Chapter 400

I truly am not neglecting my duties. Main text, Chapter 411: The sorrows and joys of people do not connect. Zhu Zhu Yijun spoke at length with Zhang Zhang Juzheng, primarily about petroleum; light is what every human relentlessly pursues.

Hormuz is one of the most frequently mentioned place names in Zheng He's old maritime expedition records; Zheng He often cited it because "the distant still do not submit." He went there three times—on his fourth, fifth, and seventh voyages—and even on his final voyage, Zheng He still failed to bring Hormuz to submission, one of his great regrets.

Zheng He also went there because he needed to depart from there to reach the Red Sea and southern Africa; Maling and Mombasa in southern Africa were destinations Zheng He must reach—Mombasa's ivory, for instance, was essential to the Ming imperial palace.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng informed the emperor that the fleet exploring the Western Ocean route had already set sail; in this era of poor communication, once ships reached the sea, it would take at least a year before they returned.

Zhu Zhu Yijun returned to the detached palace, opened his lime lantern, and light filled the entire imperial study; he was not the least concerned it might explode—anything imperial must never be taken lightly.

Ming craftsmen: Damn it, don't underestimate the bonds of our nine clans!

Zhu Zhu Yijun was reviewing memorials; Feng Bao organized the approved memorials neatly, then sorted and placed them into book chests. When the emperor finished reviewing, the eunuch boys would carry the chests to the Office of Eunuch Supervisors' half-room—a process requiring several basket lifts due to palace restrictions.

He finally finished all today's memorials, yawned, stretched, and for the first time understood why court ministers were as timid as mice.

The greater the misdeed, the more people involved, the higher the chance of leaks; if the state loses great trust, suspicion spreads. This is no longer the time of a young ruler and a doubtful realm. Zhu Zhu Yijun has always walked the righteous path, openly and honorably, and all parties still respect the emperor.

After this financial report was published, it received highly positive feedback; the wealthy merchants of Xitucheng strongly approved of the emperor's transparency.

Ocean-opening investments touched every aspect; any merchant with intent could verify partial accounts. Each household saw only fragments, but after nearly a Battalion Commander in Xitucheng cross-checked and communicated, they confirmed the emperor acted with openness, further affirming his credibility.

The ship tickets of Yanxing Trading House rose over ten percent in response; memorials may be flowery and deceitful, but silver does not lie—silver flowing into ship ticket trades signaled the emperor's credit remained strong, a very positive sign.

Corrupt officials like Wan Shihé and Wang Wang Chonggu accurately judged the emperor: His Majesty does not wish to drive matters to extremes.

His Majesty has always walked the path of uniting every possible force to jointly forge the great rejuvenation of the Ming; this path was clear from the start, and His Majesty never wished to force the wealthy merchants into a bloody confrontation.

As ocean-opening profits grow, the relationship between the emperor and the wealthy merchants is one of mutual benefit and cooperation.

Zhu Zhu Yijun looked up and saw Wang Yao, whom he had not seen in nearly half a year; he smiled. Wang Yao, meticulously dressed for the occasion, was beautiful enough to stir the heart.

"Your Majesty, has your husband finally finished his duties?" Wang Yao bowed, her voice trembling with the thrill of a brief separation surpassing a new marriage. Born a beauty, her features were perfectly harmonized; her youthful shyness had vanished, replaced by mature allure. Every frown and smile radiated charm; her breasts, already ample, grew even more prominent from nursing, barely concealed beneath her purple gauze robe.

Wang Yao wore a large robe, obscuring what lay beneath, yet her figure seemed notably more statuesque.

"My lady finally deigns to come? I thought after Zhi's birth, you'd devote all your attention to the child." Zhu Zhu Yijun didn't realize his words carried a hint of complaint—accumulated over half a year of seeing but not touching.

"My husband, I didn't refuse to see you—I was afraid." Wang Yao stepped before Zhu Zhu Yijun, her breath fragrant, whispering: "I'll be waiting for Your Majesty in the bedroom."

A faint fragrance lingered at his nostrils.

