Chapter 18

It is said: those who associate with the vermilion become stained red; those who associate with ink become stained black.

Doctor Chen Shigong, having long dealt with the monsters of the Great Ming, naturally became one himself through repeated exposure.

Of course, Doctor Chen would soothe himself: His Majesty said it was all for the sake of Great Ming medicine!

One must learn to compromise with oneself.

Zhu Yijun had originally wanted to observe Chen Shigong’s dissection techniques, especially the surgical treatment of appendicitis in this era—truly extraordinary: how anesthesia was administered, how the heart and lungs were excised, how sutures were applied, how sterilization and wound cleaning were performed; if the Great Ming in the Wanli era could accomplish such feats, Zhu Yijun was naturally curious—how exactly did Chen Shigong manage it?

But seeing Zhang Juzheng’s fiery glare, Zhu Yijun decisively chose to return to the palace and practice martial arts.

If the young emperor looked any longer, Zhang Juzheng might perform five prostrations and three kowtows and deliver a direct memorial of remonstrance; what was the big deal? Did it warrant such thunderous kowtows, as if the world were on the brink of collapse?

Was it not merely observing dissection?

Zhu Yijun was not afraid of Zhang Juzheng’s scolding—he feared that if the emperor insisted on personally observing dissections, the Dissection Institute might be dissolved, and Zhu Yijun could never accept that.

After returning to the palace, Feng Bao selectively reported the events outside, omitting the emperor’s words.

The emperor had instructed him not to worry the Empress Dowager; as a senior eunuch, his first duty was to precisely comprehend the sovereign’s intent, grasp the essentials, so that he might endure long in his office.

Thus, the image of the bright, cheerful young emperor needed to be carefully maintained in Feng Bao’s reports; certain details must be omitted, others subtly obscured with Chunqiu penmanship, and key points emphasized.

Feng Bao respectfully said: “When the criminal trembled in terror, His Majesty turned to Doctor Chen Shigong and said: May the Four Seas and Eight Directions partake of the Virtue of the Divine Physician; may Heaven and Earth be bathed in the Healing Grace of the Great Doctor. May this people be granted longevity and health; may harmonious qi be summoned from the heavens!”

“Your Majesty, this is His Majesty’s grand wish to bless all the people!”

“Zhang Yuan’s expression immediately grew complex; he gazed at His Majesty with renewed hope. The ministers whispered among themselves, discussing this phrase—both civil and military officials alike yearned for a wise sovereign to restore the court’s dignity.”

“Doctor Chen knelt to receive the edict, accepting the sacred mandate to carry on the legacy of the Divine Physician; surely, he shall achieve great things in the future.”

Feng Bao did not wish to further damage his standing in the emperor’s eyes; he had already shown disrespect, and if his reputation worsened, might he not be sent to the Dissection Institute? Better to die than that.

Today, the emperor had acted like a young Yama, speaking the harshest words with the brightest smile.

“Indeed, Wang Zhanglong is utterly vile—a monster who treats human lives as grass. Execution and public display are too lenient; sending him to the Dissection Institute is fitting.” Empress Dowager Li, having risen from palace maid, understood the people’s suffering; if there was any way, which parent would willingly send their child to the palace?

Once through the palace gates, the depths are as boundless as the sea; from then on, high walls sever one from the mortal world.

Wang Zhanglong murdered Chen’s family of three in his hometown, became a bandit in Shandong, stole in the capital, and was addicted to gambling; sending him to the Dissection Institute was instantly acceptable.

Empress Dowager Li did not wish the child to witness bloodshed, but the emperor’s visit to the Dissection Institute had allowed court ministers to see his character—he was no coward.

So what if he had been targeted for assassination? The emperor still had the courage to personally visit the Dissection Institute; he still met the assassin face to face.

That traitor Wang Zhanglong had initially been defiant—was he not reduced to babbling incoherently by the emperor’s few words, begging only for mercy?

Imperial authority does not rise overnight; it accumulates bit by bit.

