Chapter 18: Our Loins and Back — There Seems to Be Some Pain in the Back

"Your Grace, His Majesty summons you."

Zhang Weixian nodded and rose, following behind Ma Wenke in silence.

He was fifty-seven this year, and as ill luck would have it, an autumn rain had fallen again the night before.

Every step he took, he felt his knees and his lower back protesting in silence.

Yet his frame remained ramrod-straight — a habit forged over many years of performing the suburban sacrifices in the Son of Heaven's stead.

As a veteran of three reigns and an entrusted guardian minister, he ought to have been the firmest pillar of the new court, but in his heart there was only a bank of fog.

Wei Zhongxian had fallen far too fast — fast as a dream-vision.

The eunuch faction's roots ran deep and tangled; how would the new sovereign set about the task?

Was this summons merely a routine formality, or was a weighty charge about to be laid upon him?

Even as he pondered, the corner of his eye caught several figures hurrying around a bend ahead and entering a side hall.

The two men in the lead, he recognized at a single glance.

One was the Eastern Depot's newly appointed Director, Wang Tiqian. The other…

Zhang Weixian's pupils abruptly contracted; his stride faltered a half-step before he could stop it.

Tian Ergeng!?

He was actually still alive?

Zhang Weixian's thoughts were still a tangled mess when Ma Wenke's voice rang out.

"Your Grace, please enter. His Majesty awaits you."

Zhang Weixian steadied himself, gave Ma Wenke a slight nod, and stooping, entered the great hall.

The light inside was bright; the autumn sun streamed through the enormous window-lattices and cast dappled shadows across the floor.

He was just about to raise his head and read the new sovereign's expression.

In the next instant, a pair of warm, dry hands, without the slightest warning, tightly clasped his own.

"Duke of Ying — at last, We have been waiting for you!"

A clear, fervent voice sounded beside his ear.

Zhang Weixian looked up, startled, and met a pair of startlingly bright eyes.

It was a youth of seventeen, robed in dragon robes, smiling warmly at him.

The sunlight fell upon him from behind just so, gilding his whole figure in a golden outline; that smile, that look in his eyes, was warmer still than the sun behind him, and more ardent.

In that moment, Zhang Weixian felt suddenly dazed.

"Your… Your Majesty…" Zhang Weixian was somewhat lost, and for a moment he had no idea how to respond.

As though he had not noticed the lapse, Zhu Youjian still held his hand with the same warm familiarity and guided him over to a low couch at one side.

"Please, Your Grace, sit. Your constitution is as robust as ever — it does Our heart great good to see it."

Zhang Weixian sat down in a daze, his hand still held by the new sovereign, feeling thoroughly ill at ease.

He heard Zhu Youjian sigh with emotion: "We still remember — the year We were enfeoffed Prince Xin, it was Your Grace who bore the tally in person, with the two Grand Secretaries following behind, bearing the patent. That scene is still vivid before Our eyes."

As he spoke, the young emperor's eyes reddened in an instant, and a catch crept into his voice:

"Who could have thought that in a mere handful of years, the imperial brother who bestowed that fief upon Us would mount the dragon and ascend as a guest on high, and those two Grand Secretaries who bore the patent for Us would be impeached and sent home to the countryside… Now, of all who met on that day, only Your Grace and We remain."

Before the words had fully faded, two clear tracks of tears slid down his cheeks.

He squeezed Zhang Weixian's hand heavily, as though pouring every last grievance into that grip.

Zhang Weixian's heart was utterly thrown into turmoil by these words, by this display of feeling.

He had come laden with misgivings and wariness, prepared to parry everything with the smoothest of diplomatic phrases.

Yet now, facing a young Son of Heaven who laid his feelings so bare, not one of those prepared lines would come out.

He steadied himself, and while trying to echo the sentiment, he carefully probed:

"Your Majesty, restrain your grief. His Late Majesty's spirit in Heaven, seeing a younger brother who is a Yao and a Shun, would surely be deeply comforted."

"Now that Your Majesty has ascended the throne and swept away the traitor Wei in barely half a day, when you recall the pure-stream worthies to court, a cleansed realm will surely be before your eyes."

At these words, Zhu Youjian released his hand, dabbed at his tears with his sleeve, and said, a little sheepishly: "You have seen Us at a disadvantage, Your Grace."

Zhang Weixian breathed a secret sigh of relief. At last he had steered the conversation back onto a proper track.

He waited for the new sovereign's reply — it would bear on the direction the court would take, and on the stance of his own house, the Duke of Ying's.

Yet Zhu Youjian only shook his head and said softly: "We wept not merely from old affections, but from something else… something that denies Us sleep and appetite."

Here it comes!

Alarm bells clanged in Zhang Weixian's mind, and in an instant he had donned that thick armor once more.

