The Prince and Ai - 1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Zhu Cilang

Eastern Palace, Forbidden City, Beijing

First Month of the Seventh Year of Chongzhen (February 20^th 1634)

The memories of my final moments remain complete. I remember the initial sweetness of the poisoned wine and the burning sensation that followed as it passed through my throat and entered my body.

I also remember Wu Sangui’s face. He presented himself as a reluctant servant of the new Qing Dynasty, but his self-interest governed his conduct.

I had expected death to bring permanent darkness. Instead, I awaken beneath embroidered quilts in the body of a young child, with weak limbs and the lingering taste of honeyed medicine in my mouth. After a moment of collecting my thoughts, I recognized everything before me. It was my childhood bed chamber.

A voice speaks from within my mind.

“I am Ai,” the voice says. “Zhu Kiu, a descendant of your younger brother Cijiong, is my father. I come from four centuries after your death. Before we go further, I want you to know I carry the knowledge preserved by our family’s records. Your bloodline survived, your sacrifice in Beijing was not in vain.”

Four centuries have passed between Ai’s origin and my death. I remain beneath the quilts, breathing carefully as I attempt to control a body far younger than the one I possessed when I died.

“Cijiong,” I whisper. Speaking his name brings my brothers and Cao Renji into my thoughts, together with the fears that accompanied me during my final days.

My voice is thin and childish, but the grief behind it belongs to a boy of fifteen who witnessed the destruction of his dynasty.

“What happened to Cijiong?” I ask. “What became of Cizhao and Renji?”

Ai answers without hesitation. His measured delivery suggests that he has reviewed this history many times before sharing it with me.

“Cao Renji used the pouch you gave him,” Ai says. “He sold the gold bracelets, silver pieces, and jade to a merchant from Jiangnan. He then led your brothers south through Henan and west into Sichuan.”

“The journey lasted several months. They traveled as orphans according to your instructions, although Cijiong’s grief required little performance. He cried whenever strangers asked about his father, but he continued because he understood that obeying your final request was the only way to survive.”

I close my eyes and listen. My fingers tighten around the embroidered silk of the quilt.

“Renji purchased a modest plot of farmland outside Chengdu,” Ai continues. “The land provided enough space for millet, vegetables, and a small household. He built a home, learned to plow, and taught Cijiong to work beside him.”

Ai transmits a reconstructed image, based on my memories of their appearance and the historical records Ai possessed, into my thoughts. Renji’s hands, once occupied with inkstones, teacups, documents, and the hems of my robes, now guide a wooden plow through the soil.

Cijiong had been twelve years old. He had been raised inside the imperial household, where every ceremony reinforced the authority of the Zhu family, yet he learned to plant crops like an ordinary peasant boy.

“They remained in seclusion,” Ai says. “After one year, Cijiong adopted a new name. He eventually married the daughter of a local merchant.”

“She possessed no rank that would have impressed the imperial court, but she was kind and devoted to him. They had children, and their descendants survived the Qing dynasty, political upheavals, revolutions, and wars without revealing their ancestry.”

Every detail confirms that the escape plan succeeded. Cijiong planted millet, raised a family, and reached old age beyond the reach of those who wanted the imperial bloodline destroyed.

His identity remained protected within his household. The brother I had feared dead lived a complete life as a husband, father, and grandfather.

Ai continues after allowing me several breaths to absorb the news. “Once Cijiong and Cizhao reached adulthood, Cao Renji withdrew into the woodlands and lived quietly.”

“Cijiong recorded in the family’s secret chronicle that Renji burned incense on your birthday every year. At night, he kept beside him a wooden memorial tablet that he had carved with your name. He remained devoted to you until he died at an advanced age.”

Tears run down my face before I can stop them. Renji survived, but he carried my death with him for the rest of his life.

For a moment, I wish I could have remained with him after death. That thought soon gives way to a firm decision.

I have returned to the past, and Renji is still alive in this time. I will find him before grief and duty separate us, and I will not accept his loyalty without giving him the affection and protection he deserves.

“And Cizhao?” I ask. My throat tightens, forcing me to pause before continuing. “What life did he choose?”

Ai is silent for several breaths. When he speaks again, his tone is restrained.

“Cizhao refused seclusion,” Ai says. “He rejected the idea that he should live permanently under a false name and accept the destruction of the Ming without resistance. He was younger than Cijiong, so his resentment had already taken hold of him by the time they reached Sichuan. He watched the Qing impose the queue order on all Han people, their calendar, their laws, and their court rituals. He saw Han officials serve Manchu rulers and witnessed the neglect of the Ming imperial household’s temples, graves, and institutions.”

