Chapter 305: Seek Not Great Merit for State and Nation, But Small Favors from the Sovereign

"Even if it's wrong, we can always tear it down and start over—it's not a big deal." Zhang Zhang Juzheng spread out Wang Wang Chonggu's memorial and spoke with absolute certainty.

Over time, Wang Wang Chonggu noticed that the young emperor's way of speaking closely resembled Zhang Zhang Juzheng's.

Whenever state affairs were involved, both would speak with such certainty—not vague, suggestive phrases that many mistook for social niceties.

For the empire's decision-makers, vagueness was not social grace—it was political cowardice. Anyone could utter vague platitudes, but not everyone possessed the will to bear responsibility.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng had You Qi bring his official seal, then stamped it across the seam of Wang Wang Chonggu's memorial before returning it—this signified that Zhang Zhang Juzheng truly endorsed it, not merely offered empty words.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng was residing at the Yicheng Bo estate in Xishan; after his mourning period, court officials had grown cautious and avoided visiting him. Zhang Zhang Juzheng assumed Wang Wang Chonggu had come to request his seal for a joint memorial, since Wang Wang Chonggu still lacked the courage to act alone.

Wang Wang Chonggu, however, stood near the emperor's side in court—he knew Zhang Zhang Juzheng disliked him, and understood the emperor placed great weight on Zhang Zhang Juzheng's opinions. He had come not to demand support, but to seek Zhang Zhang Juzheng's counsel.

Their motives differed, but the outcome was favorable.

Wang Wang Chonggu and Zhang Zhang Juzheng discussed the dangers of the Jianshang officials; as supervisor of the wool factory and Xishan coal bureau, Wang Wang Chonggu knew better than anyone the truth behind Gao Gong's words.

Wang Wang Chonggu looked at Zhang Zhang Juzheng and said: "During the Northern and Southern Song dynasties, state-run enterprises held a vital position in national finance, serving as the primary source of state revenue. Land taxes accounted for less than thirty percent of Song income, while commercial taxes exceeded seventy percent. Thus, the Song did not enforce land redistribution or curb land consolidation—and yet the state remained wealthy."

"As the Jianshang system operated, numerous problems emerged. First: state-run enterprises guaranteed profits regardless of drought or flood, leading to bloated staffing, officials holding offices without performing duties, abysmal productivity, chronic deficits, and thus constant price hikes on monopolized goods—until coal reached two hundred wen per jin."

"Management had no rules whatsoever. A single written order could destroy years of operation. Waste was rampant; everyone enriched themselves at the state's expense—this has always been the case, and is nothing new. This is a problem caused by institutional absence: it is waste and embezzlement."

"Third: over time, rigidity became widespread. Rigidity brought enormous administrative and operational costs—like a centipede that appears alive but has long been dead. Costs soared to heavenly heights, and the greatest problem with rigidity was that any technological advancement was seen as change, and change threatened vested interests. The result? Technological progress was suppressed, and costs rose steadily."

"Fourth: under the combined effect of the above, state-run enterprises' goods became exorbitantly priced, and the people widely rejected them. To survive, the state resorted to administrative force, turning all commerce into state monopolies. At this point, the state-run enterprises reached their most dangerous stage—and so did the empire."

Wang Wang Chonggu's memorial did not merely praise the Jianshang system—it detailed its flaws and the lessons of the Song dynasties. As supervisor of state factories, Wang Wang Chonggu felt this deeply, and he had long encouraged private workshops to join the wool trade, upstream and downstream alike.

"If within the state there are no law-abiding ministers or upright scholars, and without it no foreign threats, the state will inevitably perish."

The same applied to state factories: to ensure their survival, pressure must come from both within and without—must turn the blade inward, and must not fear competition from private workshops. This is the path to lasting stability. The Song dynasty's precedent stands before us—we must guard against this fate.

After hearing Wang Wang Chonggu's words, Gao Gong asked in confusion: "You know all this—then why are you pushing for this? More local affairs mean more disturbances; leniency brings more benefits."

"Yes, these Jianshang officials are docile as household dogs before you high officials—but once outside, facing the common people, they become wolves, tigers, leopards, demons, and ghouls—they can devour the people alive!"

"You are committing sins!"

Gao Gong spoke of the deeds these Jianshang officials committed locally: what were they but official bandits, plundering under the emperor's name? The ones who oppressed the people were not only powerful clans and wealthy elites—but also every government office.

