Chapter 51

Qi Jiguang entered the capital to receive rewards and was enfeoffed as the Marquis of Qian’an; Yang Bo opposed him in court, but Zhang Juzheng refuted him with facts, arguing whether to judge by deeds or intentions—this court dispute had just ended when urgent border reports arrived at the Fengtian Hall; Zhang Juzheng delivered a black tiger strike straight to the heart of the Jin Party, petitioning for censors to be sent to Xuanfu and Datong to inspect the defense and construction of the Great Wall.

At this moment, Ge Shouli’s stance became especially crucial; the emperor asked Ge Shouli who should be dispatched.

Ge Shouli stepped forward, bowed, and said: “I believe Li Le, the Censor of the Military Bureau, is the most suitable.”

Li Le was a jinshi of Longqing Fifth Year, when Zhang Juzheng was the chief examiner—this was clear: if the chief minister wanted to investigate, then assign his own man.

Upon hearing Li Le’s name, Zhang Juzheng paused in surprise—had Ge Shouli finally understood? He was a Shandong man, spending every day among Shanxi men, treating the Jin Party as his own; yet the Jin Party never once considered him one of their own.

Ge Shouli was not beyond redemption.

Zhu Yijun did not know who Li Le was, but seeing Zhang Juzheng’s surprise, Wang Chonggu’s shock, Yang Bo’s mixed emotions, and the ministers’ confusion, he understood at least this: Li Le was likely Zhang Juzheng’s man.

Zhu Yijun thought for a moment and said: “Then let the Chief Minister handle this matter. I am young and lacking in virtue, relying entirely on the support of my civil and military ministers.”

“I accept the imperial command.” Zhang Juzheng bowed deeply.

Zhu Yijun smiled but said nothing, stood up, and flicked his sleeves: “General Qi, come with me.”

As soon as the young emperor spoke, Feng Bao raised his voice shrilly: “Dismiss the court!”

“We humbly see Your Majesty off.” The ministers bowed again—finally, the sky of Great Ming had changed.

Under the guidance of a young eunuch, Qi Jiguang arrived at the Martial Chamber, where the young emperor had changed into his martial attire and, accompanied by his sparring partners, began his daily martial training.

Today’s Fengtian Hall session had suspended the emperor’s lectures; as emperor, no one dared grant him leave, but his martial training had never ceased a single day.

“The Eunuch Commander trains according to the ‘New Book of Military Effectiveness’ and ‘Practical Records of Troop Training,’ both written by General Qi—please, General Qi, correct any deficiencies in the training.”

Upon hearing this, Zhu Xixiao’s anger flared again! He knew the young emperor was goading him, yet he still grew furious!

Extremely furious!

Who did he think he was looking down on?

Qi Jiguang watched for a long while, then leaned close to Zhu Xixiao and whispered: “Has the Eunuch Commander always trained so ruthlessly?”

This was the emperor!

The Eunuch Commander of the Northern Division of the Embroidered Uniform Guard dared to train the young emperor with such brutality—this was no ordinary recklessness!

“The emperor himself demanded it; for over a month, he has never paused,” Zhu Xixiao replied, his expression complex. If he trained lightly, the emperor would be dissatisfied, deliberately provoking him—his words alone stoked rage. Over time, Zhu Xixiao had no choice: the imperial command could not be disobeyed.

“The emperor possesses great perseverance!” Qi Jiguang, one of Great Ming’s foremost military strategists, knew that martial training depended most on perseverance—though innate talent mattered too; some were born with heart ailments and could not endure strenuous activity, making martial arts impossible for them.

After warming up, Zhu Yijun began standing in a horse stance, and soon after, started sprinting back and forth. The stability of his lower body showed clear benefits: the constant shifts in center of gravity during the sprints, anchored by his solid stance, made his movements smooth, even fluid.

After a month of intense training, the once slightly chubby emperor had lost five pounds—not from dieting, but from sheer physical exertion; his goal was not weight loss, but endurance and becoming a soldier.

Qi Jiguang was broad-shouldered, thick-waisted, muscular, his general’s belly thicker than a barrel; in battle, he endured exposure and irregular meals, sometimes going days without proper food—fat was combat power; without it, he could not even lift a sword when facing the enemy.

After finishing his physical training, Zhu Yijun, the sword-bearers, the noble guards, and the young eunuchs began playing cuju—no technique, only rules; the game was pure physical confrontation.

“Your Majesty,” Qi Jiguang and Zhu Xixiao hurried to bow as soon as the emperor finished training.

“General Qi,” Zhu Yijun wiped his forehead with a square cloth, sweat pouring down, his heartbeat thundering; he gulped down a bowl of cooled, warm pear-and-rock-sugar water.

Zhu Yijun looked at Zhu Xixiao beside him and asked: “Eunuch Commander, have you trained me with sincerity?”

“Your Majesty is still young; the training is too arduous,” Qi Jiguang replied with worldly tact—he praised the emperor’s extraordinary perseverance in enduring such hardship, and commended the Eunuch Commander’s devoted effort, perfectly answering the emperor’s question.

“Thank you, Eunuch Commander,” Zhu Yijun bowed slightly to Zhu Xixiao—a student’s bow.

When Zhang Juzheng lectured him, Zhu Yijun had bowed the same way; under strict ritual, a slight bow was already profound respect—after all, beyond being a ten-year-old boy, Zhu Yijun’s most important identity was emperor.

“I am unworthy,” Zhu Xixiao hastily returned the bow; each time the emperor bowed, he felt flattered, even after over a month—he still could not grow accustomed to an emperor who so honored warriors.

