Chapter 5: You see, I, your uncle, absolutely loathe it when people go back on their word.

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Zhu Hua listened to the two elderly men argue for quite a while before finally grasping the gist: all the official historical records of the Yuan dynasty's central government were stored within the imperial palace of Dadu, the Yuan capital.

A hundred years after the fall of the Qing dynasty, the official History of Qing still remains unfinished—a period marked by advanced transportation and explosive information flow.

Now, in ancient times, with poor communication and limited transportation, retrieving local chronicles or county records to supplement history required tremendous manpower and resources.

Moreover, the northern region was fragmented among multiple warlords. Though nominally under Yuan control, they were entirely hostile to the emerging Ming dynasty. The most difficult matter was Toghon Temür, who was still alive. The Yuan dynasty lasted only ninety-eight years, but he alone reigned for thirty-seven of those years—longer than Kublai Khan, the founding emperor, who ruled for thirty-four. The remaining nine emperors shared just twenty-seven years.

Emperor Shundi was practically half the history of the Yuan dynasty; without him, any attempt to compile the Yuan history would be laughable.

Furthermore, after Shundi fled north of the Gobi, he retained the Yuan imperial title, known historically as the Northern Yuan dynasty’s third reign, until General Lan Yu’s decisive victory at the Battle of Poyuerhai finally consigned the Yuan to history’s dustbin.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince, compiling this History of Yuan is like trying to cook without rice,” the two old men said helplessly, spreading their hands.

Zhu Hua knew it was due to lack of funds and manpower. Though the newly enthroned Emperor Zhu had countless strategists and generals at his command, there were only a handful of capable civil officials. These two elders, besides working on the history, also carried out various official duties. At this time, many scholars still harbored illusions about the Yuan dynasty. Only when the Ming army broke through Dadu and Toghon Temür fled north to herd sheep did the Ming court truly unite the realm.

Zhu Hua did not ask the obvious question of why there was no money. Unfortunately, he was not born as the crown prince; otherwise, he would dare to suspend activity in the Forbidden City, the Central Capital, and even Xiaoling Mausoleum.

Alas, he was the least favored son of Emperor Zhu. Had he spoken out, the next day he might have been strung up on the city walls of Nanjing to dry in the wind.

“Your Highness, I have heard of a scholar named Gao Qi from the south, who calls himself Qingqiuzi. His poetry and prose are renowned throughout the land. Perhaps Master Song could invite him to assist with the national history? The lure of leaving an immortal legacy ought to move him,” Zhu Hua suggested.

Song Lian shook his head. “Your Highness, Gao Jidi is wholly devoted to poetry. He once composed ‘Ascending Yuhuatai in Jinling, Gazing at the Great River’ to praise our new dynasty’s vitality, which pleased the Emperor greatly. His Majesty rewarded him with gold and appointed him as Right Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue. Yet he refused both, steadfast in his humility. Such a man cannot be tempted by fame or wealth.”

Song Lian had some acquaintance with Gao Qi but deemed it unwise to offend the petty-minded Zhu Yuanzhang for this.

Zhu Hua was familiar with the poem “Ascending Yuhuatai in Jinling, Gazing at the Great River”—it was a blatant piece of flattery toward Emperor Zhu. At every family banquet earlier in the year, the Emperor would recite it repeatedly before his sons. The line “I am fortunate to live under the sage who rose in the southern land; chaos is quelled, and peace restored” was so nauseating it gave Zhu Hua goosebumps.

He had thought Gao Qi was a sycophant, but it turned out the real clown was Emperor Zhu himself.

After long discussion without resolution, the two elders excused themselves, citing pressing official duties.

Zhu Hua, keeping a low profile, counted the tea leaves drifting in his cup. When he looked up, he met his eldest brother, the Crown Prince’s hopeful gaze, and inwardly cursed.

“Second brother, what are we drinking tonight?” the Crown Prince asked earnestly.

“Damn, big brother,” Zhu Hua replied, warmly taking his hand and leading him to the study. He swiftly dismissed the eunuchs, closed the door quietly, and touched a seemingly ordinary toad ornament in the corner of the bookshelf. With a rumbling sound, the entire shelf slid aside, revealing a hidden compartment—a whole wall lined with shelves filled with fine wines.

