Chapter 10: A Bit Nervous on My First Visit to the Brothel
The officials of the Hongwu era truly led miserable lives. By three in the morning, they had to get up, wash, dress, and then ride in horse-drawn carriages to the Forbidden City, only to walk to the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Lower-ranking officials lived far away and barely had time for breakfast.
In ancient times, people ate two meals a day—hearty food in the morning and lighter fare in the afternoon. Managing to eat even a sesame flatbread on the way was a luxury.
When it came to officials’ salaries, the situation was even worse. Don’t be fooled by Zhu Zhu’s current poverty; by the ninth year of Hongwu, he received an annual salary of 50,000 dan of grain, 25,000 guan of paper currency, 40 bolts of brocade, 300 bolts of silk, 100 bolts each of gauze and organza, 500 bolts of silk crepe, 1,000 bolts each of summer and winter cloth, 2,000 taels of cotton, 2,000 bundles of salt, 1,000 jin of tea, and monthly forage for fifty horses. Satin was supplied annually as materials for craftsmen and allocated from the royal household’s own production.
As for the ministers, in the Ming Dynasty, officials ranked fifth grade and above were considered senior cadres. Ministers of the Six Ministries, holding the second rank, received only 732 dan of annual grain salary, which was later adjusted to a monthly salary totaling 61 dan to prevent starvation.
A county magistrate earned 90 dan of grain yearly, and with the market price at only three qian of silver per dan, the upcoming northern expedition would cause grain shortages. Zhu Yuanzhang, ever resourceful, had the Ministry of Revenue convert officials’ grain salaries into paper money: 1,000 wen equaled one guan; one guan was convertible into one tael of silver; four guan converted to one tael of gold; one dan of rice was worth two guan in paper money—making the numbers seem more substantial.
However, Zhu had no grasp of economics, and the uncontrolled issuance of paper money caused depreciation. By the third year of Hongwu, a stable hand’s monthly wage had risen to forty guan in paper currency, while a county magistrate’s annual income was only 1,810 guan. Never mind a carriage; even for a stable hand, the wages were barely enough to survive.
Take, for example, Luo Furen, a Hongwen Library scholar holding a respectable fifth rank official position, equivalent to a prefectural governor in the provinces. How poor was he? He couldn’t afford a house within Nanjing city and had to live on its outskirts.
Because he often spoke frankly and dared to remonstrate in court, Zhu called him “Honest Luo.” Later, discovering he had been a subordinate of Chen Youliang, Zhu decided to visit his home to see if he was truly honest or merely pretending.
After winding through several alleyways, they found Luo’s two-room dilapidated tile-roofed house still leaking rain, shocking Zhu deeply. Just as Zhu called out for Minister Luo, Luo, standing on a ladder whitewashing, smiled up at him.
During the Hongwu era, honest officials went into debt to serve, and those who could no longer survive resorted to corruption. After all, this was the era of Hongwu’s prosperous reign; no one could resign easily, and many county and prefectural officials came to work shackled.
At least the cattle and horses needed to be fed; Zhu Yuanzhang believed that future capitalists would weep to see the hardships of his time.
Li Shanchang, from a distance, noticed a cold glint in the eyes of the Prince of Qin on the carriage, then whispered to Hu Weiyong beside him.
Zhu Zhu still had some pride; he leapt down and blended into the crowd of officials.
The imperial censors briskly patrolled among the ministers, inspecting for misconduct.
Suddenly, the Third-Rank Censor-in-Chief Tu Jie stopped in front of him and loudly declared, “The Prince of Qin is absent from the court session.”
Another censor immediately scribbled notes on his bamboo tablet.
Zhu Zhu shot him a glare, then rose and entered the hall as eunuchs announced the court session’s commencement.
The officials filed in, standing in order and shouting in unison: “We pay homage to Your Majesty; long live the Emperor, long live, long live forever.”
Zhu Yuanzhang nodded and said, “You may all rise.”
Eunuch Huang Gou’er, holding a dusting brush, stood before the throne and called out sharply, “Officials of the fourth rank and above, step forward to present your reports.”
“Minister of Censors Tu Jie impeaches Prince Zhu Zhu for absenteeism and disregard of court rules.”
“Censor Chen Ning impeaches Prince Zhu Zhu for riding the imperial carriage without permission.”
“I, Hu Weiyong, impeach Prince Zhu Zhu for overstepping his bounds and suspect treason.”
“I second that.”
“I second that.”
“I second that.”
“We all second that.”
