Chapter 72: Chapter Seventy-Two: A Youth Bears Bold Spirit, His Moment of Glory Will Come

The Emperor spared the ten assistant regional commanders because he knew that once they left Xuanfu and Datong, they would no longer continue their misdeeds; by not pursuing them harshly, Zhang Juzheng secured Yang Bo’s support for Wang Guoguang’s reforms to the border grain and pay system.

After completing this matter, Zhang Juzheng solemnly requested the Emperor to speak.

Only if something was beyond even the Grand Secretary’s capacity would Zhang Juzheng seek the Emperor’s intervention and imperial authority.

“Grand Secretary, please rise. What matter is so grave that it moves you to such solemnity?” Zhu Yijun set down his brush and asked Zhang Juzheng.

He was happy to support Zhang Juzheng; if Zhang’s demands were excessive, Zhu Yijun would not clash with him—he was still young, but he could simply refuse, withhold his seal, and Zhang could accomplish nothing.

Zhang Juzheng rose but remained deeply respectful: “Rituals, music, military campaigns, rewards, punishments—these are the great pillars of authority and power, which must not be delegated downward. The two handles belong solely to the sovereign; to lose them is to invite chaos.”

“When the realm is governed rightly, rituals, music, and military campaigns originate from the Son of Heaven.”

“The ancients said: ‘Though the realm is at peace, forgetting war invites peril.’ For a long time now, peace has prevailed, military preparedness has decayed, and officers are subjugated to civil officials no better than slaves. If their martial spirit is not nurtured in peacetime, how can we demand courage from them in battle? Henceforth, I humbly beg Your Majesty to pay attention to military readiness. Grant authority to loyal and valiant officers so they may act effectively, ensuring strict discipline and obedience when facing the enemy.”

“Grand Secretary’s words are sound. I recall how Emperor Wen of Han visited the Xiliu Camp to reward the troops.” Zhu Yijun chose to apply what he had learned—Zhang Juzheng could quote him, so why couldn’t he quote Zhang’s own *Illustrated Mirror of Emperors*?

“When Emperor Wen of Han arrived at the Ba Shang and Ji Men camps, his carriage entered directly, with no one to stop him. But when his lead vehicle reached the Xiliu Camp, the camp commander said: ‘In the army, we obey the general’s orders, not the Emperor’s edict.’”

“When Emperor Wen arrived, the camp commander still refused to open the gates. The Emperor had to send an envoy with the imperial scepter to Zhou Yafu, informing him that the Emperor had come to inspect the troops. Only then did Emperor Wen and his party enter the Xiliu Camp.”

“Upon entering, the camp commander again said: ‘The general has decreed: no galloping within the camp.’ Emperor Wen proceeded slowly. When he reached the central command tent, Zhou Yafu came out to greet him, armed, bowing only with a military salute: ‘I am clad in armor; I may not kneel—only salute as a soldier.’”

“After leaving the Xiliu Camp, Emperor Wen sighed: ‘Alas! This is a true general!’”

“Grand Secretary, why did Emperor Wen call Zhou Yafu a true general?”

Zhang Juzheng replied respectfully: “At that time, Emperor Gaozu of Han was besieged on Mount Baideng and forced to sign a humiliating peace treaty, recognizing the Xiongnu as brother states. North of the Great Wall, the Xiongnu were strong in men and horses, bold in generals and soldiers. The ancestral shame had not been washed away; the Han realm remained unsettled, the realm without peace.”

In early Han, the steppe climate was mild and rainy; the Xiongnu were powerful and posed a real threat to the Han dynasty. Thus, horses could not be turned loose on southern hills, nor could civil culture be favored over martial readiness.

Zhu Yijun replied: “Today, my grandfather’s Gengxu Incident—when the enemy threatened with force and we responded with desperation—was also a humiliating peace treaty: we agreed to grant tribute, horse prices, and silver to halt hostilities and pacify the people. Altan Khan founded the Jin state, another ‘bow-wielding’ realm, strong in men and horses. Has the ancestral shame been washed away? Has the Ming realm been secured?”

