Chapter 2919: Fang Zhenghua (2)

"How did you know I intended to commission you to garrison Fujian?"

Fang Zhenghua's heart went cold. He flung himself to the floor and knocked his head: "Your servant deserves death! Your servant presumptuously fathomed the sacred intent — the crime deserves ten thousand deaths!" His forehead struck the gold bricks with a hollow drumming.

Chongzhen waved him up with an impatient hand. "Since it has come to this, I shall speak plainly with you. My mind is settled. I mean to appoint you Grand Defender Eunuch of Fujian, and Eunuch Superintendent of Maritime Trade besides. You will watch this territory of Fujian well, on My behalf — and watch every last move of the Zheng family, above and below, on My behalf as well."

At these words Fang Zhenghua collapsed to the floor once more with a thump, forehead rapping heavily against the gold bricks: "Your Majesty's grace is vast as the sea. Your servant will surely not spare his own body, and asks only to repay the Son of Heaven's sagely brightness..."

This gratitude was by no means all performance. His own post was Attendant Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial — rank for rank the equal of a Brush-holding Eunuch, both of the fourth grade, so that all who met him must give him the title "Inner Minister." But in real power and standing he stood far below the Brush-holders. An Attendant might take some part in the vermilion replies, yet what fell to his share was mostly the routine memorials of the provinces and the ordinary paperwork of the ministries; the memorials that truly mattered — matters of war and state, of appointments and evaluations, of grain and silver — never once passed through his hands. In the core circle of the Directorate's power, an Attendant was a fringe man; to put it less politely, he was the one seated at the corner of the table listening in — within earshot of everything, and unable to reach the chopsticks.

An appointment now as Grand Defender Eunuch of Fujian would give him that gilded line in his record, "tempered by service beyond the walls." A full term out, a return, and promotion to Brush-holding Eunuch would follow as a matter of course. And what a place was that of a Brush-holder! A man who might walk before the throne, who might wield the vermilion brush for the Son of Heaven, who sat within the central councils of the state — how many steps above an Attendant, past counting. This road, which how many old eunuchs had wearied themselves on for decades within the Directorate without daring even to dream of it, now lay open before him, Fang Zhenghua.

And besides — within the borders of the Great Ming, Fujian was accounted among the most peaceable of provinces. In the north the Jianzhou Tartars breached the passes year after year; in Shaanxi and Henan the roving bandits swarmed; in Huguang and Sichuan the native chieftains revolted and submitted by turns; even Nanzhili knew its floods and droughts. Fujian alone — though the Kun bandits rampaged on the sea and had seized the Two Guangs — had not been touched by it in the least; the prefectures of Zhangzhou, Quanzhou, Fuzhou, and Xinghua had seen no great disorder these several decades. Go there, serve honestly, stir up no quarrels, and nothing would go wrong. Handle the Kun affair well, and it was merit; handle it badly — why, that was a thing the court's ablest ministers had all failed at. What could he, a mere eunuch, be expected to do?

"Enough. Get up." The Emperor flicked a weary hand and went on:

"The Zheng family's household squabbles are trifles, not worth the naming. If it is only a matter of reopening the Duty Supervision Office at Moon Harbor, the statutes and precedents all survive; that part is easy. But to do as Hongkui urges would truly mean altering the established laws — lightening the ship licenses and resting the weight on the twin land-and-water duties; permitting not only the merchants of Fujian to go to sea, but foreign ships as well to enter port and trade, if there is to be any contending with the Kun for profit on the ocean. On this scheme the men of the Revenue and War ministries have brawled into a single snarling knot — some cry good, some cry harm — and even I cannot make up my mind."

He rose, came round the imperial desk, and paced a few steps with hands clasped behind him. The hem of his robe trailed across the gold bricks with a faint whispering rush.

"On this journey to Fujian, you are not only to sound out whether their scheme can stand, but to see for yourself where in Fujian a port might fittingly be opened to the ocean — and not only at Moon Harbor. Funing, Quanzhou, Zhangzhou, Fuzhou itself: wherever there is a harbor, go and walk it, go and look. Where the water is deep, where there is shelter from the wind, where a customs station might be set to gather the duties, where ships might lie and soldiers be quartered — each of these things you are to examine and report clearly. That is the first."

Fang Zhenghua listened with held breath and gathered spirit, in terror of losing a single word.

