Chapter 79

I truly am not neglecting my duties. Volume 79: He Insulted Him, Yet He Must Thank Us. Zhang Juzheng dared to expel Wang Chonggu from the Wenhua Hall and send him back to Xuanfu and Datong to plug the gaps because the timing had matured.

The Zhe Party had already taken shape, though loosely organized, and now possessed sufficient power within the court to counterbalance Zhang Juzheng, ensuring the Empress Dowager would not suspect him of monopolizing authority.

Second, the capital troops’ officer candidates had reached the stage of military skills assessment; though still not ready for campaign, Qi Jiguang had become a noble, commanding one hundred thousand frontier troops and capable of defending the capital region.

Should the Jin Party overturn the table, Qi Jiguang lies just a hundred li away—closer than Xuanfu.

Thus, this time, when Zhang Juzheng acted again, he ordered Wang Chonggu to return to Xuan and Da.

The young emperor’s refusal to promote Zhang Sizheng, citing his ugliness, caught Zhang Juzheng off guard; this excuse was genuinely dignified and hard to refute.

At least before the gaps in Xuan and Da are filled, Zhang Sizheng cannot return to court—the emperor did not say he could never return, only that he could not return for now.

Whether Zhang Sizheng returns to court depends on the Jin Party’s performance; Wu Baipeng, the Left Vice Minister of the Ministry of War, intends to personally oversee this matter in Xuan and Da.

“Can Ge Shouli control the Jin Party?” Zhu Yijun asked Zhang Juzheng after dinner, inquiring how well Ge Shouli was performing as party leader.

Ge Shouli rose to the position of second-rank capital official and dared to berate Zhang Juzheng in the Wenhua Hall—he must have some ability. But Zhang Sizheng, that scoundrel, has no moral boundaries.

“Though Grand Inspector Ge is somewhat blunt, Minister Yang taught him well,” Zhang Juzheng quickly bowed, smiling. He was aware of the activities at the Quanjin Hall: Ge Shouli obeyed, followed Yang Bo’s orders, and would not be ousted in the short term.

That was enough.

As emperor, secluded behind nine gates, and as a ten-year-old ruler, the young emperor did not understand the Jin Party.

In truth, the Jin Party split into two factions: within the party, no faction is uniform.

The first faction, led by Yang Bo, had cultivated deep roots in Shanxi and amassed extensive connections through years of access to the inner palace—such as Tan Lun and Wang Guoguang. This faction primarily consisted of gentry, scholar-officials, and censorial officials.

The second faction, centered on Wang Chonggu’s negotiations with Altan Khan for tribute, emerged from decades of conflict between Ming and Tatar forces, uniting through military achievements and frontier tensions, bound by resistance to court caprice and cooperation with the Tatars, with border trade privileges as their core interest; this faction primarily consisted of regional commanders, assistant commanders, frontier military households, and Hakka troops.

This is the concrete manifestation of the principle that contradictions exist in all things. The Jin Party, too, harbored internal divisions—it was not monolithic.

Zhang Juzheng had persistently suppressed Wang Chonggu, Zhang Sizheng, Ma Gui, and others.

When Yang Bo departed, he fully passed his faction to Ge Shouli; the other faction, centered on Wang Chonggu, had expected Zhang Sizheng’s return to court to assume the role of Deputy Director of the Veritable Records of the Ming Shizong and Lecturer of the Palace, and upon completion of the records, to be promoted to a Confucian tutor—positioned to rival Ge Shouli.

But the young emperor, citing Zhang Sizheng’s ugliness, refused his return.

Ge Shouli instantly gained absolute advantage; in the short term, Zhang Sizheng had no way to counter him. In court deliberations, only Ge Shouli could speak for the Jin Party. As long as Ge Shouli was not a fool and followed Yang Bo’s established path—respecting the emperor’s authority—no major problems would arise.

Ge Shouli had some self-awareness: he knew he lacked great talent and followed Yang Bo’s predetermined course.

Ge Shouli’s support for the emperor’s refusal of Zhang Sizheng’s return perfectly aligned with the principle of respecting the sovereign’s authority—it was the emperor’s will!

Zhang Sizheng’s fortunes had turned sour. After Wang Chonggu left the capital to plug the gap in the Great Wall’s construction, Zhang Sizheng fell into absolute disadvantage within the party’s infighting.

