Chapter 654: The Prince of Lu Is Still Too Conservative

A person's life is much like Sun Sun Wukong's: at first, curious about everything, diligently learning; once mastering his skills, believing himself supreme; soon facing one setback after another, gradually sinking in them, constantly compromising with reality, until finally becoming just like everyone else.

Compromising with the objective constraints of reality is that golden circlet—the golden circlet on Sun Sun Wukong's head was never placed there by the Bodhisattva, nor could Tang Tang Sanzang's Tightening Spell ever control the Great Sage's actions.

The Ming Emperor Zhu Zhu Yijun, from the day he ascended the throne, had already placed a golden circlet upon himself—this circlet was the empire and the myriad subjects; he could not act recklessly.

Now, Zhu Zhu Yilu was at the height of "ruling alone above all," and the Ming Emperor was Zhu Zhu Yilu's heaven.

Zhu Zhu Yilu had committed countless evils in the capital: extorting wealthy households in Xitucheng, mass arrests of dissidents, shelling the Lianyun Bookstore, hanging scholars and soldiers on city walls, uprooting twelve bookshops and digging up their foundations three feet deep, and now he intended to send them to the Grand Court of Punishment at Wumen for public trial—this was Zhu Zhu Yilu, the one who had turned the capital upside down.

Yet the ministers left behind in court remained silent—even Shen Li, famed for his integrity and forthrightness, merely asked about the imperial warrant, and upon learning Zhu, the Prince of Lu, had acted under one, chose silence.

The court deliberation continued, but Zhu Zhu Yilu kept yawning—he was lethargic.

Li Li Youzi, Right Grand Censor of the Censorate, frowned and said: "Some censorial officials have said: Heaven detests falsehood, and this is abundantly clear; just as alchemy requires following a formula and waiting for the days to pass, under the illumination of the Sage's wisdom, the truth should be obvious. Yet now, labor projects multiply, taxes pile up, grain and wealth are exhausted, troops are worn out, the people suffer increasingly day by day. If His Majesty would only draw near Confucian ministers, clarify the righteous path, and enact benevolent governance, he would naturally summon auspicious signs, enhance his longevity, and forever enjoy peace—why resort to heretical doctrines?"

"This means Heaven detests falsehood, as history proves—just like alchemy: follow the formula, wait the days, and success follows. To draw near Confucian ministers, clarify the righteous path, and enact benevolent governance is the true way. But now His Majesty is deceived, clinging to heretical doctrines."

Zhu Zhu Yilu sat bolt upright, drew out a blank imperial warrant, and barked: "Who said this? Zhao Zhao Zhenyuan, arrest him immediately and send him to the Northern Town Surveillance Office!"

Murder, arson, arrests, extortion—those were yesterday's crimes. Today, the evil began with the court deliberation itself.

"When His Elder Brother was here, no one dared speak. Now that he's gone to the Southern Court, everyone jumps out—what do these censors mean by 'heretical doctrines'? What is heresy? Is it the Theory of Contradictions? The Public-Private Debate? The Diagrams of Production? Volumes One and Two of Class Theory? What absolute nonsense! In the twelfth year of the Emperor Wanli Reforms, not a single event has failed to prove the Theory of Contradictions correct!"

"Deceived by whom? By the Master? By Wang Ci? Does he dare say it plainly?!"

"He thinks I'm a child, mocks my ignorance, fools me, and tries to drive a wedge between me and His Elder Brother—his intentions are worthy of death!"

Over the years, Zhu Zhu Yilu had learned well from attending court sessions—he'd mastered the petty Confucian's art of slapping on labels, effortlessly and naturally. In truth, the censorial officials themselves spoke this way daily, but Zhu Zhu Yilu instantly twisted it into the grave offense of sowing discord between prince and emperor.

These petty Confucians loved to inflate minor matters into terrifying moral heights—like impeaching Tan Lun for coughing at the Altar of the Rising Sun.

Li Li Youzi and Shen Li stared at Zhu Zhu Yilu in stunned silence—how could he have slapped on such a massive label so smoothly?

"I'm not His Elder Brother—I don't have the patience to summon you, speak earnestly, explain patiently, and teach tirelessly. I can't stand your nonsense—arrest him at once!" Zhu Zhu Yilu slammed his desk, ordering the Embroidered Uniform Guard to seize the man.

