Chapter 27: Spider Silk and Horse Tracks, Storms Approaching

Gao Yi felt something was off but couldn’t quite say why, frowning: “Prime Minister, if you have something to say, just say it outright.”

Zhang Juzheng gazed at the imperial mausoleum; the Grand Secretariat was already one man short.

In these turbulent times, with official duties overwhelming, Gao Arong actually wanted him to take leave—anyone could sense something was amiss.

Gao Arong naturally wouldn’t easily reveal his true intentions; he spoke solemnly, deceiving: “Zixiang, these days I’m about to take action, and I fear it may affect you and Shuda.”

Gao Yi was startled: “Take action!? Prime Minister, what are you planning?”

He immediately grew wary; as Prime Minister, Gao Arong had made many moves, but never with such gravity before.

Besides, it shouldn’t affect fellow ministers.

Now that he said this, the scale of the move must be far greater than before!

Gao Arong said gravely: “My grudge against Feng Bao runs deep; if I leave him alive, he will surely become my enemy and obstruct major policies.”

As he spoke, he extended his hand, clenching it loosely, his words almost seeping through his teeth: “I must strike first!”

This speech was half-truth, half-deception.

His intentions went far beyond merely removing Feng Bao!

Not just Feng Bao—the entire Office of Eunuch Supervision had no reason to exist.

But he couldn’t tell Gao Yi this.

That day, Zhang Sihui’s words had convinced him.

His own subordinates distrusted these two ministers, and he himself didn’t want them drawn into this vortex—that was why he spoke as he did today.

Gao Arong’s relentless demeanor made Gao Yi momentarily recall the autocratic Prime Minister who had expelled Li Chunfang and Yin Shizhan.

He instantly believed him.

Moreover, civil officials had always held a poor opinion of eunuchs like Feng Bao; Gao Yi found nothing amiss in Gao Arong’s words.

If the Grand Secretariat didn’t suppress the Office of Eunuch Supervision, should eunuchs ride roughshod over scholar-officials?

It even stirred a shared sense of outrage: “Then we must assist you, Prime Minister—let me and the Left Chancellor aid you.”

Gao Arong shook his head: “Feng Bao enjoys deep trust from Lady Li; if I act this way, I will surely offend her.”

“If all Grand Secretaries become involved, suspicion between court and palace will inevitably grow.”

“Better that I play the villain while you stay out of it—this will help ease relations with Lady Li.”

“I hear you are close to the new emperor; you must preserve your clean reputation to mediate between palace and court.”

This reasoning was sound; Gao Yi thought it over and agreed.

The Grand Secretariat must not alienate both imperial courts.

This arrangement suited Gao Arong’s nature—he had always been unafraid to play the villain.

Thinking this, Gao Yi was largely convinced, and asked only: “Do you have confidence?”

The situation was delicate; he feared Gao Arong’s failure might destabilize the court.

Gao Arong laughed, exuding boldness; he clapped Gao Yi on the shoulder: “Zixiang, don’t worry—how does half a month as head of the Office of Eunuch Supervision compare to Xu Jie’s decade-plus as Prime Minister?”

“Even Yan Song—I never lost to him.”

“Feng Bao’s position as head of the Office of Eunuch Supervision was never formally decreed; we merely tolerated him for the sake of state stability. Now that the new emperor ascends, the time has come.”

“The Six Censorates, the Remonstrance Officials, the Six Ministries—all are mine. I don’t believe Lady Li can stop me.”

Hearing this, Gao Yi relaxed.

This wasn’t like the Great Rites Controversy, where countless officials rallied behind the Jiajing Emperor.

When the Grand Secretariat moves against the Office of Eunuch Supervision, which civil official would dare defy public opinion and side with eunuchs?

Would they risk being beaten to death in the palace like Ma Shun?

Gao Yi saw no flaw and nodded: “Then Prime Minister, proceed with caution. I’ll take a few days’ leave.”

Gao Arong chuckled: “Rest well. When you return, the new emperor will soon begin his imperial lectures—then you’ll have your hands full.”

The two exchanged more pleasantries.

Gao Arong escorted Gao Yi out, adding at the door: “By the way, don’t tell Shuda about this. The Office of Eunuch Supervision will also send someone to inspect the mausoleum—knowing too much risks leaks.”

Only after Gao Yi was fully persuaded and gone did Gao Arong finally relax.

