Chapter 32: Clashing Fists, Back and Forth

Feng Bao seemed to have anticipated this and stepped forward to meet him.

The ministers froze, then turned their heads in unison.

The man approaching was none other than Cao Xian, Senior Eunuch of the Office of Eunuch Secretaries; he held two imperial edicts but did not unfold them to read aloud.

Instead, he fixed his gaze on Zhang Xao.

Under that stare, Zhang Xao instinctively shuddered.

Cao Xian smiled gently and said, “Minister Zhang, Empress Li has an oral instruction for you.”

His tone was courteous, yet all present knew Zhang Xao was in grave trouble.

After steadying himself, Zhang Xao bowed calmly and said, “Your servant listens.”

Cao Xian’s smile vanished; he tightened his voice and declared, “Minister Zhang Xao of Guangxi Circuit! I merely passed outside the Zhongji Hall and heard you bellowing before the throne—what are you trying to accomplish!?”

After uttering this, Cao Xian lifted his eyelids and addressed the ministers: “The Emperor has just ascended the throne, yet someone dares to bully this orphan and widow—do the inspectors of court protocol have blind eyes?”

“Minister Zhang Xao of Guangxi Circuit, guilty of breach of court decorum and disturbing the young Emperor, shall be immediately escorted home to reflect on his sins and fined one month’s salary in copper.”

Having spoken, he bowed toward the Cining Palace, signaling the oral instruction was complete.

After this edict was delivered, an eerie silence settled over the hall.

Zhang Xao had indeed prepared himself for this—he was merely a stone thrown to test the waters, a disposable pawn.

The Grand Secretary and the censors would not defend him now.

He must bear it alone; only then would there be heavy rewards later.

Yet even though he knew this was the sacrificial offering he must hand over, cold sweat still broke out on Zhang Xao’s forehead.

After all, he was facing the wrath of a regent empress.

“Come along, Minister Zhang.”

A voice jolted Zhang Xao awake; he looked up to see Feng Bao’s amiable expression.

Seeing Zhang Xao hesitate, Feng Bao did not press him, but asked, “Surely Minister Zhang does not intend to protest?”

He turned back to the inspectors of court protocol, then to Gao Gong: “Gentlemen, surely none of you believe Minister Zhang’s conduct was not a breach of court decorum?”

Even those wishing to defend him would not dare openly point to a deer and call it a horse—that was an invitation to purge the court.

Seeing Gao Gong remain silent and Ge Shouli turn away, Feng Bao smiled.

After nodding to Cao Xian, two attendants moved to seize Zhang Xao by either arm.

Zhang Xao snorted coldly: “I can walk myself!”

…

Zhang Xao was driven home—dragged out through the Wu Gate by the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

This was hardly a severe punishment.

After all, the dynasty had long upheld the precedent of open speech and immunity for censors.

Especially now, with Gao Gong so powerful, Empress Li could not lightly punish a censor merely on grounds of court decorum.

As for later retaliation, that would depend on each man’s methods.

The punishment of Zhang Xao was an oral instruction; all could see it was merely a casual swat at a fly, a trivial afterthought.

The other two edicts were the real drama.

Cao Xian unfolded one edict and read: “Due to the death of Meng Chong, former Chief Eunuch of the Office of Eunuch Secretaries, Feng Bao, who has served faithfully for many years, shall temporarily assume the post; soon his authority shall be formalized. Let the Grand Secretariat and all ministries be informed.”

The ministers listened respectfully as the young eunuch finished reading, occasionally glancing at Feng Bao.

Did the ministers not know how Meng Chong died?

Now that the deed was done, they only now issued the Grand Secretariat’s formal paperwork.

To shoot first and draw the target afterward—that was the act of men without balls, who cared nothing for face.

Zhu Yijun, behind his ceremonial headdress, watched Feng Bao in silence.

This Grand Companion acted with old-school precision—flawless. Upon learning Gao Gong intended to trouble him, he immediately secured Empress Li’s formal edict to plug his own weakness.