"Wait, Zhao Battalion Commander, hold on." Zhu Zhu Yilu suddenly raised his hand, stopping Zhao Zhao Zhenyuan from moving.

Li Li Youzi hurriedly said: "Your Majesty dwells deep within the palace, and censorial ministers fear punishment and remain silent. If even these ministers dare not speak, who will speak for Your Majesty? Your Highness understands reason and knows censors are Your Majesty's ears and eyes—they must be allowed to speak."

Li Li Youzi thought Zhu Zhu Yilu had suddenly awakened to the importance of the censors, and so chose to stop.

"No, no, no—thank you, Grand Censor. Bring out all the memorials. I want to see what other blasphemous words remain—I'll arrest them all at once, so the Embroidered Uniform Guard won't have to keep running back and forth." Zhu Zhu Yilu waved his hand dismissively.

Clearly, Li Li Youzi had misunderstood him.

Zhu Zhu Yilu wasn't refusing to arrest—he planned to expand the purge!

To think the petty Confucians were the only ones who knew how to expand purges was a grave mistake—Zhu Zhu Yilu had watched them for twelve years; he knew this tactic inside out.

To defeat religion with religion, to defeat magic with magic.

Li Li Youzi widened his eyes, stared for a long time in disbelief, then said: "Ah… let me see… let me check how many more memorials remain."

The Ming Right Grand Censor Li Li Youzi was drenched in sweat—he had only one thought: when His Majesty went on southern tour, he must find any way possible, even clinging to the carriage wheel, to follow him south—serving the Prince of Lu was truly a monumental challenge.

In all things under heaven, nothing is perfect; gain one thing, lose another.

So what had Zhu Zhu Yilu lost by acting so recklessly? He had no ambition for the throne—that was what Zhu Zhu Yilu had lost.

The throne, more exhausting than a mill donkey—whoever wants it can have it. If the Crown Prince weren't still young, the Prince of Lu would rather die than step out of his harem of beauties to handle such mundane affairs. Better to spend time studying rope arts with the women of the world.

After finalizing the list of "wastebasket opinions," Zhao Zhao Zhenyuan led the Embroidered Uniform Guard straight to the Censorate. Amid wails and cries, Zhao took away three censors—they would be imprisoned in the Northern Town Surveillance Office, and release would come only after His Majesty returned to the capital.

The court deliberation dragged on, long enough for Zhu Zhu Yilu to keep staring at the clock in Zhao Wenhua Hall. Since the construction of the central bell and drum tower, the Ming had spawned a new industry: clocks—various kinds, endlessly emerging. This clock was a New Year gift from the Imperial Academy of Natural Philosophy to His Majesty.

At 11:30 a. m., Zhu Zhu Yilu immediately interrupted the still-deliberating ministers: "Court deliberation ends here. The Grand Secretariat, submit your draft edicts. Dismissed!"

Zhu Zhu Yilu turned and walked away without a word to the ministers. Joking—he'd complained bitterly during lectures when the Grand Secretaries extended sessions. Governing as regent meant clocking out on time; he wouldn't stay a second longer than necessary.

"Your Highness, you must go to the Imperial Study to review memorials," Li Li Yougong reminded him of the next item on the schedule.

If court deliberations ran late, His Majesty would go directly to the Northern Camp after lunch to inspect troops. If there was half an hour free, he'd review memorials to reduce the workload after returning to the palace in the afternoon.

"Fine." Zhu Zhu Yilu had no objections, stepping onto his horse-drawn carriage to the Tonghe Palace Imperial Study.

Zhu Zhu Yilu stared at the mountain of memorials and exclaimed in shock: "All this?"

"Yesterday's household raids added yesterday's and today's memorials together—this is why there's so much," Li Li Yougong explained.

What wasn't done yesterday must be made up today.

"Not reading any of it! Let's eat!" Zhu Zhu Yilu had briefly considered emulating His Elder Brother's diligence, but seeing this pile, he decided to slack off—lice don't itch when there are too many; debts don't worry when they're too high—he'd read them this afternoon.

