Chapter 313: The Strong Prey on the Weak, the Superior Prevail, the Inferior Perish

Facing He Xinyin’s words, Zhu Yijun said nothing, sipping his tea calmly.

The views of the opposition naturally ought to differ from the court’s current path; otherwise, they wouldn’t be called the opposition.

Like Wang Shizhen’s literary alliance, though formed through literary association, it repeatedly advocated a return to antiquity in politics, expressing discontent with the current system and social mores through poetry and prose, strongly reflecting certain scholar-class aspirations for the institutions of the Three Sovereigns and the glory of the Han and Tang dynasties.

And under the impetus of several great Confucians like Qian Dehong and Xue Yingqi before their deaths, Gu Assistant County Magistrate had prematurely founded the Donglin Society, ostensibly discussing metaphysics and refining Daoist learning, yet still slipping in demands—his appeals for “exemption of arrears and removal of imperial envoys” had been published repeatedly in newspapers, widely resonating with the interests of great families and propertied county dwellers.

Others included the Shanxi merchant guild representing northern merchants’ interests, the Fenggan Society and Baiyu Society representing the emerging handicraft groups of Wujiang, among others.

As the world evolved, the desire of scholars, artisans, and merchants to participate in governance grew daily; various associations representing their respective demands emerged one after another, forming today’s political landscape—alongside the development of productive forces, the Zhou system, after millennia of selection and rejection, returned under a new guise.

As one of the leaders of nationwide associations, He Xinyin, who advocated friendship and exchange and encouraged all people to form their own “hui,” sought to shoulder the burdens of the landless and destitute, echoing the cries of the impoverished masses.

That is, the “universal love” he proposed in “Ren Yi” after rejecting “kinship and reverence,” and the “equality” he described in “Lun Zhong,” where the Three Bonds and Five Constants mutually served as teacher and friend.

This was undoubtedly a great advance.

This was precisely why Zhu Yijun had unreservedly praised He Xinyin’s innate moral awareness.

But in practice…

Thinking of this, Zhu Yijun couldn’t help shaking his head.

After a moment of silence, he finally fixed his gaze on He Xinyin and replied evasively: “Liang Ruyuan, if I truly cared for the people, what would you do? If I were, as you say, still entrenched in the old ways of emperors and ministers, sincerely despising the common folk, what then?”

Seeing the emperor give no direct answer, He Xinyin sighed and pleaded again: “Your Majesty, this humble subject does not wish to do anything, nor can he do anything.”

“I am now sixty-three, my days waning, and at life’s end, I cannot let go—I only seek an answer.”

Zhu Yijun remained noncommittal: “I have read your teachings.”

Seeing the emperor refuse to answer, He Xinyin’s heart had already sunk; now, hearing the emperor admit he had read his works, his heart turned colder still.

He lowered his head silently: “Before a master of this generation, this humble subject brings only ridicule.”

Once one has studied the classics to a certain depth, one’s mind becomes hard to sway by outsiders.

If the emperor had never read his writings, he might still have sold them a few ideas.

But since the emperor had already read them, he had lost all room to propagate his doctrine.

He Xinyin could only wait for the emperor to reveal his intentions—beyond that, he was powerless.

Zhu Yijun gestured for He Xinyin to sit: “I began with ‘Yuan Xue Yuan Jiang.’ On the subject of humanity, you wrote well.”

He Xinyin sat back opposite the emperor, listening intently.

Zhu Yijun turned the teapot toward He Xinyin, indicating he should serve himself, then continued: “You say humans are divided into innate and acquired nature; in their innate state, their appearance, senses, and desires are no different from beasts.”

He Xinyin’s reputation among the people was utterly polarized.

Supporters called him “the great knight,” opponents labeled him “the great thief of human ethics”—his teachings revealed this clearly.

He Xinyin made no attempt to hide it, admitting frankly: “Naked form, babbling sound, resembling form, resembling sound.”

Zhu Yijun nodded and continued: “In the acquired state, you wrote ‘Yuan Ren,’ claiming that humanity is benevolence—that the heart resides in the world, the body in the family, and only by gathering a single human heart within the webs of great and small families can one be called human.”

“Or rather, man is the moral man, the social man; what distinguishes him from beasts is the totality of all ethical relationships.”