Zhu Biao, the Crown Prince, grinned proudly. “Second brother, how do you like my setup?”

Zhu Hua nodded blankly. “Not bad at all.”

“Something literary or martial?” Zhu Biao asked, struggling on a ladder as he pulled down two jars of wine.

“Something mild, we have court at dawn tomorrow.”

“Got it.” Zhu Biao returned one jar to the shelf.

“Come on, little brother, let’s drink.”

The two removed their shoes and sat on the small bed in the study.

Zhu Biao produced a spread of cold dishes like a magician from the table.

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“These are marinated delicacies I secretly ordered from Xu Xingzu this morning—perfect with wine.”

Zhu Biao poured him a full cup and filled his own. The brothers began their drinking game, passing the cup back and forth. After a while, the jars were nearly empty.

Zhu Biao’s face flushed, his eyes glassy as he held Zhu Hua’s hand, complaining, “I can’t bear being the Ming Crown Prince for even another day. You don’t know how restless our father is. The northern campaign is set for next year. Before the troops move, the supplies must be secured, and the Ministry of Revenue’s treasury is already running dry. Yet he insists on rebuilding Fengyang and the Central Capital. Ugh.”

He hiccupped, but Zhu Hua was unfazed—these two had often sneaked drinks from the Emperor in past years.

Having survived many workplace trials in a previous life, Zhu Hua considered a little alcohol nothing more than a warming of the stomach.

“Right, right, the old Zhu is indeed hard to manage—a classic hyperactive maniac. If you don’t want to be Crown Prince, who else? Just endure a few more years,” Zhu Hua replied.

Zhu Biao pointed at him, laughing. “Second brother, you take the throne.”

Zhu Hua paid no mind to whether this was a drunken test—they had been testing each other for years, and he was tired of it. Becoming Crown Prince under Emperor Zhu? No thanks. He wanted to live a few more years.

“Get lost, get lost. No way I’m becoming Zhu the Flayed. I want to live longer,” he said with a smile and a curse.

The Crown Prince clapped his hands, laughing heartily. “Zhu the Flayed—perfect! What was that catchphrase again?”

“Absolutely perfect.”

“My dear brother, truly perfect. Let’s toast to Zhu the Flayed.”

“To Zhu the Flayed,” they clinked glasses.

“Second brother, this miserable task of compiling national history really burdens me. I have no capable men under me. Only you can help.”

Zhu Hua was momentarily stunned, cursing inwardly, “I treat you as a brother, and you just use me as drinking company.”

They drank late into the night. When eunuchs carried Zhu Biao back to his chambers, Zhu Hua turned away disdainfully. “Pah, little weakling.”

“Second lord, what does little weakling mean?” his personal young eunuch Gou Bao asked curiously, carrying a lantern ahead.

“It means weak and fond of drinking,” Zhu Hua replied, slightly tipsy and yawning.

The palace’s strict rules were numerous. After dark, the gates between the main halls were locked; only the Emperor, Empress, and Crown Prince could pass. Princes like him had to take long detours. Damn the rigid feudal hierarchy.

Passing a small courtyard belonging to the Directorate of Ceremonial, Zhu Hua suddenly heard the sharp cracking of a whip. Angry, he ordered, “Gou Bao, go see who the hell is disturbing the peace at this hour.”

Gou Bao hurried off. Zhu Hua, watching the short legs and round figure of his eunuch, thought of the Teemo champion from his previous life’s video games—he must be suffering withdrawal.

Soon came a scream from the courtyard. Gou Bao had been struck.

Furious, Zhu Hua stormed in only to find a group of eunuchs bullying a young eunuch. The victim was stripped bare above the waist and pressed against a well. A burly middle-aged eunuch wielded a whip, lashing the boy repeatedly. The whip was dipped in salt between strikes. Despite being beaten to bruises and bloody welts, the young eunuch remained silent.

Nearby, Gou Bao was being ridden by two younger eunuchs, who alternated beating him while he begged for mercy.

Fueled by anger and drink, Zhu Hua charged forward and with a powerful kick sent the two tormentors sprawling unconscious.

He grabbed the beaten Gou Bao, who cried, “Master, they are unreasonable and violent.”

Seeing his tears and snot, Zhu Hua slapped him and scolded, “I'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.