The enthusiasm of the commoners for donating was overwhelming, with a continuous stream of contributions lasting until the sun set in the west, only gradually subsiding.
Zhu Ping’an had not expected the commoners’ zeal for donating to be so fervent.
He recalled that in the final days of the Ming Dynasty, when Emperor Chongzhen was in dire straits, with Li Zicheng’s forces advancing rapidly and nearing the capital, the emperor sought donations from his vassals. Nearly a month passed, and how did the loyal vassals of the Ming respond? The chief minister of the cabinet, Wei Zaode, took the lead in claiming his household had no surplus wealth, spearheading opposition to Chongzhen’s call for donations. Other vassals followed suit, each outdoing the other in feigning poverty. Some even went so far as to ostentatiously put up signs on their gates reading “This house for urgent sale,” while others pretended to sell antiques on the streets.
Even Chongzhen’s father-in-law, the father of the empress, was uncooperative. To encourage his contribution, Emperor Jiajing first elevated him to the rank of marquis and then asked him to donate 100,000 taels of silver. Upon hearing this, the old father-in-law wailed as if in mourning, claiming he had no such sum and that his household was so poor they could only afford to eat mouldy rice. He stubbornly insisted he could only donate 10,000 taels. After repeated pressure from Chongzhen, he reluctantly parted with 10,000 taels.
When Chongzhen deemed it insufficient and urged him to donate another 10,000 taels—at least 20,000 in total—the father-in-law went to the palace to seek help from the empress. The empress gave him 5,000 taels from her personal savings, urging him to act with righteousness and contribute another 5,000 taels to make up 10,000 taels, setting an example for the vassals and aiding the Ming dynasty’s cause.
But what happened? Chongzhen’s father-in-law pocketed 2,000 taels of the empress’s 5,000, donating only 3,000 taels.
Seeing that so few vassals responded to the call for silver donations, Chongzhen lowered his expectations, asking for material contributions like grain or cloth, thinking it would be easier. Yet, hardly anyone responded.
In the end, Chongzhen raised only 200,000 taels, and with no other recourse, he met his tragic end, hanging himself on Meishan’s crooked-neck tree.
But when Li Zicheng stormed into the capital and began extorting wealth from Ming officials, do you know how much Chongzhen’s father-in-law handed over to him? A staggering 520,000 taels of silver, plus treasures worth another 20,000 taels!
The “penniless” chief minister, Wei Zaode, offered his services to Li Zicheng, but Li had no use for him and threw him in prison. Under torture, this “penniless” minister produced tens of thousands of taels of silver. After his death under torture, Li Zicheng confiscated his household, seizing another tens of thousands of taels.
Then there was Wang Zhixin, the eunuch overseer of the Eastern Depot during Chongzhen’s reign, who surrendered 150,000 taels in cash to Li Zicheng, along with treasures worth another 150,000 taels.
As for the common people, the sums were even greater.
In total, through extortion, Li Zicheng amassed a staggering 70 million taels of silver from Ming officials and civilians—a stark contrast to the 200,000 taels Chongzhen had raised.
With this history in mind, Zhu Ping’an had assumed today’s donations would be limited. Yet, he never imagined the commoners would display such immense enthusiasm.
Perhaps it was because the Ming Dynasty, at this time, was still a robust middle-aged empire, with strong social control and overall peace and stability. The commoners had faith in the empire, and faced with the tangible threat of Japanese pirates, their zeal for donating was ignited.
Or perhaps it was the positive influence of Zhu Ping’an and the Zhejiang army. Zhu’s reputation in Jiangnan wasn’t exactly sky-high, but it was widely known, especially after the defence of Suzhou, when his fame exploded.
Stories of Zhu Ping’an leading the Zhejiang army to decisively defeat the Japanese pirates spread far and wide, fuelling the commoners’ enthusiasm and confidence to donate.
If this were an era with trending topics, Zhu Ping’an would surely rank among the top ten.
In short, even as the sun set, commoners were still arriving from afar to donate money and goods.
A preliminary tally showed that in just over half a day, more than 30,000 taels of silver had been collected, with several donors contributing over 1,000 taels.
As for material goods, they were harder to quantify: 278 mules and horses, over 300 head of sheep, pigs, and other livestock.
Grain, cloth, and other items were even more difficult to tally, but Zhu Ping’an’s initial assessment suggested these goods were no less substantial than the silver.
And this was just one day’s haul. Zhu Ping’an made arrangements for continued donations at the governor’s office, where dedicated officials would receive contributions, and donors’ names would also be listed on the “Roll of Honour.”
By comparison, Chongzhen’s month-long fundraising effort yielded only 200,000 taels, while Zhu Ping’an’s half-day effort reached a third of that amount.
And this was purely voluntary donations from the commoners.
Seeing such generous contributions, Zhu Ping’an was both surprised and deeply aware of the responsibility. The commoners’ enthusiasm and trust weighed heavily on him.
Originally, this campaign to southern Zhejiang was merely to fulfil the task assigned by Zhang Jing and to deceive Xu Hai’s pirate allies. Now, Zhu Ping’an genuinely wanted to achieve something in southern Zhejiang to honour the trust of the commoners.
He could not let them down.
By now, the sun had set. It wouldn’t do to lead the Zhejiang army on a night march to southern Zhejiang. They would rest and gather strength for the night, setting out for southern Zhejiang at dawn.
Zhu Ping’an waved from a distance toward the teahouse where Li Shu was, then mounted his horse and led hundreds of Zhejiang troops back to the army camp.
Not long after Zhu Ping’an returned to the camp, Liu Mu and Ruo Feng arrived, escorting Wang Zhi’s mother, wife, and children from the Jinhua prison.
Liu Mu and Ruo Feng were travel-worn, their lips cracked and dry.
“Young Master/Lord, we have not failed you. We’ve brought Wang Zhi’s mother, wife, and children from the Jinhua prison,” Liu Mu and Ruo Feng reported, panting and clasping their fists as they entered Zhu Ping’an’s command tent.
Their voices were hoarse.
“You’ve worked hard on the journey. Sit down and have some tea,” Zhu Ping’an said, seeing their weary faces. He gestured for them to sit, picked up a teapot, and poured each a cup of tea.
“Thank you, Young Master/Lord,” Liu Mu and Ruo Feng said, gratefully accepting the cups with both hands and thanking Zhu Ping’an repeatedly.
They were parched from the journey, their throats dry. Without regard for appearances, they gulped down the tea in one go.
“Was the journey smooth? Did Wang Zhi’s mother, wife, and children cause any trouble?” Zhu Ping’an asked after they’d drunk their tea.
“Young Master, the journey was smooth. Wang Zhi’s mother, wife, and children were cooperative, aside from some fear,” Liu Mu replied.
“Rest assured, Lord. Not a hair on their heads is missing—they’re all fine. As per your instructions, we treated them like our own mothers and sons, providing good food and drink along the way,” Ruo Feng added.
“Excellent. They are key to this southern Zhejiang campaign,” Zhu Ping’an said, nodding with satisfaction.
With them in hand, Zhu Ping’an felt confident facing Wang Zhi’s nearly 100,000 pirates. The battle was now far more manageable.
