Chapter 80: Usurping Heaven

I am truly neglecting my duties. Volume 80: Usurping Heaven’s Merit, Shared Indignation Across Dynasties. Zhu Yijun looked down at the Minister of Rites, Wan Shihé and Lu Shusheng—both held the same office, and such Ministers of Rites were nothing but mud too weak to be raised up; could they truly keep being scolded by eunuchs?

To be chased and scolded by eunuchs was to utterly strip the scholar-officials of their dignity.

“If you do not understand, ask Grand Secretary Yuan. He is the chief editor of the Veritable Records of Emperor Shizong; if you are ignorant, ask him—not stand here jabbering nonsense.” Zhu Yijun tapped the table, delivering his final verdict.

Zhang Juzheng sighed and said, “Minister Wan, this precedent indeed exists. If you doubt me and suspect I collude with the eunuchs to deceive you, ask Academicians Wang Xijue, Wang Jiaoping, Fan Yingqi—they also oversee the compilation.”

Wang Xijue nodded, offering a helpless expression—he knew and confirmed that this ancestral precedent truly existed, and thus confirmed that Feng Bao understood ritual law better than Minister Wan Shihé, and had read more.

Wan Shihé helplessly kowtowed again, shamefacedly saying, “Your servant’s learning is shallow and brings ridicule upon himself. I am guilty; I humbly request to retire and return to my native place.”

Zhu Yijun frowned and said, “You entered the Ministry of Rites yesterday, and today you seek retirement? If this spreads, won’t it make me appear cold and ungracious, and the court’s appointments seem like a child’s game? Isn’t your own humiliation enough? Must you drag me and the court down with you?”

Wan Shihé knelt on the ground, wishing he could crawl into a crack in the floor!

How could a ten-year-old sovereign, with such a sunlit exterior, utter such icy words?

Feng Bao realized the young emperor’s tongue was truly sharp—truly the kind that kills without remorse. In the art of provoking anger, Feng Bao still had much to learn from His Majesty.

Zhang Juzheng knew His Majesty was always quick-witted, and his scoldings always struck straight to the lungs—but he never imagined he could be so cutting when he truly lashed out.

Zhu Yijun extended his small hand, impatiently saying, “Enough. Rise. Study harder, read more. Forfeit half a year’s salary as punishment. Proceed with the court deliberation—wasting time.”

Wasting the Great Ming Emperor’s time for reading, wasting the court ministers’ time for deliberation—the young emperor’s sharp tongue delivered another crushing blow, leaving Wan Shihé utterly humiliated.

This was another strike. Wan Shihé had no recourse—if he threatened suicide or made a scene, he’d only look more foolish.

Once Wan Shihé sat down, disheveled and defeated, Zhang Juzheng spoke: “Ancient sage-kings never failed to prioritize agriculture. Last year, Luo Gongchen presented auspicious omens before the throne. Your Majesty, taking the ancient kings as your model, values farming as the foundation—the great principle of the state. To make a tree grow tall, one must strengthen its roots; to make a stream flow far, one must clear its source.”

“Ancient sage-kings” and “ancient kings” referred to the sage-kings above the Three Dynasties.

Zhang Juzheng continued: “Your Majesty has personally tended to farming and sericulture in the Baoqi Palace for over half a year. Three days ago, you harvested sweet potatoes, mastering methods of seed propagation, seasonal timing, soil suitability, cultivation, planting, pruning, harvesting, and consumption—this is a pioneering act, ranking first among mixed crops and foremost in famine relief.”

“Your Majesty leads the realm to abundance, eradicates famine, and moves toward perfect governance. This is the great fortune of the state. Issue an edict to the Hall of Literary Glory: ‘We hear that crops from other lands can benefit the people, yet we often lack the methods to cultivate them or even know their names—this is a regret. Therefore, we hereby establish the Baoqi Office under the Ministry of Revenue, located on Qionghua Island in the Western Garden.’”