“No,” Zhang Juzheng answered with utmost solemnity.

Zhu Yijun glanced at the twenty-seven court ministers; none stepped forward to deny that the Gengxu peace treaty was a disgrace. He nodded: “Then military readiness must be attended to. Grant authority to loyal, valiant officers so they may act. This is the principle—but how do we put it into practice?”

Zhang Juzheng wished to kneel again, but the Emperor had repeatedly ordered him to stand while speaking; he bowed his head: “I overstep, but I have studied the ancients: when a sovereign appoints a general, he personally pushes his carriage and bestows the battle-axe. If the general’s authority is weak, orders will not be strict, soldiers will not fight to the death. I dare to suggest: the candidates selected by the Capital Garrison for military talent have already arrived in the capital. Let us hold a three- to four-month review of their martial skills!”

“I humbly beg Your Majesty to proceed to the Northern Tucheng to preside over the martial review of these officers.”

A sovereign appoints generals by personally pushing their carriages and granting them the battle-axe, because without sufficient authority, orders cannot be enforced and soldiers will not risk their lives. Zhang Juzheng requested the Emperor to preside over a three-month review of martial skills among the Capital Garrison’s selected officers.

Zhang Juzheng asked the Emperor to appear in person precisely because, without the Emperor’s presence, the Capital Garrison could not be revitalized. The Capital Garrison was the Emperor’s personal army; if the Emperor would not even appear to inspect its officers, then any talk of reviving it was absurd.

To ask the Emperor to leave the capital—how bold a request! Since Emperor Jiajing’s southern tour and the burning of the imperial lodge, how long had it been since an Emperor left the palace?

Ge Shouli suddenly rose and bowed deeply: “Your Majesty, I deem this inappropriate!”

“Grand Secretary is a statesman of great ability.”

“Your Majesty, the empire and the ancestral altars rest upon your person—you are a body of priceless worth. How can you risk yourself? A common man insulted draws his sword and fights, seeking to prove his strength—such martial prowess is not true courage! True courage lies in one who, when suddenly confronted with danger, remains unshaken, and when unjustly provoked, remains unmoved. Such a man carries great purpose and holds lofty aspirations!”

“A body of priceless worth must not die at the hands of bandits. I humbly beg Your Majesty to prioritize the Sage’s personal safety—abandon martial training. Change your habits, nourish your spirit, cultivate supreme virtue, and thus secure the realm.”

“Grand Secretary! Observe his intent—he goes too far! Your Majesty is still young; you are terrifying the sovereign, acting as if you may take or give at will! Bo Lu’s ministerial conduct was already broken—his arrogance led to downfall!”

Fortunately, Zhu Yijun had read enough to know that Bo Lu was Huo Guang’s marquis title; otherwise, he would not have understood Ge Shouli’s reference—after Huo Guang’s death, his entire clan was exterminated, blamed for deposing emperors, violating ministerial rites, and causing collapse.

A body of priceless worth must not die at the hands of bandits; martial prowess for personal glory is not courage—only those who carry the realm in their hearts possess true courage.

Ge Shouli’s logic was perfectly coherent.

Zhu Yijun studied Ge Shouli’s indignant expression, trying to judge: was he speaking for the Jin Party, or merely reacting because Zhang Juzheng had demanded the Emperor act?

Zhu Yijun said hesitantly: “Does Grand Secretary mean that the Capital Garrison’s selection of officers should not proceed? Or that loyal, valiant officers should not be granted authority so their talents may be expressed?”

“Only where reason lies,” Ge Shouli replied solemnly. “If military preparedness is neglected, barbarians roam the land unchecked. I am not skilled in military affairs, but revitalizing the military is certainly right. When Commander Qi Jiguang exterminated Dong Huazi and Bu Ha Chu, killing over two thousand, he glorified our army’s might—Governor Liang Menglong of Jizhou submitted a congratulatory memorial. This is entirely appropriate.”

