Chapter 88: Chapter Eighty-Eight: Minister Yuanfu, I Shall Take You to See a Rainbow

I am truly neglecting my duties. Volume Eighty-Eight: Minister Yuanfu, I shall take you to see a rainbow. The Single Whip Law in Great Ming has long existed; since the Zhengtong first year, fourteen prefectures in the southern yamen began partially converting their land taxes into silver and sending it to the capital, with annual revenue of roughly one million taels of silver.

But the man who formally confirmed the Single Whip Law and proposed that Great Ming’s taxation should shift from in-kind to monetary was named Gui E.

Gui E, a jinshi of the Zhengde sixth year, became Vice Grand Secretary in the Jiajing eighth year, succeeding Zhang Cong in the Grand Secretariat; the following year, Gui E submitted the “Memorial on Appointing the People,” proposing the Single Whip Law.

Gui E introduced the concept of monetary taxation and called for the compilation and review of corvée labor and land surveying, but was attacked by Yang Yiqing and others; Gui E was forced to resign and soon died of illness.

Yang Yiqing and others strongly opposed Gui E’s Single Whip Law, ousted him, yet the state’s finances still suffered severe deficits; without money, the court could not pay its soldiers, could not nurture talent, could not pay officials’ salaries, and could do nothing.

In March of Jiajing tenth year, Censor Fu Hanchen submitted a memorial requesting imperial approval to implement the Single Whip Law.

Zhang Juzheng spoke: “The Mencius, ‘Jinxin Lower,’ says: There are levies on cloth and thread, levies on grain and rice, levies on labor service; the gentleman employs one, delays the other two; employ two, and the people starve; employ three, and fathers and sons are torn apart.”

“What is the levy on cloth and thread? Commercial tax. What is the levy on grain and rice? Land tax. What is the levy on labor service? Corvée.”

“Mencius said that among these three, only one may be levied; if two are levied, it is heavy taxation, and people will starve on the roads; if both in-kind levies—cloth, thread, grain—and forced labor are imposed, the people will be driven to separate from their families and their households will collapse.”

This is one of the fundamental reasons why generations have condemned Qin law as tyrannical, for Qin law instituted the three levies; Qin’s three-levy system drained the realm, and the tyrannical Qin collapsed. Yet for a hundred generations, Qin law has been followed, and the three levies have never ceased.

This is basic fact: Qin law instituted three levies; everyone denounced the tyrannical Qin, yet over the past thousand years, have we not continued the same three levies?

Zhang Juzheng continued: “During Han, Jin, Sui, and Tang, levies were assessed as cash taxes, land rents, head taxes, and labor service.”

“In Tang, the system consisted of rent, corvée, tribute, and rate-loans: rent meant each adult male paid two shi of grain; tribute meant each household paid three zhang of silk and two liang of hemp according to local produce; corvée meant each adult male served twenty days of labor; rate-loans meant a two-tenths levy on transactions at river crossings and marketplaces, called rate-loans.”

“Our dynasty’s founding Emperor Taizu established the Ming system following Tang precedent, codifying the three levies: commercial tax at six percent of value; land tax fixed by Yellow Registers and Fish Scale Maps, initially one-fifteenth, but from Hongwu twenty-third year, one-thirtieth, and two-tenths from the fertile lands of Suzhou and Songjiang; corvée had numerous categories, broadly divided into jia-service, corvée, miscellaneous service, labor-difference, and so on.”

“In Jiajing tenth year, Censor Fu Hanchen submitted a memorial urging implementation of the Single Whip Law: unify provincial land and head taxes with provincial corvée, calculate exemptions based on land quality, determine silver amount per shi of grain, per adult male, adjust according to complexity and ease, and distribute evenly.”

“The Single Whip Law means combining land tax and labor service—the levy on grain and the levy on labor—into one unified system, collected by land area.”

The Single Whip Law was originally called the Single Whip Compilation Law, meaning the ancient union of land tax and labor service.