He Xinyin sat like a carved statue.

He glanced at the emperor’s youthful face, and an involuntary surge of awe rose within him.

The masterly bearing radiating from the emperor’s words was almost blinding, like the sun itself.

It was no wonder that fools in the streets still believed someone behind the emperor truly wrote his words—those fools should have seen the emperor face to face.

Zhu Yijun pressed on: “Building on the body being lodged in the family, you extended further, arguing that the small family is merely a small world based on blood ties.”

“To cultivate virtue and become fully human, one must extend this outward, practicing one’s path within the great family and great world—that is, forming what you call ‘hui.’”

“Scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants—all should form their own ‘hui’; the court itself is merely one kind of ‘hui.’”

“This argument, though heretical, upon closer examination proves excellent—I read it again and again, truly cannot put it down.”

Like Li Zhi, He Xinyin too possessed the potential to become a sage.

In the Jiajing era he had restrained himself, forming “Gathering Righteousness Halls” within his clan; by the Longqing era he was organizing brotherhoods; by the Wanli era he openly declared his intent to establish “Mutual Aid Hui”—no wonder history records him dying in prison.

He Xinyin could not read the emperor’s thoughts, but he was acutely sensitive to the phrase “heretical”; his expression darkened.

He met the emperor’s gaze squarely and corrected him: “This humble subject has not deviated from the classics, nor rebelled against the Dao; all I have written is the orthodox teaching of Mencius, the ancient Dao of Confucianism.”

“The so-called ‘hui’ merely renews the words of the sages—there is not the slightest intention to challenge the court’s authority or fortune.”

This matter was truly sensitive.

He Xinyin could die, but he could not afford to leave any opening here—otherwise, his entire life’s work might be banned as forbidden literature.

Zhu Yijun smiled: “Such matters of reviving antiquity to reform… Liang Ruyuan, don’t avoid speaking plainly before me.”

“History is forged by all people, but not arbitrarily forged, nor forged under chosen conditions—it is forged under the conditions already experienced, fixed, and past.”

“When creating new things, people are always panicked.”

“To avoid collective confusion, they summon the dead, borrowing the thunderous names of sages, dressing them in garments revered by all under heaven, to enact new history.”

He looked at He Xinyin, smile unchanged: “If Liang Ruyuan won’t open his heart to me, how can I answer your question?”

At these words, a long silence followed.

He Xinyin pressed his hands hard against his thighs to remain composed.

At this moment, he finally understood why court and countryside alike circulated the saying that the emperor “possessed wisdom sufficient to reject counsel.”

It surely contained the resentment of countless ministers.

He Xinyin now felt it acutely.

Before this master, all empty formalities and pretenses were merely self-humiliation.

It was as if his clothes had been stripped off!

The hall fell silent.

Time passed.

Finally, after long and deep reflection, He Xinyin drew a deep breath and replied solemnly: “Your Majesty sees clearly—I have indeed deviated from the classics and rebelled against the Dao.”

“Court officials are corrupt, harming the people; the common folk suffer widespread misery, desperate and without recourse—the scene of a dying age, nearly beyond salvation.”

“For a thousand years, it has always been thus.”

Clans, aristocratic families, powerful lineages, scholar-officials—each rises as the other falls, feasting fat on governance while the destitute are reduced to meat and fish, wailing daily, never seeing a turn of fortune.

“Recommendations are confined to noble families, excluding the poor; the imperial examinations gather the people but exclude the destitute from escaping poverty; now, the ‘hui’ I have founded offers all who wish to govern a chance—is this not progress in accord with the flow of history?”

He Xinyin laid it all bare, boldly.

So what if there are associations? They must be formed! So what if there are factions? They must exist! So what if there are gatherings? They must happen!

For a thousand years, the right to participate in governance flowed downward like water—why, on the foundation of the imperial examinations, could the destitute not be allowed to join?

Zhu Yijun gave a soft hum, steering the conversation back: “So you came to see me—to ask how I view the demands of the hundred million destitute you claim to carry on your shoulders.”

He Xinyin nodded silently: “Your Majesty’s wisdom surpasses all generations, and you willingly bind your own hands within the inner court—you must be different.”