“But these matters should be handled by ministers—why must the Emperor trouble himself?”

Zhu Yijun understood: Ge Shouli truly did not comprehend—or rather, the Capital Garrison had been decayed for so long. Since the Hongzhi era, it had become a construction crew; for eighty years, it had lost all martial spirit. Ge Shouli did not grasp the stakes—he simply believed military affairs belonged to ministers, while the Emperor concerned himself with thought, and generals with labor.

In reality, Zhang Juzheng could not accomplish this without the young Emperor’s involvement.

As Grand Censor, Ge Shouli had no need to consider the practical difficulties of implementation—he would never have to carry it out. This was the root of the Qingliu officials’ irrelevance: they never practiced, only barked, endlessly pointing fingers at those who actually worked.

“A body of priceless worth must not die at the hands of bandits,” Zhu Yijun asked Ge Shouli. “Tell me, was Wang Zhanglong a bandit?”

Ge Shouli answered: “Wang Zhanglong was a bandit.”

Zhu Yijun smiled: “Then I nearly died in his hands. I train in martial arts not to kill enemies, but merely to defend myself—is that wrong?”

“No,” Ge Shouli frowned but answered.

“Then isn’t that settled?” Zhu Yijun smiled silently, waiting for Ge Shouli to realize it himself.

Ge Shouli’s brow tightened, then slowly relaxed, and he wore an embarrassed expression as he bowed: “I am ashamed.”

Zhu Yijun asked Ge Shouli whether the young Emperor should train in martial arts to protect himself—this was really asking whether the Emperor should control the Capital Garrison. If not, the arrogant, unruly troops near the capital were far more dangerous than Wang Zhanglong; how could the Emperor sleep? Should the Capital Garrison know who their true sovereign was—even if he was only ten?

If one trains to guard against bandits, one must control the Garrison to guard against mutinous troops—the logic is identical.

Ge Shouli agreed with some of Zhang Juzheng’s actions.

He agreed that military officers should be granted authority, not treated as civil officials’ slaves—otherwise, battles could not be won, and humiliation would follow. He agreed that the Capital Garrison must be revitalized: rituals, music, and military campaigns must originate from the Son of Heaven—without the Garrison, regional warlords would rise.

He also agreed with the martial review to select officers in the capital; turning the Garrison into the Jin Party’s private domain would be a violation of ministerial rites.

Ge Shouli merely disapproved of burdening a ten-year-old Emperor: the Emperor already endured morning audiences and lectures, then afternoon martial training and farming—he was already overworked. Worse, Ge Shouli resented Zhang Juzheng treating the Emperor like a puppet.

This was not the first time Ge Shouli had accused Zhang Juzheng of violating ministerial rites. The last time, his words were even harsher—something like “When you die, disgrace will follow”—utterly disgraceful.

In Ge Shouli’s view, Zhang Juzheng monopolized the lectures to deceive the young Emperor. But after this exchange, Ge Shouli realized the Emperor spoke clearly and logically, and had not pressed the point, leaving the Grand Censor some dignity.

This was not something Zhang Juzheng could have coached.

Zhang Juzheng flicked his sleeve as if shaking off bad luck: “Grand Censor, if you covet the lecture post, or think I isolate the Emperor from the court, I can yield it to you!”

As if lecturing the Emperor were some great honor!

Zhang Juzheng himself had begun doubting his own scholarship when faced with the Emperor’s sharp questions.

This was not the first time Zhang Juzheng had offered to relinquish the lecture post. When Yang Bo saw Ge Shouli about to accept, he quickly pulled Ge’s sleeve: “Your Majesty, Grand Secretary is a man of great virtue and talent. The lecture post should remain with him.”

“I—” Ge Shouli tried to speak, but Yang Bo cut in: “Grand Censor, be cautious.”

Outside the Wenhua Hall, Yang Bo must explain the danger to Ge Shouli: Ge was no practical administrator—he leaned toward the Qingliu. If he took the lecture post, he would be easily outmaneuvered by the Emperor in three sentences.