“If Zhang Sizheng seeks the Grand Secretary’s help to return to court, the Grand Secretary should tell him it is due to his ugliness. If he presses further, the Grand Secretary should say: when the gaps in Xuan and Da are sealed, then Zhang Sizheng may return,” Zhu Yijun stood and gave Zhang Juzheng a clear reply—he was not obstructing Zhang Juzheng’s plans.

Zhang Sizheng’s return to court had conditions.

When rifts arise between people, one must speak plainly—do not let sycophants stir discord, letting the gap widen until enmity erupts. Avoiding clarity out of face-saving only complicates simple matters.

This was the principle Zhang Juzheng taught the young emperor. Zhu Yijun applied it wisely: having embarrassed the Grand Secretary in the Wenhua Hall, it was better to clarify matters.

“Your Majesty is wise. Your servant respectfully sees Your Majesty off.” Zhang Juzheng bowed deeply.

Zhu Yijun planned to return to the palace; otherwise, Empress Dowager Li would be angry. As he stepped out, he indeed saw her palace maids and the palanquin.

The emperor, not yet of age, violates curfew—what other outrageous acts might he commit later?

By the evening drum, the palace gates were nearly locked, yet the emperor still played outside, refusing to return home!

Wild child!

Zhang Juzheng waited until the emperor’s procession vanished completely before rising and signaling You Qi to install thresholds at every door of the Quanchu Hall.

Zhang Juzheng himself returned to the Wenchang Pavilion, pondering the essence of contradiction.

Zhu Yijun had prepared a host of grand principles and selected examples from the Illustrated Mirror for the Emperor, intending to explain them thoroughly to Empress Dowager Li upon returning to the palace, to avoid being dragged to the Imperial Ancestral Temple.

But upon Zhu Yijun’s return, Empress Dowager Li’s focus was not on his curfew violation, but on the treatment he received at the Quanchu Hall.

Upon hearing Zhang Juzheng had removed all thresholds to welcome the emperor, Empress Dowager Li smiled: the Grand Secretary still possessed a modicum of deference. She had not seen such deference in a minister for a long time.

Since Jiajing, Longqing, and Wanli, only Yan Song had barely qualified as a minister with deference.

Zhang Juzheng removing all thresholds, allowing the emperor to walk as on level ground, was a concrete expression of deference.

“Mother, won’t you ask why I dined at the Grand Secretary’s residence?” Zhu Yijun asked cautiously.

Empress Dowager Li waved her hand: “No need. Ask the emperor, and he’ll spout a flood of principles. Little Chang has reason, Great Chang has reason—when combined, they’re always right. You rational ones argue among yourselves. I can’t out-debate my son, so I won’t ask. I heard sweet potatoes yield thousands of catties? Even dried, five to eight dan?”

Empress Dowager Li inquired about the emperor’s fieldwork, skeptical. If true, this would be a great boon for the people—a new famine-relief crop. She came from humble origins; she knew the people’s suffering. To eat full was a great grace.

Speaking of farming, Zhu Yijun’s eyes brightened, his grin stretching ear to ear. “Two parts planting, three parts management, five parts fertilizer. The two parts planting require the court’s effort. The three parts management—our Ming farmers are diligent; no worry. The five parts fertilizer? Even two parts would be excellent.”

“So five to eight dan is the low estimate during famine years; the minimum yield is six-tenths. Only when full-fed can one grow fat, raise livestock, work hard, bear children, and produce more farmers to till and reclaim land.”

“The Grand Secretary trusts no one—he planted four fen of sweet potatoes in his own yard, fearing palace eunuchs would deceive me. His harvest matched that of the Baoqi Palace—only then did he believe.”

“The Grand Secretary appointed Xu Zhen as Director of the Baoqi Bureau. Now, court ministers resist establishing the Baoqi Bureau on Qionghua Island in the Taiye Pond, grinding their teeth.”

“Good, good,” Empress Dowager Li beamed. The emperor personally engaged in agriculture, succeeded, and reaped abundant harvests. This was why she did not question his actions: after the assassination attempt, the emperor had finally taken things seriously—this was the best news for her.