“Xu Zhen is calm and unassuming, not given to quarrels. He aided in the cultivation of sweet potatoes, ensuring the people would not starve in famine years. I recommend him as the first Director of the Baoqi Office, selecting learned scholars of agriculture, attentive to practical matters, inspecting the land and water of the realm, and spreading this knowledge so all commoners understand the benefits of planting sweet potatoes and cultivate them widely.”

Zhang Juzheng framed the establishment of the Baoqi Office as an imperial edict, attributing all merit and virtue to His Majesty—yet Xu Zhen, the actual executor, was not overlooked; Zhang Juzheng recommended him as the first Director.

This was a pioneering minister. If sweet potatoes later became universally known for their benefits, Xu Zhen’s official career might not soar—but among the people, he would surely be enshrined in living temples.

The memorial Xu Zhen had written under the emperor’s instruction had been seized by Zhang Juzheng. Xu Zhen did not understand—he thought if the emperor told him to write, he could write. But Xu Zhen was usurping Heaven’s merit. Zhang Juzheng took the memorial, made minor revisions, and ensured Xu Zhen would not stain his reputation, yet still be allowed to continue his work.

When Zhang Juzheng gives someone a token, he must protect them fully.

“Minister Wan, do you have any further objections?” Zhang Juzheng asked.

Zhu Yijun had planned a compromise in the palace—establishing two Baoqi Offices, one inside and one outside—but Zhang Juzheng refused compromise, insisting on a single Baoqi Office in the Western Garden, so all virtue and glory accrued to His Majesty.

The young emperor needed prestige and power to assume personal rule; Zhang Juzheng also hoped the emperor would ensure governance continued even after his own death.

“I have no objections,” Wan Shihé finally understood—he had offended Grand Secretary Yuan over the Baoqi Office’s location.

The memorial in Zhang Juzheng’s hand was his own. He had prepared to first use the matter of submitting three thousand two hundred eunuchs as a warning to Wan Shihé not to speak foolishly, and had drafted arguments on sovereign-subject righteousness, targeting Wan Shihé’s lack of reverence to refute his objections to the Western Garden site. But before he could attack, the emperor had already scolded Wan Shihé into silence.

Seeing the tide turn, Wan Shihé immediately caved.

Zhang Juzheng tapped the table and rebuked Wan Shihé: “The bond between sovereign and subject is paramount, the foremost of moral teachings. This hierarchy of age and rank, this great constancy of filial duty—ministers must uphold great principles in their time and establish pure reputation after death. Usurping Heaven’s merit is the people’s wickedness, the state’s poison, abhorred by gods and men, arousing shared indignation across generations.”

“What do you think, Minister Wan?”

Wan Shihé hurriedly replied, “Grand Secretary Yuan speaks wisely.”

The issue of the Baoqi Office’s location was, at its core, Wan Shihé’s attempt to usurp Heaven’s merit.

Ge Shouli asked in confusion, “Xu Zhen is an outsider. How can he permanently serve at the Baoqi Office?”

Zhang Juzheng smiled and said, “This follows the precedent of the Western Garden. When Yan Song and Xu Jie governed, they took their posts at the Chengguang Palace beyond the Taiye Bridge, just as the Hall of Literary Glory sits within the Forbidden City, where the Grand Secretary, Vice Grand Secretary, and academicians conduct affairs.”

“The founding Emperor Taizu established the palace in the Southern Court and built the Hall of Literary Glory east of the Fengtian Gate, storing all ancient and modern texts, appointing several Grand Secretaries, gathering all Hanlin scholars there.”

“Emperor Chengzu established his capital in Beijing, opening a hall south of the eastern corridor, constructing several rooms, bright, lofty, and serene, still inscribed as ‘Wenyuan.’”

“The Grand Secretaries conduct state affairs within the southeast corner of the palace, following ancestral precedent—this is the established law.”