Wang Jiaoping and Fan Yingqi had already become the laughingstock of the literati.

Ge Shouli’s position as Grand Censor was already unstable; if he lost further face, he would have no choice but to retire.

“Grand Secretary?” Zhu Yijun looked at Zhang Juzheng. Was lecturing him really so difficult? When the third-rank official thrust his spear in, he’d better add some chili powder—so Zhang Juzheng would know his place!

“This is how I repay my late Emperor and fulfill my duty to Your Majesty,” Zhang Juzheng bowed, his tone now weary. He had received the late Emperor’s final mandate as regent and imperial tutor—this role could only be his.

Zhu Yijun asked Ge Shouli: “Grand Censor, do you have any further objections?”

Censors existed to find fault. Though Ge Shouli was blunt and slow-witted, he spoke for the Emperor—not for factional exclusion. Zhu Yijun had low expectations of censors: he forbade factional purges.

This had been the clear boundary established during the struggle over Tan Lun’s impeachment.

“I am ashamed,” Ge Shouli hurriedly said.

“What does the Duke of Cheng think?” Zhu Yijun turned to Duke of Cheng Zhu Xixiao—the highest-ranking noble, Left Commander of the Central Military Commission, and overall commander of the Capital Garrison!

Zhu Xixiao, startled by being called upon, bowed deeply—he rarely spoke in court, and had no right to. “Your Majesty, I deem this excellent.”

Zhu Xixiao wholeheartedly supported his brother Zhu Xixiao teaching the Emperor martial arts and fully endorsed revitalizing the Capital Garrison. The decline of military nobility had many causes, and the decay of the Capital Garrison was certainly one.

The Ming had not produced a new military noble in a long time.

“Do any other ministers have concerns?” Zhu Yijun looked at all the court officials. This was the Wenhua Hall, a place for deliberation—if they could not agree, enforcement would fail. The Ming was no longer the era of Hongwu or Yongle, when the Emperor’s word was law.

The ministers glanced at each other; no one rose to challenge Zhang Juzheng’s request that the Emperor oversee military affairs.

Zhu Yijun sat upright: “I once heard Grand Secretary lecture on Yue Fei’s loyalty to the state.”

“Yue Fei’s son, Yue Yun, entered the army at twelve, assigned to Zhang Xian’s command. At sixteen, he accompanied his father in campaigns against Suizhou and Dengzhou, leading charges, fearless and unstoppable. He captured both cities; all called him ‘Ying Guanren.’”

“In the tenth year of Shaoshing, at twenty-two, Yue Yun was vanguard of the Beiwei Army. At the Battle of Yancheng, he led the charge, securing victory in a single engagement.”

“The Jin forces, over one hundred thousand strong, held Yingchang. Yue Yun swore an oath: if he failed to take Yingchang, he would bring his head. With thirty thousand troops, he defeated Jin Wushu’s hundred thousand, slaying Jin Wushu’s son-in-law, Xia Jinwu.”

Battle reports might lie, but the front lines did not: after Yue Yun captured Yingchang, Jin Wushu fled in panic to Bianliang, crossing the Yellow River, fearing pursuit by Southern Song forces.

On the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month of the eleventh year of Shaoshing, Yue Yun and Zhang Xian were beheaded; Yue Fei was wrongfully executed at Fengbo Pavilion in the Dali Temple.

Yue Yun died at twenty-three, having served eleven years, fighting for his country seven.

“A youth bears bold spirit; his moment of glory will come. I find Grand Secretary’s request entirely acceptable,” Zhu Yijun concluded, granting Zhang Juzheng’s request.

He quoted a line from Li Bai, declaring he would not abandon his ambition because of his youth—he would faithfully carry on his ancestors’ legacy and make the Ming stronger.

“Your Majesty is wise,” Zhang Juzheng bowed.

“Your Majesty is wise,” the ministers bowed in unison.

