Chapter 315: Serving the King as Vanguard, Qiongqiong Ju Xu

Shanxi Provincial Administration Commission, Pingyang Prefecture, Puzhou.

As the New Year approached, every household engaged in visiting relatives and friends; the Zhang family, as a prominent clan in Puzhou, naturally could not escape this custom.

Today, Zhang Siwei warmly received one group of guests after another.

He showed proper courtesy to all, regardless of status—merchants, scholars, officials, or gentry.

Even when facing destitute nomads from beyond the frontier, Zhang Siwei still sat opposite them and respectfully offered tea.

“Today, Bansheng has a population of tens of thousands, stretching for dozens of li, with forty thousand horses, twenty-three thousand oxen, and five hundred thousand hu of grain harvested…”

Lü Nanchuan, highly competent in his duties, meticulously summarized Bansheng’s development this year.

Zhang Siwei leaned forward, hands spread over the charcoal brazier, eyes fixed intently on the ground beneath his feet, listening with great attention.

He occasionally interrupted to ask detailed questions.

Only the two of them were in the study; their voices were low, and by the time they reached the outer chamber, the words were indistinct.

When Lü Nanchuan finished, Zhang Siwei clapped his hands and laughed: “It’s nearly matched the height your father once achieved.”

Back then, Zhao Quan and Lü Xichuan gathered tens of thousands of people in Bansheng, with fifty thousand horses and thirty thousand oxen, constructing nine palace halls—it was truly at its zenith.

Alas, after Altan Khan submitted to the court, he lured and killed Zhao Quan, Lü Xichuan, and dozens of others.

Since then, this Prince Shunyi has been more mindful of the court’s favor and no longer permits Bansheng to freely attract Han refugees as before.

Now, over a decade later, it has barely recovered to its former state.

Lü Nanchuan nodded in agreement: “Since Prince Shunyi Altan Khan departed westward, his subordinates scattered to pasture and raid, and their constraints on Bansheng have greatly lessened, allowing us to openly recruit refugees.”

Saying this, he respectfully rose from his seat and poured tea for Zhang Siwei: “Of course, we are also deeply indebted to your righteous father’s generous support.”

Zhang Siwei’s smile did not fade, yet he demurred: “It’s merely business.”

The people of Fengzhou produce tobacco, miscellaneous grains, oils, wines, and other goods; without state taxation or customs duties, their costs are far lower. Coupled with superior livestock—camels, horses, oxen, and sheep—from beyond the frontier, Shanxi merchants frequently travel back and forth.

As a result, merchants and civilians have flocked to Bansheng, gradually turning it into a bustling market.

Thus, even if Zhang Siwei has subtly guided the Shanxi merchants, officially it amounts at most to smuggling—there is no such thing as “generous support.”

After pouring the tea, Lü Nanchuan paused, then pressed his sleeve down and sat back.

Zhang Siwei kept turning his hands over, warming his palms and backs, then spoke with solemn advice: “Take it slow; avoid rushing for quick gains, and never show off. Zhao Quan once declared himself king, your father proclaimed himself Dao Ancestor—they shook the court, and that was a clear precedent of disaster.”

Lü Nanchuan immediately bowed and accepted the lesson.

Following Zhang Siwei’s lead, he explained: “Father is right. The White Lotus name is merely used secretly for gathering followers; after Altan Khan returned from Qinghai to Guihua City, we changed our name to the Merchant Protection Corps—peaceful and unassuming.”

A makeshift cult with or without literati involvement in its organization carries entirely different spirit and vitality.

The name “Merchant Protection Corps” is excellent: safeguarding order, escorting caravans—so honest and humble, even if Guihua City ever loses its protective barrier, there remains a path to amnesty.

Zhang Siwei shook his head: “I’m not referring to that—I mean your rallying slogan. Stop spreading it.”

“Li Xiang gathered White Lotus followers in Henan, looting and plundering for years without incident. But this past April, when they suddenly printed heretical texts and shouted slogans, the imperial army descended and crushed them to dust.”

