Chapter 78: The Petty Emperor Who Is Too Much

The Emperor truly neglects his duties. Volume 78: The Petty Emperor Who Is Too Much. When His Majesty rejected Zhang Siwei’s return to court on the grounds of his ugly appearance, ministers either feared or hoped for a clash between imperial authority and chancellor power—but the petty emperor seemed genuinely repulsed by Zhang Siwei’s looks, and from then on, he never again voiced an opinion on any memorial presented at court deliberations.

State affairs continued as usual.

That night, the newly appointed leader of the Jin Party, Ge Shouli, invited all Jin Party officials stationed in the capital to the Quanjin Hall. Ge Shouli was deeply anxious about this invitation—he had expected no one to come, yet by nightfall, the banquet he had prepared was insufficient.

After all, he had set up five full tables at two taels per table—ten taels total—and Ge Shouli had not yet received any charcoal or ice gifts; this was all his own money.

With Yang Bo’s retirement and Wang Chonggu’s transfer back to Xuanfu and Datong, Ge Shouli was now the only one left in court deliberations who could speak for the Jin Party—a move Yang Bo had arranged to secure Ge Shouli’s position as party leader.

Yang Bo did not linger in the capital; after leaving the Wenhua Palace, he boarded his carriage directly at the West Chang’an Gate and returned home, even skipping Ge Shouli’s inauguration banquet, leaving in a hurry.

Ge Shouli invited everyone to recognize each other’s faces and hear what the new party leader had to say—this courtesy, they still owed him.

As Yang Bo’s son-in-law, Ge Shouli now led the Jin Party—but everyone knew Yang Bo had no daughter, and no one had ever seen one, had they?

The new Jin Party leader emerged, and the noisy banquet hall gradually fell silent.

Ge Shouli spoke: “Grateful for the favor of Grand Secretary Yang, who appointed me as head of the Quanjin Hall. Today, I shall establish a few rules—please listen to me.”

“From today, the Quanjin Hall is no longer my private residence. Only the rear courtyard remains off-limits. I know life in the capital is hard—if you are in distress, you may reside here for four taels a year.”

The Quanjin Hall traditionally opened its doors to Shanxi students during imperial examination years and still had many vacant rooms.

Repairs needed money, servants needed money, cleaning needed money—Ge Shouli had little, and he was unsure if he would receive charcoal or ice gifts. To win hearts, he decided to rent out the entire Quanjin Hall outright. In the capital, annual rent alone cost over ten taels; to buy a house, one needed at least a hundred.

Zhang Siwei certainly didn’t need it—but not all Jin Party members were of Zhang Siwei’s background, especially censors and remonstrators, who themselves had little money.

“Is what General Ge says true?” A Hanlin official from Shanxi rose, astonished.

“Of course,” Ge Shouli smiled. “We all struggle. This is merely a place to shelter from wind and rain—nothing much.”

“May a thousand spacious halls rise, sheltering all poor scholars and bringing them joy.”

“Your Excellency’s noble deed! We are deeply moved!” The Hanlin official nearly knelt to bow to Ge Shouli. Everyone had their own hardships. This Hanlin prided himself on his aloofness, refusing to mingle with the corrupt, and lived in modest hardship. Ge Shouli’s gesture was like timely rain.

Ge Shouli continued: “Second, regarding charcoal and ice gifts—these tributes are burdensome every year. From now on, they may be halved, for a period of three years. If you truly cannot afford it, you may delay payment up to three months; simply return your Quanjin Hall token, and reclaim it when you can.”

The highest charcoal and ice gift was a thousand taels; the minimum, a hundred. As head of the censorate, Ge Shouli had long struggled to raise these tributes. Had he not acquired numerous tax-exempt lands donated by petitioners after becoming a jinshi, he too would have found it difficult.

Ge Shouli knew his limits—he could not help with major matters, but minor ones he could. So he simply halved the tribute, avoiding future resentment.

He chose three years because he was unsure whether he could survive under Zhang Juzheng’s rule for that long.

“Your Excellency’s noble virtue, your pure integrity! You are our model!” An imperial censor rose instantly, voice ringing with fervor.

