Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen: Why Use an Ox to Butcher a Chicken?

Zhu Yijun walked out the back door of the Wenhua Hall, shook two sheets of paper from his sleeve, and handed them to Feng Bao. “Feng Daban, I have two tasks for you: craft these two items—one for tonight, one for tomorrow.”

Feng Bao took the two sheets, glanced at them, and saw they were doodles the Emperor had sketched during the Wenhua Hall lecture—neat lines, with measurements, partial details, and usage notes. One sketch depicted a pen; the other, a set of knives.

The pen must be slender and long; the knives, sharp.

“I shall report to the Empress Dowager and personally oversee the crafting of these two items in the Armory Bureau. Your Majesty’s command—I shall give my life for it!” Feng Bao took the two drawings, suddenly knelt, and bowed with solemn reverence.

Feng Bao knelt so suddenly because this was the first task the Emperor had entrusted to him since the assassination attempt. It was a sign of trust—serving the Emperor meant his position as Grand Eunuch could still be maintained.

The Emperor is young, but he will grow.

Since the assassination plot, the Emperor first exploited Empress Dowager Li’s suspicions toward Feng Bao to strip him of authority over the Qianqing Palace eunuchs; then used Zhang Hong’s deception to clear himself of Wang Zhang’s accusations; now he has skillfully negotiated an exchange with the outer court, forcing Zhang Juzheng to stand against the civil officials.

In Feng Bao’s view, the most crucial part of this exchange was forcing Zhang Juzheng to commit an act so outrageous it would enrage heaven and earth—even if Zhang had no intention of submitting, even if he wished to defy like Gao Gong, he must now weigh whether he could afford to.

The Dissection Hall was an institution violating the Confucian Six Virtues, offending the harmony of heaven—and yet it was led by Zhang Juzheng.

With such a vile reputation, Zhang Juzheng would have no choice but to rely more heavily on imperial power to act.

That was Feng Bao’s belief.

Zhu Yijun, however, believed the Dissection Hall itself was the greatest gain from this case, for it could greatly advance Ming medicine.

The Dissection Hall would surely draw endless criticism—declining morals, corrupted hearts, collapse of rites and music—the words would never cease; opposition memorials would fall like snowflakes onto his desk.

Let Zhang Juzheng handle them. If he cannot suppress even this ripple of dissent, what good is he as Grand Secretary?

“Zhang Hong,” Zhu Yijun said, after telling Feng Bao to rise, turning to the eunuch standing on his right.

“Your servant is here,” Zhang Hong, already bent low, stepped forward two paces and whispered.

Zhu Yijun smiled openly. “Learn from Feng Daban. Today, in court, when Feng Daban rebuked Ge Shouli—he cited classics, silenced Ge Shouli utterly. That’s the power of learning. You must read more.”

“These censors and remonstrators have sharp tongues—you must defeat them in their own domain!”

“Your servant obeys.”

“Thank Your Majesty’s praise!” Feng Bao’s face lit up. The Emperor had praised him twice—this was immense affirmation.

Empress Dowager Li no longer trusted him as before due to the assassination case; the Emperor had also reprimanded him often. If this continues, can he still keep his position as Grand Eunuch?

That afternoon, Zhu Yijun arrived punctually at the Wu Gong Hall training ground and began martial practice—stretching tendons, standing Zhuang —his screams echoing.

After standing Zhuang , Zhu Yijun felt his leg tendons kept twitching. Physician Chen Shigong checked his pulse and said it was nothing serious—mainly because the Emperor was a bit overweight.

This stemmed from the Wanli Emperor’s diet—he loved sweets, disliked exercise. At ten years old, he already weighed about one hundred catties; standing Zhuang was naturally harder for him than others.

Chen Shigong advised increasing lean meat, reducing sweets, losing weight, building muscle, controlling his mouth, and moving his legs.

Zhu Yijun told Chen Shigong about the Dissection Hall. The Ming Dynasty’s foremost surgical master was both shocked and delighted.

He had entered the Taiyi Academy to advance his medical skills. After three years, he had read every text in the Academy’s collection—his goal achieved. He planned to resign like Li Shizhen and travel the land, improving his art through clinical practice.

At this moment, the Emperor offered him another path.

He was shocked by the young Emperor’s ruthlessness—these were living human beings.

He was delighted because the Emperor offered another avenue for medical progress.