"His Majesty prepared some seals for you, Your Highness. If you're tired, just stamp them," Li Li Yougong said, placing a box of seals before him: "I understand," "Forward to Southern Tour His Majesty," "Submit to Six Ministries for deliberation," "Grand Secretariat, draft a response," "Denied," "Approved"—all to help Zhu Zhu Yilu avoid work.

Zhu Zhu Yilu's eyes lit up. He grinned at the row of seals: "Hahaha! My Elder Brother understands me! He knows I'm lazy and even prepared these for me—perfect, perfect!"

"What does this one say? 'Bullshit'? Interesting, interesting."

These were custom-made for Zhu Zhu Yilu: "Bullshit," "Hu Nao," "Have you ever read a book?," "Don't write again," "Idiot," "The sages' books were fed to dogs"—all carved into seals for his convenience.

Zhu Zhu Yijun, as emperor, could not utter such vulgarities. To boost Zhu Zhu Yilu's enthusiasm for handling affairs, Zhu Zhu Yijun had thought of every possible trick.

"I'll read a bit… just a bit… hehe." Zhu Zhu Yilu didn't use only the seals—he found His Majesty too refined. On memorials he disliked, he directly cursed: "Your brain was kicked by a donkey," "Even a pig is smarter than you," "Do your parents know you're like this?"—his attacks were devastating.

Today, Zhu Zhu Yilu committed another evil: cursing in his memorial annotations, acting purely on whim, refusing to suffer even a single slight.

The Ming censors were now caught in a battle to defend their own fathers and mothers.

"Oh my heavens, is this even human work?" Zhu Zhu Yilu grew tired after a while, even losing the energy to curse. He grabbed the seals, stamped a few, then collapsed into his chair.

Zhu Zhu Yilu couldn't fathom how His Elder Brother endured reading such nonsense—it was pure mental torture.

"Your Highness, watch your words," Li Li Yougong hurriedly said—never speak ill of the sovereign.

Zhu Zhu Yilu didn't care. He waved his hand: "My Elder Brother told me: to wear the crown, you must bear its weight. My Elder Brother truly isn't human—give me this job, I'd let the Directorate of Palace Affairs handle the red annotations."

"Li Li Dafang, do you think if His Elder Brother knew how I've been acting, he'd cancel the southern tour and return to the Northern Court?"

"His Majesty sent a letter," Li Li Yougong pulled out a letter from the southern tour entourage—the emperor had only been gone a day, so replies came quickly.

"Quick, bring it!" Zhu Zhu Yilu took the letter, opened it—and saw only two words: "Is that all?"

"Is that all? Just those two words? No other instructions? You ignore my antics, then mock me?!" Zhu Zhu Yilu's face visibly flushed—he was clearly shaken.

"Is that all?" Though only two words, they carried His Elder Brother's faint disappointment—the iron fist of feudal autocracy was not so fearsome after all.

Zhu Zhu Yilu suddenly recalled how His Elder Brother had slain the petty Confucian Chen Yang Youren—Chen Yang Youren had glorified the Japanese pirates and slandered Qi Qi Jiguang's eastern campaign. His Elder Brother had killed him on the street.

His Elder Brother had always danced in chains, lived wearing masks. The brother who killed without blinking—that was the real brother.

"No, His Elder Brother meant I'm being indulged—he's saying, keep going, no problem." Zhu Zhu Yilu tucked the letter away: "After lunch, I'll take a walk through the streets, find a few unlucky souls, and throw them in jail."

Zhu Zhu Yilu enjoyed his lunch, then truly took to the streets—this time, he was hunting "sedentary bandits."

The capital had sedentary bandits too, but thanks to Wang Wang Yie, Shen Shen Yiguan, and Wang Wang Xiyuan's firm crackdowns, the scene of "bandits gathering in groups of dozens beyond the city's ten-mile perimeter, corruption unchecked, public resentment deepening" had vanished. Yet that didn't mean the capital had become a heavenly realm—sedentary bandits still infested every corner of the city.

Zhu Zhu Yilu's main target this time was the water monopolies centered on Sweet Well. Many wells were controlled by gangs of water carriers, who endured backbreaking labor, shuttling between neighborhoods, year-round, rain or shine—but their hard-earned wages were routinely stolen by these water bosses.

