Chapter 231: The Hundred Officials Yield the Path — the Green Robe Leads the Way

The Directorate of Astronomy's forecast was, as it turned out, somewhat accurate.

Once this snowfall stopped, it did not come again.

The third grand court assembly since the Yongchang Emperor's enthronement was held as scheduled after all.

At the hour of the Tiger, the sky was still pitch-black and the cold bit to the bone.

In the lanes and alleys of the capital, lamplight flickered on one after another.

The civil and military officials, the ennobled nobles and imperial relatives, still heavy with sleep, all rose from their beds.

Many pushed open their windows, saw the half-melted slush and mire outside, felt the blast of icy air against their faces, and could only sigh in resignation.

Each shivering through their morning wash, they donned their court robes and set out one by one.

The New Policies, the New Policies.

Those two words had been the paramount affair of state since the Son of Heaven ascended the throne, and the very eye of the storm sweeping through the officialdom of the capital.

Yet what did these New Policies have to do with most of them?

The scope of the Statecraft Official Documents grew ever narrower, and the New Policy quotas earned through ministry work were far too few for the many who sought them.

The various ministry heads and Grand Secretariat ministers were scrambling to bring along their own fellow provincials and old acquaintances — how could the turn ever fall to so many ordinary officials without connections or patrons?

Unless one was a person of truly exceptional talent, quick to see the opportunity and early to join in.

Most officials could only watch helplessly as the great gate of the New Policies slammed shut before them.

Reopen it in the second year of Yongchang? Then let it be discussed in the second year of Yongchang.

For most officials, therefore, this grand court assembly stirred little feeling.

They supposed they would simply listen as those already inside the New Policies circle spoke with fervent conviction in the court hall, reporting one "gratifying" achievement after another.

Then His Majesty's dragon countenance would beam with delight, sovereign and ministers in perfect accord, a scene of harmonious joy.

In the end, it would be nothing more than a play.

But whatever they thought in their hearts, this court session was one they could not skip.

No one dared, at this critical juncture when the New Policies were being pushed forward with gale force, to give the Emperor grounds to brand them as indolent and negligent.

After all, following the reappointment of the various officials, seventy capable county magistrates selected from across the realm had begun pouring in one after another.

In this wealthy and prestigious capital, somehow, inexplicably, the situation where offices outnumbered positions had persisted all along.

One careless misstep, and one might well have to vacate one's post.

The hundred officials each braced themselves, and with their own private thoughts, stepped out their gates.

Throughout the lanes and alleys, a thousand lanterns glowed, their faint halos swaying in the darkness.

Some walked, some rode horses, some took carts, some traveled in sedan chairs.

Countless trails of light, like trickling streams, converged slowly from every corner of the imperial city toward that awe-inspiring Forbidden City.

Like arrows in flight, yet seeming no more than drifting smoke.

Of course, not everyone was filled with weariness.

Those within the New Policies circle were naturally brimming with eagerness.

The ambitious ones, too, let no chance slip to seize an opportunity, striving desperately for those last New Policy quotas.

And there was yet another group, who far from detesting this court assembly —

on the contrary, their eagerness and anticipation ran higher than anyone else's; one might even say they were waiting with straining eyes.

They had waited for this day far, far too long.

When the hour of the Rabbit arrived, the bell atop the Meridian Gate tolled on time, its sound distant and weighty.

By convention, once the bell rang, the hundred officials were to enter the court in their designated order.

Today, however, an exceedingly strange scene unfolded.

At the very front of the civil officials' column by the Right Yeomen Gate stood the Chief Grand Secretary, Huang Liji, in his crimson official robe — the man who should have been the first to move.

He did not move.

He merely took a silent step to the side, completely clearing the entry path behind him.

Then he turned around and looked back.

This gesture released a signal.

Close behind him, Grand Secretary Li Guopu, Minister of Personnel Yang Jingchen, Minister of Rites Lai Zongdao, and the other high ministers of the court did not hesitate in the slightest; almost in succession, they too stepped aside to clear the path and turned in unison to look back.

Further back, the vice ministers, bureau directors, and bureau secretaries who had no idea what was happening first froze for a moment, then stirred in confusion, following suit by stepping back and turning to look behind them.

The entire column of civil officials, like a tide stirred by an invisible force, parted layer upon layer in succession.

Strangely, the Embroidered Uniform Guard and Court of State Ceremonial officials charged with supervising ritual conduct turned a completely blind eye to such a breach of decorum.