One hundred ten adult males formed one jia; each li was subsumed under a prefecture or county; prefectures and counties aggregated to the circuit; circuits aggregated to the Provincial Administration Commission; the Commission then converted the entire province’s land tax and labor service into silver and apportioned it evenly across all landholdings.

Whoever held the land paid the tax; all numerous corvée categories were merged into this land-based levy, collected directly from landholdings—this was adjusting complexity and ease, harmonizing assessments.

Its greatest significance lies in reducing the number of arbitrary and miscellaneous taxes, diminishing personal dependency, and easing the tax burden on tenant farmers and vagrants.

Zhang Juzheng continued: “Li Lou’s keen eyesight and Gongshu Zi’s skill cannot form circles or squares without compass and square; Shi Kuang’s acute hearing cannot tune the five tones without the six pitches; Yao and Shun’s way cannot govern the realm without benevolent rule.”

“Even with Li Lou’s vision and Gongshu Zi’s craftsmanship, without compass and square, one cannot draw circles or squares; even with Shi Kuang’s hearing, without the six pitches, one cannot tune the five tones; even with Yao and Shun’s teachings, without benevolent rule, one cannot govern the realm.”

“Land tax and labor service—the levy on grain and the levy on labor—are state instruments of great weight; they must not be altered lightly. Let us leave them aside for now.” Zhang Juzheng paused here, having only lightly touched upon the Single Whip Law.

To implement the Single Whip Law, land surveying is required; one must measure all land in the realm to know that the seven million one hundred thousand qing of cultivated land lie in whose hands; surveying requires officials to carry it out in practice; official integrity requires eliminating bribery and indulgence; eliminating bribery and indulgence requires the Examination Achievement System to break the old patronage-based promotion system.

All this requires time, requires constant struggle to achieve yin-yang balance, requires accumulating experience and lessons through the constant clash of spear and shield, changing bit by bit—not achieved overnight, not by a single edict stamped by the young emperor.

The clash of spear and shield will grow fiercer, sparks will fly more, doubts will multiply; only by resolving these doubts can policies be truly implemented.

In this clash of spear and shield, preventing the state from collapsing is the very meaning of Zhang Juzheng’s existence as Chief Grand Secretary.

Zhang Juzheng spoke: “Luo Gongchen’s proposal on taxing ocean-going ships concerns the levy on cloth and thread—that is, commercial tax—imposed on the red-haired barbarians. The sage said: Without compass and square, one cannot form circles or squares. If maritime trade is opened without rules, it cannot endure; today tax, tomorrow no tax, the barbarians will be confused and suspicious, and our Ming officials will not know what law to follow.”

“Simply put, if commercial tax increases, land tax and corvée need not be so harsh, and this benefits the gentry as well.”

Minister of Rites Wan Shihé immediately spoke: “Competing with the people for profit is the greatest harm to the realm! It drives the people to flee overseas—how can this be tolerated? All wealth flows overseas; if Great Ming has no money, how can we collect taxes? Our ancestors established sea bans for good reason.”

“During Longqing, merely for convenience, we opened Yuegang for merchants, colluding with the Japanese pirates, calling it ‘all the people’s subsidy’—yet this silver is finite; the court collects it, but how do the people survive?”

“Take it like a single zhu or zhi, spend it like mud and sand. One man’s heart is the heart of millions! The tyrannical Qin loved harsh laws and extravagance; people remembered its cruelty, yet today we too embrace harsh laws and extravagance! When will this day end? I and you shall both perish!”

“In my view, abolish Yuegang entirely; should the Japanese pirates rise, our imperial troops gather like clouds, take it as easily as reaching into a pouch, and pacify them.”

Zhang Juzheng said that without rules, one cannot form circles or squares, so rules must be established, taxes must be levied on ocean-going ships, and Yuegang must be properly managed.

But Wan Shihé said the subsidy was the people’s subsidy, the silver was finite; taxing the gentry was equivalent to taxing the people, and when the court lost the people’s trust, like the scorching sun that does not perish, the people would perish with the court.