Wang Yao was empress, especially after bearing the crown prince; motherhood elevated her beyond measure. Empress Dowager Li didn't merely indulge her—she doted on her.

Zhu Zhu Yijun washed briefly, opened the bedroom door, and saw Wang Yao standing motionless by the window, lost in thought. She had truly feared seeing her husband, dreading disgust in his eyes. During pregnancy, she had gained much weight, her figure severely distorted; the ten fingers she'd opened during natural childbirth made her even more afraid she could no longer please him.

These six months of postpartum recovery gave her the courage to stand before her husband again.

"What are you thinking?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked softly, standing behind Wang Yao.

Wang Yao turned, her voice trembling with fear: "If not for our son, I fear I'd never again be able to share your pillow, your moonlit moments."

The Ming ancestral code mandated succession by the legitimate eldest son. Once a concubine bore the first son, Wang Yao remained empress—but even for bedchamber visits, strict limits were imposed to prevent disputes over the heir and court turmoil. This was no paranoid fantasy of hers—it was history repeated across Ming dynasties.

Zhu Zhu Yijun simply embraced Wang Yao, saying nothing. Imperial Consort Zhou had conceived only after Zhu Zhu Changzhi's birth. Zhu Zhu Yijun was adamant on this point; for many reasons, he was an emotionless political being. Wang Yao was his anchor in this world—even if he angered both imperial dowagers, he would never let this happen.

"My husband, have you ever thought of me?" Wang Yao, feeling his warmth and steadiness, whispered softly, her voice thick with emotion. A woman who loved pleasure, she had missed him more each day; each day of longing thickened her yearning.

"Of course," Zhu Zhu Yijun replied firmly. "Ever since you left confinement, I've been thinking of nothing else."

"My husband," Wang Yao stepped out of his embrace, unfastened the robe, revealing the purple gauze beneath—under it, a bright white short tunic, a black-and-gold horse-face skirt. Her figure appeared statuesque because of a pair of high-heeled shoes lifting her perfectly proportioned body, glowing faintly in the bright light.

A woman adorns herself for the one who delights her. Wang Yao had prepared for half a year to meet her beloved.

One must admit, purple truly has elegance.

"Ah!"

Zhu Zhu Yijun lifted Wang Yao into his arms; she naturally wrapped her arms around him, her cheeks flushed deeper than before. Seeing her eager husband, her soft, delighted laugh revealed her inner joy.

"Turn off the light, turn off the light," Wang Yao warned her impatient husband; the light was too bright, she couldn't relax. In the dark, sealed bedroom, she would fully release her nature.

At first narrow, barely allowing passage; after walking dozens of times, still no sudden openness.

Zhu Zhu Yijun asked in astonishment: "Do the palace's old nurses possess such astonishing skill in postpartum recovery?"

"My husband, don't say more—it's shameful," Wang Yao murmured, yet her movements grew bolder, more passionate; once aroused, she clung to him fiercely.

…

The next morning, Zhu Zhu Yijun jolted awake, about to rise—then remembered today was the 24th, a scheduled day off. He collapsed back onto the bed, embracing Wang Yao, still drowsy from his disturbance, and fell into deep sleep; they had been wild until the third watch, utterly exhausted.

Zhu Zhu Yijun didn't rise until noon—and naturally, they were wild twice more.

"Pathetic," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, already dressed and facing the lazy Wang Yao, as he prepared to visit the North Camp for troop inspection. "You're hopeless."

Wang Yao's bright eyes widened, then softened into languor, her gaze sultry. She covered her mouth with her hand and whispered: "My husband, so stubborn. Be sure to return early tonight."

After leaving the bedroom, Zhu Zhu Yijun glanced at the horses, then chose the carriage. He knew himself well—today's troop inspection, he wouldn't ride into the drill ground; his legs were still weak.

Eighteen years old, years of martial training, eight years of standing Zhuang, lower body as steady as Mount Tai, the world's greatest young martial master Zhu Zhu Yijun—who could tame wild horses—now suffered from weak legs. Once again, it proved: oxen die from overwork, never from worn-out fields.