The converging gazes became a soundless wave, traveling toward the rear of the line.

This wave swept past the cranes and golden pheasants, threaded through the peacocks and cloud geese, hesitated briefly among the silver pheasants and egrets, and finally settled upon a cluster of mandarin ducks.

Here was the queue of the green-robed officials of the Hanlin Academy.

Zhang Juzheng's third son.

The Zhuangyuan of the eighth year of Wanli.

Zhang Maoxiu, just reappointed to his former office, stood here as well and turned his head back along with the others.

The many Hanlin officials, however, did not turn their heads.

They merely directed their gazes together at this seventy-one-year-old, white-haired Senior Compiler of the Hanlin Academy, ranked junior sixth grade.

They stared until Zhang Maoxiu felt utterly baffled and deeply uneasy.

Within the ranks, Ni Yuanlu drew a deep breath.

The icy air flooded his lungs, yet still could not suppress the searing agitation in his chest.

He knew what he had to do, and had rehearsed it countless times in his mind already.

But when he actually spoke, his voice still came out nearly choked with tears.

"Lord Dou Shu, please — step forward."

Five simple words. The moment they left his mouth, two hot streaks of tears were already rolling down Ni Yuanlu's gaunt cheeks.

He raised his sleeve, wiped roughly, and once more raised his voice: "His Majesty decrees: at today's court assembly, Zhang Maoxiu, in honor of the late Lord of Jiangling's enterprise of the New Policies, is specially advanced to serve as head of the civil officials for this day."

"Lord Dou Shu, please go forward!"

Ni Yuanlu's words fell.

Zhang Maoxiu's body swayed, almost imperceptibly.

Those murky old eyes of his suddenly flew wide open. He stared at Ni Yuanlu in disbelief, as if trying to read some deeper meaning from the other man's face.

His breathing, which had been fairly steady, now turned ragged and urgent.

Yet the Hanlin colleagues before Zhang Maoxiu — men decades his junior — gave him no time to hesitate.

The assembled Hanlin officials simply bowed to him in unison and declared together: "His Majesty decrees: at today's court assembly, Zhang Maoxiu, in honor of the late Lord of Jiangling's enterprise of the New Policies, is specially advanced to serve as head of the civil officials for this day."

"Lord Dou Shu, please go forward!"

Zhang Maoxiu opened his mouth, as if to speak, yet he did not know what to say at this moment.

His clouded gaze slowly swept across their faces.

Some eyes burned with fervor; some faces were flushed crimson, veins bulging; some had red-rimmed eyes; and some, like Ni Yuanlu, were already streaked with tears.

But none of them spoke again, nor did they bow again.

They simply watched him in silence, waiting.

After only a moment, the faces of his colleagues began to blur in Zhang Maoxiu's eyes.

He abruptly lowered his head. A scalding drop struck the cold bluestone slab, splashing open a tiny flower of moisture.

He did not wipe it away.

He only slowly, inch by inch, straightened the back that had been stooped for decades.

He performed this motion with excruciating slowness — he could even hear the faint creaking of his own joints.

Then, facing his colleagues before him, he returned a deep, perfectly formal bow.

The courtesy done, he spoke not a word. He stepped forward and walked straight toward the head of the line.

The moment he moved, the hundreds of civil officials before the Right Ye Gate parted to left and right like a receding tide, opening a path for him.

Every official, regardless of rank, turned aside with hands clasped in salute, watching in silence.

Zhang Maoxiu's eyes did not look at the people on either side; they were fixed straight ahead on that gate.

His stride was not fast, but every step fell with extraordinary solidity.

A robe of cyan, amid this sea of crimson and sapphire blue, advanced slowly forward.

At last, he reached the very front of the formation.

The many Grand Secretaries and ministers of the great ministries all clasped their hands and bowed to him in unison.

"Lord Dou Shu, please go forward!"

Zhang Maoxiu's lips moved. In the end, he only nodded once, heavily.

He lifted the hem of his official robe and was the first to step through the Right Ye Gate.

Huang Liji and Li Guopu exchanged a glance, waited a moment longer, and only then followed behind.

The entire column of civil officials advanced in sequence.

For a time, a cyan official robe at the front, with robes of crimson and deep blue behind — it was a magnificent spectacle the likes of which had never been seen in the more than two hundred years since the founding of the Great Ming.

Yet how could this be the end of it?

