Chapter 110: Drifting with the Current, Compromising One

April 14, morning

The imperial envoy was ordered to enter the palace and return the tally.

……

For some reason, in recent years, winters had grown colder and summers less scorching; now, with summer just beginning, it was even slightly chilly.

Officials from the Ministry of Rites and the Imperial Astronomical Bureau were already considering whether to revise the calendar once more.

Xu Jie, led by Li Jin, passed through palace halls within the Forbidden City and felt a refreshing coolness.

As he walked, he noticed the imperial precinct’s guard had become far more disciplined.

For one thing, the street vendors who once lined the outer gates of the Meridian Gate had vanished entirely.

Xu Jie followed Li Jin all the way to the Western Garden.

Since entering the Western Garden in the thirty-first year of Jiajing, he had served Emperor Shizong here for fourteen years.

Now, six years later, seeing again the familiar flowers, trees, pavilions, and palaces, he was momentarily dazed.

For fourteen years, he had walked this path countless times—it had been the route of his official career.

Grand Secretary of the Eastern Pavilion, Grand Secretary of the Wuying Palace, Grand Secretary of the Jianji Palace…

Step by step, step by step, he had climbed to the peak of his lifetime’s power.

He was lost in memory when suddenly interrupted.

“Senior Minister Xu, His Majesty is not in Chengguang Palace—this way,” Li Jin called out, stopping Xu Jie from turning toward Chengguang Palace.

Xu Jie froze.

Yesterday, he had not merely visited Zhang Juzheng—Xu Jie had many disciples and former subordinates.

He had probed every angle of the emperor’s speech habits, daily preferences, and conduct.

Receiving foreign ministers in Chengguang Palace was standard practice—why the change today?

Xu Jie’s mind raced, trying to decipher the emperor’s intent.

Li Jin, walking ahead, explained kindly: “His Majesty attended the imperial lecture, archery practice, sacrifices, and accompanied Grand Coordinator Gu to inspect the Beijing Military Academy yesterday—he’s tired, slept in this morning.”

Xu Jie understood: “So he’s in Wanshou Palace?”

Li Jin nodded with a smile and fell silent.

Xu Jie’s heart sank.

He had come as an imperial envoy to return the tally.

If the emperor still intended to use him, he should at least show proper respect.

Yet now, for the sake of sleeping in, he was summoned to the imperial bedchamber.

This casual, dismissive attitude… Xu Jie felt a bad omen.

He looked up at Wanshou Palace in the distance, then lowered his head and trudged silently behind Li Jin.

If the Forbidden City’s security had improved slightly, the Western Garden was now utterly stern—especially along the road to Wanshou Palace, where guards stood every ten paces and patrols every hundred.

This sternness reached its peak at the gates of Wanshou Palace…

Xu Jie stared in disbelief at the Embroidered Uniform Guard before him—he was attempting to search him!

Utter humiliation!

For a civil official, this was no different from indecency!

Xu Jie refused to accept it—he glared at the guard and snarled: “Finished yet?! Step aside if you’re done!”

Jiang Keqian stepped back two paces, bowed in apology, and resumed his post at the main gate of Wanshou Palace.

Xu Jie snorted, brushed off his robe, and stepped into Wanshou Palace.

He slowed his pace, giving himself time to steady his composure.

Yesterday, after visiting many quarters, he had roughly grasped the new emperor’s character.

In short: as long as he remained useful, he wouldn’t end up like Xia Yan.

And this, perhaps, was his final chance.

His response now was critical.

He must demonstrate his talent, reveal his insight, make the emperor understand his value to the Great Ming.

Just like… the first time he met Emperor Shizong.

Thinking of this, Xu Jie glanced around the familiar palace, a strange feeling rising within him.

Yesterday, as he inquired about the new emperor, the more he learned, the stronger the sense of déjà vu became.

This new emperor was like a mirror image of his imperial grandfather in his youth!

Especially now, as Xu Jie stepped into Wanshou Palace, the feeling grew unshakable.

Both ascended the throne as youths.

Both secretly controlled the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Both defeated the reigning Grand Secretary and installed a new one with perfect imperial harmony.

Both sought to reform, to purge entrenched corruption.

Both secluded themselves in the Western Garden.

Even Wanshou Palace’s furnishings retained the Jiajing-era style…

The moment he thought of this—

CHING!

A familiar bronze bell suddenly rang out within Wanshou Palace!

Like ice poured into his crown, Xu Jie’s entire body turned cold.

The bell’s echo reverberated through the palace—and through Xu Jie’s mind.

He stared in shock at the main hall.

Too far to see clearly, he could only make out a raised platform near the center, knee-high, with Taiji and Eight Trigrams carved into the floor—this platform had been built under Emperor Shizong’s orders.

Shizong often sat upon it, veiled behind gauze curtains, to receive ministers.

Now, no gauze curtains remained—only a screen, and before it, the imperial desk.

Beyond the desk and screen, Xu Jie saw only a shadow, half-reclining on the trigrams, slowly rising.

