Chapter 58

"Rituals, music, military campaigns, rewards, punishments—these are the great pillars of favor and authority, principles that must not be delegated; the two handles belong to the sovereign, and losing them means the realm falls into chaos."

"To govern, one must base oneself on virtue, loyalty, and trustworthiness."

"For the sovereign, words and actions must come from the heart; what is said must be done, and what is done must bear fruit; for the minister, if words do not match deeds, that is untrustworthiness; if words and actions are insincere, concealing truth and falsely claiming ability, that is disloyalty—disloyalty and untrustworthiness make one an unworthy minister."

"When the sovereign is not sovereign and the minister is not minister, that is the greatest form of chaos." Zhu Yijun closed the book, summarizing today’s lesson—and also summarizing Qi Jiguang’s return to the capital.

The Great Ming was still not wealthy, its troops still not strong, but it had some money left. With Qi Jiguang back in the capital, a powerful army was now in place, so it was time to cautiously extend the principles of ritual, music, military campaigns, rewards, and punishments into the Jin Party’s territory.

Zhang Juzheng bowed low and said: "For the sovereign, one must perceive the truth beneath, discern right from wrong, then act through rewards and punishments; for the minister, one must remain ever vigilant, diligent and conscientious, then act by fulfilling one’s duty and avoiding suspicion. Thus, sovereign and minister each abide in their proper place, each follow their own path; sovereign and minister become as one body, united in harmony, overcoming hardship together—then the way of sovereign and minister is secure, and the realm turns toward order!"

Zhu Yijun rose and slightly bowed in return: "I am indebted to Master Yuanfu for aiding the state and teaching me the principles of governance."

"Your Majesty flatters me—this is merely my duty to honor the late emperor and remain loyal to Your Majesty," Zhang Juzheng bowed again and said: "Your servant takes his leave."

Zhang Juzheng stepped out of the Wenhua Hall, straightened his posture, turned, and departed, hands clasped, heading toward the Wenyuan Pavilion. The more he pondered, the more something felt off—but he could not pinpoint where. Everything the emperor said was what he himself had taught.

Only when he reached the entrance of the Wenyuan Pavilion did he realize what was wrong.

Rituals, music, military campaigns—these were the great pillars of the state, matters of sacrifice and war. But when had the treatise shifted to discussing rewards and punishments? Thus, the handle of authority, beyond rituals and military campaigns, now seemed to include rewards and punishments as a defined concept.

The key was—this definition was something he himself had invented to answer the emperor’s question about why local powers had grown so strong!

Where did rewards and punishments originate?

From Han Feizi’s “Two Handles” chapter: “The enlightened sovereign controls his ministers through two handles alone. These two handles are punishment and virtue. What is punishment? Killing and execution. What is virtue? Rewards and bestowals.”

But there seemed nothing inherently wrong—Confucianism held that favor and authority lay in sacrifice and war: rituals and music as moral instruction, military campaigns as warfare; in Legalist thought, favor and authority were rewards and punishments: fear of punishment, desire for reward.

Moral instruction alone could not solve the current problem of clan factions running rampant, or the de facto warlord status of Xuanfu and Datong. This definition of the handle of authority seemed perfectly reasonable.

Why did Zhang Juzheng read Han Feizi?

He was a practical official, understood adaptability—he read anything useful. He read not only Han Feizi, but also Mozi.

Zhang Juzheng ceased further contemplation and turned to state affairs, attaching sticky notes to memorials. He did not even realize that deviating from orthodoxy had become increasingly acceptable.

While the young emperor practiced martial arts, Li Le, a censor of the Military Bureau, collected his seal as Assistant Minister of Inspection from the Ministry of Personnel, then proceeded to the Huitong Pavilion to arrange for relay horses, planning to depart the next day along the postal route to Datong to inspect border defenses and the construction of the Great Wall.

As Li Le returned home after completing his duties, he saw a man waiting at his gate—a runner from the Quanjin Hui Guan—who held a formal invitation. Seeing Li Le, the man smiled and said: "Sir Li, my master requests your presence."

"Who is your master?" Li Le frowned, took the invitation, and his face turned pale.

The runner merely bowed and left without answering. The runner from the Quanjin Hui Guan—his master was naturally Zhang Siwei, the master of the Quanjin Hui Guan.

The master of the Quanjin Hui Guan was still Yang Bo, but Yang Bo had already packed his belongings, awaiting the proper implementation of the Examination System before departing. Thus, the Quanjin Hui Guan had effectively changed hands.

Li Le’s face turned pale because the invitation subtly contained two small strands of hair—one silver-white, one soft and dark—the threat was unmistakable.

Li Le returned home and examined his son’s topknot—newly cut strands of hair confirmed that the soft strand in the invitation was his child’s hair from Beijing.

The silver strand, then, must be his mother’s hair from his hometown.

Li Le’s wife, Lady Liu, asked in confusion: "Husband, what’s wrong?"

"Where did you take the child today?" Li Le asked, face grim, fists clenched.

"I stayed home the whole day, nowhere else. No strangers entered the house," Lady Liu replied firmly.

Li Le went to the window of his son’s side room and saw a faint footprint on the railing—he knew the child’s hair had been cut last night by an intruder.

This time it was hair. What would they cut next?

Li Le was a court censor, and the Jin Party dared not touch him—but his family were not officials. This was a direct, real threat.

