Chapter 967: The Only Thing I Can Teach You Is How to Flee

Gao Qi was Left Vice Minister of Rites; after Shen Li entered the Grand Secretariat, he effectively served as Minister of Rites, and wherever he went, people addressed him as Shao Zongbo.

Although the shareholding system for official workshops was proposed by Gao Qi, the ones actually implementing it should be the Ministry of Personnel and the Ministry of Works.

Undoubtedly, Gao Qi’s hand had stretched far too far.

Gao Qi’s memorial on reforming the official workshop shareholding system was excellently written: master craftsmen received ten li of shareholding, apprentices with over five years’ service received one li, and the nine grades of shareholding became an entirely new promotion system within the official workshops.

Most crucially, in Gao Qi’s plan, the officials—such as Ban Cha, Dai Ban, and Zong Ban—held absolutely no shareholding.

This created a terrifying contradiction: the officials managing the craftsmen were themselves subordinate to the craftsmen, who were now co-owners of the workshops—how could these officials possibly control them?

Zhu Yijun could not help but glance at Shen Shixing; the struggle between Gao Qi and Shen Shixing, fellow disciples of the same master, had grown increasingly fierce.

“Your Majesty, I believe the Shao Zongbo’s remarks are inappropriate.” Shen Shixing took a deep breath, stepped forward with a memorial, and said: “I have another memorial to submit.”

Shen Shixing also presented a memorial; its content was nearly identical to Gao Qi’s on the craftsperson system, the only major difference being that Shen’s memorial granted shareholding to the workshop officials as well—though these shares were tied strictly to their positions and would be revoked upon transfer or retirement.

“Shen Vice Minister, I’ve read your memorial too,” Gao Qi said without hesitation, as soon as the Emperor finished reviewing it. “Officials and craftsmen are different. Officials are appointed by the court to serve in the workshops. What is shareholding? Shareholding is a rating system for craftsmen, a measure of their skill. What skill do officials possess? Why should they have shareholding?”

The former master’s discarded disciple was now battling his top student. Hadn’t Zhu Yijun labored for years precisely to watch the great Ming officials quarrel?

Zhu Yijun longed to jump into the fray himself, to fan the flames—don’t just argue, better yet, fight! Only then would it be truly lively!

Shen Shixing immediately replied: “Shao Zongbo, you’re mistaken. The craftsmen are co-owners of the workshops—how can officials possibly restrain them? The shareholding I propose is positional shareholding, not personal ownership.”

Shen Shixing’s expression was grim; he believed Gao Qi was merely exploiting imperial favor to provoke him, not genuinely advancing policy.

How could officials manage the very owners of the workshops? Shen Shixing thought Gao Qi was simply acting out of spite—utterly irrational.

For some time now, Gao Qi had been constantly harassing Shen Shixing; Shen, ever patient, had always yielded—like Lin Xiangru avoiding Lian Po—because sometimes retreat serves the greater good.

But after yielding for a while, Gao Qi escalated further, extending his hand even into the Ministry of Personnel—then Shen Shixing could yield no more.

“If it’s positional shareholding, then it’s even less justified,” Gao Qi said firmly. “Shen Vice Minister, don’t these workshop officials get promoted after completing their evaluation periods—even to positions like Da Shi or Physician in the Ministry of Works?”

Shen Shixing frowned slightly before replying: “Workshop officials do indeed get promoted to the Ministry of Works. Of the fifty-one new workshops being built by the Ministry of Works, many officials were promoted from the capital workshops to help establish these new ones.”

Gao Qi held his hands calmly and said: “Then it’s clear—master craftsmen will never be promoted to the Ministry of Works; at best, they’re transferred between workshops as Chief Engineers, spending their entire lives within the workshops.”

“When these officials are promoted, the junior clerks who replace them will hand over the silver from their shareholding to these senior officials.”

“Shen Vice Minister, we’re all officials—no need for pretense. Power works this way: if you desire something, even in dreams, you can obtain it—without even speaking, others will offer it willingly.”

“Once promoted from the workshops to the Ministry of Works, can you still allow these officials to keep the silver from their positional shares? Over time, even the workshop’s shareholding silver will be stolen.”