He sat upright: “Some things can be done, but must never be loudly proclaimed.”

As power grows, people inevitably develop more ambitions.

Your father’s ambition back then was to incite Altan Khan to declare himself emperor and proclaim himself Dao Ancestor.

Now, this White Lotus leader grows ever more eager to recruit manpower from within the passes, even shouting the slogan: “Born inside the passes, raised beyond them—no corvée, no taxes, let us all live joyfully!”

In Bansheng, there is no government authority; the people truly owe no corvée and pay no grain taxes.

For the suffering borderland populace, this is naturally immensely attractive.

But precisely because of this, if such a slogan reaches the court’s ears, it will inevitably provoke a crushing response.

A slogan is a banner; anyone who dares to shout it is no longer seen by officials as mere bandits or refugees, but as outright rebels!

Upon being reminded, Lü Nanchuan was startled, as if suddenly understanding the danger; he immediately rose from his seat: “Father, I will stop the slogan immediately!”

Zhang Siwei waved his hand dismissively.

The court is obstinately determined; its new policies have reached the stage of land surveying and will not turn back until it hits a wall.

Following this will come fifty years of tax reform disputes.

The Emperor and Zhang Juzheng are nearly replicating the actions of Emperor Shenzong and Wang Anshi, pushing the conflict between the central court and the state’s pillars to its extreme.

Had I still been at the center, I might have corrected the chaos, strongly advocated halting the new laws, and allowed the people to rest.

But alas, the Emperor is foolish and immoral, unable to distinguish loyalty from treachery… refugees are rising everywhere; aiding the king’s advance is inevitable.

That will be the time for Lü Nanchuan to voice his slogan.

Zhang Siwei shook his head, then suddenly remembered something else: “Has Shi Minister been settled?”

Lü Nanchuan nodded, about to elaborate.

Zhang Siwei immediately cut him off: “Don’t tell me how you settled him—secrecy is vital. Previously, Liu Shiyan’s family was murdered because you failed to eliminate the men Li Xiang sent to handle the matter—otherwise, how could the Embroidered Uniform Guard have traced them?”

Lü Nanchuan fell silent.

Mentioning this, he could not help but show shame.

“Learn from your mistakes. Now, tell me about the situation beyond the frontier.”

Zhang Siwei lightly brushed aside the reprimand.

Lü Nanchuan took a deep breath, quickly composed himself, and returned to the matter at hand: “Yes, Father.”

“Since Altan Khan’s decline, the Eastern Mongols have effectively become disunited.”

“Last month, Xin’ai Huang Taiji split off and established his own domain.”

“Songshan Bin Tu’s wife and sons, among other chieftains, lingered along the coast, with no word since.”

“Last month, Weizheng Qia was shot dead while raiding the aboriginals; his body was burned and carried back beyond the frontier.”

“The tribes of Chao Erqing, Baduer Kusai, Aimu Su Aji and his uncles and nephews, as well as Duer Taba Nang, Mangsu Taba Nang, Daiya Qishan Taba Neng, Weizheng Taba Neng Wang Baduer, have gathered tens of thousands of cavalry beyond seven hundred li from Jiayu Pass, intending to attack the Oirats and push westward after spring.”

“This month, news arrived that the Chao chieftain’s brothers have seized the pond.”

“…”

“Now, only San Niangzi, by virtue of being the Khan’s wife, firmly controls Guihua City and commands the likes of Buyan Huang Taiji.”

“But before I left, San Niangzi had already departed for Yanghe, saying the Emperor had issued an urgent edict summoning Prince Shunyi and San Niangzi to the capital.”

Yanghe is the seat of the Viceroy of Xuan-Da; since San Niangzi went there, she clearly intends to enter the capital.

Here, Lü Nanchuan paused: “Father, I’m concerned—San Niangzi has always been friendly toward the court. Shouldn’t we do something…?”