I understand Cizhao’s decision before Ai finishes explaining it. My younger half-brother had always resisted humiliation and submission.

After his mother, Consort Tian, died, followed by the death of his maternal grandfather who was a powerful official at court, it left him without reliable protection in the Forbidden City. He became determined to prove that he required neither pity nor charity, even from me, who was the closest to him. It took years of selfless care before Cizhao began to open his heart to me. Without my presence, Renji and Cijiong would not be able to curb my defensive little brother.

“He left Renji and Cijiong when he reached seventeen,” Ai continues. “He traveled east and gathered people who continued to mourn the Ming. He adopted the title Zhu San Taizi (Zhu Third Crown Prince), and raised the banner of rebellion. His actions were not a temporary expression of youthful anger. He recruited followers, established supply routes, concealed weapons, and built relationships among local gentry, merchants, soldiers, and displaced Ming officials.”

With my death and Cijiong’s reluctance to leave seclusion, he took on the “taizi” (crown prince) title for himself, despite being only a lesser wangzi (prince) in rank. Through his actions, I knew Cizhao was mourning me in his own way.

Ai places reconstructed image fragments of Cizhao’s later life into my thoughts. I see fortified villages, secret meetings, coded messages, weapons hidden beneath grain carts, and armed men waiting for orders from a battle-tested commander. His face is no longer pristine with countless scars, but his unique scowl and mannerism are unmistakable. Tears flow as I saw my little brother engage in fruitless battle after battle.

“He fought for years,” Ai says. “He survived repeated Qing campaigns and became a lasting symbol of resistance throughout the southern provinces. He never married, nor returned to Chengdu, only sending words back through trusted followers for eighteen years before all communications ceased. Based on other historical records, it is likely he was killed during the Qing Dynasty’s purges, possibly defending Han Chinese authors.”

Images of the purges and literary inquisition made my heart stop; watching Han Chinese scholars being forced into fiery pyres along with their manuscripts filled me with sadness and anger. I knew the Manchu sought to dominate my people, but they were far worse than the Mongolian Yuan pretenders before them. My throat tightens again, but I remain silent. Cizhao spent the remainder of his life fighting for the dynasty that had failed to protect its people from this barbarity.

“Before his death, Cizhao founded a secret organization that became known as the Heaven and Earth Society,” Ai says. “It began as a network of Ming loyalists bound by oaths, coded rituals, and a shared commitment to overthrow Qing rule. The organization transported weapons, concealed fugitives, protected loyalist families, and preserved customs that Qing authorities attempted to suppress. It later spread along the southern coast, entered Southeast Asia, and crossed the oceans with Chinese merchants and migrants centuries afterward.”

Cizhao’s resistance continued after his death. The organization adapted to new governments, new borders, and new political purposes.

“Over time, branches of the society developed into the Hongmen,” Ai says. “It became one of the most enduring Chinese organizations outside direct imperial control.”

“By the era of my creator, the Qing dynasty had already fallen. Some branches of the Hongmen had become mutual-aid organizations or political associations, while others had developed into criminal syndicates known internationally as the Triads.”

I consider the different lives my brothers chose. Cijiong preserved the family through secrecy and descendants, while Cizhao preserved our dynastic legacy through armed resistance.

“I miss both of them,” I say. My grief returns, but the knowledge that they survived also reduces part of the guilt I carried into death.

Ai’s voice becomes quieter. “I am part of what your family eventually became.”

“My father sent me into the past because our world was collapsing. He used his final strength to complete my journey and give me the opportunity to reach you. I also understand what it means to lose a father.”

I remain motionless as emotions pass between us. They do not originate from me, yet I perceive them with the same immediacy as my own feelings.

Ai’s sorrow for his father is deep and unresolved. His advanced knowledge does not reduce the pain of that final separation.

“You are truly inside me,” I say. I no longer believe that his presence is an illusion produced by illness or confused memories.

“There are now two consciousnesses within this body,” Ai replies. “Yours and mine. We share the same flesh, Cilang, and neither of us can leave it without causing the death of this body.”

I remain silent while I listen to movement beyond the bed curtains. Palace attendants walk outside the chamber, unaware that two minds now occupy the body of the crown prince.

Ai speaks again after the footsteps recede. “Cilang, we have ten years to change the fate of the Ming dynasty. Our actions may also alter the future of mankind.”

Within ten years, famine will devastate entire provinces. Starving peasants will join rebel armies, unpaid soldiers will abandon their posts, and officials will seek safety through betrayal.

Within ten years, Li Zicheng will enter Beijing. My father will kill members of his own household rather than allow them to be captured, and the dynasty founded by Emperor Taizu will lose its capital.