Zhu Yijun glanced at Wan Shihé, then lowered his head, calmly taking notes on his book; this Wan Shihé, like Lu Shusheng, had surely received bribes, hence his frantic lobbying for opening the seas.

Lu Shusheng had opposed Luo Gongchen’s subsidy on ocean-going ships.

Wan Shihé opposed it too.

This Minister of Rites had reached a point where he was almost disgracing the rites.

Rites were the discipline and constitution of the realm; originally, in the dynasty’s founding, the Ministry of Rites headed the Six Ministries; now, this ministry had grown increasingly refined and aloof—“refined” was a polite term; bluntly, the Ministry of Rites was out of touch with reality, its status steadily declining, now at the bottom of the hierarchy, below even the Ministry of Works.

The Ministry of Works, due to Confucian rites, had always been the lowest, perennially last; if this continued, the Ministry of Rites would soon become number one in decline.

“Minister Wan, your words are truly amusing.” Tan Lun sat upright, teasing Wan Shihé: “You mean, when the court taxes foreign ships, it is collecting money from the gentry; when collecting from the gentry, it is collecting from all the people—is that your meaning?”

“Yes!” Wan Shihé nodded firmly: “Corrupt officials strip the people; corrupt officials strip the people; the people flee and become vagrants. Now, taxing ocean-going ships—isn’t the court taking the profit that merchants should earn? And don’t these merchants simply shift this burden onto the people? Am I wrong?”

Tan Lun immediately asked: “The levy on cloth and thread, the levy on grain, the levy on labor—all extract the people’s zhu and zhi. Why not abolish them all together, Minister Wan?”

Wang Guoguang smiled: “Minister Wan, why not come to the Ministry of Revenue as Minister?”

“The imperial clan demands grain and silver; the meritorious nobility demands grain and silver; officials demand grain and silver; the nine borders demand grain and silver; nurturing talent and storing hope demands grain and silver; disaster relief and welfare demand grain and silver; dredging rivers demands grain and silver; leveling postal roads and official highways demands grain and silver; building the Great Wall demands grain and silver; every winter, every corner of Great Ming comes to the Ministry of Revenue demanding grain and silver. You come—abolish the three levies—and calm these bloodthirsty mouths that, if denied grain and silver, would devour me.”

“You take the post of Minister of Revenue.”

Wan Shihé immediately said: “The sage said: the gentleman employs one levy; employ two, and the people starve; employ three, and fathers and sons are torn apart! Follow the laws of the Three Dynasties; employ one, and that suffices.”

Hai Rui looked at Wan Shihé and asked: “Minister Wan, do you live on primordial qi and sustain your life through divine clarity?”

Hai Rui’s remark was brutal, effectively expelling Wan Shihé from the ranks of Confucian scholars.

Confucius did not speak of the strange, the violent, the chaotic, or the supernatural; Wan Shihé’s speech was detached from reality, as if a man could live without grain, without food, sustained only by divine enlightenment and immortality.

Wan Shihé, insulted, had no retort; his position was too detached from practical reality.

“Enough? Is employing one or two levies enough?” Wang Guoguang tilted his head and asked Wan Shihé: “Of course we follow the sages’ teachings, but we must also confront reality. The state’s finances are in dire deficit, expenditures far exceed income; without Zhang Cheng and Luo Gongchen bringing back 240,000 taels, next month’s firewood and salary money for all offices would be completely depleted.”

Wan Shihé’s lips twitched twice; he could no longer reply, and said: “That is the Ministry of Revenue’s affair!”

“The Ministry of Revenue approves taxing ocean-going ships.” Wang Guoguang immediately took up the thread, signaling his support.

“The Ministry of War also approves taxing ocean-going ships.” Tan Lun spoke for the Ministry of War; without silver, without money, without grain, how could soldiers fight?

“Chief Grand Secretary handled this appropriately.” Minister of Personnel Zhang Han, a straightforward man, simply affirmed: the Chief Grand Secretary was right. Why? The court ministers had already made it clear—just as a man must eat, the court must collect taxes.

