Chapter 63

Zhu Yijun was scolded by Empress Dowager Li for playing with a slingshot, and naturally, he wished to argue back.

But arguing with Empress Dowager Li required strategy—directly saying “I want to play” would only earn him a slap.

That would sharpen the conflict, not solve it, and only complicate and escalate matters—turning a dispute over a slingshot into a moral crisis of filial piety, leaving everything in chaos and ruin.

Empress Dowager Li looked helplessly at Empress Chen and said, “Sister, you see? I told you before not to restrain the Emperor, and now all those arguments have made it seem as if I’m shielding my son—as if I’ve done something wrong.”

Empress Chen smiled and replied, “Then why not hear what the Emperor has to say?”

Zhu Yijun spoke solemnly: “Confucius said: One must know men, yet knowing them is exceedingly difficult. Especially for a sovereign, who must know men and employ them wisely—how then does one know men? Confucius said: Observe what they do, examine their motives, and discern what they find peace in.”

“Observe what they do: if their actions are good, they are a gentleman; if evil, they are a petty man.”

“Examine their motives: if done with sincerity, it is good; if done with pretense and deceit, it is evil.”

“Discern what they find peace in: if their heart finds peace in righteousness, it is good; if driven by fear of punishment or desire for gain, it is evil.”

“When Master Yuanfu spoke of this, he sighed deeply: ‘If an act truly springs from inner peace, then it is good; otherwise, it is only temporary—how can it last without change?’”

“Lu Shusheng is famed for his integrity; all praise his conduct as virtuous, his motives as sincere, his actions as true to his heart—but he does not act from inner moral conviction, so his virtue is fleeting, not enduring.”

“Thus Lu Shusheng became a supporter of the clan faction, because his actions stem not from moral conviction, but from fear of power and desire for gain—only temporary.”

“Li Le is different: though Zhang Simei employs the most despicable tactics, Li Le acts from inner righteousness—this is peace of heart, and thus enduring.”

“Of course, compared to the clan faction, Master Yuanfu may be even more terrifying.”

Zhang Juzheng’s remark was not named, but Zhu Yijun understood perfectly: Zhang Juzheng was speaking of Lu Shusheng and Li Le. Confucius was right: fear of power and desire for gain bring only temporary virtue; peace of heart brings lasting virtue.

But hearts are hidden behind ribs—how could even Zhang Juzheng, a seasoned official, fully know men? How then can one truly know them?

Must one dig out a man’s heart, expose it to the sun, and let it dry to know its truth?

Zhu Yijun understood exactly what Zhang Juzheng was sighing over—he named them outright: Zhang Juzheng was speaking of Lu Shusheng and Li Le. Zhu Yijun feared the two Empress Dowagers would not grasp it, so he spelled it out plainly.

Zhu Yijun clasped his hands and continued: “I asked Master Yuanfu: What is loyalty versus treachery? What is purity versus corruption? What is talent versus incompetence? Master Yuanfu pondered.”

“I thought, speaking so abstractly is empty—Master Yuanfu cannot answer. If I quote the stale doctrines of pedantic scholars, he will refuse. So I paused, then pressed further.”

“All say Yan Song is a villain: during his tenure, the court had no funds for war, officials received no salaries, famine victims had no grain, and the people suffered from land consolidation, displacement, and hardship.”

“All call Yan Song a sycophantic traitor—yet his son Yan Shifan became Vice Minister of Works and supervised imperial construction projects. Wasn’t Xu Jie’s son Xu Pan also supervising imperial construction, building the Yongshou Palace in three months, embezzling enough to buy half of Songjiang Prefecture?”

“After Yan Song was toppled, did military funds, official salaries, and famine relief arrive? Did the people live in peace? Did they prosper? Were the sycophants punished?”

“Master Yuanfu sighed and answered: ‘No.’”

Xu Jie was Zhang Juzheng’s teacher; the old Xu faction had vanished—some joined the Jin faction, others became part of Zhang’s circle.

Zhang Juzheng refused to recall Hai Rui because, in the ministers’ eyes, Hai Rui, Hai Gangfeng, had exposed Xu Jie’s corruption clearly and thoroughly while stationed in Songjiang.

Yan Song was a great corrupt official, a flatterer, a factional schemer, a cunning liar who deceived his sovereign, robbing him of authority and reward.

But was Xu Jie not the same?

Zhu Yijun’s face turned grave: “I ask Master Yuanfu again: What is loyalty versus treachery? What is purity versus corruption? What is talent versus incompetence? What is the greatest evil of the realm?” Master Yuanfu remained silent.

“What is the greatest evil of the realm?” Empress Chen asked, puzzled.

“Master Yuanfu did not answer, and I do not know either,” Zhu Yijun said, flashing his signature smile.

He is only a ten-year-old emperor!

Such profound questions should be left to Master Yuanfu!

The Great Ming is rotten—pierced through, horrifyingly decayed—and Zhang Juzheng, as Grand Secretary, knows precisely where the greatest evil lies.

Is the greatest evil in the Emperor?

Hai Rui arrived with a coffin, accusing Emperor Jiajing—the greatest evil was Jiajing, whose reign left every household empty.

But if the greatest evil truly lay with Jiajing, a lone tyrant, then during Longqing’s reign, when the Emperor withdrew and ministers governed together, why was the realm still culturally weak and militarily inept, exhausted and suffering?

Is the greatest evil in the court?