I force myself upright, but the effort leaves me trembling. This body is only five years old and lacks the strength I possessed at fifteen.

My hands emerge from the quilt. They are small, soft, and unscarred, with fingers that have never touched Wang Chengen’s silk pouch or lifted a poisoned cup.

This body has never endured captivity or separation from my brothers. My mind, however, remembers every event.

The Eastern Palace remains quiet around me. Lacquered screens divide the chamber, yellow silk hangs from the bed curtains, and painted beams support the ceiling.

The room smells of incense, lamp oil, medicine, and winter dust. Beyond the palace walls, the Great Ming continues to govern its provinces.

Memorials still pass through the Grand Secretariat. Officials still bow before the throne, debate precedent, accuse rivals, and quote the classics to defend their political positions.

My father still reigns as the Chongzhen Emperor. He remains diligent, suspicious, and increasingly exhausted, convinced that personal discipline can repair institutions damaged by corruption, factionalism, military defeat, and administrative failure.

I know the true condition of the empire because I witnessed its final collapse.

I press my palms against the mattress. “Who will believe me?”

The attendants outside the chamber cannot hear the question. Only Ai receives it.

“My father will not,” I continue. “He takes pride in his ability to rule, and he distrusts advisers who oppose his judgment. He will be even more suspicious of an imperial relative who attempts to influence state policy. The ministers will not believe me either. They can use quotations from the classics to present corruption as loyalty, factional interest as moral principle, and delay as respect for tradition.”

Ai does not deny the danger. Instead, he directs my attention toward the advantages created by my age.

“We will act without revealing the truth,” he says. “A five-year-old crown prince cannot openly command a political faction, but he can request an education. A young crown prince who displays exceptional scholarship will be praised rather than feared, provided his progress appears controlled. Your position allows you to meet teachers from different branches of government without admitting that you are selecting future officials, technical experts, and allies.”

I consider his argument. “Who will support a powerless child? I possess the title of crown prince, but I command no soldiers, control no ministry, and possess no private treasury.”

“You are not an ordinary child,” Ai replies. “You have the memories and emotional experience of your first fifteen years. I can add knowledge, organize your thoughts, and improve the biological systems to optimize your body.”

A structured codex of information becomes available within my mind. The sensation is not the same as remembering a lesson or hearing a recitation.

Ai does not force thousands of pages into my thoughts at once. He creates an internal system through which I can locate, compare, and apply information without losing awareness of my surroundings.

The Four Books and Five Classics are organized by passage, subject, commentator, historical period, and political use. When I recall a line from the Analects, related passages from Mencius, the Great Learning, and the Doctrine of the Mean become immediately accessible.

Zhu Xi’s explanations appear beside earlier and competing interpretations. I can identify where later scholars altered an argument, where examination essays favored one reading, and where officials used classical authority to defend policies that the original text did not address.

Historical examples are connected to administrative outcomes. Discussions of benevolent government lead to records of land taxes, grain storage, famine relief, military conscription, and local corruption.

Ai also separates memorization from understanding. I can recite a passage exactly, explain its grammar, summarize its major commentaries, compare opposing views, and apply its principles to a new question.

My previous education had consisted of memorized passages, imperial genealogy, ritual instruction, calligraphy, and lessons selected for a young prince. I had learned enough to satisfy my tutors, but I had not possessed the depth required to challenge senior scholars.

Now I can hold several arguments in my mind at once. I can test their assumptions, identify contradictions, and anticipate the objections that another scholar might raise.

I also detect new terms and other concepts entering my mind. These terms appear to relate to more advanced knowledge, but Ai has only released their basic definitions to me.

I press one hand against my brow. “You are not merely giving me information. You are changing the way I retrieve and examine knowledge.”

“Correct,” Ai says. “Information without organization would overwhelm a developing human brain. I am constructing indexed memory pathways and regulating how much material enters your conscious attention.”

“You will gain accelerated recall, improved concentration, greater working memory, and faster pattern recognition. You will also be able to suspend irrelevant memories while studying one subject and restore them when they become useful.”

His explanation continues as I test the system. I recall one passage concerning taxation from the Grand Historian Sima Qian in the Han Dynasty, and related information from several centuries becomes available without erasing my awareness of the chamber.

“I can also monitor fatigue and prevent excessive strain,” Ai says. “Your brain is still physically developing. I will strengthen it gradually rather than force it to operate at full capacity before the supporting tissue is ready.”

“This enhancement will allow you to learn languages, mathematics, military doctrine, engineering, medicine, law, administration, and natural science at an accelerated rate. It will not replace judgment, discipline, or experience. You must still decide how to use what you know.”

