Chapter 19: Bowing the Head in Submission, a Lonely Sovereign

In the sixth year of Longqing, the sixth day of the sixth month, morning.

……

Today is the sixth, not only a regular court day, but also the third time for the petition to urge the ascension.

As the Crown Prince’s daily lecture officer, Yu Youding naturally had to join in the fuss and rise early.

For today’s petition to urge the ascension, attire must be more formal than ordinary office duty: one must wear a liangguan crown, a red silk robe, and not neglect any accessories such as leather belts and silk tassels.

After all that preparation, if he didn’t rise even earlier, he’d miss the hot soup at the alley’s end.

The mutton soup shop at the alley’s end—Yu Youding had been drinking there since passing the imperial exam and settling in Beijing, exactly ten years now, and it still perfectly suited his taste.

For this, he had even written a full page about the shop in his notes, leaving it for future generations to ponder.

This idea had come to him from Meng Yuanlao’s Song-era book, “Dreams of Splendor in the Eastern Capital.”

At that time, the Northern Song had been shattered by the Jin, its splendid capital vanished in smoke and ash; Meng Yuanlao, in his wanderings, kept turning back to recall the city’s satisfying splendor.

Yu Youding had witnessed how, since Jiajing’s reign, the empire’s condition had plunged sharply: Japanese pirates pirates, Tartar incursions, land consolidation, taxation, military readiness, local governance—all tangled like a knot, with the empire nearing its sunset.

If his life ended in failure, better to record the capital’s splendor now, stroke by stroke, preserving the joy of the moment than to recall it later.

Yu Youding held his three-plume liangguan crown in his arms, gently adjusting it, wondering how many more years he must endure before he could swap it for a five-plume crown and enter the inner circle.

Though fifth rank wasn’t bad, entering one of the Six Ministries as a Nine Ministers would be far more expansive.

As he thought this, he arrived at the alley’s end mutton soup shop.

The hour was still early, dawn not yet broken, yet someone had arrived even earlier.

As Yu Youding stepped over the threshold, Shen Shixing was already drinking, and Wang Xijue sat beside him.

The three were jinshi of the same cohort: Shen Shixing the zhuangyuan, Wang Xijue the bangyan—their bond was deep.

Shen Shixing served as Left Tutor and Hanlin Academy Reader, also on duty at the Hanlin, and since they lived nearby, he and Yu Youding usually walked to court together.

But Wang Xijue, stationed in Nanzhili (Southern Capital), how came he here?

Yu Youding sat down, curious: “Yanyu, you’re stationed in Nanzhili—why are you in Beijing? Promoted?”

Yanyu was Wang Xijue’s courtesy name.

As the top three of their cohort, all three had the rank to become Grand Secretaries; Yu Youding’s current role as daily lecture officer was a form of probation.

Like Shen Shixing, the zhuangyuan, who last year served as the late emperor’s daily lecture officer—even though the late emperor passed away half a year later, Shen still qualified for a Six Ministries appointment.

But Wang Xijue had been unlucky: he offended Zhang Siwei and was exiled to Nanzhili, far from the center.

The Ming had two capitals, north and south, yet with clear hierarchy; transferring from Nanzhili to Beijing, even without rank change, counted as promotion.

But Wang Xijue shook his head, dismissing Yu Youding’s guess: “I came on official business, but today’s petition to urge the ascension—I was dragged here by the Ministry of Rites to fill numbers.”

Yu Youding understood.

The petition to urge the ascension required officials to line up in waves; every region had to send someone to go through the motions, just to acknowledge the new emperor’s presence.

“Bingzhong,” Shen Shixing chuckled, “Yanyu came all the way from afar, yet you, closest of all, arrived last.”

Bingzhong was Yu Youding’s courtesy name.

Of the three, Wang Xijue, at thirty-six, was youngest, most straightforward, and most stubborn.

Shen Shixing, one year older, was the zhuangyuan—lively yet ambitious.

Yu Youding, over forty, was easygoing.

Seeing Wang Xijue unwilling to discuss promotion, Shen Shixing changed the subject.

Yu Youding caught on and added: “Lately, affairs have been busy—I’ve been oversleeping.”

He called the shopkeeper and ordered a bowl of mutton soup.

Shen Shixing sipped his soup: “Bingzhong, you’re still in your prime—you’ve got plenty of work ahead.”

As top three jinshi, accumulating seniority, their futures were boundless—plenty of work indeed.

Yu Youding understood Shen’s meaning, yet felt helpless: Shen was ten years younger, a zhuangyuan, with sufficient probation—he had a far smoother path, yet teased him anyway.

But they were close friends; he didn’t mind the teasing.

He set the liangguan aside and sighed: “Lately, the Bureau of Manuscripts has been swamped, and I still have daily lectures—I’m just tired.”

With the late emperor’s death and the transition, the Bureau of Manuscripts, nominally an Eastern Palace office, suddenly had real duties.

