Chapter 995

Fu Zuozhou was spared, and upon this news, the once-terrified officialdom settled back into calm.

Before Fu Zuozhou's release, everyone had wondered: what did Zhang Juzheng truly intend—did he want officials to carry on their duties, or to uphold moral purity and integrity?

In an era where a single memorial from Yunnan took half a year to reach the capital, and troop deployments to Sichuan or Yunnan required at least half a year, even a year, local officials sometimes had no choice but to follow unwritten rules—even to be the ones who created them.

Fu Zuozhou’s release answered the question: Zhang Taiyue still wanted capable, loyal officials; only those who were greedily insatiable, like Wang Zhuan, would be punished.

Once uncertainty was resolved, everyone knew exactly what to do.

The official world feared most not knowing what the top intended—thus, discerning the sovereign’s will was the very foundation of governance; once the top’s specific intent was clear, obedience was all that remained.

If excessive greed was forbidden, then take less; for officials, power was the root of all things—even without silver or land, as long as they held power, silver and land would come.

When it became known that His Majesty had saved Fu Zuozhou from Zhang Taiyue, the hundred court officials once again hailed His Majesty as wise—during Zhang Taiyue’s fits of rage, at least one man could still restrain him.

But soon, a chilling question arose deep within the officials: when Zhang Taiyue dies, if His Majesty goes mad, who will stop him? Qi Jiguang? Qi Jiguang would only join His Majesty in madness! Shen Shixing? Shen Shixing would only nod and agree—he dared not object!

Wanli twentieth year was another imperial examination year; preparations for the metropolitan examination had already begun in January, and spring was when Beijing’s smog was most severe—first-time candidates arriving in the capital instinctively donned masks as they gazed upon the smog’s lurid purple haze.

Rumors spread in Beijing’s alleys that His Majesty intended to reside permanently in Songjiang Prefecture, visiting every year for several months to half a year; this rumor indeed seemed true—for a man of His Majesty’s stature, naturally, he must avoid Beijing’s smog.

After all, air is not lychee; lychee could be transported via a special lychee road to reach the palace, allowing the nobles to taste fresh fruit—but how could air be specially supplied?

On the nineteenth day of the first month, good news came from the palace: the Empress gave birth to the Ninth Imperial Prince, Zhu Changze; Consort Gu gave birth to the Tenth Imperial Prince, Zhu Changcong; naturally, the usual “All Things Auspicious” boxes were distributed, and the two princes were treated as one—inevitably, people muttered that His Majesty remained as stingy as ever, yet to the officials’ lips, it became praise for His Majesty’s frugality, a chorus of flattery.

The Empress’s legitimate sons were the First Prince Zhu Changzhi, the Fourth Prince Zhu Changhong, the Sixth Prince Zhu Changhe, and the Ninth Prince Zhu Changze—four in total; the people debated that the next emperor must come from among these four, and the public favored the newborn Ninth Prince Zhu Changze.

The reason was simple: age.

His Majesty is thirty this year; given his vigor and his obsession with preserving his life, living to seventy like the Taizu Emperor is hardly in doubt—so would Zhu Changzhi, the Crown Prince, be prince for forty years? Could there ever be a crown prince who reigned for forty years?

The longer a crown prince sits, the more the emperor and crown prince will come to despise each other; the Fourth and Sixth Princes will inevitably stir ambitions; ultimately, in their struggle for the throne, the Crown Prince, Fourth Prince, and Sixth Prince will destroy each other—and the Ninth Prince will simply pick up the pieces.

The Ninth Prince’s age is just right—not too young, not too old.

Sons born to concubines are not without chance, but the odds are slim; even if the emperor favors them, the old scholars who treat ancestral law as divine decree will never consent—they will fight to the death to block them, for ancestral law is the only thing that can restrain imperial power.

“Father, I’ve heard people say the Ninth Prince will surely ascend the throne.” Zhu Changzhi was already ten, beginning to sit in on state affairs beside his father, just as the Prince of Lu had done at ten—His Majesty would not allow a useless fool with no experience in governance to sit upon the throne.

Feng Bao, hearing this, snapped his head up—this clearly came from palace maids and eunuchs gossiping, and the Crown Prince had overheard! Feng Bao had already decided: since these tongue-waggers didn’t know their purpose, he’d pull out their tongues!

