Chapter 10: Corruption and Injustice, the Daily Lecture of Taijia

On the second day of the sixth month in the sixth year of Longqing, early morning.

……

A night had passed.

After all, he was still a child; his sleep quality was far better than before his transmigration, and Zhu Yijun had enjoyed a rare, long, restful slumber.

When he first woke, he was still dazed and instinctively reached for his phone beneath the pillow.

Finding nothing there, he snapped fully awake.

“Your Highness, you’re awake,” said a palace maid approaching the bed.

Zhu Yijun suddenly asked: “What did I say in my sleep last night? Did you hear it?”

The maids all froze: “Your Highness, you did not speak in your sleep.”

He relaxed then, nodded, and said: “Must have been a dream. Help me dress.”

Several maids immediately brought mourning garments and gathered around him.

As he dressed, the same maid said: “Your Highness, Zhang Da dang has arrived at Ciqing Palace and says he is ready to serve at your command.”

Zhu Yijun couldn’t help smiling—Zhang Hong was too eager to advance.

After donning the mourning garments and washing up, he ordered: “Let Zhang Daban come in.”

Zhang Hong entered carrying breakfast.

He stared at the still-boyish Crown Prince, momentarily stunned—he could hardly reconcile this boy with the intimidating heir who had ruled the Qianqing Palace yesterday.

But as a senior eunuch, his composure was unshakable; the flicker of surprise vanished instantly: “Your servant bows before His Majesty.”

Zhu Yijun nodded gently and gestured for him to come closer.

Then he sat calmly before the table and began his meal.

Zhang Hong dismissed the maids, then pulled a stack of papers from his sleeve: “Your Majesty, everything you ordered yesterday is here.”

Zhu Yijun took it with mild surprise—Zhang Hong was efficient.

A quick scan revealed the names of over a dozen eunuchs assigned to supervise mining taxes in Huguang since Longqing’s first year.

Some bore annotations of age and duties.

He was satisfied and did not withhold praise: “Well done.”

The value of having eyes and ears was now clear.

Huguang’s affairs were not urgent; he intended to handle them only after securing some authority.

But forethought ensures success; lack of preparation leads to failure. Better to prepare in advance than rely solely on memorials for information.

Whether in the palace, the central government, the provinces, border affairs, or finances, one must first have a clear picture before planning concretely.

Relying solely on future knowledge like a blind man touching an elephant would lead to utter ruin.

One must combine present-day realities with future knowledge, letting each illuminate the other.

This is what one calls contemporizing future knowledge.

Zhang Hong bowed and professed humility.

Zhu Yijun ate while carefully studying the list.

The depth of corruption in Huguang’s mining taxes was inevitable—but it had not arisen overnight.

In the six years since the late emperor’s reign, no tax inspector had ever uncovered a problem. Why?

This was what Zhu Yijun truly cared about.

Seeing him absorbed, Zhang Hong whispered: “Your Majesty, another incident occurred in the palace last night.”

Zhu Yijun did not look up: “Don’t tease. Speak plainly.”

Zhang Hong hurriedly replied: “Meng Chong drowned last night by accident.”

Zhu Yijun paused, then raised his head with an unreadable expression: “By accident?”

Zhang Hong knew his master saw through everything: “Eastern Depot discovered him. Their investigation concluded accidental drowning. The Directorate of Ceremonial has confirmed it. Feng Bao is handling it now.”

Zhu Yijun shook his head: “They don’t even bother to hide it anymore. How disgraceful.”

Zhang Hong said nothing.

Zhu Yijun did not press the matter further.

After finishing the list, he asked: “Are these men living well now?”

Zhang Hong hesitated, then replied: “Their positions are not high, but their pockets are full.”

Zhu Yijun had already suspected as much.

In today’s Great Ming, ten officials might as well be eleven corrupt ones.

Collusion between officials and merchants, exploitation of the people—these were trivial matters.

From commoners to princes, who escaped?

The Ministry of Revenue once withheld the Yufu’s annual stipend; the entire household nearly starved.

Only after bribing Yan Shifan did they finally secure the three-year-backlogged stipend.

And who does not know that Xu Jie, the Grand Secretary, was called “Half the City,” owning hundreds of thousands of acres of prime land?