One edict straightened the entire appointment process for Chief Eunuch of the Office of Eunuch Secretaries, legitimizing his position.

But what troubled him more was Feng Bao’s depth of understanding and influence over Empress Li—truly not to be underestimated.

He had issued the edict directly during the Emperor’s first court session, even before the next day.

Zhang Xao, that insignificant pawn, had barely stuck his head out before Empress Li slapped him back home.

How profound was Empress Li’s trust in Feng Bao!?

“Grand Secretary, please receive the edict,” the eunuch urged.

Gao Gong remained silent; no one dared step forward to accept it.

His disciple, Song Zhihan, Left Censor of the Ministry of Personnel, kept glancing at Gao Gong—waiting for one signal to charge ahead.

All eyes turned to Gao Gong.

Zhu Yijun was no exception.

Gao Gong slowly closed his eyes, as if only now realizing—he murmured, “Your servants receive the edict.”

Feng Bao inwardly sighed in disappointment.

He had already taken his seat; even if Gao Gong refused, Meng Chong could not come back to life.

In fact, he welcomed Gao Gong’s continued defiance—his refusal to accept the edict.

Cao Xian, having delivered the first edict, unfolded the second.

He intoned: “With the new Emperor’s ascension, this orphan and widow are unfamiliar with court officials. According to precedent, all ministers shall submit self-assessments of their tenure’s gains and losses, to inform the Emperor.”

He had barely finished speaking.

The ministers immediately showed shock, some even whispering among themselves.

This was no benign instruction!

“Self-assessment of gains and losses” was not merely a literal report to the Emperor on one’s performance.

It was a euphemism for voluntary resignation!

The dynasty had long held this precedent: upon a new Emperor’s ascension, ministers were expected to submit resignations, leaving their retention entirely to the Emperor’s discretion.

It provided the new ruler a face-saving way to restructure the leadership.

But precedent was precedent—only when tacitly understood by Emperor and ministers did it hold. Now, with an edict pressing for it, how impatient it seemed!

This was a blatant warning to the ministers!

Combined with the first edict, it plainly said: dare to oppose Feng Bao, and I will approve your resignation petition.

The ministers exchanged uneasy glances.

Still, the edict had to be received; such a non-binding instruction carried no grounds for defiance.

The censors took the two edicts from Cao Xian without a word.

Cao Xian bowed and withdrew, as if he had never come.

Only the strange atmosphere in the hall reminded the ministers of what had just transpired.

…

Events in the hall quickly spread.

Gao Gong and Feng Bao began open, blatant warfare.

First came the censors: within two days, several imperial censors submitted memorials denouncing Feng Bao.

Especially targeting his conduct before the Emperor’s ascension.

Zhang Xao led off, declaring: “We have never heard of any imperial order removing or appointing officials—yet every such order now originates from Feng Bao; we are stunned and alarmed,” directly accusing Feng Bao of illegally assuming office before Meng Chong’s death.

Other censors followed, accusing Feng Bao: “A treacherous eunuch, abusing power, monopolizing authority, corrupting governance, deceiving the sovereign, defying law, utterly unworthy of imperial grace, flagrantly violating ancestral rites.”

The charge of usurping imperial authority and deceiving the ruler struck Feng Bao squarely across the face.

In the past, such memorials would not even pass the Office of Eunuch Secretaries—but Zhang Xao’s outburst in court had made suppression impossible.

The accusations quickly swelled into a storm on the court.

The memorials’ being held back by the palace only accelerated the censors’ coordination.

From a few, their number grew to over a dozen.

They then invoked ancestral precedent: during the tenth year of Hongwu, a palace eunuch, relying on seniority and long service to the Emperor, interfered in state affairs.

They cited the Hongwu Emperor’s decree: “The calamities of Han and Tang were blamed on eunuchs, yet they were caused by the sovereign’s misplaced trust… This eunuch, though long in my service, cannot be spared—must be decisively removed, to warn the future.”

Even the Hongwu Emperor would not tolerate eunuch interference—how could Empress Li and the Emperor now violate ancestral law?