“That phrase—‘the Four Seas and Eight Directions, Heaven and Earth, granting this people longevity and health, summoning harmonious qi from the heavens’—where does it come from?” Empress Dowager Li asked curiously; how could a ten-year-old child utter such words?

“It comes from Hu Ying’s ‘Hygiene and Simple Remedies,’ written during the Yongle to Jingtai eras. The Director of the Imperial Medical Academy cited it in a memorial regarding the Dissection Institute. His Majesty saw this memorial during his audience at the Wenhua Hall today and remembered it as fitting.” Feng Bao hurriedly replied.

After returning to the palace, Feng Bao too wondered: such a well-structured phrase—could a ten-year-old really say this?

He ordered junior eunuchs of the Office of Attendants to search the archives and discovered the phrase in the Imperial Medical Academy’s memorial—exactly the same memorial lying on today’s imperial desk.

“Palace maids sent out to purchase goods have heard rumors in the streets: the ten-year-old emperor reads the Book of June, flips pages without looking, and cannot even recognize characters.”

“Hmph, these are surely the lectures’ ministers, babbling nonsense to their servants at home. They teach poorly, yet blame the child’s lack of talent—is it their teaching that is deficient, or the emperor’s reading that is inadequate?” Empress Dowager Li grew angry at the thought.

A palace maid returning from errands outside the Qianqing Palace whispered this rumor, and Empress Dowager Li overheard it.

She could not directly question it, for the emperor’s studies were indeed poor; asking would only bring humiliation, yet not asking made her angrier.

Now, at last, her anger had eased.

Feng Bao immediately roared: “What nonsense! His Majesty possesses heavenly wisdom; to accuse the Son of Heaven is a grave offense of disrespect! I shall investigate and tear out their tongues!”

Empress Dowager Li smiled and waved her hand: “No need. Truth and justice will be judged by others; now, it is the ministers who are humiliated.”

Now, His Majesty speaks every word with precision—could it be that the lecture scholars failed to teach him, yet Zhang Juzheng succeeded at once?

Whose fault it is is obvious.

The gloom that had clouded Empress Dowager Li’s heart finally began to dissipate, leaving only one dark cloud: her son’s martial training seemed frivolous.

Zhu Yijun trained with utmost seriousness; he needed to protect himself, for in the future, his six-year-old nephew would know one saying.

Only the living can output!

Zhu Xixiao was very satisfied with Zhu Yijun’s martial progress; the other young eunuchs who trained with him did so reluctantly, and they treated training with the emperor with solemn care.

But the emperor trained willingly; watching the young emperor drenched in sweat, Zhu Xixiao suddenly felt a faint hope within: could the Great Ming produce another emperor who rode the horse?

The moment this wish arose, Zhu Xixiao crushed it: the emperor trained only to escape assassins—born noble, why endure such hardship? Soon enough, the Empress Dowager would issue an edict to halt the emperor’s martial training.

Zhu Yijun knew nothing of Zhu Xixiao’s thoughts; he was drenched in sweat, but on this third day of training, his limp had finally vanished.

Youth is wonderful.

He stood straight, bowed respectfully, concluding today’s lesson.

When the lecture scholars lectured, when Zhang Juzheng lectured, Zhu Yijun bowed slightly to show respect for his teachers—was the martial arts instructor not a teacher too?

Zhu Xixiao hurriedly returned the bow, wanting to praise him, but his education was too limited to speak eloquently; civil officials could flatter with rhyming phrases and speak for three days and nights without repeating themselves—military men simply could not match them.

“Mother.” Zhu Yijun flashed his signature smile.

The bright, cheerful young emperor—this smile, paired with his slightly chubby face, was highly deceptive.

“My son has done excellently today. If martial training tires you, stop. The court’s situation has finally stabilized somewhat.” Empress Dowager Li, pained by her child’s hardship, urged him to abandon martial arts.

Zhu Yijun shook his head: “The Analects, Tai Bo Chapter, says: Zengzi said: ‘A scholar cannot lack breadth and resolve; his burden is heavy and the road long. To make benevolence his duty—is it not heavy? To die before ceasing—is it not distant?’”