Three ministries had voted yes; according to the weight of Ming court ministers, this deliberation had passed. Because Zhang Juzheng held the highest authority—he was a Grand Secretary, and the Grand Secretariat held the power of the “floating ticket”; if Zhang Juzheng ignored them and insisted on his own ticket, he only needed to persuade the emperor to act.

The reason for this court deliberation was Zhang Juzheng’s promise to the emperor.

In his “Five Matters Memorial,” Zhang Juzheng made specific demands of the young emperor: hold court audiences, review memorials, summon Grand Secretaries and court ministers; he also made demands of himself: all state affairs must be deliberated in court; he made demands on officials: metropolitan officials must be evaluated.

“The Ministry of Justice believes taxing ocean-going ships risks the red-haired barbarians emulating Macau; we must not grant them territory to multiply. The red-haired barbarians are inherently lawless and immoral; if they penetrate inland and multiply, the harm will be endless—losing the empire for a piece of oxhide.”

Ge Shouli, puzzled, asked: “Losing the empire for a piece of oxhide? What is this allusion?”

Zhu Yijun also raised his head; this allusion was fresh—he had never heard it before.

Minister of Justice Wang Zhigao explained: “The fall of Luzon to the Franks. During Zhengde, the Frankish red-haired barbarians forced trade with Luzon; after some time, seeing its weakness, in Jiajing thirty-two, the Franks offered lavish bribes to the deposed Luzon king, requesting land the size of an oxhide to build dwellings.”

“The deposed Luzon king, unaware of the trick, agreed.”

“The red-haired barbarians cut the oxhide into thin strips, joined them into thousands of zhang, encircling Luzon’s land, forcing the king to honor the agreement.”

“The deposed king was terrified, but having promised, he had no recourse and acquiesced. In Longqing fourth year, the Franks—the same Francisco who had traded with Great Ming at Yuegang—killed the deposed king, drove the island’s people into the sea, and established their state.”

Hai Rui looked at Ge Shouli and said: “In Qiongzhou, I heard from Luzon refugees and Ming maritime merchants that Luzon has indeed been destroyed.”

“Luzon is gone?” Ge Shouli, bewildered, felt a deep loss; Luzon was also a Ming tributary state, paying tribute every three years—perhaps he would never see it again.

The court ministers fell silent. Today’s deliberation was on Luo Gongchen’s tax on ocean-going ships; yet as the discussion progressed, the motion passed, and they realized the overseas world had changed dramatically.

Zhu Yijun, who had been listening, put down his pen, sat upright, and said: “My lords, I have something to say.”

As the young emperor spoke, all eyes turned to the throne.

Zhu Yijun looked around and said: “The Director of the Board of Rituals, Sun Luan, reported: the Owari daimyo Oda Nobunaga of Japan has exiled the Ashikaga Shogunate; the Japanese king enfeoffed by our founding Emperor Chengzu has been driven out. Since Zhengde twelfth year, Great Ming has had three conflicts with the small Franks on Tumen Island, and later destroyed the red-haired barbarian pirates in Zhoushan.”

“Now, as I listen to my lords deliberate, I have a question.”

“The small Franks come from the west, the great Franks from the east; they claim to come from the ‘Far West.’ My lords are ministers of Great Ming’s state—where are these great and small Franks? Both claim to come from the Far West, yet one comes from the west, one from the east—how can both reach Great Ming?”

The small Franks were the Portuguese; Great Ming knew them well, for during Zhengde, two Portuguese envoys had long resided in the capital: one named Huozhe Yasan, the other Tomé Pires.

In Jiajing first year, the Portuguese envoy Huozhe Yasan was executed by the newly enthroned Jiajing Emperor; in Jiajing third year, the Portuguese royal apothecary Tomé Pires died in prison.

The great Franks were the Spanish; Great Ming had little contact with them; their captain and the Luzon governor had just engaged in a major galleon trade at Yuegang, extracting twenty-four thousand taels from four million taels of silver.