CHING!

The bronze bell rang again.

Xu Jie finally saw: the shadow held a mallet, gently striking the bell, its tone lingering far away.

He stared, transfixed—as if he could pierce through desk and screen to see the figure behind.

In that instant, Xu Jie was transported back to his first visit to Wanshou Palace during Jiajing’s reign!

Back then, he had entered with the same cautious reverence to meet the emperor.

Back then, a blurred figure sat upon the trigrams.

Back then, the same clear, distant bell tolls.

It was a scene of fractured time—he could no longer distinguish reality from illusion.

He fixed his gaze on the trigrams, forced his feet forward, step by slow step.

This year, Xu Jie was seventy—old enough for a cane.

Seventy years of memory were vast, and he had long grown hazy.

Yet now, all memories surged violently upward.

If walking through the Western Garden had been him retracing his rise from entry into the Grand Secretariat to becoming Grand Secretary…

Then now, with each step, he could not help but recall backward from seventy.

From his disgrace in Wanli, to his disillusioned retirement under Longqing, to the turbulent days of Jiajing…

Xu Jie felt that with every step forward, he grew one year younger.

His white hair seemed to darken strand by strand, his hunched back straightened, his aged breath grew strong again.

He faintly recalled the scene of him securing the ascension of Prince Yu, the roaring cheers—he was still vigorous.

His slow steps grew lighter.

Xu Jie remembered ruling the Grand Secretariat alone, commanding the winds and clouds—he was at the height of his power.

He lifted his robe hem and hurried forward.

Xu Jie saw again his battles with Yan Song, his perilous service to Shizong—he was then beginning to understand fate.

Abruptly, the hem he lifted turned crimson.

He looked closer—he seemed to be wearing a crimson robe again… oh, yes, the first time Shizong summoned him to the Western Garden.

He seemed to hear the decree: “Commissioner Xu Jie, Minister of Rites, Senior Guardian and Senior Tutor to the Crown Prince, appointed Grand Secretary of the Eastern Pavilion!”

Strange, fragmented images swirled before him.

Odd, scattered voices echoed in his ears.

CHING!

Another bronze bell rang—Xu Jie suddenly looked up.

Before him, the desk and screen faded away, replaced by gauze curtains; behind them, a figure wore a Daoist robe embroidered with thousands of sutras, gazing at him through the veil.

The self who had not yet been granted a seat, prostrated in obeisance, bowing to Emperor Shizong.

He had arrived—March 9, the thirty-first year of Jiajing—the day he first entered Wanshou Palace.

Xu Jie stood in the hall, dizzy, disoriented.

Following memory, he walked to his former spot, lifted his robe hem, and bowed deeply, throat trembling: “Your servant Xu Jie, pays homage to Your Majesty.”

He seemed to be paying homage to the Son of Heaven of Great Ming, yet more like honoring the life he had lived.

Two figures slowly merged, and the Wanshou Palace fell silent.

After a long while, movement stirred.

The figure behind the screen put down the jade pestle he had idly toyed with and rose to his feet.

As he stood, he brushed against the screen, causing it to sway gently; the wooden plaques hanging upon it, inscribed with names, clinked together with crisp sounds.

Amid the melodious clinking of the plaques, the figure slowly revealed his true form.

Zhu Yijun wore the Yanbian robe but wore no crown, stepping calmly and effortlessly from behind the screen.

Earlier, while resting half-reclined, he had loosely tied his long hair with a wooden hairpin at the nape of his neck; now, he let it flow freely.

He placed his crown upon the desk and sat down leisurely behind the imperial table.

He leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes once more to rest and gather his spirit.

It was drowsiness—and contempt.

Zhu Yijun’s lips moved slightly; his voice, half-drowsy, murmured: “Jie, come attend me.”

Li Jin, who had just been about to help the Emperor don his crown, immediately froze.

Instead, he picked up the crown and walked to Xu Jie’s side.

Xu Jie stiffened.

He was a scholar—how could he not hear the Emperor’s humiliation?

If he did not react now, future annotations to the Book of Rites would add yet another “Jie’s service” to the tale of “the meal offered with scorn.”

Xu Jie slowly lifted his head.

He saw the screen, covered densely with the names of ministers.

He saw on the imperial desk the memorial he had entrusted to Zhang Juzheng to submit.

And he saw the Emperor, slumped back behind the desk, hair disheveled, resting.

A brief silence.

Xu Jie’s expression did not change; he gently extended both hands and took up the crown.

He rose, walked behind the imperial desk, and personally placed the crown upon the Emperor: “Your servant has heard that Your Majesty was crowned as an adult in the second month of last year.”

“As it is said: the coronation rites are performed to perfect virtue, to cultivate solemn dignity, as the model for the people.”

“Today, for the first time, Your servant beholds Your Majesty and truly feels Your virtue and dignity—so profound that Your servant finds it hard to take a step. Now, to be privileged to crown Your Majesty, so gracious and weighty, fills Your servant with trembling awe.”