As for court affairs, if Zhang Juzheng can handle them, let him. If not, the emperor supports him. If even that fails, wait until the emperor grows up and handles it himself.

Empress Dowager Li spoke solemnly: “Your Majesty, they oppose establishing the Baoqi Bureau in the Western Garden because they cannot reach into the Taiye Pond. That’s why they resist.”

“Why oppose this great, beneficial project that saves the people from famine? Is it not because they cannot profit from it? If the Baoqi Bureau is in the Western Garden, they gain no credit. If placed in the outer court, they can siphon some.”

“If they are not given a share of the merit, they will never properly promote it. Shouldn’t the officials, as the emperor’s stewards, teach the people to plant sweet potatoes? But they refuse unless they can claim credit and seize advantage. They steal heaven’s merit—steal heaven’s merit!”

“Establish the Baoqi Bureau in the outer court.”

After speaking, Empress Dowager Li leaned back wearily in her recliner, slightly bewildered. Court ministers always stole heaven’s merit.

Zhu Yijun smiled: “We can establish it in the Western Garden too. If the outer court won’t fund it, can’t the inner court fund it ourselves? It doesn’t cost much. Zhang Cheng brought back over 100,000 taels from Yuegang—plenty. Let the inner court have its Baoqi Bureau, and the outer court have its own. Whoever achieves results gains merit; whoever fails, eats his salary in vain.”

“The Wenhua Hall faces the Wenyuan Pavilion; beside the Wenhua Hall is half a room of the Office of Eunuch Supervision. Mutual checks between inner and outer courts have been ancestral law since Yongle. The inner court’s affairs are none of the ministers’ business.”

Empress Dowager Chen had remained silent until now. Hearing this, she confirmed her thoughts: the court’s wolves and tigers were not so fearsome. The emperor was the true dragon—he knew when to strike. As long as the young emperor matured, there was no major problem.

“The Duke of Cheng is gravely ill; the Marquis of Qian’an has been appointed Regional Commander.” Zhu Yijun briefly recounted the Duke of Cheng’s affairs. The news had already reached the palace; Empress Dowager Li and Empress Dowager Chen knew the details.

“The Marquis of Qian’an is under the Grand Secretary’s patronage. Is this appropriate?” Empress Dowager Li hesitated.

Empress Dowager Chen smiled: “The Marquis of Qian’an is under the Grand Secretary’s patronage, yet Wang Chonggu is the pivot of the clan faction. If Wang Chonggu can be used, so can the Marquis of Qian’an.”

In Empress Dowager Chen’s view, Empress Dowager Li had been frightened by Gao Gong’s Five Petitions and lost trust in everyone, anxious and overcautious.

Whether Qi Jiguang and Zhang Juzheng were loyal, one cannot dissect their hearts to verify.

Zhang Juzheng’s Examination System drew universal condemnation; officials wanted to devour him. Qi Jiguang was called a wart. Neither showed any signs of aspiring to usurp the throne.

“Ma Fang and Yang Wen as Deputy Commanders, Ma Gui and Wu Weizhong as commanders of the Divine Engine Corps—these are the Grand Secretary’s recommendations,” Zhu Yijun smiled. “What do you think, Mother?”

Empress Dowager Li sighed in relief: “The Grand Secretary is a man of great talent and deference. If all our Grand Secretaries were like Zhang Juzheng, I wouldn’t mind leaving the Qianqing Palace.”

“Mother, you’re greedy. Such an extraordinary talent as Zhang Juzheng is exceedingly rare,” Zhu Yijun merely smiled. Such ministers were few in all of China’s imperial history.

Zhang Juzheng repeatedly proved his deference. He sought only to realize his ambitions. His sole political heir was the young emperor.

“I’m going back to read,” Zhu Yijun said. Seeing the two empresses did not punish him for returning late, he took up his agricultural text and resumed reading.

The Baoqi Bureau had only completed planting. Further work remained: how to demarcate cultivation zones across the empire, which superior seeds to use, how to solve generational yield decline, how to promote sweet potato cultivation, and how to increase yields—all would be the Baoqi Bureau’s next priorities.

The young emperor adored agricultural texts, holding them constantly, annotating and translating without pause.