Two nations from the Far West, one from the east, one from the west, both reaching Great Ming—how?

As a young emperor with a keen thirst for knowledge, Zhu Yijun asked: where were these two countries?

Zhu Yijun knew the geographical locations of Portugal and Spain, and knew the earth was spherical—both could reach Great Ming from east or west—but the court ministers did not.

The ministers fell silent.

Wan Shihé bowed his head: “Your Majesty, the great and small Franks are merely minor barbarian states, insignificant—mere coastal barbarians beyond the northwest frontier, ignorant of royal culture and propriety, not worth concern.”

Zhu Yijun looked at Wan Shihé: “Minister Wan, not worth concern?”

“A single captain of the great Franks, excluding his cargo, carried over four million taels of gold-flower silver. Minister Wan, four million taels of gold-flower silver—and you say it is not worth concern? Has Great Ming become so wealthy that even a child like me must be fooled?”

“I dare not! I am guilty—please forgive me, Your Majesty!” Wan Shihé immediately knelt and begged pardon; if this charge stuck, he would be guilty of deceiving the sovereign.

Zhu Yijun looked at Wan Shihé coldly: “Minister Wan, do you know where the great and small Franks are?”

“I truly do not know.” Wan Shihé answered kneeling on the ground.

Zhu Yijun looked at Wan Shihé, his tone harsh: “To know is to know; not to know is not to know—that is knowledge. You, Minister of Rites, must have me, a child, teach you the Analects?”

“Are you not Minister of Rites? The Board of Rituals is under your jurisdiction. Where are the great and small Franks? You do not know? How have you served as Minister of Rites?”

“You do not know the ancestral laws, you have not mastered the Analects, you manage the Board of Rituals yet do not know where the sea barbarians lie—what have you been doing all day?”

“In these two months since entering court, whenever deliberations threaten the gentry’s interests, you stir up chaos—scolded by the Ministry of Revenue, scolded by the Ministry of War, scolded by the Chief Censor.”

“Are you serving Great Ming—or are you serving the gentry?”

“I—I—” Wan Shihé could not answer; the young emperor listened to every word, understood every point clearly; whenever gentry interests were involved, he always jumped forward.

“Answer me!” Zhu Yijun’s tone grew colder: “Look at me. Answer me—whom are you serving?”

“Great Ming—or the gentry?”

Zhu Yijun skipped the earlier questions and asked only this one; the more he asked, the more Wan Shihé could not answer.

Zhu Yijun merely wished to remind the Ming ministers: pay attention to changes overseas. Japan is moving toward unification; the great and small Franks are approaching from east and west, having conquered Goa, Malacca, Luzon—three of Great Ming’s fifteen non-conquest states have fallen.

Wan Shihé insisted: the emperor must not know where these two sea barbarian states lie—they are merely insignificant barbarian states, unworthy of notice. Was this not asking for a scolding? What was he doing?

As a regent minister and imperial tutor, whenever the emperor had questions, Zhang Juzheng would scratch his head until bald to find solutions.

Wan Shihé stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty need not know—he’s nobody, demanding that the Emperor not know!”

“I serve the Great Ming,” Wan Shihé answered stiffly.

Zhu Yijun let out a scoff, the sound echoing clearly throughout the Wenhua Hall; yet no one rose to rebuke the young Emperor for impropriety, for the very Ming public who should have questioned his conduct—Minister of Rites Wan Shihé—was already kneeling on the ground pleading for forgiveness, and the Emperor’s scoff was a mockery directed squarely at him.

The young Emperor shook his head. “Pfft. Do you even believe it yourself? Ask our Great Ming’s Ming publics if they believe it. Ask the ritual officers and the protocol inspectors if they believe it.”

“I won’t ask anymore. If I ask again, you’ll go home and kill yourself—and then I’ll earn yet another reputation for being cold and ungracious.”