This time, Zhu Zhu Yilu, accompanied by Zhao Zhao Zhenyuan, paraded through the streets to arrest these water bosses.

Zhu Zhu Yilu's reckless antics in the capital had reached the ears of the Ming Emperor Zhu Zhu Yijun, who had now arrived in Tianjin Prefecture. Thanks to the newly built express roads, the emperor's massive southern tour entourage reached the Tianjin palace in just one day.

The larger the force, the slower the march—even a great general like Xu Da could advance only thirty li per day. But express roads and iron horses had increased the Ming army's marching efficiency from thirty li to ninety li per day.

Without so many attendants and if traveling day and night, the fastest safe journey from the Southern Court to the Northern Court was fifteen days—proven by the personal journey of Emperor Emperor Xuande.

In Hongxi Year One, Emperor Renzong Zhu Zhu Gaochi died suddenly. At the time, Zhu Zhu Zhanji, then touring the Southern Court, raced day and night to the Northern Court to ascend the throne—exactly fifteen days passed from receiving the news to his arrival.

Zhu Zhu Yijun had no need to rush. He would reach Yangzhou Prefecture in March, cross the river to the Southern Court in April, arrive in Suzhou in May, reach Songjiang Prefecture in June, and the rest of the itinerary remained undecided.

The southern tour had been announced for years and prepared for nearly a year; the route was fully confirmed, and proclamations had been issued nationwide.

An emperor's inspection tour never involved traveling incognito.

Zhu Zhu Yijun stayed again at Yanzheng Tower, the same place he had reviewed the fleet, because the large entourage required such space for lodging and logistics.

"On this tour, despite repeated edicts instructing local officials to provide supplies from imperial stores and take nothing from the people, the tour's purpose is to comfort the common folk, observe customs and conditions. Wherever we pass, no lavish arrangements must be made—the people must continue their livelihoods undisturbed. Otherwise, we merely burden the masses. I've issued these orders, yet local officials clearly haven't followed them properly," Zhu Zhu Yijun said with deep sigh to Zhang Zhang Juzheng.

This was the very embodiment of a bureaucracy accountable only upward.

The Ming Emperor had repeatedly forbidden extravagance in receptions; all southern tour supplies had been prepared by imperial offices in the capital. Yet when the emperor arrived in Tianjin Prefecture, the Prefect of Hejian, Zhang Zhang Youxin, and the Magistrate of Cangzhou, Jiao Jiao Liguo, though avoiding a crowd of ten thousand cheering citizens, still organized a grand welcoming ceremony with gongs and drums.

Tianjin City had clearly undergone a thorough cleaning—every brick crevice along the emperor's route had been scrubbed.

"Prefect Zhang is in a difficult position," Zhang Zhang Juzheng said in his defense. "If he doesn't host, censors will slap him with the charge of disrespecting the court. If he hosts lavishly, they'll accuse him of extravagance. Either way, he's wrong. This scene today is already the most reduced possible."

Zhang Zhang Youxin had exhausted his wits seeking balance: making the emperor feel honored, avoiding censors' accusations, and pleasing the emperor's taste—otherwise, what was meant to be flattery became foolishness, striking the wrong hoof.

Zhang Zhang Youxin truly wanted to advance. He specially arranged for artisans and weavers from the Tianjin Textile Bureau to greet the emperor at the station—the effect was astonishing. The emperor spoke at length with the artisans and weavers, mainly asking about labor wages, official housing, the three-tier academy, and the public medicine bureau.

Labor wages were about distribution downward; official housing, the three-tier academy, and the public medicine bureau were welfare.

Lin Fu criticized the Ming court's state-run workshops as doomed to fail, arguing they focused too much on labor market fairness and ownership of production means, but ignored another battlefield: the rights every human must possess and attain—human rights. Only by truly incorporating artisans into the ruling class could state-run workshops endure.

This was the lesson from Zheng He's voyages: during the heyday of Ming shipbuilding, when Emperor Emperor Chengzu passed away, the resident artisans scattered and fled for survival—because the artisan class was never part of the ruling class.

In the Ming, becoming part of the ruling class meant one thing above all: education.

