Chapter 322: Begin with Caution, End with Care, Lead the Horse Down from the Saddle

Amid the crackling of firecrackers, the old year passes; spring wind brings warmth to the wine of Tu Su. As the sun rises bright over countless gates, all replace old peach charms with new ones.

To bid farewell to the old and welcome the new, the New Year season is naturally filled with great bustle.

This is especially true in Beijing during the first month.

The lucky lanterns from the Aoshan Lantern Festival were all taken home by common folk and hung before every doorway; street performers and actors were surrounded by leisurely strollers; scholars come to the capital for the imperial exams, rare in lowering their dignity, set up stalls to write custom Spring Festival couplets for extra income.

In terms of festive atmosphere, the whole nation rejoiced, blazing with fervor.

Yet the New Year, a time of sweeping away the old and ushering in the new, often imbues the season with deeper meaning, and the political climate, like oil poured onto fire, grew tense and fierce.

Even so, sparks showed no sign of diminishing.

For instance, the notorious minister Wang Anshi, long forgotten, was suddenly remembered for his literary status among the Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song; his poems and verses became wildly popular across Beijing overnight, for no clear reason.

Aside from the seasonal poem “Yuan Ri,” his poem “Climbing Feilai Peak” was once again brought to light, praised for its noble patriotism and grand political ambition.

Implicitly, through Wang Anshi’s case, the slogan “Reform is not a crime; innovation is justified” emerged.

Another example: the Emperor, determined to eradicate the corrupt practices cultivated by the eunuch faction to flatter past emperors—“seizing land, hoarding wealth, building extravagantly, enriching the palace at the expense of the people, indulging in luxury and debauchery”—publicly disclosed the origins and uses of imperial property, inviting the realm to supervise.

At the same time, Minister of Personnel Wang Xijue, moved by the Emperor’s virtue, chose the good and followed it.

For this alone, Wang Xijue could not enjoy peace during the New Year, repeatedly impeached for “failing the state,” “exposing his disgrace,” “feigning integrity to conceal incompetence,” and “flattering superiors to gain a reputation for uprightness.”

The bickering was incessant.

Another example: the convict Liang Ruyuan, seeking reduced punishment, implicated the innocent in prison, accusing the Kong family of colluding with the Five Classics Doctor Yan Sishen and Meng Yanpu to hunt the imperial father-in-law and fraudulently register land.

Though reluctant, Shen Li personally led men to summon Kong Chengde to the Land Survey Provincial Governor’s office for patient questioning.

Only after He Xinyin’s release from prison could they confront each other face-to-face—no one knew how this would end.

Additionally, Prince Zhu Junguo of the Raoyang Wangfu and others obstructed land surveying, Shanzi left the garrison city, inserted yellow flags inscribed “Death to those who trespass,” and killed four clerks, captured and brought to Beijing by the Censor Ru Zongshun.

In response, Grand Secretary Shen Shixing appeared before the court to report: “The practice of princely houses acquiring military and civilian land is not unique to the Dai principality; I humbly request that all princely households across the realm be strictly ordered: any purchase of military land must be inspected and verified by provincial governors and censors, taxed according to law; Zhu Junguo and others must be punished severely by law as an example.”

The Emperor, having neglected governance for many days, had not yet issued a ruling.

Meanwhile, the Ministry of Revenue’s Censorate ignited another major case.

Censor Li Deyou impeached Prefect Guo Siwei of Chizhou and Deputy Prefect Yan Bangning of Huizhou, among others, for colluding with powerful elites to obstruct land surveying, defy imperial policy, and deceive the throne—listing twelve grave charges, clearly aiming for their execution.

Each case was a sensitive matter with far-reaching implications.

Court ministers grew restless and uneasy, unable to enjoy the New Year properly.

Precisely during the holiday recess, the Emperor either hid deep in the palace enjoying family bliss or plunged into the Five Armies Command and the Capital Garrison to mingle with soldiers.

No one could even find him to argue or probe.

Especially with the Emperor’s demeanor, no one expected to be allowed to enter the palace for audience until the holiday ended.