Only Liu Bowen, Wang Guangyang, Yang Xian, Zhu’s father-in-law, Chang Yuchun, Li Wenzhong, Mu Ying, and Lan Yu stood motionless.
The entire court of civil and military officials dropped to their knees en masse. At the head stood the Left Prime Minister of the Secretariat, Li Shanchang, who casually glanced back at Zhu Zhu.
For the first time, Zhu Zhu witnessed the might of the prime minister.
Even Zhu Yuanzhang himself in the Hall of Supreme Harmony could not wield such command over the officials.
Old Zhu, seated calmly in the hall, seemed to regard the scene not as a forced palace coup but as a theatrical performance.
His mind still replayed the scene in the carriage where Zhu Zhu knelt before him:
“Father, I beg you to grant me one favor.”
“Hah, spit it out quickly. We have no money.”
“I ask to join the army’s northern expedition after the autumn harvest, but I have one condition.”
“What condition?”
“Remove my royal title.”
“Who do you fear? What I have given you, no one can snatch away.”
“On the battlefield, swords and spears are indiscriminate. I fear if something happens to me, it would hinder the army’s advance, causing the people to suffer prolonged war. I am Zhu Yuanzhang’s son; I want the world to know that the Zhu family only has sons who die in battle, never princes who are captured.”
“We understand.”
After a long sigh, Zhu Yuanzhang declared, “By imperial edict, Prince Zhu Zhu has violated regulations. Strip him of his coronet and robe, demote him to commoner status, and expel him from the Hall of Supreme Harmony.”
“Unworthy son Zhu Zhu obeys.”
Zhu Zhu removed his nine-lappet coronet and princely robes, handing them to the eunuch, then strode out of the hall in simple attire with steady steps.
Li Shanchang approached the throne and bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, justice knows no kinship. Today, I witness the law’s clarity; may our great Ming dynasty endure forever.”
“Long live the wise Emperor; may the Ming dynasty prosper eternally.”
“Long live the wise Emperor; may the Ming dynasty prosper eternally.”
Zhu Yuanzhang tapped the armrest of the dragon throne with his finger, silently vowing that one day he would make Zhu Zhu understand what true justice meant.
Only Liu Bowen stared blankly at Zhu Zhu’s retreating figure.
“How strange, how strange. He should have been doomed to a short life of debauchery and cruelty.”
Xu Da, having calculated and pondered for a long time, whispered, “Master Liu, what does my son-in-law’s face say?”
“Long and precise, with a celestial peak and jade column, extraordinary bone structure that penetrates the crown.”
Hearing the last phrase, Xu Da’s heart thumped wildly, and he cautiously glanced at Zhu Yuanzhang seated above.
...
After ten years of hard work as Zhu Yuanzhang’s son, Zhu Zhu suddenly found himself back to square one.
He smacked his forehead. Why did it feel so strange?
“Sanbao, do you have a bronze mirror?”
Taking the mirror from Sanbao, he examined it carefully. The swelling had gone down, but a bony nodule had grown in the middle of his forehead, resembling a horn.
His once delicate, fair face now looked like a little dragon’s, and he knew he would never charm women again.
He screamed, “Sanbao, bring me my big hat!”
Imperial physician Dai Sigong of the Imperial Medical Office closed his eyes as he took Zhu Zhu’s pulse.
“Your Highness’s pulse is steady; no surgery is required.”
“But there’s a horn on my forehead! How can I go out looking like this?”
Dai Sigong shook his head. “Your Highness, I specialize in internal medicine. For bone injuries, I am helpless.”
With that, he rose and left to attend other patients.
“Doctor Dai, please don’t leave. If nothing else, can you change my appearance? Have mercy and save me.”
Zhu Wenzheng, a high-ranking VIP of the Imperial Medical Office, had been bedridden for six months but was now able to hobble with a cane.
He struggled over beside Zhu Zhu and smiled, “Uncle, you’ve borne the crown for so many years without trouble. Besides, this is called the royal bone. Maybe one day you’ll change the dynasty.”
“Royal bone my foot. My father begged for food for eight years. Now I’m a commoner with no salary. Maybe one day you’ll find me among the beggars on the streets of Nanjing.”
“You act as if you’ve never begged before. I have experience in begging. Remember which restaurants in the capital have the best scraps.”
“Get lost! I’m meeting Er Ya to explore the entertainment quarter.”
“Why not wait for me to heal and come along? You heartless little brat.”
Zhu Wenzheng looked at his crooked legs and bent back, feeling melancholy; after all, he was an old escort guard.
...
Just as he reached the Zhengyang Gate, Li Jinglong, standing guard, stepped forward to block him.
