Chapter 26: Chapter Twenty-Six: To Be Enfeoffed Is Not My Wish; I Only Hope the Sea

Why would Zhu Yijun suspect Ge Shouli of championing the Jin Party?

Because when it comes to launching attacks against the Chief Grand Secretary, the most logical procedure is to have the Censorate’s censors take the lead—not for Ge Shouli, the Chief Censor himself, to charge forward and hand himself over.

Ge Shouli’s suspicions, his doubts, his inquiries all stem from one fundamental point of suspicion.

That is, Zhang Juzheng is pointing at a deer and calling it a horse.

Zhu Yijun had inquired about yields from farmers.

Ge Shouli had once served as Minister of Revenue in the Great Ming and should have understood average yields; thus, upon hearing of yields exceeding a thousand catties per mu, his mind immediately leapt to the conclusion that Zhang Juzheng was abusing power and trampling on imperial authority.

Zhang Juzheng, as Chief Grand Secretary, has indeed acted with considerable authoritarianism.

In northern Great Ming, one mu of land yields roughly two shi and a bit more combined from summer wheat and autumn millet—about three hundred catties total.

In the south, one mu yields rice in summer and rice, wheat, or beans in autumn, totaling about four shi per year—roughly five hundred and seventy catties.

What did Luo Gongchen claim? That yields reached dozens of shi per mu? Even fifteen shi per mu—what does that mean? Even if potatoes and sweet potatoes taste awful, they are still grain; when starving, who cares about taste?

To Ge Shouli, isn’t this precisely Zhang Juzheng pointing at a deer and calling it a horse?

Not just Ge Shouli—even among court ministers, few believed it.

Had Zhu Yijun not known these dull, muddy clods could truly yield dozens of shi, he too would have thought Zhang Juzheng was exaggerating, colluding with Luo Gongchen to deceive the sovereign.

Zhu Yijun smiled and said, “Chief Censor Ge, Luo Zhizhi submitted this auspicious sign for the sake of the Great Ming’s empire; isn’t planting already underway? Why not wait for the results?”

“Your Majesty, your humble servants tremble in fear,” Ge Shouli swept his sleeve, knelt, and performed five prostrations and three kowtows, weeping bitterly.

Zhu Yijun paused, then asked, “Chief Censor Ge, do you farm? I have some questions I wish to ask you.”

Ge Shouli was stunned. He blinked and said, “I… do not engage in agriculture.”

“Then forget it. Continue your deliberations,” Zhu Yijun waved his hand indifferently, signaling Ge Shouli to rise and resume his seat.

Ge Shouli stood there dazed, then sat down blankly on his chair, only then realizing he had been trapped.

This impeachment by the Chief Censor against the Chief Grand Secretary ended in nothing, thanks to the Emperor’s blatant bias.

Ge Shouli snapped back to awareness and realized where his mistake lay.

He spoke of rules; the Emperor spoke of facts. He kept chanting about “I shall restore order and bear great burdens,” yet could not answer even a ten-year-old Emperor’s questions—how could he speak of restoring and assisting?

The court deliberation continued, now turning to the matter of Qi Jiguang escorting Dong Huli’s nephew back to the capital.

Zhang Juzheng proposed that Qi Jiguang receive his reward at the Forbidden City’s front hall via Deshengmen and the Ministry of War; Yang Bo, however, suggested Qi Jiguang hand over the prisoner at Beitucheng and receive his reward there, then return swiftly to Jizhou, arguing that the northern barbarians might again invade the border, and as Regional Commander, Qi Jiguang must return without delay.

Minister of Rites Lu Shusheng also opposed Qi Jiguang entering the capital, stating it violated propriety for frontier generals to enter the city without cause.

Zhu Yijun found this amusing: on one side, the Jin Party’s Tan Lun had defected and aligned with Zhang Juzheng; on the other, Zhang Juzheng’s own appointee, Minister of Rites Lu Shusheng, had just stabbed Zhang Juzheng in the back and was now cozying up to the Jin Party.

Lu Shusheng was from Huating in Songjiang Prefecture—the same Huating as the Great Ming’s Chief Grand Secretary Xu Jie. Lu Shusheng was Xu Jie’s fellow townsman; when Xu Jie presided over the Hanlin Academy, he was the teacher of both Zhang Juzheng and Lu Shusheng.