“Then I have no further doubts,” Ge Shouli nodded, finally understanding why the Baoqi Office could be located in the Western Garden.

The Hall of Literary Glory lay within the Zuoshun Gate, directly opposite the Wenhua Palace, less than fifty paces from the Inner Golden River—inside the Forbidden City—while the Baoqi Office was merely in the imperial garden, not violating ancestral law.

The uproar over the Baoqi Office’s location ended.

Zhang Juzheng produced another memorial: “Viceroy Wang Chonggu has returned to Xuanfu to handle the vacant inspection posts. Today, in accordance with precedent, the Director of the Capital Garrison shall be the Minister of War, concurrently holding the title of Junior Guardian of the Crown Prince.”

Tan Lun’s appointment as Junior Guardian of the Crown Prince formally made him Grand Minister of War. This was anticipated by all; no one questioned it.

Zhang Juzheng had drafted the floating ticket but did not submit it to the throne; instead, he produced another blood-stained memorial: “The Duke of Cheng has been gravely ill for three days; medicine cannot save him. The Duke has submitted a memorial recommending Qi Jiguang as Director of the Capital Garrison.”

“Ma Fang and Yang Wen shall be Deputy Commanders; Ma Gui and Wu Weizhong shall be Assistant Commanders; Chen Dacheng, Wang Rulong, Tong Ziming, and others shall serve as Regional Commanders in Jizhou, Yongping, Shanhai, and other regions.”

Ge Shouli immediately shook his head: “The Director and Commander of the Capital Garrison are both from the Zhe Party. I find this inappropriate. The Minister of War previously refused to approve Wang Chonggu’s nominations because all recommended generals were from the Jin Party. Now that it’s the Zhe Party’s turn, how can this be so hasty? You cannot let others sleep peacefully beside your bed.”

“Grand Secretary Ge speaks wisely,” Hai Rui, as Right Censor-in-Chief, agreed with Ge Shouli.

Tan Lun, a remarkably open-minded man, smiled and said, “You both speak rightly. Then I shall decline the Junior Guardian of the Crown Prince and the post of Director of Military Affairs—lest the censors keep nagging.”

Tan Lun deeply understood Qi Jiguang’s talent—he trained the troops, he led them into battle; Tan Lun had no desire to intrude.

The Duke of Cheng’s recommendation of Qi Jiguang back to the capital effectively displaced Tan Lun from the posts of Junior Guardian and Director of the Capital Garrison—but Tan Lun cared not at all.

Zhang Juzheng was somewhat troubled. The Zhe Party had just formed, and Zhang Juzheng intended to cultivate it—but its leader refused even to compete, immediately yielding the position.

At least make a show of fighting for it!

Even pretending to be detached, to display this calm resolve and distant vision—wouldn’t that make Zhang Sihui, Wang Chonggu, and others appear even more base?

In conflicts with the Tatars and Japanese pirates, a new generation of loyal generals—Tan Lun, Qi Jiguang, Wang Guoguang, and others—had emerged, giving Zhang Juzheng the greatest confidence to push forward his reforms.

“Then let us temporarily leave the post of Director of Military Affairs in the Capital Garrison vacant. The Capital Garrison’s military readiness is not urgent; Qi Jiguang’s return is for training. Let the post remain unfilled for now.” Zhang Juzheng turned to Tan Lun for the Ministry of War’s opinion.

Tan Lun made no move to claim it, yet Zhang Juzheng left the position temporarily open.

Tan Lun thought a moment and said, “This is excellent. This is excellent. Grand Secretary has often said to grant authority gradually to allow initiative. Since there is no imminent war, temporary appointments when battle looms are preferable.”

Minister of Rites Wan Shihé finally realized, greatly shocked: “So the Director of Military Affairs in the Capital Garrison is now merely a temporary appointment? How can we control such proud, unruly troops?”