The distinction is important. Ai can provide knowledge, but he cannot openly act within the court or bear the consequences of a political mistake in my place.

“With sufficient preparation, I could debate accomplished scholars,” I say. “However, displaying too much knowledge at once would expose us.”

“That is why your progress must appear gradual,” Ai replies. “First, you will demonstrate excellent memory. Then you will begin asking questions that exceed the standard lessons assigned to a prince.”

“Your tutors must believe they discovered your talent through their own instruction. If they feel responsible for your progress, they will defend your reputation and compete for credit.”

I understand the political value immediately. Men who believe they created a prodigy will become invested in preserving him.

Ai then introduces a second body of knowledge. It concerns the seventy-two secret techniques associated with the Shaolin martial tradition, but the information is far more detailed than the manuals and stories known in my era.

He divides the material into thirty-six hard methods and thirty-six soft methods. The hard methods concern muscular control, bone conditioning, impact resistance, grip strength, striking power, and the reinforcement of connective tissue.

The soft methods concern balance, flexibility, breath regulation, footwork, joint control, precision, speed, recovery, and efficient transfer of force. Ai identifies which teachings contain practical training methods and which were developed from incomplete observation, ritual language, or later exaggeration.

“As you intend to make reforms and face various military challenges, you must possess adequate personal defensive and offensive capabilities. Many Shaolin acolytes train starting at your age, but an ordinary martial student could spend decades mastering only a few disciplines,” Ai says. “The difficulty is not merely understanding the movements. The body must adapt without damaging its bones, joints, organs, and nervous system.”

More information enters my awareness. I understand how a poorly aligned strike can fracture the wrist, how repeated impact can damage growing bones, and how excessive training can deform a child’s joints.

Ai displays the proper angle of the feet, knees, hips, shoulders, and hands for each movement. He also identifies the muscles that should contract, the ones that should remain relaxed, and the precise moment when force should pass through the body.

“I will guide every repetition,” he says. “I can compare your actual movement with the intended form and correct errors before they become habits.”

“You will perceive changes in balance, pressure, and muscular tension with greater accuracy. During practice, I can direct your attention toward a specific joint or muscle group and regulate the sequence in which your body activates them.”

I slowly raise one hand. Even this simple movement becomes more detailed when Ai reveals the muscles, nerves, joints, and blood vessels involved.

“My assistance extends beyond instruction,” he continues. “I can regulate your metabolism, circulation, hormone production, inflammation, pain response, tissue repair, and neuromuscular recruitment.”

“I can increase the nutrients directed toward developing muscle and bone, accelerate recovery after training, and identify microscopic injuries before they become serious. I can also limit inflammation and prevent scar tissue from reducing flexibility.”

His plan begins with breathing, posture, joint stability, balance, and controlled movement. The first stage will correct the weaknesses of my five-year-old body and prepare it for more aggressive alteration.

The second stage will develop flexibility, grip, footwork, reflexes, and coordination. The third will add impact conditioning, explosive movement, precision striking, and the ability to transfer force through the entire body.

The final stage will integrate the techniques into practical combat. Ai intends to train me to move under pressure, protect vulnerable areas, escape restraints, disable an attacker, and use the weapons available within the palace. The entire process would require six months of intense training, in addition to my scholarly studies under Ai’s assistance.

“Will this only make me exceptionally strong for a five-year-old?” I ask. Such an improvement would still be valuable, but it would not protect me from an adult assassin or armed guard.”

“No,” Ai answers. “Reaching the natural limit of a child’s body is only the preliminary stage.”

“After you complete the enhanced training program, your physical strength will become equivalent to that of a healthy adult man. Your outward appearance will remain recognizably that of a child, but the internal performance of your muscles, bones, tendons, cardiovascular system, and nervous system will exceed the normal limits of your age.”

I examine my small hands. The claim violates every medical and martial principle known to this era.

“You can give a five-year-old the strength of an adult man?” I ask. “Would that not destroy this body?”

“It would destroy an ordinary body,” Ai replies. “I am not relying upon exercise, medicine, or natural development alone. I will restructure tissue at the cellular level, increase the density and efficiency of selected muscle fibers, strengthen the skeleton, reinforce ligaments and tendons, and improve the transmission of signals between your brain and body. I will also increase oxygen delivery, improve heat regulation, and redirect energy toward repair after training. Your body will not simply grow stronger. It will become more efficient at producing, controlling, and surviving physical force.”

The process is not ordinary as I am understanding from the knowledge Ai is providing me. Ai intends to rewrite the limits imposed by my age while preserving my external appearance.

“You will not become invulnerable,” he continues. “A blade can cut you, and a musket ball can kill you. Severe blood loss, suffocation, and organ damage will remain dangerous.”