Yan Song fell, Yan Shifan died, Xu Jie rose, Xu Jie fell, Gao Gong rose, Gao Gong fell, now Zhang Juzheng stands—yet even after ten years of his reforms, how much vitality has returned? And what happens when Zhang Juzheng falls?

The greatest evil lies in ritual law: Ming ministers have long sought to confine the Emperor within rigid frameworks, making him a passive sovereign, yet these same frameworks bind them just as tightly—both sovereign and commoner, from top to bottom, are trapped in this quagmire, unable to escape.

More precisely, the distribution and production system built upon Confucian ritual law can no longer match the Ming’s current productive forces, nor reconcile the conflicts and contradictions between social classes.

The greatest evil lies in the Emperor: if he neglects governance, discipline collapses.

The greatest evil lies in the court: if the court is corrupt, the realm falls ill.

The greatest evil lies in ritual law: if ritual law decays, the Emperor grows idle and the people weary.

Zhang Juzheng’s reforms were still insufficient—too shallow, too incomplete.

The greatest evil lies in the countless lives across the Great Ming’s southern and northern lands, within and beyond the Great Wall, struggling to survive in the mountains and fields.

The greatest evil lies in the vast fertile lands lying fallow, the people crushed by land consolidation, barely clinging to life.

The greatest evil lies in the people, already broken by suffering, now unable to bear the state’s straw taxes, the landlords’ grain rents, or the village officials’ private exactions.

The suffering of the people is the greatest evil of the realm!

What is the fate of a dynasty? What is the Emperor’s Mandate?

In Zhu Yijun’s ten-year-old mind, simple and unadorned, fate and Mandate mean the people live in peace and prosperity: if the people are at peace, the realm is at peace; if the people are restless, the realm is restless.

Zhang Juzheng knew the greatest evil of the realm—he withdrew into nature in the thirty-third year of Jiajing, weary of court intrigues and human deceit—but still returned to court to address land tax inequality, peasant unemployment, and the people’s suffering under consolidation.

Zhang Juzheng did not answer because the young Emperor was still too young—these matters must be led by the Emperor himself.

Zhu Yijun continued: “Master Yuanfu later said: A gentleman is not a vessel.”

“What does ‘a gentleman is not a vessel’ mean?” Empress Chen asked, intrigued.

Zhu Yijun smiled broadly: “Master Yuanfu said: a vessel is a tool—any utensil. It also refers to the process of becoming a vessel: shaping clay, forming the body, trimming, drying, carving, glazing, firing.”

“Vessel” is both noun and verb. “Not a vessel” means not bound by form—it also means not restricting talent to rigid molds. Following rules only produces vessels: limited in size, shape, and function.

“‘A gentleman is not a vessel’ does not mean a gentleman cannot become talented. This must be understood in context—with the previous chapter: Confucius spoke of knowing men—good deeds make a gentleman, evil deeds make a petty man.”

“‘A gentleman is not a vessel’ discusses gentlemen, not petty men. A man with one skill or talent is like a vessel—each has its use, yet cannot be interchanged; skilled here, incapable there—not a complete talent.”

“But a gentleman is not a vessel: he may govern the state’s grand affairs, or manage finances and military logistics—unlike a vessel, which serves only one fixed purpose.”

“A gentleman must not be bound by public opinion or by stale, decaying customs. Thus, a gentleman is not a vessel—he is the true talent of the realm.”

“Mother, the slingshot is meant for accuracy—this is preparation for the thirty-jin bamboo bow. This is the process of becoming a vessel: if the clay is not kneaded, how can it become porcelain in the kiln? I am not shooting pearls at birds, nor playing ball in the side hall—this is no frivolous act. Please, Mother, understand.”

“Forget the slingshot,” Empress Dowager Li waved her hand. “Play! I never said that—we won’t argue anymore. Play, my son, play.”

Slingshot—play! Cuju—kick! What’s the big deal?

Play! Play freely!

Empress Dowager Li had been pondering the greatest evil of the realm, but after hearing the Emperor speak of “a gentleman is not a vessel,” she relented, no longer interfering. Her feelings were complex: slightly helpless, slightly resigned, yet also a touch of pride.

Resigned, because she could no longer out-argue the Emperor—when parents cannot teach their child reason, there is no teaching left.

Proud, because her son was reading earnestly, grasping profound truths. What mattered most was that he became a vessel of virtue—if the Emperor earned the ministers’ respect, Empress Dowager Li’s stay in Qianqing Palace was not in vain.

Zhu Yijun did not finish his thought—he had asked whether true “un-vessel” gentlemen were common.

Zhang Juzheng answered: True “un-vessel” gentlemen are rare.

Zhu Yijun sighed deeply: “Observe their deeds, examine their motives, discern their peace of heart. A vessel—a man with one skill—is to be employed according to his capacity; do not demand perfection. A true ‘un-vessel’ talent, seeking extraordinary service to the state, must not waste effort on self-preservation. A sovereign who finds such a man must entrust him with great responsibility.”

Xu Zhenming is clearly a vessel—he excels in agronomy and water management, and cannot be expected to do more; even giving a court report, he stammers and falters.

Is there truly, in this world, a “un-vessel” talent who seeks the realm’s great order without ever scheming for personal safety?

Yes.

The Han dynasty always had loyal and virtuous men.

“Li Le submitted two memorials from Datong: the Great Wall of Xuan-Da is in utter ruin.” Empress Dowager Li mentioned this to gauge the Emperor’s thoughts.