Chapter 15: Forging Cards from Emptiness, Rewriting Past and Future

After finishing his arrangements, Zhu Yijun sat quietly for a while before setting out to pay respects to the Two Palaces.

These past two days, he had strained his mind without pause; though his body could bear it, his spirit was truly drained.

This was even without taking up state affairs, and due to the mourning period, even his afternoon archery practice had been canceled.

Yet even so, it left him weary.

No wonder many dreaded court sessions—being a good sovereign was no easier than a 996 work schedule.

Rarely able to relax, Zhu Yijun declined the palanquin and walked behind only a few maids and eunuchs toward Empress Chen’s quarters.

Empress Chen was the late emperor’s second empress, childless, and banished by him under the excuse of “childless and ill,” her residence remote, nearly a cold palace—convenient for Zhu Yijun’s visits.

But fortunately, today he was not barred from the palace gates.

“Your Highness, Her Majesty invites you in,” said the maid, bowing low and leading the way.

Zhu Yijun nodded and followed behind.

This Empress Chen was truly a pitiful soul—born as empress, yet never favored.

The heir apparent was about to ascend, but he was not her own son.

Eunuchs and maids flocked to Imperial Consort Li, leaving almost no one to warm Empress Chen’s cold hearth.

The former host had met her only a few times; in memory, she was a cold and aloof woman.

“Your Highness, please wait a moment—I shall announce your arrival,” said the maid, stopping at the door.

This was a secondary palace, with few halls and scarcely any furnishings inside.

Zhu Yijun glanced around and gave a casual reply.

Soon, the maid reappeared and invited him in.

As Zhu Yijun stepped inside, he saw Empress Chen clad in mourning robes, leaning beside a desk near the window.

She appeared to be barely over thirty, exquisitely beautiful, yet her complexion was pale; her white juyi with gray collar and hem made her face look even paler.

Black and gold cloud-dragon patterns were woven across the front and back of her juyi, imparting a touch of noble solemnity.

Empress Chen looked up as Zhu Yijun entered.

Zhu Yijun bowed deeply: “Your son, pays his respects to Your Majesty.”

Empress Chen’s voice, like a clear spring, murmured: “Since the late emperor passed, I have truly become ‘this grieving one’—this palace has seen no visitors for days.”

“I slept poorly yesterday, and neglected my son.”

Zhu Yijun could not help but feel pity; he replied: “Your Majesty’s palace is so desolate—it is my fault. From now on, I shall come daily to pay my respects.”

Empress Chen gave a light laugh: “You are indeed filial—no wonder only a truly filial son would dream of the late emperor.”

“I heard this morning that your sister has been praising you to the ladies-in-waiting, saying you’ve changed overnight—now I see, you truly look the part. Well done.”

Though not his birth mother, the ancestral rites gave her authority no less than a true mother’s—Zhu Yijun dared not take this lightly.

Accepting praise, he naturally offered humility: “Your Majesty’s rebuke is just. I was indeed negligent in my duties before; I beg you to guide me more in the future.”

Here, he seized the opportunity: “Your Majesty, I am currently studying the Book of Documents in my daily lessons. While reviewing, I have some questions—may I ask for your insight?”

Empress Chen differed from Li; she came from a scholarly family.

Her father, though from a military lineage, failed the imperial exams repeatedly. Her mother was the granddaughter of Zhang Wenzhi, Junior Tutor to the Crown Prince and Minister of Rites.

Empress Chen had read the Four Books and Five Classics since childhood and possessed deep understanding of classical learning.

But for Zhu Yijun, what he asked mattered less than the act of asking itself.

Those he helped might not feel gratitude.

But those who helped him almost always held goodwill toward him.

This was a golden rule he had learned in his past life.

Asking for advice, especially, never failed to win favor—though the privilege of being asked was the rarest of all.

Now Zhu Yijun applied the same tactic to Empress Chen—and it worked brilliantly.

Empress Chen nodded, straightening her posture: “Hmm. At your age, the Book of Documents is indeed obscure. Tell me your doubts.”

As she spoke, her eyes brightened—clearly, she was delighted.

Zhu Yijun immediately summoned someone to bring a copy of the Book of Documents.

Flipping through the pages, he wore a puzzled expression and asked question after question.

Most people enjoy teaching, and Empress Chen was no exception—especially since few ever spoke to her, she gladly offered guidance.

Every time she offered insight, Zhu Yijun immediately understood, then expanded upon it.

With Zhu Yijun’s deliberate flattery, he struck every sweet spot—unconsciously, she became immersed.