Thus, court ministers could only watch helplessly as the eunuch faction and ministerial henchmen ran rampant, fabricating grand cases, pounding their chests in frustration.

Amid this agonizing wait, they finally endured the Emperor’s prolonged break—today, the Emperor would inspect the Capital Garrison at the Wu Men.

…

According to state regulations, many locations were suitable for grand military reviews: the suburbs beyond Yongding Gate and Desheng Gate were all options.

But since Emperor Xianzong in the fourteenth year of Chenghua selected a few dozen men for a symbolic review within the Forbidden City, the grand review ceremony became nominal, and the several military grounds in Beijing designated for imperial inspections gradually fell into disrepair.

It was not until Longqing’s third year, over ninety years later, that Gao Gong and Zhang Juzheng, with the late emperor’s backing, revived the suburban military review, prompting the Ministry of Works and Ministry of War to rebuild the training ground outside the Wu Men in the northern suburbs.

Now, to cut expenses, the 1580 review was also set at the Wu Men.

Unlike the Longqing third-year review, this one, besides refurbishing the Emperor’s processional road, reception gate, and reviewing stand, added several viewing platforms for civilian and military representatives.

This was clearly to invite the common people.

The people of Beijing were most sincere; with rare leisure in the first month, they eagerly accepted the invitation.

Early that morning, scholars and commoners departing from Anding Gate toward the northern suburbs filled the road, a surging tide converging toward the training ground outside Wu Men.

Military and civilian representatives, thumbs hooked into their belts, were respectfully ushered onto the viewing platforms on either side of the field.

The scholars, merchants, and commoners they represented, though barred by imperial guards from entering, were permitted to climb the city walls for distant viewing.

Meanwhile, civil and military officials stood solemnly in the center of the training ground, led by Shen Shixing, before the ceremonial flag.

Regional Commander of the Capital Garrison Qi Jiguang personally held the signal flag, standing ready.

Looking out, one saw military formations lined up in orderly rows across the suburbs, weapons gleaming coldly, horses’ hooves restlessly pawing the damp, packed earth, banners snapping in the wind.

Voices rose in clamor, the atmosphere solemn—but the ceremony had not yet begun.

After all, the Emperor had just concluded the palace ritual preceding the review and was now being escorted by the imperial procession, carried in his palanquin out of the palace.

The escorting troops, originally divided into vanguard and rear guard, sounded gongs and drums in unison.

But the Emperor found it too noisy, ordering them all to the front of the procession to bang drums and gongs, while he slipped between attendants to discuss recent affairs.

After many days of rest, matters requiring attention were numerous.

Zhu Yijun sat upright in his palanquin, looking down as he replied to the previous topic: “... By protocol, Minister Yu Qing, of your rank, has no authority to inquire into decisions of the imperial New Year meeting.”

Yu Youding, walking beside the Emperor, fell into brief silence after being reprimanded.

Zhu Yijun smiled at this, then changed tone: “But Master, you are not only the Provincial Governor of Shandong—you are also my teacher. I shall make an exception and satisfy your curiosity.”

“The matter of Kong Chengde hunting the imperial father-in-law is not merely about him; every connection to the Kong family must be investigated to the end!”

Yu Youding, upon hearing this, froze.

Hunting? Between bribery and acceptance, who was the instigator? It was truly reversing heaven and earth.

Yet the underlying reasons, as Shandong’s Provincial Governor, he knew all too well.

Though the Emperor spoke grandly, in truth, he was merely seeking an excuse to act against the Kong family.

Descendants of the Sage, a millennium-old lineage, had precisely collided with the muzzle of the land survey policy, and the Emperor intended to make them an example for the realm.

Then the Emperor’s voice sounded again: “This is the manuscript entrusted to you by He Xinyin in prison—wait for you to take it back to Shandong for publication.”

As he spoke, Tongzheng Office Director Ni Guangjian immediately withdrew a manuscript from his sleeve and handed it to Yu Youding.

Yu Youding froze, instinctively taking it.

A glance revealed the title on the cover—“The Kong Family: A Record of Innumerable Crimes.”

Each volume’s heading was dripping with blood.