Watching Gao Yi depart, he returned to his desk with an unreadable expression, staring blankly.

What he planned next was far more intense than what he’d told Gao Yi.

Not just Feng Bao—the entire inner court eunuch establishment, even Lady Li and the emperor’s instruments of power, would be his enemies!

He knew this step, once taken, would either doom him—leaving Gao Arong branded in history as a traitor who bullied the sovereign—or restore the lost central chancellorship after two centuries.

The Hongwu Emperor dared abolish the chancellorship, an office that had stood for nearly two millennia, treating ministers as household servants—truly despicable!

Look at the Zhu emperors—how many were worthy?

The decay of the times bears half the blame on these men!

Without restraint, what has the emperor become? Fraternizing in the Leopard Pavilion? Seeking immortality? Obsessed with concubines?

Gao Arong had long despised this!

The emperor is merely a matter of bloodline; talent is never guaranteed.

If he is wise, fine—but if he is foolish, what harm does an unchallenged fool inflict upon the realm?

The realm has reached this state; the Jiajing Emperor and his like bear full responsibility—yet no one dares restrain him.

When Emperor Yingzong of Song was unworthy, Fu Bi openly declared, “I, too, can perform the deeds of Yi and Huo.” Why dare today’s Grand Secretaries speak such words?

Had the Grand Secretariat possessed Fu Bi’s stature, would Jiajing have dared act thus?

Gao Arong often lay awake all night, tossing and turning over this.

Liu Shan was merely mediocre; had he not been aided by Zhuge Liang, how could he have earned a place in history?

Had Song emperors not ruled jointly with scholar-officials, how could the realm have grown so prosperous?

Therefore, the emperor must have a chancellor appointed from the provinces to assist the virtuous, monitor the unworthy, and revitalize the state!

It is laughable that Hongwu discarded the two-thousand-year precedent of the chancellorship—truly absurd.

Fortunately, Gao Arong has finally seen his chance.

For two centuries, no one has corrected the chaos—now, let Gao Arong do it.

The realm is mortally ill; the emperor cannot save it. Better to let successive “Zhuge Liangs” try!

Even if they fail, they will leave behind a glorious tale.

Thinking this, Gao Arong strengthened his resolve.

He summoned his attendant official and ordered: “Send for the Left Censor-in-Chief Ge Shouli.”

In court affairs, the frontline must always be the remonstrating officials.

The Left Censor-in-Chief heads the Censorate, one of the Nine Ministers; Ge Shouli is Gao Arong’s mouthpiece.

The new emperor will ascend soon; it is time to act.

…

June 9, morning.

Zhu Yijun did not hold court as usual.

For today was the day before his enthronement; he needed to rehearse the ceremony with the Ministry of Rites.

Zhu Yijun read aloud a lengthy ritual text, his throat parched.

He roughly counted—four thousand three hundred and forty-nine characters, no punctuation!

Who wrote this thoughtless thing? Didn’t they understand the burden on their superior?

He silently resolved: once he could influence the Ministry of Rites, his first act would be to promote punctuation.

His eyes were nearly blinded!

Zhu Yijun went through the motions at the Fengxian Hall, the Hongxiao Hall, and the Shenxiao Hall.

Aside from the excessive length, there was no real difficulty.

But the ritual of paying respects to the two imperial courts was different—neither court was available today; he had to memorize the text alone.

During a break, Zhu Yijun summoned Zhang Hong: “Where did the two imperial courts go today?”

Though the rehearsal was merely ceremonial, the two courts wouldn’t miss it unless they had something more important.

Zhang Hong replied quietly: “The Imperial Consort and the Empress left the palace this morning.”

Zhu Yijun frowned: “Left the palace?”

Zhang Hong lowered his voice: “Last night, Duke Deping Li Ming passed away.”

“Not just the two courts—the Grand Secretariat, the Six Ministries and Nine Ministers, and most nobles have all gone to pay their respects.”

Zhu Yijun understood.

Duke Deping Li Ming was dead—no wonder such a grand display.

He wasn’t just any noble; he was his mother’s father, commonly called the Great Imperial Father-in-Law.

Of course, not these two mothers—this was the late emperor’s first wife, Empress Xiaoyi.

She married the late emperor in the thirty-first year of Jiajing and died of illness in the thirty-seventh year.