Zhu Yijun guessed correctly: Zhang Sizheng had indeed come begging to the Quanchu Hall. He brought gifts and silver, arriving at the gate, pleading for Zhang Juzheng’s help—especially regarding his return to court.

Wang Chonggu had left the capital. Zhang Sizheng had no idea what he must do to return.

This was information asymmetry.

Ge Shouli did not withhold the truth—he simply did not know. The ten-year-old emperor had chosen a hard-to-refute excuse: aesthetics are subjective. The emperor said you’re ugly, blocked the Grand Secretary’s recommendation, gave no outright refusal, yet gave no clear path for Zhang Sizheng’s return.

Zhu Yijun had clearly told Zhang Juzheng: Wang Chonggu must seal the gap in the Great Wall’s construction.

You Qi accepted the silver and gifts, invited Zhang Sizheng into the Quanchu Hall, and led him to the Wenchang Pavilion.

After exchanging pleasantries about the pleasant evening, Zhang Sizheng cut to the point, nervously asking: “Grand Secretary, why has my petition for return to court been held back?”

Zhang Juzheng sipped plain water, barely lifting his eyes: “What do you mean? The court resolution passed to send Li Le to inspect the Great Wall’s construction—you sent threats and bribes. Now you ask me what the court’s position is?”

The court had already approved the resolution. If you opposed it, you should have done so in the Wenhua Hall. Since you dared not speak up there, resorting to underhanded tactics—Zhang Juzheng naturally asked: what exactly is your meaning?

This is the capital, beneath the Son of Heaven’s feet, the foremost land of virtue!

Suppress the arrogance you displayed in Xuan and Da. Let others see the Ming’s political struggle so base—it’s a joke!

For Ming’s illustrious officials to behave this way, Zhang Sizheng feels no shame—but Zhang Juzheng feels embarrassed. Political struggle is one thing; using treacherous tricks is disgraceful, a disgrace to scholars.

“Altan Khan demands endlessly—we had no choice! To secure his tribute agreement, we diverted funds meant for the Great Wall’s construction to pacify the frontier. That’s why the Great Wall project turned out this way,” Zhang Sizheng feigned helplessness. “Alas, Grand Secretary knows the Tatars are fierce. We’ve barely secured peace—we don’t wish to provoke further trouble.”

“Altan Khan” was a catch-all box: any blame, once tied to him, became logical.

This was classic “nurturing the enemy to strengthen oneself”—using the tribute agreement to make the court hesitate.

“You yourself admitted the Great Wall’s failure stems from here. Your uncle clung to the Wenhua Hall, refusing to leave—don’t blame me for not heeding my advice,” Zhang Juzheng said, fixing Zhang Sizheng with cold eyes.

Zhang Juzheng was drawing fire—or absorbing all of Zhang Sizheng’s hatred onto himself.

He began by questioning Li Le’s case—not to pursue the past, but to use it as a pretext to take responsibility for Zhang Sizheng’s inability to return.

It was reasonable. Only Zhang Juzheng and the young emperor knew what was written on the Grand Secretary’s recommendation slip. A ten-year-old’s cruel words sounded more like something Zhang Juzheng had written—to pressure Wang Chonggu into plugging the gap by exploiting Zhang Sizheng’s return.

Everything now made perfect sense.

The one who drove Zhang Sizheng from court and impeached Wang Chonggu was Zhang Chucheng of the Chu Party. The one who mobilized the Wenhua Hall ministers to expel Wang Chonggu was Zhang Juzheng. The one who wrote on the slip that Zhang Sizheng was ugly and unfit to return was Zhang Juzheng. All blame fell on Zhang Juzheng—the young emperor was deceived!

All the humiliation was Zhang Juzheng’s doing!

Zhang Juzheng was indeed the perfect vessel—anything could be dumped into him.

A ten-year-old ruler was too young. Even with Zhang Juzheng in the outer court, Feng Bao in the inner court, and Empress Dowager Li in the Qianqing Palace, the emperor’s safety could not be guaranteed—the Wang Jinglong assassination attempt occurred. Zhang Juzheng took all blame, like a dissection room.

For a powerful minister like Zhang Juzheng, bearing blame was no disadvantage.

“So, if I seal the Great Wall’s gap, that’s enough?” Zhang Sizheng’s hatred surged like a river, yet he maintained a smile and deference.