Vanguard of foreign invasion; black model of shaved heads and changed clothing;

Methods of land annexation: encirclement, forced purchase, and seizure;

Methods of harming the people: physical control, economic exploitation, and murder without penalty;

Collusion and conflict with local yamens: seizing judicial, administrative, and tax authority…

Yu Youding stared, absorbed; only after a moment did he snap back to awareness.

Slowly closing the manuscript, he murmured: “Your Majesty is not merely a Confucian master—you are a true man of letters.”

The Emperor’s tactics were truly elusive, like a goat hanging its horns on a tree.

Only scholars had ever manipulated public opinion to fabricate stories vilifying the current Emperor and Grand Secretary.

Never before had the ruling officials written pamphlets to defame the sanctity of Confucianism.

This was the true essence of the literati!

Zhu Yijun waved his hand casually: “Though He Xinyin was permitted to consult county and prefectural gazetteers, memorials, and case files, ultimately, this was his personal act.”

Personal act—merely a temporary worker. Don’t spread rumors.

Even the Emperor’s former Eastern Palace ministers were momentarily speechless at this shameless claim.

Yu Youding suppressed his inner criticism, paused in quiet thought, and sought to fill gaps.

After a long silence, Yu Youding ventured: “Your Majesty, I am aware of He Xinyin’s reputation among the people.”

“Yet… land surveying is like felling a massive tree: tackle the easy parts first, then the knotted joints.”

“The Kong family, a millennium-old lineage of the Sage, entrenched in the Central Plains, with deep roots and immense influence among scholars, is unquestionably the ‘joint.’”

“I suggest we proceed slowly: let this matter be preserved as the final ‘joint’ to be addressed.”

This is the method from the Book of Rites: “joint” refers to branch junctions, “knob” to tangled grain; when felling a tree, one leaves these for last, beginning with the easy, progressing to the difficult.

Land surveying is much the same.

To strike first at a millennium-old lineage risks uniting dissent.

In my view, the Kong family should best be preserved as the “final joint,” dealt with last, calmly.

Zhu Yijun, upon hearing this, suddenly chuckled. Yu Youding was puzzled.

He met the Emperor’s gaze and saw the Emperor shaking his head, sneering: “Joint?”

“In terms of the pen, this contemporary Sage, Confucian master, who holds the News Bureau, has no less voice.”

“In terms of the gun, is today’s grand review not precisely to display martial power and suppress dissent?”

“How many battalions does the Kong family have to call themselves a ‘joint’?”

Yu Youding, upon hearing this, was stunned into silence.

He remained dazed for a long while.

Zhu Yijun glanced at Yu Youding, then said nothing more.

“Begin with the easy” must be analyzed case by case; for land annexation, “easy” is often merely the shadow of “difficult.” Unless the “difficult” is properly dealt with, countless “easy” cases will keep emerging—you’ll only spin endlessly in “begin with the easy,” finally crying “the water is too deep” and giving a perfunctory end.

Top-down reform is the last chance. If it fails, we must wait for bottom-up upheaval.

!

At such a moment, no princely clans, no imperial relatives, no high officials, no great families—anyone who dares to step forward must be cut down without mercy.

Thinking of this, Zhu Yijun turned to Zhang Hong: “The timing is right. Daban, approve all recent memorials.”

“The Dai principality obstructed land surveying; the ringleader Zhu Junguo shall be executed; Zhu Chongkun and others shall be reduced to commoners.”

“Prince Zhu Chongyu of Lu City ignored the princely clans leaving the city; Prince Zhu Naixuan of Taiping failed to submit a memorial; the Prince’s Chief Secretary Wang Mingfu and Acting Professor Hu Guan, negligent in their duties, shall be severely punished by the Ministry of Justice according to law.”

“Prefect Guo Siwei of Chizhou, Deputy Prefect Yan Bangning of Huizhou, and others, using old registers to evade imperial policy, feigning compliance while secretly obstructing land surveying, shall be executed.”

