Chapter 57: Chapter Fifty-Seven: When the Ruler Is Not a Ruler, and the Minister Is Not a Minister, the World Falls into Chaos

Qi Jiguang’s enfeoffment was no minor matter; Yang Bo opposed it in the Fengtian Hall, and his debate with Zhang Juzheng was meant to be merely the beginning—without his Quan Chu Huiguan badge, the Jin Party would not rest until they found every possible excuse to impeach and topple this thorn in their side, this superfluous, useless burden.

But the Jin Party was now too preoccupied with its own troubles—the Hu Yu Kou pass had been easily breached by the Northern Barbarians, and the Ming court convened to send Li Le, a censor from the Military Censorate, along with a delegation to inspect the border regions of Xuanfu and Datong; now the Jin Party could only scramble to defend itself.

Sometimes the best defense is offense; factional strife need not always rely on scheming and deceit—sometimes waiting for the opponent to make a mistake is a perfectly sound strategy.

The young emperor of Great Ming, however, had little faith in this inspection.

After a moment’s thought, Zhang Juzheng said: “I believe that sending a censor not of any factional lineage to Xuanfu and Datong is already a gain; if something is uncovered, it is a welcome surprise; if we can gain deeper insight, it is joy upon joy.”

Zhu Yijun heard and understood: Zhang Juzheng did not expect Li Le to uncover anything substantial—merely dispatching Li Le, who was not of any faction, to the two garrisons of Datong and Xuanfu was itself a victory; any further gains would be a welcome surprise, joy upon joy.

“Reviewing the old to learn the new, one can become a teacher,” Zhu Yijun said with a smile, quoting Zhang Juzheng: “All matters must be carried through to completion—that is yi.”

To act with yi means to see things through to an end; clearly, Zhang Juzheng’s claim that merely sending someone out was a victory contradicted his own teaching: all matters must be carried through to completion.

“I am ashamed,” Zhang Juzheng could only say, never having imagined he would one day be silenced by the emperor using his own words.

“No,” Zhu Yijun said, “I believe you have done exceedingly well. Advance one step a day: today you dispatched a censor, tomorrow you may uncover something, the day after you may gain deeper insight. Walk the road step by step, eat the meal bite by bite—like farming: you till the seedlings today and expect harvest tomorrow—that is hypocrisy.”

“Only by grounding oneself in practice is one fulfilling one’s true duty.”

“The gentleman attends to the root,” Zhu Yijun firmly rejected Zhang Juzheng’s self-denial.

These were also teachings of Zhang Juzheng: the gentleman attends to the root, and practice is the essence—the actual situation is the root; the actual situation is that Xuanfu and Datong had long become the Jin Party’s private garden; merely dispatching a censor was already a great success—anything more would be unrealistic.

Zhang Juzheng realized the young emperor had truly absorbed the texts, for the emperor could now turn and reverse his words, yet still hold the moral high ground.

Being always right is a scholar’s self-cultivation.

It means always being right, no matter what happens—he is always right.

And the emperor now possessed this basic self-cultivation.

The lecture resumed; Zhu Yijun noticed something interesting: Zhang Juzheng did not teach by rote or rigidly follow texts—he taught whatever was happening in court, using facts to speak.

Rituals and rites are shaped by events; laws are made according to circumstances.

Zhang Juzheng clasped his hands and spoke solemnly: “Confucius said: When the world is governed by the Dao, rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the Son of Heaven.”

“When they originate from the feudal lords, few dynasties last beyond ten generations; when they originate from ministers, few last beyond five; when household ministers hold the state’s command, few last beyond three.”

“Rituals, music, and military campaigns: the sovereign’s great instrument of rule. Xi: rare. Peichen: household ministers, high officials. Guoming: the state’s commands.”

“The Master said: When the world is governed by the Dao, all rituals, music, and military campaigns are decided by the Son of Heaven.”