Ge Shouli continued: “Third, I have established a private school just outside the Quanjin Hall. If you have children needing tutoring, come. Though I am unworthy, I am a jinshi, and I occasionally visit. The tutors are mostly juren candidates. Before your children enter the Imperial Academy, they may study here first—saving you the journey.”

This private school had originally been run by Yang Bo—not open to outsiders—mainly for educating his descendants. After Yang Bo left, the school had no students, so Ge Shouli repurposed it into a Jin Party academy.

The school admitted girls, so Jin Party members residing at the Quanjin Hall could temporarily place their children there, regardless of gender.

Jia Sanjin leapt to his feet, fist raised, shouting loudly: “Your Excellency’s benevolent act! A truly benevolent act! From now on, I follow General Ge’s lead!”

Jia Sanjin had recently faced hardship: he had a son and a daughter, both school-age, but could find no place to enroll. Good private schools in the capital were expensive and far away—he lived in the outer city, while the best schools were in the East and West Cities. If he could move into the Quanjin Hall, his son could attend its school.

His daughter, however, could only enter a private school—and who would accept Jia Sanjin, a man of such low standing?

Hearing of this opportunity, Jia Sanjin instantly abandoned his previous disdain for Ge Shouli—he now regarded Ge as his second father and mother!

With these three gestures, Ge Shouli immediately gained many supporters, barely holding the situation together.

“Now, to the matter at hand: the Grand Secretary has intimidated His Majesty!” At this point, Ge Shouli’s voice turned sorrowful.

Ge Shouli spoke at length, echoing Yang Bo’s arguments: condemning Zhang Juzheng for wielding excessive power, demanding the Emperor reclaim his sovereign authority, and fiercely opposing Zhang Juzheng’s overreach.

Within the Jin Party, some also disapproved of Zhang Siwei and Wang Chonggu’s actions—otherwise, Tan Lun and Wang Guoguang would not have abandoned the party.

Now, Ge Shouli shifted tactics, skillfully seizing Zhang Juzheng’s weakness and forging a common goal. Whether it would work, at least he had proposed a seemingly viable platform.

Ge Shouli spoke earnestly: “Right now, the Empress Dowager and the Emperor harbor deep resentment toward our Jin Party. The Emperor sees us as a clan faction. Our first priority must be to plug the hole left by the Xuanfu-Datong construction. We must change the Empress Dowager and Emperor’s perception of us. A man cannot be utterly useless—if we have no value, we will be purged.”

Wang Chonggu had returned to Xuanfu and Datong to plug the hole—the very hole the Jin Party had dug. If the Jin Party did not fix it, Zhang Juzheng could use it to attack them at any moment, and the Jin Party had no means to retaliate.

Along with the platform, Ge Shouli proposed concrete measures. Though far inferior to Yang Bo, he was at least a competent party leader.

At least he recalled Ma Fang from retirement to the capital. Though not assigned an official post, he was named deputy director of the capital garrison’s talent roster, allowing him to participate in capital affairs.

The Jin Party’s drinking and chatter centered mostly on Zhang Siwei’s appearance. Zhang Siwei did not attend—he had no official rank, so he had no right.

If Zhang Siwei had truly ousted Ge Shouli and become party leader, every member of the Jin Party, upon seeing his face, would still recall that one word: ugly.

Cohesion is lost bit by bit.

With Yang Bo and Wang Chonggu gone from the center, and Zhang Siwei barred from returning due to his ugliness, the Jin Party pinned its hopes on the blunt Ge Shouli. Meanwhile, the Examination of Achievements system began spreading from the capital to the entire empire.

The capital’s officials had suffered under the Examination of Achievements for six full months. They could not argue effectively, could not impeach the Emperor without punishment, and could not punish him. The Three Grand Secretaries were reduced to Zhang Juzheng alone—remove him, and entrust governance to a ten-year-old?

Under this situation, the capital officials were resolute in pushing the Examination of Achievements nationwide!

They had endured hardship—local officials must endure it too!

If Zhang Juzheng used the Examination of Achievements to shackle the capital officials, then the capital’s Six Ministries would shackle the local officials.

Amid wailing cries, denunciations of Zhang Juzheng rose higher and higher. Officials who had hoped for Hai Rui’s return to shame Zhang Juzheng were stunned to discover that Hai Rui was also a supporter of the Examination of Achievements.