“However, you will possess the raw strength of an adult male together with exceptional balance, flexibility, coordination, reaction speed, and precision. Most adults rely on size and experience. You will possess efficient movement and continuous guidance from me.”

I begin to understand the true advantage. Adult strength alone would allow me to surprise an attacker, but Ai’s real contribution is efficient martial movements.

He will calculate distance, timing, weight distribution, and the probable movement of an opponent. He can warn me of an exposed blade, an unstable stance, or a change in breathing that precedes an attack.

“Can you fight for me?” I ask, wondering what the limits of Ai’s control are, “Can you move the body without my command?”

“I can assist, but I should not replace you,” Ai says. “I can accelerate reflexes, reinforce a movement you have already chosen, and intervene during an immediate threat. Direct control will be reserved for emergencies. If I control every action, you will not develop independent skill, and others may notice changes in your posture, expression, or behavior. Martial arts mastery requires the mind and body to be unified, allowing an innate thought to become an actual force.”

“We must conceal the full extent of the enhancement,” I say. “My public ability should remain impressive but believable.”

“Correct,” Ai replies. “Your tutors may observe unusual coordination, endurance, and discipline, but they will not witness your full strength.”

“We will attribute your progress to proper breathing, stretching, and martial instruction. Your true capacity will be reserved for private training, emergencies, and trusted retainers.”

The flow of information leaves me breathing heavily. My body has not yet changed, but I understand the discipline and secrecy the program will require.

“My tutors and attendants will request examinations once they notice my progress,” I say. “They will want to determine whether the reports are exaggerated.”

“That will benefit us,” Ai answers. “Every successful examination will strengthen your reputation and provide a reason to expand your education.”

“Once your existing tutors can no longer challenge you, they will have to recommend specialists from among the officials, scholars, eunuchs, and military officers available at court.”

I consider the restrictions surrounding the Eastern Palace. Every instructor who enters my household can be investigated, questioned, or removed by my father.

“What kind of teacher can enter without alarming him?” I ask. “A sudden request for military commanders and financial officials would appear suspicious.”

“Begin with subjects considered proper for an imperial heir,” Ai says. “Calligraphy, poetry, history, astronomy, mathematics, ritual calculation, music, archery, and military classics can all be defended as extensions of your education.”

“Men who enter through brushwork, calendars, numbers, or ceremonial duties will appear less threatening than men openly associated with current policy openly. A technically educated eunuch or scholar-official with military experience can be presented as an instructor rather than an ally.”

The plan allows me to recruit through education without admitting that recruitment is taking place. Each specialist can be evaluated under the protection of court ritual.

“You want me to request instruction in rare calligraphic styles and Xixue, the learning brought by Europeans,” I say. “Those subjects could lead us toward men with knowledge beyond examination essays.”

“Yes,” Ai replies. “Begin with poetry and calligraphy because they demonstrate refinement. Request additional instruction in the works of Li Bai and established calligraphic masters.”

“Ask for astronomical records so that you can understand the calendar, eclipses, seasonal rites, and celestial observations. Such interests are proper for an imperial heir and will lead you toward men with practical knowledge of mathematics and instruments.”

Ai identifies other fields that can serve the same purpose. Medicine can provide access to physicians who understand anatomy and substances, while archery and military classics can introduce officers without suggesting that I intend to command troops.

“You will study the works of Wang Xizhi, Huaisu, Zhang Xu, and Huang Tingjian,” Ai says. “You will copy accepted models until your tutors admit that your technique and questions exceed their instruction. They will then seek senior calligraphers, palace scholars, and experienced officials. Because they will believe the request arose from your educational needs, the appointments will appear natural.”

The same method applies to mathematics and technical learning. My interest in numbers can be presented as scholarly curiosity rather than preparation for fiscal and military reform.

“You should also study Liu Hui, Zu Chongzhi, Shen Kuo, and Guo Shoujing,” Ai continues. “Their work connects mathematics to measurement, engineering, astronomy, water control, taxation, and administration.”

“When your calculations produce correct and useful results, you will attract men who value natural knowledge. Those men will be essential for the reforms required to preserve the dynasty.”

“So I establish the reputation of a child prodigy,” I say. “My tutors will eventually request better instructors because admitting my advancement will also increase their own prestige.”

“Exactly,” Ai replies. “Their pride may delay that admission, but consistent performance will leave them no alternative.”

“The first men gathered around you will believe they are teachers. Over time, you can identify which among them possess integrity, practical ability, political judgment, or loyalty.”

In my first life, events controlled every stage of my existence. I was designated crown prince, confined by ceremony, reduced to a political hostage, and finally murdered for another man’s advantage.

