Chapter 31: Chapter Thirty-One: Zhang Juzheng

Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi heard the young emperor had offered a face-saving exit, and both let out long sighs of relief; staying any longer, they feared they might suffocate.

The two bowed deeply in the five-kowtows, three-bows ritual and lowered their heads: “Your servants take leave.”

Let Zhang Juzheng handle this deadly topic!

The young emperor’s questions were all sharply cunning.

Before so many officials responsible for protocol, document presenters, academic readers, and eunuchs, the two scholars had the audacity to dig up Gao Gong’s old memorial, originally titled “Special Submission on Urgent Matters to Aid the New Policies,” and attempt to overturn its established judgment.

They lacked the courage, and dared not peddle Gao Gong’s theories to the young emperor.

If Feng Bao merely reports truthfully to Empress Dowager Li, Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi will be dismissed tomorrow for having set their right foot inside the official compound.

The Ming bureaucracy is critically understaffed—three or four men wait for every single post; if one falls, reinstatement is as hard as climbing to heaven.

Being an imperial tutor requires more than genuine talent—it demands real power.

Zhang Juzheng’s status is that of a regent appointed by the late emperor, entrusted with the duty of educating and assisting the emperor.

Zhang Juzheng is also the Grand Secretary; his network includes military, civil, financial, and censorial officials. Certain matters, certain truths, certain words—Zhang Juzheng, as imperial tutor, may speak them; Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi cannot—they lack the authority.

As Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi exited the Wenhua Hall, both wore expressions of having narrowly escaped death. They did not know how Yang Bo would blame them, but if they dared revive the old matter and bring up Gao Gong’s “Five-Point Memorial,” tomorrow would bring disaster—catastrophic, bloody disaster!

Gao Gong carried the late emperor’s final edict; submitting the “Five-Point Memorial” earned him only retirement. What would Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi earn by raising this matter—merely retirement?

After leaving the Wenhua Hall, Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi headed directly to the Wenyuan Pavilion opposite.

The layout of the Wenyuan Pavilion opposite the Wenhua Hall differed from all other parts of the palace.

The Wenyuan Pavilion was originally the Ming emperor’s imperial library; storing books near water was safest, hence the name “Yuan,” meaning abyss. Its glazed tiles were black—water’s element is black, symbolizing protection from fire. The black tiles stood in stark contrast to the bright yellow glazed tiles of the Ming palace.

The Wenyuan Pavilion spanned six bays, ten zhang wide, less than five zhang deep, and stood two stories tall.

Its pillars were green, its window railings red. Amid the gurgling of the Jinshui River, Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi, gritting their teeth, had the secretary announce them and entered.

Inside the Wenyuan Pavilion, the central desk belonged to the Grand Secretary; beside it, side-by-side, were the desks of the cabinet ministers. Deputy Grand Secretary Lu Diaoyang was discussing court affairs with Zhang Juzheng, while secretaries and young eunuchs carried memorials to a half-room where the Directorate of Ceremonial would red-pen them.

The Directorate of Ceremonial’s office was beside the Wenhua Hall, occupying only half a room—extremely cramped. The entire Ming palace had 9,999 and a half rooms; that half-room was where the eunuchs of the Directorate worked.

“Grand Secretary Zhang,” Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi bowed, awkward and unsure how to begin.

Zhang Juzheng felt a pang of regret—he had only slacked off for fifteen minutes, yet these two eloquent scholars had already cracked under the emperor’s pressure and come begging for help.

“I know your purpose. I shall go at once. Return to your offices,” Zhang Juzheng said, cutting them off. Even he sometimes did not know how to answer the emperor’s questions.

Zhang Juzheng rose and headed toward the Wenhua Hall. Xu Zhenming, the Reader in Waiting, walked beside him and explained everything that had transpired in the hall.

“Your servant pays homage, Your Majesty. May Your Majesty’s health be well,” Zhang Juzheng bowed, then spoke, hands clasped: “Your Majesty’s doubts are not difficult to resolve.”

“Your servant submits the ‘Five-Point Memorial’ to Your Majesty,” Zhang Juzheng pulled a memorial from his sleeve and handed it to Zhang Hong, who presented it before the emperor’s desk.

Feng Bao turned pale—what was this?

Was Zhang Juzheng about to imitate Gao Gong?

Gao Gong had his Five-Point Memorial—now Zhang Juzheng would produce his own?!

But Feng Bao studied Zhang Juzheng’s calm expression and ultimately decided to wait and listen.

It was a long, meticulously formal classical Chinese memorial—only sentence breaks, no punctuation, no vernacular words—but Zhu Yijun could still understand it. He read for a long time, taking notes with a pencil as he went.

