Chapter 61: Knowledge and Action Fully Integrated, Inner and Outer as One

Li Le reappeared at the Quan Chu Guildhall, as expected; Minister of Rites Lu Shusheng had already switched allegiances, leaving Zhang Juzheng with a bitter taste.

From Li Le’s perspective, the Jin Party was terrifying—but Master Zhang was far more terrifying than the Jin Party!

“Li Le, you are now qualified to govern a region,” Zhang Juzheng said with a smile. “This mission will primarily fall to you.”

Open investigations must not be abandoned; covert inquiries must also be conducted.

“His Majesty’s intent is for me to assist Grand Secretary Zhang,” Zhang Jing explained. “Two Inspection Commanders will follow you after leaving the city. Since this is a covert operation, it must be done without a trace.”

Zhang Jing was Zhang Hong’s man; Zhang Hong was a eunuch of the Qianqing Palace, while Feng Bao was Chief Eunuch of the Office of State Affairs and Director of the Eastern Depot. Feng Bao and Zhang Hong were, to a large extent, enemies.

Yet Zhang Jing carried the token of Xu Jue, Feng Bao’s trusted confidant—meaning Feng Bao had approved Zhang Jing’s departure from the palace and his arrival at the Quan Chu Guildhall.

The current surface harmony within the palace was astonishing to Zhang Juzheng. Palace intrigues had always been more direct and brutal than those outside. That Feng Bao and Zhang Hong had not clashed was yet another reason Zhang Juzheng viewed Feng Bao with renewed respect.

The last time Zhang Juzheng had found Feng Bao strange was when he had delivered pencils, strictly adhering to palace rules and refusing bribes.

Many changes had taken place within the palace, and Zhang Juzheng believed these changes were beneficial and advantageous to the Great Ming’s realm and state.

Zhang Hong was an ambitious man; he might one day clash with Feng Bao. But as long as it was not now, not during the reign of a young emperor and uncertain state, Zhang Juzheng, as Grand Secretary, would have far less to worry about. Watching Zhang Jing arrive at the Quan Chu Guildhall bearing Xu Jue’s token, Zhang Juzheng suddenly felt a sense of the Great Ming flourishing.

Zhang Jing appeared at the Quan Chu Guildhall because he was unfamiliar to most—he rarely showed himself in public. Even Zhang Juzheng knew him only by name; this was their first meeting.

“How is Xu Zhen?” Zhang Juzheng did not immediately reveal his plans but inquired about Xu Zhen’s condition.

Zhang Jing thought for a moment, then smiled. “Master Xu knows nothing but farming. He has a humble, obedient heart—he takes on the heaviest, dirtiest, most exhausting tasks so His Majesty need not trouble himself.”

“That is good,” Zhang Juzheng sighed in relief. Xu Zhen oversaw all internal and external affairs of the Baoqi Palace—affairs tied directly to imperial authority and dignity, which could not be taken lightly.

Xu Zhen had come to the capital carrying a bamboo basket of books, leaving a deep impression on Zhang Juzheng. When Zhang Juzheng himself passed the provincial examination, he had a servant, You Qi, to carry his books—but Xu Zhen had no servant.

When Xu Zhen reclaimed land in Shanyin, Zhejiang, he must have endured what Li Le had endured—but Xu Zhen did not kneel. He was dismissed, had no silver, yet still sought recommendations for reinstatement.

Zhang Juzheng remarked with deep feeling: “His Majesty speaks truly: diligent in scholarship, steadfast in action, loyal and sincere, fully integrating knowledge and practice, inward and outward as one.”

This phrase was His Majesty’s annotation on the Analects, Chapter Shu Er: “The Master taught four things: literature, conduct, loyalty, and trustworthiness.” Now, with Li Le’s comings and goings, Zhang Juzheng realized His Majesty’s words held profound truth.

Do not judge by what one says or how one appears—test him by his deeds. See whether he is inwardly and outwardly consistent.

Zhang Juzheng was deeply relieved. Though he had misjudged his classmate Lu Shusheng, it was not his own vision that failed—it was Lu Shusheng who was flawed.

Then why did his appointees Li Le and Xu Zhen have no such flaws?

“Grand Secretary,” Zhang Jing reminded him. Zhang Juzheng should arrange the journey. He did not know precisely how to proceed—the Emperor had merely instructed him to follow Zhang Juzheng’s orders.

Zhang Juzheng smiled. “Depart tomorrow with Li Le. Li Le, once you reach Xuan-Da, socialize freely with the local officials. Let Zhang Jing and the Inspection Commanders handle the investigation.”

Zhang Juzheng played dirty—he played the game of darkness beneath the lamp.

Zhang Jing and the Inspection Commanders needed official status to inspect border regions and review military installations—that was the rule. How could they enter frontier passes and the Great Wall without status?

On the surface, Li Le had defected to the Jin Party, cozying up to the Xuan-Da officials, drawing everyone’s attention—perfectly masking Zhang Jing and his team’s true activities.