Wang Chonggu had left. Ge Shouli, head of the Jin Party, was Zhang Sizheng’s rival. Zhang Sizheng had fallen into disadvantage. If not Zhang Juzheng, whom else could he beg? However much he hated, he must smile and find a way to return.

“Shouldn’t it be? The court’s grain and pay are designated for specific use. The silver given to Altan Khan is for horses. If he demands more, Wang Chonggu should petition the court. But diverting funds to cause the Great Wall’s collapse—you claim it went to Altan Khan, whose tribute date approaches. Shall we summon his envoys to the capital to reconcile accounts?”

One is one, two is two. Zhang Juzheng, armed with facts, was invincible. No matter how clever your sophistry, once accounts are checked, nothing escapes.

Altan Khan, a decades-old adversary, did not demand much silver. He primarily wanted salt, iron, and cloth. The tribute trade objectively complemented each side’s needs. But where did the furs, sheep, cattle, and horses Altan Khan sold in the tribute markets go?

The court annually allocates vast sums for horse payments, yet not a single horse is ever acquired.

Summon the emissary of Altan Khan to the capital, let us sit down and reconcile our accounts—especially concerning the suspicious deaths of regional commanders and deputy commanders along the frontier since Jiajing Thirty-Two.

Zhang Juzheng is threatening Zhang Suiwei: refusing to plug the financial hole while still playing tricks, the Grand Secretary of Great Ming has more than enough ways to deal with the Jin Party.

“The Grand Secretary is right to rebuke me—it is indeed necessary to fill this hole. Thank you, Grand Secretary, for your instruction; I know what I must do.” Zhang Suiwei, though utterly unwilling, could only acquiesce. If he truly followed Shi Jingtang’s example—bowing to the barbarians beyond the frontier as his adoptive father and raising the banner of rebellion—Qi Jiguang’s hundred thousand frontier troops would immediately march on Xuanfu and Datong.

Zhang Suiwei did not believe they could win, nor did he believe the frontier troops of Xuan and Da would steadfastly follow his uncle-nephew duo against the court.

“By the way, today Tan Lun’s Zhejiang Association opens its doors—will you go?” Zhang Juzheng’s words were like a brutal slap, striking Zhang Suiwei’s left cheek, then his right, leaving his face utterly shattered.

The left slap came from the opening of the Zhejiang Association: Zhang Suiwei, lacking official rank, could not attend. When Ge Shouli, the new leader of the Jin Party, took office and hosted banquets, Zhang Suiwei could not attend either—political activities in the capital had nothing to do with Zhang Suiwei, a man without official standing.

Even Ma Fang could attend the Zhejiang Association, for Tan Lun, as Grand Minister of War, spoke up for him, using his merit in diplomacy to absolve Ma Fang of guilt in the bribery case, allowing him to walk away unscathed—though he lost his post as Left Commander of Datong, he soon returned to the capital anyway.

As Tan Lun’s benefactor, Ma Fang must go to Tan Lun’s association to express gratitude, to kneel and kowtow.

But Zhang Suiwei cannot go—he has no official rank.

The right slap was heavier still: it revealed the Jin Party losing its very function, while the Zhe Party was coalescing, signaling the rising power of the Zhang Party. Once the Zhe Party took deep root, the Jin Party would become utterly useless.

One cannot be utterly useless, have no value at all—otherwise, one will inevitably be purged.

“Thank you, Grand Secretary, for your insight. I understand the gravity. The night is late—I won’t delay you from attending the Zhejiang Association.” Zhang Suiwei had been slapped twice again; his hatred surged, yet he could do nothing—still, he had to thank him.

“See the guest out.” Zhang Juzheng did not rise; he merely signaled the gatekeeper to escort Zhang Suiwei out.

You Qi said with a strange expression: “Master, why did you let this man come to your door? To take the blame for insulting you upon yourself?”

“Partly, but mostly to insult him,” Zhang Juzheng said. “Who dares touch my people? First came the assassination plot against Qi, then Lu Shusheng, then Li Le. I let him in primarily to humiliate him.”

You Qi finally understood and laughed: “He comes with silver to beg for abuse—we abuse him, yet he still has to thank us.”