When Zhang Maoxiu, leading the way, passed through the Meridian Gate and ascended to the Gate of Imperial Supremacy, when he saw that vast plaza he had been parted from for forty-five years —

he also saw, beneath the Gate of Imperial Supremacy, a youth in a bright yellow dragon robe, standing there in perfect stillness.

It was His Majesty!

Before Zhang Maoxiu could even think through what ritual propriety demanded in this situation, so contrary to customary protocol —

one prostration and three kowtows? Three prostrations and nine kowtows?

The young Son of Heaven had already strode forward in several great steps and at once grasped him firmly by the arm.

He spoke only a single sentence, yet it made the tears Zhang Maoxiu had just held back burst forth once more.

"Minister Zhang, please stand in for the Lord of Jiangling as head of the civil officials this day."

"Come forward together with Us!"

Zhang Maoxiu wanted to wipe his tears, yet felt it would be a breach of decorum before the Son of Heaven.

He wanted to kneel and give thanks for the grace, yet the Son of Heaven held him fast, immovable.

And so he was, by the Son of Heaven of the Great Ming himself, led by the arm across the long plaza of the Gate of Imperial Supremacy.

At this moment, it was precisely the hour of the rabbit.

The early winter sun was just climbing over the eastern palace wall. Its pale golden light carried no warmth, yet it was clear and bright, slanting down.

The light gilded the glazed tiles of the great hall with a sheen, and cast the two figures on the plaza into long, lonely shadows.

Across the vast plaza, the snow had been swept perfectly clean.

In the air there was only the soft sound of boot soles on stone slabs, and the faint rustle of robes in the cold wind.

Behind them were over a thousand civil and military officials.

The tide of crimson, sapphire blue, and cyan official robes was held in formation at the rear by Zhang Weixian, Duke of Ying, and Chief Grand Secretary Huang Liji, following at a measured pace, several zhang behind.

No one spoke; no one even coughed. Everyone simply watched those two figures ahead — one yellow, one cyan — matching their steps.

It was all like a silent, long river, flowing slowly toward the high vermilion stairway.

The Son of Heaven walking shoulder to shoulder, temporarily standing in as head of the line.

Only at this moment did everyone — even the most inwardly dismissive adherents of the old order — truly and deeply realize.

The New Policies had been inaugurated! Those who submit shall prosper; those who resist shall perish!

This new sovereign had not hesitated to commandeer the Son of Heaven's rites to co-opt the achievements and legacy of Zhang Jiangling from forty-five years ago.

It was precisely to formally proclaim to the entire court, and to the whole realm, that the tide of the New Policies was now unstoppable!

When Zhang Maoxiu, led by the hand, had been brought to the very front of the officials' ranks and stood still.

Only then did Zhu Youjian release his hand, pat him on the shoulder, and say, "Minister Zhang, stand here a while and watch Lord Jiangling's achievements be reenacted this day."

With those words, he did not wait for any reaction from Zhang Maoxiu, but turned directly and, alone, ascended the steps one by one, walking toward that high and exalted throne.

At that moment, the guards of the Embroidered Uniform Guard fiercely cracked their silence whips.

Crack!

The crisp sound split the silence of the dawn.

"The Emperor ascends the throne—!"

Upon the throne, Zhu Youjian slowly sat down, his gaze sweeping over the hundred officials below the steps.

"Perform the obeisance—!"

With the civil officials led by Zhang Maoxiu and the martial nobility led by the Duke of Ying, Zhang Weixian, the most powerful men under heaven all knelt as one and performed the grand ceremony of homage to their sovereign.

"Ten thousand years to His Majesty, ten thousand years, ten thousand times ten thousand years!"

The roar, like the crashing of mountains and seas, like rolling wind and thunder, surged and reverberated through this ancient imperial city.

Once the ceremony was complete, the deliberation of affairs began as usual.

Gao Shiming was the first to step forward, reporting on the progress of the palace audit, finances and taxation, and the retrenchment of personnel.

Tian Ergeng followed closely behind, reporting on the progress of the radio network deployment, the retrenchment of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and the examination and selection process.

Then came Xue Guoguan, who oversaw the New Policies in the capital, and Huang Liji, who commanded the New Policies across the Northern Metropolitan Circuit.

There were also the progress reports on the many matters that the heads of the Six Ministries had taken charge of a month ago.