The better the court’s relations with the Right Wing Tatars, the less room there is for Han people beyond the frontier to maneuver—Lü Nanchuan understood this well.

San Niangzi herself, during the Longqing peace negotiations, strongly advocated peace; since then, she has restrained the tribes and overseen tribute relations with the court.

Even the construction of Guihua City and its official naming by the court were her initiatives.

Now, with such a submissive posture, responding to the imperial summons, this is certainly not good news for Lü Nanchuan.

Upon hearing this, Zhang Siwei did not immediately reply.

The study fell silent.

Lü Nanchuan grew uneasy.

Finally, Zhang Siwei slowly turned his head toward Lü Nanchuan: “The Western Mongol Tumens Khan has united the three Left Wing myriarchies, combining eight major camps and twenty-four tribes, with twenty thousand elite warriors stretching from Liaodong in the east to Taohé in the west.”

“He enforces the Tumen Khan Code to bind the tribes, compelling the southern steppe clans to resume tribute to the Great Khan.”

“Leveraging the momentum of the Khuriltai Assembly, he forces the Khorchin and Inner Khalkha tribes to submit.”

“He offers the position of Grand Administrator to buy the loyalty of Altan Khan’s grandson, Chikel, and uses the Yellow Sect to win over the Right Wing Qiejin Huang Taiji.”

“Were it not for San Niangzi’s formidable prestige, the Eastern Mongols—already fragmented—would have been swallowed whole, reviving the old glory of Dayan Khan.”

Zhang Siwei looked at Lü Nanchuan and shook his head solemnly: “Han affairs are for the Han to settle.”

“The Tatars will eventually be our enemies. We may use them as claws and advance for the king—but we must never sink so low as to become someone else’s tool.”

His voice was calm and unhurried; the two men gazed silently at each other.

Long moments passed.

Finally, Lü Nanchuan gave an awkward smile: “Father’s insight is profound—I was mistaken.”

“But Fengzhou Beach still relies on Guihua City as a shield. I feared San Niangzi might reach some tacit understanding with the court, repeating past mistakes, and that’s why I lost my composure. I beg your punishment.”

Zhang Siwei’s expression hardened briefly, then softened into a smile: “It’s natural human concern—how could I blame you?”

He paused: “As for Bansheng… you need not worry too much. You are not like your father—you command thousands of elite cavalry and well-equipped firearms. Even San Niangzi must treat you with respect. You will never be bound and handed over to the court with a few words, as your father was.”

Hearing this, Lü Nanchuan seemed reassured and nodded deeply in agreement.

Their brief tension vanished instantly; they resumed their warm, father-son banter.

They talked for a long while.

Finally, Lü Nanchuan rose respectfully, citing the lateness of the hour, and bid farewell to Zhang Siwei.

The latter made as if to see him off; the former repeatedly declined.

After much back-and-forth, well-wishes, and farewells, Lü Nanchuan finally persuaded Zhang Siwei to stop, then strode out of the Zhang residence, where attendants immediately rushed to meet him.

Only when he turned his back did Lü Nanchuan drop his smile, grit his teeth, and mutter bitterly: “Old bastard.”

Nurhaci hurried forward: “Father, was this visit not successful?”

His speech was already fluent Mandarin.

Lü Nanchuan snorted.

Only after mounting his horse did he speak: “That old fox has more than one hiding hole—he won’t put his bets on us.”

Saying this, Lü Nanchuan seemed to have made up his mind.

He turned to Nurhaci: “I’ve decided—I agree to your earlier request.”

Nurhaci’s face lit up with joy: “Father agrees to let me borrow horses and return to Jianzhou!?”

Lü Nanchuan nodded, saying nothing more.

“Liu Liu, go tell Chikel: I cannot help San Niangzi, but I naturally support you over her son Butashili for control of Guihua City.”

With that, Lü NanChuan turned to another attendant: “Old Seven, follow the usual custom—go to Ningxia and deliver silver and gold to those relatives of yours who hold the rank of Deputy Commander, and extend my New Year greetings.”