They urged the two imperial courts and the Emperor to reflect on the ancestors’ painstaking intentions.

Empress Li, with no choice, issued an edict in the names of the two courts and the Emperor, ordering Feng Bao to confess his faults, retain his post under probation, and demonstrate future conduct.

This was a mild scolding with a hidden favor—a warning, utterly harmless.

Meanwhile, Feng Bao displayed the full authority of the Eastern Depot Director.

Somehow, he obtained evidence of Zhang Xao’s corruption and dereliction of duty.

Without waiting for official investigation, he personally led men to ransack Zhang Xao’s home.

He then, bearing a mid-level imperial edict, bound Zhang Xao, rode him through the streets, and dumped him at the gates of the Censorate, stripping him of all rank.

Afterwards, he circulated Zhang Xao’s so-called confessions, implicating other officials.

Especially Gao Gong’s disciples were repeatedly harassed.

At this point, the situation escalated further.

Memorials denouncing Feng Bao fell like snowflakes into the inner palace.

From stealing imperial treasures and paintings, embezzling tribute goods, accepting bribes, to withholding memorials and isolating the court from the outside world.

Even Feng Bao’s past conduct as a servant in the Prince of Yu’s mansion was dug up.

Not only must Feng Bao be dismissed, but he must also be immediately investigated to resolve the affairs of the imperial house at once.

……

June 13, the hour of Wei.

The heat grew deeper; the sun turned vicious.

It scorched not only the Forbidden City, but also the political climate.

“What? A eunuch has come forward to accuse Feng Bao of murdering Meng Chong?”

Zhu Yijun was carefully reviewing He Biao’s memorial when he looked up, startled, at Zhu Xixiao.

Zhu Xixiao paused, then said: “It was Meng Chong’s former adopted son. After Meng Chong’s death, he was protected by Chen Hong.”

“Now, it’s unclear whether he’s acting on someone’s orders or simply seizing the chance to retaliate against Feng Bao.”

Since Zhu Yijun’s ascension, Zhu Xixiao had personally guarded Qianqing Palace.

Matters too important for Jiang Keqian to know were also reported by him.

When Zhu Yijun heard the name Chen Hong, he suddenly recalled the man.

He was the chief eunuch of the Prince of Yu’s mansion, once head of the Directorate of Ceremonial, and seemingly brought down by Feng Bao.

He remembered… wasn’t he connected to Empress Dowager Chen?

So was this his own initiative—or hers?

Yet his face remained expressionless: “Where did he file the accusation? The Ministry of Justice or the Censorate?”

That’s the difference between pursuing a criminal case or impeaching an official.

Though criminal cases are normally handled by the Ministry of Justice, this involves high officials—so the Censorate is more effective anyway, and it’s all under Gao Gong’s domain anyway.

Zhu Xixiao’s expression turned strange: “He came forward to our Embroidered Uniform Guard.”

Zhu Yijun froze: “Embroidered Uniform Guard?”

Zhu Xixiao then explained.

Originally, the eunuch had intended to file his accusation at the Censorate, but the Eastern Depot got wind of it and began hunting him down.

He hadn’t even left the palace gates.

With no escape, he had no choice but to run to the Embroidered Uniform Guard, crying out for justice—and inadvertently dragging them into the affair.

Zhu Yijun listened, then asked with interest: “So what does the Prince of Cheng intend to do?”

Zhu Xizhong was probably furious enough to die.

With internal and external factions clashing, the Embroidered Uniform Guard had been caught in the crossfire without cause, and was surely hesitating how to handle this hot potato.

Zhu Xixiao lowered his head: “Your servant has come precisely to seek Your Majesty’s instruction.”

“Should we send him to the Censorate… or return him to the palace…?”

This was asking whether to help Feng Bao or help Gao Gong.

Once you’ve placed your bet, there’s no room for indecision—especially not for nobles, who are worthless anyway.

In short, it’s just one sentence.

When the Emperor is still reliable, I do exactly as he says.

Zhu Yijun continued flipping through the memorials and smiled faintly.