“When the world is without the Dao, they are decided by the feudal lords. If decided by the lords, few dynasties last beyond ten generations; if by the ministers, few last beyond five; if by household ministers and high officials, few last beyond three.”

Zhu Yijun fell silent for a long while—when had the Great Ming’s state commands come entirely under the control of ministers?

Since the fifteenth year of Wanli, when the Wanli Emperor began to neglect his duties—if we do not count the Taichang Emperor, who reigned only a month before his death—then Wanli, Tianqi, and Chongzhen were exactly three generations, and the Great Ming fell.

“Has there ever been a precedent?” Zhu Yijun asked, frowning.

Zhang Juzheng nodded: “In the Spring and Autumn period, the Zhou Son of Heaven was weak, the feudal lords ruled by force, and then came Duke Huan of Qi, Duke Wen of Jin, Duke Mu of Qin, Duke Zhuang of Chu, and Duke Xiang of Song—the Five Hegemons rose in succession, convening alliances.”

“Bo is pronounced ba—it means Fangbo, the leader of the feudal lords, who convened alliances under heaven; they are also called the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period.”

“Before ten generations passed, the Spring and Autumn period ended, and the Warring States began.”

“When rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the feudal lords, few dynasties last beyond ten generations.”

Zhu Yijun understood: Bo and ba meant the same thing—Fangbo, the leader of the feudal lords; when rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the feudal lords, the world’s order collapses before ten generations pass.

Zhang Juzheng continued, seeing the emperor had taken careful notes: “After Duke Wen of Jin died, Jin entered the era of the Six Ministers—Fan, Zhonghang, Zhao, Han, Wei, and Zhi—engaging in mutual warfare for over a decade.”

“The Fan and Zhonghang clans were destroyed; Jin entered the era of the Four Ministers, which lasted only over thirty years—until Han, Zhao, and Wei destroyed the Zhi clan, and Jin was partitioned among the three families—this is known as the Partition of Jin.”

“From Duke Wen’s death to the Partition of Jin was less than a century, barely five generations—Jin was gone.”

“When rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the ministers, few dynasties last beyond five generations.”

Zhu Yijun nodded: this minister did not mean scholar-officials, but the Jin feudal lords who held fiefs—or, more accurately, the aristocratic clans of the pre-Qin Spring and Autumn period.

“After Duke Zhuang of Lu died, the Three Huan clans monopolized Lu—Jisun, Mengsun, and Shusun—controlling Lu’s rituals, music, and military campaigns. Later, Jisun’s household minister Nan Kui and Yang Hu, Shusun’s household minister Shuniu, Mengsun’s household minister Gonglian Chufu, and others successively seized power, imprisoning and exiling their lords. Lu, once a rival to Qi, was eventually destroyed by Chu.”

“When household ministers hold the state’s command, few dynasties last beyond three generations.”

Household ministers were what later generations called scholar-officials, ministers—examples were countless; Zhang Juzheng could cite many more, such as the Qin dynasty’s collapse after two generations: Zhao Gao and Li Si forged an edict to install Qin Er Shi, who then ruined the Qin state.

“When the world is governed by the Dao, rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the Son of Heaven—the Master spoke this in sorrow. Then, how can the sovereign’s authority to bestow favor and inflict punishment ever be allowed to leave the court for even a day?” Zhang Juzheng returned to his starting point, circling back to the theme.

Rituals, music, and military campaigns—the sovereign’s great instrument of rule—must be decided by the Son of Heaven, not by feudal lords, not by aristocratic clans, not by ministers.

Only the Son of Heaven.

Confucius spoke these words in grief over the collapse of ritual and music; the sovereign’s authority to bestow favor and inflict punishment must never leave the court for even a day—otherwise, the ruler becomes unworthy, the minister disrespectful, the system collapses, the sovereign weak and the ministers strong, the lower tramples the upper, feudal lords usurp the Son of Heaven, ministers usurp the feudal lords, household ministers usurp the ministers—and this becomes the norm.