"I’m going to the Quan..." Li Le began to head to the Quan Chu Hui Guan to report the threat against his family—but he stopped mid-sentence. He realized the enemy was not afraid. Could Zhang Juzheng protect his family forever?

Obviously not.

Li Le took a deep breath and said: "I’ll change clothes and go to the Quan Chu Hui Guan."

Lady Liu knew Li Le had taken Zhang Juzheng as his mentor. This inspection post on the border, this duty to survey the Great Wall’s construction—it was Master Yuanfu who had secured it for him. Visiting to bid farewell before departure was only proper.

She said nothing more, helped him change clothes, and saw him off.

Li Le arrived at the side gate of the Quanjin Hui Guan, knocked, handed over the invitation, glanced around, saw no followers, and the gatekeeper let him in.

Li Le hesitated at the threshold, then stepped inside. The side gate of the Quanjin Hui Guan slowly closed behind him.

Li Le reached the theater pavilion, where a play was underway. Wang Chonggu and Zhang Siwei sat inside. Yang Bo was absent—he was on duty at the Ministry of Personnel, where the Examination System had recently stirred up much chaos.

For example, inspecting the fire safety of the thousand storage rooms in Tongzhou’s capital depot required only a single character: “none.” But some officials, like the Left Vice Minister of Revenue, insisted on writing out the full description.

“Room No. 107, Jia-Character Archive, no fire incident. Inspector Zhao Chengde inspected at the third watch.” This had to be written. Four inspections per day. Each inspector managed two hundred rooms. Each room required four entries. One sentence had to be written eight hundred times a day.

This was “doubling execution”—the concrete application of “doubling.” It forced people to waste time on trivial tasks disguised as important ones.

Wasn’t the Examination System meant to improve efficiency? Doubling execution seemed to impose clearer requirements—but it wasted far more time.

Yang Bo’s solution? He carved dozens of official seals. Inspectors only needed to sign, then stamp—the process was even faster than before.

Yang Bo was genuinely implementing the Examination System, meticulously, thoroughly, seeking a path that preserved Jin Party interests while renewing the state and restoring the Great Ming’s vitality.

But how could one find a solution that satisfied both?

The servants of the Quanjin Hui Guan all knew the old party patriarch was too old to manage affairs. This private residence was no longer private—it had become the gathering place of the Jin Party. Wang Chonggu and his nephew Zhang Siwei watched the play.

The play depicted Yue Fei’s death by rib-stretching in the Dali Temple’s Fengbo Pavilion.

The veteran actor portraying Yue Fei, upon learning the emperor’s edict ordered his death at dawn, gazed northward with anguish and sang: "I hoped to escape the cage, cleanse the nation’s shame, and would not die before fulfilling my duty! As long as breath remains, I still yearn for the Central Plains—but my fierce ambition cannot be tamed!"

"What is there to fear? Even if fame and achievement are won, what is lost by hiding the bow and cooking the dog? How can I wait until the moment of being cooked?"

A voice from the audience praised: "What a noble Yue Gong! Even at this point, he still thinks only of loyalty to the state and repayment of the emperor’s grace!"

Two clowns, their noses and brows painted white, portrayed Dali Temple guards sent to escort Yue Fei to death. They bent low, nearly crawling, lifting their heads to stare at Yue Fei and recited: "Grandmaster Yue, it is already the third watch. I do not press you out of cruelty—only you know the Chancellor Qin’s nature."

The veteran actor glared, eyes blazing, and roared: "Say no more! Let me pay my final respects to the Two Emperors and the Sovereign!"

The clown half-recited, half-sang: "That thing? You need not bid it farewell."

The clown looped the rope around Yue Fei’s chest. Yue Fei closed his eyes briefly, then snapped them open, singing mournfully: "Sovereign! The Central Plains sink into ruin! Traitors hold your hands—can you bear to see the nation fall and the sovereign in peril? Death is no better than rotting away! See the waves of Xutao—loyal spirits roll together into the river!"

The clown pulled the rope taut around Yue Fei’s chest. A final cry rang out—and Yue Fei collapsed lifelessly.

Rib-stretching death: the rope snapped the ribs, piercing the heart and lungs.

"Excellent! Reward!" Wang Chonggu, the Shaobao, clapped his table and shouted loudly.

Yue Fei’s final official title was Assistant Shaobao; all called him Yue Shaobao. Yu Qian’s final title was Shaobao; all called him Yu Shaobao.

Wang Chonggu’s Shaobao was Assistant Shaobao to the Crown Prince, second rank, specially granted during the Longqing peace negotiations to honor his role in the accord.

Wang Chonggu’s Shaobao was not the same as the two other Shaobao titles awarded for repelling enemies and killing foes.

Li Le wanted to laugh. He could not fathom how Wang Chonggu identified with Yue Fei—even Li Le, a scholar, thought Wang Chonggu was shamelessly hypocritical!

Since Jiajing 29, over sixteen versions of Yue Fei plays had appeared in Ming theaters. This scene, Li Le had indeed heard before.

How had Li Le come to the Quanjin Hui Guan?!

He had just received his imperial assignment, not yet departed, when he received an invitation containing two strands of hair!

"Sir Li, please, sit, sit, sit," Zhang Siwei said warmly, inviting Li Le to a seat, then added with deep feeling: "I speak plainly—I’ll cut to the chase. Today I’ve invited you here regarding your inspection of the border and survey of the Great Wall’s construction."