"A single office employs thousands of Southern Yamen runners. With lax discipline, during summer and autumn tax collection, these runners descend into the countryside and leave heads bloody. Your memorial is nothing but aiding the tiger!" Gao Gong, furious, flung his sleeve and rose, paced twice, then sat down, breathing heavily.

Wang Wang Zhigao remained silent. He thought Gao Gong spoke sense: the people bore three mountains on their backs—one was the grain tax and land tax, one was the grain rent and tenant fees, and one was the private exactions of local offices. The grain tax belonged to the court, the grain rent to the gentry landlords, and the private exactions to the local Southern Yamen's henchmen.

For a thousand years, nothing had changed.

"During the reign of the Emperor Hongwu Emperor, eighteen state factories were abolished throughout the realm to allow the people rest and recuperation—this was precisely the principle. I believe although Master Xinzheng's words were harsh, they were not without merit." Wang Wang Zhigao agreed with Gao Gong.

In the eighteenth year of Emperor Hongwu, the emperor abolished all state factories because he saw the precedent of the Song dynasty.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng sipped tea and said to Gao Gong and Wang Wang Zhigao: "At that time, the Emperor Hongwu Emperor could not even find enough officials—he relied on recommendations. Even Fang Fang Xiaoru, whom people praised to the skies, was not a Ming Jinshi, nor even a juren. Likewise, Yang Yang Shiqi, chief grand secretary during the During Zhengtong era, was recommended into the Hanlin Academy during the Jianwen reign—he was neither Ming Jinshi nor juren."

"You can conquer the empire on horseback, but you cannot rule it on horseback. Yet without officials, even if the Emperor Hongwu Emperor were the True Warrior Emperor incarnate, he could do nothing. Thus, the state factories were rotten, and were simply abolished altogether."

Zhu Zhu Yuanzhang had no one to use. At that time, the Jiangnan region was swept by a wave of land surrenders. Administrative power required personnel to execute it—without people, where was the power?

A blanket abolition was the only option left. By the Yongle era, state-run shipyards dotted the southern bureaus.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng paused, then said: "If today, His Majesty, like the Emperor Jiajing or Emperor Longqing Emperors, secluded himself in the inner palace and ignored court affairs—even refused to approve any memorials—half the empire's posts vacant, then all court laws would be nothing but empty paper."

"Of course, this is merely hypothetical."

The absence of administrative power in the Ming was an utterly terrifying disaster—this was true in early Emperor Hongwu, and equally true in the late Emperor Jiajing and Emperor Longqing eras, when governance was corrupt.

If the Ming bureaucracy ceased to function, the Ming would die.

"You're still alive, and His Majesty still fears you enough not to act—but when you die, just watch." Gao Gong immediately said.

Even today, Gao Gong trusted the emperor not at all. The emperor feared Zhang Zhang Juzheng now, and thus strove diligently—but once Zhang Zhang Juzheng died, the emperor would reveal his true nature. That innate laziness of the "naturally noble" was too strong, too familiar—Gao Gong had seen too much of it in his lifetime.

"A scholar's worth changes in three days—Master Xinzheng cannot keep judging people by old standards, can he?" Zhang Zhang Juzheng defended his disciple: "Lazy? Who dares say the current emperor is lazy!"

He was so diligent, only slightly less than the Emperor Hongwu Emperor.

In the fourth year of Emperor Longqing, Crown Prince Zhu Zhu Yijun began his studies; even after ascending the throne in Emperor Wanli's first year, the emperor still read the Analects.

As crown prince, the emperor had indeed been lazy—he studied for three years without turning a single page. After all, the book-bearer was there; why should the crown prince trouble himself?

"You taught well! You taught well! Are you satisfied now?" Gao Gong flung his sleeve and sulked.

This was infuriating: when Gao Gong taught, the emperor knew nothing. When Zhang Zhang Juzheng taught, the emperor learned not only Zhang Zhang Juzheng's tricks—but surpassed him!

Where could one find justice for this?

One must thank Zhang Zhang Suiwei: if not for his plot to have Wang Wang Jinglong infiltrate the palace to assassinate the emperor, which terrified His Majesty, Zhang Zhang Juzheng would have had no good solution.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng and Gao Gong were discussing why the Emperor Hongwu Emperor abolished all state factories—due to lack of administrative personnel. The situation had changed: now, in the Ming, each vacant post had three men waiting to claim it, each eager to kick the occupant out.

