Chapter 13

Zhang Juzheng watched Yang Bo’s back, and he held Yang Bo in deep respect; the phrase “a minister of great virtue” was not mere courtesy, but sincere truth—when Yang Bo was in Liaodong, Jizhou and Liaodong were secure; when he was in the capital, all nine borders were safe; for over forty years, he served as both general and chancellor, diligent and devoted, guarding the Ming realm.

Those who wield great power are crushed; those with towering merit are ruined.

What could make such a pillar of the state, this man whose back once held up heaven, now hunched and bent? What forced him to humble himself and come to the Quanchu Hall? What drove him to plead repeatedly before a junior?

It was the Jin Party, it was human sentiment, and above all, it was interest.

Yang Bo came to the Quanchu Hall for the sake of the Jin Party.

When Gao Gong held power, he promoted countless men of the Jin Party; if Gao Gong were convicted of treason, all those he had promoted would be stripped of office, and the Jin Party would be crippled.

For these men, Yang Bo had no choice but to come to the Quanchu Hall and speak plainly face-to-face with Zhang Juzheng.

Yang Bo stepped out of the Quanchu Hall and said to Ge Shouli, who followed behind: “Don’t worry—Bai Gui has agreed. The Ming is declining daily; he won’t stand idle. If he wishes to realize his ambitions, he cannot let this realm descend into chaos.”

“Thus, a gentleman may be deceived by righteousness.”

“Ah.”

Yang Bo understood Zhang Juzheng well—he even saw his own reflection in him. When he first passed the imperial examination, clad in fine robes and riding a spirited horse, hadn’t he once held such lofty ambitions? But step by step, he had become this.

Zhang Juzheng agreed to act not to ensure the smooth implementation of the Kaocheng Law, nor for the position of Minister of Personnel; with Zhang Juzheng’s methods, he had countless ways to secure both the Kaocheng Law and the Ministry of Personnel. He agreed only to prevent the Ming from sinking irreversibly into the quagmire of factional purges.

If the investigation continued, the culprit could only be Gao Gong; all evidence would point to him, forcing the dismissal of all he had promoted, and the Jin Party would inevitably launch a desperate counterattack—a purge engulfing the entire Ming realm, draining its dwindling vitality.

Yang Bo had precisely grasped this point, which is why he came—he knew this deal could be made.

“Let’s go.” Yang Bo waved his hand, leaned on his cane, and left the Quanchu Hall.

The next morning, the Wenhua Hall was as noisy as ever; Zhu Yijun still read the Four Books Direct Explanation, gaining much insight, diligently taking notes, as if the assassination plot had never occurred.

Luo Zun, Censor of the Ministry of Personnel, impeached Minister of War Tan Lun and Left Vice Censor-in-Chief Liu Sijie for idling in office, neglecting duty, and being unfit for their posts—demanding immediate dismissal.

Tan Lun, a distinguished military strategist of the Jiajing, Longqing, and Wanli eras, passed the imperial examination in the twenty-third year of Jiajing; he organized local militias to repeatedly defeat Japanese pirates, fought back-to-back with Qi Jiguang at Gubu and Nanwan, and was his comrade-in-arms—jointly known as Tan-Qi.

Upon hearing the impeachment, Tan Lun offered no rebuttal but immediately submitted his resignation. Zhang Juzheng, after reading the memorial, sent it to the Ministry of Personnel. If the charges were confirmed, the impeachment would proceed through standard procedure: submitted to the Wenyuan Pavilion for draft edicts, then to the Directorate of Ceremonial for approval, after which Tan Lun would be dismissed and return to his native place.

The court debated fiercely; Zhu Yijun remained silent.

The final matter of the court session was the Wang Dachen case.

Ge Shouli opened fire on Feng Bao first, speaking at length—from the age of the Three Dynasties to the case itself—ultimately demanding severe punishment for Feng Bao.

Feng Bao, watching Ge Shouli sit upright, said: “Confucius, in the ‘Great Unity’ chapter of the Book of Rites, said: ‘Now the great Dao has vanished; the world is ruled as a family. Each loves their own kin, each cherishes their own children; wealth and labor are for oneself. The nobility inherits power by birthright, and this has become proper ritual. Thus, scheming arises, and war begins.’”

“What do you mean?”

“Confucius said: the supreme order—the Dao—has vanished. The world now operates far from its original Dao. Everyone cares only for their own small family; each treats their own kin as kin, loves their own children; wealth and labor are private. Power, wealth, mountains, rivers—all have become hereditary, legitimized as ritual.”

“At this point, deceit, fraud, treachery, cunning, and intrigue arise—and war and chaos follow.”

“You, General Inspector Ge, are a scholar; I am a eunuch. Did I interpret this correctly?”

Ge Shouli frowned and said: “Correct—but don’t evade the point!”

Feng Bao shook his head: “How is this evasion? General Inspector Ge, as soon as Gao Gong ran into trouble, you leapt out so hastily, repeatedly reaching into the palace—aren’t you acting as ‘each loves their own kin’? Now, with Ming factions colluding and attacking each other—isn’t this precisely ‘scheming arises, and war begins’?”

“When the world became this way, you blamed it all on us eunuchs; now, in the Wang Dachen assassination case, you still blame it on us eunuchs.”

“It was Gao Gong who conspired with Chen Hong to commit unforgivable crimes—yet you point fingers at me, harping endlessly.”

“Who is really evading the point?”

