Chapter 8: Chapter Eight: The Great Ming

The word "Lun" in "Lunyu" is pronounced in the second tone, not the fourth—that is Zhu Yijun’s question.

Zhang Juzheng immediately replied: “The Book of Han states: Disciples each recorded their own notes; after the Master’s death, his disciples gathered and compiled them, hence the name ‘Lunyu.’”

“‘Lun’ means compilation—not debate. Thus it is pronounced in the yangping tone [lun], not the qusheng tone [lun].”

“So that’s it.” Zhu Yijun finally understood why “Lunyu” is pronounced in the second tone, not the fourth—it is compilation, not debate.

As Zhang Juzheng had said, he was a scholar, and as the ninth-ranked graduate of the second class, his learning was unquestionable; answering the young emperor’s questions came effortlessly.

Zhu Yijun began asking questions about doubts he had regarding the Lunyu; Zhang Juzheng answered fluently, explaining in great detail. In this back-and-forth, time flew by, and before they knew it, an hour had passed—only when Zhang Hong reminded the emperor it was time for lunch did they pause.

Zhang Juzheng felt deeply satisfied; the more he looked at the young emperor, the more pleased he became. Today, the emperor had read on his own more than in all six months of previous jingyan sessions—he had read, and read earnestly, with his own insights.

For instance, “Is it not delightful when friends come from afar?”

The emperor interpreted: “When friends come from afar, they naturally share common interests and aspirations, and thus do the same things—how could one not be joyful?”

That is to say: Only those who share the same ideals and path can share true joy.

Just this one interpretation filled Zhang Juzheng with profound emotion. For the past six months, he had force-fed the emperor, stuffing knowledge in only for it to leak right out—he had read the books, but barely understood them.

Now, Zhang Juzheng finally felt his immense efforts had not been in vain.

Zhang Juzheng solemnly swept his sleeves, knelt, and bowed five times with three kowtows, sincerely saying: “Your servant oversteps; I faithfully uphold the ancestral statutes, dare not introduce personal opinions, and for the sake of nurturing talent for the state, dare not act from private bias—this is how I repay the late emperor and fulfill my duty to Your Majesty. Your Majesty’s wisdom is innate; I humbly beg you to continue studying diligently, govern with diligence, draw near to the virtuous, distance yourself from the wicked, unify palace and court, align the upper and lower ranks, and establish a lasting era of peace and prosperity.”

Zhang Juzheng’s words were presumptuous, violating a minister’s proper role—who dares to hold expectations over the emperor?

But considering the emperor was only ten, and the sovereign had failed to assert authority, this speech was Zhang Juzheng’s affirmation as Grand Secretary.

Zhu Yijun smiled and replied: “Rise, your majesty.”

“Grand Secretary, may I inquire into the case of Wang Zhanglong?” Zhu Yijun did not rise, looking at Zhang Juzheng as he spoke.

Give him a ray of sunlight and he blooms; give him dye and he opens a dye shop—he immediately chose to press further, testing the limits of his imperial authority.

So what if he was ten?

The imperial authority may be weak, but that did not mean Zhu Yijun was not emperor!

Could a ten-year-old emperor not inquire into state affairs? He was the victim—the one who had been assassinated.

Zhang Juzheng had only one answer: He bowed his head and said: “Nothing is impermissible—only reason governs.”

“Feng Da, you have held power for over half a year. Chen Hong bears you a mortal grudge—he resents the Empress Dowager for stripping him of his post and authority. Why did you not sink him in a well long ago? Had you done so, would this case even exist today?” Zhu Yijun first turned to Feng Bao.

Feng Bao was stunned; he mulled over the words several times before collapsing to his knees in terror: “I thought banishing that dog Chen Hong to the corridor was sufficient. I never imagined he would be so disloyal and ungrateful, betraying us from within. I beg Your Majesty to investigate—I am guilty.”

Zhu Yijun shook his head and said to Feng Bao: “Feng Da, you still do not know where you went wrong. Let me ask you: If you were Chen Hong, and Chen Hong were you, and you swapped places—if Chen Hong had seized power six months ago, where would you be today?”

“A skeleton in a well,” Feng Bao replied, kneeling, sweat rising on his back.

With Chen Hong’s cruelty, Feng Bao had only one fate—he would have been thrown into the well long ago.

Zhu Yijun continued: “Today’s outcome is yesterday’s cause. The wounds on your face today are the consequences of your actions yesterday. When you gained power, you showed no mercy. Your moment of mercy is what brought about today’s disaster.”

“Grand Secretary just said palace and court must be one. As the chief eunuch, Director of the Office of Imperial Ceremonies, and Head of the Eastern Depot, with your immense power, can you truly unify palace and court? After the assassination attempt, how does the Empress Dowager view you? If you cannot manage the palace maids and eunuchs, I will teach you.”