"This year, Hejian Prefecture had 832 scholar candidates, 86 of whom came from resident artisans—about ten percent. That's already quite good," Zhu Zhu Yijun said with a smile, speaking of this year's prefectural examination.

Hejian Prefecture, of course, couldn't compare to Shuntian Prefecture—the official quota for scholar candidates was only 420. In Emperor Hongwu's time, each county had twenty, each state thirty, each prefecture forty. But due to various reasons, the quota had been expanded several times, rising from 420 at the dynasty's founding to 830.

"The three-tier academy has 1,200 students. I am deeply pleased. Ten percent isn't enough—I pray that before I die, I'll see ten percent of scholar candidates, juren, and Ming Jinshi coming from resident artisans. Then I can die content," Wang Wang Chonggu said solemnly.

"What's this talk of death? Vice Minister, don't speak such gloomy words," Zhu Zhu Yijun said sharply: "Pfft, pfft, you jinx!"

Wang Wang Chonggu hadn't planned to join the southern tour—he was old, and the journey would be grueling; he feared dying en route. But he ultimately volunteered to accompany the emperor, recalling the stories of Tan Sima Yi and Li Jing—sometimes, one must seek dignity for oneself, rather than wait for the emperor to say: "Wasn't Tan Sima Yi old and ill? Yet he still strengthened himself and built merit for the Wei court."

Tan Sima Yi had staged a coup after feigning death—since then, every aging minister trembled at the thought. And since Wang Wang Chonggu himself was a rebel, he had no choice but to join the southern tour.

"Where is the Marquis of Marquis Ningyuan?" Zhu Zhu Yijun looked around and didn't see Li Li Chengliang, so he asked about his whereabouts.

Qi Qi Jiguang dodged slightly: "He went to visit brothels. Honestly—it's hard to explain."

Li Li Chengliang kept his word—he told the emperor the southern tour was to compare the brothels of Qinhuai River with his flower houses in Tieling. He went straight there upon arrival.

"This…" Wan Shihé stared: "He's a Marquis of Marquis Ningyuan! He doesn't care about face, but the court does! What does it mean for a marquis to visit brothels?!"

"Let him go if he wants. He's fought his whole life—let him enjoy himself. It's normal," Zhu Zhu Yijun said indifferently. "The court's dignity isn't upheld by such formalities."

Wan Shihé soon realized the truth: this was Li Li Chengliang's self-preservation tactic. Fond of money and beauties, he wouldn't chase power. He'd already relinquished command of the Liaodong army.

It was a risky move—if the emperor abandoned him, a general without military power was like a lamb awaiting slaughter.

But Li Li Chengliang had been in the capital over a month without a single censorial accusation, because the emperor's stance was crystal clear to everyone in the capital.

"Your Majesty, please ask the Prince of Lu to rein in his behavior a little," Zhang Zhang Juzheng finally couldn't hold back—he spoke of the capital's affairs. No one else dared mention it; only he had the authority to raise it.

The accusation of sowing discord between imperial brothers is not a hat anyone can wear with ease.

"I think he hasn't done enough," Zhu Zhu Yijun asked Wang Wang Chonggu: "What do you, Vice Minister Wang, think?"

"A single chest of floating notes used less than two cuts," Wang Wang Chonggu stated firmly. "I believe it truly isn't enough—the Prince of Lu is still too conservative. I gave him so many blank floating notes precisely because I expected this demon of chaos to pierce the heavens, but he used only two cuts; it's slightly disappointing."

Wang Wang Chonggu spoke bluntly: "Your Majesty, these base Confucians are like this—they won't remember your benevolence unless they're beaten. Do they truly believe free speech is their right? It's only because Your Majesty is merciful and doesn't hold grudges that they take it for granted and chatter endlessly."

"Only this public trial has some substance; the rest is just children playing house."

In Wang Wang Chonggu's view, even the most violent act—bombing the Lianyun Bookstore—was merely childish play, a trivial spectacle with no real impact on the grand scheme. Bombing one bookstore meant nothing; at most, it became part of Xiong Xiong Tingbi's legendary tale, another band of treacherous rebels crushed.

But setting up an open-air court outside the Wu Gate, in Wang Wang Chonggu's eyes, was an extremely important step in the Great Ming's legal system—and one with far-reaching consequences. Yet some details still eluded his full understanding.