"Second: according to Shen Youlong's memorial, the Kun bandits are building a fort in Taiwan, dwelling cheek by jowl with the Red Hairs, and show every sign of coveting Penghu. Taiwan — as I recall, the Red Hairs took that place in the early years. Now the Kun have gone there too. Whether the two are foe or friend, joined or sundered, is to be made clear. What manner of fort the Kun have built in Taiwan, how many soldiers installed, whether there are docks and gun batteries — these too you are to probe to the bottom. When you reach Fujian you must inquire into the Kun situation in detail; you may not rely on hearsay."

As he spoke, Chongzhen fell to pacing a slow circuit about the imperial desk, hands clasped behind him, his step neither quick nor slow, as though measuring something out. The hall was still past all reason; there was only the sound of his boot soles on the gold bricks, and, from beyond the windows, the occasional cry of a crow.

"Third: word has it the Kun bandits have made friends of the Red Hairs, cut the Luzon trade route, and picked a quarrel with the kingdom of the Franks. The Franks have tilled Luzon these many years; their roots run deep. If the Kun have truly cut off their trade, will they rest quiet under it? You are to inquire into the Frankish situation by every channel — how many soldiers they hold in Luzon, how many great Western guns, whether their galleons can stand against the Kun's fire-wheel ships. Is the King of the Franks willing to stand in friendship with the court? Should that kingdom's chieftain be disposed to send gunners and fleets to aid Us in exterminating the Kun, you are to fly word to Me without an hour's delay. This matter carries great weight; see it done without a wrinkle."

"Fourth: it is reported that the Kun bandits have these several years forced trade upon Japan, extorted its silver, marched troops to raid its coasts, and taken its refugees and renegades into their own armies. The Fujian Zhengs have ever had the convenience of the sea trade with Japan; their merchants come and go in numbers, and men who know the situation of the Eastern Isles are not few. Once in Fujian, you must contrive to sound out the matter closely: who rules in Japan today; whether they lean toward the Kun or hate them; what old grudges, what deep blood-feuds lie between the two. Whatever truth you come by, memorialize it up, item by item, letting nothing slip."

He finished these four articles, halted, and looked back down at Fang Zhenghua kneeling on the floor. Candlelight fell across his face, and on that spare, thin countenance lay an expression not easy to put into words.

Before the sacred voice had ceased its echoes, Fang Zhenghua was knocking his head once more, heavily, upon the palace gold bricks, his forehead meeting the icy surface with one dull report: "Your servant receives the edict, and will pour out brains and blood for His Majesty's commission."

Suddenly he lifted his head again, as though a weighty matter had just come back to him. "Your servant begs leave to report one thing further. Your servant formerly served in the Palace of Earthly Tranquility, and the other day was honored with the Empress's inquiry: word has it that Noble Consort Tian has lately come by a South Seas gramophone box — what novel thing might it be? Your servant, coarse and ignorant, could not answer; and so has taken the liberty of reporting it to Your Majesty."

"A South Seas gramophone box?" Plainly Chongzhen too was hearing the novel term for the first time. His brow creased slightly; his gaze slid away from Fang Zhenghua and settled on the stack of memorials at the desk's head, as if turning something over.

The hall held its silence a moment. A candle-flower burst with a crack and spat a small cluster of sparks. Then, as if something had come back to him, Chongzhen walked to the imperial desk, dug a slim booklet from beneath the pile of memorials, flipped a few pages at random, and his brow knitted deeper.

"Only days ago the Office of Transmission sent up yet another memorial — that along the Fujian coast, merchants and commoners have been carrying back from Luzon a thing called 'Joy Water.' Drink it and you go giddy with rapture; keep at it and you are enslaved, ruining your family and losing your house, past the power of any man to stop. The memorial said this stuff was trafficked in deliberately — the Kun bandits in league with the Franks of Luzon — to work ruin upon the children of Our Great Ming." He snapped the booklet shut and tossed it back onto the desk. "At the time I took it for provincial officers scaring up wind from empty caves. It seems now it may not all be smoke without fire. When you go south, keep an ear to the ground on this as well — this South Seas gramophone box, this Joy Water: all these newfangled notions — whence do they come, and how do they find their way into the palace?"

Fang Zhenghua's heart tightened; he made haste to answer, "Your servant has taken note."