Even when Hai Rui was ordered by imperial decree to reclaim Xu Jie’s lands, he was driven away in disgrace.

Nor can one overlook the factionalism, nepotism, bribery for office, and scramble for titles in every ministry.

If superiors behave thus, petty officials are no better—they squeeze the people to the bone.

Overfilling measures, inventing taxes, seizing livestock, tearing down homes—countless abuses.

Even border troops’ pay is drained dry!

This is not an isolated issue—it is systemic corruption throughout the Ming bureaucracy.

Officials have lost all shame regarding embezzlement.

Yes, I am corrupt. So what? Everyone is corrupt.

Even Qi Jiguang, who fought Japanese pirates with devotion and was willing to die for the state, could not escape this system.

Why this culture? Simple: salaries are too low.

Look at history: when Gao Yi died, his family could not afford funeral expenses—the palace had to pay. Hai Rui fared worse; he was too low-ranking for palace aid, so his colleagues buried him.

Salaries are so meager, but worse—they are often delayed. Half-pay is a blessing.

As Gu Yanwu said: “The salary is so thin it cannot support a household.”

When one cannot feed one’s family, who has the luxury of erecting moral monuments?

Virtuous men are rare; most simply follow the tide. “If I don’t take bribes, I starve”—how can one restrain them?

In such a moral vacuum, corruption has become widespread.

If officials are like this, eunuchs are worse.

Why is tax inspection such a lucrative post? If local affairs are clean, fine. But if there is corruption, the eunuch inspector pockets everything.

Is he collecting taxes for the palace—or for his own purse? Hard to say.

The audit commissioners and local officials have surely reached an understanding.

With these dozen eunuchs, not one reported a problem—yet all are rich. The truth is clear.

One wonders: is this Huguang mining tax case a breakdown in collusion—or a scandal too large to conceal?

Zhu Yijun pondered a moment, then told Zhang Hong: “If palace eunuchs take bribes, I tolerate it. But if they hide matters from me, I will not accept it.”

“Watch these men. Don’t let them drown again. I’ll need them later.”

“Pick a weak link, quietly, and find out the real situation in Huguang for me.”

“No matter what the outer court says, if the palace collects taxes, I must know the palace’s version.”

Zhang Hong listened, his heart turning cold.

If one must “sneak around,” can anyone survive?

Last night he had felt only awe; now he felt icy dread.

Is this the imperial family?

He is only ten years old—and already ruthless. Truly a sage ruler.

Zhu Yijun had no need to pretend before Zhang Hong. Only imperial authority could control these eunuchs.

To show different traits before different people—that is politics.

Zhang Hong had seniority and men under him; this task suited him perfectly.

Zhu Yijun could not afford to divert too much energy here. Just find a lowly eunuch, extract the truth, and know enough.

Now is not the time to provoke Huguang’s local officials—risk a “popular revolt.” But as long as these tax eunuchs remain, a major scandal will inevitably erupt.

Let them revel in their corruption now. I will keep my list. We will settle accounts in autumn.

As for eunuch corruption, he lacked the power to act now. One eats a meal one bite at a time; one acts step by step.

Zhang Hong stepped back: “Your servant will act at once.”

Zhu Yijun stopped him: “Review everyone around me. Place your men in Wenhua Hall and the two palaces.”

The Superintendent Eunuch oversees palace duty assignments—within his authority.

Zhang Hong hesitated, then replied: “Your servant understands.”

What he did not say: the two palaces and Wenhua Hall already had his men.

Every senior eunuch does this.

……

After breakfast, Zhu Yijun had to go to Wenhua Hall for his daily lecture—known as rì jiǎng.

As the emperor’s private hall, Wenhua Hall naturally had many pavilions and halls.

The main hall is where regular court sessions are held; the rear hall is where the Emperor holds lectures on the classics.

The Crown Prince’s daily lectures, however, take place in the right annex of the Wenhua Hall.

When Zhu Yijun arrived, all the lecture officials had already gathered.

The Crown Prince’s daily lectures are not one-on-one instruction.