The eunuchs and maids serving the Empress Dowager, His Majesty, and the Empress dared not utter a single word of nonsense!

But those serving the young princes often thought children were too young for such words to matter.

“Who told you this?” Zhu Yijun paused his brush, curious.

Zhu Changzhi replied calmly: “The lecture scholars whisper among themselves—I heard it from their servants. Father, I myself am not troubled, but these lecture scholars show too little respect for you.”

“The lecture scholars eat the emperor’s salary yet fail to serve him faithfully; what you order them to teach, they refuse; what you forbid, they cram into me. Father, you’ve read the Four Books and Five Classics, you know history’s rise and fall—your own study notes from when you studied, you won’t let me see, yet insist I listen to their lectures.”

Zhu Changzhi had come today with one purpose: to lodge a complaint. After dropping a shocking topic, he pivoted sharply to the lecture scholars’ disrespect.

Future matters are uncertain—who has the fate will sit on the dragon throne; who doesn’t, won’t—but these gossipers must be dealt with.

Feng Bao sighed in relief—it wasn’t the palace that had gone wrong, but these lecture scholars who couldn’t control their tongues!

Feng Bao reflected carefully: he himself had risen from a lowly palace eunuch; with His Majesty’s authority growing daily, which eunuch or maid would dare gossip like this? Did they want to be boiled alive?

Feng Bao quickly replaced the Crown Prince’s cup with fresh hot water—the previous one had grown cold.

Zhu Changzhi’s motive for complaining was simple: the lecture scholars’ teachings didn’t match the reality he witnessed. Having long sat in the Wenhua Hall listening to governance, he knew the ministers had fine manners—but when they argued, they were ferocious, nothing like the refined, gentle image they portrayed.

A gap had opened between theory and practice; Zhu Changzhi naturally grew confused, and confusion demanded answers—he wanted to read his father’s old study notes to resolve his doubts, but the lecture scholars refused; Zhu Changzhi immediately understood: these scholars had their own agendas.

His father was a restless man—he planned southern tours and intended to reside in Songjiang Prefecture; as Crown Prince, Zhu Changzhi naturally felt pressure.

“It’s not that I won’t let you see them—they don’t exist,” Zhu Yijun told Feng Bao to fetch his own handwritten notes from the bookshelf and handed them to Zhu Changzhi, smiling: “No need to replace the lecture scholars—they teach nothing wrong, but it may not be useful.”

Some truths the lecture scholars dared not speak—they’d rather do nothing than do wrong—that was why Zhu Changzhi felt uneasy.

Teaching the Crown Prince was never easy—even if the lecture scholars knew, they dared not answer.

Could they tell the Crown Prince: the meat-eaters, from birth, have every vein filled with blood made filthy by exploitation?

How could the lecture scholars dare say that?

Village elders, powerful clans, high officials, the Crown Prince, the emperor—all are meat-eaters.

Since the truth cannot be spoken, only vague, empty moralities remain; it’s no wonder Zhu Changzhi grew weary.

“Zhi’er, if the Ninth Prince truly outlasts them all, what will you do?” Zhu Yijun was curious how Zhu Changzhi, at this age, viewed the struggle for the throne—this answer was merely idle talk, not a forecast of his future thoughts.

“Let him take it!” Zhu Changzhi replied after serious thought, as if it were obvious.

This matter-of-fact tone made Zhu Yijun frown. “Why?”

Zhu Changzhi had been about to answer, but his eyes darted—he knew speaking plainly would earn him a beating. After glancing around the imperial study, he said: “Father has already tested me today. I take my leave.”

Zhu Changzhi knew his father’s terrifying nature—he turned to flee, but Zhu Yijun reached out, seized the back of his robe, and yanked him close!

Zhu Yijun growled: “Zhu Changzhi! Your uncle mocked your father as a mill donkey—now he’s in the mill too! Don’t laugh at me—you won’t escape either!”

“You little brat! Grown wings and dare mock your father?”

Zhu Yijun had known Zhu Changzhi’s thoughts the moment his eyes darted—he was up to no good!

“I’ll go see my ninth brother!” Zhu Changzhi broke free and vanished in a flash, leaving only his echoing voice.

