Chapter 24

Why were the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the Northern Office of Military Police, and their Tiqi and Tishuai in an awkward position?

Because this office, from its very establishment, was the Great Ming’s sole external court judicial authority, and this external court’s judicial power targeted external ministers; to confront high-ranking officials, imperial trust was required.

The main reason for the Tiqi ’s decline was that the Director of the Eastern Depot, who also handled surveillance, was closer to the Emperor and enjoyed greater imperial trust.

The Northern Office of Military Police under Lu Bing gained immense power precisely because of the Emperor’s trust; after the Emperor declared his intention to practice martial arts, Lu Bing immediately sought to select several sparring partners to train alongside His Majesty and remain by his side—this was the first step toward trust.

But since the Emperor had not spoken, the Tishuai Zhu Xixiao could not casually raise the matter, otherwise the Emperor’s martial training might not last.

Feng Bao, as Director of the Eastern Depot, would naturally oppose it fiercely; if he allied with external ministers to impeach him, the Marquis of Chengguo’s household would be implicated—the military merit nobles and Tiqi were already in decline, and Zhu Xixiao had no desire to invite trouble.

Now that the Emperor had spoken, Zhu Xixiao sensed an opportunity.

“Then select ten sword-bearing attendants and merit nobles to enter the palace as sparring partners,” Zhu Yijun ordered; as for Empress Dowager Li, he would explain it to her himself.

Zhu Xixiao fell silent for a moment, weighing whether this might be his one and only chance to offend Feng Bao and restore the Northern Office of Military Police’s former glory; after a pause, he bowed his head and said, “Your servant obeys the imperial command.”

When the young Emperor first declared his desire to learn martial arts, he had already bound Zhu Xixiao to the same boat; when the Qianqing Palace eunuch Zhang Hong led the Tiqi to clear the palace, the Northern Office of Military Police had already offended the palace’s old patriarch, Feng Bao.

Zhu Yijun smiled and said, “Entering the palace is easy, but these sword-bearing attendants and merit nobles are notoriously lazy and slack—what if they arrive in the palace and can’t even match a little eunuch in strength? They can’t endure hardship, let alone suffering; won’t the little eunuchs sneer, ‘Even men with parts are inferior to those without? The brave are no match for the spineless?’”

Upon hearing this, Zhu Xixiao clenched his teeth—he was furious!

His inner rage flared instantly; his fists tightened!

What kind of words are these! He must make the young Emperor see clearly: not all Great Ming military merit nobles are cowards!

“Mother,” Zhu Yijun, skilled at stoking flames, walked toward the Empress Dowager.

While Zhu Yijun trained in martial arts, Empress Dowager Li watched him constantly, fearing he might injure himself; Feng Bao, standing beside her, recounted in detail the events of the morning at the Wenhua Hall, especially how the Jin Party had acted lawlessly, even attempting to seize complete control of the Capital Garrison by appointing talented officers.

In Feng Bao’s words, the Jin Party had become a faction deserving of a thousand cuts.

Tan Lun, originally of the Jin Party and now Minister of War, was transformed in Feng Bao’s mouth from a reckless minister into a loyal subject who had seen the error of his ways, pulled back from the brink, and devoted himself to the state.

People always speak from their own standpoint.

Empress Dowager Li and Zhu Yijun’s positions were perfectly aligned: Empress Dowager Li wished for Zhu Yijun to grow into a capable ruler and smoothly inherit the Great Ming throne, while Zhu Yijun wished for the Great Ming to revive and become great once more.

Looking at the bright, cheerful young Emperor, Empress Dowager Li smiled and asked, “Tired? Zhang Hong boiled some pear water today, added a bit of rock sugar—it’s just right.”

Zhu Yijun shook his head. “Not tired. The Tishuai is timid—he still won’t push them hard enough.”

“The Tishuai still has some measure of deference,” Empress Dowager Li replied, offering her approval of Zhu Xixiao; having a semblance of deference was enough—could the Emperor possibly lead the Great Ming army into battle himself?

“What did you learn today?” Empress Dowager Li asked with keen interest.

Zhu Yijun recounted everything he had learned that day, especially the matter of Emperor Renzong of Song valuing grain over pearls and jade, explaining it thoroughly before saying, “I intend to personally engage in farming and sericulture; Grand Secretary has already agreed. Emperor Renzong of Song did it, and our Ancestor Taizu did it too—he even wrote it into the Imperial Ancestral Instructions. Naturally, I shall do it as well.”

Zhu Yijun’s personal engagement in farming carried greater political significance than practical value—that was Empress Dowager Li’s view.

Could the young Emperor really bend over the soil, face the earth, and labor himself? No—he would simply have palace eunuchs do it.