Zhu Yijun shook his head and laughed.

He Xinyin was puzzled.

After a long pause, the emperor finally stopped laughing.

He looked at He Xinyin and said, disappointed: “Liang Ruyuan, this is why you will accomplish nothing.”

He Xinyin frowned, confused: “Your Majesty…”

Zhu Yijun raised a hand to cut him off, serious: “Since you constantly call emperors bandits and tyrants.”

“Since you say the court is beyond salvation, that the old system for millennia has reached its end.”

“Since I am the emperor of the old system, the court’s emperor, and most of the wealth drained from the wailing people flows to me—Liang Ruyuan…”

“How can you possibly trust an emperor?”

He Xinyin froze, then was utterly taken aback.

He opened his mouth to speak, then slowly closed it.

Long moments passed; He Xinyin could only remain silent.

Zhu Yijun leaned forward, staring into He Xinyin’s eyes: “You despise the old system but lack a coherent structure; you possess theories but no program; you speak of the destitute yet remain immersed in the scholar class.”

“You claim to be progressive, yet place your hopes on me—the symbol of the old system.”

“Liang Ruyuan, you are no different from those Confucians—empty talk of nature and principle, outwardly strong but inwardly hollow!”

He locked eyes with He Xinyin, only a fist’s distance away, overwhelming in pressure.

Facing the emperor’s relentless advance, He Xinyin’s heart churned with rage and anguish.

He tried several times to find words, but collapsed before the bloody facts.

The emperor was right—he did not trust the emperor, yet he had placed his hope on him.

As he himself had said, what of Tang Xuanzong? What of the current emperor? How could one place hope in an emperor’s momentary benevolence?

But what else could he do!?

Didn’t he wish to realize his vision himself, through his own ability and teachings, building his own world?

He had no astonishing talent.

He had no boundless wealth.

He had no extra years left.

At sixty-three, what else could he do but hope the emperor would overthrow himself?

An endless sense of helplessness washed over him; he had no energy to discern whether the emperor was mocking him or angrily rebuking him.

He felt his entire life’s journey, every scene, flashing before him like a whirlwind.

Forming associations, expelling Yan Song, traveling to lecture, gathering fellow travelers… were they all rootless floating weeds, mere self-indulgence?

With no intention to defend himself, He Xinyin murmured as if in agony: “What can a feeble, outdated scholar do?”

The words escaped, and his nose stung with tears.

He could barely suppress his expression, on the verge of losing composure.

Just then, the Emperor’s voice sounded again.

“Then try to overthrow me.”

He Xinyin’s tumultuous sorrow instantly ceased.

The heavens and earth fell utterly silent.

Everything seemed ripped away.

The air grew suffocating.

The cold wind made him shiver.

Beneath the Emperor’s shadow, something monstrous writhed, indescribable.

He Xinyin looked up in shock, staring dumbly at the Emperor.

In the Wenhua Hall, their eyes met, leaving only hot, anxious breaths.

“Since you claim to be progressive, then sweep me into the dustbin of history.” Zhu Yijun looked at He Xinyin with sincere expression, not a trace of mockery: “The court is mine, the realm belongs to the people. If you think the Zhu family’s court is bad, then try to overthrow me.”

He no longer called himself “I.”

He Xinyin, as the Emperor’s gaze drew nearer, instinctively leaned back into his chair.

He tried to meet the Emperor’s eyes, but instinctively looked away.

His lips opened and closed several times, trembling uncontrollably.

He seemed to understand the Emperor’s meaning—or perhaps he did not.

His heart churned like a storm, yet his face mechanically replied: “Your Majesty, this humble subject has no intention of rebellion…”

“Your weakness lies in lacking the will to rebel!”

Zhu Yijun interrupted He Xinyin again.

He suddenly reached out, gripping He Xinyin’s shoulder and forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Progress must purge the backward, just as the imperial examinations purged filial and upright recommendations.”

In one by one—

“You dare not even plot rebellion—how can you dare call yourself progressive?”

“Don’t place your hope on me. I am a virtuous ruler now, but I may not be later; even if I am, my crown prince may not be. Since you claim to be progressive, then overthrow the old system yourself!”

He Xinyin felt as if struck by five thunderbolts!

