Chapter 316: The Law of Reform Is Not a Crime; Reversing Injustice Is Righteous

The Son of Heaven governs the yang path; the Empress governs the yin virtue; the Son of Heaven oversees external affairs, the Empress oversees internal duties. Teaching and order cultivate customs; external and internal harmony brings the state to order—this is called great virtue.

Though the Empress of the Inner Court and the ministers of the Outer Court are both colleagues, they are fundamentally distinct.

When Emperor Shizong was strangled by palace maids, many in the palace spread the tale that this was karmic retribution for his earlier forcing the death of Empress Xiaojie and later deposing Empress Zhang.

Emperor Muzong’s indulgence in beauties weakened his constitution and led to his early death; the court and realm could only lament that had the Empress Dowager not been coldly sidelined and female virtue not been neglected, Muzong might have lived several more years.

Whether the Emperor’s marital life is harmonious often determines the court’s evaluation of his personal conduct and moral character.

Therefore, when dealing with matters concerning the Empress, one must always pay attention to method and manner.

Moreover, as the saying goes, “Tied hair as husband and wife, love and trust never doubted”—Empress Liu has spent these years quietly and dutifully; now, more than any imperial scheming, it is better to shut the door and speak plainly.

But after being questioned, Empress Liu appeared utterly bewildered: “Bribed with ten thousand mu of prime farmland!?”

The Empress furrowed her brow, as if trying to recall.

After a moment, she finally understood and looked up at the Emperor: “Your Majesty, are you referring to the rouge land gifted by the Kong family as dowry to my younger brother?!”

Zhu Yijun froze upon hearing this.

The Empress clearly knew of this matter.

This particular justification, however, caught him off guard.

“Rouge land” refers to dowry fields—the so-called wedding gifts. Strictly speaking, whether this counts as bribery is debatable.

Empress Liu, slightly wounded by the Emperor’s accusatory tone, lowered her eyes and softly explained: “Your Majesty, previously, the Duke of Yansheng sent a matchmaker to arrange a marriage between my younger brother Liu Dai and a virtuous maiden of the Kong family; since both were still young, no wedding had yet taken place.”

“Later, the Kong family signed contracts in the capital region, shifting estate lands, and entrusted them through the Marquis of Wuxing to my brother’s care, claiming they would serve as dowry upon their marriage next year…”

Empress Liu revealed no intention to conceal; she recounted the entire sequence of events plainly.

Zhu Yijun signaled for her to continue, while tapping his fingers on the desk, silently pondering.

Since our dynasty’s founding, the Kong family’s status has grown ever more illustrious, and noble officials have incessantly sought marriage alliances with them.

The second daughter of the Zhuntian Prefect Wang Xian, the second daughter of Grand Secretary Li Xian, the granddaughter of Grand Secretary Yan Song, as well as sons of the Marquis of Xuancheng, the Marquis of Anping, and other imperial in-laws and noble families—all have successively married into the Kong family.

Marriages between prominent families are often ideal opportunities for open, legitimate exchanges of interest—after all, they merely provide a socially acceptable pretext.

Zhu Yijun sighed, drawing Empress Liu to sit beside him on the opposite chair.

He clasped her hands in his own, stroking her knuckles, and spoke gently: “Empress, if even a mere concubine’s daughter of the Kong family has a dowry of twenty thousand mu, that is plainly self-deception.”

Since the dynasty’s founding, the court has granted the Kong family vast tracts of land; in Hongwu’s first year, they were permitted to reclaim two million mu, and later Emperors Chengzu and Yingzong also bestowed additional lands.

But all these were sacrificial lands—their ownership remained the state’s, with taxes retained by the Kong family solely to fund temple rituals and related expenses.

Now, if these are called dowry, they must be the Kong family’s private lands.

The court naturally does not know how much private land the Kong family owns, for they keep their own accounts and never disclose them to outsiders—“All sacrificial lands are imperial grants, recorded in official texts; the public mansion manages private property extensively, listed in private ledgers but not in state records.”

Yet according to historical records in the series of books Zhu Yijun had been assigned in his past life, at this time, the Kong family’s private lands likely totaled around four hundred thousand mu.

Twenty thousand mu is no small sum; for the public mansion to assemble even half a percent of its private estate—especially prime land near the capital—as dowry for a concubine’s daughter, anyone would know something was amiss.

Zhu Yijun paused, then raised his right hand to caress the Empress’s cheek: “Within the inner chambers, Empress, tell me the truth: how much of this was truly given to your family, and how much was merely recorded on the Yellow Registers while secretly managed on behalf of the Kong family?”

