Chapter 9

Empress Dowager Li, who had been listening to Feng Bao’s report on the Confucian lectures at the Wenhua Hall, sprang to her feet upon seeing Zhu Yijun’s agony, her face shifting rapidly as she barked, “Commandant, how dare you! Stop at once!”

Empress Dowager Chen, however, held back Empress Dowager Li and said, “Sister, let the Son of Heaven train. If another assassin strikes, he must be able to fight back—or at least run.”

How easy is it for an orphan and a widow to hold the throne?

Empress Dowager Li and Empress Dowager Chen, though honored as empresses dowager, were merely twenty-seven and twenty-nine respectively—still young, not yet thirty, still far from maturity. How much authority could they wield against the cunning, seasoned ministers of the Great Ming, against the labyrinthine intrigues of the inner palace?

Hearing this, Empress Dowager Li sat down again, casting a cold glance at Feng Bao. That single glance sent a shiver down Feng Bao’s spine—this must never happen again.

The Emperor’s method is excellent. Though cruel and devastating, it’s the only way to make this palace, riddled with leaks, less dangerous.

Empress Dowager Chen, reclining on her lounge chair, swayed gently as she told Feng Bao, “Feng Da, go find a few ten-year-old eunuchs from the corridor households. Let them train with the Emperor. People fear hardship most when they endure it alone. If others suffer with them, the pain feels less.”

“Go,” said Empress Dowager Li. She had finished listening to Feng Bao’s report.

What troubled Empress Dowager Li most was what Zhang Juzheng had said after his lecture—the words he spoke kneeling on the floor. This was the first time Zhang Juzheng had praised the young Emperor’s performance after a Confucian lecture.

For six months, Zhu Yijun’s conduct had finally received praise from the Chief Grand Secretary—a form of recognition.

As agreed between Emperor and Grand Secretary, every nineteenth day of the month brought an examination. If the Emperor remained devoted to learning and won the approval of most ministers, the throne would be secure. As for the revival of the Great Ming?

Empress Dowager Li was merely a woman. She had little real power to decide.

Feng Bao did not wish to bring young eunuchs along, but then he realized: the Empress Dowager had ordered him to find them. This was an opportunity to place loyal men near the Emperor. Soon, ten ten-year-old eunuchs were led into the Martial Hall, accompanied by ten elite Tiqi who began stretching their sinews.

Screams rose in waves. Zhu Yijun had initially hesitated to cry out, gritting his teeth—but once he heard the ten eunuchs screaming together, he lost all restraint.

Martial training is hard.

So hard that after sinew-stretching, the young Emperor lay on the ground, utterly defeated.

Zhu Xixiao dared to train the Emperor so brutally—it was no mere boldness.

“Your Majesty, shall we rest?” Zhu Xixiao, watching the Emperor sprawled on the floor with no decorum, felt a flicker of pity and dread. He had been provoked by the Emperor’s few sharp words and had stretched his sinews. Though a ten-year-old’s body endured less pain, this was still the greatest suffering the Emperor had ever known.

Zhang Hong, standing nearby, was equally at a loss. He hurriedly urged, “Your Majesty, rest. You are naturally strong, but these young eunuchs accompanying you are barely holding on.”

Lying on the ground, Zhu Yijun stared at the two looming heads before him, drew a deep breath to rally himself, and said to Zhu Xixiao, “Mercy does not command armies. If General Qi had ordered you to train troops, you’d have been killed by the Japanese long ago—your head stuck on a pole, paraded through the streets!”

Zhu Xixiao’s fists trembled, nearly shattering. What kind of words were these? He felt profound humiliation. He roared, “Stance training! One quarter-hour per set, four sets total—begin!”

“Your Majesty, this… this…” Zhang Hong could not comprehend why the Emperor continually provoked the Commandant, doubling the punishment. If the Emperor merely wished to test military authority, a show would suffice—why endure such torment himself?

Sunk cost. Zhu Yijun had already paid the price of sinew-stretching. If he did not master this martial art, how could he justify the suffering he had endured?

The soldiers of Qi’s army were of low birth.

They joined the military simply to eat. If they could endure it, how could a man raised in comfort not?

Zhu Yijun rose and resumed training.

Zhang Hong relayed every detail to the two Empresses Dowager. Empress Dowager Li finally sensed the issue. She asked, puzzled, “My son, why are you so stubborn?”