More than ten officials of various titles—attending officers, lecturers, proofreaders, and scribes—handle everything from reading aloud, turning pages, verifying texts, to taking notes.

He only needs to sit there, repeat after them, and ask questions if anything is unclear; he need do nothing else.

Gao Yi, seated at the head of the line, rose immediately upon seeing the Crown Prince enter, leading the two rows of lecture officials into a single line.

Zhu Yijun stepped forward first to perform the teacher’s salute.

After receiving the salute, the lecture officials bowed and kowtowed to the heir apparent.

After the mutual salutes, Zhu Yijun smiled, revealing a row of clean white teeth, and took two steps forward.

He seized Gao Yi’s hand and said warmly, “Master, I reviewed my lessons yesterday and gained new insights—just as you said, reviewing the old reveals the new.”

Gao Yi was momentarily stunned by this gesture—when had the Crown Prince become so familiar with him?

He tried to extricate himself subtly while forcing himself to speak: “The words of the sages are certainly without error, but Your Highness’s insights stem from your own diligence.”

Zhu Yijun did not release him; instead, he clasped Gao Yi’s forearm: “It is also because of your excellent teaching. What shall we study today? I am already eager.”

Saying this, he pulled Gao Yi’s hand toward the inner chamber.

If Liu Bang of the Han could do it, then this Great Ming demon shall be mine!

The other lecture officials exchanged glances, then followed behind, thoughtful.

When they reached their seats, Zhu Yijun reluctantly released Gao Yi’s hand.

Gao Yi had just sighed in relief when Zhu Yijun called to a young eunuch: “Master is a pillar of state—how could he not be treated with proper respect? Bring a seat for Master.”

Gao Yi quickly bowed and declined: “Your Highness, this minister’s body is still sturdy; if I cannot stand, I have no face to remain in the Grand Secretariat.”

Zhu Yijun would not let him off: “Master, no need for excuses—this is not a regular court session; do not refuse.”

“My father entrusted me with three senior ministers and specifically instructed me to treat them well. Master, do not make me appear unfilial.”

He was best at playing the high moral tone.

Gao Yi, an honest man, was easiest to manipulate by invoking the imperial banner.

Before he could refuse, Zhu Yijun ordered the young eunuch to place a seat beside Gao Yi.

It was called a “bestowed seat,” but in truth it was a small stool, barely two palms wide—just enough to support his buttocks.

Gao Yi felt his life had become a forced march of ducks onto a roof.

The late Emperor did this, Zhang Juzheng did this, and now the heir apparent does too.

To say he was unmoved by the Crown Prince’s conduct would be false.

To have the sovereign hold his hand before the hall, as Emperor Guangwu once did, and to bestow a seat while invoking the late Emperor’s instructions—what minister could refuse such filial devotion?

But feeling moved did not make the seat any less like sitting on needles.

He carefully sat on the very edge of the stool to show his deference: “Thank you, Your Highness, for the seat.”

Zhu Yijun sat before his desk and nodded in satisfaction, then asked casually, “Master, has the Grand Secretariat decided on the date for moving the late Emperor’s coffin?”

The late Emperor’s coffin still rested in Qianqing Palace; Zhu Yijun was waiting to move in.

On the surface he asked about the coffin’s relocation, but in truth he was asking when he could move into Qianqing Palace—and when he should accept the petitions urging his ascension and prepare to be enthroned before the coffin.

Gao Yi considered carefully and replied, “The Ministry of Rites proposed moving the coffin on the sixth of this month, with ancestral rites on the tenth. The Grand Secretariat has approved the proposal; we now await the palace’s decision.”

Zhu Yijun counted the days: today was the second, meaning he would receive petitions for his ascension in four days, and be crowned in eight.

Eight days—he would become Emperor.

His mother would become Empress Dowager.

It also meant Gao Gong’s political career was about to end.

Right now, Feng Bao and Gao Gong were locked in their fiercest struggle; Feng Bao was waiting precisely for this moment. Without this window, Zhang Hong might never have safely entered the Directorate of Ceremonial.

But had Gao Gong realized this?

Zhu Yijun intended to let Gao Gong retire with dignity; otherwise, if he fell too disgracefully, his political legacy would vanish.