The Sage’s lineage naturally also enjoys tax exemptions.

Our dynasty follows the Jin and Yuan precedents: whenever the Kong family acquires property, two-thirds of the land tax is exempted.

But as the Kong family grew increasingly frenzied in acquiring land and estates, the Shandong Provincial Administration Bureau could no longer bear it; since the Jiajing era, successive Provincial Administrators and Provincial Governors, who sought to act, repeatedly submitted memorials urging the court to adapt.

Yet Emperor Shizong and Emperor Muzong refused to undertake such thankless efforts, choosing instead to trust future generations’ wisdom.

By the Wanli reign, Zhu Yijun naturally took the initiative without hesitation, openly revealing what the eunuch faction had done during the Tianqi era, but doing so years ahead of schedule.

Over the past two years, he changed the two-thirds tax exemption into a new rule: each mu of Kong land pays nine li less silver than civilian land, and even Kong private estates outside Shandong now pay grain taxes like commoners, exempt only from miscellaneous corvée labor.

Clearly, pressured by this, the Kong family swiftly responded by relinquishing part of its gains, forming alliances with imperial in-laws, noble families, and court officials to weather this land survey storm.

Land surveys always proceed thus—each immortal displays their own magic.

Empress Liu held the Emperor’s hand on her cheek, several times opening her mouth but holding back.

After a long while, she buried her face in his palm and murmured: “My father never told me outright, but I estimate he received about six thousand mu.”

“Will Your Majesty punish Yongnian Marquis?”

Yongnian Marquis was the Empress’s father, Liu Yingjie—coincidentally sharing the same name as the former Viceroy of Jizhou and Liaodong.

Zhu Yijun, seeing the Empress’s demeanor, fell into a brief trance.

Empress Liu was only nineteen, and by nature honest and unassuming—she could hardly be expected to have high political acumen.

Though her heart was with the Emperor, she did not believe her family’s acquisition of property was wrong—after all, dowry was a perfectly acceptable pretext.

Nor was she alone; even the Emperor’s close relatives, though loyal, all had their own flaws.

Empress Dowager Li cared only for her son, yet constantly drew from the inner treasury to bestow gifts upon her family or fund golden statues for Buddhist temples; Princess Da Chang was utterly devoted to the Emperor, yet still ran gambling dens and Yangzhou courtesan houses under the guise of being his aunt; further out, civil and military officials were no different—Yin Zhengmao and Li Chengliang were famed for loyalty and diligence, yet also notorious for their greed.

Even in his past life, he had close elders who, after drinking, would confidently declare: “Corruption is certainly wrong, but accepting bribes without acting? Not only acceptable—it shows wisdom.”

Those around him, the matters before him—like the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers churning together—made him strangely confused.

“Your Majesty…”

At this soft call, Zhu Yijun snapped back to awareness.

Empress Liu, sensing the Emperor’s prolonged silence, looked anxious.

Suddenly, Zhu Yijun cupped her face, pressing his forehead to hers: “This is not about whether I should punish Yongnian Marquis—it is about you.”

“We married under the witness of the Imperial Ancestral Temple, shared hardship for over four years, and you have been in the palace even longer.”

He looked into her eyes, each word deliberate: “Empress, do not share my bed yet harbor different intentions.”

The Emperor’s sudden words caused Empress Liu’s expression to turn abruptly flustered.

She opened her mouth to protest.

“Listen to me,” Zhu Yijun interrupted.

“Bridal gifts and dowries are part of human rites; Yongnian Marquis has neither oppressed the people nor interfered with state law. Hoping I might be lenient once is only human nature. Moreover, now that Consort Wu is pregnant, if I immediately punished your father, it would surely unsettle you.”

“But while this is common practice, you should not truly think this way.”

Empress Liu, unsure of the Emperor’s thoughts, grew even more agitated, tears glistening in her eyes.

Zhu Yijun brushed his thumb across her tear-stained corner.

“You should know what I am doing.”

“I toil day and night, exhausting myself, struggling to push this old, broken cart forward.”

“If anyone in the world should share with me the balance of yin and yang, who else but you, Empress? Who else should follow my steps but my wife? Who else should understand my heart but the Empress?”

“Husband and wife are one; we are naturally aligned in purpose and Dao.”

“You are Empress now, and will be Empress Dowager later—if even you refuse to follow my path, preoccupied with family interests, what becomes of my Crown Prince? What becomes of my legacy?”

