February, the 22nd year of Kangxi (1683).
Inside a bustling capital teahouse, the nine-year-old Crown Prince Yinreng sat by a second-floor window. Dressed in a pristine, pale-blue collared robe, he had shed much of his childhood softness, exuding the sharp, quiet authority of a boy raised at the absolute apex of power.
He leaned against the sill, casually peeling peanuts while listening to the storyteller on the ground floor.
The successful deployment of the cowpox vaccine and the miraculous hybrid rice had elevated Yinreng's reputation from a mere prodigy to a literal deity in the eyes of the commoners. To avoid the treasonous crime of directly using the royal family in fiction, anonymous playwrights had crafted countless tales about a "Second Young Master"—a thinly veiled stand-in for Yinreng, the Emperor's second surviving son.
In today's version, the Second Young Master was a banished celestial immortal who descended to Earth to cure plagues and banish famine.
"And thus," the storyteller dramatically concluded, "the Second Young Master ascended into the clouds, his legs fusing into a massive, divine serpent's tail!"
Yinreng immediately choked, spraying his tea across the table.
Analysis: A human-faced serpent? They had conflated him with Nuwa, the ancient mother goddess.
The teahouse erupted into arguments.
"Nonsense!" a patron yelled. "The Second Young Master is clearly the reincarnation of Nezha! He has three heads and six arms! How else could he work so fast?"
"Ignorant fool!" the storyteller snapped back. "Read the Classic of Mountains and Seas! Divine beings possess serpent tails!"
"I heard he has a third eye!" another chimed in.
Within minutes, the crowd had assigned Yinreng the traits of seven different mythological figures. Yinreng simply wiped his mouth, his expression numb. 'Let them argue. Myths are the cheapest, most effective form of social control.'
Beneath the mythological debates, a more grounded conversation was taking place among a group of village headmen.
"Is your village planting the hybrid rice again this year, Headman Zhang?"
"Of course," Zhang replied. "We tested the first-generation seeds last year. The yield literally doubled. You'd have to be insane not to plant it. I heard the imperial subsidies for planting it have been canceled, though."
"Naturally," Zhang scoffed. "The subsidy was only to convince us to risk our land on an unproven crop. Now that everyone knows it works, people are fighting for the seed quotas. The court is still providing the seeds for free for the first two years. That is already a massive blessing."
A stranger at the neighboring table—a man claiming to be from the Northwest provinces—leaned over. "I heard the yields are incredible. But tell me, did the imperial court raise your tax quotas to match the new harvest?"
"No," a farmer replied. "The tax ratio remains exactly the same."
The stranger frowned, his voice dripping with subtle instigation. "But with such a massive harvest, keeping the old ratio means the court is taking far more grain from you than before. Shouldn't they lower the ratio so the people can keep more?"
The locals immediately bristled.
"The Crown Prince starved himself in the mud to invent this crop," one farmer snapped. "The Emperor distributes the seeds for free. We are keeping double the food we used to, and you are trying to incite greed?"
Realizing he had misread the room, the stranger hastily apologized and tried to pivot. "I apologize. I am from the remote borders; I don't understand capital politics. Speaking of miracles, is it true the cowpox vaccine cures smallpox?"
"It prevents it entirely," Zhang confirmed.
"But I heard only the nobles and officials are allowed to receive it," the stranger pressed, planting another seed of dissent. "Are the common people just left to die?"
Boss Tang, a wealthy merchant sitting nearby, slammed his cup down. "Where did you hear that treasonous nonsense? The Emperor releases an annual lottery for commoners to receive the vaccine."
"A lottery?" The stranger sighed dramatically. "With millions of people, a lottery is basically a death sentence. It must be nice for the royals to protect themselves first."
"You are dangerously ignorant," Tang sneered. "The royals took the vaccine first because it was an unproven, highly dangerous medical experiment. Several young princes suffered severe fevers. The Emperor used his own bloodline to test the vaccine's safety so the commoners wouldn't be treated as lab rats. Now that the formula is perfected and safe, the Emperor is establishing vaccination clinics in every province."
The teahouse erupted in cheers at the news.
The stranger, seeing his narrative completely destroyed, quietly tried to slip out the door. Tang lunged forward, grabbing the man's wrist in a vice grip.
"A man from the Northwest who constantly tries to sow hatred between the people and the Emperor," Tang announced loudly. "You aren't a curious traveler. You're a spy!"
The crowd's mood instantly turned violent.
"A Tiandihui rebel!" someone shouted, referring to the anti-Qing revolutionary society. "The court gives us free grain, and these rats want us to rebel? Drag him to the magistrate!"
The mob dragged the protesting stranger out the door.
On the second floor, Yinreng calmly closed the window.