The throne was certainly desirable—even at ten, Zhu Changzhi knew his current comforts came from his emperor father—but he also knew this emperor’s position was not easy to hold; a foolish ruler suffered humiliation, a wise one endured unbearable exhaustion.

Under his father’s example and instruction, Zhu Changzhi had developed a sincere aversion to becoming a foolish ruler.

“Little brat,” Zhu Yijun smiled, watching Zhu Changzhi flee—he hadn’t even used real strength; otherwise, how could Zhu Changzhi have escaped so easily?

Once Zhu Changzhi was far away, Zhu Yijun ordered Feng Bao to bring the memorials and resumed state affairs.

The chief and assistant examiners for the metropolitan examination in February had been confirmed; the examination questions had been submitted for His Majesty’s review—he could choose one to seal, or draft his own; the same applied to the mathematics papers—the Academy of Natural Philosophy had prepared nine sets, and His Majesty could select one.

The Commander of Sichuan, Liu Ding, returned from the Dongyu front to Sichuan for rest and reorganization, while simultaneously threatening Yang Yinglong of Bozhou—Yang Yinglong had best not bring ruin upon himself, or Liu the Great Knife would surely sever his head.

Guangxi saw new developments this year: border passes were closed, forbidding Annamese from entering Ming territory for labor.

Last year, some Annamese came to cut sugarcane, then refused to leave, hiding secretly in deep forests and mountains, causing major trouble for local yamens; this year, after the border closure, these men were captured, their ear-rings removed, and conscripted as laborers.

To the surprise of Guangxi’s Commander, Qi Jimei, many Annamese preferred having their ear-rings removed to staying in Annam—Annam’s situation was dire, with four clans locked in chaotic warfare.

The Governor-General of Guangdong and Guangxi, Liu Jiwen, reported that imported grain from Annam continued to increase.

Zhu Yijun carefully questioned further, then approved the memorials with vermilion and dispatched them to the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue.

Annam was now in chaos: four clans exploited grain and slave labor while warring against each other; war and grain exports were dragging Annam toward the abyss.

Grain was life; in an era still rooted in small-scale peasant agriculture, Annam’s grain exports were unraveling its social order.

Since Zhang Juzheng introduced the concept of imported grain in Wanli sixth year, Annam’s situation had steadily deteriorated; last year, Annam sent envoys to Ming begging His Majesty to halt the grain trade—but His Majesty refused, even denying them audience.

As the Prince of Lu had said, the Ming emperor was indeed cold and heartless.

The area planted with cinchona trees in Java's Gold Chicken City continued to expand; cinchona bark production, though still insufficient to supply all Ming benevolent medicine bureaus, was no longer as scarce as in previous years.

The cinchona tree had become Java’s plant gold, for it truly cured malaria—and the South Seas were rife with the disease.

“Huh?” Zhu Yijun picked up a memorial, puzzled.

The Minister of Agriculture, Xu Zhenming, had acquired from the Western Seas a small chrysanthemum—this flower, whether a chrysanthemum had strayed or an Artemisia had betrayed its kind, bore traits of both; after widespread cultivation, Xu Zhenming discovered its remarkable use.

This small chrysanthemum was peculiar: throughout its entire growth cycle, it required no pest control. Originally grown by Xu Zhenming as an ornamental, he soon realized its true value: insect repellent.

Harvest the entire plant, dry it, soak it in strong liquor, heat, dry, and repeat this process three times to obtain an extract; then, under high temperature and pressure, distill it into a resin resembling pine branches—chrysanthemum oil.

Crush the chrysanthemum oil, mix it with agarwood, sandalwood, and other incense ingredients, and form it into stick or coil incense—one stick could keep mosquitoes away all night.

“How did they think of using a pressure cooker?” Zhu Yijun asked curiously.

Feng Bao thought a moment: “They tried everything.”

Alcohol, green vitriol oil, light oil, low temperature, high temperature—all were tested one by one; one step might suddenly work, and slowly, they discovered it.

“Your Majesty, the insect-repelling chrysanthemum doesn’t care about soil,” Feng Bao added after further thought. “It grows anywhere—doesn’t even need water—like wildflowers across the hills.”

The emperor’s love of seeds had become known worldwide since Antonio became King of Portugal.

Previously, only Antonio had received His Majesty’s war loans and the right to purchase Ming warships, and Antonio never hesitated to share his story.