“Returning to the matter at hand: your family’s affairs must be borne together by you and me.”

“But I cannot bear it. Every matter has a beginning; the land survey has only just begun. If I now choose to be lenient, I shall become as foolish as my imperial ancestor.”

“Empress, regarding Yongnian Marquis—will you bear this for me? Do you agree?”

Empress Liu, interrupted, listened silently; her expression shifted from fearful submission, to thoughtful reflection, to lips pressed low.

The Emperor had always been perceptive of worldly affairs; as he had just said, with Consort Wu pregnant, the Emperor immediately moved to punish the Empress’s father—would anyone not think twice?

Yet his words were so heartfelt, sincere, and genuine.

The phrase “future Empress Dowager” instantly dissolved all hesitation.

Especially when he uttered “husband and wife are one, aligned in purpose and Dao…”

Empress Liu gazed at the Emperor, entranced.

Having stumbled into the imperial household, she had heard too much of Shizong’s cruelty, Muzong’s licentiousness—this Emperor’s demeanor, even after years, remained unbelievable.

Each time like this, it felt like falling into a dream.

When the Emperor finished speaking, Empress Liu’s expression grew deeply complex—regret, pity, and the quiet dawning of understanding.

Long moments passed.

Under the Emperor’s expectant gaze, the Empress nodded firmly.

After a pause, she realized she should speak, and quickly declared: “I shall summon Yongnian Marquis to court tomorrow and have him surrender to the Censorate, clarifying the accounts of these lands.”

Upon hearing this, Zhu Yijun finally relaxed.

He pinched her cheek gently: “That’s right. I trust your judgment.”

Zhu Yijun rose and drew Empress Liu’s face into his embrace.

With words spoken thus, no resentment remained between them.

Zhu Yijun spoke further with the Empress, sharing intimate words.

Only when both were calmed did he take her hand and sit beside her on the bed.

Empress Liu leaned into his arms: “Your Majesty, may you live ten thousand years—you are far more blessed than I am. Do not speak of your legacy again.”

Zhu Yijun smiled at this.

In terms of longevity, he could not match this Liu woman, who would live into the Chongzhen era, let alone the toll of state affairs.

But he did not press the point; he let her undress him, idly adding: “The Kong family did not approach only Yongnian Marquis—Consort Wu’s family, it seems, was not spared either.”

“I have been too occupied lately. Empress, take this opportunity to play the villain for me—question all the imperial consorts and palace ladies, make the rules clear, and establish standards: correct what is wrong, and strengthen what is right.”

Zhu Yijun spoke casually, yet had pondered this for days.

Competition for favor in the harem is fundamentally no different from power struggles in the Outer Court—it is unavoidable.

In such power struggles, the Emperor must never presume to be the impartial judge.

If he does, what purpose is there in distinguishing Empress, Consort, and Concubine?

Zhu Yijun did not intend to betray Consort Wu; rather, he sought to prevent chaos in the harem—to ensure order and normal operation even when the Emperor is not present.

Empress Liu, hearing this, took it lightly and readily agreed, though she muttered: “Consort Wu carries the imperial heir—her status is not ordinary. Other consorts may find it hard to bear.”

Upon hearing this, Zhu Yijun slapped his thigh: “Empress, you speak these words—the Duke of Yansheng is guilty of sowing discord within the imperial family! I shall punish them!”

Legally speaking, a Jieyu’s status is theoretically that of someone too marginal to even be bribed.

Now she’s been bribed with a vast stretch of farmland— isn’t this motherhood elevated by the son’s status? The Empress fears nothing more than this.

The Duke of Yansheng bribes without following basic norms; to accuse him of sowing discord within the imperial family isn’t even unjust.

The Empress was slapped hard, and she shot the Emperor a glare. Zhu Yijun paid no mind, clearing his throat: “The Empress too—this remark smacks of jealousy. I must punish you, Empress!”

He sat sprawled on the edge of the bed, then patted his thigh after speaking.

Seeing this, the Empress blushed and hesitated.

But in a moment of carelessness, the Emperor flipped her over and pinned her firmly across his lap.

“Do you know your fault?”

“Will you still be jealous?”

A jumble of sounds began to rise.

One after another, in waves.

……

The twenty-third day of the twelfth lunar month.

Today is the last day before court officials take their New Year holiday, and also the final imperial audience of the seventh year of Wanli.

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Of course, not many needed to attend this annual gathering.