“First point: The emperor shall hold court to hear governance.” Zhu Yijun looked at the carved railings and painted beams of the Wenhua Hall—he knew he was already holding court. This was the outcome of the struggle after Gao Gong’s original “Five-Point Memorial” and the clash between the Jin Faction and the eunuch faction.

The young emperor’s daily routine was peculiar: ministers bickered below, while the emperor read and held court above.

This had been an unwritten rule—now it was written.

Zhang Juzheng’s first point did not demand daily court sessions or the emperor’s diligence like the Hongwu Emperor’s thrice-daily audiences—morning, noon, evening. “Hearing governance” meant only that the Ming emperor attend court deliberations in the Wenhua Hall—even if silent, merely listening to what the ministers debated.

When the emperor attended, ministers could see him.

Even the extraordinarily diligent Zhu Yuanzhang never imagined his descendants would invent the absurdity of skipping court entirely, so he never specified such rules in the “Imperial Ancestral Instructions.”

Zhang Juzheng’s demand was not excessive: simply require the emperor to attend regular court sessions, listen to the twenty-seven ministers, even if he says nothing.

Feng Bao sighed in relief—the emperor attending court in the Wenhua Hall was only proper. Feng Bao was not afraid; he represented the emperor in clashing with ministers, and the emperor had once praised Feng Bao’s “Annoyance Classic” highly.

“Second point: All memorials must receive final disposition.” Zhu Yijun smiled as he reached the second point.

Zhang Juzheng’s second point was lengthy, citing classics to urge the emperor to value diligence, while criticizing how many memorials were left unprocessed, paralyzing state affairs.

In short, this second point demanded every memorial be responded to.

Zhang Juzheng’s meaning was clear: even a circle or a cross on the memorial counted as a response—do not leave them unmarked in the palace; it harms the state.

“Third point: Summon cabinet ministers to meet with court ministers.” Zhu Yijun’s expression grew serious as he reached the third point. Zhang Juzheng’s third point demanded that for major state matters, the emperor summon cabinet ministers to deliberate directly before court ministers—there are only twenty-seven court ministers; none may be avoided.

Court ministers have the right to petition for audience; if they request it, the emperor must grant it. Many matters must be settled face-to-face, so that slanderers cannot whisper poison.

The Ming court had exactly twenty-seven ministers, civil and military. If the emperor refuses to meet them directly, communication must pass through the Directorate of Ceremonial—creating gaps, leading to mutual misjudgments, discord between sovereign and ministers, and unrest in the realm.

“Fourth point: All matters must be deliberated; failure to deliberate leads to error.” Zhu Yijun looked at Zhang Juzheng strangely as he reached the fourth point. If the emperor agreed to this, would Zhang Juzheng not be shackling himself?

The core of this fourth point: every matter must undergo court deliberation—with civil and military officials, generals of the Five Military Directorates, ministers and vice-ministers of the Six Ministries, censorial officials, Directorate of Ceremonial, and palace treasury eunuchs—all factions present, each with their own stance, seeking compromise among them.

If every matter must be deliberated, how could Zhang Juzheng rule autocratically?

“Fifth point: The capital inspection cycle is three years; the sovereign holds the six methods and four criteria for appointments.” Zhu Yijun reached the fifth point and realized Zhang Juzheng was truly ruthless.

The Hongwu Emperor established the capital inspection system: initiated by the emperor, administered by the Ministry of Personnel to evaluate capital officials—originally every three years, later changed to every ten years under the Zhengtong reign.

Under Emperor Xiaozong’s Hongzhi reign, it became every six years—but the method changed to self-assessment: officials submitted their own performance summaries every six years. At inspection time, ministers would loudly protest their incompetence and beg to resign; the emperor would gently refuse.

The capital inspection became a farce; evaluation of capital officials became hollow in name only.

Emperor Xiaozong was truly a “great filial fool.”

Zhang Juzheng’s “six methods” meant evaluating officials on six dimensions and four angles, every three years.

The six dimensions: incompetence, negligence, old age, illness, impulsiveness, and lack of talent—corresponding to six corrupt practices: holding office without duty, neglecting responsibilities, clinging to power, incapacity due to illness, overcrowding of posts, and utter incompetence.

The four criteria: integrity, administration, talent, and age—corresponding to four performance metrics, graded into three tiers, each with different weightings, with administration as the primary focus.

The fifth point was the concrete manifestation and extension of the “Performance Evaluation System” for capital officials.

Hai Rui and Xu Zhenming and Ma Yilong, who targeted the gentry, met dire ends—what was Zhang Juzheng doing? Using concrete evaluation methods to assess capital officials—he was targeting the bureaucracy, specifically the power elite of the Ming capital.

To do this, he would be denounced in death, branded a traitor, and lit as a human torch!

“Grand Tutor, are you not afraid?” Zhu Yijun asked, setting down the “Five-Point Memorial—Zhang Juzheng Edition.”