Wang Xijue, watching Wan Shihé, finally spoke impatiently: “In the twenty-ninth year of Jiajing, His Majesty abolished the Tuanying and the Two Halls, restoring the Yongle-era Three Camps system. The Three Thousand Camp became the Shen Shu Camp; all titles of internal eunuchs and their units were abolished, and a single general was appointed as Director of Military Affairs of the Capital Garrison; a civil minister was appointed as Assistant Director.”

“The Capital Garrison has no Director of Military Affairs—this is ancestral law. Minister Wan, you truly need to read more.”

“Wang Chonggu was transferred from the frontier to the capital to oversee military affairs—his title should be Assistant Director of Military Affairs. His return to the capital itself violates ancestral law.”

After two hundred years of twists and turns, the Great Ming’s Capital Garrison had returned to its original form: military officers at the head, civil ministers as assistants.

Notably, during the Jiajing twenty-ninth-year reform, though the civil minister was called “Assistant Director,” he in fact still functioned as the Director of Military Affairs—the court’s power structure remained unchanged; power did not fundamentally shift.

But the post of Director of the Capital Garrison—or Overseer of Military Affairs—had indeed been abolished.

Wang Chonggu came from the frontier to the capital, and now returns to his home in Xuanfu.

“So that’s how it is,” Wan Shihé fell silent.

The Minister of War had lost his authority without complaint; the Ministry of Rites had hoped to rebut with ancestral law—but the ancestral law was precisely as it stood. Wan Shihé had embarrassed himself and said nothing more.

Zhang Juzheng left the post of Director of Military Affairs vacant, waiting—until Qi Jiguang’s ties to the Zhang and Chu factions faded, until he received his hereditary warrant, became a true hereditary military noble, and became a genuine Imperial Faction member—then he would bestow upon Tan Lun the posts of Director of Military Affairs and Junior Guardian of the Crown Prince.

It will not take long. Zhang Juzheng was certain.

Zhang Juzheng drafted the floating tickets and handed the two memorials to Zhang Hong, who delivered them to the throne. Zhu Yijun set aside Tan Lun’s memorial for Junior Guardian of the Crown Prince, stamped his approval on the memorial appointing Qi Jiguang as Director of the Capital Garrison, and issued the order to the Ministry of Personnel.

“What do you think, Minister Zhang?” Zhang Juzheng asked Zhang Han.

Zhang Han was stunned—he was the classic outsider, with no roots in court. Had Zhang Juzheng not promoted him, he would never have reached the post of Minister of Personnel. He had no intention of speaking—but since Zhang Juzheng asked, Zhang Han replied honestly: “Grand Secretary Yuan has handled this appropriately.”

“The Marquis of An’nan is named Director of the Capital Garrison, but the Capital Garrison has no troops to deploy, no generals to command—it is still merely the commander of the three frontier garrisons. Thus, the new Capital Garrison should not have a civil assistant, for it is nominal only.”

“If Minister Tan were appointed Assistant Director of Military Affairs, his position would conflict with that of the Governor of Jizhou and Liaodong, Liang Menglong.”

Wang Xijue, hearing Zhang Han’s analysis, agreed: “Indeed, Minister Zhang speaks wisely.”

The new Minister of Rites kept trying to cite ancestral law—but kept citing it wrongly. Yet the new Minister of Personnel clearly understood what the court ministers were saying—not merely repeating, “Grand Secretary Yuan has handled this appropriately.”

Zhang Han summarized the court’s discussion perfectly: the new Capital Garrison was nominal only. Let Qi Jiguang train the troops first; only when they gained combat strength should a minister be appointed as Director of Military Affairs—then it would be real.

The court deliberation finally ended. Yet the ministers did not leave as usual—they waited. Since the deliberation had passed, the appointment of the Director of the Capital Garrison must now be formally announced—it was a major personnel decision.

Zhu Yijun put down his brush, closed his book, and said, “Summon the Marquis of An’nan.”