The palace's old nurses truly were masters of postpartum recovery.

For the troop inspection, Zhu Zhu Yijun went too far. When Zhu Di established this ancestral rule, he never mandated daily drills—but Zhu Zhu Yijun dared not slack off, fearing one lapse would lead to another, so he persisted.

In the eighth year of Emperor Wanli, a large Western Ocean sailing ship reappeared at the Manila port in Lu Song, heading toward Songjiang Prefecture.

Zhu Zhu Yijun noticed something interesting: the wealthy merchants of the Ming were exploiting information gaps.

The Ming merchant fleet's return rate was ninety percent, but news of their arrival in port took time to reach the capital. The emperor, however, had water-wing sailing ships for coastal patrols to transmit news faster.

The wealthy merchants had purchased vast numbers of water-wing sailing ships and hired seasoned sailors, all eager to learn news first, to maximize profits.

This was a good thing: faster information flow meant faster future goods movement.

Shen Shen Shixing had arrived in Songjiang Prefecture, assuming his role as deputy to Wang Lin Daoqian. To the dismay of other major trading houses, Shen Shen Shixing showed no intention of building his own faction; the next day, he met Sun Sun Kehong, head of the Songjiang Oceanic Trading House, and accepted a seven-ten-thousand-silver donation from the court, primarily for the girls' weaving academy.

Sun Sun Kehong had donated to the Songjiang Maritime Academy four times, totaling over one million silver, helping establish and flourish the academy. This time, Sun targeted the official factory's training academy.

This crushed many wealthy merchants who had been waiting for major personnel shifts in Songjiang to profit.

Competition between regions was common. Sun Sun Kehong showed deference; after witnessing this sincerity, Shen Shen Shixing had no intention of removing him from his post, granting Sun an opportunity.

Sun Sun Kehong merely needed to obey the court—not blindly follow Shen Shen Shixing. Songjiang was the vanguard of ocean-opening, directly under imperial authority, equal in status to the northern and southern bureaus.

Should Sun Sun Kehong ever believe his power came from himself, not the court, that would be his last day in office.

Zhu Zhu Yijun left the palace again, this time heading to Taibai Pavilion—still in plain clothes. The Embroidered Uniform Guard had grown accustomed to the emperor's love of spectacle; all security measures were perfectly executed.

Taibai Pavilion was the second-largest tavern in the capital. Since Yanxing Pavilion had ceased resembling a brothel and become more like a trading house, Taibai Pavilion now reigned supreme in pleasure—it offered the myriad beauties of the world that Yanxing lacked, and it was also an imperial estate.

Unlike Yanxing Pavilion, Taibai Pavilion had only three stories, stretching over a li in length, with guest rooms on both sides and a grand hall in the center. The hall featured a large stage, but unlike elsewhere, where stages only hosted operas, here they showcased performances by beauties from across the world.

The hall held 127 tables, each adorned with flower baskets. If pleased, guests could gift a basket to a beauty—for one tael of silver. If accepted, attendants would escort the guest to deeper pleasures.

Zhu Zhu Yijun sat at an inconspicuous table and finally witnessed the world's beauties dancing. His evaluation: mediocre.

Wang Qian sat at the table, barely half his buttocks on the chair. He'd come merely to enjoy himself—and was caught red-handed by the emperor.

"Has your father raised your allowance again?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked curiously. Taibai Pavilion was imperial property; Zhu Zhu Yijun had reviewed its accounts. Wang Qian had bought countless baskets—when happy, he gifted them by the hundred. Who could afford such spending?

Wang Qian pondered before replying: "The money spent serving His Majesty is reimbursed by my father—it doesn't count toward my allowance. Recently, my monthly allowance rose by eleven hundred taels; now I get three thousand a month. No gambling, everything else is mine."

"A spoiled heir!" Zhu Zhu Yijun said sincerely. So extravagantly spoiled!

The entire Chu Association spent only twelve hundred taels annually; Wang Qian spent three thousand a month. Indeed, as the only son, his life was blissfully carefree.