Compared to the self-important civil officials, the nobles understood the situation far better.

Since he had this attitude, Zhu Yijun was willing to guide him: “Neither. Go arrange it so that Chen Shanyan ‘happens’ to take charge—see what he does.”

Chen Shanyan was Empress Dowager Chen’s elder brother, a Battalion Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard—so this effectively informed Empress Dowager Chen.

A gentle rain, leaving no trace as geese fly by.

Zhu Xixiao blinked, then blurted: “Your Majesty isn’t…”

Zhu Yijun closed the memorial, expressionless: “What am I not?”

Zhu Xixiao immediately fell silent.

According to his brother’s speculation, this Holy Monarch should intend to remove Feng Bao—so why not drop the man straight into the Censorate’s lap?

Why assign an unrelated party to take over?

But these were only speculations, not to be spoken aloud.

Otherwise, he’d be accused of Chuaimoshengxin —reading the Emperor’s mind.

He stammered, unable to speak.

Seeing this, Zhu Yijun shook his head with a sigh: “Zhu Qing, the Analects say: ‘Only the wisest and the most foolish are unchangeable.’”

“You cannot learn from the Prince of Cheng—then learn from Jiang Keqian.”

He arranged this because, just now, he suddenly realized he had overlooked Empress Dowager Chen’s position.

As the Empress, she had always been invisible, so everyone ignored her.

Now that an opportunity to test her stance has arisen, how could he let it pass?

He wanted to see whether this was Chen Hong’s own doing—or hers.

These thoughts were not for outsiders to hear.

Poor Zhu Xixiao lacked the wit to read the Emperor’s mind, and the resolve to act silently—he was stuck in between.

Considering he was, after all, an early investor, Zhu Yijun gave him a rare warning.

Zhu Xixiao didn’t understand the Emperor’s meaning, but knew it wasn’t praise—he was instantly thrown into turmoil.

He quickly knelt and confessed: “Your servant admits guilt!”

Zhu Yijun had no intention of punishing him; whether Zhu Xixiao listened or not was his own affair.

He waved his hand: “Go.”

Zhu Xixiao left, drenched in sweat, burdened with thoughts.

Zhu Yijun glanced up, then lowered his eyes again to the memorials.

Though the memorials were empty, whether they were written with sincerity was still clear.

Someone with this attitude might not be loyal—but someone without even this much was certain to be marginalized.

Zhu Yijun could judge their true stance with just a cursory read.

For instance, Gao Yi’s memorial was especially heartfelt and moving; Zhu Xizhong’s was also sincere.

Zhang Juzheng’s was eloquent, but clearly insincere.

Gao Gong’s was even more perfunctory.

Besides these, there were hundreds of other memorials.

He had been reviewing them one by one in spare moments, and had only reached halfway.

Yu Youding? Zhu Yijun picked up another, skimmed it—ah, the flattery was excellent.

He opened another: Chen Dong? Expecting so much from himself?

Shen Shixing—hmm, this fellow doesn’t look thirty, but fifty.

Zhu Yijun went through each memorial, mentally categorizing these men.

Wang Xijue? The memorial from Nanzhili had arrived too?

Director of Justice, Nanjing—Li Zhi!?

Zhu Yijun perked up, quietly set this memorial aside as a reminder to himself.

Not yet urgent—he’d need this man after the Imperial Lectures began—Great Ming needed its own Confucianism.

Thinking of this, he began mentally compiling a list of those he’d need to nurture.

Taizhou School, Li Zhi, Cheng Dawei, Hai Rui, Qi Jiguang, Lü Kun…

Just then, Zhang Hong entered quietly.

Seeing the Emperor reviewing memorials, he softly called: “Your Majesty.”

Zhu Yijun looked up at Zhang Hong.

He spoke first: “Have all the memorials been collected?”

Zhang Hong had intended to report something, but swallowed his words and replied: “Your Majesty, all memorials were submitted yesterday.”

Zhu Yijun frowned: “What of Prince Zhu Hou’an?”