Zhang Hong bowed and replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

After waiting a moment and seeing the Emperor remain silent, he whispered, “Your Majesty, there is also Sun Guanghu, Right Vice Minister of Nanjing’s Ministry of Revenue, who has impeached Ye Mengxiong, Prefect of Anqing, for sluggish land surveying.”

Ye Mengxiong was among the officials, like Guo Siwei and Yan Bangning, impeached over land surveying matters; naturally, he could not be exempted.

Zhu Yijun clearly had not forgotten.

He paused, then waved his hand: “Sun Piyang ordered Anqing Prefecture to complete land surveying and household registration within one month—this is beyond human capacity. Ye Mengxiong naturally ignored it.”

“This former Provincial Governor, Sun Guanghu, is being sarcastic, implying Sun Piyang is chasing quick results.”

“Go and deliver my oral decree to soothe Sun Guanghu. Let Ye Mengxiong continue as before.”

“As for Sun Piyang… bring this matter before the court assembly, then issue an edict to all Provincial Governors and Surveillance Officials as a warning.”

Layered pressure is an unavoidable problem under the performance evaluation system.

Rushing ahead to produce results is the talent of regional officials.

But if problems arise, they cannot simply shrug and walk away—accountability must be pursued.

Is this not also part of the evaluation for Provincial Governors and Surveillance Officials?

Zhang Hong did not ask how the Emperor learned the full details; he merely nodded silently in agreement.

At that moment, the bells and drums fell silent.

Zhu Yijun looked up and saw that, in the time they had been speaking, the imperial procession had already passed through the imperial avenue of Beijingcheng and arrived before Anding Gate.

Beyond this gate lay the Viceroy of Military Affairs and his subordinate generals, all clad in military attire, kneeling to greet him, the central army firing three cannon salutes—this whole chaotic spectacle.

Officials from the Ministry of War and the Honglu Temple had already been waiting before Anding Gate to guide the procession.

Zhu Yijun had no interest in lingering on these familiar faces.

His gaze shifted to Wang Chonggu, standing tall and dignified among the crowd before the gate.

And behind him, the Mongol woman.

The imperial carriage gently came to a stop. Zhu Yijun rose and stepped down, waiting for a Ministry of War official to bring his imperial steed—this was the Emperor’s small whim; for ceremonial purposes, riding a horse seemed more martial than riding in a carriage.

Zhang Hong stepped forward to assist him and, following the Emperor’s gaze, whispered, “Your Majesty, the woman behind Wang Chonggu is the Lady of Loyalty and Obedience, known among the Mongols as San Niangzi.”

Zhu Yijun nodded gently toward Wang Chonggu, but covertly studied San Niangzi with the corner of his eye.

San Niangzi was precisely thirty this year. Standing a head shorter than Wang Chonggu, she still carried herself with upright posture, her gaze sharp and clear, her bearing no less imposing than Wang Chonggu’s.

But perhaps due to the sun and wind of the northern frontier, she appeared as if she were thirty-five or thirty-six, much like Empress Chen.

Setting aside her skin’s age, her bone structure was truly exquisite, living up to Zhao Shizhe’s praise: “Her bone and form are clear and beautiful, her nature unusually gifted.”

Add to that the allure of her foreign origins and the aura of decades commanding troops—she presented an aura of inviolable dignity, strikingly beautiful.

No wonder she had been married successively to four generations of Khan-grandsons and cherished as a family treasure.

Zhu Yijun studied her silently, yet kept speaking: “What has been the Lady of Loyalty and Obedience’s reaction these past two days?”

Though San Niangzi had been summoned to Beijing, Zhu Yijun had instructed the Ministry of Rites to deliberately delay her, citing holiday observances, and lodged her in the Sanyi Pavilion, restricting her movements.

At the same time, he repeatedly sent eunuchs to interrogate her with phrases like, “Why does Altan Khan defy the imperial decree?” and “The Emperor is deeply displeased.”

Only today did San Niangzi, alongside envoys from Korea, the Oirats, and native chieftains, receive an invitation to witness the ceremonial review.

Having applied such pressure, Zhu Yijun was now deeply curious about her response.