What had Qi Jiguang seen?

He had seen the Great Ming emperor’s respect for warriors!

It stirred within him an unwelcome hope—that one day, Great Ming might produce an emperor who valued military affairs—but he quickly crushed that flicker of hope.

Qi Jiguang was forty-four, past the age of forty, having endured much; he had no more doubts about life. That hope was misplaced—he must not crave it. He had known too many disappointments.

Too many disappointments: at Cen Gang, he had hoped the court would grant him five hundred more troops to assault the stronghold—instead, he was dismissed and ordered to redeem himself through merit; at Taizhou, after repelling the Japanese pirates, he was accused by censor Luo Jiabin of harboring enemies to inflate his own achievements; at Shangfang Chao, he longed for reinforcements—none came; he fought to the death; in Fujian, he destroyed sixty enemy camps in one night, securing the southeast—yet because Fuxing attacked too hastily, he was accused of acting without orders; at Xinghua, Pinghai, Xianyou, Meiling—the disappointments piled up until they became resignation.

Qi Jiguang was not without pride; when a battalion commander openly humiliated him, he did not retaliate—not because he was weak, but because he did not want trouble.

A warrior who had slain countless enemies, a general of a hundred victories, had become so worldly and circumspect—was this Qi Jiguang’s nature, or was it the tragedy of Great Ming?

Qi Jiguang asked for little—whether building the Great Wall or anything else, as long as he could continue leading troops into battle, that was enough. Would he be content only if, like Yu Dayou, he was forced into idleness?

Qi Jiguang had long since resigned himself.

Zhu Yijun studied Qi Jiguang, wiped the sweat from his brow, stood straight, and said solemnly: “Qi Jiguang, I give you two hundred thousand troops, ten years—can you train an army capable of destroying Altan Khan?”

“With spears and horses, ten thousand miles of might, devouring tigers.”

“No need to answer. Look at me.”

Zhu Yijun’s tone was gentle—he was not demanding a pledge, nor extracting a promise, but making a promise: he promised Qi Jiguang the treatment he deserved, and what the emperor sought was: to wash away past humiliation!

The barbarian cavalry drinks at the city’s edge; the stench of slaughter reaches the palace walls!

They threaten with force; we respond with desperation!

To accept peace terms under siege—is this not disgrace?

Utter disgrace!

The flame in Qi Jiguang’s heart ignited instantly; that unwelcome hope grew stronger, clearer!

He could! He absolutely could!

He knew his talent—he understood how brilliantly he shone in military affairs!

At eighteen, he had witnessed Japanese pirates burning, killing, looting—eager to kill the enemy, yet no generals to command, no troops to deploy—he wrote: “My armor is covered in inscriptions, my sword gleams under starlight; fame is not my wish, only that the sea be calm!”

At forty-four, the young emperor asked him: ten years, two hundred thousand troops—can you subdue the northern barbarians? Can you ride spears and horses, devouring tigers across ten thousand miles?

He knew he could—absolutely.

“Your servant…” Qi Jiguang’s gaze was unwavering; he stood straight, ready to answer.

“No,” Zhu Yijun interrupted. “I said you need not answer—I already know the answer.” He saw it: in Qi Jiguang’s eyes, a fierce, almost tangible resentment—the resentment of talent unrecognized, the resentment of being treated as a useless burden, the resentment of being unable to act!

He resented being seen as superfluous—he knew he was not. It was a pain, a burning, unbearable resentment!

Zhu Yijun’s lips curled into a faint smile, which soon spread into a bright, radiant grin.

“I promise you, Qi Jiguang—the sharpest sword of Great Ming—I will not make you wait long. The time for its draw will come.” Zhu Yijun cut off Qi Jiguang’s words. He did not need a promise—he was making a promise in the emperor’s name.

“I obey your command!” Qi Jiguang bowed deeply, respectfully. He heard the certainty in the young emperor’s voice—he knew this was no jest, no manipulation by others, but a true imperial promise.

Perhaps, maybe, perhaps Great Ming truly would one day—when its armies shone with heavenly glory!

Qi Jiguang bowed, a faint, bitter smile on his lips. He did not understand why, at forty-four, he had suddenly awakened such fierce ambition—yearning for the day when Great Ming’s armies would ride spears and horses, devouring tigers across ten thousand miles, when their glory would illuminate heaven!

Zhu Yijun smiled and said: “Go meet the two Empress Dowagers.”

“I am an outside minister; it is improper to meet the inner court,” Qi Jiguang hurried to reply. Even meeting Empress Dowager Li, who wielded imperial authority, violated protocol.

“General Qi is now the Marquis of Qian’an—a noble, a meritorious subject. How can you still call yourself an outside minister?” Zhu Yijun smiled. “The Eunuch Commander may meet the Empress Dowager—you may as well.”

“Only those who speak ill of it are the ones who misunderstand propriety.”

Qi Jiguang finally realized—he was now a military noble, holding a title, meaning his wife would receive a noble title; this was status.

He was still unaccustomed to this shift in identity—Zhu Xixiao, from the Marquis of Chengguo’s house, was also a military noble.

Rituals were strict, but the two Empress Dowagers gave Qi Jiguang no trouble—they remained behind the curtain, in full view of all, so no gossip could arise; this was not considered meeting the Empress Dowager.

“Mother, Lady Mother,” Zhu Yijun bowed slightly in greeting.

Empress Dowager Li had already heard of the Fengtian Hall proceedings; she said gravely: “General Qi is now a military noble. Continuing to serve under the Quan Chu Society may no longer be appropriate.”