Chen Shigong quickly convinced himself: under imperial rule, Wang Zhanglong dared to attempt regicide; Chen Hong, the Emperor’s household slave, dared to betray his master—both were grave crimes violating rites and morals. Were they even human?

If they were not human, treat the criminals as animals.

Such valuable material—wasting it on the executioner’s slicing? That would be a sin.

“Your Majesty,” Chen Shigong ventured, “perhaps you need not attend the execution?” The Emperor’s presence during the punishment terrified him—the bloody scene might frighten the young ruler.

Zhu Yijun shook his head. “I’ll go only if I have time.”

As Zhu Yijun trained his lower body, Empress Dowager Li, having heard Feng Bao’s report, smiled. “The Emperor praised you—reward him. Withdraw fifty taels of silver from the Inner Treasury.”

Empress Dowager Li took a tally from a palace maid. The crimson tally bore a golden band at the top—a token to claim fifty taels from the Inner Treasury.

“Thank Your Majesty’s grace!” Feng Bao said, beaming.

The Emperor controlled no finances or gifts, but Empress Dowager Li’s reward delighted Feng Bao beyond measure.

Most importantly, this reward made everyone in the palace know: Feng Bao still enjoyed the Empress Dowager’s and the Emperor’s trust. That was the key. With power, a little silver was nothing.

In his report to the Empress Dowager on the court deliberation, Feng Bao focused chiefly on his scolding of Ge Shouli—winning her favor was his essential skill.

Regarding the post-lecture exchange between the young Emperor and Zhang Juzheng, Feng Bao’s report emphasized how the Jin Party ministers had overstepped imperial authority and the bitter undercurrents behind their attempts to pacify.

As for the Dissection Hall—so hated by heaven and earth—he interpreted it as Zhang Juzheng’s pledge: he would not align with the Jin Party, nor would he, like Gao Gong, collude with ministers to restrict imperial power.

“Can’t this continue?” Empress Dowager Li said, sounding reluctant.

Though Zhang Juzheng had committed an act hated by heaven and earth, choosing to stand fully with the Emperor, it was a great relief.

Zhang Juzheng was even more formidable than Gao Gong. If Zhang Juzheng also wished to defy like Gao Gong, how could this orphaned Empress and her son hold the throne?

But these lawless ministers, unpunished, left Empress Dowager Li seething.

Feng Bao sighed. “The Grand Secretary acts with restraint. His thoughts and concerns are all for the Great Ming, for Your Majesty. He does not wish Your Majesty to assume rule over a crumbling, riddled empire.”

“The Great Ming cannot endure more turmoil. Gao Gong squandered the late Emperor’s trust.” Empress Dowager Li’s feelings toward Gao Gong were complex.

Gao Gong, the Grand Secretary who had served her husband, had shown deference while the Emperor lived. But after the Emperor’s death, he used the Jin Party and his vast network of allies to restrict the Emperor’s right to review memorials—something she would never allow.

At this stage, regardless of the truth, the case must be defined as Chen Hong, the eunuch villain, foolishly believing forged documents, thinking he conspired with the fallen former Grand Secretary Gao Gong, acting out of rage over lost power.

At least in the court’s official judgment, it must be so.

Zhang Juzheng has already signaled his desire to pacify. If Empress Dowager Li insists on pursuing this, she will drive the new Grand Secretary fully into the arms of the Jin Party.

The Jin Party had long courted Zhang Juzheng—even she, within the palace, had heard whispers.

Empress Dowager Li was satisfied with Zhang Juzheng’s stance—he wanted power, not fame. That was perfect. To want both was Wang Mang.

Letting Gao Gong’s pursuit go in exchange for Zhang Juzheng’s loyalty—this political exchange of political interests was a skill Empress Dowager Li had painfully learned after the late Emperor’s death.

“My son, are you tired?” Empress Dowager Li asked, watching Zhu Yijun limp. Yesterday he had limped with three steps; today, after stretching and standing Zhuang , he limped with one.

Learning martial arts for self-defense was not bad. In this precarious, declining world, every bit of self-protection mattered.

Zhu Yijun shook his head, blinking his big eyes. “It’s tiring, but Physician Chen says I must move more. Children who move more grow taller.”

Empress Dowager Li waved her hand, signaling Feng Bao to withdraw. She accepted the political exchange. She did not wish her son to inherit a crumbling, broken empire.

