Chapter 24: Awakening from a Dream, Sharing the Golden Cup

Longqing Sixth Year, sixth month, eighth day.

……

The palaces of the Forbidden City all had red walls and blue tiles, upturned eaves and soaring ridges; if a palace had multiple courtyards, they stacked layer upon layer, with winding corridors, exuding majesty and grandeur.

In contrast, the Grand Secretariat on the eastern side appeared somewhat petty.

The Grand Secretariat hall stood just east of the Wu Gate, not far south of the Wenhua Hall, consisting only of a few low pavilions.

Yet this modest complex was now the very center of power in the Great Ming.

Above the Grand Secretariat’s gate hung an imperial edict left by the Shizong Emperor: “This is a confidential precinct. All officials and unauthorized persons are forbidden to enter without permission. Violators shall be punished without mercy.”

In the central chamber stood solemnly enshrined the statues of Confucius and his Four Associates; the four side chambers, each separated and opening to the south, served as offices for the Grand Secretaries.

In past days, the three Grand Secretaries each took turns guarding one chamber.

This morning, all their duty rooms were empty; only one official room remained tightly shut, from which the voices of three men occasionally emerged.

“So my suggestion is: given this transition between old and new, we must avoid drastic moves. First, test it in Shuntian Prefecture—it’s the safest approach.”

“A nine-story terrace begins with a pile of earth.”

“Once Shuntian Prefecture succeeds, we can then extend it to all Provincial Administration Commissions, and the momentum will naturally follow.”

“Moreover, this way, resistance from the Two Palaces and the ministers will be reduced.”

After speaking, Gao Yi sipped his tea.

Having weathered decades of court politics, he knew how to get things done; he would not reveal everything he had discussed with the Crown Prince yesterday.

He framed Li Imperial Consort’s concession as his own deliberation.

He falsely claimed that to advance the Performance Evaluation Law, he had to make minor concessions to expedite implementation.

The so-called “performance” was meant to unite the officials; the so-called “pilot” was meant to persuade the Two Palaces.

Proceeding gradually in this manner served the greater state, requiring mutual restraint for the sake of the nation.

Gao Yi raised his eyes to his two colleagues.

Gao Gong frowned in thought; Zhang Juzheng gazed sidelong at the ceiling beams.

He waited patiently for their responses.

He remained confident: yesterday, after reading the brief note sent by the Crown Prince, he had already guessed this plan would succeed.

Li Imperial Consort, fearing chaos, had proposed this “pilot” method—something that genuinely surprised Gao Yi; he found it hard to believe such insight came from a woman of the inner palace.

As he had just said, though it took longer, it was indeed more stable.

It allowed flexible handling and made it easier to leverage strengths and avoid weaknesses later.

And this “performance” concept carried a touch of benevolence; though Gao Yi was accustomed to contentment with poverty, he could not help but thank the Qingliu of the realm on behalf of all upright officials.

He wondered how the Crown Prince had persuaded Li Imperial Consort to concede—this outcome felt like harmonizing yin and yang, inner and outer.

With this entire scheme, Gao Yi felt it was more complete than their earlier discussions on the Performance Evaluation Law; he was confident he could convince his two colleagues.

He had just reached this thought…

“This so-called ‘performance’—I, the Grand Secretary, disagree,” Gao Gong suddenly said.

“The ‘pilot’ proposal,” Zhang Juzheng said slowly, “is questionable.”

They spoke in unison, rejecting both proposals in turn, then exchanged glances before looking away.

Though confident, Gao Yi knew it wouldn’t be easy; his face showed no expression.

He asked calmly, “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Zhang Juzheng nodded, signaling Gao Gong to speak first.

Gao Gong did not hesitate: “Zixiang, how is this different from bribing your colleagues?”

“If all new policies rely on bribing officials, won’t this become a system of bribery!?”

“Moreover, how much silver does the Ministry of Revenue even have?”

“Last year, the salary disbursement of 3.5 million taels was barely enough to cover 1.1 million!”

“Now you’re talking about performance bonuses? This isn’t the Hongwu era, when there were only two thousand officials. Now there are twenty-eight thousand mouths to feed—can you even feed them all!?”

“All this talk of benevolence and virtue is just an excuse. Even I have lived for decades on this meager salary!”

“Anyone who embezzles is defying Heaven and oppressing the people, violating the duties of a minister—deserving of flaying and hanging. Why waste money on appeasement!?”

Gao Gong spoke in a rapid, unbroken stream, his voice loud and his stance firm.

He then sneered: “Zixiang, don’t go astray by speaking for corrupt officials.”

Gao Yi knew Gao Gong’s temper and didn’t take offense.

Discussion must be had to be called discussion.