Zhang Juzheng’s eyes narrowed slightly: “I will kill him.”

This was the first time Zhang Juzheng had so clearly and explicitly declared his intent: to see Zhang Suiwei die in disgrace, to completely excise the pus of the Jin Party!

Zhang Juzheng was not incapable—he simply lacked the Emperor’s authority to back him; thus he had to hesitate, to guard against the palace’s suspicions that he might do things forbidden.

Now, the Emperor was backing Zhang Juzheng.

As for the two Empress Dowagers in the palace, Zhang Juzheng did not dwell on them—if the young Emperor had repeatedly stood up for him, he must have found a way to deal with the two Empress Dowagers.

Otherwise, yesterday, when the young Emperor returned home at the precise moment, Empress Dowager Li would have ordered Zhang Juzheng to write a self-censure memorial—but she has not, proving that within the palace, it is the Emperor who holds the reins—or at least leads.

That is enough.

“Let’s go to the Zhejiang Association.” Zhang Juzheng rose. Tan Lun’s Zhe Party represented Zhang Juzheng’s thinking on bureaucratic reform; whether it would bear fruit remained to be seen.

The Zhejiang, Hubei, and Shanxi Associations were all in the same neighborhood—just a few steps away. Zhang Juzheng arrived last—he was the most important man at tonight’s Zhejiang Association, so naturally he arrived last.

Qi Jiguang had returned to the capital; Tan Lun opened the association, so Qi Jiguang naturally came—but he would not carry the Zhejiang Association’s token. Upon seeing Zhang Juzheng, the two exchanged knowing smiles.

Their twenty-year friendship was not maintained by a token; without that token, both Zhang Juzheng and Qi Jiguang were freed from shackles—and could act more freely.

Qi Jiguang was speaking with Yang Wen; both were from Jizhou and had long been superior and subordinate.

Ge Shouli, leader of the Jin Party, arrived at the Zhejiang Association with Ma Fang. Ma Fang needed to thank Tan Lun for his righteous defense in the Wenhua Hall; without it, Ma Fang would have suffered terribly in the bribery case and would not have returned to the capital so swiftly. Ge Shouli came to assert his lord’s authority and to mend ties with the Zhe Party.

Ma Fang was tall and imposing, yet showed signs of age—he was fifty-five. Though still able to ride and draw his bow, he could no longer match in personal martial prowess Qi Jiguang, who was eleven years his junior.

Wu Baipeng had also returned to the capital for over three months due to his duties overseeing the selection of officers for the Capital Garrison. After concluding that task, Wu Baipeng would proceed to Xuan and Da to inspect the newly constructed defenses—this time to ensure Wang Chonggu plugged the financial hole.

The newly appointed Minister of Personnel, Zhang Han, was not of the Zhe Party—he was from Renhe County, Zhejiang. Though not close to Tan Lun, Qi Jiguang, Yang Wen, or Wu Baipeng, as a native of Zhejiang, he naturally came to join the gathering.

Zhang Han had no power base in court; if he could act, he would act.

The younger faction, led by Shen Yiguan, conversed among themselves. Shen Yiguan was from Zhejiang, a Jinshi of Longqing Second Year, a Shugushi, and an editor in the Hanlin Academy. His father, Shen Mingchen, had been a Muliao to Hu Zongxian. Shen Yiguan could read because Hu Zongxian had paid for his education. Over the years, Shen Mingchen, Shen Yiguan, and Wang Daoqun had tirelessly campaigned to clear Hu Zongxian’s name.

Zhang Juzheng noticed Yu Dayou had not come, nor had Hai Rui.

Tan Lun had sparked public discourse in support of maritime trade and helped facilitate the Longqing Opening; logically, Hai Rui, who also supported maritime trade to increase revenue, should have joined the others—yet Hai Rui refused to attend.

Yu Dayou had taken lodging at the northern Wucheng, yet he did not go to the Zhejiang Association—he went instead to the house the court had rented for Hai Rui, to thank him for his recommendation.

Hai Rui was too poor—he had to rent a house in the capital, and only after the imperial treasury granted him a special resettlement allowance was he able to settle.

Zhang Juzheng did not stay long. He presented Tan Lun an ancient book and a longbow as opening gifts, spoke briefly, then turned and left the Zhejiang Association.