Thus passed an hour.

After Zhu Yijun left, Empress Chen, parched from talking, still savored the exchange.

As she sipped tea to moisten her throat, the chief eunuch entered quietly: “Your Majesty, the Crown Prince has gone to Imperial Consort Li’s quarters.”

Empress Chen snapped back to reality and nodded.

She gazed at the empty halls and murmured sadly: “Chen Suan, why did I never bear a son?”

Eunuch Chen soothed: “Your Majesty, the Crown Prince is your son.”

Empress Chen gave a bitter laugh: “True—he is a good son. So good, I wonder how my ‘good’ sister could have borne him.”

Then she looked out the window.

As if whispering to herself: “Tell Chen Hong to cease his tricks—secretly delivering memorials for Zhang Suiwei behind my back, only now seeking me after Feng Bao intercepted him? Meng Chong died yesterday—I cannot bear to see you old servants die before me.”

These two Chen eunuchs had once been servants of the Chen family, followed her into the Prince of Yu’s mansion, and bore names bestowed by her mother.

Eunuch Chen bowed his head deeply: “I shall speak to him at once.”

Empress Chen nodded, gazing out the window, silent.

…

When Zhu Yijun arrived outside Imperial Consort Li’s quarters, he saw Feng Bao leaving from afar.

Entering the chamber, he found Imperial Consort Li’s face dark with rage.

He concealed his confusion and bowed properly: “Your son, pays his respects to Your Majesty.”

Not receiving a reply, he stepped closer, speaking gently: “Who made my mother angry? Tell me—I’ll go deal with him.”

Imperial Consort Li flung a memorial onto the table: “Read it!”

Zhu Yijun felt puzzled but showed no expression.

He picked up the memorial and began reading.

It was Gao Gong’s accusation against Feng Bao, listing charges: abuse of power, corruption, persecution of colleagues, isolation of court and palace—each claim precise and damning.

Feng Bao, so cautious, had actually submitted this directly to Imperial Consort Li? So she was angry at Feng Bao? That didn’t make sense.

Zhu Yijun probed: “Mother, such minor matters are not worth your anger.”

Imperial Consort Li lost composure: “Minor? Then what counts as major?!”

“What does Gao Gong intend?!”

“Do you still think he merely disagrees with Feng Dang over scholarly differences?”

“Do you know what he said?!”

Imperial Consort Li spat the words through clenched teeth, voice icy: “How can a ten-year-old emperor rule the realm?!”

Zhu Yijun watched her outburst, silently closing the memorial.

This was Feng Bao’s trap.

“How to govern the realm” and “how to be emperor” were worlds apart.

It shifted from “how can a ten-year-old govern?” to “how can a ten-year-old be emperor?”

This struck Imperial Consort Li’s most sacred nerve—now any word from Gao Gong was worthless to her.

Once hated, no one is judged fairly.

And Feng Bao, as her own man, turned Gao Gong’s accusation into a direct challenge to the inner court, to her.

Simple tactic—but endlessly effective.

Worse, Zhu Yijun had no counter—Gao Gong had indeed said something similar.

He took a deep breath, feigning righteous fury: “How dare he insult my orphaned mother and me?!”

“Mother, once I ascend the throne, I shall expel him from court!”

Imperial Consort Li’s anger eased slightly, but still seethed—she tore Gao Gong’s memorial to shreds: “Such treasonous words—and Feng Dang says this alone isn’t enough to punish him! Unthinkable!”

This was “held back from issuance”—literally.

Zhu Yijun, quick to act, summoned attendants to burn the shredded paper to ash.

He did not stand idle, stepping forward to pat her back: “Mother, don’t let such an old fool anger you—it only gives him what he wants.”

“Emperor Huizong of Song, before his accession, was called by Chancellor Zhang Dun: ‘Prince Duan is frivolous, unfit to rule.’ Just like Gao Gong’s treason.”

“Yet Huizong later committed every evil, his capital fell to the Jin, he was captured and died in humiliation—exactly as Zhang Dun predicted.”

“Gao Gong now sees himself as Zhang Dun—proud and smug.”

“Mother must not grant him the glory of his scheme. Instead, let him see how capable your son is—how truly he shall rule the realm.”

“Then, I shall remind him—force him to kneel and beg your forgiveness.”

Zhu Yijun’s words finally eased Imperial Consort Li’s mood.

She grumbled: “You’ve memorized so many passages and historical tales.”

Zhu Yijun immediately took her arm: “It’s because Mother disciplines me well that I’ve learned these principles.”