Empress Dowager Li smiled. “Then plant. Use this opportunity to see which ministers lack deference.”

This was the advantage of a long history: one could always find precedents. Moreover, Emperor Renzong was held in extremely high esteem by scholar-officials; only by rejecting Emperor Renzong could one reject the Emperor’s personal engagement in farming.

If even the benevolent and tolerant model established by the scholar-officials themselves were to be rejected, wouldn’t that imply the minister rejected merely for the sake of rejection? Wouldn’t that imply he had no deference at all, merely seeking to confine the Emperor within rituals and rules?

Use the young Emperor’s personal farming as bait to see if a few rigid, outdated Confucians can be hooked.

Why not mention Ancestor Taizu? In the minds of Great Ming scholar-officials, Ancestor Taizu had been too bloody; farming was merely performative.

For instance, the Kong family of Yanzhou called the Zhu family of Fengyang “upstarts with petty tastes”; the Duke Yansheng, descendant of Confucius himself, had said so, and thus public opinion toward Ancestor Taizu and Ancestor Chengzu was very low.

There was a specific derogatory term for Ancestor Taizu: “Fengyang beggar.”

Empress Dowager Li had heard a folk drum song: “My home is in Luzhou and Fengyang; Fengyang was once a fine place. Since the Zhu Emperor emerged, nine out of ten years brought famine.”

Since ancient times, no great ruler has escaped slander.

Feng Bao sought to secure his position as Grand Eunuch; Zhang Juzheng sought to teach the Emperor theory combined with practice; Empress Dowager Li sought to fish out ministers who lacked deference—even toward the rituals and rules established by the scholar-officials themselves.

“Then I shall go,” Zhu Yijun prepared to take his leave; since they had agreed he would personally engage in farming, he had no intention of merely pretending.

Empress Dowager Li asked in confusion, “Go where?”

“To personally engage in farming. Grand Secretary said: ‘The Emperor, of supreme dignity, dwells deep within the Nine Heavens, unable to know the toil of agriculture and sericulture; only by experiencing the hardships of farmers, who labor tirelessly all year, can one curb indulgence and luxury, and feel compassion for the people’s toil to provide relief.’” Zhu Yijun spoke as if stating an obvious truth.

Since the iron triangle had agreed to his farming for their own reasons, he would naturally go farm himself.

Only then did Empress Dowager Li realize the young Emperor truly intended to work the soil!

“But the land hasn’t even been leveled yet—what are you going for?” Empress Dowager Li looked at Zhu Yijun; she couldn’t bring herself to say, “Just pretend—it’s enough; you don’t need to tire yourself out. The people support you; the palace doesn’t lack food.”

But she couldn’t say that—she couldn’t tell the young Emperor that the words of the sages were mere lies.

Zhu Yijun looked at her with wide eyes. “Of course I’m going to level it. Didn’t Grand Secretary say so? Or have I misunderstood—am I too ignorant?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Empress Dowager Li said, gazing at the young Emperor’s radiant smile and innocent eyes; finally, she waved her hand, signaling he could go.

As for the young Emperor’s request to select merit nobles and sword-bearing attendants to train in the palace, she also approved; the palace’s infiltration by outsiders was not the Tiqi ’s fault—she knew well how rotten the palace had become.

The Tiqi had no authority, subordinate to the Eastern Depot—who dared to interfere with palace eunuchs?

The Eastern Depot and Tiqi guarded the palace, yet one could only kneel before the other to report—this imbalance would lead to trouble; allowing merit nobles and sword-bearing attendants to enter the palace as sparring partners was, in effect, the Empress Dowager’s support for the Tiqi , a policy tilt.

At least the Tiqi must be able to stand tall before the eunuchs—that was balance.

Balance exists between all things.

Feng Bao wanted to say something, but seeing the Emperor head straight for Wansuis Mountain, he hurried after him.

The Tiqi selected ten sparring partners; Feng Bao also arranged ten little eunuchs to train alongside them—no one had more, no one had less; whoever broke first would lose face.

The palace little eunuchs could absolutely endure it, for those who couldn’t would spend their entire lives in the corridor quarters—being confined to the corridor quarters was worse than death.

Zhu Yijun returned to the Qianqing Palace to change into hemp clothing, then headed straight for Xuanwu Gate.

At the back mountain, many laboring palace servants had already begun Chudadi ; Zhu Yijun quickly joined their ranks.

In December, manure was piled and composted; ox dung was sun-dried in the twelfth month, then crushed in January and buried deep during plowing, after which some compost was dissolved in water and soaked again.