Amid stumbling resistance, the Examination of Achievements was implemented as scheduled.

A rumor spread like wings across the capital.

Zhu Xixiao, the Marquis of Cheng, who had presided over the coronation ceremonies for both the late Emperor and His Majesty, fell ill.

This nobleman who had served three reigns saw his condition worsen. Even Chen Shigong, the surgical master from the Dissection Institute, rushed to the Chengguo Mansion—but could do nothing for Zhu Xixiao.

“Master Chen, how is the Marquis of Cheng?” Zhu Yijun, having finished his martial practice, asked Chen Shigong as he entered the palace.

Chen Shigong glanced at Commander Zhu Xixiao, then bowed: “The Marquis sustained old wounds during the Gengxu Incident, defending day and night. Medicine cannot heal them.”

Chen Shigong did not finish his sentence: the agony of the old wounds’ recurrence was a torment worse than death for the Marquis now—this torment drained his essence and spirit. If he passed away now, it might even be a release.

“Commander, accompany me to visit him later,” Zhu Yijun said, slightly moved. The problems of the capital garrison had festered for too long. The Marquis had done all he could. In this calamitous era of Jiajing, Longqing, and Wanli, Zhu Xixiao had done everything within his power.

Rarely did Zhu Yijun skip his practice at Jingshan. Today, after training, he changed clothes and went to the Chengguo Mansion.

The Marquis of Cheng had presided over Zhu Yijun’s coronation—this was a service of loyalty. Morally and ritually, the petty emperor should visit. Of course, if he did not, no one would blame him.

The Chengguo Mansion lay north of the Taiye Pool, east of the Deshengmen Street, very near the palace. Zhu Yijun did not ride a palanquin—he walked. It was not far. After exiting the north gate of the Taiye Pool, he arrived at the mansion.

Knowing the Marquis’s days were numbered, the Marquis of Ying, Zhang Rong, had also come to visit—and just happened to see the Emperor, surrounded by attendants, stride forth from the north gate of the Taiye Pool with imperial majesty.

“Your servant bows to Your Majesty! Long live Your Majesty! Long live! Long, long live!” Zhang Rong hurried forward to pay homage.

In Jiajing 39, northern borders blazed with war, pirates ravaged the southeast. Provincial commanders Dong Yikui and Liu Xian of Shanxi and Zhejiang, and Director Li Long of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, among nine others, were deemed incompetent and impeached by censors—all punished. Zhang Rong, though spared as a noble, withdrew from court affairs. Zhu Yijun had seen the Marquis of Ying only once—during his own enthronement and when Qi Jiguang returned to court.

“Rise,” Zhu Yijun said, helping Zhang Rong up, then entered the Chengguo Mansion.

Zhu Xixiao wished to rise to greet him, but could no longer stand. He received the Emperor from his sickbed.

“Your Majesty, I am ashamed. Though I hold higher rank than all other nobles, I have accomplished nothing. I am unworthy of the trust of the late Emperor, the former Emperor, and Your Majesty.”

In Jiajing 18, when the Jiajing Emperor toured Weihui, the imperial palace caught fire. Zhu Xixiao shielded the Emperor with his body until Lu Bing arrived, then ferried the Emperor across the river on a boat, saving his life. Since then, Zhu Xixiao had presided over coronations.

“The Marquis has done all he could. The state’s decay is not your fault,” Zhu Yijun shook his head. The capital officials looked down on General Qi Jiguang—not because Zhu Xixiao was incompetent, but because the capital garrison differed from frontier troops. In the capital region, no matter how small the matter, it required the Emperor’s personal oversight.

But since the Wu Zong era, emperors had not visited the capital garrison for over seventy years. Zhu Xixiao was powerless.

“Your Majesty, I have a memorial. Before I depart, I beg Your Majesty to consider it.” Zhu Xixiao gestured to his younger brother Zhu Xixiao to bring his prewritten memorial, handed it to Zhang Hong, and coughed twice with effort.

By normal procedure, Zhu Xixiao’s memorial would pass through the Five Military Commissions, then the Ministry of War, then the Tongzheng Office, finally reaching the Grand Secretariat—all three steps were mandatory.