He had prepared for this.

Gao Yi pulled a stack of manuscripts from his sleeve, stood, walked to Gao Gong, and handed him one.

He gave one to Zhang Juzheng as well.

Then he returned to his seat and spoke slowly: “I compiled this from archived documents in the Ministry of Revenue. Please take a look.”

Official memorials and documents from all ministries were routinely filed in the Grand Secretariat and the Six Censorates.

Seeing Gao Yi had done his homework, both men studied the documents carefully.

While they read, Gao Yi continued: “This lists the salaries for all officials in our dynasty’s nine ranks and eighteen grades.”

“The Chief Grand Secretary just said he lived well on his salary—naturally, that’s true.”

“But beyond your personal virtue, remember: you are the Grand Preceptor, one of the Three Excellencies, a first-rank official.”

“Your annual salary is 252 dan, equivalent to 151 taels of silver—even when unpaid, last year half was paid, and occasionally you received imperial gifts.”

“Naturally, it’s sufficient.”

“But what of lower-ranking officials? Please look.”

Gao Gong’s face darkened, yet he continued reading.

Zhang Juzheng followed suit.

Gao Yi continued: “Forget the ninth rank—look at our seventh-rank officials, the county magistrates.”

“Their annual salary is 31 dan, equivalent to just 19 taels! Last year, unpaid salaries meant county magistrates received only sixty percent; capital officials received only thirty percent—calculate how little that is.”

“And it’s not even paid in kind—much of it is converted to treasure notes, which are slashed again.”

“Even this is what we issue—after all the middlemen and delays, how many silver coins actually reach their hands?”

“My neighbor, the butcher Zhang, earns three taels a month just selling meat—over thirty taels a year!”

“Chief Grand Secretary, how many sages and scholars are there among seventh-rank officials?”

“A county magistrate, with near-total authority in his domain, earns less than a butcher—can’t even afford daily meals. Isn’t this forcing them to steal?”

“If we enforce the Performance Evaluation Law as is, provincial and prefectural offices will either turn a blind eye—or dismiss half their officials. This new law will collapse.”

Gao Yi spoke with earnest sincerity.

Gao Gong fell silent for a moment, then his firmness faded: “Enough, Zixiang. Don’t say more.”

He sighed, finally revealing his true thoughts: “I am Minister of Personnel—do you think I don’t know these things?”

“It’s simply… we have no money.”

“This year’s tax revenue: thirty percent retained in Nan Zhili for anti-piracy in the southeast; all taxes from Shanxi Province sent to Ningxia’s frontier garrisons; the late Emperor’s mausoleum must be built; the Yellow River flood season approaches; and Xuan-Da is starving for funds—I can’t even count all the places demanding money!”

“The Imperial Treasury is nearly empty!”

“Otherwise, why would we even be tapping the Inner Treasury?”

“Zixiang, eloquent words are easy. We must act practically. This precedent cannot be set.”

After shedding his hard exterior, this powerful Chief Grand Secretary appeared just as powerless.

Unless you stand at his position, you truly cannot grasp how hard it is to manage this household.

With twenty-eight thousand officials on record, even giving half of them a ten-tael bonus would require nearly two hundred thousand taels.

And that’s without accounting for clerks—where could he find so much silver? Imperial treasure notes? They were already used as toilet paper!

Did anyone truly believe the state treasury was inexhaustible?

In Longqing First Year, when Minister of Revenue Ma Sen took office, he discovered the Imperial Treasury held only enough silver to last three months, and the capital granaries only enough grain for two—so terrified, he considered resigning.

When Zhang Shouzhi succeeded him, he calculated: the court’s annual revenue was only 2.3 million taels, while expenditures reached 4.4 million.

He even exclaimed, “At this state of national finances, everyone is heartbroken.”

When the late Emperor requested funds from the Imperial Treasury, didn’t ministers all plead against it? Was that just empty talk?

At the start of this year, Yin Zhengmao of Guangdong petitioned for military pay; Gao Gong approved twenty thousand taels—still unpaid!

At this fiscal state, how could we possibly raise official salaries?

Gao Gong thought Gao Yi’s idea was absurd.

If the Performance Evaluation Law could only be implemented through bribery, it was better not to implement it at all.

Gao Gong’s stance was firm—he would endure the blame, and let the officials suffer.

Gao Yi had anticipated this stance.

He never mentioned who would pay—understanding the principle of advancing two steps, retreating one.

If he directly proposed using Inner Treasury funds, he feared Gao Gong would suspect the eunuchs were meddling in official salaries and financial authority.

Gao Yi paused, feigning hesitation: “Chief Grand Secretary… I suggest we wait until the summer tax is collected, and not return the ten thousand taels to the Inner Treasury.”

