Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen: The Monster Is Me!

Empress Dowager Li stood before the Qianqing Palace; she should have resided in the Cining Palace, the imperial dowager’s sleeping quarters.

But after the Gao Ar case, Zhang Juzheng led the ministers in petitioning that Empress Dowager Li oversee the emperor’s daily life, so she moved into the Qianqing Palace.

The Qianqing Palace was the emperor’s sleeping quarters; Empress Dowager Li residing here signified she was acting on the emperor’s authority—but merely acting, not wielding it herself. She could not touch the Wanli Seal, only select opinions she deemed suitable and have the emperor affix his seal.

Empress Dowager Li did not wish the young emperor to leave the palace to witness the execution, but the young emperor said: “When the assassination plot occurred, if the emperor hides away, it only reveals his cowardice. The court ministers will see: oh, the young emperor is so timid and fearful he dares not even see blood, dares not face the man who tried to kill him—then they will grow even more reckless.”

Lingchi was an extraordinary punishment, reserved for cases personally decreed by the emperor. Normally, the emperor need not attend the execution, but now, with a minor ruler and a doubtful state, with the sovereign’s authority weakened, if the emperor shows fear, how much bolder will the already audacious ministers become?

Empress Dowager Li permitted the young emperor to leave the palace to oversee the execution, and secretly resolved: this would be the last time, the very last time, she allowed the young emperor to indulge in such unbecoming conduct.

Zhu Yijun strode into Dongjiao Mihang, where the Dissection Courtyard, built to his standards, was completely separated from the Taiyi Academy—a four-court compound with not a single tree, its floors entirely paved with bricks to prevent mosquitoes, flies, insects, and rodents, for the sake of hygiene.

Zhu Yijun was highly satisfied with the Dissection Courtyard’s environment; Wang Zhanglong, Chen Hong, Meng Chong, and other principal offenders had already been delivered by the Embroidered Uniform Guard to the newly completed Dissection Courtyard of Great Ming.

“Remove their gags,” Zhu Yijun said to his martial arts master Zhu Xixiao, watching the several criminals tightly bound.

“Spit! Dog emperor!” Wang Zhanglong spat a thick glob of phlegm toward Zhu Yijun; Zhu Yijun saw the man’s vile face, braced himself, and stepped aside—just as the phlegm landed squarely on the shoe of Grand Censor Ge Shouli.

Martial training was useful: when facing such ambushes, at least one could see and react to the moment of evasion.

Ge Shouli’s face turned crimson with fury; he had intended to advise the emperor before the throne, urging him to cultivate benevolence and avoid such acts that violated heavenly harmony. The assassination plot was vile, yes, but one death ended it—beheading and public display sufficed.

Yang Bo supported Ge Shouli’s intention to advise; if they could truly dissuade the emperor, if the emperor himself issued an oral decree or imperial edict abolishing the Dissection Courtyard, could Zhang Juzheng possibly defy the throne?

Without direct confrontation between Zhang Juzheng and the Jin Party, room for compromise remained; everything could still be discussed and settled.

But this revolting glob of phlegm had landed squarely on Ge Shouli’s shoe—he forgot entirely his intention to advise, overwhelmed only by nausea upon nausea, frantically pulling out his handkerchief to wipe it off, only exhaling in relief after ordering the accompanying ceremonial officer to discard it.

Wang Zhanglong writhed on the ground, brazenly shouting: “Come on, kill me! Dog emperor! If you hadn’t dodged, I’d have stabbed you through! I’ve killed an emperor now—in eighteen years, I’ll be a mighty hero again!”

“Even as a ghost, I won’t let you off!”

“Death? Who’s afraid of death? Come on, stab me!”

Zhu Yijun watched Wang Zhanglong; the man was shouting, not from fearlessness, but from incoherent, frantic bluster.

The young emperor signaled the Embroidered Uniform Guard to present the case files; Zhu Xixiao handed the files to Zhang Hong, who passed them to the emperor.