At that moment, Wang Xijue suddenly spoke up: “Speaking of daily lectures… Bingzhong, as your role, do you know if the Crown Prince is truly as the rumors say?”

Shen Shixing looked over, curious.

Yu Youding blinked: “Rumors? What rumors?”

Wang Xijue frowned: “You’re his lecture officer and you don’t know? I just arrived in Beijing yesterday and heard people talking about the Crown Prince.”

Seeing Yu Youding still confused, he explained: “The streets say the Crown Prince was once unruly—spending his days playing with hawks and birds.”

“A hopeless character, making both the Inner and Outer Courts and the Grand Secretary furious at his lack of resolve.”

“Then, after the late emperor appeared in a dream, he woke up overnight—abandoned his old ways, threw himself into study and virtue.”

“They say he reads before the spirit tablet with divine aid; some in the palace even claim they saw a spectral emperor’s shadow guiding his lessons.”

“Since then, his progress has been astonishing.”

“Not only has Consort Li taken notice, but even Grand Secretary Gao Yi praised him yesterday: ‘The Crown Prince studies diligently, gaining the benefit of sage cultivation; he attends court with solemn dignity, displaying heavenly grace.’”

“Now street vendors scolding their children use him as an example: ‘Have you ever seen the Four Books and Five Classics at midnight?’—selling out oil lamps.”

“I’ve been away from Beijing—how much of this is true?”

Yu Youding listened as Wang Xijue recited like a catalog, his brow tightening.

Shen Shixing sat calmly, sipping soup, saying nothing.

Seeing Yu Youding silent, Wang Xijue pressed again.

Yu Youding sighed, then slowly said: “It wasn’t that extreme before—just childish, unfocused. No one really played hawks and birds—it’s exaggerated.”

“As for the Grand Secretary being furious or the late emperor appearing in dreams—utter nonsense.”

“But these past few days… he has indeed shown signs of earnest effort.”

The waiter brought the soup; Yu Youding fell silent.

When the man left, Wang Xijue pressed: “And these past few days? Don’t tease.”

Shen Shixing’s eyes darted, but he leaned in to listen.

Yu Youding sipped the soup—warmth flowed into his stomach, deeply soothing.

After savoring it, he continued: “These past few days, the Crown Prince has truly changed.”

“He visits both Inner and Outer Courts daily without fail—truly filial.”

“His studies have improved dramatically—he memorizes texts instantly, draws analogies, even summarizes principles of governance and virtue himself—his progress is astonishing.”

“I wasn’t present at court, so I don’t know details, but Grand Secretary Gao privately said the Crown Prince carries himself with proper dignity, truly bearing imperial bearing—no exaggeration.”

Yu Youding felt little awe at the Crown Prince’s intelligence; frankly, every jinshi had been a prodigy—this Crown Prince didn’t match his own youth.

What stunned him was the sheer scale of the transformation.

Such overnight enlightenment made him wonder if the late emperor truly had appeared.

Shen Shixing held his bowl, motionless.

When Yu Youding finished, Wang Xijue exclaimed: “So you’re saying he’s truly been reborn?”

“No wonder the rumors say the late emperor appeared to awaken him.”

Shen Shixing fell silent, then could no longer hold back.

He glanced around—no one nearby—and leaned close, whispering: “Could this be exaggerated?”

“I heard Grand Secretary Gao has won the Crown Prince’s deep affection; after yesterday’s lecture, the Crown Prince, having finished calligraphy, personally gifted him a scroll: ‘Appointed Regent, trusted advisor, my teacher and guardian, heart and liver laid bare.’”

Implied: could the Crown Prince’s reputation be artificially inflated by Gao Yi, to showcase his own teaching success, bolster the Grand Secretariat, and strengthen his own position?

Shen Shixing had heard whispers: the Grand Secretariat had been extremely active lately, especially clashing fiercely with the Directorate of Ceremonial.

Yu Youding shook his head, offering no further explanation—he knew that unless one had seen the Crown Prince’s current bearing, no court official would believe it.

Even he, who had watched the transformation firsthand, hadn’t fully recovered his composure—how could outsiders?

But Wang Xijue suddenly spoke: “Rumo doesn’t understand Grand Secretary Gao.”

“Grand Secretary Gao is my brother Wang Dingjue’s master; yesterday, when I saw my brother, he told me about this.”

“He said Grand Secretary Gao has been increasingly eager to retire.”

“That scroll was written only after the Inner and Outer Courts and the Crown Prince pleaded with him—so much so that he wept.”

Shen Shixing immediately apologized, lost in thought.

Yu Youding interjected: “We never had the privilege to attend morning court—today’s petition to urge the ascension, wouldn’t it be perfect to observe from afar?”

He meant to drop the subject.

Wang and Shen immediately understood, nodded, and let it pass.

In conversation, they finished breakfast without noticing.

The three walked together toward the imperial city.

Wang Xijue brought up another matter: “Yesterday I heard the Grand Secretariat is debating a new official evaluation system—true or false?”

