Chapter 7: Chapter Seven: Former Chief Grand Secretary Gao Gong Ordered the Assassination

Zhu Xixiao, the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard overseeing the assassination case, spoke: “The assailant’s name is Wang Dachen, real name Wang Zhanglong, from Wujin County, Changzhou, Southern Zhili. He claimed to be a soldier under Qi Jiguang’s Zhe Army, but investigation confirmed he is a servant in the capital, named Wang Zhanglong. Yesterday at the third watch of the afternoon, he disguised himself as a eunuch, carrying a Caihu Camp token, and entered the imperial palace through Xuanwu Gate.”

Zhang Juzheng asked after hearing this: “Where did he obtain the eunuch attire and the token?”

“He claimed it was provided by Chen Hong,” Zhu Xixiao said, glancing at Feng Bao, director of the Eastern Depot—matters within the palace were beyond his jurisdiction.

Zhu Yijun sat upon the moon terrace, flipping through the “Four Books: Direct Interpretation.” Hearing Zhu Xixiao’s words, he realized a problem: Wang Dachen had infiltrated the palace solely because he possessed eunuch attire and a Caihu Camp token.

Thus, Wang Dachen had acquired an identity.

In truth, outsiders slipping into the palace was not unusual—it was a revenue stream for the eunuchs. Many were curious about what the imperial palace looked like and willing to pay to sneak in for a glimpse.

It was laughable: in the rigidly Confucian Great Ming, outsiders could simply pay a little money and enter this heavily guarded imperial compound.

Who collected the money? Naturally, the eunuchs.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard could not interfere in eunuch affairs; cutting off someone’s livelihood was like killing their parents. If the Guard pressed too hard, the eunuchs might retaliate violently.

Even though this was considered normal by the ministers, not a single person blamed Commander Zhu Xixiao for failing to prevent the intruder’s entry, because everyone had grown accustomed to it.

Who hadn’t slipped someone into the palace?

The Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Eastern Depot were meant to balance each other as two intelligence forces, but due to the Eastern Depot’s growing power, this balance had steadily weakened—the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s authority had sunk so low it had become a mere appendage of the Eastern Depot.

Zhu Yijun, this little butterfly, had just flapped his wings—and the effect was already visible.

Originally, the Wang Dachen case was to be handed to the Eastern Depot for interrogation, but due to Zhu Yijun’s remarks, Empress Dowager Li assigned it to the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

By regulation, the Eastern Depot could not leave the palace until dawn, when the gates opened; thus, today’s morning lecture, the true identity of Wang Dachen could not be confirmed.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard had a Northern Office of Military Surveillance outside Chengtian Gate; a single message could summon several chief investigators and uncover Wang Dachen’s entire ancestral lineage with absolute clarity.

At least it was confirmed: this villain was not from Qi Jiguang’s army, but a servant in the capital.

The assassin’s identity was truly, truly critical.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard was not powerless—it simply lacked influence.

Feng Bao, his forehead wrapped in gauze, cheeks swollen, sat in the position of Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Palace Affairs, his voice strained: “I have a mortal grudge against Chen Hong. Yesterday, I captured Chen Hong, who confessed he provided the eunuch attire and Caihu Camp token. Through Teng Xiang, Meng Chong, and others, he secretly colluded with the assailant, allowing Wang Dachen to infiltrate the palace and cause this evil deed.”

“Thank heaven, His Majesty is unharmed.”

“Is His Majesty unharmed?” Yang Bo, Minister of Personnel, flung his sleeve and glared at Feng Bao: “The blade missed! But what if it hadn’t? His Majesty is still young—what if he were traumatized? As the Inner Minister, you are responsible for palace affairs. You let the assassin in—how dare you still sit here!”

Yang Bo, jinshi of the eighth year of Jiajing, began his career in local posts. In the eighteenth year of Jiajing, he accompanied Grand Secretary Zhan Luan on a tour of the Nine Borders. In the nineteenth year, Emperor Jiajing summoned him at night for an audience and was deeply impressed. From the twenty-fifth year of Jiajing onward, he began touring the frontier regions.

In the thirty-third year of Jiajing, the Tatar leaders Batu Khan and Dailai Sun led over a hundred thousand cavalry to raid Jizhen. Yang Bo, alongside Regional Commander Zhou Yichang, fought fiercely, refusing to remove his armor, and at night recruited death volunteers to penetrate the enemy camp and repel them. In the thirty-fourth year of Jiajing, Yang Bo repelled Batu Khan again.

Yang Bo served as frontier inspector until the forty-second year of Jiajing, when General Yang Xuan’s defeat in Jizhen and Liaodong occurred.

He was transferred back to court as Minister of Personnel.

Yang Bo, Junior Tutor to the Crown Prince, a first-rank official with provincial experience and military merit, truly feared no eunuch like Feng Bao—for he was the current leader of the Jin Party.

The Jin Party, a deeply entrenched faction entrenched in court politics.

Another unbreakable political alliance.