"Why did I stamp it? Because today's Ming can afford to make mistakes." Zhang Zhang Juzheng restated his support: the Jianshang issue could be tried, because the Ming could afford to fail—if it failed utterly, we could simply erase it and pretend it never happened.

This was also why Zhang Zhang Juzheng now considered full retirement: the Ming was no longer teetering on the cliff's edge, where one misstep meant eternal ruin.

Gao Gong looked at Wang Wang Chonggu, then at Zhang Zhang Juzheng, and suddenly a phrase flashed in his mind: "Do not seek great merit for state and nation—only seek small favors from the sovereign."

Zhang Zhang Juzheng was the former; Wang Wang Chonggu was the latter. Zhang Zhang Juzheng came from a military household, not a powerful clan. How many steps had he climbed to reach his position as Grand Secretary? Could Zhang Zhang Juzheng truly not understand the principle of self-preservation?

Zhang Zhang Juzheng understood perfectly well: one cannot simultaneously plan for the state and for oneself. He chose the state, and sacrificed himself.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng and Wang Wang Chonggu spoke at length, finally agreeing on the broad direction for the Jianshang system: it would first be piloted in Songjiang Prefecture, with laws gradually added, then extended to the entire southern bureaus, and finally nationwide—as all new Ming policies were implemented, methodically and orderly.

"Zhang Zhang Juzheng, you truly deserve to die." Gao Gong declared his opposition to the Jianshang system. He was a former Grand Secretary stripped of power, one who had offended the emperor—his survival was already imperial grace. He had no authority over court decisions.

Expressing opinions was his right; whether they were adopted was Zhang Zhang Juzheng's prerogative. You may speak—I need not listen.

The Ming had the confidence to make mistakes—so it could refine policies through practice.

"The Emperor Hongwu Emperor once said: 'Future sovereigns must not establish the post of chancellor. Any minister who petitions to reinstate it shall be punished with the utmost penalty.' Now, what distinguishes you from a chancellor? In this alone, you deserve to die." Gao Gong was not speaking without cause—this was the ancestral law established after the Emperor Hongwu Emperor abolished the chancellorship. While Zhang Zhang Juzheng lived, no one dared mention it; once he died, it would be beyond his control.

"I am not a chancellor," Zhang Zhang Juzheng smiled. "I am merely the Grand Secretary and Grand Tutor."

"Shameless! Shameless!" Gao Gong was stunned by Zhang Zhang Juzheng's audacity. Once, Zhang Zhang Juzheng had scholarly integrity—he did what he did, openly. Now he had learned to make excuses!

Did the world not know whether Zhang Zhang Juzheng was a chancellor or not? If not a chancellor, how could he return power?

Zhang Zhang Juzheng smiled: "A chancellor holds the power to deliberate, discuss, and decide policy; supervises officials' execution; and maintains his own staff, establishes his own office. I, Zhang, may possess many of these traits—but I have no personal staff. Thus, I am not."

"Who said that?" Gao Gong frowned.

"His Majesty," Zhang Zhang Juzheng replied matter-of-factly. Only the emperor could define what a chancellor was.

"Do you have no shame? No shame!" Gao Gong was furious. How could this young emperor be so cruel!

Change the definition to deny the facts? This was the lowly Confucian's ultimate trick—and the emperor wielded it with such mastery!

Should the definition of a power minister be changed to: granted nine ceremonial privileges, wear a crown with ten tassels, ride a golden chariot drawn by six horses, use the emperor's ceremonial procession? Then how far had Gao Gong progressed? Why had he been branded a power minister, doomed to eternal disgrace?

This young emperor was utterly shameless. Chancellor was never a precise term—but now, because Zhang Zhang Juzheng had no personal staff, he was no longer a chancellor?

Gao Gong waved his hand: "No, no—what about your Zhang faction? Aren't they your staff? All your lackeys! You still claim they're not your personal staff?"

Zhang Zhang Juzheng smiled at Gao Gong's expression: "Don't rush."

"Do you think I'm staying in Xishan as Yicheng Bo for nothing? Now, the entire Zhang faction are Imperial Faction—they once relied on me, now they rely on His Majesty. How can they still be my personal staff? I've said I'm Grand Tutor—I've given all my disciples to the emperor. Isn't that natural? Where are my personal staff? Don't speak nonsense."