His heart clenched as if crushed; his breath grew labored.

He nearly groaned in horror: “Your Majesty tolerates rebellion too?!”

Zhu Yijun gazed at this sixty-year-old elder, so youthful in the tide of history.

He drew a deep breath, his face stern as he shook his head: “Why must I tolerate you?”

“You think the court beyond saving? Then overthrow it. I believe the Great Ming under the Zhu family still has hope—I wish to try once more. Why should I make way for you?”

“If you wish to be the court’s enemy, accept its pursuit and blockade. If you wish to sweep me into the dustbin, endure my merciless slaughter. If you wish to forge a new system, fear not being shattered to pieces!”

“Use your progress to rally the common folk, use your doctrines to unite the literati, use your ‘association’ to destroy my ‘court’!”

“If you dare not do this, isn’t your ‘association’ worse than the White Lotus’s ‘sect’?”

Zhu Yijun slowly rose, bent low, leaning close to He Xinyin, who was pressed against his chairback: “Liang Zhugan, use deeds to prove your Dao.”

Clatter.

The teacup spilled; the chair overturned.

As He Xinyin stumbled backward, he fell to the ground.

At this moment, the Emperor’s figure, hands braced on the table, loomed over He Xinyin’s vision—indescribable, ghostly, demonic, chilling to the bone!

“Why bow so suddenly?”

Zhu Yijun, startled, hurried around the table and reached out to help him up.

The moment he touched him, he felt He Xinyin drenched in sweat, soaked through as if pulled from water.

Zhu Yijun’s eyelid twitched—he wondered if he’d gone too far.

Just as he hesitated whether to offer comfort and ease the tension—

He Xinyin barely straightened his chair and slowly, painfully, rose to his feet.

“This humble subject lost his composure.”

Meeting the Emperor’s concerned gaze, He Xinyin clenched his teeth: “Your Majesty’s words have taught this humble subject much.”

This single audience left him utterly shaken.

The Emperor had given him a lesson in an audacity he had never witnessed.

He no longer dwelled on the Emperor’s true intent—only said, “I have learned.”

What exactly he had learned, perhaps words could not express.

Zhu Yijun studied He Xinyin’s face repeatedly, seeing he was truly unharmed, and relaxed: “Then, Liang Zhugan, do you have any other questions?”

He Xinyin shook his head silently: “I did have some. Now I do not.”

He paused, then bowed deeply: “This humble subject begs leave.”

But Zhu Yijun did not let him go easily.

“You have no more questions, but I have matters to discuss with you.”

He Xinyin froze—then the Emperor reached out and steadied him.

The former looked up in confusion.

The latter spoke plainly: “According to your Confucian teachings, all who share the same ideals may gather…”

“Liang Zhugan, shall we form an association together?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than He Xinyin’s legs buckled—he nearly stumbled again.

He drew a sharp breath: “Your Majesty just now called my teachings heretical, even called for my death!”

He Xinyin had met Emperor Shizong, served under Xu Jie, debated classics with Zhang Juzheng—his experience was far from shallow.

Yet only now, face to face with this Emperor, did every word strike him like a celestial revelation, always beyond his expectations.

Zhu Yijun calmly shook his head: “You’re wrong again. You claimed the Great Ming was rotten—so naturally, the court must respond. It’s not that I seek to kill you.”

“Similarly, I believe the court can still be saved, so I must employ every means to reform. Now I wish to personally experience your heresies, to see if any truth lies within them—so I may become a worthy guardian of the realm.”

He Xinyin’s expression shifted, uncertain what he was thinking.

After a moment, he forced out through clenched teeth: “Your Majesty, I kill and burn—not to become a Buddha.”

He might accept imperial amnesty for murder and arson, but He Xinyin had his pride—he would not be Song Jiang.

Zhu Yijun glanced at him: “You’ve committed multiple crimes—you’ll lose your juren status. Still think you can become an official? You must see the court as a cesspool.”

The Emperor’s tone carried disdain; his words were blunt.

Humiliated, He Xinyin’s face flushed red: “Then what does Your Majesty mean by ‘forming an association’?”

Zhu Yijun explained patiently: “You are the unofficial leader, beloved by the common folk, revered by the literati, with disciples even in court—I must admit your standing in the underworld.”