“Master Zhang’s commentary: ‘Breadth and resolve’ means grandeur and firmness—only then can one shoulder heavy burdens and travel far, steadfastly reaching the distant.”

“Fan Zhongyan of the Northern Song once said: ‘Worry before the world worries, rejoice after the world rejoices.’ To harbor the world in one’s heart is breadth; to care only for personal gain is narrowness.”

“To act with clear purpose and perseverance, to see every task through from start to finish—that is resolve. Without constancy, one grows weak; doing only half of everything destroys courage in the face of hardship and breeds timidity.”

After listening, Empress Dowager Li fell silent for a moment, then said: “Master Zhang is a true genius, a true genius. Today, I finally understand the meaning of ‘breadth and resolve.’”

She had never known these two characters meant this—Zhang Juzheng’s interpretation was penetrating, teaching not only the sages’ teachings but also how to live, even how the emperor should distinguish loyal from treacherous.

“How does my son interpret it?” Empress Dowager Li asked eagerly.

Zhu Yijun smiled: “I asked Master Zhang: What if one has breadth but lacks resolve? He replied: Without rules, one cannot stand; lofty aspirations with low ability accomplish nothing. If one sits high in court, one becomes a mere talker, a hollow debater, and harms the state.”

“I asked again: What if one has resolve but lacks breadth? He replied: Narrow and selfish, one cares only for personal gain. If one sits high in court, one becomes a traitor. If those who govern are all consumed by self-interest yet remain unswerving, the state is in grave peril.”

“I asked again: Are the hundred million people who support only me bearing a heavy burden? He replied: Heavier than Mount Tai.”

“I asked again: Is the Great Ming’s decline like a river flowing downward a long and difficult road? He replied: The road is long and obstructed.”

“I interpret this: The hundred million people support only me—this burden is as heavy as Mount Tai; one must harbor the world in one’s heart. The Great Ming’s borders are unstable, war and danger abound—this road is long and obstructed; one must hold firm.”

“Thus: The hundred million support me—burden heavier than mountains; as long as breath remains, this resolve shall never waver. Without breadth and resolve, one is a weak, cowardly man.”

“Master Zhang fell silent for a long while, then said: ‘Your Majesty perceives the subtle and foresees the sprout, sees the beginning and knows the end. I behold the rising sun, blazing brightly in the east—how could I not dedicate my life entirely? As long as breath remains, this resolve shall never waver!’”

Zhu Yijun said firmly: “I have memorized this well. Martial training is not so tiring—it holds its own joy.”

“I will not be aimless, without breadth or resolve—I will not be a coward.”

Empress Dowager Li felt as if her pity for her son’s hardship was itself a crime; her attempt to spare him from exhaustion made the Great Ming’s emperor seem like a coward—she suddenly felt overwhelming guilt.

“If my son does not tire, then train, train on,” Empress Dowager Li resolved; from now on, she would no longer dissuade him—this made her feel like a wicked witch who had hindered the Great Ming’s emperor from becoming a great man.

“What else did you learn today?” Empress Dowager Li continued testing his studies; Zhu Yijun recounted today’s lesson in the structure of classic text, Zhang Juzheng’s commentary, his own understanding, and Zhang Juzheng’s evaluation.

As Zhu Yijun spoke, he grew increasingly puzzled: Empress Dowager Li listened, but rarely commented—was she testing his studies, or learning herself?

The young emperor did not probe the difference; he treated it as review, lest he fail his monthly exam and become a laughingstock. Irresponsible as martial training might seem, he still had to pass the exams.

Empress Dowager Li, under thirty, had read books—but only the “Admonitions for Women.” She was indeed learning: how to discern right from wrong, how to distinguish loyal from treacherous. Before her son assumed personal rule, the Great Ming could not become a shambles under her watch.

This was her duty as a mother, and as Empress Dowager.

Listening to her son speak fluently, she was deeply pleased; at dinner, she specially ordered Zhang Hong, a eunuch of the Qianqing Palace, to add two dishes.

Zhu Yijun picked up one dish, his expression grave: “What is this?”