The two men instructed, clearly of Mongol appearance, immediately patted their chests in assent.

Fengzhou Beach (Wuyuan County) lies between Ningxia and Guihua City (modern Hohhot), offering ample room for maneuver.

After giving his orders, Lü NanChuan glanced back at the Zhang residence and spat dismissively.

Then he summoned his men and rode off on horseback.

…

On the twenty-first day of the twelfth lunar month, Great Cold, in the Chengguang Hall of the Western Garden. The brocade waves of the Taiye River flowed eastward, calm and smooth; the hibiscus pavilion overlooked the empty clarity.

The Emperor merely sat down in the Chengguang Hall, and the entire day was swallowed by a flood of affairs and memorials.

Only when the sunlight had turned dim and golden did Zhu Yijun see off the last minister of the day.

“I forgot to ask—how did Ling Qing perform in his three-year assessment?”

Zhu Yijun had already dismissed Ling Yunyi before realizing he had overlooked this.

Zhang Hong stepped forward quickly: “Your Majesty, Governor Ling has, since Wanli Year Four, jointly with Governor Wu Wenhua suppressed the Hechi, Buhai, and Bei San Yao tribes, and captured and executed bandits in the mountains of Guangdong—his military exploits are illustrious; all three years received top ratings.”

Zhu Yijun nodded and instructed Zhang Hong: “Tomorrow, have Grand Eunuch Ling issue an edict to the Grand Secretariat: as Ling Qing has completed his three-year assessment, grant his son Ling Xiaodong a place as a student at the Imperial College.”

Zhang Hong silently noted it down.

Zhu Yijun idly flipped through the memorials on his desk, confirmed they were all annotated, then raised both palms toward the sky and stretched out with a long, deep yawn.

He yawned again: “Another year’s come to an end.”

With the New Year just days away, thoughts of the year’s many events stirred quiet reflection.

In one by one…

Wang Yingxuan quietly closed the Imperial Daily Record: “Your Majesty, after I deliver today’s record to the Lantai for sealing, I shall have no official duties left this year. I wish to request two days’ leave in advance.”

New Year’s Eve falls on the twenty-ninth; ministries and bureaus typically hang their holiday notices on the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth—though a few remain on duty in rotation.

Offices like the Hanlin Academy and the Secretariat, being leisurely posts, vanish entirely around Great Cold.

“Granted,” Zhu Yijun waved his hand, then added casually, “The Yearly Assembly is the day after tomorrow—who will the Lantai assign to record the proceedings?”

Young scholars taking early leave for poetry, wine, and romance is only natural.

Especially since Little Wang, as one of the “Four of the Yan School,” is such a celebrated figure—this leave must be approved.

Still, duties must be properly handed over—such as the Yearly Assembly, which, through years of tradition, has become a modest but established ritual: the Emperor and the Six Ministries’ ministers jointly deliberate state affairs at year’s end to set the next year’s agenda.

Wang Yingxuan promptly replied: “My colleague Yao Sanrang will take my shift.”

Zhu Yijun murmured “Oh,” then waved his hand again: “Ah, Yao Qing? No—have Wang Shizhen record it himself.”

Recording history isn’t about fearless men charging forward to defy the Emperor; these men have their own coded language to evade scrutiny.

Like when Gao Gong fell, and Gao Yi died within days—the Veritable Records state: “Sent a eunuch to visit the Grand Secretary Gao Yi’s illness, and bestowed food and ceremonial items; he bowed in thanks, then soon died.”

That word “soon” is deeply suggestive. The *Guide to Auxiliary Particles* says: “Xun means one thing follows another.” Here, the faint causal link is precisely what is meant by subtle, profound meaning.

Thus, whenever critical meetings or key deliberations occurred, Zhu Yijun could only entrust record-keeping to those whose loyalty was unquestioned.

Wang Yingxuan, hearing this, had no objection.

Zhu Yijun slowly rose, stretching his limbs.