After decades of wind and rain, Xu Jie’s faction, which had toppled Yan Song, was now long gone; those still in court had mostly joined either the Jin Party or Zhang Juzheng’s faction.

Zhang Juzheng and Lu Shusheng had been classmates, so after the death of Longqing Emperor and the vacancy of Minister of Rites, Lu Shusheng was appointed to the post on Zhang Juzheng’s recommendation.

Then, on the matters of Luo Gongchen’s proposal to tax ocean-going ships, Qi Jiguang’s return for reward, and the Emperor’s personal involvement in farming, Lu Shusheng delivered three sharp backstabs to Zhang Juzheng.

Zhang Juzheng did not dwell on it, but continued presiding over the court deliberation until its end.

“Your Majesty’s health be well; we take our leave,” the ministers bowed and withdrew from Wenhua Hall, while the Readers, Lecturers, and Text Display Officers entered.

Zhang Juzheng bowed and said, “Your Majesty, I recommend one man. He is of peasant origin, well-versed in agriculture, and possesses exceptional insight into farming matters—he is Xu Zhen from Guixi in Jiangxi, a Jinshi of Longqing Fifth Year.”

“Has the Chief Grand Secretary ever farmed?” Zhu Yijun asked, seemingly unconcerned.

Zhang Juzheng shook his head. “I farmed as a child, but after becoming a student, I never set foot in the fields again. Your Majesty has doubts I cannot resolve, so I recommend another.”

“Oh? Since the Chief Grand Secretary recommends him, where is this man now?” Zhu Yijun asked with a smile.

Zhang Juzheng bowed. “He is currently in the capital, running about.”

Zhang Juzheng was a military household; the Great Ming’s military colonies combined garrisoning and farming, so Zhang Juzheng had indeed tilled land as a child—but only playfully. After studying, he abandoned agriculture entirely, focusing solely on scholarship and official examinations: he passed the xiuren exam at twelve, the juren at sixteen, and the jinshi at twenty-three, and had not farmed since.

The man he recommended, Xu Zhen, had no ties to the Jin Party or to Zhang Juzheng himself; he was a newly minted jinshi with a low ranking.

In the Great Ming court, the relationship between examinee and chief examiner formed a factional bond; but those who ranked too low had no qualification to designate their examiner as their master.

For example, the chief examiner of Longqing Fifth Year was Zhang Siwei, but Zhang Siwei was not Xu Zhen’s master; even if Xu Zhen wished to become Zhang Siwei’s disciple, Zhang Siwei would have to accept him.

Xu Zhen knew nothing else but land reclamation and water conservancy.

When he served as magistrate of Shanyin in Zhejiang, he reclaimed thirty-nine thousand mu of land in one year. Just as Xu Zhen planned to expand his reclamation and water projects, he clashed with local powerful elites, was obstructed from continuing, and, amid accusations from court censors, his reclamation and seed cultivation efforts were completely halted.

Zhang Juzheng had read Xu Zhen’s memorials; aside from all else, he was an expert at farming.

After being censured, Xu Zhen was idle, returned to the capital, and sought someone to recommend him—but found no avenue. The court was either Jin Party or Zhang Party; neither Yang Bo nor Zhang Juzheng’s faction would accept a third-class jinshi who had served as magistrate of Shanyin.

To become a disciple of Zhang Juzheng or Yang Bo was not so simple.

Zhu Yijun nodded. “After my martial practice today, bring him to Jingshan. I will meet him.”

Zhang Juzheng began his lecture. One hour long: half on the Analects, half on the Illustrated Mirror for Governance. Whenever Zhu Yijun raised doubts, Zhang Juzheng answered with meticulous care; yet the Emperor’s questions were sometimes sharp and tricky—even the Chief Grand Secretary struggled to answer.

Zhang Juzheng sat upright and said, “Confucius said: ‘Do not worry that others do not know you; worry that you do not know others.’”

“The Master said: Do not fear that others fail to understand you; fear that you fail to understand others.”

“The gentleman acts earnestly, not to gain recognition.”

“To do good deeds yet fear the Emperor won’t know, fearing you won’t receive rank or title; to have insights yet withhold them from others, fearing they’ll steal your reputation—these are concerns of those who seek fame.”