Inside the Huangji Hall, only five or six people were scattered about, some seated, some standing.

Minister of Justice Zhang Han had already taken his seat, before him lay the newly revised Great Ming Code.

Minister of Revenue Wang Guoguang and Provincial Governor of Henan Li Youzi were whispering together.

Grand Censor Wen Chun came and went, came and returned again, looking thoroughly harried.

Shen Li had been seated at the end, but as colleagues entered the hall and he kept rising to pay respects, he finally stood and began pacing inside the hall.

“Grand Censor, Grand Minister of Revenue, Grand Minister of Justice, Minister Li, Minister Shen—you’re all here early.”

Li Zaiting bowed in greeting and stepped into the hall behind the eunuch, moving with calm ease.

Wen Chun and he were both from the northwest, part of the Qin regional faction, and long acquainted; a mere nod sufficed to dispense with formalities.

“Minister Li is here early too,” Zhang Han and Wang Guoguang replied politely.

“Minister Li, you’ve grown far more solemn since we last met.”

Li Youzi clucked repeatedly, sizing up Li Zaiting.

Both were Grand Coordinators of a province, yet Li Youzi had only been posted outside the capital in the fifth year of Wanli; compared to this young man who had been posted to Fujian in the first year of Wanli, his own bearing was clearly inferior.

That air of calm authority could not be cultivated without years of wielding supreme power and dominating the court.

Li Zaiting shook his head with a sigh, his tone laden with meaning: “As age advances and trials multiply, one naturally sheds frivolity and restlessness.”

Li Youzi smiled inwardly—this man spoke convincingly enough, yet just days ago, upon arriving in the capital, he rushed straight to Gao Yi’s mansion to help with renovations, drawing multiple impeachment memorials from censors. That hardly sounds like he’s shed his restlessness.

At that moment, Shen Li suddenly interjected: “How did your duties in Fujian go, Minister Li?”

Li Zaiting turned to Shen Li: “Many obstacles remain. I’ve returned to the capital to report and seek support from my colleagues.”

With that, he pulled out a chair and sat down gracefully.

The Maritime Trade Office affair was truly too complicated to explain in a few words.

When it was rebuilt, opposition in court never ceased.

It was always the same arguments.

Either they claimed foreign tributes had ceased, trade and shipping were nonexistent, and establishing the Maritime Trade Office wouldn’t even cover its own expenses, only burdening the people in vain.

Or they argued the Maritime Trade Office was merely a pretext for extortion, ignoring the people’s grievances and disgracing the state’s dignity.

Or they cited rampant piracy—bandits like Lin Daoqian and Lin Feng blocking sea routes, making it unwise to rush things, as it would only cost merchant lives for no gain.

Only thanks to strong backing from the central court did the project avoid being abandoned midway.

Even so, local resistance never subsided.

Local officials all complained; cunning wealthy families pretended to be merchants, forged permits, evaded smuggling; powerful local clans colluded, lured, bribed for contraband, supplied weapons and grain to pirates, and served as guides for them.

Li Zaiting rose from Deputy Commissioner of Fujian’s Revenue Bureau to Provincial Governor of Fujian over seven years, relying on autocratic rule in Fujian to finally prevail.

The phrase “many obstacles” concealed far too many hardships, too difficult to explain to outsiders.

Shen Li nodded thoughtfully and dropped the matter.

After sitting down, Li Zaiting voluntarily turned to Shen Li and raised the topic: “My efforts have taken years of steady work—just one final step. But Minister Shen, how are you preparing for your own assignment?”

At these words, everyone in the hall wore strange expressions.

The Yongnian Marquis affair had already reached the Censorate; naturally, none of those present were unaware.

Shen Li, acting as the Emperor’s envoy to inspect land surveys, had barely left the capital before a massive scandal crashed upon his head.

Whether it was the Sage’s lineage or imperial relatives, neither was an easy target.

Shen Li opened his mouth to reply, when noise came from outside the hall.

Everyone turned to see Grand Secretary Shen Shixing, Minister of Personnel Wang Xijue, Minister of Rites Wang Zongyi, Minister of War Yin Zhengmao, and Minister of Works Zhu Heng entering together.

Clearly, they had just finished the meeting at Wenhua Hall and rushed over.

“You’re all here early.”

Everyone in the hall rose to pay respects.

“Grand Secretary Shen, Ministers.”

Shen Shixing beamed, showing no arrogance: “We were delayed by debates over the spring examinations—forgive us, forgive us.”

The pleasantries didn’t last long.