“Of course, to train well,” replied Empress Dowager Chen. Her answer sounded like nonsense, yet it stirred doubt in everyone present. Could the Emperor, so long awaited by the people, truly be a man of iron will?

The Great Ming needs a sovereign of great perseverance, great ambition, and great ruthlessness—to restore order and forge steel bones.

Could this young Emperor truly become the ruler the people so fervently hoped for?

Zhu Yijun’s performance impressed Zhu Xixiao. No matter how hard or painful, the young Emperor endured. Head upright, neck straight, chest tucked, waist held, hips drawn, shoulders lowered—though his posture was not perfectly standard, the ten eunuchs’ forms were far worse.

A hundred drills are less effective than one stance. Stance training is the foundation of martial arts—it trains the lower body. Without a stable base, all flashy techniques—like the five-whip kicks—are mere acrobatics.

With a solid base, one can charge and strike fiercely, unyielding in a hundred battles. Where one charges—that depends on the Emperor’s will.

“Stop,” said Zhu Xixiao, glancing at the water clock. Time was up.

Zhu Yijun rose slowly, heels together, toes turned outward, eyes level, breathing calmly for over a dozen breaths before pounding his legs. His body, though only ten, recovered swiftly.

“Your Majesty, it’s time to rest,” Zhu Xixiao added immediately, before Zhu Yijun could speak: “Excess is as bad as deficiency.”

Zhu Xixiao knew the Emperor was provoking him. But the boy’s tongue was poison—so sharp that even when one knew it was deliberate, it still stung. Two hours of training had already passed; if they trained further, night would fall. Excess would injure him, forcing days of rest—too costly.

At the eunuchs’ signal, Court Physician Chen arrived immediately, placing his fingers on the Emperor’s pulse. After a long silence, he opened his eyes and said, “The Emperor’s pulse is steady and strong, with no signs of palpitation. He may continue training.”

Some are born unfit for martial arts—this palpitation is often a congenital heart defect, unsuitable for strenuous exertion.

Zhu Yijun had no such ailment. Pulse-checking was merely final confirmation. After sinew-stretching, he still spoke defiantly; during stance training, his breath remained even.

The Emperor’s martial training was followed by a long train of attendants: ten eunuchs as companions, and of course, the physician.

“Your name is Chen Shigong?” Zhu Yijun stretched his limbs. His gait was odd, but his young body was not so injured he could not walk. The hardship of martial training surpassed Zhu Yijun’s expectations. If stance training lasted longer, he feared he could not endure.

The young Emperor was somewhat overweight; holding stance longer than others was more taxing.

Chen Shigong’s heart sank. He had already submitted his resignation, but the Director of the Imperial Medical Bureau refused it, insisting Feng Da and Zhang Da demanded he change the medicine. He had planned to finish the medicine and flee this place of intrigue—yet now the Emperor knew his name.

He hurriedly replied, “Your servant’s name is indeed Chen Shigong.”

“Are you skilled in dissection?” Zhu Yijun asked after a pause.

Chen Shigong paused, then answered, “Your servant is indeed skilled in surgery.”

“Then that settles it. From today, you will stand beside me during training,” Zhu Yijun said firmly to Chen Shigong.

Age matched. Skill matched. Moral character matched. This was a master surgeon. In the Wanli to Chongzhen years, Chen Shigong performed appendectomies. Dissection meant surgery—and he had studied cancer, known as “Shi Rong.”

Such a medical genius must follow me to fulfill his life’s work—to elevate the Gate of the Divine Physician!

“Your servant…” Chen Shigong wished to refuse, but could not find a reason. Sweat broke on his brow. His skill was unmatched, yet treating the Emperor was perilous—use medicine, and he might die; don’t use it, and he might still die.

During the Renyin Palace Incident, when Imperial Physician Xu Shen saved Emperor Jiajing from palace maids’ assassination, he died of fright the moment he returned home.

Court physicians cured others with miraculous results. But treat the Emperor? Heal him, and you die. Fail to heal him, and you die.

Zhu Yijun did not waste time with Chen Shigong. He smiled and said, “Then I’ll ask my mother for you. Bring your medical chest. Come with me to the Northern Town Surveillance Office—to examine the pulse of Wang Zhanglong, who tried to kill me.”

The Northern Town Surveillance Office was infamous for its Five Poisons Tortures. Even the strongest man who entered emerged half-dead. Often, the prisoner died before any interrogation.

Then the Commandant, even with a hundred mouths, could not explain it.