“The gentleman’s virtue, conduct, and learning reside within himself; whether others know or approve does not affect his actions.”

“Your Majesty, seated high above the ninefold heavens, if you cannot discern who is virtuous and who is mediocre, cannot judge whether policies benefit or harm, you will easily be deceived—be vigilant.”

“I interpret: The gentleman’s way is to be without shame before his own heart; stand alone, with purity as the foundation.”

Zhu Yijun paused and asked, “Xu Zhen reclaimed thirty-nine thousand mu of land. If one family of four has twenty mu, that supports two Battalion Commander—ten thousand people. He sought no merit, no fame—can he be called a gentleman?”

“He is a gentleman,” Zhang Juzheng replied solemnly. If Xu Zhen were not a gentleman, Zhang Juzheng would not have recommended him.

“Qi Jiguang trained six thousand soldiers for three years, fought for over a decade to pacify the Japanese pirates, marched thousands of miles, never disturbed a single household, maintained strict discipline, renowned inside and outside the realm. Arriving in Jizhou, he barred the northern barbarians beyond the Great Wall. Yet his title remains obscure—can he be called a gentleman?”

“He is a gentleman,” Zhang Juzheng answered, sensing something amiss—but he answered honestly. Qi Jiguang, by military merit, should long ago have been ennobled—but where is his title? And what does Qi Jiguang say?

Qi Jiguang says: “To be enfeoffed as a marquis is not my wish; I only hope the sea’s waves lie still.”

Zhu Yijun wrote down the names Xu Zhen and Qi Jiguang, stared at them for a moment, and said: “Xu Zhen nourished ten thousand people, sought no merit, sought no fame, and now sits idle; Qi Jiguang marched north and south, pacified the Japanese pirates, barred the northern barbarians, yet holds no title, no imperial edict.”

“Chief Grand Secretary, teach me: why does Xu Zhen have no path to petition? Why, when Qi Jiguang escorts Dong Huli’s nephew to the capital, cannot he enter the capital to receive his reward? Why must he stop only at Beitucheng, receive his reward, and rush back without delay?”

Of course!

Zhang Juzheng knew: lecturing the young Emperor could never be smooth sailing!

Zhang Juzheng paused, then said, “Xu Zhen needs no petition—he has already been recommended by me. And General Qi will not remain only at Beitucheng.”

Xu Zhen had no way to reach Zhang Juzheng; Zhang Juzheng thought of him only because he anticipated the Emperor would inquire about farming and needed an expert. As for frontier generals entering the capital, Zhang Juzheng had already planned ahead.

Zhang Juzheng evaded the issue: the Emperor asked about rules, but Zhang Juzheng sidestepped rules and spoke only of facts—that was sophistry. Yet from the standpoint of rules, Zhang Juzheng could not answer, so he could only attempt vagueness.

Zhu Yijun’s lips curled into a faint smile—he heard Zhang Juzheng’s vagueness.

Qi Jiguang was still fortunate—he had aligned himself with Zhang Juzheng.

Yu Long, Qi Hu: Yu Dayou was also a famed general who pacified the Japanese pirates, known as the Dragon General, yet now he was merely a fourth-rank Assistant Commandant, unable to act; whenever he did something, accusations from censors followed. Yu Dayou was only two ranks above Luo Gongchen, a fifth-rank Coastal Deputy Magistrate.

Zhu Yijun picked up the brush on the table and said, “To act without forgetting one’s original intent, with heart as firm as a rock, to work earnestly and achieve results—that is the true gentleman. To wield clever words, fabricate problems, deliberately stir conflict—that is the true villain. Who is a virtuous minister? Who is a corrupt one? Whose actions benefit the Great Ming? Whose harm it? To judge, use this standard.”

“Thus: Original intent firm as rock, earnest action leads far—that is the true gentleman. Clever words, fabricating strife—that is the true villain. Who to promote? Who to demote? Who harms? Who benefits? Know others, and act accordingly.”

Zhang Juzheng carefully pondered, then solemnly said, “Your Majesty is wise.”

Zhang Juzheng was puzzled: Feng Bao could not teach such principles; Empress Dowager Li could not teach them—then who did?

These very principles were precisely the ones he and the Emperor had exchanged, word by word, in their dialogues!

Zhang Juzheng reviewed everything—he realized: these principles were all his own teachings.