Chapter 16: The Frost of the Outer Palace, Soft Outside, Firm Within

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

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 touching 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 virtuous ruler was no easier than a 996 work schedule.

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

Empress Chen was the late emperor’s second wife, childless, and banished by him under the excuse of “childless and chronically ill” to this remote palace, nearly as isolated as a cold palace—conveniently located for Zhu Yijun’s visits.

Fortunately, today he was not barred from the palace gates.

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

Zhu Yijun nodded and followed behind.

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 for flattery; hardly anyone came to Empress Chen to curry favor.

The former body’s encounters with Empress Chen had been few; he remembered her as cold and aloof.

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

This was a secondary palace, with few halls and almost no furnishings inside.

Zhu Yijun glanced around and gave a casual reply.

Soon after, the maid reappeared and invited him in.

As Zhu Yijun stepped inside, he saw Empress Chen seated beside a window table, dressed in the mourning robes of an empress.

She appeared to be barely over thirty, exquisitely beautiful, yet her complexion was pale—her white juyi dress with gray collar and trim accentuated her pallor.

Black and gold cloud-dragon patterns embroidered on the front and back of her juyi lent a touch of noble coldness.

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 slowly: “Since the late emperor’s passing, I’ve truly become the ‘bereaved mother’ of operas—this palace has seen no visitors for days.”

“I slept too long yesterday, and neglected my son.”

Zhu Yijun felt a pang of sympathy and replied: “Your palace’s solitude is my fault—I shall come daily to pay my respects henceforth.”

Empress Chen gave a light laugh: “You’re so 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 noble ladies—how you’ve changed overnight, suddenly grown wise. Now I see, you truly look the part—well done.”

Though not his birth mother, the ancestral rites bound her with equal or greater authority—Zhu Yijun dared not take her lightly.

He humbly replied: “Your Majesty’s rebuke is just—I was indeed negligent in my duties. I beg you to continue guiding me.”

Seizing the moment, he pressed further: “Your Majesty, we’re currently studying the Book of Documents in our daily lessons. While reviewing, I’ve encountered some puzzling passages—could you help clarify them?”

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, the Junior Guardian of the Crown Prince and Minister of Rites.

From childhood, Empress Chen had thoroughly studied the Four Books and Five Classics, and possessed deep insight into 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 all developed goodwill toward him.

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

Asking for guidance, in particular, never failed to win favor—though the privilege of being asked was the rarest of all.

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

She nodded, straightening her posture: “Hmm. At your age, the Book of Documents is indeed obscure. Tell me what troubles you.”

As she spoke, her eyes brightened—clearly pleased.

Zhu Yijun immediately ordered a copy of the Book of Documents brought.

He flipped through the pages, frowning in confusion, and asked question after question.

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

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

With Zhu Yijun’s deliberate flattery, he struck precisely at her sweet spots, and she unconsciously became absorbed.

An hour passed.

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, how did I end up without a son?”

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

Empress Chen gave a bitter laugh: “True—he’s a good son. So good, I can’t fathom how my ‘good’ sister bore him.”

Then she looked out the window.

As if whispering to herself: “Tell Chen Hong to cease his tricks—he secretly passed Zhang Suiwei’s memorials behind my back, and only now, after Feng Bao intercepted them, dares to beg me for help? Yesterday Meng Chong just died—I can’t bear to see you old servants die before me.”

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

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

Empress Chen nodded, gazing at the daylight beyond the window, silent.

…

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

Inside, he found Imperial Consort Li’s face dark with rage.

He kept his composure and bowed: “I pay my respects to Your Majesty.”

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

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

Zhu Yijun was puzzled but showed no expression.

He picked up the memorial and began reading.

It was a denunciation of Feng Bao by Gao Gong, listing charges of abuse of power, corruption, persecution of colleagues, and isolating the inner court—all meticulously documented.

Feng Bao, so meek, had simply handed this straight to Imperial Consort Li? So she was angry at Feng Bao? That didn’t make sense.

Zhu Yijun ventured: “Mother, such trivial matters aren’t worth your anger.”

Imperial Consort Li exploded: “Trivial?! What then counts as serious?!”

“What is Gao Gong trying to do?!”

“Do you still think he’s merely a scholar who dislikes Feng Dang?”

“Do you know what he wrote?!”

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

Zhu Yijun watched her outburst, then quietly closed the memorial.

This was Feng Bao’s trap.

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

He had turned “how a ten-year-old governs” into “how a ten-year-old becomes emperor.”

This struck directly at Li’s deepest fear—now any word from Gao Gong was worthless to her.

Once hated, no one is judged fairly.

And since Feng Bao was her own man, Gao Gong’s memorial became an outright provocation against the inner court, against Li herself.

Simple tactic—but it never failed.

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

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

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

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

This was “held back from issuance”—literally.

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

He didn’t stand idle—he stepped forward, patting her back soothingly: “Mother, don’t let such an old man provoke you—it only gives him what he wants.”

“Emperor Huizong of Song was once called ‘frivolous and unfit to rule’ by Chancellor Zhang Dun before his ascension—just as Gao Gong has called you.”

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

“Gao Gong now sees himself as Zhang Dun—smug and self-satisfied.”

“Mother must not grant him the satisfaction of his schemes or his reputation. Instead, let him see how capable his son is—how truly he rules the realm.”

“Then, when the time comes, I’ll remind him to beg your forgiveness properly.”

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

She grumbled: “You’ve studied barely a few days, yet you quote classics and ancient tales like a scholar.”

Zhu Yijun immediately took her arm: “It’s because of Your Majesty’s strict guidance that I’ve learned even this much.”

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

Zhu Yijun blinked, puzzled.

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

Zhu Yijun immediately knew what she meant and sighed inwardly.

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

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

Fortunately, he wasn’t the original body’s owner; otherwise, he’d have taken a real beating.

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

Li was puzzled.

Zhu Yijun offered no explanation—only knelt low on the ground and began reciting the day’s lecture verbatim: “Taijia had been enthroned but was unenlightened; Yi Yin exiled him to Tong, and after three years, restored him to Bo…”

Though she didn’t fully understand, Imperial Consort Li 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.

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

She spoke: “Enough. Rise.”

Zhu Yijun did not move.

Only when Imperial Consort Li 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 believe the slander of petty men and undermine 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 Imperial Consort Li embarrassed; she blushed 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: “I’m not scolding you, Mother—it’s just that you trust outsiders more than your own son, and unjustly blame me. It hurts.”

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

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

Perception is changed bit by bit like this.

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—otherwise, once you become a mama’s boy, no amount of aging will undo it.

Imperial Consort Li regained her composure and added: “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 only helping you plug the gaps, so you don’t truly offend Heaven.”

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

Zhu Yijun fell silent, refusing to take the memorials.

These memorials always had no substance, yet they occupied 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 have to spend every other moment on them.

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

Karma never fails.

Unfortunately, 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.

And Imperial Consort Li’s tone in presenting these memorials was clear: copying sutras? Good—get started right away.

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

Imperial Consort Li nodded in satisfaction, letting the matter drop.

——

Note 1: Empress Xia’an, of the Chen clan, was from Tongzhou. Selected in September of the thirty-seventh year of Jiajing as the secondary consort of Prince Yu. Enthroned as Empress in the first year of Longqing. She bore no sons and suffered chronic illness, residing in a separate palace. —《Ming Shi · Biographies · Volume Two》

(End of Chapter)