Zhu Zhu Yijun sat upright, his expression grave. "Speaking of this public trial, I also think Liu'er handled it well. But I worry he acted on a whim, merely for amusement. You, Vice Minister, amidst your many duties, draft a memorial to formalize the institutional design."

"I recall the Luomu Camp mutiny. The Zhejiang Governor Wu Wu Shanyan was beheaded outside Luomu Camp, before Ye Yongchang Gate, quelling public outrage. Though justice came late, it was finally served—the people's resentment naturally dissipated."

"Are you suggesting we make this a permanent institution?" Wang Wang Chonggu frowned, then his eyes brightened. If he could make this happen, future historians would dare not call him a traitor!

"Precisely," Zhu Zhu Yijun agreed. "There must be triggers, application scenarios, institutional design—all require strategists. The twelve-year Minister of Justice is just right."

"When a popular uprising occurs, publicly trying the offenders is indeed a swift way to pacify the people," Wang Wang Chonggu said, frowning. "This matter is of great weight. Allow me time to reflect."

"No rush. The southern tour still has a long way to go. Take your time, Vice Minister," Zhu Zhu Yijun said with a smile.

"Your Majesty," Zhang Zhang Juzheng ventured cautiously, "perhaps you should ask the Prince of Lu to rein himself in. The Son of Heaven is away from the capital—stability must come first. He's had his fun; let him not repeat it."

"You yourself tacitly approved," Zhu Zhu Yijun replied. "Should I return to the capital now, retrieve the imperial passes, and continue the southern tour? No—let him be." He spoke of the box of imperial passes he had given before leaving.

When Zhu Zhu Yijun gave the Prince of Lu that large chest of imperial passes, you, the Imperial Tutor, Grand Preceptor, Chief Minister, and Marquis of Yicheng Zhang Zhang Juzheng, watched with your own eyes. You said nothing then—now to object is too late.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng's tacit approval was meant to let the Prince of Lu teach the base Confucians a lesson—but the Prince made such a spectacle, and the Emperor still looked on, delighted by the chaos.

In the matter of Zhu Zhu Yilu's uproar in the capital halls, Zhang Zhang Juzheng was the conservative, Zhu Zhu Yijun the moderate, and Wang Wang Chonggu the radical.

"Your Majesty, I side with the Grand Preceptor," Hence Hai Rui stepped forward, supporting Zhang Zhang Juzheng. That monkey needs a golden headband. If he keeps this up, when I return to the capital, the Censorate will have to relocate straight to the Northern Town Surveillance Office—every censor and speech official will be dragged off by the Prince of Lu to that very government office.

"Chief Censor Hai, to rein in the Prince of Lu, I'd have to return to the capital," Zhu Zhu Yijun spread his hands. "Think—who else can rein him in? I'm not in the capital. Even if I issue an edict of reprimand, with Zhu Zhu Yilu's nature, he'll let it in one ear and out the other."

"Empress Dowager Li… Prince De… it seems no one truly can," Hence Hai Rui counted two names and realized neither could.

Empress Dowager Li's indulgence of the Prince of Lu was well known—if she loved ten parts, she gave twelve to the Prince of Lu; even the Great Ming Emperor Zhu Zhu Yijun, strictly disciplined and constrained, still owed two parts.

Prince De, Zhu Zhu Zaiyu, was absorbed in the infinite principles of all things, long transcended the Five Phases, utterly indifferent to mundane affairs. Even if the northern barbarians reached the walls of the capital, Zhu Zhu Zaiyu wouldn't step out of the Imperial Academy of Natural Philosophy.

Hence Hai Rui sighed heavily. "Then let those thoughtless censors stay in prison for a while—let them learn their lesson. Perhaps they'll finally grasp some truth."

A thousand lectures on principle are worth less than one personal experience. Hence Hai Rui could only wish the censors would attain enlightenment in Longchang.

"Then that's all we can do," Zhang Zhang Juzheng finally conceded.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng and Hence Hai Rui had done all they could. This isn't about whether the Emperor wishes it or not—even if he heard the advice and issued an edict, it would be useless. To restrain the lawless Prince of Lu, only the Emperor's return to the capital could work.

One can only say: these base Confucians deserve it.