“Rise. Think carefully: how should a Minister of Rites truly serve? Don’t spend your days collecting silver and spouting nonsense. When those who govern the state do so through bribery, you, a senior second-rank official of the Great Ming, listen to your own words—don’t you feel ashamed? The court finds them shameful.”

Wan Shihé knelt on the ground, unable to rise, unable to stay down, unable to dash his head against a pillar, unable to refrain from doing so, unable to kill himself, unable to refrain from doing so—he could only tremble and whisper, “Thank Your Majesty for your great grace.”

“So, my esteemed Ming publics, where exactly are these various Franks? Why are they all in Taixi? One comes from the east, the other from the west—how can both reach the Great Ming?”

Zhang Juzheng bowed low. “Your Majesty, allow me to clarify this matter fully before reporting back to you.”

“No rush. Continue the court deliberation,” Zhu Yijun waved his small hand, smiling, restoring his bright and cheerful demeanor. The Grand Secretary was pleasing to behold—he wasn’t angry with the Grand Secretary.

Every time the Grand Secretary answered the young Emperor’s questions, he shattered his own understanding of the world and rebuilt it anew. That was true deference. That was the conduct of a gentleman.

Wan Shihé deserved to be scolded!

Zhu Yijun didn’t actively govern, didn’t chase after Wan Shihé to scold him—but Wan Shihé had stepped forward himself. So when Zhu Yijun delivered this Royal Supreme Shattering Fist, Wan Shihé had no choice but to taste it.

Zhang Juzheng sat down and glared at Wan Shihé. “When the Emperor has doubts, they must be resolved. What do you mean ‘not worth mentioning’ or ‘not worth worrying about’? Clarify this matter within three months. If you still refuse to report truthfully, the crime of deceiving the Emperor—you cannot bear the consequences.”

“Yes!” Wan Shihé was drenched in sweat, frantically wiping his face. If he’d known court deliberations in the Wenhua Hall were this grueling, he’d never have become a court minister. He’d exerted so much effort just to become one—and now he was scolded daily, always silenced by a single sentence, unable to reply.

Feng Bao’s lips curled into a faint smile. The smile spread quickly; he tilted his head, propped his elbow on the armrest, covered his mouth, and finally burst into laughter.

“Feng Dang, this is the Huangji Hall,” Tan Lun said with a warm smile, kindly reminding Feng Bao—there were protocol inspectors in the Huangji Hall.

“Thank you, Grand Secretary, for the reminder. No, I don’t usually laugh—but truly…” Feng Bao shook his head. “Confucius said: ‘A man without trustworthiness—I cannot see how he can stand. A large cart without its ni, a small cart without its yue—how can it move?’”

“The Master said: one must be sincere in heart—that is the foundation of all things. Without sincerity, everything becomes deceit. A cart needs ni and yue to move; a man needs sincerity to stand. If one’s heart is not true, his words are false, then all will despise him!”

“The Master truly did not deceive me! Not knowing is not knowing—why fabricate an answer? All despise such men, because they themselves despise themselves.”

After the Emperor finished scolding, Feng Bao delivered a final, cruel blow, letting Wan Shihé see what true human malice was.

To deceive a ten-year-old Emperor—how can you still call yourself a human?

Zhang Juzheng paused, realizing he himself didn’t truly know: where exactly was Taixi? How far was it from the Great Ming? If both Franks departed from Taixi—one eastward, one westward—how could both reach the Great Ming? And this question seemed nearly impossible to resolve.

No matter. Take it one step at a time.

The court deliberation continued. The young Emperor listened attentively. The ministers bickered loudly—yet Wan Shihé remained silent, head bowed in shame.

Neither retirement nor suicide was an option. Retirement would make the Emperor appear cold and ungracious, as if the court treated appointments like a game—retiring due to humiliation would only deepen the shame.

When others speak of it: “Why did our Great Ming’s Minister of Rites, Wan Shihé, retire—or die in shame?”