Half an hour later, Boss Tang slipped into Yinreng's private room and bowed deeply. "Your Highness. The target has been delivered to the authorities."
Yinreng tossed him a heavy silk pouch of silver. "Flawless execution. Keep up the good work."
This was the result of a covert operation Yinreng had launched two years ago. He had recruited articulate, sharp-witted commoners, trained them in psychological manipulation, and dispersed them as traveling merchants. Their objective: construct a primitive, invisible Ministry of Propaganda.
Yinreng's Internal Logic: Fame was a double-edged sword. If the people solely worshipped the Crown Prince, Emperor Kangxi would eventually view him as a political threat. Yinreng engineered the narrative so that he was the "inventor," but Kangxi was the benevolent "distributor." The people learned to revere the Emperor's mercy, securing Kangxi's legacy while keeping Yinreng safely out of the political crosshairs. Furthermore, this network effectively neutralized rebel instigators before they could take root.
***
Upon returning to the Yuqing Palace, Yinreng was immediately summoned to the Emperor's primary study.
Kangxi tossed a memorial onto the desk. "Read this."
It was a report from Jiangnan. Local farmers had proactively dismantled two Tiandihui rebel hideouts and handed the insurgents over to the military.
Yinreng smiled. "Rebellions are fueled by starvation, Imperial Father. The Tiandihui recruits desperate peasants who have nothing left to lose. But hybrid rice gives them a surplus. A man with a full stomach and a warm home will never risk the guillotine. As the rice spreads, the rebellion will simply starve to death."
Kangxi chuckled, pleased with the analysis. "I hear you left the palace again today."
Yinreng sighed dramatically. "The palace is a gilded cage, Imperial Father. The other princes know they will eventually be granted their own estates outside these walls. I am trapped here forever. Why don't you just demote me to a regular Prince so I can travel the world?"
Kangxi slammed his hand on the desk. "Insolent nonsense! Do not speak of the succession so lightly!"
Yinreng immediately lowered his head, projecting the image of a chastised, slightly naive child.
Analysis: It was a calculated risk. By occasionally displaying a lack of ambition for the throne, he eased any lingering paranoia Kangxi might have regarding his highly competent heir.
Kangxi sighed, his anger fading into exasperation. "Did you catch another spy today?"
"Yes, but not a Tiandihui rebel," Yinreng analyzed sharply. "My operative observed him closely. He had thick calluses on the webbing of his thumbs—the mark of an archer, not a farmer. He tried to fake a Han accent, but he drank from a bowl instead of a cup, and he only ordered boiled mutton. He isn't a Han rebel. He's a Mongolian spy from the Western Steppes."
Kangxi's eyes narrowed, the geopolitical implications instantly clicking into place. "Have the magistrate transfer him to the Ministry of Justice for heavy interrogation."
Kangxi then handed Yinreng another document. "Imperial Physician Liu drafted the rollout plan for the provincial vaccination clinics. Your thoughts?"
Yinreng skimmed it and clapped his hands. "It looks perfect!"
Kangxi gave him a flat look. "Perfect? Look closer."
Yinreng feigned a grimace, scratching his head. "Imperial Father, you know I just throw out ideas. I am terrible at the administrative details."
Kangxi tapped him on the head with a rolled-up scroll. "You aren't terrible; you're just lazy."
Yinreng's Internal Logic: Show brilliance to be valued; show flaws to be safe. If he perfected every imperial policy, the ministers would become useless, and the Emperor would feel overshadowed. By acting "lazy" regarding the final details, he allowed Kangxi to retain the role of the wise, guiding father.
Kangxi patiently circled several overly idealistic clauses in the document, explaining the logistical realities of provincial funding to his son.
Suddenly, a eunuch from the Palace of Compassion and Tranquility burst into the room, his face pale with terror.
"Your Majesty! The Grand Empress Dowager is coughing up blood!"
Kangxi shot to his feet, overturning his chair. "What?! She was perfectly fine this morning!"
Yinreng followed Kangxi as they sprinted across the palace grounds. When they breached the Grand Empress's inner chambers, they found the elderly woman clutching a letter, weeping with profound, shattering grief.
"He is only in his forties," the Grand Empress sobbed. "I am an old woman, yet I live, while he... how could he..."
"Grandmother, what happened?" Kangxi demanded, his voice trembling.
Her loyal attendant, Sumalagu, bowed deeply, her voice choked with tears. "A courier just arrived from Mount Wutai, Your Majesty. That specific master... is on his deathbed."
'Mount Wutai? That master?' Yinreng's eyes widened in sheer shock. 'Shit.' The official histories claimed Kangxi's father, Emperor Shunzhi, died of smallpox decades ago. But the royal family's darkest secret was real: Shunzhi had faked his death to become a Buddhist monk at Mount Wutai. And now, the ghost of the previous Emperor was dying.