“Summon the Marquis of An’nan!” Feng Bao flicked his fly-whisk and shouted loudly. The young eunuchs carried the imperial decree outside, and Qi Jiguang stepped slowly into the Wenhua Palace.

“Your servant Qi Jiguang bows before Your Majesty. How is Your Majesty’s health?” Qi Jiguang entered in his red official robe adorned with qilin and baize patches, performing five kowtows and three prostrations.

“I am well. General Qi, we meet again. Feng Daban, read the edict.” Zhu Yijun smiled, gesturing for Feng Bao to read.

Two young eunuchs stepped aside. Feng Bao stepped forward, flicked his fly-whisk, and intoned in measured cadence: “By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees:”

“The sage of warfare once said: Victory does not bring rash joy; defeat does not bring panic. One whose heart holds thunder yet whose face remains calm as a lake may be appointed a general.”

“Upon ascending the throne, I heard the Marquis of An’nan has won battle after battle—victory does not bring him rash joy. Since raising his banner, he has fought hundreds of engagements and never lost. He holds strategy in his breast, depth in his soul. The general’s wisdom and valor are peerless; he has galloped north and south, tirelessly serving the state. I once appointed the Marquis as Director of the Capital Garrison, relying on him as my trusted limb and heart. He shall accomplish great deeds. The northern barbarians remain unextinguished; I am truly anxious for their raids. I entrust him with the defense of the ten-thousand-li Great Wall, to once again shine the glory of Great Ming’s military might.”

“This is my decree.”

Feng Bao finished reading the edict. The yellow eunuch rolled it up. Zhu Yijun rose, stepped before Qi Jiguang, took a sword, and said: “General Qi, I bestow upon you the Imperial Sword, to oversee the revitalization of the Capital Garrison. You may execute corrupt and lawless ministers.”

“Do not despise the army because of its numbers; do not take your commission as a reason to die; do not treat others as inferior because of your rank; do not defy the multitude because of your own insight; do not treat debate as absolute truth.”

Qi Jiguang received the Imperial Sword, kowtowed again, and declared loudly: “Your servant humbly obeys Your Majesty’s teachings. I thank Your Majesty for this great grace.”

“General Qi, rise.” Zhu Yijun then handed Qi Jiguang the seal and edict of Director of the Capital Garrison and said, “You have worked hard, General Qi.”

“Your servant will spill his blood and brains to serve as Your Majesty’s vanguard!” Qi Jiguang solemnly pledged.

Qi Jiguang had once lost—when he first arrived in Zhejiang to fight the pirates, he suffered three consecutive defeats. But since he trained his troops, he had fought hundreds of battles without a single defeat. He had achieved victory without rash joy, defeat without panic.

Zhu Yijun had given Qi Jiguang a sword. At this moment, Qi Jiguang stood only a foot from the emperor. Had Qi Jiguang wished to rebel, he could draw the sword and kill the young emperor in an instant.

In truth, according to Great Ming ritual, to appoint a Grand General, one should bestow the axe and halberd. The emperor holds the halberd’s blade, presenting the handle to the general, saying: “From this day forth, you may command even what is above heaven.” Then the emperor holds the axe’s handle, presenting the blade, saying: “From this day forth, you may command even what is below the abyss.”

When the founding Emperor Taizu Zhu Yuanzhang appointed Xu Da as Grand General to lead the northern campaign against the Yuan, he had indeed bestowed axe and halberd, granting Xu Da authority over all above heaven and below the abyss, to subdue the barbarian Yuan.

Qi Jiguang’s title of “General” was merely an honorific for Director of the Capital Garrison—not a high-ranking generalship—so no grand ceremony was necessary.

“General Qi, the sweet potatoes in my Baoqi Palace have been harvested—bountifully!” Zhu Yijun eagerly told Qi Jiguang this good news. Qi Jiguang had once told him: soldiers who eat well can fight.

If they are hungry, all else is meaningless.

