Chapter 4: Chapter Four: Imperial Authorization

This Great Ming palace leaked wind everywhere, no different from a sieve.

The longest-lived Great Ming emperor was the founding Emperor Gao, Zhu Yuanzhang, who lived to seventy-one; the second was the Chengzu Emperor Wen, Zhu Di, who lived to sixty-five; the third was Zhu Yijun’s grandfather, the Daoist Emperor Jiajing, who spent his days swallowing all manner of pills and lived to sixty.

None of the other emperors lived past sixty.

Even Emperor Jiajing, that old Daoist with his palace intrigue skills, still faced an attempt by palace maids to assassinate him.

What kind of perilous place is this imperial palace?

The other emperors died in various ways—some from toxic herbs mixed with wine, some from drowning because they couldn’t swim, others from mysterious causes; few met a peaceful end. Is the Great Ming emperor’s fate so absurd that not even a peaceful death can be secured?

Then there are those even historians dare not record, like the Ming Emperor Zhu Qiyu, whose official chronicle simply states “dead,” and leaves it at that.

Anything strange or bizarre happening in this Great Ming palace is no surprise at all.

“Mother, Your Majesty, the night is late, your servant is weary—tomorrow there is still study and the morning lecture.” Zhu Yijun’s eyes were innocent, signaling that if the two empresses continued talking, dawn would soon break.

Empress Dowager Li and Empress Dowager Chen rose to their feet. Empress Dowager Li checked Zhu Yijun’s forehead once more, then said with tear-filled eyes: “Study you must, and the morning lecture you must attend. My child suffers so—go rest now.”

Empress Dowager Chen said with pity: “Why not give the emperor a day off? He’s been so frightened—resting one day won’t hurt. Will the ministers dare accuse His Majesty over this? A pack of scholars, always clutching their ‘zhi hu zhe ye,’ trapping His Majesty in rigid rules—this he cannot do, that he cannot do.”

Empress Dowager Li fell silent for a long while, gazing at Zhu Yijun, and said with profound helplessness: “Sister, he cannot rest.”

Empress Dowager Chen said nothing. She knew Empress Dowager Li spoke truth: the sovereign is young, the state is uncertain—how easily could a child emperor truly rule?

“Ah.” The two empresses exchanged no words, only two sighs. Even after such a calamity, the young sovereign must still attend daily study and morning lecture.

Zhu Yijun’s face remained utterly innocent. This small body was excellent for disguise—in this Great Ming, where demons lurked everywhere, caution must be doubled.

He could have chosen another path: like the Wanli Emperor of history, he could have simply endured everything, made no resistance.

But Zhu Yijun refused to endure, refused to submit—to be bullied by eunuchs, bullied by civil officials, and even bullied by the Jian Nu —better to abandon the throne entirely.

He simply would not. His resolve was unyielding.

After the two empresses departed, Zhu Yijun stared at the plaque hanging high in Qianqing Palace, inscribed with four large characters: “Revere Heaven, Follow Ancestors”—the ancestral mandate of the Great Ming.

“Revere” means respect; “Follow” means emulate. These four words mean: to walk the Way of Heaven is to revere Heaven; to learn from the wisdom of ancestors is to follow them.

Zhu Yijun studied martial arts, which was naturally considered unlearned and unorthodox—not the proper path—but by invoking ancestral law, he had at least brushed against the edge of military authority.

Yet this plaque of “Revere Heaven, Follow Ancestors” would, in a few decades, be replaced by the Manchu Jian Nu ’s bilingual “Upright and Brilliant.”

Zhu Yijun stood rigid, staring at the plaque.

Calculating the time, the Battle of Sarhū was still forty-one years away—plenty of time. Having accepted his identity as a child emperor, he had set himself a minimum: even if he had only one breath left, he would crawl, he would bite with his teeth, until he crushed the Jian Nu to dust.

The Great Ming could fall to its people—but not to the Jian Nu .

To restore the Great Ming to greatness, the Dao is long and obstructed; the path must be walked step by step, the meal eaten bite by bite. Compared to this grand goal, first he must cleanse those around him.

“Zhang Hong.” Zhu Yijun, still staring at the four characters “Revere Heaven, Follow Ancestors,” suddenly spoke.

“Your servant is here.” Zhang Hong replied at once.

Zhang Hong had observed the young emperor’s behavior today. Feng Bao, once so trusted, had been beaten nearly to death and barely survived. His injuries were severe—if more force had been applied, he would have died outright.

Empress Dowager Li had always trusted Feng Bao—whatever Feng Bao said, she believed. Had it been only Feng Bao and Empress Dowager Li, Feng Bao’s silver tongue might have swayed her with a few slaps and escaped unscathed.

Today’s events clearly had much to do with this young emperor. The once timid, submissive boy had become utterly different.

“Clean the floor. It’s all blood.” Zhu Yijun said, somewhat indifferent.

Several young eunuchs behind Zhang Hong immediately began scrubbing the floor, as if they would lick the blood clean with their tongues. All of them had taken Zhang Hong as their adoptive father and bore the surname Zhang.

Zhu Yijun stared at the plaque “Revere Heaven, Follow Ancestors,” coldly saying: “You endured the pain on purpose, refused to bandage yourself, and came to court to gain a chance to rise—you’ve succeeded.”

Zhang Hong’s spirit tightened. He bowed even deeper: “Your Majesty’s wisdom is profound—your servant’s small tricks cannot escape Your Majesty’s keen eyes!”

The young emperor may be young, but he is not easily fooled.