“The shareholding system exists to make craftsmen feel the workshop is their home. Officials clearly cannot achieve this—and it invites trouble. So they shouldn’t have it.”

Gao Qi’s words were blunt, yet he had been remarkably courteous; all were officials, and the situation he described was inevitable—so the door must be shut from the start.

Any organization cannot exist without administration; an office without administration becomes a place like the Hanlin Academy—where people devour each other without leaving a trace.

But if administrative power within an organization becomes too great, the organization immediately becomes rigid—not just the court, not just the workshops, but civilian guilds too: one wave of bureaucratic paperwork and mountainous meetings can exhaust everyone.

Craftsmen holding shareholding inherently balances the power of the officials; if officials are granted even positional shareholding, that balance between craftsmen and officials collapses.

“You speak very reasonably,” Shen Shixing first agreed with Gao Qi. He knew full well what Ming officials were like—these vermin did only two things: form cliques and collude to disrupt governance; arbitrarily alter laws and subvert established statutes.

Take arbitrary alteration of laws: the Great Ming Code was explicit, its regulations detailed, even with textual interpretations—but when it reached local magistrates, they judged as they pleased: “You, this troublesome commoner, dare to sue an official and expect to win?”

The same applied in the workshops: the official workshop regulations clearly forbade such conduct, yet these officials ignored them daily, finding excuses to harass craftsmen—today this, tomorrow that; when superiors arrived, they halted production entirely—yet these superiors were merely ninth-rank Da Shi from the Ministry of Works, come merely to inspect warehouse materials.

Every day they busied themselves with welcoming inspections—but never once did an inspection ever actually occur.

All this chaos stemmed purely from officials abusing their authority, deliberately creating trouble to show off power—and often, the lower the rank, the more rigid the rules and the more trivial the tasks.

Shen Shixing had served as an official for years; he knew these vices of officials all too well.

“But Shao Zongbo, if you do this, how will officials possibly manage the craftsmen?” Shen Shixing frowned deeply.

“Shen Vice Minister, they are officials, wielding power, backed by the court. The craftsmen are commoners—how could they possibly fail to control them?” Gao Qi shook his head. “Shen Vice Minister, officials must be restrained by the Law of Officials; craftsmen must be restrained by the Workshop Regulations.”

Gao Qi’s words were simple: officials were the ruling class appointed by the court; craftsmen were the ruled producing class. Even without shareholding, these officials naturally dominated the craftsmen.

Zhu Yijun smiled slightly; their acting was poor—far worse than Feng Bao’s. They simply had things they couldn’t say outright, so they used this quarrel to voice them.

Neither supported granting shareholding to officials.

“I understand now,” Zhu Yijun said. “Ever since the Shao Zongbo submitted his memorial, I didn’t understand why shareholding was the key, even the foundation, of workshop reform—but now I do.”

Zhu Yijun turned to Ling Yunyi and continued: “Ling Cifu, when craftsmen had grievances in the past, didn’t they always go to Wang Ci?”

Ling Yunyi stepped forward and bowed: “Sometimes craftsmen would bring their complaints to Wang Jian, since Wang Jian was the nephew of Wen Cheng Gong. But later, Wang Jian changed—he no longer listened, and after Wen Cheng Gong passed away, craftsmen could only voice their grievances to Your Majesty when you visited the workshops.”

The excessive favoritism in Wang Chonggu’s management of the workshops had fully erupted after his departure; the channel for craftsmen to voice complaints had been completely severed—this was precisely why Ling Yunyi, upon taking over, launched sweeping reforms: because the craftsmen had nowhere to turn.

Moreover, craftsmen in the capital workshops could still rely on master craftsmen to speak to Wang Chonggu—but what about craftsmen in workshops beyond the capital? Who could they turn to?

In the past, workshops were small; now, fifty-one were under construction, and the Ministry of Works directly oversaw over seventy workshops. This excessive favoritism had become a barrier to expansion.

“What good is it if craftsmen can only complain to me?” Zhu Yijun said with deep emotion. “I sit in the inner palace; how many times a year can I visit the workshops? How many craftsmen can even speak to me? When I arrive, they only say good things—afraid that speaking ill will bring them trouble. Only major injustices are brought to my attention.”