Though she died, a first wife remains a first wife; even after the two current imperial courts pass away, they will never qualify to be enshrined in the Imperial Ancestral Temple beside the late emperor—only she may.

So when the Great Imperial Father-in-Law died, the two courts had to show him some respect.

He paused, then said: “Zhang Daban, go on my behalf to pay respects—just say the formal words.”

Filial duty is something no one can block.

Once people grow accustomed to my sending envoys to such occasions, I will have achieved a small success.

Zhu Yijun would never miss an opportunity to test the extension of his power.

Zhang Hong received the imperial decree and bowed deeply before withdrawing, just brushing past Jiang Keqian.

Jiang Keqian met Zhang Hong’s gaze, nodding slightly in greeting.

He then approached Zhu Yijun’s side, but before he could speak, Zhu Yijun cut him off: “If it’s not urgent, wait until I’m done.”

He had been wrestling with the Ministry of Rites for over an hour already; the hour was late.

With the matter nearly concluded, he had no desire to be distracted—he’d rather finish first, since nothing pressing awaited him now.

Jiang Keqian, ever astute, stepped aside quietly.

Another half-hour passed.

Only then did Zhu Yijun fully absorb the rites of the coronation ceremony as laid out by the Ministry of Rites.

He walked over to where Minister Lu Diaoyang stood and bowed respectfully: “Minister Lu, I now understand all the coronation protocols. If there is nothing further, I shall return to the palace.”

Lu Diaoyang smiled warmly.

He first bowed deeply before saying: “Your Highness is truly brilliant beyond compare. The Ministry of Rites has no further business—just ensure you do not miss the hour tomorrow.”

Zhu Yijun smiled: “Minister Lu, you jest. In all my studies of history, I have never heard of an emperor missing his coronation hour.”

After exchanging a few more words with Lu Diaoyang, he departed with his guards and attendants.

Outside the hall, he signaled his entourage to fall back, leaving only Jiang Keqian.

Jiang Keqian, catching the Crown Prince’s glance, immediately understood: “Your Highness, Lord Deping Li Ming died last night.”

Look at that—his grasp of propriety doesn’t even match Zhang Hong’s; at least Zhang Hong says “passed away,” while you just say “died.”

Zhu Yijun mentally scoffed, yet knew he couldn’t demand scholarly rigor from an artist.

He interrupted Jiang Keqian: “I know of this. Get to the point.”

Jiang Keqian bowed his head: “Yes, Your Highness.”

He continued: “Your Highness, Zhang Siwei went to offer condolences and arrived just after Grand Secretary Zhang.”

“They stayed at Lord Deping’s residence for a while. Though they concealed it, my men clearly saw them exchange several covert glances.”

Zhu Yijun froze.

Then he fixed Jiang Keqian with a grave look.

Zhang Siwei was of the Jin Faction—entirely under Gao Gong’s command.

That’s why Gao Gong had specifically transferred Zhang Siwei to the Ministry of Personnel as Vice Minister; their closeness was evident.

So why is he now entangled with Zhang Juzheng?

He had always assumed that after Gao Gong’s dismissal, the Jin Faction had no choice but to cling to Zhang Juzheng, which was why Zhang Siwei now served under him.

But now it seemed the timing was far earlier than he’d thought.

Jiang Keqian went on: “Afterward, Zhang Siwei went to the residence of Minister of War Yang Bo, emerging only half an hour later—likely to discuss something.”

Zhu Yijun frowned: “And what of Grand Secretary Zhang?”

Jiang Keqian replied: “He returned to the Grand Secretariat without stopping along the way.”

Zhu Yijun slowed his pace, beginning to ponder.

This maneuver couldn’t be aimed at him.

If Zhang Juzheng meant to strike him, he’d go straight to Gao Gong—not bypass him to contact Zhang Siwei.

Then…

Was Zhang Juzheng about to stab Gao Gong in the back?

Choosing this moment—tomorrow, when he ascends the throne, and Lady Li becomes Empress Dowager Li.

With Feng Bao pushing hard in the Directorate of Ceremonial, he could maneuver his mother to dismiss Gao Gong, while turning the Jin Faction and others against him, preventing Gao Gong from overturning the table?

And what of Gao Gong? Could he truly be blind, waiting passively to be destroyed?

Zhu Yijun turned to Jiang Keqian: “What is the Chief Grand Secretary doing?”

Jiang Keqian answered swiftly, clearly prepared: “According to our men, yesterday the Chief Grand Secretary met with censor Ge Shouli.”