Qi Jiguang smiled brightly—not because he had finally been transferred from the frontier to the Capital Garrison, nor because he had received the Imperial Sword. He did not care much for these things. He was genuinely joyful: the young emperor of Great Ming was truly serious about reviving the nation’s military glory. The flame of his own unyielding hope burned brighter than ever.

Qi Jiguang handed the Imperial Sword to Zhang Hong, bowed low, and said: “I rejoice for the realm, I rejoice for Your Majesty.”

The Son of Heaven’s sword must not be taken until three zhang away from His Majesty—that is the sign of respectful deference.

Though Qi Jiguang needed only one punch to shatter the ten-year-old emperor’s skull into fragments.

“The Duke of Cheng is critically ill; Marshal Qi should go first to visit him.” Zhu Yijun had no intention of letting Qi Jiguang become a solitary minister; since he was already among the noble families, he should pay respects to the former noble.

Qi Jiguang smiled broadly and said, “Your servant obeys the imperial decree.”

“Everyone, disperse and attend to your duties.” Zhu Yijun tucked his small hands behind his back, stepped cheerfully onto the platform, and headed for his lecture session.

Zhang Juzheng waited until the court ministers had left and the readers, lecturers, book-bearers, and ceremonial officers took their places, then bowed and said, “Your servant will clarify the matter for His Majesty.”

“Hmm.” Zhu Yijun was in good spirits today and had no intention of swinging his great hammer.

Qi Jiguang and Zhu Xixiao hurried to the Duke of Cheng’s mansion; Zhu Xizhong’s condition had worsened further, but upon seeing his brother and Qi Jiguang, he strained forward with urgent eagerness.

Zhu Xizhong gestured for Qi Jiguang to come closer; when he saw the Son of Heaven’s sword at Qi Jiguang’s side, he finally wore a sincere smile, grasped Qi Jiguang’s hand, and said, “Good, good, good. Marquis Qian’an, conduct must follow momentum. What is momentum? Momentum is harmony of heaven’s timing, earth’s advantage, and human unity. Most crucial of all is human unity. I waited my whole life, yet never saw the day of true human unity.”

“Do not betray His Majesty’s expectations. Huh—may the Great Ming endure forever, its sun, moon, mountains, and rivers stand unshaken.”

“Thank you, Duke of Cheng, for your teaching.” Qi Jiguang hurried to reply, about to thank him for his recommendation, when Zhu Xizhong’s hand slipped from his grasp and fell limply beside the bed. Zhu Xizhong, smiling, closed his eyes.

“Brother!” Zhu Xixiao stepped forward urgently. The Duke of Cheng, who once rescued the Jiajing Emperor from a fire and defended the capital against northern invaders, had passed away from a recurrence of old wounds.

Zhu Xizhong spent his whole life waiting for human unity—he waited for Xia Yan, Yan Song, Xu Jie, Gao Gong, and finally waited for Zhang Juzheng. He waited through Jiajing and Longqing, and now waited for the present emperor. He waited—for the arrival of the new commander of the Beijing Garrison. When Zhu Xizhong saw it was Qi Jiguang, his final breath escaped, his spirit at peace, and he passed away without a single regret.

At the moment of his death, Zhu Xizhong saw hope—this was the greatest comfort of his life.

News of the Duke of Cheng’s death spread instantly through the capital; during the Gengxu Incident, he had deployed his generals and troops to defend the capital day and night, preventing Altan Khan from breaching it and preserving the Great Ming’s realm.

Upon hearing the news, Zhu Yijun suspended court for three days in mourning, ordering the Ministry of Rites to propose a posthumous title. The Ministry proposed “Gongjing”; Zhang Juzheng petitioned the emperor to posthumously elevate the Duke of Cheng to Prince Dingxiang.

On the day of the Duke of Cheng’s funeral, Qi Jiguang submitted a memorial requesting the selection of over ten thousand elite soldiers to form a new Beijing Garrison at Beitu Cheng.

The autumn wind grew colder; civil and military officials waited outside the Chengtian Gate.