Gao Gong frowned: “Explain.”

Gao Yi looked uncertain: “My suggestion is: petition the Two Palaces to designate this sum as funding for ‘performance’ bonuses. What do you think?”

Gao Gong laughed bitterly.

He waved his hand: “The Two Palaces are stingy women, and Feng Bao is scheming against us. Don’t even think of keeping the money—just delaying repayment a season would make them want to eat me alive. Zixiang, you’re dreaming.”

Gao Yi was about to speak.

Zhang Juzheng suddenly interjected: “Prime Minister, in my view, it may not be unworkable.”

Gao Arong turned his head in confusion and looked at Zhang Juzheng.

Zhang Juzheng chuckled: “Isn’t Zi Xiang quite favored by the Crown Prince? Why not explain the pros and cons to him directly? Let the Crown Prince whisper to the Two Palaces—after all, the Inner Treasury is merely held in trust for them.”

With that, he looked at Gao Yi with a hint of resignation.

The moment Gao Yi mentioned using the Inner Treasury for this, he immediately knew whose idea it was.

Zhang Juzheng had naturally heard about Gao Yi being invited to share the imperial meal yesterday.

He wondered what words that “sage ruler” had used to deceive this minister.

Fortunately, no heretical remarks had been made; otherwise, he might have had to open the Imperial Lecture Series early to properly rein him in.

Judging from current observations, this prince shows a touch of benevolence and some insight—but his scheming is excessive, and he disregards righteousness; he must be carefully guided.

He had rarely softened his attitude toward that scheming boy—truly, an emperor willing to dip into the Inner Treasury is one of a kind.

Zhang Juzheng quietly set aside his plan to remove Zhang Hong and open the Imperial Lecture Series early, deciding to observe further.

?￠o

Yet Gao Yi couldn’t help glancing at Zhang Juzheng in surprise.

That he was favored by the Crown Prince had already spread among the ministers—perhaps, given time, this could become a celebrated tale of harmonious ruler-minister relations.

Gao Yi allowed himself a small sense of pride.

With this unexpected boost, his confidence swelled; he looked at Gao Arong with certainty: “Prime Minister, Left Chancellor is right—this Inner Treasury ultimately belongs to the Crown Prince.”

“During yesterday’s lecture, I already gauged the Crown Prince’s stance. I’m confident I can persuade him. Prime Minister, let me try.”

Seeing Gao Yi’s confidence, Gao Arong assumed he was indulging in self-delusion—how many emperors didn’t draw from the Ministry of Revenue? As for one who drew from the Inner Treasury, he’d never even heard of such a thing.

Yet… this gave Gao Arong an idea.

Li wasn’t afraid of harming the Emperor’s virtue? Then let him pay!

If he refuses to pay yet also refuses to let others act, isn’t that even more damaging to the Emperor’s virtue?

He wanted to see whether Li feared the corruption accusations more than the Qingliu’s petitioning at the palace gates.

People always prefer compromise—Li surely wouldn’t be an exception. Struggling to approve the Examination System directly would be difficult; but if the Grand Secretariat asked Li to fund its implementation, the former would seem far less burdensome.

Realizing this, Gao Arong changed his tone and accepted Gao Yi’s proposal: “Since Zi Xiang says so, let’s give it a try.”

“Draft a proposal first, then see how the Two Palaces react. We can’t be the ones compromising for the state while they refuse to spend a single coin.”

It was as if he had already passed his own test.

Seeing Gao Arong relent, Gao Yi nodded.

Then he remembered another matter and turned to Zhang Juzheng: “Left Chancellor, you mentioned the ‘pilot’ matter needs further discussion—what exactly do you mean?”

He hadn’t anticipated any difficulty here.

After all, this plan seemed entirely feasible—even excellent—and any clear-eyed observer should have approved it. Why did Zhang Juzheng object?

Zhang Juzheng did not answer directly.

Instead, he extended his hands—wrinkled, dry, and aged—and turned them slowly before Gao Yi’s gaze.

He spoke slowly: “Zi Xiang, you’re fifty-five now, aren’t you?”

Gao Yi, puzzled, nodded uncertainly.

Zhang Juzheng turned to Gao Arong: “I recall you’re nearly sixty?”

Gao Arong grunted: “Six months away.”

Zhang Juzheng sighed: “I’m nearly fifty too.”

“Lately, in my spare moments, I’ve been reading Han Yu’s ‘Elegy for My Nephew Shier.’ I’ve been deeply moved.”

He began to recite: “Since this year, my gray hairs have turned white, my teeth have loosened and fallen, my vitality and spirit grow ever weaker.”

After reciting the line, he gazed back and forth between the two ministers.