“They spoke at length in the official chamber; afterward, Ge Shouli returned and summoned the Censors.”

“As for the exact matter… I am powerless to know.”

Zhu Yijun waved his hand: “And today?”

Jiang Keqian replied: “The Chief Grand Secretary went to offer condolences at Lord Deping’s residence. He met no one, only exchanged formal pleasantries with the Two Palaces.”

Then he remembered something and added: “By the way, the Wenhua Palace has word that today’s court deliberation proposed the Chief Grand Secretary’s draft: Grand Secretary Zhang shall oversee the imperial tomb.”

Zhu Yijun listened carefully, his mind racing.

It seemed both sides had moved.

Yesterday, Gao Gong had instructed Ge Shouli on something—perhaps related to Feng Bao.

He’d also conveniently dispatched Zhang Juzheng, clearly preparing to stretch his limbs.

But Zhang Juzheng had sensed the move and now prepared to stab Gao Gong in the back.

Turning the Jin Faction was one part of that plan.

So Gao Gong would be in the open, Zhang Juzheng lurking at a distance.

Only Zhu Yijun himself was both hidden and close at hand.

Once he grasped this, he began to consider a question: What stance should he take?

Which of the two—Gao Gong or Zhang Juzheng—should he keep?

Without question, it must be Zhang Juzheng.

In governance alone, Zhang Juzheng far surpassed Gao Gong; only Zhang Juzheng could implement new policies, not Gao Gong.

From the perspective of seizing power, it must also be Zhang Juzheng.

Gao Gong’s prestige was too high.

A father-figure to the late emperor, he had held the post of Chief Grand Secretary for years, commanded the Ministry of Personnel as its Heavenly Official, turned the Censorate into his hounds, treated the Ministry of Revenue as his backyard, and made provincial governors and commanders see him as their patron, while every faction in court groveled beneath him.

Even with Gao Yi’s support, Zhu Yijun could not suppress him in the short term.

Zhang Juzheng, by contrast, ranked only slightly below Gao Yi.

Zhang Juzheng led the new policies; Gao Yi headed the Pure Stream faction. Gao Yi, backed by Zhu Yijun, could hold his ground in the Grand Secretariat and prevent Zhang Juzheng from monopolizing power.

Therefore, Gao Gong must fall.

But how he falls is the question.

It must not be too ugly, nor too violent—and preferably, it should strip Feng Bao of a layer of skin!

The ideal outcome: seize the Directorate of Ceremonial and the Eastern Depot from Feng Bao and kick him out.

Let Gao Gong retire from the Grand Secretariat with dignity, live out his days in peace, and wait until Zhu Yijun could control him before considering reappointment.

Once he had sorted this out, his thoughts cleared.

Zhu Yijun immediately turned to Jiang Keqian: “Come with me to Qianqing Palace. I must write two letters—deliver them for me.”

Saying this, he quickened his pace back toward Qianqing Palace.

To target Feng Bao, he couldn’t rely solely on whispering to his mother—Feng Bao and Lady Li had been master and servant for years; their trust couldn’t be erased overnight.

He could only lend a hand when Gao Gong pressed on the court.

His allies were clear: Gao Yi, of course; Zhu Xizhong, too—he’d never escape once Zhu Yijun clung to him.

In force, he could secretly command the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

In reputation, he was now the benevolent sovereign of profound virtue.

In the inner court, he had Zhang Hong and his adopted sons; in the Grand Secretariat, Gao Yi and the Pure Stream faction; among the nobility, the Duke of Chengguo; among civil officials, countless men eagerly awaited his rule.

He was no longer the powerless monarch of the former body—this court, he could still sway.

Zhang Juzheng is going to oversee the imperial tomb? If events unfold as he expects, why not bring the Embroidered Uniform Guard, pin Feng Bao’s head down, and bestow upon him a red pill?

When Grand Secretary Zhang returns, they can then discuss statecraft properly.

Three-in-one? Regent Empress Dowager, ruling Emperor, and advising Grand Secretariat—aren’t they already three-in-one? Why let the middleman profit?

As he walked, Zhu Yijun observed the eunuchs and officials of various ministries rushing about the Forbidden City, preparing for the coronation.

A strange feeling arose…

Tomorrow’s coronation felt less like a solemn ceremony and more like the opening act of a grand play.