Years ago, Wang Qian had an older brother named Wang Yi. Wang Yi was no playboy—he was both scholarly and martial. When Wang Wang Chonggu and his father Wang Yao still traded, Wang Yi led caravans beyond the frontier and was killed by bandits on the border.

Wang Qian never trained in martial arts and was indulged from childhood—largely because of this event.

Wang Qian actually wanted to say: he never sat in the grand hall. He was caught here today, forced to downgrade his spending—watching dances in the hall made him uncomfortable. He dared not gift many baskets, fearing constant stares.

"By the way, that man is planning another grand construction—this time to Danning Wei? What a waste of silver! Does he intend to capture Danning Wei?" A scholar's remark at the next table caught Zhu Zhu Yijun's attention.

Danning Wei had returned to the Ming five years ago; the scholar's words puzzled Zhu Zhu Yijun.

The other scholars at the table laughed. After their mirth, one spoke: "Brother Yang, Danning Wei returned to the Ming in the third year of Emperor Wanli. You've been shut in your study too long—you're out of touch. This road is being built for Danning Wei's white earth, a daily gold mine. Too bad Taotushan was enclosed by that man as imperial property."

"How much silver can white earth possibly earn?"

"At least fifty thousand taels a year, plus furs, herbs, and more. Danning Wei alone brings in at least two or thirty thousand taels annually!"

"Wow! That's a lot!"

"Captured it? But weren't the northern barbarians fierce? Who captured it?"

The Ming lost Danning Wei during the Tian Shun era, along with the Ordos. When had it been recovered?

"General Qi Qi Jiguang, Commander Chen Da of Jizhou, Commander Wang Wang Rulong of Song Yingchang, Commander Yang Wen of Miyun, Deputy Commander Ma Fang of the Capital Garrison, Ma Jin, Li Li Rusong, and former Miyun Commander Tang Tang Kekuan—he died serving the nation." Zhu Zhu Yijun interjected, naming several men from the original Danning Wei reward list.

"Besides General Qi, I've never heard of any of them," the scholar shook his head. "I'm Yang Yang Youren, a candidate from Sichuan, of the Xin Du Yang clan. Thank you for the clarification."

"Ah, so it's Brother Yang. A pleasure," Zhu Zhu Yijun said, then fell silent—he gave no name, signaling no further interest.

Wang Qian's gaze shifted from Hu Ji's slender waist to Yang Yang Youren's face. He smiled. He knew this man: the Xin Du Yang clan—the Yang of Yang Yang Tinghe. Yang Yang Youren was the eldest son of Yang Shen, and Yang Yang Tinghe's grandson, renowned for his reputation. Today's meeting proved him overrated.

Wang Qian immediately understood: the emperor sat in the grand hall to observe Yang Yang Tinghe's grandson.

Yang Yang Youren had failed the imperial examination twice. It wasn't Zhu Zhu Yijun targeting him; since Emperor Wanli Five, mathematics had been introduced, and since Emperor Wanli Eight, the exams included controversial content. If Yang Yang Youren continued studying in isolation, he'd never pass.

Wang Qian looked down on Yang Yang Youren. Given his family background, learning state affairs was effortless. Since entering the capital in Emperor Wanli Five, he'd studied at the Imperial Academy for three years. Had he ever glanced at the court gazettes or news sheets, he wouldn't be so ignorant.

Commander Wang Wang Rulong, stationed in Song Yingchang, had gained great fame. A direct disciple of Qi Qi Jiguang, he had repelled Tumahan's raids multiple times, earning renown. His next posting would be Deputy Commander of the Capital Garrison.

Yang Yang Youren knew only Qi Qi Jiguang—not because he was stupid, but because he simply didn't care.

The sorrows and joys of people do not connect.

"These soldiers now hold high office—how much silver did they bribe into every academy? How many bribes have these ministers accepted? They've recklessly recommended these soldiers to power. Commoners rising to the rank of commander? Utterly outrageous!" Yang Yang Youren, unaware the emperor and Wang Qian were nearby, spoke loudly.