Left Censor-in-Chief Ge Shouli immediately echoed: “Feng Bao! You hold great power within the palace, entrusted by the Empress Dowager and His Majesty—this is how you serve as a powerful eunuch? Besides abusing authority, indulging in excess, and greedily hoarding silver, what else can you do? The realm trembles, peril looms!”

Zhu Yijun turned the pages of the Analects, occasionally jotting notes. He studied earnestly; the clamor below the dais seemed not to affect him at all.

Although Jiajing no longer attended court, he did not abstain from court deliberations. The old Taoist priest always hid behind thick silk curtains, tapping a bronze bell with a bronze hammer—the number of strikes, their rhythm and intensity, were left for ministers to guess.

Jiajing cultivated immortality in the Wenhua Hall; the young emperor studied in the Wenhua Hall.

The young emperor studied while court ministers bickered below the terrace—this scene was grotesquely strange, yet it was the result of repeated struggles.

In June of Longqing Sixth Year, less than a month after Emperor Longqing’s death, Gao Gong, as Chief Grand Secretary, submitted a memorial. It was lengthy, but one sentence stood out: “[If His Majesty issues edicts directly without prior drafting by the Grand Secretariat, allow us to present our objections clearly before implementation.]”

This meant: if the emperor issued direct edicts without prior review by the Grand Secretariat, court ministers must be summoned to question him before execution.

Gao Gong not only claimed a ten-year-old sovereign could not govern the realm, but imposed concrete restrictions: the emperor must not bypass the Wenyuan Pavilion to issue edicts.

“The emperor issues edicts directly without prior drafting.”

That single phrase truly offended Empress Dowager Li.

Could the emperor use the word “directly” when issuing edicts?!

Thus, to ensure the emperor’s exclusive authority, the young emperor—who should have studied in the rear chamber of the Wenhua Hall—was moved to the front hall, seated upon the moon terrace, reading while listening to ministers argue.

Soon, these twenty-seven ministers grew accustomed to this method of court deliberation.

Feng Bao showed no fear, sneered at Yang Bo: “Hmph! I sit here only because the Empress Dowager and His Majesty trust me—so I may watch over you! Palace affairs are none of your business!”

“You want to manage affairs outside the palace? You want to manage affairs inside too?”

“Do you want to decide what His Majesty eats?”

This morning, while waiting outside Qianqing Palace, a young eunuch from the Empress Dowager’s retinue had passed Feng Bao a message: the Empress Dowager intended to exclude him from the morning lecture. Only His Majesty’s decision allowed him to attend.

Even with gauze wrapped around his head, His Majesty had ordered him to rise.

His Majesty’s words had shaken Feng Bao: his petty schemes were all known to the emperor. The emperor was not unaware—he simply chose to ignore them, even deliberately letting Feng Bao assert authority over palace affairs. But the mission failed, his face was slapped, his head was banged, his power was stripped—yet His Majesty had ordered him to rise.

That meant His Majesty still trusted him, still needed him. He still had value. His confidence was absolute—he stood behind the emperor, and in this Wenhua Hall deliberation, he represented imperial authority clashing with civil ministers.

“Chen Hong confessed that the order came from former Grand Secretary Gao Gong,” Feng Bao casually dropped.

This remark struck with immense force. The ministers fell silent. The Wenhua Hall grew utterly still—only the sound of the young emperor turning pages and the rustling of the yellow silk curtains remained.

Feng Bao was an excellent hunter in this Wenhua Hall. Though wounded, his attack remained ferocious—within a few sentences, he silenced the ministers and drove the knife deep into the civil officials’ hearts.

Gao Gong, former Grand Secretary, had promoted many Jin Party members during his tenure. If Gao Gong were branded guilty of regicide, all those he had promoted would be ruined.

All eyes turned to Zhang Juzheng, seated first on the left—the Grand Secretary. Before Emperor Longqing’s death, he had appointed three regents.

Gao Yi was dead. Gao Gong had fallen. Now, only Zhang Juzheng remained.

Zhang Juzheng’s stance was critical.

At this moment, the Grand Secretary was flipping through case files, examining documents, physical evidence, and witness testimonies from the Northern Office of Military Surveillance.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard had handled this case with ruthless efficiency.

Qi Jiguang was Zhang Juzheng’s man; their relationship was close. If Wang Zhanglong truly came from Qi’s army, Qi Jiguang would face trouble—and Zhang Juzheng would be implicated.

But Commander Zhu Xixiao had gathered overwhelming evidence: this servant had lived in the capital for over a decade, his life path meticulously clear. The Embroidered Uniform Guard had long been weakened; now that they had finally seized an opportunity, they could not fail.

Qi Jiguang and the Qi Army were cleared of suspicion. Zhang Juzheng could now handle the case from a position of detachment.

Detachment was immensely important for a Grand Secretary—it granted greater maneuverability.

From the start, Zhang Juzheng had never believed a Qi Army assassin could fail to kill a ten-year-old child—or even defeat a eunuch like Zhang Hong. The Qi Army numbered fewer than six thousand, yet every man was fiercely formidable.