Zhu Yijun opened the first case file and said: “Autumn of Jiajing Forty-Five, you committed crimes in your hometown, fled, and assumed the alias Wang Dachen. What crime? Lust at first sight.”

“You saw Chen, a woman from the village’s head, and broke into her home at night, raped her, then strangled her. You then forced her mother to reveal where the family’s money was hidden; after obtaining it, you murdered Chen’s ten-year-old child and her mother, all for one tael and thirty-seven wen.”

“Chen’s father returned home from outside, saw three corpses, reported it to the authorities, and died of rage and shock.”

“The Nanzhili Ministry of Justice issued a nationwide manhunt.”

Wang Zhanglong’s face turned ashen; this was a case from years ago, yet the Embroidered Uniform Guards had dug it up. He shouted loudly, voice hollow with rage: “That woman deserved to die—she dared strike me! That old hag deserved to die—when I asked where the money was, she refused! I kicked her, and she died on her own! That brat deserved to die—he dared bite me!”

“They all deserved to die!”

With his vile deeds exposed, such a horrific crime, Wang Zhanglong, though still defiant, felt the shame of his past being laid bare.

Zhu Xixiao kicked Wang Zhanglong hard in the stomach; the blow turned his face crimson, then instantly pale. Zhu Xixiao was the Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander—the emperor intended to flay him alive, so he would not die prematurely; this kick was only pain.

“Kill me! Kill me!” Wang Zhanglong gritted his teeth, still smiling.

Zhu Yijun picked up the second case file and opened it: “Summer of Longqing First Year, you took refuge in Shandong as a bandit, joining the Rising Sun Gang as a mounted robber, looting homes, destroying families, leaving dozens dead, earning the nickname ‘Earth Tiger.’ The imperial army crushed your gang, but you escaped, fled again under a new alias, and arrived in the capital, becoming a servant in the Wang household of Dongcheng.”

“These case files detail thirty-four crimes linked to you, the Earth Tiger.”

Wang Zhanglong shouted immediately: “Worthless women! All worthless! If they’d just handed over their grain, would this have happened? All of them deserved to die!”

Zhu Yijun set down the file and looked at Wang Zhanglong: “As a servant, you took up gambling, stole frequently, were expelled by the Wang family, then drifted into a life of thievery. You owed twenty taels in gambling debts, unable to repay, so you took desperate measures, conspiring with Chen Hong to commit the ultimate crime: assassination of the sovereign.”

Zhang Juzheng felt a strange sensation: the young emperor described the assassination plot in just a few words, yet meticulously recounted every prior atrocity Wang Zhanglong had committed.

In the rigidly Confucian Great Ming, daring to assassinate an emperor, whom the people revered as almost divine, itself proved Wang Zhanglong had sunk into lawless depravity.

In the seventeenth year of Chongzhen, the Jia Shen national catastrophe, Li Zicheng’s rebel army stormed the capital; Emperor Chongzhen, Zhu Youjian, fled the palace on horseback, but the rebels recognized him and dared not approach—he escaped to the rear mountain and hanged himself.

Chongzhen could have escaped; his eunuch companion Wang Cheng’en had prepared an escape route. After the emperor hanged himself, Wang Cheng’en’s corpse was carried by his disciples to Guangxi for burial.

“You deserve to die,” Zhu Yijun said, setting down the file and staring at Wang Zhanglong. “Killing you with a single blade is too merciful. So I choose the knife. Feng Daban, give the tools I ordered you to forge to Chief Physician Chen.”

“This is a dissection knife—extremely sharp, it slices through skin and muscle effortlessly; its tip can precisely trim blood vessels—you won’t even feel pain.”

“This is a bone-prying knife—it pries open your bones joint by joint, crack, crack, then each bone is soaked in pine resin, so we may observe them at any time.”

As the array of tools gleamed in the sunlight, Wang Zhanglong had already trembled; as the emperor calmly described each tool’s function, he finally shook like a leaf, convulsing uncontrollably.