Zhu Zhu Yijun clenched his teacup.

"Yang Yang Youren, how can you speak like this!" Zhao Zhao Yanbin, a Ming Jinshi of Emperor Wanli Five and Yang Yang Youren's fellow townsman, had recently been assigned to supervise Mianzhou. This gathering was his last hometown meeting. Hearing Yang Yang Youren grow more outrageous, drunk on horse urine and forgetting himself, he could no longer tolerate it and retorted.

"Don't speak nonsense! These are battle-hardened generals. Wang Wang Rulong, since being recruited by Governor Wang Lin Daoqian in Yiwu, has fought hundreds of battles across north and south, fearless in combat, often defeating larger forces. This February, Tumahan's ten Battalion Commander gathered twenty thousand bandits to attack Song Yingchang—Wang Wang Rulong repelled them with only twelve hundred troops, beheading five hundred and twenty-three enemies!"

"Without these soldiers fighting in Danning Wei, Quanning Wei, and Song Yingchang, how could you and I sit here chatting?"

Zhao Zhao Yanbin had read the news sheets—he knew clearly: the Ming's goal in capturing Song Yingchang was to sever the alliance between northern barbarians and eastern barbarians—a century-long project. He didn't fully understand, but he respected it. The frontier was harsh: summer meant eating sand, winter meant eating northwest winds; frostbite from winter never healed by summer, only to return again.

What did these soldiers endure on the frontier for? Wasn't it for the Ming's peace and prosperity?

In Yang Yang Youren's mouth, it became bribery and favoritism. You needn't understand—but you needn't insult.

"Battle-hardened? With peace reigning, where are these battles? Who are they fighting? The realm hasn't been in chaos—this is absurd!" Yang Yang Youren, rebutted, grew furious. "Who are you shouting at? Say another word, and your Zhao family will regret it!"

The Japanese pirates, two northern invasions, Liaodong unrest, Li Li Chengliang's raid on Gule Zhai, the capital garrison's northern expedition, the navy's southern voyage, Yin Yin Zhengmao's conquest of Lu Song, Chen Lin's pacification of the Liuqiu pirates—Yang Yang Youren, in Sichuan, had spent his days solely preparing for the exams, deaf to the world, blind to affairs beyond his books. After failing the exam twice in the capital, he was already furious—now even a lackey dared challenge him. Of course he was enraged.

Zhu Zhu Yijun looked at Wang Qian, and they exchanged a smile—Yang Yang Youren was surprisingly weak.

Wang Qian, the second richest playboy in the capital, never acted so brazen even when feuding with Yao Xu Guangqi, nor did he ever make others suffer the consequences of their own folly. What noble son would dare speak so recklessly to your face? Yao Xu Guangqi lost his temper only once—he beat someone, then fled to Shandong to farm kelp.

When truly opposed, enemies become ever more courteous on the surface, while striking viciously behind the scenes.

But then again, Yang Shen dared to boast that his father was Chief Grand Secretary and declare, "The state has nurtured scholars for a hundred and fifty years—today is the day to die with honor!" He rallied over two hundred men to storm the palace gates. Yang Yang Youren is no doubt Yang Shen's son.

Audacious to the point of madness.

Yang Yang Tinghe and Yang Shen both died peacefully, posthumously honored by the court with official titles and posthumous names. No wonder Yang Yang Youren is so arrogant—Wang Qian, however, is not. He watched Zhang Zhang Suiwei's entire family be executed, heads rolling.

Zhu Zhu Yijun regarded Zhao Zhao Yanbin with amusement—the Ming Jinshi of the fifth year of Emperor Wanli—how would he choose?

"Our paths diverge; we cannot work together." Zhao Zhao Yanbin finally dared not shout further, flicked his sleeve, and chose to leave.

The men at that table remained silent, offering no further insults—something that surprised Zhu Zhu Yijun.

"Why aren't they in the private rooms? Why are they sitting in the main hall?" Zhu Zhu Yijun leaned over and whispered to Wang Qian. Given Yang Yang Youren's family background, coming out with lackeys for a hometown gathering—and sitting in the main hall? It was strange.