But how long it took depended entirely on the whims of the Ministry of War’s bureaucrats. Unfavorable memorials were deliberately delayed, buried in corners for months.

Court politics shifted like fleeting battlefield opportunities. Left unchecked, military nobles would inevitably decline.

Since the first Marquis of Ying, Zhang Fu, lost to the Three Yangs in Zhengtong 1, this had been the pattern.

Later, Zhang Fu, as a regent, was barred from court entirely—even the palace eunuch Xi Ning dared to bully him.

When military nobles wished to speak, by the time the Emperor saw their opinions, the matter had already passed months ago.

But now, Zhu Xixiao, seizing the Emperor’s visit to his sickbed, suddenly presented a memorial outside the normal process—its content: revitalizing the capital garrison.

“General Qi is to return to the capital as Commander of the Capital Garrison?” Zhu Yijun exclaimed, astonished after reading only a few lines.

Zhu Xixiao pleaded earnestly: “The Marquis of Qian’an is also a noble. Your Majesty, daily inspecting troops is arduous—but if the capital garrison remains weak, the realm cannot be at peace. Though young, Your Majesty is resolute and disciplined. My brother has often praised Your Majesty’s perseverance.”

“I beg Your Majesty to consider it.”

Had the petty emperor been weak or undisciplined, Zhu Xixiao would never have submitted this unpopular memorial.

After all, establishing the capital garrison meant the Emperor must inspect troops daily—a precedent since the founding. When the Yingzong Emperor ascended, Empress Dowager Sun halted inspections due to his youth, and the garrison decayed ever since.

But the petty emperor was resolute and steadfast. For half a year, he never missed a day—even in the sweltering summer heat, he completed his daily training. Commander Zhu Xixiao deeply admired his perseverance; at ten, he himself had always avoided training whenever possible.

Had Zhang Juzheng not governed, had Xia Yan, Yan Song, Xu Jie, or Gao Gong been Grand Secretary, Zhu Xixiao would never have submitted this memorial.

It was natural for scholar-officials to oppose revitalizing the capital garrison—when the Emperor’s martial power grew too strong, the literati feared.

But now, Zhang Juzheng governed. In Longqing 2, he had appointed Qi Jiguang to the capital, assigning him deputy commander of the Shenji Camp—one of the Three Great Camps.

But at the time, Gao Gong was Grand Secretary, and Qi Jiguang could do nothing—he was sent to Jizhou, the capital’s gateway, to train new troops.

Had the Emperor not come to visit, Zhu Xixiao’s memorial would have gone through the Five Military Commissions and Ministry of War. By then, Zhu Xixiao would have completed his final journey. Even if it reached court deliberation, it would have stirred no ripple.

But the Emperor came to visit—and Zhu Xixiao no longer cared for protocol. He was nearly dead. Could those scholar-officials, even if they raged to heaven, overturn his Chengguo Mansion?!

So Zhu Xixiao proposed that Qi Jiguang, as a military noble, return to the capital as Commander of the Capital Garrison, to revive the army.

As Commander of the Capital Garrison, Zhu Xixiao had full authority to recommend his successor.

“Cough! Cough! Cough!” Zhu Xixiao could barely see the Emperor’s expression. He coughed violently, pleading: “Your Majesty, do not worry about manpower. These old, weak, and sick soldiers of the capital garrison can form an ‘Old Camp’—station them in the Nanhaizi south of the capital. Let them rot there, idle and unarmed. Then recruit fresh troops from across the realm.”

“The Old Camp as garrison, the New Camp as soldiers. Thus, the north-south tensions will ease. All come from the four corners of the empire—mixed into new units.”

“Start small—three ten thousand troops suffice. No, two ten thousand. Even one ten thousand is enough. With three ten thousand elite soldiers, the realm will be secure.”

“It will cost heavily—but not maintaining troops is shameful.”

“Barbarian cavalry drink at the capital’s outskirts; the stench of slaughter reaches the city walls. They threaten with arms; we respond with desperation! Accepting peace terms under siege—is this not humiliation? Your Majesty’s decree—I remember it. Your Majesty, I remember!”