Once the regular audience ended, the Emperor naturally arrived soon after.

As expected.

As Director of the Hanlin Academy Chen Sanmo and Nanjing Minister of Rites Pan Cheng entered from the side hall.

A sharp clang of the cleansing whip rang out.

Everyone startled, realizing the Emperor had arrived, and rose instantly, standing with hands clasped in reverence.

Only two clangs of the cleansing whip sounded before the Emperor appeared—His Majesty was growing ever more disregardful of protocol.

“Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty.”

Zhu Yijun entered, wearing his newly changed everyday robes, composed and calm.

“Sit. When everyone’s here, we’ll begin.”

Zhu Yijun took his seat, gesturing with a hand to signal everyone to sit.

Shen Shixing scanned the room, hesitated: “Your Majesty, Grand Secretary Wang is still absent.”

Zhu Yijun waved his hand: “The Five Military Commissions are a mess—he won’t be free today, nor during the holidays.”

It was true; the Emperor wasn’t sidelining Wang Chonggu.

Hearing this, Shen Shixing relaxed and sat down.

Zhu Yijun’s gaze swept over the dozen or so men before him—all his trusted ministers.

“Before we begin, I have one matter to announce.”

Everyone sat upright, eyes fixed on the Emperor.

Zhu Yijun chose his words carefully, speaking bluntly: “This reform has now been in effect for eight years. For eight years, the court has acted without explanation. Each new policy leaves the people confused and terrified, unaware of its purpose.”

“The land survey and household registration are just like this.”

“Though the court targets only the corrupt and powerful, it inevitably disturbs the common people. The people, unaware of the intent, fear this is merely a pretext to raise taxes—they panic, cry out, and tremble in fear.”

“Acting without explanation is deeply flawed—it pushes some commoners into the opposition, making them tools in others’ hands.”

“Not to mention how the wealthy and corrupt officials stir up discord, undermining imperial authority.”

“Now that the reform has reached the deep waters, I’ve thought long and hard—we must raise our banner!”

Those merely listening didn’t react, but the several second-rank ministers present exchanged uneasy glances.

“Raise our banner?” To those unfamiliar, it sounded as if the Huangji Hall were a bandit stronghold, and these men were preparing to rebel.

“Are you saying we should, like Emperor Gao did when seizing the realm, proclaim slogans for the reform, so the whole world understands?”

Everyone turned—it was Li Zaiting who spoke first.

Wang Zongyi frowned; the analogy was utterly inappropriate.

Shen Shixing glanced at Li Zaiting—he had served the Emperor for years and knew his mind best, yet now someone had stolen his opening.

Zhu Yijun gave Li Zaiting an approving look.

His tone carried satisfaction: “Exactly. Just as rebels shout slogans, the people must immediately understand what the reform is doing, what it plans to do, and why it exists.”

“Explaining it to sensible commoners will spare us great trouble.”

The ministers understood, yet felt even stranger.

Using such tactics in peacetime was truly beneath dignity.

“At the same time, there is another old case that must be reopened for review.”

Li Youzi, Shen Li, and others, new to court deliberations, instinctively glanced at Zhang Han.

Minister of Justice Zhang Han raised his head, startled and uncertain—was the Ministry of Justice again at fault?

Shen Shixing, however, smirked—he knew the Emperor was about to stir trouble again, and inwardly grumbled.

Seeing his colleagues puzzled, Shen Shixing kindly asked: “Your Majesty, please clarify.”

Zhu Yijun didn’t delay—he scanned his trusted ministers, his expression turning reflective: “Wang Anshi, who implemented reforms in the Northern Song, said: ‘Heaven’s mandate need not be feared, ancestral laws need not be followed, public opinion need not be heeded.’”

"Thus, he was stripped of his title, his tablet removed from the Confucian temple, expelled from the Great Completion Hall, and ultimately banished from the temple courtyard, officially designated by imperial decree as a sinner for all eternity, cursed by the people for centuries."

"Wang Anshi and the Xining Reforms, along with the new laws themselves, have become utterly reviled in both the common folk and scholarly circles."

Here, Zhu Yijun held back a sigh.

The fact that the people have used 'Lord Jing's pig' as a vulgar insult for a thousand years is not without reason."

Zhu Yijun shook his head, dispelling his thoughts, then straightened his expression and said seriously: "Regardless of right or wrong, if we wish to raise a banner for the new policies, we must overturn the case of the Xining Reforms and Wang Anshi."

(End of Chapter)