“As the Shao Zongbo proposes—the reform shall be carried out by the Ministry of Personnel.”

Gao Qi charged forward, backed by Ling Yunyi’s stance—the continuation of workshop reform.

“Your servant obeys.” Shen Shixing, seeing the Emperor’s decision, bowed without hesitation. Gao Qi’s proposal might be good, but the credit would go to the Ministry of Personnel—to him, Shen Shixing. The blame, however, would fall squarely on Gao Qi.

Shen Shixing had lost, but not by much. As a disciple of the Grand Secretary, the Emperor’s fellow disciple, in this hundred-step race, Shen Shixing had started at ninety-nine steps; Gao Qi had started at minus two hundred—expelled from his master’s school, unrepentant, disrespectful to imperial authority.

So Zhu Yijun said they were acting: Gao Qi sought imperial favor; Shen Shixing sought credit.

“Your Majesty is wise.” Gao Qi, having won, did not gloat—he bowed and returned to his place.

“Ling Cifu, will the next workshop reform be the establishment of the Craftsmen Alliance?” Zhu Yijun asked Ling Yunyi. “Wen Cheng Gong spent years trying, five times over, and failed. This time, once the Craftsmen Alliance is formed, every assembly’s proceedings shall be sent directly to me.”

“Your servant obeys.” Ling Yunyi bowed. After returning to the capital, he finally understood why court politics remained so stable: with the Emperor as the anchor, no lowly scholar could stir up waves.

Perhaps the Emperor had long understood why the Craftsmen Alliance had repeatedly failed: Wang Chonggu’s excessive favoritism. But as long as Wang Chonggu lived, the problem could not be solved.

The Emperor even had a clear plan for workshop reform.

Zhu Yijun glanced at Wang Jiaoping; since returning to the capital, Wang Jiaoping had grown quiet, his performance mediocre. It was no wonder—his disciple Wu Weizhong had failed to rise, and Wang Jiaoping had been forced to hide in the Wenhua Palace.

“Your Majesty, the matter of Prince Lu’s departure to his fief.” Grand Secretary Shen Li stepped forward and submitted a memorial. The ceremony for Prince Lu’s departure was the most elaborate ever held for a prince: beyond the standard rites, it added sacrifices to Heaven and Earth, resembling a coronation.

“Your Majesty, I find this inappropriate,” said Wang Yie, Left Vice Minister of Revenue, stepping forward and bowing. “Your Majesty, I believe this ceremonial scale is an overreach.”

“Isn’t this fine? Where is the overreach?” Zhu Yijun asked, puzzled. “The silver for this departure comes from the Inner Treasury, not the state treasury. The Ministry of Revenue need not worry—I’ve reigned eighteen years and never drawn a single tael from the state coffers.”

Zhu Yijun thought Wang Yie was concerned about saving money—but this was all Inner Treasury silver, not state treasury silver.

Wang Yie said nothing, offered no reply, did not return to his place—he stood rigidly, his opposition unmistakable.

The Wenhua Palace fell silent; even Shen Li did not argue with Wang Yie—effectively, the Ministry of Rites conceded the ceremony was an overreach.

Zhang Juzheng, seeing no one speak, stepped forward and bowed: “Your Majesty, this is indeed an overreach.”

“I don’t understand,” Zhu Yijun said, even more confused—he decided to watch further.

Zhang Juzheng had always supported the Emperor’s spending, for he had suffered many backlashes over the Emperor’s frugality.

Zhang Juzheng took a deep breath and bowed again: “When Your Majesty ascended the throne, the state was in turmoil—we held a simple ceremony, no sacrifice to Heaven, no suburban rites. It was my fault.”

The backlash from the Emperor’s accession in Longqing Sixth Year, after nineteen years, had now struck Zhang Juzheng squarely between the eyes.

“Ah? Oh, this…” Zhu Yijun paused. No wonder Wang Yie had spoken up—he had long been at odds with Zhang Juzheng, being Xu Jie’s favorite disciple. No wonder no one else spoke; Wang Yie dared only to raise the issue.