To be so humiliated by a ten-year-old sovereign that you cannot lift your head, to be scolded by the young Emperor until you are overcome with shame, to be left dazed and lost, unable to find your way home—that would be even more disgraceful.

The court deliberation finally ended. The ministers bowed and took their leave.

“We take our leave,” the ministers said, preparing to depart. Wan Shihé rose shakily, pale-faced, then suddenly staggered and collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

“Summon the Imperial Physician!” Zhu Yijun, seeing this, thought Wan Shihé might be faking it, and signaled for the physician to be brought immediately.

Chen Shigong arrived at the Wenhua Hall at top speed, felt Wan Shihé’s pulse, flipped open his eyelids, took a piece of malt sugar from his medicine case, placed it in Wan Shihé’s mouth, and had him swallow it with water. Soon after, Wan Shihé rose, still pale.

Chen Shigong bowed and said, “Minister Wan collapsed because he skipped breakfast.”

“Did he oversleep?” Zhu Yijun fell silent for a moment, uncovering the truth. Winter had come; days were short. Wan Shihé had risen late, skipped breakfast, suffered from low blood sugar, and then endured the emotional shock of the Wenhua Hall deliberation—hence his collapse.

Wan Shihé offered no denial. He sighed. “I am guilty.”

“Enough. Go,” Zhu Yijun waved his hand, signaling Wan Shihé could leave.

Such a breach of court decorum should have warranted bastinado—it was an irregular punishment, discretionary, left entirely to the Emperor’s mood.

The Great Ming’s bastinado was a way to build ministerial seniority. In the third year of Jiajing, over sixteen ministers died from bastinado during the Great Rites Controversy. The young, politically inexperienced Emperor Jiajing plunged himself into grave difficulty.

Zhu Yijun didn’t care about such trifles. As long as Wan Shihé, the Minister of Rites, didn’t make himself utterly repulsive, Zhu Yijun would thank heaven and earth.

Zhang Juzheng also disliked Wan Shihé. When Lu Shusheng retired, Zhang Juzheng and Yang Bo, two seasoned veterans, sat together and sifted through the Great Ming’s talent pool. After careful review, Wan Shihé was the best they could find.

Others, when scolded like this, wouldn’t apologize—they’d cause a riot in the Wenhua Hall, even stage dramatic acts like head-bashing against pillars. If they could earn a bastinado, it would earn them public praise!

Better to be like Wan Shihé.

As the ministers departed, Zhang Juzheng bowed and said, “I shall clarify this matter for Your Majesty.”

“Do you know how a rainbow forms?” Zhu Yijun asked with a smile.

Zhang Juzheng thought, then bowed. “The Book of Changes says: ‘The rainbow is the qi of yin and yang meeting; it forms when rain and sun coincide.’ The Dream Pool Essays states: ‘The rainbow is the sun’s reflection in rain; when sunlight strikes rain, it appears. Back to the sun, spraying water produces the shape of rainbow and halo.’ The Book of Rites, Monthly Ordinances, says: ‘In the third month of spring, the rainbow first appears; in the first month of winter, the rainbow is hidden and unseen.’”

Stand with your back to the sun and spray water forcefully—you will form a rainbow.

Zhu Yijun smiled. “The third month of spring is March; the first month of winter is August. You say the rainbow cannot be seen after August. Come with me, Master—I’ll show you a rainbow.”

“Huh? See a rainbow?” Zhang Juzheng stared blankly at the young Emperor. What trick was this now? What new nonsense was the irresponsible young Emperor cooking up?

Zhu Yijun walked as he spoke. “The eunuchs in the palace all assumed Zhang Cheng had won favor by presenting the thousand-li telescope and secured the lucrative post in Songjiang to handle Xu Jie’s land return. So they began tinkering with glass lenses—and they actually produced some rare devices. I thought it fascinating, so I brought you along to see.”

“Here we are. This is a dark room, with only one small hole through which sunlight enters.”

Zhu Yijun stopped. This was his crude optical laboratory—a dark room located in a side hall of the Wenhua Hall.

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