“Hang small boxes throughout the palace. If anyone shows disrespect, speaks ill, or plots harm, they may be reported by slipping notes into these boxes—fathers may denounce sons, sons may denounce fathers, children may denounce their masters. When everyone lives in fear, no one dares to conceal crimes. Your position as patriarch will then be as stable as Mount Tai—who could challenge you?”

“Take Chen Hong’s case: He wanted your position but could not achieve it alone, so he enlisted allies like Teng Xiang and Meng Chong. Do you think these two men will carry out his orders—or report him?”

“Everyone in the palace seeks advancement, climbing step by step toward the top—to your position, Feng Da. The worst people to fear are your own accomplices.”

Zhang Hong, the newly appointed eunuch of the Qianqing Palace, listened nearby, his legs trembling. The emperor’s scheme was utterly ruthless!

The crime of regicide was so grave that if successful, Chen Hong alone would benefit. And once he gained power, to prevent exposure, he would surely kill Teng Xiang and Meng Chong to silence them.

Teng Xiang and Meng Chong had served in the palace for years—could they not foresee the danger?

If they could quietly denounce him, they would do so without hesitation!

“I humbly accept Your Majesty’s instruction!” At this moment, Feng Bao felt only one thing: The patriarch of the palace should be the emperor himself!

This was a completely depraved, ruinous scheme.

“Rise. Be sharper from now on—don’t be so foolish that court officials can easily seize your weaknesses.” Zhu Yijun said no more to Feng Bao; if Feng Bao failed again, he would be a skeleton in a well. If he could not handle such a simple matter and needed the emperor to teach him, then Feng Bao was simply dull.

Feng Bao wanted to weep. Foolish? Him? If he was foolish, who in the palace was clever?

But the emperor’s method was simple, direct, and effective.

Zhang Juzheng frowned. He had just begun to respect the young emperor—now he turned out to be this cruel? But thinking of the turbulent currents within and without the Great Ming, such ruthlessness on the emperor’s part seemed less a flaw than a necessity—the empire was declining; a touch of cruelty might prevent being trampled upon.

Zhang Juzheng did not believe this was the emperor’s own idea. That bright, cheerful smile, that slightly plump face—how could it possibly belong to a scheming mind?

Zhang Juzheng assumed Feng Bao had taught the emperor to say this.

Feng Bao also needed to give the outer court an explanation; after a disaster, he must announce remedial measures to reassure the court ministers.

“Grand Secretary,” Zhu Yijun turned to Zhang Juzheng again: “During today’s court deliberation, I overheard fragments. Let me voice my thoughts—tell me if I am right, and advise me accordingly.”

“Minister of Personnel Yang Bo and Left Censor-in-Chief Ge Shouli appear to speak for me, but after careful thought, they are not loyal or devoted to me—they merely use my name to attack Feng Bao. Their real aim is to protect Gao Gong. Had Feng Bao not swiftly shut them down, this case would have stirred further turmoil.”

Feng Bao, listening nearby, immediately cried out: “Yes, yes, yes! Your Majesty is wise! Yang Bo and Ge Shouli are merely defending Gao Gong, speaking ahead of time!”

“Your Majesty is indeed wise. That is correct,” Zhang Juzheng paused briefly, then chose to speak plainly.

Yang Bo’s son, Yang Junqing, married the daughter of Commander of the Capital Troops, Wang Chonggu. Gao Gong and Wang Chonggu were close classmates and sworn brothers.

The Jin Party, bound by class, teacher, hometown, and marriage, was deeply entrenched in court.

Wang Chonggu commanded the Capital Troops; even though they had decayed into a force of fifty to sixty thousand old, weak, and sickly men, they were still the Capital Troops.

Grand Secretary Gao Gong relied on the Jin Party: Minister of Personnel Yang Bo was Jin Party, Commander of the Capital Troops Wang Chonggu was Jin Party, and Censor-in-Chief Ge Shouli was Jin Party.

Before the late emperor’s coffin, Gao Gong said: “How can a ten-year-old crown prince govern the empire?” When the Empress Dowager heard this, would she believe Gao Gong acted for the empire’s sake, or that he was grieving the late emperor’s death and speaking incoherently, or that he sought to seize power?

Even if Gao Gong truly acted for the empire’s sake, could he have spoken such words?

If the sovereign is not discreet, he loses his ministers; if ministers are not discreet, they lose their lives. If secrets are not kept, disaster follows. Even Zhu Yijun knew this—how could Gao Gong, a Grand Secretary and scholar, not know it?

Add to that his remark: “The emperor issued edicts without prior consultation”—which enraged the Empress Dowager completely.

Gao Gong had lost his reverence.