Only the Emperor and the Grand Secretary himself could wield such a boomerang.

Zhu Yijun thought for a moment and said: "It's not Gao Gong's fault either. I recall that when I ascended, Gao Gong governed, and he used the late Emperor's authority to insist on everything being simple. Blame him—yes, blame him."

“Your servant is guilty. Thank Your Majesty for your gracious pardon,” Zhang Juzheng said, hesitating, then finally bowed in gratitude.

It wasn’t really Gao Gong’s fault: the suburban rites and Heaven sacrifices were extremely expensive—combined, they cost 200,000 taels. Zhang Juzheng had then ordered officials to perform substitute sacrifices at the Western Hills mausoleum, Heaven Altar, and Altar of Agriculture, saving 200,000 taels.

Frugality had always been Zhang Juzheng’s consistent principle.

Zhu Yijun thought again and said: “Actually, it’s not Gao Gong’s fault either. I remember—the late Emperor’s mausoleum cost 510,000 taels, still owing 110,000 taels, only settled in December of Wanli First Year. The state had no silver; the empire was too vast, and we couldn’t cover it—making the people laugh.”

“Back then, times were hard—we could only do our best. Now the state has silver—let’s make it grand.”

“Your servants obey.” Zhang Juzheng and the ministers bowed again.

The matter of overreach must be clarified by the Emperor himself.

The crime of overreach could be grave or trivial—if the Emperor himself did not clarify past precedent, the new ceremony must remain simple, for if the Emperor later held anyone accountable, none would escape—even though he had never punished anyone for ceremonial excesses.

Even in private audiences, the Emperor never required ministers to kneel.

The Emperor did not indulge in empty formalities, and no one dared challenge his dignity.

In many matters, the Emperor showed great tolerance and benevolence—but in others, when he acted, his ruthlessness surpassed even Ling Yunyi’s.

On the third day of the second month of Wanli Nineteen, Prince Lu rose early—awakening at the fourth watch. After breakfast, he bathed, changed clothes, tied his hair into an adult style, and donned the two-dragon-playing-with-pearl Yishan crown.

Today, he, Prince Lu, would depart for his fief!

The black gauze hat had two folded corners at the back, each adorned with a golden arc, decorated with jewels—the largest, centered, a brilliant diamond.

“Is this real gold?!” Zhu Yilu hefted the Yishan crown, astonished—his stingy elder brother had actually used real gold!

As a child, he had played with the Emperor’s Yishan crown—he never wore it, thinking his brother’s crown was like a harness for oxen and horses: whoever wore it would suffer like an animal.

Zhu Yilu was simply curious: was his brother’s Yishan crown truly made of gold?

In fact, even as a child, Zhu Yilu knew his brother’s crown was not solid gold—he had bitten it, and as he was losing teeth, it had chipped one of his own.

Thirteen years had passed.

Now, Zhu Yilu was crossing the Pacific to take his fief in Jinsan Guo (San Francisco, North America)—and the two dragons playing with the pearl on the Emperor’s gift crown were made of solid gold, with four-clawed dragons, identical in design to the Emperor’s own.

Recall: even their wedding attire had been fake—no one doubted their authenticity, given their status.

“Could the gold thread on this nine-chapter ceremonial robe also be real gold?” Zhu Yilu donned the crown and the nine-chapter robe, only to find it unusually heavy. The Emperor’s robe bore twelve chapters, a prince’s nine, Korea’s seven, Japan and Ceylon’s five.

The robe hierarchy was strict: Zhu Yilu’s robe lacked three chapters, yet was more expensive than the Emperor’s—because the Emperor’s gold thread was fake.

Zhu Yilu went to Tonghe Palace; before attending the departure ceremony at Huangji Palace, he must first visit Tonghe Palace to escort his mother, Empress Dowager Li, to the ceremony.

“Your servant greets Your Imperial Brother.” Zhu Yilu met the Emperor, dressed in his ceremonial robe, at the rear garden gate of Tonghe Palace.

“Since you agreed to depart, Mother has refused to see us—even skipping the monthly visits on the first and fifteenth. When you ask her to come out, don’t anger her. I heard from the eunuchs at Cining Palace that she stayed awake all night. Don’t speak harshly, understood?” Zhu Yijun stepped forward and gave careful instructions.