The Tiqi are weakened. The Northern Town Surveillance Office is not safe.

Zhu Yijun limped to Empress Dowager Li and Empress Dowager Chen, smiling. “Mother, Niangqin , I’ve returned from training. My legs ache a bit, but nothing serious. Children recover quickly.”

“I told you it would be hard, yet you wouldn’t listen. Today you’ve suffered. Will you train tomorrow?” Empress Dowager Li, watching his limp, felt pity—her tone carried blame toward Zhu Xixiao.

Zhu Yijun replied solemnly, “I will train. Not a single day will be wasted.”

“Then let the Son of Heaven do as he wishes,” Empress Dowager Li finally suppressed her maternal tenderness. The child did not complain. Training was good—it would prevent panic if another assassin came.

Zhu Yijun added, “Chen Shigong will now accompany me. If I overtrain, he can tend to me. Mother, rest easy. I will take Chen Shigong to the Northern Town Surveillance Office and return before the palace gates lock.”

“The ministers outside fight for power, and in this case, they’ll drag it into factional purges. I must go see for myself.”

Empress Dowager Li glared at Feng Bao with anger. This task should have been his. He failed, and now the outer court had leverage. Why should the Emperor himself intervene?

Zhu Yijun declared firmly, “The traitor within has been found. The conspirators outside must be found too—and executed with extreme punishment, to instill fear and deterrence.”

“Otherwise, such incidents will happen again. Mother, do not worry. The Commandant and Feng Da’s eunuch guards accompany me. Nothing will happen.”

“Then go,” Empress Dowager Li said after long thought, waving her hand. “Return before the palace gates lock.”

“Yes, Your servant takes leave,” Zhu Yijun bowed to the two Empresses Dowager and headed toward the Chengtian Gate. The Northern Town Surveillance Office lay just beyond it, opposite the Six Ministries. He walked slowly, his legs still stiff—but after a few hundred steps, his gait steadied.

A young body recovers quickly.

The Tiqi opened the main gate of Chengtian. Embroidered Uniform Guards lined both sides to clear the way for the Emperor. Each stood rigid, imposing. The Emperor had left the palace—they were his guarantee of safety.

A palanquin followed behind Zhu Yijun, but he did not ride. He walked through the gate arch and stepped out of Chengtian Gate.

The Wanli Emperor never left the palace in his last thirty years. But Zhu Yijun, in one day, had stepped beyond the imperial walls.

He stood before Chengtian Gate, gestured for Feng Bao to approach, and whispered, “Feng Da, beyond this gate lies the world of ministers, not the palace. You see—even the Chief Grand Secretary does not stand firmly with you. But you are my eunuch, my man. Outside, no matter what, I will stand by you.”

“Now tell me the truth: was this done by Chen Hong—or by you?”

“Whether you did it or not, this affair must be blamed on Chen Hong. But if you did it, I’ll deal with you later. If the Jin Faction produces evidence against you, prepare now.”

“It was not me,” Feng Bao replied with certainty. How foolish would he be to risk such a thing to pursue Gao Gong and Chen Hong? Chen Hong was already fallen; a charge of theft would suffice to destroy him. No need for such risk.

Zhu Yijun said calmly, “Feng Da, remember my words: I ask only twice. Never a third time. Once and twice, but never a third. The Jin Faction dominates the court. You and Chief Grand Secretary Zhang are setting a trap for them—I can understand. My meaning is clear.”

“I ask you a second time: did you do it? Admit it now, and I spare your life. My word is sacred.”

“No!” Feng Bao had done nothing wrong—he feared no ghost knocking at his door.

Feng Bao acted with extreme caution. But he knew: if you wish no one to know, do not do it.

He had not done it. If the Emperor was harmed, Empress Dowager Li would go mad, Zhang Juzheng would fall, and Feng Bao would fall with him. The Jin Faction’s patrons, Gao Gong and Chen Hong, were already gone. The rest of the Jin Faction had many ways to destroy them. Zhang and Feng taking such a risk was suicide.

No plan, however meticulous, is flawless. That is the flaw of conspiracy.

Feng Bao and Zhang Juzheng could not guarantee perfect execution. Wang Zhanglong was the most unpredictable variable. Had he stormed into Qianqing Palace, would he not have slashed the Emperor’s throat?

“Go to the Northern Town Surveillance Office,” Zhu Yijun said, glancing at Feng Bao, then nodded and headed toward the office.