Chapter 46: Chapter Forty-Six: One Day, Great Ming

Cuju is a fiercely competitive sport that has endured for ages; without strong physical conditioning and robust health, one needs both explosive power and endurance, or else one will easily suffer in physical clashes during matches.

Of course, if the young emperor took the field, everyone would surely violate the basic spirit of competition and make the young emperor the most brilliant player on the field.

Zhu Xixiao’s training for cuju was also extremely strict.

Zhu Yijun was deeply curious about this training; today’s drill was rapid sprinting back and forth—starting at full speed, then stopping abruptly, running with the body tilted or even leaning forward—just a few rounds left people exhausted, wanting only to lie on the ground and not move a muscle.

During training, Zhu Yijun discovered the benefits of standing Zhuang : when sprinting at full speed, the center of gravity shifts maximally forward, causing the body to lose balance; when unable to prevent this imbalance, one must step to control the center of gravity—the same principle applies during abrupt stops.

A month of standing Zhuang training strengthens the lower body, making it easy to adjust posture during full-speed starts and abrupt stops.

“Huff, huff.” Zhu Yijun leaned on his knees, his lungs pumping like bellows as he gasped for air; he must not sit or lie down—best to remain standing. His mouth was dry, his tongue salty, sweat pouring from his forehead down his cheeks onto the training ground; he felt his legs no longer belonged to him.

Everyone was panting; Luo Sigong simply leaned against the wall. No matter how hard or exhausting, he had endured it; though his legs trembled, he had not let Zhu Xixiao kick him again.

Zhu Yijun finally caught his breath, his breathing steadied, his legs heavy as if filled with lead; he sat on the bench and smiled at Luo Sigong: “You’re quite good—I’m counting on you.”

“Thank Your Majesty’s praise!” Luo Sigong stood rigidly; just one word of praise from the emperor made him feel all his suffering was worth nothing.

“All of you did well! Today, each of you will take home a roasted goose from the imperial kitchen.” Zhu Yijun clapped his hands and shouted to everyone.

The young eunuchs looked on with envy; the noble guards and sword-bearers were honored, naturally entitled to imperial gifts, but the young eunuchs were not so lucky; Feng Bao had specifically instructed the Guanglu Temple to give these training assistants extra meals, yet the emperor’s gift was an honor—a roasted goose, yes, but entirely different, a form of affirmation.

“You get one too,” Zhu Yijun said, smiling at the young eunuchs.

It’s not scarcity one fears, but inequality: ten noble guards received roasted geese, and so did the young eunuchs; those twenty who trained alongside you may grumble, but they must not turn on each other—balance exists in all things.

“One more round!” Zhu Xixiao shouted loudly; the rapid sprinting back and forth drill began again.

While the young emperor trained fiercely, Qi Jiguang, the Regional Commander of the three garrisons—Jizhou, Shanhai Pass, and Yongping (modern Tangshan)—rode a tall steed, accompanied by the nephew of Dong Huzi, arriving at Beitu Cheng.

Beitu Cheng lay on the capital’s central axis; originally built by Kublai Khan of the Yuan dynasty, it was a military garrison with rammed earth and brick walls, roughly twenty li in circumference, six zhang thick at the base, five zhang high, and three zhang wide at the top. There were two such garrisons: Beitu Cheng and Xitu Cheng, both used for troop deployment.

The capital’s imperial troops were stationed within these two earth fortresses.

Qi Jiguang pulled his horse’s reins; as a frontier commander, he was forbidden from entering the city, so he could only camp outside and would not linger in the capital—after receiving imperial rewards, he would immediately return to his frontier post.

Even though Qi Jiguang’s garrison in Jizhou was only a hundred li from the capital, a horseback ride of about an hour would get him back, yet frontier troops were frontier troops—no entry into the city, period.

Qi Jiguang brought only a hundred personal guards into the capital; but as soon as they arrived at Beitu Cheng and sought a place to camp, they were interrupted by another group: a battalion commander, two platoon leaders, and five or six soldiers from the capital’s imperial army—though called soldiers, they looked more like household servants.

“Keep your distance! Where are you country bumpkins from? This land belongs to the military’s fields—step on it and you’ll be punished under military law!” The battalion commander, riding his horse with arrogant disdain, shouted at Qi Jiguang and his men.

Qi Jiguang’s hundred personal guards gripped their sword hilts, eyes glinting coldly as they studied the group, silently weighing their options.

The battalion commander, startled by their menacing aura, flinched; he knew instantly who these frontier troops were, yet his bravado returned—he spurred his horse forward, sneering: “Oh? You want to fight? Listen here—I serve under Grand Coordinator Wang Gong! You don’t know who Wang Gong is? Well, if you say another word, I’ll make you regret it!”

“This is the capital’s garrison! Not your playground!”

Qi Jiguang took a deep breath; he had resolved before coming to the capital to move swiftly and quietly, avoiding trouble that might trouble Zhang Juzheng. He smiled and said: “We’re leaving.”

“Good, you’ve got sense!” The battalion commander grinned, pleased the second-rank Regional Commander had backed down; he gave a haughty laugh and prepared to leave. Since the other side wasn’t causing trouble, he saw no need to escalate—should a fight break out, their forces were stronger, and he’d lose.