Through word of mouth, distortion, and rumor, it had transformed into the belief: sacrificing seeds to the Ming emperor grants divine favor—gradually evolving into a religious cult.

The Academy of Agriculture and the Baqi Bureau’s Minister of Agriculture, Xu Zhenming, as His Majesty’s teacher in agronomy, held immense power—he wanted to grow everything; the chrysanthemum was discovered this way.

Its indifference to soil was why Xu Zhenming decided to invest heavily; once cultivated successfully, it would become an economic crop for farmers, like Artemisia.

“How much does this sell for?” Zhu Yijun held up one stick, asking—it lasted only one night.

“One tael of silver,” Feng Bao replied cautiously.

“One stick?”

“One stick.”

Zhu Yijun stared blankly: “Xu Zhenming—why doesn’t he just rob? One tael per stick! Even temple monks dare not charge so much for incense!”

One tael of silver could buy thirty to fifty catties of rice; Xu Zhenming priced a mosquito-repelling incense stick at one tael—who would spend so much?

According to Xu Zhenming’s memorial, this chrysanthemum grew anywhere, indistinguishable from wild grass in the hills—he dared charge so much?

“Incense won’t summon Buddha’s protection, but this incense summons the Minister of Agriculture’s protection—no mosquito bites,” Feng Bao thought a moment, then defended Xu Zhenming.

Burning incense in temples still left you bitten by mosquitoes—Buddha doesn’t care; the Minister of Agriculture does.

“Will it sell?” Zhu Yijun frowned—he wouldn’t spend his own silver on it.

Feng Bao whispered, “Supply cannot meet demand; the Dissection Institute has studied this clearly—many plagues spread through mosquito bites. This incense, at times, is a matter of life and death.”

It is expensive because people value their lives. Poor laborers cannot afford these, but local gentry and scholar-officials always buy some in reserve; when plague strikes, they can save their lives.

“Your Majesty, half the profits from sales at the imperial estates go to the Inner Treasury, two-tenths to the Baqi Bureau, and three-tenths to the farmers.” Feng Bao paused, then explained the profit split—nearly identical to that of official factories—since the mosquito-repelling chrysanthemums are all grown on imperial farmsteads.

“That’s indeed not expensive.” Zhu Yijun, hearing it was for saving lives, immediately deemed it worth the price; upon learning half the profits went to the Inner Treasury, he no longer cared about the cost.

Imperial estates stretch across every prefecture and county of Great Ming; maintaining these estates and their imperial garrisons requires silver. The goods from imperial estates are expensive—so expensive, yet still bought—because of the Emperor’s reputation.

They are all genuine, high-quality goods.

“There are truly many wealthy people in Great Ming.” Zhu Yijun marveled that something so expensive could still sell out.

Feng Bao nodded repeatedly: “Indeed, so many that we couldn’t kill them all.”

Seventeen years ago, Your Majesty toured the south and executed 622 powerful southern official families; that region is now prosperous again.

“Don’t speak nonsense—don’t be so bloodthirsty!” Zhu Yijun feigned a stern reprimand. The deaths in the Selection Case occurred because they flouted state law, not for the sake of seizing their silver.

Gao Qi was the chief examiner for the imperial examination of the twentieth year of Wanli; this was the Cabinet’s opinion, proposed by the Deputy Grand Secretary and endorsed by the Grand Secretary Zhang Juzheng. Gao Qi presided over this metropolitan examination and later gained his own disciples.

Originally, Gao Qi was unfit to be chief examiner—he was a third-rank Jinshi, and presiding over the provincial examination was already his limit.

He never entered the Hanlin Academy—who would entrust him with the metropolitan examination?

But Ling Yunyi proposed it, and no one in the Cabinet opposed it. The Hanlin Academy had weakened; even the Hanlin Academy was under Gao Qi’s control, so the Hanlin Academicians naturally had no grounds to object.

At this moment, Gao Qi held a letter in his hand, caught in a dilemma—the letter had been sent by Ling Yunyi’s household, requesting he show favor to his nephew’s grandson.

Ling Yunyi said his nephew’s grandson had been unruly since childhood, somewhat dull, and overly rigid from studying too much without worldly experience. Ling Yunyi himself had only returned to the capital last year and had few old connections there, so he entrusted Gao Qi to look after him—after reading the letter, just burn it.