Chongzhen paced a few steps more, stopped suddenly, turned, and fixed Fang Zhenghua with a burning eye. "I will ask you one thing more. In your judgment — can these men of the Zheng house be trusted?"

The question came without warning. Fang Zhenghua faltered, weighed his words thrice over, and at last answered with caution. "Your servant dares not idly judge great ministers of the court. Only... the Zhengs are, after all, bred out of the sea trade, and their years of dealing with the court are not many. What they are about today, running everywhere through the capital and making friends of officials — that your servant dares not pronounce upon. But your servant believes this: to use their strength is easy; to win their hearts is hard."

At this Chongzhen fell silent a long, long while. From beyond the hall came the cry again — "All under Heaven at peace" — and this time it sounded very far away, as if drifted in from another world.

"You may go now," Chongzhen said at last. "Make ready, and set out early. I shall wait for your news."

Fang Zhenghua knocked his head three times, heavily, then withdrew on his knees until the threshold, and only there rose to his feet. As he passed out through the hall doors he could not help glancing back once — Chongzhen had already returned to his place behind the imperial desk, head bent over some memorial; the candlelight threw his shadow onto the screen behind him, solitary and alone.

The doors swung slowly shut behind him with one muffled boom. Fang Zhenghua stood on the stone steps of the Palace of Heavenly Purity while the night wind met his face, bearing that cool, shadowed breath peculiar to the Forbidden City. He looked up at the sky — the moon had climbed high now, hanging there clear and cold, mantling the whole palace city in a light of silver-gray.

Far off, beyond the palace walls, came the faint sound of the watch drums. The watchman at the Meridian Gate was sounding the second watch.

Fang Zhenghua straightened cap and robes and walked down the steps. His tread was far steadier than when he had come; his boot soles rang tok-tok on the bluestone, carrying far through the still palace grounds.

Though the glow of favor received still sat on Fang Zhenghua's face, his heart was already heavy as ballast. Well might this promotion be hailed as happy; he had weighed its burden just as clearly. The post of Grand Defender Eunuch of Fujian, abolished in the Jiajing years, had gone unfilled for over a century; and the Eunuch Superintendent of Maritime Trade had been cut in the forty-second year of Wanli — two or three decades ago now. That His Majesty revived both posts at once showed how great a weight he set upon the matter of the Kun bandits. The articles just laid upon him — scouting the ground for open ports, sounding the true strength of the Kun, inquiring into the Frankish situation, asking after the temper of Japan — each and every one must be carried through to the letter; there was no room for the smallest slip.

And beyond all that, he must sound out the Zheng family's true mind toward the court. The several branches of the Zhengs all wore, on the surface, the face of loyal servants of the throne; but in the dark, the private greed and scrambling among the branch heads — how much of it was real, how much show? Smooth face against sundered heart: who among them truly stood toward the court, and who merely borrowed the court's banner to fish for his own profit? If these matters were not dredged to the bottom, great trouble would come of it later.

Walking outward, Fang Zhenghua reckoned inwardly. He must lay out the web of the Zheng branches clear, learn their soft places by heart, draw over those who could be drawn, and press down those who needed pressing. Only so could he hold the whole board in his palm — keep the Zheng house, top to bottom, docile and obedient, and leave the Kun bandits no crack to slip through.

His mind was already running ahead — south to Fujian: by which road? How many men in his train? Quanzhou first, or Moon Harbor first? Would the Zhengs take alarm? How to gather intelligence on the Kun? And where even to begin with the Franks?

And then that South Seas gramophone box — a thing that could keep Noble Consort Tian shut up half the day fingering it was, by no account, a common object. How had it entered the palace? Who had presented it? Or had the Tian family fetched it in from outside? Might there not be some entanglement there too? Truthfully, he had no wish to wade into that murk — but there was no helping it. A man in the deep palace is never master of his own steps!

Thinking as he walked, he found himself at Rijing Gate before he knew it. The little eunuch on gate duty saw him and hastened to open and let him through. At the instant Fang Zhenghua crossed the threshold, the night wind freshened all at once, setting the iron chimes under the eaves ringing and tinkling — as if in farewell, or as if in warning of something.

He did not look back, but walked straight away into the deep of the long passage. Behind him the lights of the Palace of Heavenly Purity flickered and glimmered in the night, like an eye that would not close.