Currently, officials are assessed: capital officials every six years in the jingcha, local officials every three years in the daji.

But often, if your superior says you’re good, you’re good—even if you’re not; if he says you’re bad, you’re bad—even if you’re not.

With no concrete standards, the system has become hollow.

This time, the Grand Secretariat is drafting those concrete standards.

Since the late emperor’s ascension, calls for bureaucratic reform have grown louder.

Time and again, officials have submitted memorials demanding administrative rectification.

Whether Grand Secretaries, censors, or local officials, all have petitioned for this.

Among them were Zhao Zhenji’s “Memorial on the Three Frailties and Nine Evils,” Zhang Juzheng’s “Memorial on Six Matters,” and even Wang Chonggu had submitted a petition on this matter.

After Gao Gong took charge of the Ministry of Personnel, he pushed this matter to its peak.

Merely last year, he dealt with officials who falsely reported arrival dates to fraudulently claim salaries; impeached incompetent officials appointed by the Imperial Clan Court to Yunnan, Guizhou, Guangdong, and Guangxi; reformed the “corrupt, lazy, and negligent” practices of the Ministry of Imperial Stables, the Ministry of Imperial Parks, and the Salt Transport Commission; ordered imperial messengers to return to the capital within stipulated deadlines, resulting in the prosecution of dozens who exceeded them; established that promotions and tenures would only count after actual appointment, and used this to prosecute dozens more for falsification.

These dozens of corruption cases and long-standing abuses stirred up enormous turbulence within and beyond the court.

But all along, these actions had been carried out solely through memorials from the Ministry of Personnel and imperial edicts.

There was still no concrete standard—“the hundred officials had nothing to rely on.”

The current court deliberation aims to establish a new, codified law based on the Imperial Inspection and Great Assessment to reform officialdom.

Specifically, it concerns how to define competence, how to define incompetence, and what qualifies one for promotion.

This is the central focus of the new reforms.

Shen Shixing, holding the highest rank and the most timely intelligence, nodded: “The Grand Secretariat has been hinting at this for a while; it was discussed on the fourth day of the court session, and again all day yesterday.”

Wang Xijue asked curiously: “Why no resolution? Is there resistance?”

Yu Youding interjected: “It would be strange if there weren’t resistance. Formerly, even monks who didn’t ring the bell still received offerings; now the abbot demands they ring the bell and monitors the alms money. The monks say that if this continues, they might as well return to lay life.”

Shen Shixing suddenly cut in: “Even if the monks clamor, even the Buddha is reluctant, and Ananda and Kasyapa are reciting heretical sutras.”

Wang Xijue froze, then immediately understood: this meant the Two Palaces had yet to declare their stance, and the Directorate of Ceremonial was interpreting imperial will to disrupt the court deliberations.

He was shrewd—he thought for a moment and realized why the Two Palaces hesitated: simply because it would offend officials.

The late emperor had just passed away; to offend the hundred officials now—what if chaos erupted?

If the monks united and caused an uproar, the abbot could simply retire with a wave of his hand—but what of the Three Buddhas? The Future Buddha is only ten years old.

Once he grasped this, Wang Xijue grew even more puzzled.

He could see it—how could the Grand Secretariat not see it?

Wang Xijue pondered: “Why doesn’t the Grand Secretariat formulate a more comprehensive plan before presenting it to the Two Palaces?”

In transitions between old and new, calm is preferable to upheaval—why not wait a little longer?

Once the court stabilizes, implementing new laws will proceed more smoothly.

Yu Youding sighed: “We haven’t reached that rank yet—we can’t see the situation at that level.”

Wang Xijue shook his head and let it go: “Still, it’s better this way—the sooner officialdom is reformed, the more breathing room the Great Ming gains.”

Shen Shixing nodded in agreement, saying nothing.

He sighed inwardly, recalling the words his mentor Lu Diaoyang had spoken to him yesterday.

Grand Secretary Zhang had consulted the Chief Grand Secretary, arguing that the Examination System for Official Performance, though useful for reforming officialdom, harmed the Emperor’s virtue and inevitably concentrated power in the Grand Secretariat; as the Crown Prince grows older, he may not approve.

Using this argument, he persuaded the Chief Grand Secretary to push the matter in court deliberations.

Shen Shixing did not endorse such aggressive action; he even found the Examination System too harsh, knowing that human nature is like water—it cannot be controlled by Legalist severity.

This matter should be pursued gradually, step by step, so that success comes naturally; aggressive action is like potent medicine—its backlash is terrifying to contemplate.

Yet…

His mentor Lu Diaoyang had merely shaken his head and said: “Only because there are those who act fiercely now do we, the younger generation, have room to proceed slowly.”

Shen Shixing had pondered this ever since, his emotions growing increasingly complex.

“Rumo, hurry up, don’t miss the petition to urge the ascension,” Yu Youding called to him.

Shen Shixing replied and quickened his pace.

Yet he couldn’t help wondering: was the Crown Prince Zhu Yijun included in his mentor’s category?