“And there’s more,” Zhu Yijun continued. “Your internal organs will also be soaked in pine resin, for constant observation.”

“This isn’t the worst, Wang Zhanglong. Do you know what’s truly terrifying?”

“W-what…?” Wang Zhanglong shuddered violently, roaring in fury.

Zhu Yijun’s face beamed with sunshine as he smiled: “The worst is you won’t die immediately. The Dissection Courtyard’s purpose is to let you endure endless surgical experiments. You’ll live a long time—because the chief physicians here possess extraordinary skill. The true horror is not dying quickly, but waiting endlessly for death.”

“Before execution, the time spent waiting for death is terrifying—because you never know when death will come. That dread before dying is the cruelest torment.”

“Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!” Wang Zhanglong was utterly terrified, curling his body, voice strange—part rage, part wail—as he stared in horror at the ten-year-old emperor, who in his eyes was more dreadful than Yama himself!

Being beheaded and displayed, dying without a whole body, and suffering unrest after death was already an appalling fate.

Now the young emperor offered Wang Zhanglong a far worse death: living death.

“Your Majesty, spare me! Your Majesty, spare me! Kill me, kill me!” Wang Zhanglong was now babbling in terror.

Zhu Yijun smelled a foul odor—Wang Zhanglong had clearly pissed himself.

The young emperor of Great Ming stood in the sunlight, smiling brightly: “I thought you were so tough—this soon you beg for mercy?”

“Too late.”

“Feng Daban!” Zhang Juzheng glared at Feng Bao with fury.

Though he and Feng Bao were political allies who had jointly ousted Gao Ar, he never imagined the Great Ming’s emperor would become such a cruel ruler. Zhang Juzheng assumed these tools and these words were taught by Feng Bao.

Feng Bao had no words to defend himself—he had no idea the young emperor had ordered him to forge these tools for this purpose?!

Feng Bao’s legs trembled; he remembered his own past disrespectful acts!

If the young emperor held a grudge, one day he might send Feng Bao to the Dissection Courtyard…

Just imagining it made Feng Bao’s heart pound like a drum—he had no energy to explain to Zhang Juzheng.

Chen Shigong could no longer bear it; how could anything be so terrifying? The emperor was merely frightening him.

Chief Physician Chen Shigong brought a bowl of medicine to force-feed Wang Zhanglong; Wang Zhanglong naturally refused, so two Embroidered Uniform Guards pried open his mouth and poured it down.

Soon, Wang Zhanglong’s tongue hung limp, his eyes rolled back, he lay on the ground—still alive. It was a stupefying decoction, primarily made of Datura and Aconite root, a common folk anesthetic used for bone-setting—commonly known as “sleeping powder.”

Chen Shigong also had a local anesthetic called Huixiang Powder, used for procedures like copper-wire removal of nasal polyps and hemorrhoid ligation.

Zhu Yijun smiled at Zhang Juzheng: “Grand Secretary, I was only frightening him. I’ll only dissect him if he’s dead. As long as he lives, I’ll only use him for procedures I’m uncertain about.”

Such a valuable specimen must not be wasted—Zhu Yijun was a thrifty man.

Zhang Juzheng read the sentence carefully: repeatedly performing uncertain procedures? Better to just die outright.

Zhu Yijun said to Chief Physician Chen: “Master Chen, countless illnesses are treated by a few formulas; treating common ailments with these formulas may leave you helpless. I entrust Wang Zhanglong to you. I have great expectations for the physicians—I hope one day, the Four Seas and Eight Directions will all share the virtue of the Divine Physician; heaven and earth will be bathed in the healing grace of the Great Doctor. May all subjects attain longevity and health; may harmony be summoned from the heavens.”

“Your servant obeys!” Chen Shigong knelt immediately to receive the edict; he realized that after being around this monster for so long, he himself had become a monster.

For the sake of advancing medical skill, he had calmly accepted such cruelty.

The monster is myself!