Upon receiving the letter, Gao Qi immediately felt deep suspicion.

First doubt: Was this nephew’s grandson truly just a nephew’s grandson? Would a mere nephew’s grandson warrant such a letter from Ling Yunyi? If it were actually his grandson, everything would immediately make sense.

Second doubt: What exactly did Ling Yunyi want Gao Qi to do? His nephew’s grandson was taking the metropolitan examination this year—was “favor” meant to mean taking him as a disciple for careful instruction, or turning a blind eye to his cheating?

Third doubt: Should he burn the letter at all? If he truly turned a blind eye and the examination fraud was exposed, burning the letter meant he alone would bear all the blame.

Gao Qi sat motionless in his study, under the glow of the lime lamp, staring fixedly at the letter—gradually, the three doubts vanished.

It must be his grandson, not his nephew’s grandson; calling him a nephew’s grandson was merely to avoid suspicion and prevent gossip.

Second: He must help—and very likely through cheating, not by taking him as a disciple. Taking him as a disciple wouldn’t require such a heavy favor; without Ling Yunyi’s nomination, Gao Qi would never have secured this chief examiner post.

Third: He must burn it. If disaster struck, he alone would bear it. Keeping the letter served no purpose—after the scandal broke, the letter would no longer be Ling Yunyi’s; whether the handwriting or the seal, the outcome would inevitably be declared fake.

Ling Yunyi’s methods were ruthlessly precise—he would never leave such obvious evidence.

The court, for the sake of appearances, would declare even genuine handwriting fake.

Gao Qi stared at the letter before him, torn in anguish. He was confused: the imperial examination was a matter of national importance, selecting talent for the state—how could such private favoritism be allowed? If His Majesty found out, he didn’t know what would become of Ling Yunyi, but he himself would surely die.

But if he refused to help, he himself would have no future—and he’d face persecution from the Deputy Grand Secretary.

Gao Qi brought in a brazier and tossed the letter into it, yet his hand hesitated over the fire-starter. After resolving the three doubts, a new confusion rose within him—this letter felt strange.

Not because the letter itself was flawed, but because the timing was wrong.

No matter the reason, if Ling Yunyi had decided to risk universal condemnation by interfering in the examination results, this letter should not have been delivered after the chief examiner was appointed—it should have come before, so that if Gao Qi refused, Ling Yunyi could simply recommend someone else.

In the end, Gao Qi did not burn the letter. After sitting in silence for a long while, his eyes turned cold. This was a death trap.

He was a ruthless man. If someone wanted him dead, then no one else would live. He had already devised a complete plan—to drag everyone down with him.

He decided to grant the favor. After the examination results were announced, he would hand the letter to Xu Chengchu, instructing Xu to impeach him. He had already written a final confession and petition; when Xu impeached him, he would send the confession directly to the throne, then hang himself—just as Zhu Wan had done.

Gao Qi didn’t know Ling Yunyi well, but he was disappointed. They were both veterans of the eastern campaign. Without Ling Yunyi commanding all in Korea, Great Ming’s consolidation of Korea and pressure on Japan would not have proceeded so smoothly.

His Majesty summoned Ling Yunyi back to court and entrusted him with great responsibility—and yet Ling Yunyi was this kind of man!

Gao Qi understood His Majesty well. After his suicide, His Majesty would never quietly endure it as Emperor Jiajing had after Zhu Wan’s death.

Whoever dared to oppose Gao Qi would surely die. Mutual destruction was Gao Qi’s only choice now.

Gao Qi sealed the letter and carried it close to his body as he went to the Examination Hall to preside over the metropolitan examination. As he walked, he still felt something was off. The carriage stopped before the Examination Hall, but he did not get out.

“To Tonghemen.” Gao Qi, having reached the Examination Hall, ordered the carriage to turn around and head toward Tonghemen.

It wasn’t that he feared death—he simply found it odd. Interference by high officials in the examination was not unusual, but to do so so brazenly was recklessly bold.

In short, the method was far too crude.

When in doubt, consult His Majesty. Gao Qi enjoyed His Majesty’s favor.