Zhu Yijun reflected: Japan was just like this—its political system prized “lower overcomes upper,” layer upon layer of hollowing out: the shogunate hollowed out the emperor, the kanrei hollowed out the shogunate, the daimyo hollowed out the kanrei—it was a mess.

Zhang Juzheng must truly wish the young emperor to become capable.

“Master, I have a doubt,” Zhu Yijun said, sitting upright and looking at Zhang Juzheng.

Upon hearing “I have a doubt,” Zhang Juzheng instantly focused—he glanced at the water clock and sighed, bowing: “Your Majesty, time is nearly up; too much will choke you.”

Zhu Yijun smiled: “Rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the Son of Heaven—I am the Son of Heaven; adding fifteen minutes is no issue.”

“I accept the imperial decree,” Zhang Juzheng said helplessly—the emperor was applying his lesson on the spot: the sovereign’s authority to bestow favor and inflict punishment must never leave the court for even a day—and now the emperor was using it to extend the lecture.

The emperor had already put it into practice.

“Can Xuanfu and Datong be regarded as rituals, music, and military campaigns originating from the feudal lords?” Zhu Yijun asked Zhang Juzheng, voicing his question.

To fully articulate this, it would be: after decades of mutual warfare, have Xuanfu and Datong formed a tight political clique, bound by privilege-based economics and kinship ties, equivalent to feudal lords? More precisely, do Xuanfu and Datong now possess all the characteristics of the late-Tang military governorates?

Zhu Yijun did not phrase it so clearly, but he believed Zhang Juzheng understood.

Zhang Juzheng gritted his teeth and said: “Factional exclusion persists until it is exhausted; the stability or chaos of the border regions follows factional orders—this can be regarded as rituals, music, and military campaigns originating from the feudal lords.”

“Why do factions succeed?” Zhu Yijun asked again.

Zhang Juzheng looked at the emperor’s slightly innocent eyes and truly wanted to wave him off—don’t ask, don’t ask.

But the emperor had doubts, and as his imperial tutor, he must answer.

After long thought, he said: “Because the state is not wealthy, the army is not strong—without wealth, the state cannot reward, cannot even feed its soldiers for battle, so it must rely on local supplies; without strength, it cannot win battles, cannot suppress violence and brutality, and thus cannot enforce punishment.”

“When rewards and punishments fail, the worthy are not promoted, the unworthy rise and remain; things are not properly ordered, changes are not properly met; above, there is no heavenly timing; below, no earthly advantage; in the middle, no human harmony—thus, beyond law and reason, the feudal lords’ disorders arise.”

Zhang Juzheng had other examples he did not mention, such as the An Lushan Rebellion under Emperor Xuanzong of Tang—the root cause of the Tang military governorates’ autonomy was largely the state’s poverty and military weakness after the rebellion.

Zhu Yijun understood: he now grasped the root of the faction’s rise, and why Wang Chonggu dared speak such disloyal words in court.

Rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the feudal lords.

Zhu Yijun sighed: “When the authority over rituals, music, military campaigns, rewards, and punishments lies not in the court but in the regions—that is losing the Dao.”

“The state’s rituals, music, military campaigns, and governance of rewards and punishments must be grounded in loyalty to the state and righteousness, judged by facts alone.”

“For the sovereign, knowledge and action must be one—words and deeds must align, following one’s inner conviction: if you say it, you must do it; if you do it, you must see it through. If a minister’s words and deeds lack grounding in practice, he is untrustworthy and insincere; if his words and deeds betray his inner conviction, he is disloyal, unfaithful, unfilial—this is not the virtue a minister should possess.”

“When the ruler is not a ruler, and the minister is not a minister, the world falls into chaos.”

Zhu Yijun swiftly wrote a line in pencil on his paper, summarizing today’s lecture.