Feng Bao did not deceive the young Emperor. After reporting the full details of the Wenhua Hall to the Empress Dowager, he headed straight for the Armory Bureau—the Emperor’s items must be overseen by his own hands.

“My son, what did you study today?” Empress Dowager Li asked about his lessons. Yesterday Zhang Juzheng had praised Zhu Yijun’s reading; today, no praise—she was puzzled.

“I studied the anecdote: ‘Why use an ox to butcher a chicken?’” Zhu Yijun knew his grandmother would test him. She was his primary educator. The lecture had covered much—he chose one passage to recount.

“Confucius arrived at Wucheng in Yanzhou. Everywhere he heard the sounds of zithers and singing. Wucheng’s magistrate was his disciple Ziyou. Confucius smiled and said: ‘Wucheng is a small town—why use the grand rites and music?’ Isn’t that like using an ox to butcher a chicken?”

“Ziyou, unaware Confucius intended to teach his disciples through him, replied: ‘A gentleman who learns the Dao loves others; a common man who learns the Dao becomes easier to govern.’ Meaning: Master advocates education for all. Though Wucheng is small, Ziyou, studying under the Sage, dares not despise its people or withhold rites and music.”

“Confucius then told all his disciples: ‘Yan’s words are correct. My earlier words were jest.’”

Empress Dowager Li now understood the origin of the phrase: “Why use an ox to butcher a chicken?” She asked: “What did Grand Secretary Master Zhang say?”

Zhu Yijun replied precisely: “Grand Secretary Master Zhang quoted Emperor Zhao Lie of Shu-Han’s last edict: ‘Do not do evil because it is small; do not neglect good because it is small. Only virtue and talent can win the hearts of men.’”

“No evil, however small, should be done—small evils accumulate into great evils. No good, however small, should be neglected—small good deeds accumulate into great good.”

“And what do you think, my son?” Empress Dowager Li nodded repeatedly. Zhang Juzheng was truly teaching the Emperor diligently.

Zhu Yijun thought a moment. “Grand Secretary Master Zhang is right.”

“Ah? Haha.” Empress Dowager Li covered her mouth and smiled lightly. Zhu Yijun’s answer was perfectly reasonable, yet unexpectedly charming.

Zhang Juzheng was a proper Jinshi graduate—his scholarship was unquestionable. The danger lay in ministers who, though learned, spoke lies, called deer horses, twisted truth, confused right and wrong.

Zhu Yijun then spoke seriously: “I asked Grand Secretary: Does ‘gentleman’ refer only to the sovereign?” He replied: ‘A gentleman is one who governs.’ That is, those who manage the state—not merely the monarch.”

“I asked: ‘If a gentleman commits evil, does small evil become great evil? If he does good, does small good become great good?’ He replied: ‘Indeed.’”

“I interpret this: A gentleman governs. If a gentleman commits evil, the state suffers great evil; if a gentleman does good, the state enjoys great good. Thus: ‘A gentleman who learns the Dao loves others.’”

“Grand Secretary fell silent for a long while, then said: ‘In an age of enlightened rulership, your servant shall spare no effort to assist, revive ancestral legacy, restore order, and sweep away defiance.’”

Empress Dowager Li’s eyes lit up. “Good, good, good! My son is gifted. Previously, all those ministers—each had their own reasoning—left my son utterly confused.”

If a child learns poorly, blame the teacher. This logic fit Zhu Yijun perfectly. A ten-year-old, hearing the same passage interpreted by multiple teachers, would be bewildered—Zhang Juzheng himself was confused, let alone a ten-year-old Emperor?

Empress Dowager Li tested him on several more passages. Zhu Yijun explained each using the structure: the classic text, Zhang Juzheng’s commentary, his own interpretation, and Zhang Juzheng’s evaluation.

The Imperial Reader had also compiled and delivered the day’s lecture record to Empress Dowager Li.

After testing him, she nodded repeatedly. Though the child trained in martial arts, somewhat neglecting his studies, his academic progress had not slipped.

Most importantly, Zhu Yijun’s reading had received the Great Ming’s Grand Secretary’s approval.

Zhu Yijun was deeply relieved Empress Dowager Li agreed to pacify. He had already prepared arguments to persuade her—but she did not insist on pursuing the case, and he breathed easier.

What mattered was dealing with the deeply entrenched Jin Party.