“You!” Ge Shouli pointed at Feng Bao, yet found himself speechless—Feng Bao’s logic was airtight, using Ge’s own words to silence him.

Feng Bao said lazily: “If you had even a shred of respect for His Majesty or the Empress Dowager—if you had even a trace of reverence for the Four Books and Five Classics, for Confucius—could you have committed such grave disrespect? Did Confucius teach you to rebel, to assassinate your sovereign?!”

Suddenly his expression turned vicious: “Ge Shouli, if you point one more finger at me, I’ll chop it off tomorrow! You’re a scholar! Did Confucius teach you to treat others this way?!”

“It’s an insult to scholarship!”

A eunuch scolded a jinshi and head of the censors for insulting scholarship.

Yang Bo pulled Ge Shouli’s sleeve, signaling him to stop arguing with Feng Bao—Ge Shouli could never best Feng Bao; for months now, when had Ge Shouli ever gained the upper hand?

Zhang Juzheng gave Feng Bao a stern glance. The censors and remonstrators were a headache even for Zhang Juzheng—but Feng Bao, when he launched into a verbal assault, flowed like a river, as smooth as bowing.

That was his job.

During the Chenghua era, the palace treasurer Lin Xiu wrote a manual called “The Art of Provoking,” detailing methods to infuriate others; the finest method was to use the opponent’s own tactics against them.

Clearly, Feng Bao mastered this art to perfection.

“Hahahaha!” A burst of laughter rang out; all turned to the source.

It was Tan Lun, the Minister of War just impeached by the censors—Tan Lun was a man of broad disposition; if he wished to laugh, he laughed. He waved his hands: “Forgive me—I didn’t mean to laugh, but I simply… ha!”

Ge Shouli’s face flushed crimson; had he been able to fight Feng Bao, he would have charged already.

Zhang Juzheng closed all the court memorials and said solemnly: “Wang Zhanglong is a gambler and a rogue; his words are incoherent and untrustworthy. Chen Hong’s false accusations are likewise unreliable. This matter shall be thoroughly investigated by the Embroidered Uniform Guard. For now, we suspend discussion.”

The court session ended.

Everyone rose and bowed respectfully to the young emperor still earnestly reading, saying in unison: “Your servants take leave.”

Zhang Juzheng began teaching and elucidating. He first reviewed yesterday’s lesson; the young emperor answered perfectly. Then he began today’s instruction—he realized the emperor truly understood, not pretending.

For example, Confucius said: “The gentleman seeks the root; once the root is established, the Dao arises. Filial piety and fraternal duty—are they not the root of benevolence?”

The emperor interpreted: “The emperor’s fundamental duty is the people of the realm; when the people thrive, the state thrives; when they perish, the state perishes. The sovereign’s greatest filial duty is to preserve the empire inherited from his ancestors. To preserve it, he must extend virtue to all the people.”

Thus: The emperor’s root is the people; the emperor’s filial duty is to bless the people with virtue.

Zhu Yijun finished today’s lesson. Zhang Juzheng was an excellent teacher; an hour passed swiftly.

“Is Feng Daban also a scholar?” Zhu Yijun closed the Four Books Direct Explanation and looked at Feng Bao, who stood with profound deference.

Feng Bao immediately beamed: “Your Majesty, I am unworthy, but I have read a few books.”

Zhu Yijun nodded approvingly: “If you’ve merely read a few, then General Inspector Ge has read none? You’ve done well.”

Feng Bao was overjoyed: “Serving Your Majesty is my honor; to receive even one word of praise from you, I shall be joyful for days.”

Zhang Juzheng felt something odd—Feng Bao was too deferential, even fearfully so.

“Grand Secretary, speak freely,” Zhu Yijun said after praising Feng Bao, knowing Zhang Juzheng had something to say.

The night’s exchange of interests was over; Zhang Juzheng now had to deceive this ten-year-old emperor into letting the assassination case drop.

Zhang Juzheng swept his sleeves, knelt, and spoke with a mournful tone: “The rogue Wang Dachen falsely implicated others; the Embroidered Uniform Guard and Eastern Depot have probed for days without uncovering guilt or motive. The case should be eased. When people are pressured, they conceal deeper; if pursued slowly, their resolve weakens, and truth emerges. If pursued too urgently, innocent people may be falsely accused, disturbing the harmony of heaven and earth. The court is in uproar; essential matters cannot proceed. Thus I submit this memorial—my original intent was to act, but the court’s clamor compelled this petition.”

Zhu Yijun understood the gist: the assassin was a rogue who falsely accused others; the Embroidered Uniform Guard and Eastern Depot had found nothing; the investigation should be slowed—press too hard, and the guilty hide deeper; ease off, and truth surfaces. Too hasty a pursuit risks false accusations harming the innocent, disturbing heaven’s harmony. The court’s uproar prevents real work—hence the memorial.

Zhu Yijun narrowed his eyes, voice sharp: “Are you treating me like a child? Be simple.”

“I am powerless.” Zhang Juzheng closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled a long breath, and uttered three words. He wasn’t sure if Zhu Yijun understood the resignation in them—these words felt more like a confession to himself.

Zhang Juzheng was a proud man.

“From now on, stand when you speak to me. Don’t kneel so easily. I understand your meaning—let the matter rest.” Zhu Yijun rubbed his fingers. “How much did you trade?”

“Huh?” Zhang Juzheng rose, recalling the emperor’s words word by word, confirming he had not misheard.

The emperor was asking: how much was traded for the quieting of the assassination case?