Since the Yearly Assembly had been mentioned, he turned to Zhang Hong: “Grand Eunuch, has the Grand Secretariat finalized the agenda for the Yearly Assembly?”

Zhang Hong bowed slightly and replied: “Your Majesty, for the assembly the day after tomorrow, besides minor details, there are seven major items: annual tax revenue, imperial property disclosure, filling of senior ministerial posts, revision of the Great Ming Code, maritime trade strategy, the transition from native chieftain rule to direct imperial administration in Guizhou and Guangdong, and mobilization for land survey and household registration.”

Zhu Yijun paced within the hall, circulating his qi.

After a moment’s thought, he instructed Zhang Hong: “Have Pan Cheng attend and observe the deliberations on senior ministerial appointments.”

“Have Li Youzi attend and observe the tax revenue discussions.”

“Have Shen Li attend and observe the land survey matters.”

The agenda of the Yearly Assembly varies each year according to circumstances.

Similarly, the list of attendees who observe, beyond the Grand Secretariat, the Six Ministries’ ministers, and the two Censorate Directors, changes annually.

But without exception, those granted attendance are among those now—or soon to be—closest to the center of power in the Great Ming.

Zhang Hong promptly replied: “Yes, Your Majesty.”

After Zhang Hong finished reciting the long list, Zhu Yijun asked: “Li Jinting arrived in the capital today—where is he?”

Li Jin, who had been standing quietly with eyes downcast, now inwardly sighed: truly, a former East Palace retainer—even after years in the provinces, he still holds the Emperor’s favor.

He stepped forward and continued: “Your Majesty, Governor Li arrived in the capital at noon today, submitted his petition to the Ministry of Personnel and the Tongzheng Office, requested an audience tomorrow, then went to visit his former teacher at Grand Secretary Gao’s residence.”

“He spent the entire afternoon helping Grand Secretary Gao repair his courtyard and roof.”

Zhu Yijun, hearing this, grimaced.

Gao Yi’s home was rented; after it was damaged, I immediately sent men to repair and compensate.

Now it looks as if I abandoned him entirely.

No wonder courtiers see him as a villain—he’s practically Li Tongwei, digging fields in the courtyard of a retired official!

Of course, inwardly he scoffed, but Zhu Yijun’s face remained solemn as he nodded: “Don’t see him tomorrow—have him attend the Yearly Assembly the day after, and join the ministers in discussing maritime trade.”

Then Zhu Yijun gave further instructions to the Directorate of Ceremonial and the Secretariat regarding tomorrow’s affairs.

After dismissing the Secretariat officials, he removed his crown and tidied his hair slightly.

“Who is on duty tonight?”

Wei Chao, responsible for such matters, stepped forward promptly: “Your Majesty, tonight’s turn falls to Imperial Consort Zhang.”

Though the Emperor seemed to harbor some reservations about the title “Imperial Consort Zhang,” the harem follows the principle of equal distribution—whomever is chosen, it is she.

Zhu Yijun readjusted his crown: “Imperial Consort Zhang? Postpone it—tonight I wish to visit the Empress.”

This clearly violated protocol.

After all, the Emperor’s visit to the Empress required formal edicts from both Imperial Palaces, accompanied by gongs and drums, publicly announced—no such sudden decisions were permitted.

But then again, the Emperor was no longer what he once was.

What could Wei Chao say?

He could only silently reply: “Yes.”

Zhu Yijun straightened his robes and, accompanied by eunuchs and palace ladies, strolled slowly out of the Chengguang Hall.

…

Thanks to the Jiajing Emperor’s preferences, the Western Garden housed many palaces; even with all the imperial consorts living together, it felt spacious.

The Emperor resided in the Wanshou Palace—Wanshou Wujiang.

The Empress resided in the Yongshou Palace; the Noble Imperial Consort resided in the Renshou Palace—Yongshou and Renshou, in ritual propriety, were perfectly matched.

After dinner, Zhu Yijun went directly to the Yongshou Palace.