“Your servant bows before Your Majesty. May Your Majesty’s health be well.” Gao Qi paid his respects and presented Ling Yunyi’s letter to the throne, leaving the decision to His Majesty. If His Majesty approved, he would act; if not, he would not. A loyal minister must act as a loyal minister should.

Zhu Yijun finished reading the letter and asked: “What do you think?”

“Your Majesty, if Deputy Grand Secretary Ling truly had such an obsession with power, he would never ruin his own reputation. The entire affair is highly suspicious.” Gao Qi still believed Ling Yunyi had some desperate reason.

But was there anyone in Great Ming so powerful that they could force a Deputy Grand Secretary into desperation?

“Before coming to Tonghemen, you had already reached the Examination Hall. What did you originally intend to do?” Zhu Yijun asked curiously.

“To hang myself—following Zhu Wan’s example.” Gao Qi answered bluntly. Death was acceptable, but his integrity must remain untarnished.

Zhu Yijun was startled and waved his hands urgently: “Deputy Minister, you must not hang yourself! I’ve just lost Wang Zhuan, a virtuous official—I cannot afford to lose you too.”

“Deputy Minister, where did this letter come from? Did Deputy Grand Secretary Ling hand it to you personally?” Zhu Yijun asked, frowning.

Gao Qi shook his head: “No. I found it at home while reviewing my visitor’s list, but the gatekeeper said it was delivered by Ling’s gatekeeper.”

“Then don’t concern yourself. Go preside over the examination. I’ll dispatch Embroidered Uniform Guards to investigate.” Zhu Yijun signaled for Gao Qi to focus on the examination—he would handle the rest.

Zhu Yijun still looked uneasy: “Deputy Minister, if you ever face hardship in the future, don’t think of hanging yourself. Mutual destruction—my door isn’t so far from you. Come to me whenever you have trouble.”

“Your servant thanks Your Majesty for this great grace.” Gao Qi bowed again and left Tonghemen. Since His Majesty had taken charge of the matter, he would now focus solely on presiding over the examination.

At the examination hall, Gao Qi could not locate the Ling candidate. He knew little of what had transpired outside the Examination Hall.

On the day the results were posted, Gao Qi emerged from the Examination Hall without hesitation and went straight to the Ministry of Personnel to find Shen Shixing and learn the progress of events.

“You recently impeached me and made me look like a fool—and now you come back? Questions, questions, questions! I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not named Shen! Go, go, go!” Shen Shixing, seeing Gao Qi, flew into a rage and waved him off.

“Brother, that’s rather petty, isn’t it?” Gao Qi’s sarcastic remark left Shen Shixing flushed with fury.

Shen Shixing, seeing Gao Qi cling like a plaster, had no choice but to invite him in and recount the entire story from beginning to end.

Shen Shixing shook his head: “Deputy Grand Secretary Ling has a violent temper and a terrible reputation. When he was sent to Korea, everyone assumed he’d been exiled. The main branch of the Tai Cang Ling clan even expelled him from the family genealogy.”

“Who knew that last year, Deputy Grand Secretary Ling returned to the capital as Deputy Grand Secretary? The winds shifted—and the Tai Cang Ling clan, fickle as ever, immediately began fawning.”

“Deputy Grand Secretary Ling’s temper is fierce—he naturally ignored them.”

“The head of the Ling family has an unworthy grandson who bought his juren degree in Suzhou. Now he’s set his sights on the metropolitan examination. When word spread in court, Deputy Grand Secretary Ling recommended you as chief examiner. The Lings had previously bribed the gatekeeper to forge that letter.”

“The letter is fake. Deputy Grand Secretary Ling is seventy-three this year—he can no longer hold a brush steadily. Since returning to the capital last year, all his memorials have been written by Secretaries of the Secretariat.”

“How audacious! Don’t they fear exposure?!” Gao Qi erupted in fury.

Shen Shixing shook his head: “When you received the letter, didn’t you dare verify its authenticity with Deputy Grand Secretary Ling? As long as you didn’t verify it—and even out of gratitude for his patronage, if you went along with it—the matter would be settled.”

“How could one verify such a thing…” Gao Qi instantly understood why these men dared such boldness—they were betting he wouldn’t dare confirm it. And he hadn’t.

“Deputy Grand Secretary Ling is old—he can no longer control his subordinates,” Shen Shixing sighed.