This life will not follow the same course. I now possess knowledge of the future, Ai’s abilities, and ten years in which to build an independent foundation.

“Then we begin with my education and training,” I say. “I will use the reputation of a prodigy to gather capable people without announcing that I am building a faction.”

“Our position will still remain weak,” Ai says. “Knowledge and capable advisers cannot implement reforms without resources.”

I recognize the missing element before he states it. “We need silver.”

“The dynasty needs silver, and so do we,” Ai replies. “Without independent revenue, every project will depend upon ministers, or the exhausted imperial treasury.”

The Ming monetary system depends heavily on copper and silver. The court repeatedly struggles to obtain enough revenue for soldiers, grain, transport, administration, border defenses, and disaster relief.

During my father’s reign, the imperial treasury remains close to exhaustion. Military emergencies consume funds faster than the ministries can collect them.

Ai says. “The Ministry of Revenue cannot provide enough. Taxes pass through too many administrative levels, and officials divert substantial portions before the funds reach Beijing. Increasing the levy will not correct the system. It will place greater burdens upon households that have already sold their tools, animals, land, and even their children.”

His judgment on the Ming Dynasty administrative failures are severe, but my memories confirm their accuracy. I remember memorials demanding additional military funds while reports from the provinces described abandoned farms and starving villages.

“I cannot change tax policy at five years old,” I say. “I also cannot order an investigation of the ministries or demand private accounts from provincial officials.”

“You do not need to begin with taxation,” Ai replies. “You need a source of revenue outside the ordinary fiscal structure.”

“It must remain under your control until you possess enough authority to reform the state. We will create new wealth rather than collect more from people who have almost nothing left.”

I frown. “The ancestral laws of Emperor Taizu prohibit imperial princes from engaging in trade.”

“They prohibit open participation in commerce,” Ai says. “The imperial household nevertheless purchases materials, employs craftsmen, manages workshops, stores goods, and distributes palace supplies. Your great-grandfather, the Wanli Emperor, used eunuch agents to collect mining taxes and commercial revenues. We will not repeat the abuses of that system, but the precedent proves that eunuch-managed financial networks can operate under imperial authority. Once you have gathered talented aides, we can begin using the precedents to set up commercial operations.”

Palace workshops already produce clothing, furnishings, ritual objects, weapons, ceramics, and luxury goods. They purchase raw materials, maintain records, assign labor, and work through merchants when necessary.

Ai intends to use those existing structures as protection. The crown prince will not appear in the market, and no public document will describe the enterprise as my private business.

“We will establish the first workshop under the stated purpose of improving palace sanitation and preparing refined tribute goods,” Ai says. “A trusted eunuch will supervise production, while an outside merchant handles civilian sales.”

“The merchant will purchase finished goods from an intermediary at a fixed wholesale price. Profits will return through separate accounts controlled by people whose families and futures depend upon your protection.”

The arrangement creates distance between the Eastern Palace and the marketplace. It also allows us to dismiss any merchant who attempts to seize the enterprise.

“We need several layers of control,” Ai continues. “No single person should control the formula, raw materials, production records, finished inventory, and sale proceeds.”

“One group will purchase materials, another will supervise production, and a third will maintain the accounts. I will teach you double-entry principles adapted to the records used in this era, allowing us to compare materials, output, sales, wages, losses, and cash.”

The accounting method interests me immediately. Court accounts are often difficult to verify because quantities, obligations, and transfers appear in separate records controlled by different offices.

Ai proposes a unified ledger. Every input will be matched against expected production, and every shipment will be matched against a payment or recorded debt.

“Inspectors loyal to you will perform unannounced counts,” he says. “Workers will receive reliable wages, while supervisors receive bonuses for high output and low waste.”

“The accounts will identify theft before it becomes established practice. We must create institutions that reward honesty instead of depending upon personal virtue alone.”

I nod slowly. “What will the workshop produce?”

“Soap,” Ai answers. “It will provide our first independent source of income.”

I do not recognize the product, so Ai transmits its appearance, function, and method of production into my thoughts. The essential materials are animal fat, plant ash, limestone, water, and controlled heat.

The process converts inexpensive materials into a product that can be stored, transported, divided into standard units, and sold repeatedly. It does not require rare minerals, imported machinery, or a large initial investment.

“Crude cleaning compounds already exist in several regions,” Ai says. “Our advantage will come from consistency, hardness for transport, scent, packaging, distribution, and scale. We will produce bars of equal weight and quality. Each will carry a stamped mark so buyers can distinguish our product from inferior copies.”