On the plaza before the Gate of Imperial Supremacy, the north wind bit sharply. Junior eunuchs turned the pages of the screens one by one, presenting chart after chart of progress before the hundred officials.

In a few spots, the wind was so fierce that it blew the papers from the screens away.

The junior eunuchs responsible were terrified and trembling.

The civil officials in the formation, however, ended up seeing the next page of the screen charts prematurely because of it.

But—

No one was paying attention to the progress of the New Policies anymore.

Everyone was merely going through the motions, waiting for this procedural segment to pass.

From time to time, someone would cast a glance at Zhang Maoxiu, standing at the head of the ranks.

This seventy-one-year-old Hanlin scholar was, in fact, the most attentive person present, listening earnestly, word by word, to the progress reports on the New Policies.

Some officials at the rear of the ranks could not see that far, but they too turned their gazes toward the conspicuously unfamiliar faces that had suddenly appeared among the formation.

In their hearts, they all speculated as to which meritorious minister or famous general these people were descendants of.

And what rank of nobility they would be enfeoffed with.

Upon the throne, Zhu Youjian, who had orchestrated all of this, simply cast his gaze downward in silence.

Now and then he would utter a word — "Approved," "Yes" — like an emperor molded from clay.

So I, the Yongchang Emperor Zhu Youjian, am saving the Great Ming by holding meetings?

But what, in the end, is the essence of holding a meeting?

Zhu Youjian leaned back on the throne, pondering the many subsequent procedures and weighing their relative advantages and drawbacks, when this thought suddenly sprang to mind.

He chuckled softly, followed Huo Weihua's report with a "Yes," and then continued thinking along this line.

Human society is a grand edifice built upon "shared imagination."

The state, the law, official posts, imperial power—

All these things that seem indestructible are, in their essence, nothing more than the same "story" existing in the minds of millions of people.

The solidity of this "shared imagination," and the size of the population that believes in this story, determines the heights a civilization can reach.

Of course — once the "shared imagination" collapses, everything will swiftly scatter with the wind like sand and dust. So it was with the Great Ming, and so it was with a certain nation in later ages. In a sense, this is what is called the "Mandate of Heaven."

So how does one make these millions believe in the same story, and strive and sacrifice for it?

There are a thousand answers, but the most critical, and the most ancient, method is surely "holding meetings."

In Zhu Youjian's view, the significance of a successful meeting — especially a court session of the highest order — never lies in what is discussed.

Its significance lies in constructing, maintaining, and guiding the entire nation's "shared imagination."

First: shaping the imagination.

A meeting is the most efficient tool for transforming the will of the supreme ruler into the shared story of the entire ruling class.

Through a single meeting, Our thoughts can be implanted into the minds of all core members, unifying countless individual selfish desires under one grand narrative.

Second: publicly performing the imagination.

Private acknowledgment is fragile.

But at court, under the gaze of all, when everyone publicly professes belief in the same story, it generates an irreversible "momentum."

This grand public performance turns the story into reality, allowing everyone to witness with their own eyes that this "imagination" is now the consensus of all.

Third: sanctifying the imagination.

"If names are not correct, words will not accord; if words do not accord, affairs will not succeed."

A meeting is a grand political ritual. It drapes the sovereign's decisions, and the new chapter of this story, in a sacred mantle called "collective will" and "procedural justice," rendering them beyond question.

Fourth: experiencing the imagination.

It brings over a thousand of the dynasty's top elites to the same place at the same time, setting aside all their affairs.

They were made to spend several hours standing in this icy plaza, listening to reports on one new policy after another, feeling the old rules being broken and a new order being established.

Just as today, they watched with their own eyes as Zhang Maoxiu, that banner representing the "New Policies," was personally placed at the head of all officials by the Son of Heaven.

This act itself was to make everyone personally experience the new, unfolding vision that "the New Policies are unstoppable."

It transformed an abstract reform slogan into a palpable reality they had no choice but to obey and witness — a reality driven deep into their very bones.

Therefore, sessions like coordination meetings or interview sessions might perhaps stress efficiency.

But the Grand Court Assembly, this great assembly for shaping a shared vision, has never once concerned itself with questions of efficiency.

When Xu Xigao, the Duke of Ding, finally stepped out of the ranks and began his report on the matter of the Mounted Attendants,

Zhu Youjian, upon the imperial throne, drew a deep breath and slowly straightened his body.

Now would be the third time he guided and deepened the shared vision of the entire dynasty.