“When Your Majesty’s fame resounds through bamboo and silk, passed down for ten thousand generations, Your servant may, by this act, be granted a few lines in history—Your heavenly grace is boundless; Your servant humbly accepts it with shame.”

As he crowned the Emperor, Xu Jie spoke his plea.

His tone was sincere and earnest, his emotion natural and moving—truly heartrending.

When he finished, Zhu Yijun finally opened his eyes.

He looked at the three-generation veteran before him: hair and beard half-white, features dignified, bearing an air of transcendent Daoist grace.

Though humiliated, his expression remained unchanged, yet he appeared as if deeply moved by the Emperor’s kindness.

Zhu Yijun could not help but silently praise him.

Leaving aside all else, this bearing, speech, and temperament were peerless.

No wonder he had won the favor of the Shizong Emperor.

Zhu Yijun smiled faintly, then quickly suppressed it.

Still reclining, he asked casually: “Xu Jie, you have served for over forty years, bathed in imperial grace—why do you eat from my bowl and smash my pot?”

He called him by name, accused him outright, showing not the slightest courtesy.

The Emperor’s attitude was plain to see.

Xu Jie’s hand paused in motion, then meticulously placed the crown upon the Emperor’s head, and slowly stepped back before the imperial desk.

He bowed deeply in apology: “Your servant dares not.”

Zhu Yijun shook his head: “If you had merely embezzled, I could have tolerated you—Great Ming has no shortage of corrupt officials. But… you recklessly seize land—I find it hard to suppress my urge to kill you!”

Embezzlement? That’s merely confiscating property—effectively saving money for him.

But seizing land? That truly undermines the state.

Land is the central tax base. As Zhang Juzheng explained to me last year, the great flaw of the realm today is that wealthy households conceal land and population, eroding the central tax base—that is the root of Great Ming’s decline.

As Chief Grand Secretary, for you to lead this practice, your crime is unforgivable.

Now that the central court intends to audit landholdings, we must take a stance—and you, Xu Jie, are the perfect candidate.

Xu Jie’s expression did not change; he knelt and kowtowed: “Your Majesty, allow Your servant to explain!”

Zhu Yijun looked at him, signaling him to speak.

Xu Jie once again ran through his understanding of the Emperor’s character in his mind, drew a deep breath, and made his decision.

He raised his head and pleaded: “Your Majesty, it is not Your servant who seizes land—it is the people who voluntarily surrender their land to me!”

Seeing the Emperor’s darkening face, he pretended not to notice: “Your Majesty may not know that although our state’s official tax is only one-thirtieth of the harvest,”

“beyond land rent, regular corvée, and miscellaneous labor, there are countless local taxes and levies imposed by local officials.”

“These miscellaneous taxes are varied: cart and foot fees, food money, warehouse fees, basket fees, river god and Buddha fees—endless in variety.”

“Levies are even more incessant: bridge-building, road-paving, transport, repairs—too numerous to count, often driving families to ruin.”

“It is precisely to survive that the people surrender their land to Your servant.”

Zhu Yijun flew into a rage: “You know these are local levies! And you, as Chief Grand Secretary, can only follow the tide?!”

What local official could pressure Xu Jie?

It was precisely this collusion that shattered the central tax base!

Local officials dared not impose levies on official households, so they repeatedly burdened the poor, drastically increasing the people’s suffering.

Seeing this, the people surrendered their land to official households to escape levies and corvée.

The officials met their quotas, the wealthy seized land, and the people barely clung to life.

Meanwhile, the central tax base was further eroded.

Xu Jie shook his head solemnly: “Your Majesty, this problem has sunk deep into Great Ming’s bones—it is beyond Your servant’s power to change, so I naturally follow the tide.”

Zhu Yijun sat upright, narrowed his eyes, and stared silently at Xu Jie.

Xu Jie spoke: “Your Majesty, our state spends tens of millions of taels annually; half or more goes to the imperial treasury and military expenses, leaving only the remainder for salaries, famine relief, and sacrifices.”

“As for the localities, the court’s reach is limited, its benevolence scarce.”

“Local officials govern themselves with no funds, so they naturally resort to miscellaneous levies.”

“Building bridges and roads, repairing government offices and post stations, reinforcing riverbanks and city walls, transporting grain and supplies—would these cease because the people suffer?”

“If these levies are exempted for official households and gentry, where else could they fall but upon the people?”

“Your Majesty, our state relies on local officials and gentry to govern the countryside.”

“To curb land consolidation, we must first assume responsibility for governing counties and villages.”

“Now, imperial authority does not reach the countryside; if we merely curb consolidation without effective local governance, are we not shaking the very foundation of our state?”

“Your servant cannot shake the foundation of the realm—so naturally, I follow the tide.”

“After the people surrender their land, I pay the official tax, and my official status exempts me from miscellaneous labor; as for temporary levies by local officials and basic village operations, I manage them all—including charitable fields, schools, bridges, roads, transport, and dikes—greatly easing the people’s burden.”

“Is this not an act of mercy that saves lives?”

(End of Chapter)