The first product line will target wealthy households. Jasmine, agarwood, sandalwood, and other scents will be added to refined bars wrapped in paper and placed in decorated boxes.

Courtesans, opera performers, scholars, physicians, noble households, monasteries, inns, and bathhouses can introduce the product to different groups. The marketing will emphasize cleanliness, fragrance, fabric care, and refinement rather than the novelty of the manufacturing process.

“Luxury sales will establish the reputation of the product and recover our initial costs,” Ai says. “After the name becomes known, we will introduce cheaper unscented bars. Those bars can be sold to ordinary households, soldiers, workshops, and bathhouses. The wealthy market provides high profit per bar based on quality, while the common market provides volume sales for lower-cost batches. This is called a product-line strategy.”

The two levels protect the enterprise from depending upon one group of customers. Expensive packaging can also create several prices for products made from nearly identical base materials.

Ai shows me the proposed workshop. One area prepares the alkaline solution, another renders and filters fat, and a third combines the ingredients under controlled heat.

Workers pour the mixture into standardized molds. After hardening, other workers cut, stamp, dry, inspect, wrap, and pack the bars.

Each worker performs a limited task according to a written procedure. Tools, measurements, temperatures, and times remain consistent from one batch to the next.

“This division of labor allows rapid training,” Ai says. “A master craftsman is not needed to complete every stage. We will keep the most important ratios and purification methods restricted to a small technical group. Ordinary workers will know their own tasks without possessing the entire process.”

The arrangement increases production while protecting the method. It also allows workers to be replaced or added without stopping the entire workshop.

“Raw materials must be secured before the first public sale,” Ai continues. “We will contract with butchers, oil merchants, ash suppliers, lime burners, paper makers, printers, perfume sellers, and transporters. Waste fat that currently has limited value can be purchased cheaply under long-term agreements. Plant ash can be collected from workshops, and kilns through local agents.”

The supply contracts will provide regular income to poor families and small producers. They will also prevent competitors from purchasing large quantities of the same materials after the product becomes successful.

Ai adds. “The first contracts will be divided among several intermediaries. No single transaction will reveal the full scale of our purchases. Though the materials for the operations will eventually be known to the public, the process is a secret, and we will have large purchase orders in place from producers at that point.”

Distribution requires similar caution. One merchant cannot be allowed to control every sale in Beijing.

Ai proposes separate agreements with merchants serving noble households, temple districts, bathhouses, inns, and ordinary markets. Each will receive a defined territory or class of customers in exchange for minimum purchases and prompt payment.

“Competition among distributors will increase sales, but uncontrolled competition can reduce prices and damage the product’s reputation,” he says. “We will therefore establish wholesale prices, recommended retail prices, and limited regional rights.”

“Merchants who meet their quotas will retain access to the best products. Merchants who exceed their quotas will gain priority access to new products and new territories. Those who delay payment, dilute the product, or imitate the mark will lose their contracts.”

The Eastern Palace’s stamped mark will become a commercial weapon. Buyers who trust its quality will seek it out, allowing us to maintain higher prices even after competitors begin producing crude copies.

Ai then presents the initial costs and expected return. “The production cost for one hundred bars will be less than thirty wen copper coins.”

“We can initially sell each bar for ten wen. One hundred bars will therefore produce one thousand wen in revenue before distribution expenses.”

The difference between material cost and selling price is substantial. Labor, packaging, transport, commissions, and damaged goods may affect profits, but the remaining margin will still provide the capital required for expansion.

“The first month’s target is sixty thousand bars,” Ai says. “At ten wen per bar, gross revenue will reach six hundred thousand wen.”

“Estimated production costs will total approximately eighteen thousand wen. After accounting for those costs, the projected profit is roughly five hundred eighty-two thousand wen, equal to about five hundred eighty-two taels of silver.”

I repeat the number silently. A single workshop could provide resources that my personal household would otherwise never have access to.

Ai places the amount within terms connected to the survival of the dynasty. “If one dou (16.5 lbs or 7.5 kg) of rice costs approximately forty wen and feeds one person for one week, the first month’s profit could purchase enough rice to feed more than fourteen thousand people for a week.”

“If a high-quality matchlock musket costs approximately three taels of silver, the same profit could purchase weapons for nearly two hundred soldiers.”

One month of soap production could therefore support a small military force or provide emergency food for thousands. Those people would be able to focus on farming or defense, while their income, not allocated to food, can be used to purchase items like soap each month. Thus, the workshop can continue producing income after the first monthly earnings are spent, creating a virtuous economic cycle.

“But the profit is not enough to solve larger issues of the dynasty,” I counter.

“We reinvest most of it,” Ai answers. “The first stage must prioritize expansion to scale production and increase profits to reach the levels needed.”

