in and lined up on both sides of the hall, their movements perfectly synchronized, the clatter of their armor against each other producing a cold, clanging sound.
The leader, a man in his forties, had a resolute face, a shallow scar on his cheekbone, and eagle-like eyes. He stood with his hand on his sword beneath the steps, bowing slightly.
"Zhou Yuji, the military commander of the Brave Guard Battalion, is hereby ordered to obey the imperial decree."
His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear, carrying the menacing aura of someone who had fought on the battlefield.
Immediately afterwards, another group of people entered through the side door.
They were all dressed in dark blue robes, with embroidered spring knives at their waists, their faces cold and stern, their eyes sharp.
The leader was thin, with slightly high cheekbones and lips pressed into a straight line; he was none other than Li Ruolian, the deputy commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
He walked to the steps of the palace, stood side by side with Zhou Yuji, and bowed with his hands clasped.
"Li Ruolian, Deputy Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, awaits your orders."
The hall was deathly silent.
The only sounds were the occasional soft clatter of the beetles and the crackling of the burning candle.
Li Ce slowly stood up.
He walked to the edge of the steps, looking down at the ministers kneeling below, their expressions varied. His voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable resolve:
"The evidence against Zhou Yanru, Chen Yan, Wang Pu, and others is substantial and verifiable. To avoid confusion and collusion—"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the several bloodless faces:
"From this day forward, all of you are to reside temporarily in the West Garden wing rooms to 'assist' the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Eastern Depot in their investigations. All your food and lodging needs will be provided by the Inner Court without fail."
As soon as he finished speaking, Zhou Yanru looked up abruptly, his eyes filled with terror: "Your Majesty! We are all important officials of the court, how can we be judged based on only one side's words..."
"Grand Secretary Zhou".
Li Ce interrupted him, his tone even somewhat gentle:
"If it's just your side of the story, I will clear your name. If the evidence is conclusive—"
He smiled, but there was no warmth in his smile.
"The tea in the imperial prison has been brewed."
Zhou Yanru's body went limp, and he almost collapsed. Chen Yan fainted and was supported by the Imperial Guards nearby.
Li Ce stopped looking at them and turned to Li Ruolian and Zhou Yuji:
"Li Tongzhi, you will personally escort Grand Secretary Zhou, Scholar Chen, General Wang, and others to the West Garden."
"General Zhou, your men—guard all the gates of the West Garden. Without my decree, no one is allowed to enter or leave, nor to deliver any messages."
"Your Majesty, we obey!" the two replied in unison.
Li Ruolian waved her hand, and several Imperial Guards stepped forward to "help" Zhou Yanru, Chen Yan, Wang Pu, and others to their feet. Their actions appeared respectful, but their fingers were like iron clamps, leaving no room for struggle.
The armored soldiers brought by Zhou Yuji quickly took control of all the exits of the main hall, their iron armor imposing.
Li Ce's gaze finally turned to the officials who had not been named.
Minister of War Zhang Guowei, Left Censor-in-Chief Liu Zongzhou, Minister of Revenue Fu Shuxun, and others remained kneeling in place, their faces solemn, but their backs still straight.
"Zhang Guowei".
"Your subject is here." Zhang Guowei raised his head, his eyes open and honest.
"Liu Zongzhou".
"This old minister is here," Liu Zongzhou said calmly.
"Fu Shuxun, Li Rixuan, Zheng Sanjun, Liu Zunxian—" Li Ce announced a string of names, all of whom were ministers and officials not affected by the proclamation. "You should all return to your offices. Those who need to govern should govern, those who need to raise funds should raise funds, and those who need to adjudicate cases should adjudicate cases. Today's matter has nothing to do with you."
He paused, his voice slightly lower, and his gaze swept over everyone:
"But if anyone uses this as an excuse to cause trouble, collude with others, or neglect official duties—my sword does not discriminate."
Zhang Guowei bowed deeply: "Your Majesty's teachings will be firmly remembered. We will be dutiful and dare not err."
Liu Zongzhou raised his withered hand, cupped his hands, and said, "This old minister has only one question: Is Your Majesty's action for the sake of the national treasury or for the sake of the state?"
Li Ce looked at him and slowly said, "If the national treasury is empty, the state will collapse. If the state is unstable, the national treasury will never be full. Minister Liu, I am scraping the bone today to cure the poison tomorrow."
Liu Zongzhou gazed at the emperor for a moment, then bowed again: "This old minister...will wait and see."
Li Ce nodded and waved his hand: "Dismiss the court."
The ministers felt as if they had been granted a pardon, but they dared not get up immediately. They looked at each other, then slowly stood up, bowed their heads, and filed out of the hall.
As everyone passed by the steps, they could feel the cold gaze of the armored soldiers on both sides, and the piercing eyes of Zhou Yuji and Li Ruolian.
The hall was soon empty.
Only Li Ce, Wang Chengen, and the twenty armored soldiers remained.
Li Ce walked back to the dragon throne and sat down.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.
When he opened his eyes, the cold killing intent in them faded slightly, replaced by a deep weariness, and... a very faint, almost invisible resolve.
"Wang Chengen".
"This old servant is here." The old eunuch hurriedly stepped forward.
"Issue the imperial decree," Li Ce's voice was soft, yet each word was clear, "Order the Deputy Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Commander of the Beijing Garrison to meet me at midnight tonight in the East Warm Pavilion of the Qianqing Palace."
Tell them—
He paused, looking at the gradually brightening sky outside the hall:
"My sword has only just been drawn."
Wang Chengen bowed: "This servant obeys your command."
He left the main hall, his footsteps fading into the distance on the empty white marble plaza.
Li Ce sat alone on the dragon throne, looking at the empty gold brick floor below, at the scattered blue cloth book, and at the flickering candlelight.
This is the seventh time.
This time, he wanted everyone to see—
This knife will first cut away the rotten flesh, then point it at the enemy.
Outside the window, the sky was gradually brightening.
The morning light pierced through the clouds and shone on the glazed tiles of the Qianqing Palace, giving them a cold, golden hue.
And from this moment on, a storm that would sweep across the entire Ming Dynasty officially began.