Since the assassination attempt, the young Emperor’s laziness had vanished. Though still young, he now spoke with clarity and logic. From his two rebuttals of Ge Shouli’s accusations against Zhang Juzheng, the Emperor showed increasing wisdom and the bearing of a true sovereign.

Whether this change stemmed from the assassination attempt, fear of Zhang Juzheng, or other causes, the ministers did not know—but they knew it benefited the Ming.

Of course, some saw this change and felt a thorn in their throat, unable to sleep or eat: the Ming Emperor should remain a silent statue in the Qianqing Palace, Wenhua Hall, or Fengtian Hall, merely stamping documents!

Such an Emperor as Zhu Yijun was not what some had hoped for!

Could the young Emperor be arranged to “accidentally” drown while reaching for the Capital Garrison?

The court session ended quickly. Zhu Yijun agreed to preside over the martial review—merely to appear, while actual organization fell to Wu Baipeng, Left Minister of the Ministry of War, and Yang Wen, Deputy Commander of Jizhen.

“What of Left Minister of War Wu Baipeng?” Zhu Yijun asked Zhang Juzheng, referring to the official named to oversee the martial review.

Zhang Juzheng considered: “Wu Baipeng is a close friend of Hai Rui.”

Zhang Juzheng then summarized Wu Baipeng’s and Yang Wen’s records.

Wu Baipeng and Zhang Juzheng were fellow jinshi graduates. He had long directed anti-piracy campaigns, personally commanding operations in Yangzhou, Qianzhou, and the Three Nest rebellions. He was, among the Ming court’s civil officials, one of the few with military talent capable of commanding troops—second only to Tan Lun.

Yang Wen was a core figure among Qi Jiguang’s southern troops, originally recruited as militia by Tan Lun when he was prefect of Taizhou. He rose through merit to become Deputy Commander of Jizhen. In Jizhou, Yang Wen primarily trained troops; of Qi Jiguang’s six thousand southern troops, three thousand were trained by Yang Wen.

Militarily, Tan Lun’s “Six Tigers of Taizhou” were the southern troops’ principal commanders; politically, Wu Baipeng, Tan Lun, and Zhang Juzheng all defended the southern troops; economically, the southern troops relied entirely on court funding and grain.

The southern troops were a complex entity. Qi Jiguang was their brightest jewel, but they were never his private army.

After Qi Jiguang’s recent enfeoffment, some censors hostile to him had begun submitting memorials criticizing him over the jade token incident outside Xuanwu Gate—even without Zhang Juzheng’s intervention, others would speak up for Qi.

Wu Baipeng and Hai Rui were friends, both of the same uncompromising character. Wu Baipeng discovered Ma Fang’s bribery, but he did not initiate the impeachment.

Because Wu Baipeng was not in the capital but inspecting the Great Wall construction under General Qi’s command in Jizhou, Yongping, and Shanhai Pass.

This is also why the Jin Party could not withstand Zhang Juzheng’s repeated blows.

Xuanfu and Datong were under inspection and construction; Jizhou, Yongping, and Shanhai Pass were also under inspection and construction. The Great Wall in these three garrisons posed no problem, yet Xuanfu and Datong had such grave issues—that could only mean they deserved punishment.

Qi Jiguang commanded six thousand elite southern troops and a hundred thousand troops from the three garrisons, with fierce generals like Chen Dacheng and Yang Wen under him, and in court, Tan Lun and Wu Baipeng as senior ministers in the Ministry of War. Qi Jiguang himself had been ennobled, becoming a military noble.

How could the Jin Party possibly deal with Qi Jiguang so easily?

As long as Zhang Juzheng did not betray Qi Jiguang, Qi Jiguang, as Left Grand Coordinator of the three Jizhou garrisons, would have little to fear.

I still remember that deep autumn, when we were both young, our hearts brimming with great ambition and strategic wisdom, pointing at rivers and mountains, stirring words with passion. From then on, we marched together, shared joy, held hands through wind and rain, storms and downpours—none could drive us apart. Yet after many years, you achieved fame and glory, while I scorned the titles of ten Battalion Commander—and our fate reached its end.