Today was the day for the inspection of military talent. As previously decided in court, the young emperor would personally travel to Beitu Cheng to preside over the examination, so the officials waited outside the Chengtian Gate for His Majesty’s procession.

The morning bell rang, drums beat steadily, and the Chengtian Gate slowly opened. Zhu Yijun stepped out, disliking palanquins; his carriage waited outside the gate.

“Your servants pay homage to His Majesty,” the ministers bowed.

Zhu Yijun waved his small hand and smiled, “Rise, rise.”

“I shall lead the way for His Majesty.” Qi Jiguang stepped forward to the white elephant, climbed aboard in two or three strides, taking his place as the vanguard carriage; behind it followed a south-pointing chariot.

The Minister of Rites, Wan Shihé, shouted loudly, “Sound the music!”

Musicians from the Court Music Bureau and the Temple of Heaven began playing; grand melodies echoed along Chang’an Street, while a group of dancers performed gracefully on a flat cart.

Zhu Yijun stood atop the imperial carriage, gazing at a sea of countless heads stretching beyond sight; Zhang Juzheng stood directly behind the carriage, awaiting the emperor’s procession.

At the front rode cavalry bearing curved blades; a white elephant-drawn elephant cart led the way, followed by crimson-robed Embroidered Uniform Guards, clad in flying-fish robes and carrying ceremonial sabers, majestic and awe-inspiring.

In the center stood a great banner, carried by Qi Jiguang—the Dragon Banner of His Majesty!

“Master Yuanfu, please join me in the carriage,” Zhu Yijun smiled.

Zhang Juzheng bowed quickly, “There is a distinction between ruler and minister; I dare not overstep.”

“Then let us proceed,” Zhu Yijun did not press; if Master Yuanfu wished to exercise his legs, let him walk! The young emperor entered the imperial carriage.

“The Son of Heaven departs!” Feng Bao, seeing His Majesty seated firmly, flicked his fly-whisk and shouted loudly.

Drums and gongs thundered across the heavens; the young emperor, facing the first rays of dawn, set off toward Beitu Cheng.

A clear horn call echoed as Zhu Yijun’s procession entered Beitu Cheng. Soon, the young emperor grew bored; though nominally presiding over the examination, his position in Wuying Tower was far from the drill ground—at least two li away, too distant even to make out Qi Jiguang’s face.

“Superficial, hollow, Master Yuanfu’s Chengfa was meant to prevent such corruption in governance,” Zhu Yijun said unhappily. “Is this not superficiality and hollow formality? You asked me to preside over the examination, yet I cannot even see the candidates.”

Zhang Juzheng stood respectfully at his left, speaking earnestly and confidently, “Your Majesty is still young; too many hands, too much chaos.”

Since Jiajing twenty-one, this was the first time a Ming emperor had left the imperial palace—immensely significant. Zhang Juzheng had prepared for four months for this journey, and to prevent another fire, he even summoned all ministers, saying: if fire breaks out, let us all burn together.

As long as the emperor arrives, that is enough.

Step by step, bit by bit. The Ming emperor had not left the palace for nearly thirty years; if any mishap occurred, Zhang Juzhong could not escape blame.

“Feng Daban, bring me my long-distance mirror,” Zhu Yijun thought better of it and settled for a compromise. The long-distance mirror was a small invention Zhu Yijun had specially commissioned for viewing distant sights—polished glass of exceptional transparency mounted in two telescoping tubes.

Hard to see the true face of Lushan; dispelling mist relies on the old grinder’s skill.

Street vendors who sharpened knives, scissors, and polished mirrors often passed through the alleys; one could call them to sharpen blades or polish mirrors. For this long-distance mirror, Feng Bao had sought out many such old craftsmen.

Feng Bao, with two young eunuchs, found a proper spot, secured the stand, placed the tube upon it, then carefully opened the dust covers at both ends and bowed to the emperor: “Ready, Your Majesty.”