Zhang Hong lowered his voice: “Your Majesty, these past two days, San Niangzi has remained unchanged—she trains every morning, then sends word through the Sanyi Pavilion to inquire after Your Majesty’s health. By day, she walks the streets; by night, she borrows books from the Ministry of Rites. She has not even visited the Wang Commander’s residence.”

“Occasionally, she expresses homesickness, saying she fears her family worries, or that her subordinates might cause trouble.”

The “Wang Commander” he referred to was, of course, Wang Chonggu.

As old acquaintances from Xuan-Da, they had close ties. Yet even under such pressure, San Niangzi had not contacted Wang Chonggu—she was remarkably composed.

Zhu Yijun glanced again at San Niangzi and murmured, “No wonder she’s the uncrowned king of the Right Wing—truly a formidable and clever woman.”

Meanwhile, San Niangzi was openly studying the Emperor.

All on the steppe knew that the Great Ming was a vast empire.

The Emperor, forced to manage millions of able-bodied men, had to remain confined within the palace, buried under mountains of state affairs.

He could not even ride into battle or lead from the front; he barely had time to leave the palace to bask in the sun.

This created the greatest difference between Ming Emperors and steppe Khans: wisdom profound, yet frail and soft.

Now, seeing him with her own eyes, San Niangzi realized that what everyone knew might only be half-true.

The Emperor was no more imposing than the chieftains of her tribes.

But neither was he frail or weak—he was, rather, a healthy, vigorous man.

If his physical vigor were halved, then perhaps his famed wisdom needed halving too…

Why had the Emperor summoned her to Beijing? Was it merely to avenge Shi Mao’s passage, or—as her own drafts suggested—was he plotting something deeper for the Ming-Mongol situation?

Should she believe Wang Chonggu’s assessment that the Emperor “embraces all under heaven, encompassing Ming and Mongol,” or should she believe what she had learned from bribing eunuchs: that the Emperor held “no coexistence with Han traitors, the imperial cause cannot be confined to one corner”?

The last imperial review laid the foundation for the Khan’s tribute. What, now, after ten years, was this review aiming at?

San Niangzi stared fixedly at the Emperor, her mind racing.

Seeing the attendants bringing the Emperor’s horse, she chatted casually with Wang Chonggu: “Why has His Majesty abandoned the imperial carriage? I heard Emperor Mu rode all the way to the Palace of Review during his last review.”

She was fluent in Han affairs—she had even named the Han city of Guihua herself, presenting it as a gift to the Great Ming.

The Great Ming generally knew such stories, unless they were obscure.

Wang Chonggu’s face remained expressionless as he replied: “His Majesty is a true gentleman—cultivated in letters, martial in virtue, proficient in all six arts. On such a review day, he naturally rides his steed.”

No matter what happened privately, Wang Chonggu would never give San Niangzi a kind face in public.

San Niangzi shot him a sharp glance at his solemn demeanor.

She was about to ask again when she saw the Emperor mount his horse and ride toward the outer gate, passing directly before her.

“Your Majesty, please inspect the troops!”

San Niangzi imitated the Ministry of Rites official and bowed in the manner of a foreign envoy.

She had been ignored for many days; she assumed the Emperor would wait until after this display of martial might before granting her an audience.

But the Ming Emperor, upon hearing the cry, suddenly reined in his horse and turned his gaze toward her: “Lady of Loyalty and Obedience.”

San Niangzi instinctively drew a sharp breath.

She quickly recovered and bowed: “Your humble servant greets Your Imperial Majesty.”

Zhu Yijun nodded in return, paused, then suddenly smiled warmly: “Lady of Loyalty and Obedience, the steed beneath me was a gift from the Tumeng Khan, presented to celebrate my ascension in the first year of Wanli.”

“It is a fierce horse—I dare not ride it casually. Today, for the dignity of the Celestial Court and to display our martial glory, I must force myself to ride it. My close ministers fear I may fall.”

“Just now, seeing you, I was suddenly struck by inspiration…”

Zhu Yijun paused, his eyes kindly narrowed: “Lady of Loyalty and Obedience, could you please lead my horse?”

(End of Chapter)