As for the documents, physical evidence, and testimonies provided by the Eastern Depot, Zhang Juzheng merely glanced through them briefly, then closed the file.

At this point, Zhang Juzheng fully understood the case’s contours.

Chen Hong had been the old patriarch of the palace during Emperor Longqing’s reign—Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Palace Affairs, Director of the Eastern Depot, and Director of the Imperial Stable. He had wielded immense power and acted without restraint. When Emperor Longqing died, Chen Hong instantly lost all authority. Chen Hong and Gao Gong had been close friends; when Chen Hong fell, Gao Gong fell with him.

One emperor, one set of ministers—this was inevitable.

Wang Zhanglong was indeed recruited by Chen Hong. Chen Hong sought to use this opportunity to regain power, hoping the enraged Empress Dowager would execute Feng Bao—the primary culprit—and restore his own dominance.

But Chen Hong grossly misjudged Feng Bao’s level of trust. Though Chen Hong’s scheme succeeded in making Feng Bao pay a heavy price, Feng Bao had not died. Thus, only Chen Hong and his allies would perish.

The current issue: Director of Palace Affairs Feng Bao was smearing Gao Gong.

“The evidence is clear,” Zhang Juzheng closed the file and said: “Let the Three Judicial Departments jointly interrogate Wang Zhanglong.”

Zhang Juzheng wrote his opinion on the file, affixed his official seal to the seam, and handed it to Zhang Hong.

Zhang Hong, eunuch of Qianqing Palace, carried the file to the emperor’s desk, awaiting the imperial seal, the “Treasure of Wanli.”

Zhu Yijun looked at the “Treasure of Wanli”—his jade seal. Empress Dowager Li could not touch it. Feng Bao could not touch it. Zhang Juzheng could not touch it. Civil affairs were indeed Zhang Juzheng’s domain, but if Zhu Yijun refused to affix the seal, nothing could proceed.

After Wanli Thirteenth Year, the Wanli Emperor began neglecting governance; half the court posts lay vacant. The emperor simply refused to seal documents—court ministers had no recourse.

This was the institutional design of the Ming imperial system: without imperial authority, nothing could be done. The Ming could accomplish nothing without the emperor’s seal.

Zhu Yijun looked at Zhang Juzheng and Feng Bao: an unbreakable political alliance was a fallacy.

Whether Gao Gong was guilty or not, Zhang Juzheng’s stance was only one: “The evidence is clear.”

If Gao Gong was guilty, punish him. If the Three Judicial Departments found him innocent, do not punish him.

Zhang Juzheng and Gao Gong merely differed in policy. Removing Gao Gong was to realize his own ambitions—not a matter of life or death.

Feng Bao’s expression changed, but he said nothing. Zhang Juzheng’s stance was neutral—he did not side with Feng Bao, but insisted the Three Judicial Departments jointly interrogate Wang Zhanglong’s regicide case.

The Three Judicial Departments were the Censorate, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Ministry of Justice, with the Embroidered Uniform Guard and Eastern Depot assisting, led by the Three Judicial Departments.

With the case transferred to the civil court, Gao Gong would not die.

Zhu Yijun picked up the vermilion brush, annotated the document, then stamped it with the “Treasure of Wanli.” The regicide case entered its next phase: interrogation.

Zhang Juzheng continued presiding over the deliberation. This round covered every aspect of the Great Ming: Ministry of Revenue’s taxation, Ministry of War’s frontier affairs, Ministry of Justice’s criminal cases, Ministry of Rites’ educational appointments, Ministry of Works’ construction projects, and the Ministry of Personnel’s Performance Evaluation System.

The Performance Evaluation System was a merit-based assessment: the capable rise, the incompetent fall. The institutional framework had taken shape, but was still under debate. To put shackles on officials, who naturally resisted—after decades of seniority-based promotion, who wanted to compete fiercely?

But Zhang Juzheng insisted on implementation, so the system must be perfected.

Zhu Yijun kept reading. When ministers reached a decision, they passed it to Zhang Hong, who brought it to the emperor’s desk for sealing. Zhu Yijun reviewed it and stamped it—he offered no opinion of his own.

Ministers deliberated; the young emperor read. By midday, Zhu Yijun could recite several passages of the Analects from memory, understanding not only what they said, but why.

“Your Majesty, the court deliberation is concluded,” Zhang Hong reminded him. The session ended. The twenty-seven ministers rose, bowed, and left the Wenhua Hall.

Zhang Juzheng stood below the dais, hands clasped behind his back, bowing: “Your Majesty, I shall clarify your doubts.”

“Can the Chief Grand Secretary lecture without a book?” Zhu Yijun paused his brush, looking at Zhang Juzheng’s empty hands.

Zhang Juzheng replied respectfully: “I am a scholar.”

“Why is the character ‘ Lun ’ in the Analects pronounced in the level tone [lún], not the falling tone [lùn]?” Zhu Yijun asked his question.