"You're the most shameless!" Gao Gong slammed his fist on the table, so enraged he felt dizzy. Everyone committed the same offenses—violating the sovereign's authority. Why was he, Gao Gong, branded a power minister, while Zhang Zhang Juzheng wasn't even a chancellor?

"Hah!" Zhang Zhang Juzheng laughed, slapping his thigh. He knew exactly why Gao Gong was furious: this year, wealthy families were relocated from the southern bureaus—but His Majesty had moved Gao Gong to the capital, not to punish him, but to keep him alive—to make him watch the Ming's revival. Gao Gong's opinion on new policies didn't matter; what mattered was that Gao Gong suffered.

A vengeful emperor.

In Gao Gong's view, Zhang Zhang Juzheng must die—he was in conflict with the system.

The Ming did not appoint chancellors. In the first five years of his rule, Zhang Zhang Juzheng's power far exceeded that of any chancellor—he was virtually a regent. The emperor could not change this fact, so he redefined the chancellorship!

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's conflict with the system also lay in suppressing speech: the Censorate and Six Boards were never under the Grand Secretariat—but under the Kaocheng Law, the Six Boards fell under the Grand Secretariat. Censors, intimidated by his authority, turned from steel to softness, dared not speak truthfully—even the emperor declared: "Whoever speaks ill of the scholar-officials shall be beheaded."

The Ming's correction mechanism relied on the Six Boards, the Censorate, provincial governors, circuit inspectors, and officials' memorials. But the emperor's decree had sealed off the censors' path entirely.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's conflict with the emperor and inner court began with his relentless promotion of frugality—he had forced the emperor to wear blue robes instead of purple.

Regarding imperial relatives: Empress Dowager Li intended to grant her father and brothers hereditary marquis titles. Li Wei was a Bo, not a Hou. Zhang Zhang Juzheng opposed the title. When Li Wei wanted to build a mansion, the Ministry of Revenue and Ministry of Works refused funds. Later, when Li Wei wanted to build a tomb, Zhang Zhang Juzheng still refused—so the inner court paid. Li Wei's shoddy cotton garments and other misdeeds were exposed directly by Zhang Zhang Juzheng's Grand Secretariat to the emperor's desk, leaving the emperor humiliated.

In February of Emperor Wanli's fifth year, the imperial temple tower of Da Longxing Temple was completed. Empress Dowager Li wished to grant a general pardon, suspending pending executions—even for those not covered by amnesty. Zhang Zhang Juzheng led the opposition, saying:

"If we abandon the virtuous and fail to employ them, release the guilty without punishment, then rewards and punishments lose their balance, mercy and severity become inconsistent—this is not the will of Heaven in establishing a ruler to govern the people."

"Your Majesty sees only the pity of criminals facing execution, yet ignores those they have wronged—whose grievances fester in the netherworld. If their pain is not avenged, their resentment will disturb Heaven's harmony, causing great harm."

"All these prisoners' crimes have destroyed heavenly principle and shattered moral order. Their harm extends far beyond one family or one person—they have tormented countless innocents."

"Why then do you pity the guilty wicked, yet remain unmoved by the suffering of the innocent good?"

"Suspending executions" meant commuting death sentences—a benevolent policy of the Emperor Jiajing Emperor's later years, originally intended for Daoist rituals, but not fully suspended: decisions were still made by the emperor's personal mark. Over time, it became a breeding ground for leniency.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's memorial was, in effect, accusing Empress Dowager Li of feminine weakness—especially the final line: "How can Your Majesty pity the guilty and yet remain unmoved by the suffering of the innocent?"

This line shattered Empress Dowager Li. She was stunned for days, furious. The temple's completion and the emperor's upcoming wedding were occasions for mercy—to show benevolence. Suspending executions was not permanent; they could be carried out after the wedding. But Zhang Zhang Juzheng had publicly scolded her, berating her with unbearable harshness.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's conflict with Empress Dowager Li went further: she was devoutly Buddhist; in Emperor Wanli's fourth year, Zhang Zhang Juzheng further reduced Buddhist and Daoist ordination certificates, eventually halting issuance entirely. He acted decisively. Empress Dowager Li had consulted the emperor himself on this matter.

Zhu Zhu Yijun explained the reason: halting ordination certificates was part of the land survey and land redistribution policy. Empress Dowager Li understood—but Zhang Zhang Juzheng had still deeply offended her. How could she face the Buddha?

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's conflict with the inner court extended further: he was the Ming's slaughterer.