"The Yang household is now run by the second branch, Yang Yang Ningren. Yang Yang Youren failed the exam last time, so his stipend was cut. This time, he's fallen even further." Wang Qian hurriedly whispered: "The lowest private room upstairs costs twenty taels for a meal—he can't afford it."

After Yang Yang Tinghe was dismissed from office, Yang Shen was exiled by the Daoist Master to Ye Yongchang Wei in Yunnan, where he eventually died of old age. The headship of the Yang family then passed to the second branch. Yang Yang Youren, as the eldest son of the first branch, failed the exams twice—so the family no longer gave him money to indulge.

"Aren't great clans supposed to practice brotherly love and filial harmony?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked with a smile.

Wang Qian shook his head. "Since I can remember, I've been the only son. Brotherly love and filial harmony—well, I suppose they're supposed to be practiced."

Wang Qian was no filial son. His father used to chase him with a seven-star-hilted knife, threatening to kill him. Only in recent years, as Wang Wang Chonggu grew old, did Wang Qian soften—he feared his father's health would break.

"What are you laughing at!" Yang Yang Youren suddenly turned on Zhu Zhu Yijun, slammed his fist on the table, and demanded sharply.

Zhu Zhu Yijun blinked. Wang Qian turned his head, stunned, staring at Yang Yang Youren—his eyes full of disbelief. Has this man always been this bold?

"Can't we laugh? Isn't this a place for pleasure?" Zhu Zhu Yijun asked, puzzled. "Is this Taibai Pavilion your family's property? Do you know who I am? How dare you insult me like this?"

Yang Yang Youren suddenly felt regret. As Zhu Zhu Yijun spoke, three or four burly men stepped into the center, swords drawn. Dozens of eyes fixed on Yang Yang Youren. He had a creeping sense—if he moved even slightly, he would die.

Yang Yang Youren had snapped at Zhu Zhu Yijun because Zhu hadn't introduced himself—considered impolite. But he never imagined the consequences would be this severe.

Zhu Zhu Yijun stood up. "In the capital, if you throw a brick, nine out of ten people you hit are nobles or from illustrious families! I'm Huang Young Master of Penglai Huang Clan, temporarily staying at the Grand General's residence—yes, General Qi's residence!"

"The Huang Young Master! The Huang Young Master staying at General Qi's residence!" One man heard the name and turned ashen.

Qi Qi Jiguang was known throughout the capital—he never tolerated his retainers bullying the innocent, and imposed strict discipline on all under his roof. Yet he indulged this Huang Young Master beyond all reason. Time and again, the Huang Young Master stirred up trouble in the capital, and Qi Qi Jiguang never reprimanded him. This indulgence only made the Huang Young Master bolder.

"So what if you stay at the Grand General's? This is the Son of Heaven's land, the most virtuous place! What will you do?" Yang Yang Youren's mind raced. Since he'd already offended, he might as well offend fully. He was now trapped—only bravado remained. If he lost face now, he'd never survive in the capital.

Zhu Zhu Yijun stood and smiled. "What will I do? Listen, Yang Yang Youren—even if you, your father, or your grandfather were here, I wouldn't fear them! Today, I could tear down this Taibai Pavilion, and no one would dare say a word!"

The Taibai Pavilion was an imperial estate—Zhu Zhu Yijun's own property. No one would object. If the emperor wished to burn it down, the imperial treasury would simply rebuild it.

"Beat him!" Zhu Zhu Yijun now had ten blank arrest warrants from the Ministry of Justice. If he killed Yang Yang Youren, the Ministry would have to clean up the mess—but Yang Yang Youren wasn't worth as much as those warrants. He turned to Zhao Meng and said: "Strike precisely—don't leave wounds. Zhang Feng Da Ban, bring two more taels for medical expenses."

Zhao Meng obeyed. Three Embroidered Uniform Guards lunged forward, striking in just the right places—no injury, but unbearable pain.

This beating left Yang Yang Youren with no attention left for Zhao Zhao Yanbin.