He had already made up his mind: whatever the emperor said next, he would fob it off by pleading age and failing health.

The noble houses share the realm's fortunes? That was for outsiders' ears.

After the Shizong Emperor passed away, the fate of the Duke of Ding's line stood as a warning close at hand — drawing too near the emperor had never been a good thing for the noble houses.

He watched as Zhu Youjian slowly rose, not looking at him, and walked over to the vast "Unified Map of the Great Ming" that hung in the center of the hall.

He reached out and gently traced the Ming domains, and only then slowly turned around, his gaze settling on Zhang Weixian with quiet gravity.

"Your Grace," his voice was not loud, yet in that cavernous hall it rang out with startling clarity.

"The Great Ming is about to perish!"

Zhang Weixian was stunned senseless by these earth-shattering words; his mouth hung slightly open, and he could scarcely believe his own ears.

Was this… was this something a newly enthroned emperor should say?

When his wits returned, a colossal dread seized him.

Without a second thought, he moved on pure instinct to slide from his seat and kneel in prostration, but he rose too abruptly, and a tearing agony shot through his old, chronically strained back.

"Your Majesty! Why speak such words!" He forced himself to endure the fierce pain, cold sweat streaming down his forehead, his voice distorted.

"The Jurchen may be powerful, but Liaodong has already seen three great victories — they are nothing to fear! The national strength may be weak, but with a sovereign as sagely as Your Majesty, a restoration is within reach!"

"Your Grace!" Zhu Youjian rushed forward at a quick stride, carefully helped him up, and then pressed him back down onto the stool.

His tone was full of concern and self-reproach. "The fault is mine — why would Your Grace perform such a grand rite! You are an elder statesman entrusted with the realm through three reigns, the very spine and gall of my court!"

Spine and gall?

Zhang Weixian heard those words and tried to force an assenting smile, but the searing pain in his back twisted his face so badly that for a moment he could not make a single sound.

Zhu Youjian steadied him on the stool but did not sit himself. He simply stood before him, his expression grave as it had never been before.

"When I was at the Prince Xin Residence, I spent my idle hours reading the histories."

"I discovered that every dynasty's final years share a few common features: officials grown corrupt, the common people destitute, natural disasters striking one after another, and foreign enemies pressing at the borders."

He finished, spread his hands helplessly, and gave a long sigh. "Your Grace, look around you — does that not describe the Great Ming of this very moment?"

"If we do not rouse ourselves, this dynasty — even if it does not perish in my hands — likely cannot hold out much longer."

Zhang Weixian fought through the pain and forced out a reply: "The decline of a nation's fortunes is not the chill of a single day. So long as Your Majesty governs with diligence and selects the worthy and capable, matters will slowly… slowly improve."

"Well said!" Zhu Youjian clapped his hands together sharply, his gaze burning as he fixed it on him. "In my heart, the worthiest and most capable man is none other than you, Your Grace!"

He raised a hand again, cutting off the words of refusal Zhang Weixian was about to utter.

"I have looked into it. Since Your Grace inherited the title in the Wanli years, the most significant political matter you have handled was rejecting the fraudulent inheritance claim of Lady Wu, mother of Tan Maoxun, the Count of Xinning."

"Beyond that, what the court diarists recorded most often was Your Grace standing in for the Son of Heaven to offer sacrifices to Heaven and Earth, the Imperial Ancestral Temple, and the Altars of Soil and Grain — several dozen times in all."

Zhu Youjian's voice grew faint and distant, like a gust of wind passing through an empty hall.

"When I was at the Prince Xin Residence, I often read the histories. I read of the glorious deeds of Zhang Yu, Prince Dingxing, in the Jingnan Campaign — how heroic they were!"

"And then I turned the page to Your Grace… and I wondered: if one day the Great Ming should cease to be, and later generations compile its history, how would they write of your line? Would they write only four words: 'He could eat; he sacrificed well'?"

Those words were utterly venomous.

An uncontrollable fury surged up from Zhang Weixian's chest.

He could endure the Emperor's probing. He could endure the treacherous currents of the court. But he could not endure such an insult to his ancestors' achievements and his own dignity!

"Your Majesty!" He slapped his thigh with a crack, his beard bristling with rage, and bellowed, "Whatever command Your Majesty has, speak it plainly! What need is there for such goading!"

This was exactly the response Zhu Youjian had been waiting for.

He scratched his head with a touch of embarrassment, putting on the sheepish grin of a young man caught in a misdeed.

Only then did he step forward, seize the Duke of Ying's hand tightly once more, and say with utter sincerity: "Your Grace, calm your anger. My words were reckless and gave offense to a venerable elder. I offer you my apologies!"

He paused, then let out another long sigh, the guilt on his face shifting into a heavy helplessness.