Not to mention the Jin Faction—they were currently held in check only by Gao Gong’s personal prestige.

If Gao Gong retired honorably, retaining the threat of recall, the Jin Faction would not be humiliated.

But if, as in history, his mother publicly issued an edict saying, “Gao Gong monopolizes power and governs arbitrarily; I do not know what he intends. My son and I are terrified and uneasy,”

Then this mess would be extremely difficult for him to clean up.

His current plan was to use Gao Gong to exhaust Feng Bao, ideally helping him seize the Eastern Depot from Feng Bao’s hands.

After his enthronement, he would then, following Lady Li’s inclinations, suggest Gao Gong’s retirement—according to protocol, all ministers must submit resignation letters after a new Emperor’s ascension; whether they stay or go depends on the sovereign’s will.

If he raised the matter himself, it would be far better than letting Feng Bao provoke Lady Li into anger—it would at least preserve Gao Gong’s dignity with a position among the Three Excellencies.

In this way… Gao Yi would not die of anxiety after Gao Gong’s dismissal.

As if sensing this thought, Gao Yi looked up at the distant Crown Prince. Seeing the other lecture officials already in position, he cleared his throat softly: “Your Highness, the daily lecture begins.”

Zhu Yijun immediately snapped back to attention: “Master, please proceed—is today’s lesson the ‘Yin Zhi’ chapter?”

Gao Yi shook his head, keeping his expression calm: “Today we study the ‘Tai Jia’ chapter.”

As he spoke, Zhu Yijun saw the scribe beside him flip the page to the “Tai Jia” section.

His expression froze. He let out a long “Oh,” saying nothing, but his mind churned.

The “Tai Jia” chapter of the Book of Documents tells only one story—Yi Yin exiled Tai Jia to Tong Palace.

Tai Jia was a king of the Shang Dynasty; Yi Yin was a four-generation elder statesman and Tai Jia’s regent.

“Yi Yin exiling Tai Jia to Tong Palace” means that after Tai Jia ascended the throne, he became licentious and reckless, violating the laws established by Tang, so Yi Yin banished him to a palace near Tang’s tomb and assumed regency himself.

After three years of regency, seeing Tai Jia repent and reform, Yi Yin brought him back and restored power to him.

The story was simple and not uncommon—he had seen men write letters of apology and return to lead again. But why had Gao Yi suddenly inserted this chapter?

He did not believe it was mere pedagogy; Gao Yi would never do something so tactless.

It could only be intentional!

Whose intention? And what did it mean?

Was it a warning to behave, not to follow Tai Jia’s path?

Or a reminder that someone intended to depose him like Yi Yin or Huo Guang?

Or… was Gao Yi comparing himself to Yi Yin—regent who would return power, declaring his loyalty?

—

Note 1: Historically, immediately after Gao Gong’s dismissal, Gao Yi resigned; his resignation was denied. Two days later, he died of anxiety and fear at home, aged fifty-five.

Note 2: (Sixth year of Longqing, sixth month) Gengwu: Dismissal of Grand Secretary Gao Gong. Eunuch Feng Bao and others transmitted the Empress’s edict, the Noble Imperial Consort’s decree, and the Emperor’s imperial order to officials of the Grand Secretariat and ministries. The day before the late Emperor’s death, he summoned the three Grand Secretaries to his bedside and personally entrusted them, saying to my mother, my brother, and me: “The Crown Prince is young; you must assist him. Now Grand Secretary Gao Gong monopolizes power and governs arbitrarily, seizing all state authority for himself, forbidding the Emperor from managing affairs—I do not know what he intends! My son and I are terrified and uneasy. Gao Gong is ordered to return to his hometown and remain there, without delay.” — Ming Shenzong Shilu

Note 3: In 1571 (fifth year of Longqing), each official’s annual salary was 206 shi; at the time, rice cost 0.6 taels per shi, but actual payment was less than 40%.

Chen Guanggui: “Preliminary Study on China’s Fiscal Support Ratio,” Contemporary Economic Science, July 2003.

Wu Jianhua: “Study on Ming Dynasty Official Redundancy and Official Vacancies,” Ph.D. dissertation, Xiamen University, 2001, p. 60.

(End of Chapter)