Zhang Juzheng supported Tan Lun’s opening to bolster its prestige.

The Zhejiang Association was much smaller than the Hubei and Shanxi Associations—only about ten mu—but sufficient.

The fifth day of the ninth month, Wanli First Year: auspicious for marriage, visiting relatives, travel, relocation, accumulating wealth, raising livestock; inauspicious for funerals, raising beams, death.

In the Wenhua Hall, Zhang Juzheng pulled out a memorial and said: “The Ministry of Rites has submitted a petition: selecting three thousand two hundred and fifty eunuchs to serve in various bureaus—this has caused His Majesty to suspect and rage, and a stern edict suddenly reached the Wenyuan Pavilion, leaving me unprepared.”

“His Majesty asked: Where did these three thousand two hundred and fifty eunuchs come from? There has been no recent warfare, no captured children. If not official eunuchs, how can private castrates enter the palace without violating ancestral law?”

“Minister Wan, you answer His Majesty.” Zhang Juzheng’s memorial targeted the newly appointed Minister of Rites, Wan Shihé.

Zhang Juzheng targeted Wan Shihé because the Emperor’s proposed Baoqi Bureau was to be located in the Western Garden.

Wan Shihé, with the Ministry of Rites officials, opposed establishing the Baoqi Bureau in the Western Garden, citing ancestral law as immutable, insisting it be placed under the Ministry of Revenue, beyond the palace walls.

Feng Bao, seeing Zhang Juzheng had opened fire, roared: “Wan Shihé, you ministers dare extend your hands into the Forbidden City—what is your intent? If something happens inside the palace, Wan Shihé, can you bear the blame? Can your entire clan, nine generations, bear it?!”

Feng Bao was the one to bite hard, laying it all bare. Since the peace talks of Longqing Second Year, there had been no large-scale warfare. Only official eunuchs were permitted in the palace—so who did these three thousand eunuchs belong to?!

Wan Shihé, terrified, hurriedly addressed the moon terrace: “I heard His Majesty has only seven attendants—this is disgraceful. I submitted the memorial to report it. During Jiajing’s reign, private eunuchs were also admitted—I am terrified.”

Indeed, during Jiajing’s reign, the Ministry of Rites had selected private eunuchs for palace service.

Feng Bao sneered and stood, leaning forward, glaring at Wan Shihé: “Wan Shihé, you think I don’t read? True—you’ve only just become a court minister, you don’t know me well.”

“In Jiajing Twenty-One, the imperial bedchamber was attacked by palace maids. Since then, the Emperor moved to the Western Garden, seeking immortality daily, abandoning ancestral rites and court audiences, cutting off contact with ministers—only his closest advisors were granted occasional access. No minister could then send eunuchs or maids into the palace.”

“Wan Shihé, I read! What ancestral law are you talking about? Yours? You, a Minister of Rites, read less than I, a eunuch?!”

Feng Bao’s biting was extremely fierce.

Ge Shouli watched, chuckling. Since Ge Shouli changed the Jin Party’s tactics, Feng Bao had stopped snarling at him—now it was the Ministry of Rites’s turn to suffer.

“Your Majesty, I truly did not know,” Wan Shihé said, his face changing. He quickly shook his sleeve and knelt, shouting loudly.

Zhu Yijun’s pen never paused; he did not even look up at Wan Shihé. Calmly, he asked: “What is it you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know the ancestral law? Then read properly. Look at me—I study even while hearing court affairs. In the Wenhua Hall, if you don’t read, you’ll be scolded.”

“Didn’t know Feng Da reads? Feng Da handles the Office of Attendants excellently. You, as Minister of Rites, don’t know ancestral law, yet you use it to bluster?”

“Is it ignorance—or deliberate deceit?”

Zhu Yijun stopped writing, his tone turning stern.

The former Minister of Rites, Lu Shusheng, had championed his clan’s interests. With Yang Bo’s departure, Lu Shusheng left. The new Minister of Rites, Wan Shihé, constantly invokes ancestral law and the laws of the Three Dynasties, insisting the Emperor cannot do this or that, always trying to bind the Emperor tighter with ropes of ritual, leaving him utterly immobile.

Zhu Yijun was dissatisfied with both Ministers of Rites.

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