“Lately, my white hairs multiply, my heart races, and I sleep less than two hours a night.”

“How much time do we, of our kind, still have left?”

Both Gao men were visibly moved.

In this world, sixty was already considered old age; those who lived as long as Yan Song were rare.

All three of them were advanced in years; their bodies had long shown signs.

At the current rate of decline, even six or seven more years of governance would be a miracle.

Gao Arong immediately understood Zhang Juzheng’s meaning: “You mean…”

Zhang Juzheng nodded: “Too slow. Testing in one prefecture, then one province—by the time it reaches the whole empire, who knows how long it will take?”

“Moreover, purifying the bureaucracy is merely the first step of a thousand-mile journey. The Examination System is only paving the road. There are still many reforms we must accomplish.”

“I fear… we’ll fail midway, and when we die, the reforms die with us.”

He spoke without reservation.

Performance metrics, pilot programs—they sound novel, but do you truly believe no one ever thought of them before?

The truth is, even the cleverest housewife cannot cook without rice. Time is not on our side.

No need! When Empress Li becomes Empress Dowager, when Gao Arong retires, and when I, Zhang Juzheng, seize full power—I’m confident I can suppress the backlash.

I’m confident that after I hand over power, I can leave behind a resilient framework of reform, and let others gradually build upon it later.

But if we delay now, we’ll truly be too late.

Gao Yi sees purifying the bureaucracy as the end goal; Gao Arong believes filling the court with upright men will restore the Great Ming. Neither realizes, in my view, it’s still far from enough!

I must audit the land!

I must reform the tax system!

I must quell the border troubles!

The Examination System? Merely sweeping away pests before the work begins—it’s only the first step. How could I waste so many years?

Remember, even the founding emperor took over a decade to survey the land!

How many more decades do I, Zhang Juzheng, have left?

At this age, counting days, every moment must be spent on the sharpest blade.

Gao Yi, watching Zhang Juzheng’s expression, understood the minister’s meaning.

He had never considered this layer, because he believed each generation had its own duty.

Human effort has limits; how could one person finish all the world’s affairs?

Moreover, Gao Yi now believed successors were ready.

He spoke slowly: “Left Chancellor, trust in the next generation’s responsibility.”

Based on the Crown Prince’s conduct, Gao Yi was willing to believe his disciple genuinely sought to govern—and thus, the reforms could be entrusted to him.

But this was a teacher-disciple understanding, not for outsiders to know.

Zhang Juzheng looked at him in surprise—this minister trusted the Crown Prince so utterly?

Had he forgotten what the Jiajing and previous emperors were like?

What kind of poison had been poured into his ears?

He did not retract: “We must first do our utmost.”

Zhang Juzheng knew such radical action would bring endless troubles—he might die in disgrace or be exhumed and mutilated after death.

He didn’t care. When a man dies, the lamp goes out; while alive, one must do all one can.

But today’s Gao Yi was different.

He insisted firmly: “If we refuse to yield at all, the Two Palaces, fearing harm to the Emperor’s virtue, may not agree.”

“If we deadlock, we’ll only waste more time.”

“This is a necessary compromise.”

“Left Chancellor, think carefully.”

How could Gao Yi bear to let his disciple’s first passionate enthusiasm for state affairs vanish into nothing?

He didn’t feel the urgency—unfinished tasks could be handed to the new sovereign.

Zhang Juzheng seemed to have already decided; as soon as Gao Yi spoke, he replied without hesitation: “Add the eighteen prefectures of Southern Zhili and the Fujian Provincial Administration—how is that?”

Easy first, then hard.

Land consolidation and tax evasion are worst in these two regions.

Whether surveying land or reforming taxation, it must begin here—in this capital and this province.

Starting the Examination System here first won’t hinder later progress; this is my concession.

Gao Yi hesitated.

Suddenly expanding from one prefecture to an entire capital and province clashed with his understanding with the Crown Prince.

Now it was Zhang Juzheng’s turn to persuade Gao Yi: “Zi Xiang, we must also clear the path as much as possible for the new sovereign.”

This struck a chord with Gao Yi—an entire capital and province were indeed within the Grand Secretariat’s capacity.

After thinking it over, he finally nodded.

Seeing the broad agreement, Gao Arong finally decided: “Let’s bring it to court.”

“I’ll first inform the Jin Faction and the Censorate.”

“Zi Da, go ask the Chu Faction if they have other suggestions.”

“As for the Qingliu, Zi Xiang needn’t exert much effort—just get them to fully support the Examination System.”

“For now, let’s proceed like this. Later, we’ll debate it in court—our agreement means nothing unless the Six Ministries approve and the Two Palaces consent.”