Zhu Hou’an, the poor relative, wasn’t the point—the point was his precious son, whom Zhu Yijun had great use for.

Zhang Hong hesitated: “Your Majesty, Prince Zhu Hou’an was once punished by Emperor Shizong, stripped of his title, and has since remained reclusive…”

“Reclusive” meant he avoided people—especially the Emperor, specifically.

Zhu Yijun understood at once, stunned: “Still harboring resentment? Didn’t my late father restore his princely title?”

Zhang Hong dared not answer—otherwise, he’d be accused of sowing discord within the imperial family.

All was left unsaid.

Zhu Yijun waved his hand: “Enough. I understand. What about Li Daban?”

Zhang Hong bowed and asked: “Your Majesty, Grand Secretary Gao Yi has taken his afternoon leave. He asks that you diligently review your lessons these days.”

Zhu Yijun nodded, but said nothing.

Gao Yi’s leave, tomorrow morning Zhang Juzheng departs the capital to inspect the imperial tombs—now the Grand Secretariat will be left solely under Gao Gong’s control. The intensity will surely escalate again.

Zhang Hong continued: “Also, the two censors will impeach Yang Bo and Zhang Sihui tomorrow. They ask whether to submit directly to Your Majesty or follow protocol.”

This wasn’t a simple formality.

If they bypassed the Grand Secretariat and sent the memorial straight to the throne, it meant court officials now recognized the young Emperor’s capacity to govern.

In other words, it was a signal of support for the young Emperor’s direct rule.

Once this precedent was set, the court would immediately erupt into bloody chaos.

Zhu Yijun shook his head; this was hardly the time.

He said, “Simply impeach him in court deliberation.”

No need to stir up unnecessary complications.

Besides, there’s no need to make a big commotion—just bind Yang Bo and Zhang Siwei’s hands and feet, force them to submit memorials in their own defense, and leave them too occupied to act.

Zhang Hong replied, then added cautiously, “Your Majesty, there is another matter: right now, outside Wumen, a Censor is kneeling to submit a memorial.”

Zhu Yijun froze, then immediately understood: “Kneeling memorial? Impeaching Feng Bao?”

Zhang Hong nodded: “It’s Censor Zhang Shouyue of the Guangdong Circuit, who says…”

He paused, recalling and mimicking: “By imperial precedent, censors must not be punished for their words—yet now they are being targeted out of personal spite.”

“This mere eunuch, relying on the power of the Eastern Depot, binds censors and rides his horse through the streets—how outrageous!”

“How can the Director of the Office of Eunuch Secretaries also hold the post of Eastern Depot Chief?”

“This violates ancestral law—it is the beginning of chaos.”

Zhang Hong’s expression and gestures were perfectly rendered, as if the Censor himself had possessed him.

After hearing this, Zhu Yijun rose and paced back and forth.

This struck Feng Bao right at his weakest point.

In the past, when Feng Bao’s status was ambiguous, it was tolerable.

But now that a clear edict has been issued, his continued dual role as Eastern Depot Chief is problematic.

Even Empress Dowager Li could not withstand the united front of the civil officials wielding the banner of “ancestral precedent.”

Ancestral precedent, no matter how strange or absurd, if it embodies a collective will, carries real, tangible pressure—no one can ignore it.

It was like the mouthpieces he once managed in his past life, facing absurd public outcry: even if you were right, you couldn’t laugh—you had to grit your teeth, issue a pre-approved apology first.

Gao Gong, a seasoned Chief Grand Secretary, never acted lightly.

He must have deliberately waited for this moment—no wonder he accepted the imperial decree so readily in the hall.

These old tigers are not to be trifled with.

No wonder I’ve spent these past days urging Empress Dowager Li: for the sake of court stability, do not dismiss the Chief Grand Secretary unless absolutely necessary—let him flail for a few days, then let him resign of his own accord.

But… since Gao Gong has gone this far, I cannot sit idle.

Zhu Yijun waved his hand: “Come, accompany me to pay respects to Her Majesty—the way there, I’ll explain in detail!”

(End of Chapter)