After our parting, we remained friends.

Most importantly of all, who else but Qi Jiguang has kept winning battles?

“Begin the lecture,” Zhu Yijun sat upright, gazing at Zhang Juzheng, signaling him to start.

“Yesterday, I discussed late into the night with Minister Yang Bo and gained some insights,” Zhang Juzheng began explaining their nocturnal conversation, focusing on the universal connections among infinite principles of all things, the definition of contradiction, its omnipresence, the doubts arising from opposing contradictions, the effects after resolving them, and extending this understanding from human perception of infinite principles to the structure of the state.

Zhang Juzheng did not know whether the young emperor could grasp these ideas, but he must clarify them for His Majesty—that was the duty of an imperial tutor.

“Your Excellency’s ‘Theory of Contradiction’ has truly opened my eyes and cleared my mind. Your brilliance is extraordinary!” Zhu Yijun’s eyes brightened with each word—he had discerned the essence of dialectics from the contrast between noble and petty men, integrating knowledge and action. Zhang Juzheng was indeed a man of unbounded talent.

“Your Majesty overpraises me,” Zhang Juzheng replied with utmost humility.

Zhang Juzheng cared little for the Jin Party. The Ming system was designed so that the emperor was the key. Zhang Juzheng’s greatest hope was that the emperor would grow into a capable ruler—that was his true priority.

Zhu Yijun thought for a moment and said: “Why not publish this argument in the Imperial Bulletin and circulate it throughout the realm?”

The Ming Imperial Bulletin was issued every five days, distributed to all government offices. All official documents reaching the ministries were sent every five days to the Grand Secretariat for compilation, then dispatched by the Titi officials to prefectures, states, and counties across the empire.

Titi officials were clerks dedicated to delivering the Imperial Bulletin. Upon arrival in the provinces, copyrooms would reproduce its contents, staffed by literati who had failed the imperial exams, paid one silver fen per day with two meals—a livelihood for impoverished scholars.

Compilation by the Six Censorates, review by the Grand Secretariat, woodblock printing, transmission by Titi officials, transcription by copyroom scholars, dissemination throughout the realm.

For particularly important bulletins—such as the death of a former emperor, the ascension of a new one, or a general amnesty—the Three Imperial Printing Offices, the Hanlin Academy, and the National University would all produce and distribute copies directly across the empire.

What Zhu Yijun proposed was precisely this second type: publishing the “Theory of Contradiction” nationwide.

“Your Majesty, what merit do I possess to warrant publication in the Imperial Bulletin?” Zhang Juzheng firmly declined. The emperor was ten; the Empress Dowager, twenty-seven. The sovereign is young, the state uncertain, and the regent governs. If Zhang Juzheng now published his own writings nationwide, would that not invite trouble?

Ge Shouli, who attended court daily, had seen the emperor personally seal the edict. Even so, Ge Shouli believed Zhang Juzheng was intimidating the sovereign, overstepping imperial authority, and deceiving the child emperor. If Zhang Juzheng now published his own work nationwide, would that not confirm he sought to become a powerful minister?

Absolutely not.

“When the moral climate is pure, the seas grow calm and rivers still. Evil deeds vanish. The pen, as instrument, flows freely, enlightening the people with righteousness and culture—government can be governed, the state can be hoped for, and the people’s will shall follow. Since this was jointly discussed by the Chief Minister and the Minister of Personnel, let it be co-authored by both.”

One author, two authors—credit shared equally. The Zhang Party and the Jin Party both gain recognition.

Zhang Juzheng still refused, bowing deeply: “Your Majesty, rites, music, and military campaigns originate from the Son of Heaven.”

Zhu Yijun frowned, then said: “Your Excellency jests. I am but a child, lacking virtue. How could a ten-year-old sovereign produce such profound scholarship? To claim such merit would invite ridicule from all quarters.”