In the sixth year of Emperor Longqing, there were thirty thousand imperial princes of the rank of Commandery Prince and above; by the fifth year of Emperor Wanli, only fifteen thousand remained—all purged. Strictly enforcing the Emperor Jiajing forty-first edict on princely regulations, those below the rank of Commandery Prince must support themselves; those above received only their stipends—nothing more.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's conflict with literati included: the Kaocheng Law shackled officials, forbidding them from idling; the land survey exposed hidden fields; he banned private academies and shut down sixty-three academies; he executed renowned Confucians like He He Xinyin; he reformed the school system, so that students who failed the imperial exams three times lost their state stipends.

Gao Gong believed Zhang Zhang Juzheng deserved to die: Zhang Zhang Juzheng maintained frequent contact with frontier generals, exchanged many private letters, and protected numerous officers. The Ming's great general, Qi Qi Jiguang, commander of the Beijing garrison, had once been Zhang Zhang Juzheng's subordinate.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng deserved to die: he was closely tied to Feng Bao, indicating deep ties with the Directorate of Ceremonial. He was also close to the Embroidered Uniform Guard commander Zhu Zhu Xixiao, and petitioned for the title of Prince for the Marquis Zhu Zhu Xizhong.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng himself was vengeful, retaliating eye for eye, tooth for tooth, and had no personal virtue—he was a bad man.

Was this a minister? This was a regent!

If Zhang Zhang Juzheng did not deserve to die, who did?

Gao Gong had tried to dismantle the Directorate of Ceremonial—and was exiled to his hometown. Twice he nearly became the scapegoat. Everyone wanted him dead. Why should Zhang Zhang Juzheng live?

Wang Wang Chonggu looked at Gao Gong, his expression complex: "I can explain this one thing. Once, when His Majesty held court in the Cultural Hall, a difficult matter arose. The Grand Secretary, Deputy Grand Secretary, and ministers had no good solution. The emperor said: 'A hundred mediocre chancellors are not worth one who saves the times.'"

"Hahahaha!"

Wang Wang Chonggu thought for a moment, then suddenly laughed.

What a big deal!

Of course, Zhang Zhang Juzheng can be criticized on other grounds, but if you're not as capable as he is, then you're simply not as capable—what's the big deal? Only His Majesty can match him in a few rounds of Jiaoliang; Zhang Zhang Juzheng is a minister, inherently at a disadvantage, and often still cannot outmaneuver His Majesty.

"Is this about the Kong family?" Zhang Zhang Juzheng asked.

"Yes," Wang Wang Chonggu nodded.

Upon hearing this, Zhang Zhang Juzheng immediately shook his head and said, "His Majesty overestimates me. I am powerless against the Kong family—this matter can only be handled by His Majesty; ministers cannot do it."

The more they investigated the Kong family's case, the more shocking it became; court officials didn't know how to classify it, for the Kong family had gone too far.

To pay respects at the Kong Miao, you must buy your way in—you must pay, or you are not allowed entry. Even if you are a Confucian scholar, you must pay; the price is steep: three taels of silver per person. This is supposedly for temple repairs, and they charge everyone—adults and children alike. Even infants held in arms must pay extra, for they must absorb the sage's aura.

The holy site in the hearts of all scholars under heaven—yet to pay your respects, you must first pay. The temple of the Sage Confucius reeks of copper.

Confucius advocated education without class distinction; the Kong family temple says: no money, no entry.

As soon as you enter the wengcheng, you see a pavilion with a plaque above it reading, "Where Liang Shanbo and Zhu Zhu Yingtai Studied." Their love story took place in Zhejiang, yet here, inside the Kong Miao, is such a place—truly absurd. This plaque exists solely to collect silver.

Correct. You can pray for a good marriage here too, at varying prices—111 taels for "one life, one love, one partner," and so on. The Sage's business is broad—he even handles matchmaking.

Beyond the wengcheng lies the Yi Sect. There, at first glance, stands a cypress tree planted by Confucius himself. The Kong family claims this cypress, imbued with spirit, is the Thousand-Year Cypress Lord.

It withered during the third year of Yongjia under Emperor Two Huai of Jin, after which came the Yongjia Chaos and the southern migration of the elite. By the end of the Sui and early Tang, the Thousand-Year Cypress Lord revived from dead wood.

During the third year of Qianfeng under Emperor Gaozong of Tang, the tree withered again. It slept for 374 years—through the reign of Emperor Renzong of Song.