Zhu Yijun continued: “I saw it. The Empress Dowager saw it. Feng Da also saw it. You are now a eunuch of Qianqing Palace—effectively declaring open war against Feng Da. That was his power. You seized a large portion of it under the guise of capturing the assassin. Do you think he’ll let you live after this?”

“Feng Da is my great eunuch companion. You are also an old retainer from my former residence—you too are one of my great eunuch companions. Feng Da is the master in the palace; you were once a master too. Feng Da now controls the inner palace—I assign you to cleanse it as well.”

“You carry my imperial command. Do you know what to do?”

“Master” was a political relationship, akin to a mentor-student bond. More plainly, a palace master was a senior eunuch who acted as father to junior eunuchs, binding them in a mutual-interest alliance—shared glory, shared ruin. Zhang Hong, as an old retainer from the former residence, naturally had followers.

“Your servant knows—but if the Empress Dowager finds out, she may…” Zhang Hong hesitated slightly, clearly still fearing her reaction.

Zhu Yijun cut him off, asking calmly: “Whose dog are you?”

“The emperor’s dog.” Zhang Hong answered without hesitation. The emperor was young, yet his silhouette appeared remarkably steady.

Ambition knows no age. Empress Dowager Li herself had told Zhang Hong to follow the emperor henceforth. Zhang Hong now had only one master: the emperor before him.

Zhu Yijun turned to face Zhang Hong, speaking with solemn gravity: “If the Empress Dowager blames you, I will explain to her. You are my dog. If she blames anyone, she blames me first. I take the scolding before you take the beating. Do you understand?”

“Your servant understands!” Zhang Hong now grasped the true meaning of the emperor’s question: “Whose dog are you?”

The emperor was not yet old, yet he saw more clearly than Zhang Hong. Zhang Hong now understood his identity: he was the emperor’s dog—a relationship of subordination.

The emperor’s meaning was clear: if the Empress Dowager truly blamed him, the emperor would intervene. Whether or not he would actually intervene mattered less—he had already spoken.

At least the emperor had made a promise, had spoken aloud.

As for whether the promise would be fulfilled, Zhang Hong had never expected his master to keep it.

Zhu Yijun walked to the bed, flipped through something, and handed Zhang Hong a token: “I do not want tomorrow’s palace maid who washes me, the eunuchs who serve my meals and studies, or the young eunuchs who guide me to be Feng Da’s men. Do you understand?”

“Go to my martial arts master, Commander Zhu Xixiao. Order fifty Tiqi to cleanse Qianqing Palace. Whoever resists shall be charged with treason and executed on the spot! Do you understand?”

“Your servant understands! Your servant knows!” Zhang Hong gripped the token tightly and spoke with force.

Zhang Hong now understood why his master had insisted on studying martial arts under Commander Zhu Xixiao—it was for this very purpose!

Zhang Hong clutched the token and departed, obeying. His master was easy to serve: willing to bear responsibility, giving clear objectives and concrete methods—Zhang Hong only needed to execute.

Zhu Yijun watched Zhang Hong’s retreating back, his expression thoughtful.

Zhang Hong had endured excruciating pain, dripping blood all the way from the corridor to Qianqing Palace—he was a ruthless man. I’ve given him backing; the task is not difficult. If he cannot accomplish this with the emperor’s token, then he has no business challenging Feng Bao, no business dreaming of becoming a patriarch—he should go to the back mountain, find a rope, and hang himself.

As for the scope of the cleansing, it was neither too large nor too small—only those immediately around him. If Empress Dowager Li refused even this, Zhu Yijun would have to make other plans.

Standing behind the unbreakable shield of imperial authority, Zhu Yijun cautiously probed the boundaries of his own power.

He must take the initiative. He must fight.

If he does not fight, the only outcome is: after Zhang Juzheng’s death, the ministers will turn on him, and this supreme emperor of the Great Ming will be forced to follow their will, purge Zhang Juzheng and his reforms, then wait helplessly as ministers hurl a memorial titled “On Alcohol, Greed, Wealth, and Lust” at his face.

In the fifteenth year of Wanli, Left Examiner Luo Yuren submitted a memorial titled “On Alcohol, Greed, Wealth, and Lust,” accusing Wanli Emperor of possessing all five vices.

Did Wanli Emperor have any recourse?

None.

To not fight means: becoming a puppet, sitting on the throne in Fengtian Hall, merely a rubber stamp.

To not fight means: standing helpless before the crumbling state of the Great Ming, becoming a coward, hiding in the inner palace, silent.

To not fight means: even the Great Ming’s dogs dare to snarl at it; its people are trampled upon by all.

He must fight.

He also wanted to see whether Zhang Juzheng, Feng Bao, and Empress Dowager Li—the iron triangle—dared to defy heaven and earth and depose him!

Zhang Hong, with his several adopted sons, arrived at Chengtian Gate’s Wufeng Tower and found Commander Zhu Xixiao. He displayed the token and said: “The emperor’s decree: mobilize fifty Tiqi to cleanse Qianqing Palace!”

“How dare you?” Zhu Xixiao froze, his face turning pale.

He now realized: the young emperor’s Baishi was meant to drag him into this.

When Zhu Xixiao realized he had boarded a pirate ship, it was too late. He had thought the emperor merely wished to train in martial arts due to the assassination attempt—how could a child of such tender years harbor such cunning!

Should he obey the order or not?

Zhang Hong raised his wounded hand, holding the emperor’s token, and shouted: “How dare we? By imperial authority!”

“Commander, do you dare defy the imperial decree!”

Would Zhu Xixiao dare defy the decree?