Zhang Juzheng replied firmly: “When Wang Yangming was alive, he emphasized the unity of knowledge and action. After his death, his disciples focused solely on realizing innate knowledge—as if realizing innate knowledge alone sufficed, and the unity of knowledge and action was entirely forgotten. Neo-Confucianism has become mere lofty talk. I am deeply grieved.”

When ministers hold state power, it is rare for such authority to last beyond three generations.

Wang Yangming’s Neo-Confucian doctrine—unity of knowledge and action, realization of innate knowledge—has not even passed three generations, yet the unity of knowledge and action is gone. Only the idealist notion of realizing innate knowledge remains. I believe it is right—so the world should be!

Just as Ge Shouli accused Zhang Juzheng of overstepping imperial authority—if Ge Shouli believes it, he will impeach.

The realm’s scholarship has gone awry. Rites have collapsed, music is ruined. A pure moral climate is needed—this is the essence of rites and music, which must originate from the Son of Heaven. Meaning: the emperor as first author, Zhang Juzheng as second, Yang Bo as third.

“Very well,” Zhu Yijun reluctantly agreed. In the emperor’s name, the “Theory of Contradiction” would be printed and circulated nationwide.

Zhu Yijun turned to Feng Bao and said: “Feng Daban, have the Three Imperial Printing Offices under the Directorate of Palace Affairs print and distribute it throughout the realm.”

Feng Bao had been pondering how the spear and shield collided to spark doubt, how they cycled forward—when suddenly he heard the emperor’s command. He snapped back to attention, realizing his own role, and bowed: “Your servant obeys.”

Thus, the “Theory of Contradiction” was authored by the supreme young emperor of the Great Ming, co-authored by the powerful Grand Secretary Zhang Juzheng, and thirdly by the virtuous minister and Junior Tutor to the Son of Heaven, Yang Bo—printed and distributed nationwide under the supervision of Feng Bao, Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Palace Affairs.

Yet the “Theory of Contradiction” still seemed incomplete. How exactly did contradiction influence the development of things? How was it manifested?

Zhu Yijun looked at Zhang Juzheng and said firmly: “Your Excellency, I have doubts.”

“Your Excellency’s ‘Theory of Contradiction’ is refreshing, but is the sharp spear always right? Or is the strong shield always right? What if sometimes the spear is right, sometimes the shield is right—or even, sometimes only part of the spear is right, and part of the shield is right? What then?”

Zhang Juzheng had never clarified the opposition and unity of contradiction. Applied to Yang Bo’s case, noble and petty men were opposites, yet both were unified within Yang Bo himself.

Zhang Juzheng deliberately avoided addressing the Yang Bo issue.

Likewise, Zhang Juzheng’s “Theory of Contradiction” failed to clarify how contradiction influences the development of things. This doctrine remained unclear.

This deeply displeased Zhu Yijun. Even if the “Theory of Contradiction” were published later, this question must be resolved.

Zhang Juzheng’s brow knotted. The ten-year-old sovereign had suddenly become terrifying—once a bright, cheerful boy, he was now slowly unraveling into something indescribable, unobservable, an inexplicable presence. Yet Zhang Juzheng wanted to know—urgently needed to know—the emperor’s answer, to break through the boundaries of his own understanding, to grasp the infinite principles of all things he still failed to comprehend.

Confucius said: “In the morning I hear the Dao, in the evening I may die content.” —Analects, Li Ren

“Your servant truly does not know. Allow me time to reflect,” Zhang Juzheng said, his throat dry. He felt he almost understood something—but understood nothing. Like viewing flowers through mist, trying to catch the moon in water—just as he had pursued all his life: always out of reach.

“I am not in a hurry,” Zhu Yijun smiled. “Shall we today study the Analects, or the Illustrated Mirror for Emperors?”

Upon the throne, the unknowable presence slowly faded, returning to the face of a ten-year-old sovereign—simple, studious, eager for knowledge, his smile warm and infectious—as if the earlier question had never been asked.

“Your servant will clarify for Your Majesty,” Zhang Juzheng bowed again, beginning today’s lecture.

Published!