If one must fight, one must use every stratagem—strike where unprepared, appear where unexpected.

To Empress Dowager Li and Empress Dowager Chen, the young Emperor’s life was dreadfully dull.

He rose at dawn every day, ate a light meal, then went to the Wenhua Hall to hear state affairs and study. After studying, he trained in martial arts. After training, he spoke a few words, then went to till the land. After tilling, he sat before piles of memorials, stamping them. After stamping, he stayed up late reading—always agricultural texts.

Zhu Yijun found this endlessly enjoyable.

“It’s become completely effortless. Has the Commander really trained seriously? Two months of martial practice—nothing but standing stances and running back and forth. Is the Commander unwilling to teach, or simply incapable?” The young Emperor, having stood stances for nearly two months, finished his practice and began venting to Commander Zhu Xixiao.

Zhu Xixiao clenched his fists. Who isn’t capable?!

He truly was capable—but this young Emperor’s words were infuriating.

Zhu Xixiao had trained earnestly, but he could not match the Emperor’s even greater diligence—or rather, the sword-bearing military nobles and young eunuchs had slowed the Emperor’s progress. Yet the Emperor completed every exercise—standing stances, sprinting, long-distance running—without fail and without punishment.

In three months of martial training, the young Emperor had lost nearly ten catties. Empress Dowager Chen and Empress Dowager Li had begun looking at Zhu Xixiao with suspicion—as if he had mistreated the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun exhaled, ended his stance, and asked curiously: “Can you teach me any martial arts?”

“Are you referring to forms?” Zhu Xixiao frowned.

Zhu Yijun nodded, demonstrating a few gestures with wide, eager eyes. “Yes—martial forms. Is there any technique that lets one leap across rooftops, move like cotton when touched, become as hard as iron upon impact, strike like a hammer, heavy as thunder, move like a rabbit or hawk, capable of slaying dragons and tigers?”

Zhu Xixiao’s expression twisted. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then whispered: “Your Majesty… leaping rooftops is what thieves do…”

Leaping rooftops meant burglars breaking into homes to steal goods or people. By Great Ming law, anyone entering a home at night was treated as a thief—and if the homeowner killed such a thief, the authorities could not prosecute.

“So there are no such forms?” Zhu Yijun asked, disappointed. “Then what should I train in?”

“Bow, crossbow, musket. One inch longer, one inch stronger. Bow, crossbow, musket are the longest.”

“One inch longer, one inch stronger?” Zhu Yijun smiled. “Then one inch shorter, one inch more dangerous?”

Zhu Xixiao shook his head. “I cannot agree. If I were unarmed and faced a thief with a dagger, fleeing would be wisest. On the battlefield, length wins.”

“In Qi Jiguang’s New Treatise on Military Efficiency, in the section on hands and feet, he also says: if the enemy’s short weapons are beyond the reach of your spear, he will not dare advance. Arrows and firearms are also long weapons—they can strike a hundred paces. We wait until the enemy is fifty paces away before firing—that is ‘dangerous momentum, short timing’—using long weapons with short reach. But Qi Jiguang’s core idea remains: one inch longer, one inch stronger.”

“I’ll follow the Commander’s and Qi Jiguang’s advice,” Zhu Yijun mused. Human history, after all, boils down to throwing stones and boiling water. Zhu Xixiao’s words made sense—if you can kill your enemy from afar, why risk your life in close combat?

Professional matters require professional hands.

“Then how should I train with bow, crossbow, and musket?” Zhu Yijun asked eagerly.

Zhu Xixiao shook his sleeve and handed Zhang Hong an object. “Your Majesty, perhaps start with this?”

Zhu Yijun looked at the object in Zhang Hong’s hand and snapped: “Are you mocking a child?! That’s a slingshot! Do you think I don’t know?!”

During Emperor Wu of Han’s reign, a man named Han Yan loved slingshots and used gold pellets, firing dozens daily. In Chang’an’s streets, the phrase “suffer hunger and cold, chase the gold pellets” became popular. Every time Han Yan went out, a crowd of impoverished people followed to collect the gold pellets he shot—hence the term “slingshot-prince, pampered noble.”

Zhu Xixiao telling him to train with a slingshot—was this not treating him like a child?

“Your Majesty, practicing accuracy won’t hurt,” Zhu Xixiao finally said, after much hesitation. He could not say outright: Your Majesty is still too young, lacks the strength to draw a bow or load a crossbow, and the musket is too unstable.

Zhu Yijun studied Zhu Xixiao’s expression, then carefully considered his words—he understood. His strength was still insufficient for bows and arrows. Practicing accuracy first was acceptable. Rushing results was unwise; martial training was a slow, patient craft.

The Emperor’s slingshot pellets were solid ceramic balls. Zhu Yijun picked one up, drew the slingshot, and fired at a rectangular target five feet five inches high and two feet five inches wide, placed ten paces away.

The ceramic pellet flew past the target and struck the wall, shattering.

Everyone fell silent. That was far too off-target.

No—it was the target that lacked humble obedience and refused to catch the pellet!