Gao Qi submitted two memorials: one urging continued struggle, the other urging cessation of struggle.

Choosing the path of cessation—on the foundation of Wanli’s reforms—was a sound strategy: consolidate imperial authority, maintain commodity and cost advantages, cease overseas expansion, and Zhu Yilu need not leave.

The blame for this decision falls upon the villain, Gao Qi.

But Zhu Yijun chose to persist with the body-share system, which eroded cost advantages; for overseas expansion, Prince Lu had to take up his fiefdom.

Everything has a price: Prince Lu’s relocation to Jinshan Country came at a cost to Zhu Yijun—Empress Dowager Li refused to see her son except once during the New Year, and that too was part of the price.

“Your Majesty need not worry; I am no longer a child,” Zhu Yilu bowed again, then entered the rear garden under Zhang Hong’s guidance, arriving at Cining Palace, where a pagoda stood before the gate.

Empress Dowager Li had stayed awake all night the previous day, praying for Zhu Yilu’s fiefdom within the pagoda.

“Mother,” Zhu Yilu entered Cining Palace and saw his mother, her face worn and pale.

“Liu’er, if you don’t want to go so far, tell me, and I’ll speak to the Emperor—he wouldn’t dare let us mother and son be torn apart?” Empress Dowager Li stared at Zhu Yilu for a long, long time before sighing.

Zhu Yilu straightened his posture, right hand held before him, left hand clasped behind his back, chest out and head high: “Mother, Jinshan Country is my own choice.”

"Your Majesty has told me more than once that within the Ten Princes' Palace, he could build me a grand Prince of Lu mansion—pretend I've taken my fiefdom, fill it with beauties from every land, and let me enjoy life forever."

“Mother, I don’t want to be a beast of burden, nor a pig—I want to be a man. If I had no choice, I’d accept it. But now I do—I want to be a man.”

"I don't want my whole life's sky to be limited to the four corners above the Prince of Lu mansion's high walls—to be a living corpse is worse than death."

“You’re becoming just like your brother. He was driven to this by state affairs—why are you?” As Empress Dowager Li spoke, tears streamed down her face; she wept half the night, unable to stop her grief—two ten thousand li of water lay between them; what difference did it make from death?

Zhu Yilu hesitated a moment, saddened by his mother’s weeping, but soon his expression turned solemn: “Because I grew up beside my brother, it’s natural I resemble him. Mother, don’t think him cruel—he bears the sun and moon on his shoulders; he… is exhausted, truly exhausted.”

“Others call him a wise and holy sovereign, an unparalleled ruler, but he is only five years older than me. In these nineteen years, I’ve watched him—this empire is simply too heavy, too heavy.”

“If I can share even a little of his burden, he won’t be so exhausted.”

Empress Dowager Li’s love was always partial—she always believed her eldest son’s hardships were his due. But Zhu Yilu knew his brother had endured unbearable suffering these nineteen years; his brother was a living man, and even he could break under the weight.

Zhu Yilu did not hide his purpose: the ancestral ban on princely interference left him powerless to aid his brother—avoiding harm was the best he could do. Though he often joked his brother was more tired than a mill donkey, he understood his brother’s suffering.

Zhu Yijun had never wronged Zhu Yilu; grown now, morally and emotionally, Zhu Yilu must shoulder some of the burden.

“Good, good! You two brothers are filial and harmonious, all devoted to the state and people! Only I, a petty woman, care only for the private interests of my two sons—I’m a villain! Is that enough?!”

“Jinshan Country is so far, the Great Ming can’t reach it—just die out there! When you rot, I won’t even know you’re dead!” Empress Dowager Li suddenly shouted in fury.

Zhu Yijun stood just outside the door; hearing her cry, he raised his foot to enter—but ultimately did not step inside.

“Mother!” Zhu Yilu did not retort, but softly called out, then smiled: “Mother, I won’t die out there. If I truly perish, His Majesty’s rage will make him kill every soul in the East Pacific before he’ll stop.”

“Who dares kill me? One Xu Chengchu has terrified every official in the realm into trembling. Mother, I am His Majesty’s own brother.”