This tree is remarkably strange: when the Southern Song was founded, it withered; in the thirty-first year of Kublai Khan of Yuan, it revived again. The Cypress Lord has spirit—it withered once more at the end of Yuan, but this time the dormancy was brief; in the twenty-second year of Emperor Hongwu, it revived again, flourishing lush and dense.

Why does the Kong family tell this tale of a tree spanning millennia?

Naturally: the Kong descendants observe its withering and flourishing to divine the fate of the realm.

Since this tree is so miraculous, it naturally can foretell good and ill fortune. Anyone who comes beneath the cypress planted by Confucius may buy its withered leaves, burn them to divine fortune, and drink the ashes to receive the Cypress Lord's blessing.

A thousand-year-old cypress with spirit? Confucius himself, if he knew, would leap from his coffin and beat these unworthy descendants to death. Confucius held one stance toward ghosts, spirits, and the supernatural: "The Master did not speak of strange phenomena, force, disorder, or spirits." He refused to discuss them. Yet before his temple stands a "Cypress Lord." Whether the Master is angry, we don't know—but Confucian scholars are furious.

Beyond the Cypress Lord lies the Xingtang Pavilion, bearing a stone tablet inscribed with the two characters "Xingtang"—the place where Confucius gathered disciples to teach. These two characters were written by Dang Dang Huaiying.

Who was this Dang Dang Huaiying?

Dang Dang Huaiying and Xin Xin Qiji were both from Shandong, classmates under the same master, sharing a dormitory in youth. Yet they were utterly different: Xin Xin Qiji later went south and became a minister of Great Song; Dang Dang Huaiying became a great Confucian of Jin.

Few today remember Dang Dang Huaiying, but Xin Xin Qiji's name rings loud; people lament his unappreciated talent.

The two characters "Xingtang," written by a great Confucian of Jin, are displayed prominently in the Kong Miao—and they charge for them. You can pay to pray for smooth official advancement. It is utterly ironic.

The most absurd part: Emperor Xiaozong of Ming once gifted the Kong family a calligraphy piece with just two characters: "Xingtang." But the Kong family refused to carve Emperor Xiaozong's characters on a stele—they insisted on using Dang Dang Huaiying's.

When the Jin army invaded south, they destroyed the entire temple—buildings and books burned to ashes. Yet the Kong family refused to use Emperor Xiaozong's characters and instead used those of a Jin minister. This is not absurd, because the Kong family has rules.

The Kong family's rule: any Ming-era titles or inscriptions within the temple are discarded. The Kong clan says: "Zhang of Jiangxi—has the air of a Daoist; Zhu of Fengyang—a nouveau riche, vulgar."

Thus, even the finest gift from Emperor Xiaozong—the best of all Ming emperors to the Kong family—is absolutely refused, for the words of a nouveau riche would sully the dignity of a thousand-year-old aristocratic lineage.

But is it not equally disgraceful to use the characters of a Jin minister who helped burn down the temple?

The same treatment applies to the ten-foot-tall wind-polished bronze bixi bestowed by Emperor Renzong. Among the nine sons of the dragon, bixi is the sixth, tasked with bearing steles. The bixi in the Kong Miao was gifted by Kublai Khan.

By the Emperor Wanli era, Renzong's bronze bixi still lay dusty in the straw pile; Kublai Khan's bixi still bore the stele.

Is that the end? No.

In the main hall, the statues of Confucius and the Ten Sages all wear miu—the twelve-beaded tassels hanging before the emperor's face. The Son of Heaven has twelve; a prince has nine; a commandery prince has five. During Emperor Jiajing's reign, Emperor Emperor Jiajing stripped Confucius of his princely title, so the temple may not use miu—that would be an act of usurpation.

Yet Confucius and the Ten Sages still wear miu.

Confucius might be excused—his title of Prince of Culture has long been established, and the Daoists are such rogues; the stripping was treated as a joke. But why do the Ten Sages wear miu? What is this?

Confucius valued ritual above all; yet the Kong Miao is the most disrespectful place imaginable.

The Kong family may be killed—but what of Confucius's temple? That became the question.

All details of the Kong family in this chapter come from Zhang Dai's "Tao'an Mengyi," Volume Two, Chapter One: "The Cypress of the Kong Miao." If you wish to defend the Kong family, debate Zhang Dai. Please vote for monthly tickets! Awoooooo!!!

(End of Chapter)