"But I… I had no other choice! I know Your Grace is seasoned and circumspect. If I had not spoken to this extreme, how would you ever consent to bind your life and your family's fortunes together with this young Son of Heaven?"

"I am young and of shallow virtue, with no one to lean on. If I cannot have Your Grace as my spine and gall, then in all these myriad affairs… how would I dare undertake any of them!"

The fury in Zhang Weixian's chest was utterly dispersed by this set of shameless combination blows.

He looked at this young Son of Heaven before him — a man who could bend and stretch, goading him one moment and apologizing the next.

He saw the undisguised sincerity and expectation in the new sovereign's eyes, and a hundred tangled emotions welled up within him, finally resolving into a long, drawn-out sigh.

"This old subject was entrusted with the realm through three reigns. The Ducal House of Ying endures as long as the dynasty itself. Your Majesty… what need was there to test me so."

"Your Grace, I am not jesting, nor was it a test." Zhu Youjian shed every trace of expression, his face more serious than it had ever been. "I truly believe the Great Ming is about to fall."

Sensing the weight behind his words, Zhang Weixian's own expression grew solemn. In a deep voice he asked, "If Your Majesty speaks thus, you must intend to launch a new course of governance. This humble subject presumes to ask: where should governance begin?"

Zhu Youjian's gaze was steely. He answered with absolute finality:

"People!"

"Governance must begin with people!"

Zhang Weixian, Duke of Ying, did not know how he had walked out of that great hall.

Seated in the sedan chair on his way back to his residence, he still felt as though his mind were a pot of congealed paste.

He rubbed absently at his aching old back, his thoughts churning chaotically over everything that had happened today.

The rumors all said that Prince Xin, during his days in the princely residence, was benevolent, filial, frugal, gentle, and sincere — a gentleman as flawless as jade.

But after today's encounter, Zhang Weixian thought those rumors were absolute dog-farts!

Gentle and sincere? The man was a barefaced rogue!

One moment he's holding your hand and shedding tears; the next he turns around and flays you raw with his words. The moment you flare up he immediately backs down and apologizes, and then in a few short sentences he's forcing you to stake your entire family's fortune…

How could the Emperor of the Great Ming be such a rogue!

Which sage-king in the histories had he even learned this style from…

Through the haze, a name surfaced in his mind as if guided by some ghostly hand.

— Liu Bang!

The moment that thought struck, Zhang Weixian shuddered and could not help sitting bolt upright in the sedan chair.

He carefully replayed in his mind today's chaotic meeting between sovereign and subject. The more he thought about it, the more it fit.

The Great Ming has endured for over two hundred years — and now, at this late hour, is it to produce an emperor like Liu Bang?

But was that a good thing or a bad thing…

At that thought, he fell into a daze, oblivious to all else.

Suddenly, a clamor of wailing and shouting erupted outside the sedan chair, cutting through his thoughts.

"What is happening out there?" he asked with a frown.

The steward outside quickly replied, "In answer, my lord, it seems the Embroidered Uniform Guard is confiscating a household up ahead. By the sound of it, it's no small affair."

The Embroidered Uniform Guard confiscating a household…

Zhang Weixian's eyelid twitched. He thought of Tian Ergeng — the man he had assumed was as good as dead, yet who was still alive and well.

Wait…

A sudden realization struck him.

"Why are we heading home?"

"My Lord Duke, you gave the order after leaving the palace…"

"Turn around, turn around — back to the yamen to sit duty. Otherwise that pack of civil officials will start their squawking again."

"I'm old and muddled, but are you old and muddled too? You didn't even think to remind me!"

Not far from where the Duke of Ying's sedan chair was making its detour, chaos had already erupted before a lavishly appointed mansion.

Xu Xianchun, former Assistant Guard Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, his hair disheveled, was being forced to his knees by two wolfish guardsmen who had wrenched his arms savagely behind his back.

His face was a mask of madness and bitter unwillingness.

He stared fixedly at Tian Ergeng, who stood on the steps watching it all with an expressionless face, and with every ounce of strength he had, he roared in a hoarse fury:

"Tian Ergeng! You think you'll be spared? You think that by helping him bite us to death, you'll meet a good end?"

"The man who first fashioned burial figurines — did he not die without descendants! Just you wait! My fate today is the mirror of your tomorrow!

"Sooner or later, your day will come too!"

Tian Ergeng stood in the shadow beneath the eaves, deaf to this desperate curse, his face utterly blank. He merely gave a flat order to his subordinates: "Stuff his mouth. Take him away."

The guardsmen stepped forward at once and crammed a rag into Xu Xianchun's mouth.

But what no one saw was that beneath his wide sleeves, Tian Ergeng's hands had long since clenched into white-knuckled fists, his nails digging deep into his palms with a sharp, stabbing pain.

Can I… truly survive this?