“The humiliation of the Jiajing Emperor, my own wounds, the people of the capital region plundered, the borders unsettled, clan factions growing strong within court—Your Majesty! I am humiliated! Our ancestors are humiliated! The clan factions exploit Your Majesty’s youth! I am powerless—more humiliation…”

“Cough! Cough! Cough…”

Zhu Xixiao convulsed in violent coughing. A thick, dark red-brown blood slowly seeped from between his fingers.

Zhu Yijun stepped forward, leaned close, and took the Marquis’s bloody hand in his own. He spoke solemnly: “Marquis, rest assured. This memorial will be presented at court deliberation tomorrow. General Qi has already arrived at the North Tucheng. Regardless of whether the Grand Secretary opposes it, I will appoint General Qi as Grand General.”

“Marquis, rest. I will visit you again after meeting General Qi tomorrow.”

The Minister of War is commonly called the Grand Marshal; the Commander of the Beijing Garrison is commonly called the Grand General.

Zhu Xixiao’s memorial arrived at just the right moment.

Zhu Yijun intended to grant Qi Jiguang the title of Marquis of Qian’an for this very reason, but the timing was not yet ripe.

Originally, Zhu Yijun planned for Qi Jiguang to return to the capital frequently under his noble status; the more often he came back, the more involved he would become in the Garrison’s affairs, and it would naturally follow.

Now that this memorial had arrived, there was no need to wait—after promoting this talent, Qi Jiguang would remain in the Beijing Garrison to serve.

After leaving the Chengguo Prince’s mansion, Zhu Yijun did not wipe the blood from his hands; he held it tightly, standing before the mansion’s gate, then suddenly said to Zhang Hong: “Set the imperial carriage for the Quanchu Guild Hall.”

Feng Bao was utterly shocked and wanted to advise against it, but could not find the words—how could an emperor visit a subject’s residence? If His Majesty had business, why not simply summon the Grand Secretary?

This is not the proper procedure!

“Can’t I go?” Zhu Yijun asked Feng Bao, frowning slightly.

“Of course you can! Under heaven, all land belongs to the Son of Heaven! Your Majesty may go anywhere!” Feng Bao replied immediately and firmly—His Majesty was the Emperor, His Majesty’s word was law; visiting the Quanchu Guild Hall was nothing!

What’s the big deal?

It’s not as if you’re sending me to the Dissection Courtyard to be sliced a thousand times.

Feng Bao truly wanted the Emperor to loosen his grip and wipe the blood off his hands, but the Emperor clutched the memorial tightly.

Zhu Yijun nodded and walked step by step toward the Quanchu Guild Hall; Zhang Hong and Feng Bao were terrified—this was a ten-year-old sovereign, and he just showed up at the Quanchu Guild Hall without warning?

Zhu Xixiao directed the Embroidered Uniform Guards to clear the streets; the young Emperor walked slowly along the imperial avenue to the entrance of the Quanchu Guild Hall, and the fastest riders and eunuchs had already informed Zhang Juzheng.

Upon hearing the news, Zhang Juzheng was stunned. He rushed from the Wenchang Pavilion to the gate, and before even seeing the Emperor, he prostrated himself in the full five-kowtow ritual, loudly declaring: “Your servant humbly greets Your Majesty! May Your Majesty live ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand ten thousand years! For the Son of Heaven to leave the palace and come to my humble abode, your servant deserves death ten thousand times over.”

Emperors summon their ministers to court for deliberation—how could an emperor go to a subject’s private residence to discuss state affairs?

“Grand Secretary, please rise quickly. We came without notice—how could we punish you? Today, we left the palace on a whim and came to visit. Why, Grand Secretary, are you refusing us entry?” Zhu Yijun smiled.

“Your Majesty, where did the blood on your hands come from?” Zhang Juzheng had just risen and, seeing the blood, was horrified—his face turned pale, and a furious rage surged within him; he thought another assassination attempt had occurred!

Zhang Juzheng’s presence was overwhelming—he had already told Yang Bo that the Emperor’s safety was an absolute bottom line, yet someone had dared to harm His Majesty!

Flip! The table!

“It’s not my blood. The Chengguo Prince is near death; I went to visit him. This blood is what he spat up in his rage.” Zhu Yijun explained simply: “Grand Secretary, won’t you invite us in to sit in your Quanchu Guild Hall?”