“Cousin, the Empress Dowager has decreed that princes are not allowed to leave the palace at will.”
Ignoring him, Zhu Zhu continued walking.
“Do you have the Empress Dowager’s order?”
“No.”
“Cousin, please don’t make things difficult. If you have a verbal order, that would suffice.”
“No. I’m a commoner now; stop with the nonsense. Er Ya, hurry and take me to see what’s good.”
“Cousin, if you dare take the prince to places like the Qinhuai River, I’ll lose my head tomorrow.”
“Rules are for princes and dukes. I’m a commoner now. Any problem? No problem.”
“Cousin, I…”
“Enough. Lead the way.”
The Ming dynasty’s favorite entertainment quarter, the Jiaofangsi, was not the official Jiaofangsi under the Ministry of Rites but a collective term for government-run brothels. The former was a proper government office; the latter was more like a club. Though related, those in the know understood the difference.
The ten-mile Qinhuai River was a den of opulence and debauchery, the playground of the Six Dynasties’ elite.
Zhu Zhu, inspecting Ming’s entertainment industry, strode in square steps ahead, occasionally greeting familiar faces dressed in plain cloth or official attire.
“Ah, Minister Zhang of the Ministry of Rites, weren’t you supposed to be convalescing at home?”
“Minister Hong of the Ministry of Revenue, you’re already seventy yet still sharp as ever, your waist strong.”
“Isn’t that Li, Director of Military Service? And next to him, Minister He of the Ministry of Personnel. Didn’t expect you gentlemen to be comrades.”
“Gentlemen Li and He, you know I’m starving these days, but you’re too polite.”
Li Jinglong, trailing behind, felt like a social recluse hiding his face, dreading being seen.
“Well, isn’t this a coincidence? Vice Minister Wang of the Ministry of Works, congratulations on your promotion. With your department’s perks being less than the Ministry of Rites, isn’t that a bit unfair?”
Every official whose name Zhu called out felt like a bandit was robbing them and willingly handed over protection money.
With his chest puffed out, clutching a hefty bundle of paper money and silver, Zhu Zhu sighed, “This place truly breeds talent and fortune. Hmm, I should come here more often.”
“Er Ya, which of the sixteen buildings in Jinling shall we visit first?”
“Uncle, I’m Li Jiujiang now. Could you please stop calling me by my childhood nickname?”
“Alright, Er Ya.”
“Who’s the most popular now?”
“Of course, Miss Su Zhen’er of Yihong House.”
“Then we won’t go there.”
“Why?” Li Jinglong asked, puzzled.
“Are you stupid? If your father is charging into battle inside, and you barge in, he’ll be so scared he’ll lose his helmet and armor. How will you two still be father and son?”
Zhu Zhu tapped his head with a folding fan, scolding him for being hopeless.
And yet this was the Ming dynasty’s social butterfly.
After crossing a bridge, they arrived at a small courtyard with a two-story building.
The building was decorated simply yet elegantly—more like an academy than a brothel.
Upon entering, a matron in her late thirties, well-maintained except for crow’s feet around her eyes, sashayed over, greeting them, “Ah, the magpies were chirping this morning; I thought it was good news. Look who’s here—Young Lord Changsheng himself.”
This place knew how to entertain; the matron was dressed like a respectable lady.
She looped her arm through Li Jinglong’s and looked at Zhu Zhu. Although he wore a Taoist robe, the jade belt at his waist and the jewel dangling from his big hat’s brim betrayed his handsome visage like fireflies in the dark.
She giggled, “Young Master Chang, this young gentleman is a stranger, a remarkable youth. Whose son might he be?”
“I-I don’t know…” Li Jinglong stammered, covering his face and hurrying, having forgotten to consult beforehand.
Zhu Zhu pushed Li Jinglong aside and smiled, “Sister, my name is Xu Huizu. May I ask your honorable name?”
The matron’s heart blossomed. She took Zhu Zhu’s hand more warmly and said, “I’m Wu Fang, from the Duke of Wei’s household.”
“Oh, Sister Wu, it’s my first time visiting this esteemed place. Do you have any recommendations?”
“Master Xu, I have nothing else but the guarantee to make you happy.”
“In that case, Sister Wu, I entrust it to you.” Saying this, he handed a stack of paper money to “Mama Wu.”
She pushed it back, “You treat me as a stranger already? Today, the expenses are on me.”
With that, she pulled Zhu Zhu upstairs.
“Well then, young sir, I shall not decline your kindness.”
Li Jinglong stared in disbelief. You got a free ride, and you still claim it’s your first time here?