The palace lady on guard outside had not expected the Emperor’s sudden arrival and hurried forward: “Your Majesty, please wait a moment—the Empress is bathing and changing; she will soon lead the entire palace to come out and greet you.”

As expected, Zhu Yijun was barred at the door.

Unlike Consort Li, who came from one of the foremost families of the age, Empress Liu’s ancestors had only held a minor post in the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

From a modest background, Empress Liu had developed a cautious, meticulous character.

She strictly observed propriety herself and insisted on ritual decorum before outsiders.

Yet while the Emperor heeded counsel on major matters, he was stubbornly willful in small ones.

Zhu Yijun ignored her entirely and strode boldly inside: “No need for such ceremony—I’ll wait for the Empress in the warm pavilion.”

He could not barge into the bath chamber—she was a sovereign woman; even the Emperor must show respect.

Waiting in the warm pavilion was just right.

The palace ladies could no longer block him; they stamped their feet and hurried past him to report to the Empress.

Zhu Yijun smiled.

He then walked straight in, crossing the corridor in a few steps and entering the warm pavilion.

Though Empress Liu was sovereign, in daily expenditure she matched the Emperor’s restraint, never extravagant.

Beyond meals and books, she saved wherever possible, leaving her vast imperial bedchamber cold and empty.

Zhu Yijun walked to the bookshelf, selected a newly published volume of *The Investiture of the Gods* by Zhongshan Yishou, and sat comfortably behind the desk.

Empress Liu was certainly proper, but her family had clever minds indeed—how did *The Investiture of the Gods* make its way into the palace? Was this a veiled hint about who was Su Daji?

Zhu Yijun shook his head and began reading with quiet enjoyment.

At this moment, culturally speaking, “a hundred schools flourishing” was no exaggeration.

The Empress loved stories—not only classical epics like *Investiture*, *Three Kingdoms*, and *Journey to the West*, but also short collections like *Rain Window Anthology*, *Long Lamp Anthology*, and *Sailing Journal*.

Especially as literati increasingly imitated oral tales to write vernacular short stories, fiction was now trickling downward, gradually reflecting the lives of the class just below the scholar-officials.

Thus, Zhu Yijun never discouraged the Empress’s harmless literary hobby; sometimes he even asked her for recommendations.

Precisely because this was a post-marital habit, Zhu Yijun sat in the Empress’s warm pavilion and naturally became absorbed.

He did not know how long passed.

By the twelfth time he inwardly complained about women taking too long to bathe, movement finally came from outside.

The Emperor refocused, gently closed the novel.

As he raised his head, he saw the warm pavilion door open and a figure step in.

Empress Liu wore no crown, yet still wore her ceremonial juyi robe.

As she walked gracefully, serene and composed, her demeanor perfectly embodied the Empress’s dignity—truly dignified, virtuous, and prudent.

“Your servant bows before Your Majesty.”

Empress Liu bowed gracefully before the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun did not rise to return the bow.

Instead, he fixed his gaze on the Empress and suddenly slammed the book onto the desk!

“Empress, your affair has been exposed! Do you acknowledge your crime?”

Empress Liu looked up at the Emperor, her expression hesitant.

After a moment of turmoil, she finally moved.

She stepped forward to the Emperor’s side and knelt slowly, her face filled with sorrow: “Your Majesty, I acknowledge my crime. I beg Your Majesty to punish me.”

Saying this, she lowered her head to bow.

Seeing the Empress’s reaction, Zhu Yijun could no longer maintain his composure and broke down.

He quickly seized her hand as she tried to help him remove his robes and explained helplessly: “Empress, this time it’s truly been exposed—this is serious business.”

The Empress looked up, puzzled.

Zhu Yijun swiftly helped Empress Liu to her feet.

After a moment’s deliberation, he met her eyes directly and spoke out: “The Duke of Yansheng’s family bribed your family with ten thousand mu of farmland. The matter has reached me.”

“Were you aware of this, Empress?”

(End of Chapter)