Under the banner of loyalty to the emperor, committing disloyal and unfilial acts has always been common—

“So be it.” Zhu Yijun tidied his desk, especially his notes, tucking them fully into his sleeve before speaking: “The assassination attempt is a crime of treason, one of the Ten Abominations, beyond the reach of ordinary law. As sovereign, I naturally have the right to oversee it. After today’s martial training, I shall proceed to the Northern Town Surveillance Office to supervise the trial. Grand Secretary, what is your view?”

Zhang Juzheng immediately objected: “Your Majesty, nobles do not tread upon lowly ground.”

What kind of thing was it for the emperor to go to the Northern Town Surveillance Office to supervise a trial?

At ten years old, he should focus solely on study. Even martial training was already improper, un scholarly—now to go supervise trials? That would make him seem even more neglectful of his duties.

Feng Bao also bowed and said: “Your Majesty, the Northern Town Surveillance Office is a foul place. If you fall ill from going there, how shall I explain it to the Empress Dowager?”

“The Northern Town Surveillance Office is an official office—how can it be called lowly ground?” Zhu Yijun looked at Zhang Juzheng, then at Feng Bao, frowning: “If you and Feng Da oppose my supervision, does that mean this case has hidden details?”

What kind of hidden details?

One possibility: Chen Hong and Gao Gong, resentful over their loss of power, took desperate action.

Another: Zhang Juzheng and Feng Bao colluded to eliminate Gao Gong and the Jin Party.

The court’s current consensus is that Chen Hong committed the crime, and Gao Gong is merely suspected—not confirmed. If Zhang Juzheng and Feng Bao now obstruct the investigation, it will look as if they’ve smeared themselves in mud—whether or not they’re guilty, they’ll look guilty.

Zhang Juzheng realized the young emperor was remarkably eloquent—just a few words had cornered him. One wrong answer, and Feng Bao would carry the words to the Empress Dowager—how could he possibly explain himself?

Zhang Juzheng recalled the emperor’s lazy, indifferent demeanor during previous jingyan sessions. Now, after just hours of reading, he understood everything so thoroughly—had the emperor been feigning laziness all along?

Even if Feng Bao taught him, to articulate this clearly was no small feat.

The young emperor was not dull—he was exceptionally sharp. His studies had never impressed the jingyan scholars because he simply did not want to learn—he had been slacking off.

“I shall accompany Your Majesty,” Zhang Juzheng chose his answer.

Feng Bao quickly added: “I shall accompany Your Majesty as well.”

After lunch, Zhu Yijun rested for half an hour, then began martial training. Zhu Xixiao, as Tishuai, served as the ceremonial officer and stood outside the Wenhua Palace, having heard every word exchanged between the emperor and Zhang Juzheng.

To Zhu Xixiao, the young emperor inspired only one thought: Such a child, already taught so many cruel schemes—when he grew up, he would be a great calamity.

But Zhu Xixiao did not consider it a bad thing. Let him be a calamity—the Great Ming was already in ruins; a calamity was better than mediocrity.

Zhu Yijun changed into his martial attire and stood in the Martial Chamber, saying to Zhu Xixiao: “Tishuai, I have heard that during the reigns of Emperor Chengzu, Emperor Renzong, and Emperor Xuangzong, the emperors personally inspected troops daily and patrolled the Capital Troops—this was called: ‘The Great Ming’s Military Splendor Illuminates Heaven’s Might!’”

“This practice ceased during the Zhengtong era. Our ancestors’ law required emperors to train in arms and spear, not to become martial masters, but to understand military affairs.”

“Today, I appoint you as my master. Please give your utmost effort.”

Daily troop inspections made soldiers know who their emperor was. Since the Zhengtong era, with a young sovereign and uncertain rule, emperors had ceased visiting the Capital Troops. Zhu Yijun wished to revive this tradition.

To reclaim the Great Ming’s Military Splendor Illuminates Heaven’s Might.

What a glorious moment that had been—now…

Zhu Xixiao bowed and said: “I accept your command. At what standard shall I train?”

“At the standard of Qi Jia’s army,” Zhu Yijun said firmly.

“This…” Zhu Xixiao looked troubled.

Zhu Yijun asked curiously: “Tishuai, you don’t know it?”

“I do!” Zhu Xixiao felt a surge of anger—he was Tishuai! Qi Jia’s training methods were exceptionally effective; he had studied them, and Qi Jiguang had written military manuals. As Tishuai, he naturally knew them!

Who did he think he was insulting?

Zhu Yijun wanted that fire. He was emperor—he could not stir it up, Zhu Xixiao would not teach properly. The emperor was only ten, and starting martial training this late was already behind schedule; the first step was stretching the sinews.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! It hurts!” The young emperor kept slapping his thighs, the stretching far more painful than he imagined.

Zhu Xixiao looked pained: “Shall we stop?”

Zhu Yijun winced, sweat pouring down his face, but still gritted his teeth: “Continue! Put more force into it! Are the Tiji not feeding you—or are you not eating?”