Imperial Consort Li glared at him: “Speaking of discipline—I haven’t settled accounts with you yet!”

Zhu Yijun blinked, puzzled.

Li Imperial Consort tapped him on the forehead: “The eunuch on duty in Wenhua Hall said you were distracted during your daily lecture—was that true?”

Zhu Yijun immediately knew what she meant and sighed inwardly.

This false accusation never seemed to end—he had merely drifted off for a moment while thinking about Zhang Juzheng’s report, yet someone had still reported it to Li Imperial Consort.

He didn’t need to guess—it was the eunuch on duty who had passed it on to Feng Bao.

Fortunately, he wasn’t the original occupant of this body; otherwise, he’d have truly suffered a silent defeat.

Zhu Yijun smoothed his expression, rose to his feet before Li Imperial Consort, and then bowed deeply.

Li Shi was puzzled.

Zhu Yijun offered no explanation—only knelt low to the ground and began reciting the day’s lecture, word by deliberate word: “Taijia had been enthroned but proved unwise; Yi Yin exiled him to Tong, and after three years, restored him to Bo...”

Though Li Imperial Consort didn’t fully understand, she grasped what he was doing, and listened in silence, nodding frequently.

Soon, Zhu Yijun finished reciting the entire passage.

But he did not stop—he began explaining the meaning of the text.

Li Imperial Consort was satisfied; she now believed her son had truly studied earnestly today.

She spoke: “Enough. Rise.”

Zhu Yijun did not move.

Only when Li Imperial Consort began to grow impatient did Zhu Yijun finally recite through his entire day’s lesson.

Yet he did not rise—he lowered his head even further: “Mother, yesterday I promised you face-to-face that I would study diligently and cultivate virtue, never neglecting my duties.”

“Now I am earnest and careful, not daring the slightest lapse.”

“Yet you blindly believe the slander of petty men, undermining the heir’s dignity—how is this different from Gao Gong?”

“I dare to beg you, Mother: from now on, trust me just a little more. Watch me yourself to see if I err—then petty men will have no chance to whisper lies.”

Zhu Yijun’s sudden outburst left Li Imperial Consort embarrassed; she flushed and helped him up.

Turning her face away, she muttered: “My son has grown up—he can now scold his mother.”

Zhu Yijun pressed on: “It’s not that I’m scolding you—only that you trust outsiders more than your own son, and unjustly rebuke me. It pains me.”

Li Imperial Consort cleared her throat: “Enough, enough. Mother understands.”

Seeing Li Imperial Consort’s attitude finally soften, Zhu Yijun’s expression brightened, and he quickly began massaging her shoulders.

This was how perceptions slowly shifted.

To make others believe you are trustworthy, the best approach is to be gentle in manner but firm on principles—to argue with humility yet unwavering resolve.

Especially between mother and son: if you become a mama’s boy, no matter how old you grow, it’s all in vain.

Li Imperial Consort regained her composure and added, still defensive: “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“Look—another censor has submitted a memorial saying the sun was devoured by a celestial dog, a sign from Heaven warning of the ruler’s moral failings, urging you to reflect on your sins, copy Buddhist and Daoist sutras, and offer prayers to Heaven.”

“I’m merely helping you plug the gaps, so you don’t truly offend Heaven.”

With that, Li Imperial Consort pulled out several memorials and handed them over.

Zhu Yijun fell silent, unwilling to take the memorials.

Such memorials were always empty of substance, yet stood on the high ground of political correctness, leaving no room for rebuttal.

As for who was so cruel... it was almost certainly Zhang Juzheng.

Copying Buddhist and Daoist sutras would take at least half a month to finish, draining mind and energy.

Aside from court audiences and daily lectures, he’d likely spend every other moment on them.

In the past, he had drowned his superiors’ desks in useless paperwork—now the tables had turned.

Karma never fails.

Yet he couldn’t ignore these memorials—they were part of the current rites.

Just as droughts required rain prayers, and palace fires demanded self-blame edicts, there was no avoiding them.

Moreover, Li Imperial Consort’s tone in presenting these memorials made her intent clear: copying sutras? Good—get to it immediately.

Zhu Yijun could only agree: “I shall return and copy them diligently.”

Li Imperial Consort nodded in satisfaction, and the matter was dropped.

Note 1: Empress Xia’an, of the Chen clan, was from Tongzhou. Selected as Consort of Prince Yu in the ninth month of Jiajing 37. Enthroned as Empress in Longqing 1. She bore no sons and suffered frequent illness, residing in a separate palace. —《Ming Shi · Biographies · Volume 2》