“As you yourself said, the common folk cry out in misery, helpless and abandoned…”

He paused, sighed: “I wonder—could you, a commoner, occasionally enter the palace to speak on their behalf?”

“And I, in turn, will make three agreements with you.”

“You may act—but hold no official rank or post. Your only relationship with me is within the ‘association.’”

“You may speak—whether of popular grievances or specific petitions. Whether I listen or not is my affair. Your words are merely for reference.”

Only now did He Xinyin understand the Emperor’s meaning.

He had thought the Emperor meant to pardon him as he had Li Zhi—never imagining this.

If this were so, his thoughts turned inward…

Seeing He Xinyin silent, Zhu Yijun spoke again: “You said the ‘association’ is formed by those who share the same ideals.”

“Now we both stand beneath the banner of the common folk.”

“Even if I am merely pretending to seek power, would you still serve as my eyes and ears, seeking even a sliver of hope for the common folk? Would you not?”

He Xinyin pondered, hesitated.

For such a thing, he instinctively recoiled.

He Xinyin had never lacked opportunity for office—he had ranked first in his provincial examination, the top scholar of his province; he was no failure in the imperial exams.

He simply had no interest in officialdom, abandoning the Four Books and Five Classics.

Even now—

Though merely a juren, his voice in court and countryside was so powerful that becoming an official would require only a nod—whether from Xu Jie or Shen Shixing, they would sweep their beds clean to welcome him.

Yet he remained a commoner, calling himself “this humble subject,” simply because he despised this irredeemable bureaucracy.

Under such a mindset, to entangle himself with the Emperor filled him with deep resistance.

But then again—

As the Emperor said, even if he were pretending, he ought to hear the plight of the common folk.

If it benefited them, how could he refuse?

Moreover, forming an association with the Emperor would better spread his doctrines.

No matter how he weighed it, it was wholly beneficial to the greater cause.

After long hesitation, He Xinyin finally made his decision.

He looked at the Emperor and bowed: “This humble subject is willing to befriend Your Majesty, so that Your Majesty may truly understand what benevolence and equality mean.”

As he spoke, he had already resolved to sacrifice himself like feeding a tiger.

His behavior will one day cost him his head—even if the Emperor is magnanimous, those around him, Naizhi the entire court, will not tolerate him.

Zhu Yijun remained expressionless and nodded calmly: “You want me to name it?”

He loved nothing more than naming things.

He Xinyin had no reason to refuse: “To propose the name is only natural.”

Upon hearing this, Zhu Yijun fell into deep thought, gently stroking his chin.

Moments later.

As if struck by sudden inspiration, he clapped his hands and laughed: “What about ‘Council for Joint Governance and Consultation’?”

He Xinyin pondered for a moment, then couldn’t help but praise: “Excellent.”

Seeing the matter settled, Zhu Yijun turned and waved to the eunuch.

Then he turned back and said: “By the way, I have a matter I wish to discuss with you, my fellow councilor.”

He Xinyin froze, then regarded the Emperor warily: “Your Majesty, please speak plainly.”

Zhu Yijun took the dossier handed to him by the eunuch and sighed as he passed it to He Xinyin: “It concerns the Confucius family’s land encroachment.”

“We are already in the midst of land surveying, yet we uncover this matter involving the Sage’s family—it leaves me in a terrible bind.”

“The Sage’s lineage, enshrined by the court as the leader of all Confucian scholars, has every official in the court as a student of the Kong Forest. No one dares betray their teacher or destroy ancestral ties. Moreover, they’ve interfered in the inner palace and conspired with powerful elites—no one can be found bold enough to expose this.”

“Yet you, Comrade Liang, though a commoner in exile, command the winds and clouds; a mere common man bearing great expectations, with friends across the land and no ties to bind you.”

He looked at He Xinyin earnestly: “You dared to remonstrate with me over my imperial estates—can you not also stand up for justice against the Sage’s family?”

With that, Zhu Yijun handed him both Kong Chengde’s confession and the official document assigning He Xinyin to serve under Shen Li as a tax officer.

How could the Emperor not support a common man’s challenge against the Sage’s lineage?

Zhu Yijun smiled faintly, watching He Xinyin in silence.

(End of Chapter)