“Your Majesty’s arrival is my greatest fortune! Please, come in at once!” Zhang Juzheng realized the misunderstanding, his anger subsiding. He immediately had the threshold removed and placed aside, then invited the Emperor inside.

He dared not walk ahead of the Emperor; he followed behind, accompanying him as he toured the Quanchu Guild Hall.

Zhu Yijun truly was touring—he looked for a long time and increasingly felt the layout of the Quanchu Guild Hall was excellent; it felt more like a home than his own cold, sterile Qianqing Palace.

But he could not find the legendary sedan chair carried by thirty-two men—it might have been hidden, or perhaps it never existed at all.

“This is the memorial submitted by the Chengguo Prince. He is dying. He saved His Imperial Grandfather from the fire. I do not wish him to die with unfinished wishes.” Zhu Yijun finally entered the Wenchang Pavilion and sat in Zhang Juzheng’s usual seat.

On the desk lay several copies of the Four Books and Five Classics, placed face-down, with a paperweight pressing down on Zhang Juzheng’s unfinished notes.

Zhu Yijun glanced at them and smiled.

Precisely put, after the Emperor’s great hammer struck, the cracks in Zhang Juzheng’s ideological steel seal widened; many things once taken for granted now seemed less certain, making Zhang Juzheng’s annotations extremely difficult—he had revised several notes repeatedly, and fortunately, pencil writing made it much easier.

“Forgive Your Majesty for the embarrassment,” Zhang Juzheng said, slightly ashamed—as the Emperor’s tutor, even he had doubts.

Zhang Juzheng wanted to tidy up, but after careful thought, he did not move. Feng Bao kept glancing around; Zhu Xixiao stood as if facing a great enemy; Zhang Hong’s face was grim. Feng Bao searched for executioners; Zhu Xixiao feared Zhang Juzheng might dare too much; Zhang Hong guarded within three zhang of the Emperor.

After reading the blood-stained memorial, Zhang Juzheng fell silent for a long while, then said: “This matter was difficult before, but now it is easy.”

The Grand Secretary of the Great Ming chose to speak plainly.

There were many reasons it was difficult: power structure, military pay, officer appointments, and so on—but now it was easy because this was the final memorial of the Chengguo Prince, Zhu Xixiao, who was barely breathing. If this were not done, would it not leave the Chengguo Prince dying with unfulfilled wishes?

“It can be done?” Zhu Yijun had thought it would be hard, which was why he came to the Quanchu Guild Hall—but from Zhang Juzheng’s tone, this seemed not so difficult.

Zhang Juzheng, seeing the Emperor’s puzzled expression, bowed deeply and said solemnly: “The Marquis of Qian’an has returned the Quanchu Guild Hall’s token. That makes this matter easy.”

The reason it is easy is that His Majesty has granted Qi Jiguang noble rank—that is the primary condition. Previously, Zhang Juzheng was Qi Jiguang’s patron; later, he became Qi Jiguang’s shackle; now, the Emperor of the Great Ming is Qi Jiguang’s patron.

“I see,” Zhu Yijun understood.

Qi Jiguang is now a military noble; returning to the capital as Commander of the Garrison is fully justified—even a hereditary title is still noble status, and with Qi Jiguang’s formidable battlefield record, his return to serve in the capital is effortless.

Previously, Qi Jiguang could not return because he was under Zhang’s faction, just as Ma Gui and others appointed by Wang Chonggu could not enter the Beijing Garrison—they were not noble, and also belonged to the Jin Party.

“Then I leave it to Grand Secretary,” Zhu Yijun rose and waved his hand: “Is there water? I’d like to wash my hands.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Zhang Juzheng signaled You Qi to fetch water immediately. You Qi had never seen an Emperor before and hurried to bring water.

Zhu Yijun looked at You Qi—this man’s name had appeared many times; this was Zhu Yijun’s first time seeing him. He was slightly plump, with a fierce expression in his brows, appearing somewhat intimidating, and his face was far more pleasant than Zhang Suiwei’s.

“It is already evening. Let us dine here tonight at Grand Secretary’s residence. Zhang Hong, prepare it.” Zhu Yijun knew this sudden visit might embarrass Zhang Juzheng; seeing him kneel so solemnly at the gate, he realized today’s event might become a stain on Zhang Juzheng’s reputation.