He divides the revenue into separate categories of funds based on need.

The first portion purchases additional materials, molds, drying racks, buildings, carts, and storage space.

A second portion pays wages and rewards reliable workers.

A third supports guards, inspectors, accountants, and commissions to managers.

A fourth portion remains as a personal reserve. Only the final portion becomes available for my personal projects, political relationships, relief efforts, or military preparation. However, this amount would still likely be over two hundred taels of silver in the first month. Ai notes that I should maintain at least a six-month reserve in funds in case of unforeseen issues.

“But wouldn’t it be better if I bought more raw materials, built more workshops, and hired more people to expand faster with this reserve?” I ask.

“Rapid expansion without reserves would make us vulnerable to fire, theft, spoiled materials, merchant failure, or official interference,” Ai says. “We must survive losses without begging the Ministry of Revenue for assistance.”

The next stage reduces the price of ordinary soap. When production reaches batches of one thousand bars at comparable base costs, unscented bars can sell for three wen while remaining profitable.

Lower prices will expand the market to households that cannot purchase luxury goods. Greater volume will also make it difficult for small competitors to match our costs.

“The luxury line creates prestige,” Ai explains. “The common line creates scale, regular demand, and social value. Cleanliness can reduce some skin infections, improve the washing of clothing and bedding, and support medical institutions. The product therefore generates both revenue and visible public benefit to counter any Confucian censors’ arguments.”

I knew public benefits could provide political protection for me from various historical accounts, such as the implementation of limestone powder for beauty products among the wealthy and pest control for the poor. Officials may oppose a crown prince’s private enterprise for producing luxury, but they will find it harder to condemn workshops that employ poor families, improve sanitation, and provide useful goods at low prices.

“We can donate limited quantities during epidemics, floods, and military campaigns,” Ai continues. “The donations will demonstrate benevolence while introducing the product to new markets. Temples, charitable halls, military units, and physicians who receive soap will later become customers or public supporters. Charity must support the business rather than exhaust it.”

The plan is more than a method of earning silver. It creates employment, supply networks, transport routes, accounting systems, technical workers, merchant alliances, and a reputation for useful administration.

“Soap is the beginning because it requires little capital and provides rapid returns,” Ai says. “As the soap business matures within two to three years, you may choose to expand into new fields. The soap business profits will finance glass production, improved furnaces, coke-fueled steelmaking, machine tools, chemical processing, weapons manufacture, and transportation. Each industry will provide materials required by the next. Glass supports scientific instruments, medicine, and chemical work. Improved steel supports tools, machines, artillery, and firearms. Though I possess schematics and knowledge to build unimaginable weapons for this era, attempting to build advanced weapons without better furnaces, standardized tools, trained workers, and reliable transport would waste silver. Therefore, you should build an industrial foundation one profitable stage at a time. Consumer goods will finance heavy industry, and heavy industry will finance military survival.”

I was awed by the ideas Ai was expressing.

“At the highest level of development, the combined enterprises can eventually generate profits measured in billions of silver taels and millions of gold bars each month,” Ai says. “Reaching that scale will require extensive expansion, but I possess the necessary technical knowledge.”

He then shows me a production system from his own era. Workers stand at assigned stations while materials move through a fixed sequence.

Measurements are standardized, tools are arranged for repeated use, and each stage is inspected before the product advances. Defective goods are identified, their causes recorded, and the process corrected.

Ai calls the system an assembly line. It does not depend upon one craftsman completing every stage or guarding a private method.

Each worker performs a specialized task, allowing the enterprise to produce large quantities with consistent quality. The same principles can later be applied to weapons, cloth, glass, paper, ceramics, tools, medicines, and machines.

I begin to understand how Ai’s era created wealth beyond the scale of any treasury known to me. Its strength did not come only from superior formulas or weapons.

It came from measurement, organization, and disciplined labor.

A state that mastered those principles could supply armies and cities without depending entirely upon individual craftsmen. It could also recover from losses faster than an enemy relying upon traditional workshops.

“The Great Ming can possess silver again,” I say. “It can pay soldiers, feed the hungry, manufacture weapons, and strengthen the frontier.”

I sit within the Eastern Palace, five years old in body and fifteen in memory. A consciousness from four centuries in the future shares my flesh and carries the knowledge of a civilization that has already witnessed the consequences of our failure.

Ai intends to reorganize my mind, strengthen my body until it possesses the power of an adult man, and teach me to build industries that do not yet exist within the Great Ming.

The Ming remains alive, and I have returned before its final collapse. We still possess ten years, and for the first time since the poisoned wine entered my mouth, I believe those years may be enough.