“No one dares kill me. As long as the Great Ming endures, everyone out there will coddle me, terrified I might suffer even the slightest mishap.”

Zhu Yilu was not exaggerating: if he died without cause in Jinshan Country, every provincial governor in the East Pacific—even the barbarians—would be forced to die with him. He was the Emperor’s most beloved younger brother.

“Huh?” Empress Dowager Li wiped her tears and looked at Zhu Yilu: “I never thought of that. I am indeed a petty woman—I didn’t see this.”

Long secluded in the inner palace, Empress Dowager Li’s love was maternal, fearing her son would die unjustly abroad. She feared neither barbarian treachery—the Great Ming’s army would crush them all—nor foreign plots. She feared only that Zhu Yilu could not outwit the Great Ming men in Jinshan Country, each one cunning as a fox, with more schemes than intestines.

Having been a princess, an imperial consort, and now an empress dowager for so many years, Empress Dowager Li knew well: the strongest fortresses always fall from within.

But Zhu Yilu’s words erased all her fears: the cost of assassinating him would be facing the Emperor’s wrath—no one could bear it.

She had always pitied her younger son, forgetting her elder son, the Emperor, was no longer the trembling ten-year-old of his youth.

Zhu Yilu spoke with Empress Dowager Li for two quarters of an hour before bowing again and taking leave.

“Very well, go prepare. I’ll tidy up and come to see you off on your fiefdom,” Empress Dowager Li wiped her tears, assumed her imperial dignity, and gestured for Zhu Yilu to prepare for the investiture ceremony—she would join him soon.

If Empress Dowager Li refused to attend the investiture ceremony, the consequences would be severe—especially for the Emperor, who would be branded unfilial, left utterly vulnerable.

Even if Zhu Yilu had failed to dispel her doubts, she would still appear—her younger son was her son, but so was her elder.

By agreeing to the fiefdom, this mother’s love still favored her elder son—she sacrificed her younger son’s comfort, sending him ten thousand li away to ease her elder son’s most cherished state affairs.

“How was it? Will Mother attend the investiture ceremony?” Zhu Yijun asked immediately as Zhu Yilu emerged.

“Mother will come soon. She only fears I’ll die out there. Your Majesty—if I truly perish unjustly, what will you do?” Zhu Yilu was curious himself.

Zhu Yijun thought carefully, then spoke solemnly: "I will exterminate every Japanese pirate, drive them to the Xianbei steppes, and over ten years build a highway all the way to Moscow. Besides those in Jinshan Country who must die with you, I will make all of Taixi die with you!"

“The masters behind the East Pacific Governorates are the Spanish—they are too far. I can only march from Moscow all the way to Madrid.”

Zhu Yilu shuddered—his brother was far crueler than he imagined. Zhu Yilu was willing to call him the Ruthless Emperor!

“No, no!” he hurriedly said. “Then I’d better protect my own life! I mustn’t risk anything—marching all the way to Madrid would cost countless Great Ming lives. This war across ten thousand li is no small matter.”

“Hmm, suddenly I realize—I carry so many lives on my back. I must live well!”

“Liu’er, before you go, let me warn you one last time: if you face any danger, flee above all else.”

“As long as you live, if three thousand men aren’t enough, use six thousand; if six thousand aren’t enough, use thirty thousand. Above all, your life matters,” Zhu Yijun adjusted Zhu Yilu’s robes and whispered: “General Qi taught you how to win and divide spoils, how to lose and cover retreats.”

“All I can teach you is how to run. Never be reckless. You stand behind the Great Ming—you can start over ten thousand times.”

“I understand,” Zhu Yilu said firmly. Struggle as he might, one’s life is only given once.

"Shall I, as before, arrange a fake body for you? Let you live in luxury within the Prince of Lu mansion?" Zhu Yijun suddenly asked.

“Your Majesty, how can state affairs be treated as a game? I’ve been reckless enough—don’t you be reckless too!” Zhu Yilu waved his hands immediately. Sometimes, his steady brother was even more reckless than he was!

To deceive heaven and earth with a fake fiefdom—only His Majesty could think of such a thing!