Inside the prisoner cart, Dong Huzi’s nephew, Buha Chu, watched this scene and burst into loud laughter, spitting fiercely at Qi Jiguang: “Ha ha ha! Qi Jiguang, you’re so mighty, aren’t you? One battle slaughtered over two thousand of my men, piled their heads into a little hill!”

“All these years, I’ve never seen anyone as formidable as you—yet here, a mere battalion commander, a lowly sixth-rank official, stomps on your face, a second-rank commander, and you dare not even retort?”

“Great Ming is this cowardly! One day, someone will kick over its table!”

“Silence him,” Qi Jiguang ordered a personal guard, gesturing to stuff Buha Chu’s mouth with cloth to prevent further outbursts.

Did Qi Jiguang lack ability? The Japanese pirates and northern barbarians both spoke of him; even Dong Huzi and Buha Chu had words for him—who would dare say Qi Jiguang lacked ability?

Yet this battle-hardened general, upon returning to the capital, first endured this humiliation, dared not even speak back—truly, it wiped clean Buha Chu’s two months of pent-up rage.

Just as both sides were about to depart, hoofbeats approached from afar; a man dismounted, sized up Qi Jiguang’s attire and the prisoner cart, then bowed respectfully: “General Qi, your glory remains undimmed; one battle slew two thousand barbarians—when Master Yuan heard, he laughed long and hard, even eating an extra bowl of rice.”

“You Manager,” Qi Jiguang smiled; the man before him was Yu Qi, Zhang Juzheng’s trusted aide from the Quanchu Guild Hall.

“Master Yuan sent me here to welcome General Qi and arrange your lodging,” Yu Qi glanced at the battalion commander; though unaware of what had transpired, the tense atmosphere told him a clash had occurred.

Yu Qi treated Qi Jiguang with courtesy because Zhang Juzheng treated General Qi with respect; as Zhang Juzheng’s representative, Yu Qi carried his master’s face. He smirked slightly, half-raising his head to glare at the battalion commander, platoon leaders, and soldiers: “You gentlemen just insulted Master Yuan’s honored guest?”

Not everyone knew Yu Qi, but everyone recognized the Quanchu Guild Hall’s badge; Zhang Juzheng had been in the Grand Secretariat for years—who in the capital didn’t know the vengeful Zhang Taiyue?

“We didn’t recognize your noble presence—our apologies,” the officials reluctantly dismounted, bowing slightly in apology.

Yu Qi snapped his whip sharply: “Louder! Didn’t you eat?”

“We beg General Qi’s forgiveness!” Though reluctant, they bowed deeply and shouted their apology.

Yu Qi raised his whip as if to strike; Qi Jiguang quickly spoke: “Manager Yu, no need—just a verbal dispute.”

Yu Qi’s whip veered off, striking the ground with a sharp crack; he barked: “It’s only because General Qi pleads for you—if not, I’d charge you with insubordination and flog you a hundred times—your lives wouldn’t be worth a damn!”

“Get out!!”

The imperial soldiers, shaken, scrambled onto their horses and fled at top speed.

Yu Qi was a servant, not a master; when outside, he seized every chance to be arrogant—the devil is easy to face, but the petty ghosts are hard to deal with; if the ghosts were easy, who would fear the devil?

Only because Qi Jiguang intervened did Yu Qi spare them—otherwise, those lashes would have left them bleeding and raw.

“General Qi, if you meet such ruffians again, just beat them—Wang Chonggu won’t quarrel with Master Yuan over this,” Yu Qi mounted his horse and led Qi Jiguang into Beitu Cheng.

Qi Jiguang replied calmly: “I merely ignore them. When the people value their hometowns over the state, brave in private brawls but cowardly in public war, the state perishes; when the people are brave in public war but timid in private brawls, the state prospers.”

Yu Qi deeply admired Qi Jiguang; he shook his head: “General Qi and Master Yuan are men of great purpose, lofty ideals. I’m just a servant, a petty man, lacking such noble bearing—if they dare offend again, I’ll report them truthfully to Master Yuan.”

If Zhang Juzheng spoke, Yu Qi would bring his message to the censors and remonstrators, accusing these men of insubordination; under military law, insubordination meant a hundred lashes—once flogged, no one would dare again—a warning to others.

Zhang Juzheng had arranged Qi Jiguang’s lodging within Beitu Cheng.

Yu Qi led Qi Jiguang and his men to the guesthouse and smiled: “The day after tomorrow, General Qi will be granted an audience with the emperor; by protocol, you must bathe and change clothes. Camping outdoors is disrespectful—those censors and the Ministry of Rites will chatter endlessly.”

“This is a runner from the Quanchu Guild Hall—call on him for anything,” Yu Qi said as he prepared to return, leaving behind a servant to handle communications.

The servant wore the Quanchu Guild Hall’s badge—no one in the guesthouse dared offend him.

Yu Qi returned to the Quanchu Guild Hall at dusk, having learned the full story of the quarrel and reported it truthfully to Zhang Juzheng.

Zhang Juzheng paused his brush, thought briefly, then said: “Have the Military Censorate submit a memorial condemning the capital garrison’s deteriorating discipline and Wang Chonggu’s failure to act—I’ll handle it for him.”

Zhang Juzheng: vengeful to the last.