Zhu Yijun not only Chudadi but also followed two ox-carts to till the soil; he personally loaded compost into the seed drill, though he was short—he was barely taller than the drill—and he joined several old farmers and little eunuchs to spread the dissolved compost over the land.

This deep plowing required not only spreading compost but also weeding and removing grass roots and seeds to prevent weeds from regrowing with the spring wind.

The little eunuchs were desperate to dig three feet deep, extracting every single seed—this was a golden chance to please the Emperor.

Feng Bao worked for an hour and felt exhausted, but he dared not rest—the Emperor was Chudadi , and how could a eunuch dare slack off?

Finally, at dusk, Zhu Yijun returned laden with harvest; Zhang Hong pushed a cart of soil behind him—this soil was to be placed in the Qianqing Palace. Upon returning, the Emperor washed up, while Zhang Hong, with two eunuchs, lifted several floor tiles in the southeast corner of the Qianqing Palace and built a flowerbed—this too would be planted, but not with flowers; it would grow potatoes and sweet potatoes.

Empress Dowager Li looked at the flowerbed, so incongruous with the solemn dignity of the Qianqing Palace, and sighed helplessly; she merely waved her hand and let the Emperor have his way.

Compared to keeping crickets or cultivating immortality, this was merely planting flowers and grass.

After dinner, Zhu Yijun took out a pencil, spread paper, and began writing and sketching; today he had gained much—these old farmers were all skilled tillers, and they had spoken at length; Zhu Yijun feared forgetting, so he recorded it all—memory is poor, but the pen never lies.

“Empress Dowager arrives,” Zhang Jing shouted loudly.

Zhu Yijun rose to greet them; Empress Dowager Li and Empress Chen arrived together, curious about what the usually inactive Emperor had done today.

“Mother, Mother,” Zhu Yijun bowed, then sat at his desk and continued recording his observations.

Empress Chen stood behind Zhu Yijun and asked with a smile, “Today you trained in martial arts and farmed—so much effort! What are you writing?”

“Notes on farming. I’ll answer after I finish.” Zhu Yijun’s expression remained calm, his eyes fixed with unwavering determination on the blank paper as he wrote rapidly.

He used vernacular characters; compared to formal script, vernacular characters were simpler to write. In this process, Zhu Yijun also added punctuation to prevent ambiguity in his words.

Half an hour later, the entire sheet was filled with neat, tiny script; then he took out his small notebook—his personal memo—and recorded his doubts point by point.

Neither Empress Dowager Li nor Empress Chen disturbed the young Emperor; they spoke softly beside him. The earnest young Emperor made them feel even more at ease.

The two Empress Dowagers were discussing whether the young Emperor’s pencil was improper in decorum.

Writing was part of cultivating virtue, with strict requirements for posture, stance, and brushwork.

Zhu Yijun finally finished his memo and looked up. “Mother, Mother—is there something?”

“We came to see how hard you’re working,” Empress Chen smiled. “Sister was always worried about you before, her words filled with anxiety; these past few days, it’s reversed—she’s now worried you’re working too hard and sent me to Quan you.”

“What are you writing?”

Empress Chen was still curious about what the young Emperor had written so furiously.

Zhu Yijun replied firmly, “Notes on Farming—it’s a discipline.”

“For example, saving seeds of sweet potatoes and potatoes—each household has its own secret method, but it all boils down to three words: new, moist, frozen. Seeds must be fresh; old grain yields little. Storing seeds presents two difficulties: fear of moisture, fear of freezing. If buried, they won’t freeze but may get moist; if not buried, they won’t get moist but may freeze.”

“How to resolve these two difficulties?”

“Store in a cellar—bury them underground, neither frozen nor moist—perfect.”

“North of the Qinling Mountains and Huai River, the climate is cold and dry; seeds must be stored before Frost’s Descent, or they’ll freeze to death before entering the cellar.”

“But planting must occur after Qingming; Qingming brings rain, and half the seeds should be replanted after Guyu, because the north suffers late spring frosts—thin ice and light frost before and after Qingming can kill seedlings.”

“The good fields beneath Wansuis Mountain need no further planting—the little eunuchs will cover the soil with thick straw after sowing to prevent freezing…”

The Emperor’s farming differed from the people’s: five mu of land, nearly a hundred servants, even insect eggs in the soil were split in half.

But the Great Ming’s military colonies had one hundred men cultivating five hundred mu—each man farmed five mu.

The timing of planting in the capital was slightly later than in later eras, because the Great Ming was in a Little Ice Age.

Empress Dowager Li didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—the young Emperor wasn’t just pretending; he was personally investigating and experimenting, meticulously summarizing experience and lessons.

“I have a question,” Zhu Yijun said, his expression grave.