“This device…” Zhang Juzheng stared at it—he had never seen anything like it.

Feng Bao spoke confidently: “This device is called the ‘Thousand-Li Mirror.’ The front lens must not face direct sunlight, or the glare will damage the eyes; reflected light grows dim and unclear. It must be placed in shade, mounted firmly—only then will the Thousand-Li Mirror remain steady.”

“To widen the view, adjust the mirror stand slowly—left, right, up, down—do not move hastily. Never touch the lens with your hands; if dust or grime accumulates, gently wipe with a clean cloth. Do not use silk or velvet, or you will scratch the surface.”

“What use is it?” Zhang Juzheng asked, bewildered by its complexity.

Feng Bao stood straight and expounded: “It lets you see distant mountains, rivers, seas, trees, and villages as if they lay before your eyes. Within ten or several li, hundreds of steps away, you may observe people and objects as clearly as if they stood face to face.”

“It’s for seeing far,” Zhu Yijun smiled. “Master Yuanfu, try it?”

Zhang Juzheng was skeptical. Zhu Yijun fetched a stool, pointed to the tube, and said, “If you cannot see nearby figures, extend the rear lens to lengthen the tube; if you cannot see distant ones, retract the rear lens to shorten it. Adjust gradually until it suits you.”

“This…” Zhang Juzheng tried it. After adjusting the tube’s length, he clearly saw Qi Jiguang’s face—crisp and vivid, as if right before him.

Zhu Yijun did not invent this on a whim; it was one of several toys brought back by Zhang Cheng from Yuegang.

One was a magnifying glass, used in summer to burn ants; another was a reducing glass, through which people appeared enlarged or shrunken—quite amusing. These were toys brought by palace eunuchs on their travels for the young emperor.

Zhang Cheng brought back over a dozen magnifying and reducing lenses of various colors. Once, when he stacked two together, he could clearly see distant scenery—he was terrified, thinking he had opened his heavenly eye, and remained anxious for days.

Only after repeated trials did he discover the key.

The construction of this Thousand-Li Mirror at Wuying Tower took a full month—from selecting the transparent glass, every detail was perfected. Dozens were made before one worked.

Zhu Yijun sighed, “No matter how clear crystal is, when held to sunlight, it always shows faint, even, fine horizontal lines or fluff-like patterns. Two layers easily obscure vision. At first, we could not find glass clear enough—it had holes, bubbles. I nearly gave up. Feng Daban somehow found a way.”

Feng Bao replied humbly, “The glassmakers had a reverent heart; they stumbled upon the method by chance.”

The craftsmen consulted Cao Zhao’s *Ge Gu Yao Lun* from the Jingtai era and found the method of venting air in “can jade.” Glass was also recorded in the text: “Originates from southern barbarians; comes in wine-color, purple, white, brilliant and luminous.”

Even after finding the method, only forty-odd pieces of such crystal-clear glass were ever fired, and from them, this Thousand-Li Mirror was made.

“A marvel,” Zhang Juzheng said with admiration.

If this device could be miniaturized and made portable, its impact on warfare would be decisive.

Zhu Yijun looked toward the drill ground: Qi Jiguang as chief examiner, Ma Fang and Yu Dayou as deputy examiners, evaluating hundreds of military talents recommended by officials of fourth rank and above—among them, even the lowest were military juren, some were military jinshi.

Zhu Yijun soon noticed one man and said to Feng Bao, “Go ask who the third man in the fourth row of the sword-cutting trial is.”

Feng Bao returned shortly and bowed: “The man Your Majesty inquired about is Li Ruisong, eldest son of Li Chengliang, Regional Commander of Liaodong.”

Thus: The Baoqi Office is established within the Western Garden; Qi Jiguang is appointed commander at Wenhua Hall. To learn what happens next, stay tuned for the next chapter! *Snap!* Thank you to reader “Yishi Gong” for 1500 points of support.