Zhu Yijun reconsidered: dining here before returning to the palace would transform the incident from “Grand Secretary Zhang’s authority intimidates the Emperor who comes begging” into “The young Emperor, wise and virtuous, shares a meal with his esteemed tutor.”

The nature of the event changed—from Zhang Juzheng’s overwhelming power threatening the throne—to a celebrated tale of a wise sovereign and virtuous minister. How delightful!

Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, loved to dine at Fan Kuai’s house. Fan Kuai once ran a dog-meat shop; before becoming Emperor, Liu Bang visited Fan Kuai’s home daily for dog meat—he truly liked it. Even after becoming Emperor, Liu Bang still went to Fan Kuai’s house for dog meat, expressing trust.

Emperor Taizu of Song, Zhao Kuangyin, also loved dining at his ministers’ homes. His throne was seized from an orphan and widow—a common occurrence in the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period—but objectively, it caused military commanders to be distrusted by the Emperor.

Whenever war broke out, to show trust in his generals, Zhao Kuangyin would dine with them to reassure the troops.

Emperor Gaozong of Song, Zhao Gou, also enjoyed dining at his ministers’ homes—but he only visited the residences of Qin Hui and Zhang Jun. Both Qin Hui and Zhang Jun were among those responsible for Yue Fei’s wrongful execution; after Yue Fei was imprisoned in the Dali Temple, Zhao Gou no longer dared to dine at Qin Hui’s or Zhang Jun’s homes.

Emperor Taizu of the Great Ming, Zhu Yuanzhang, also loved dining at his ministers’ homes—for example, at Xu Da’s Wei Guo Prince’s mansion outside Xi’an Gate in Nanjing. After dining, he would play chess.

Xu Da was a master of chess, but always lost to Zhu Yuanzhang. Zhu Yuanzhang knew Xu Da was deliberately yielding, so he urged him to play his best. Xu Da won, but arranged the pieces on the board to form the characters “Ten Thousand Years.” Zhu Yuanzhang then gifted Xu Da the Mo Chou Lake and built a pavilion called the Victory Chess Pavilion.

Zhu Yijun dining at Zhang Juzheng’s residence was not out of line—it was indeed a model of a wise sovereign and virtuous minister. More simply put, the young Emperor’s visit to dine signaled trust.

Zhang Hong organized the meal to prevent any attempt to poison the Emperor; the Quanchu Guild Hall had infiltrators from the Quanjin Guild Hall, so Zhang Juzheng ordered You Qi to supervise the kitchen.

As a member of the Chu Party, Zhang Chucheng had repeatedly impeached Zhang Suiwei and Wang Chonggu; Zhang Juzheng’s kitchen, therefore, must be closely watched by You Qi.

The meal was pleasant for all. Zhu Yijun did not know the names of the dishes, but they were all fragrant, fresh, tender, and soft. Zhang Juzheng, however, was uneasy—what was the proper etiquette when the Emperor dined at one’s home? There was no record; Zhang Juzheng was in a knowledge blind spot.

As the Emperor’s tutor, Zhang Juzheng naturally had the right to sit at the table—but what then?

The young Emperor, who spent all day in the Wenhua Hall asking confusing questions, now brought his dilemmas to Zhang Juzheng’s home—this was simply too much!

“Grand Secretary, earlier I asked you: is contradiction always resolved by one side being right? It’s been so long—Grand Secretary, you still haven’t answered me. Our ‘Theory of Contradiction’ is still missing a chapter; it feels incomplete.” Zhu Yijun asked about his earlier question.

Too much!

He didn’t ask enough in the Wenhua Hall—he came to a private home to torment his tutor!

“Your servant is dull. Allow me time to reflect,” Zhang Juzheng said, taking a deep breath and bowing. He had glimpsed the answer but had not fully grasped it—he could only ask the Emperor to wait.

Thus it is said: Grand Secretary Zhang’s authority intimidates the Emperor who comes begging; the young Emperor, wise and virtuous, shares a meal with his esteemed tutor. To learn what happens next, stay tuned for the next chapter! Thank you to the reader “Little Flying Carpet” for the tip, and to the reader “Zhuang?” for the 5000-point tip.