Chapter 342: Rescuing the Drowning, Saving from Fire, Using Objects to Symbolize People

The Wanli Emperor Zhu Yijun, seated on the throne for eight years, what image did he hold among scholars and the common folk?

Some said the Regional Commander of All Troops held imperial power, his presence divine.

Some said Zhu Yijun utterly despised personal favoritism, wielding crushing authority to humiliate.

Some said the Longwei Recluse, with the grandeur of a sage, synthesized a hundred generations and planned for ten thousand years, truly surpassing all previous emperors.

Some said the emperor radiated autumn’s stern majesty and cherished spring’s gentle grace, his heavenly will unfathomable—a master of statecraft.

Blind men touching an elephant often see only partial truths; information from different sources or differing perspectives naturally yields utterly divergent conclusions.

Yet simultaneously, within these partial views, certain unspoken consensuses always emerge.

Like the elephant’s body temperature, its skin texture.

Like the emperor’s “majesty.”

Regardless of praise or blame, no one ever denied Wanli Emperor’s mountain-and-river majesty.

From the sixth month of Longqing Sixth Year to the sixth month of Wanli Eighth Year, eight years were neither long nor short.

Grand Eunuch Feng Bao of the Office of Imperial Secretariat died within the palace, amid conspiracy and treachery;

Censor Jia Daiwen and Hu Xiao were summoned to the Jade Tower via omens and portents, their clans exterminated;

Marquis Sun Shizong died suddenly from illness, stripped of his title and heirship;

The princely titles of Dong’an and Wugang were brutally extinguished;

Liu Shiyan of the Five Military Directorates was beheaded with a single sword, Vice Minister Luo Fengxiang died in prison, Marquis Shi Guangzu was beaten to death in the county yamen, and Nanjing Minister of Justice Weng Dali, guilty of a minor error, faced uncertain life or death.

Eunuchs, marquises, censors, high ministers, imperial clansmen…

Since the emperor’s ascension, he swept away the peace of Mu Zong’s six years, slaughtering like a farmer clearing weeds or a hunter exterminating birds, killing countless, rivalling the Shizong Emperor.

At this very moment, Zhang Fu, who had just passed the Hanlin examination and whose future shone brightly, was asked face-to-face by this emperor: “Are you planning rebellion?”

That light, drifting voice seemed to descend from the heavens; once it entered the ear, it shattered the soul.

Rebellion?

Who was being accused?

Zhang Fu instinctively raised his head, meeting the emperor’s gaze.

In a daze, he saw within the emperor’s eyes a reflection of a vast, dreadful underworld.

Mountains of corpses and seas of blood paved the imperial path; piles of white bones forged the dragon throne; the vengeful spirits of the Zhang family of Taicang wailed bitterly within the emperor’s ceremonial robes, unable to escape.

Murderous intent! Unhidden murderous intent!

The howling murderous intent jolted Zhang Fu violently awake.

It was him!

He would die!

If he answered wrong, he would surely die!

How to reply! How to react! Think! Think fast!

Zhang Fu trembled all over; should he cry out in protest? Deny outright? Or kneel and beg for mercy?

How did the emperor know of events in Zhejiang? Why Zhejiang and not Shandong or Nan Zhili? Was this confirmation or a test?

Think! Think fast!

A thousand thoughts spun in his mind; in reality, it was a flash of lightning.

Finally, Zhang Fu drew a sharp breath, trembling even more violently, until white foam seeped from his mouth.

The emperor’s cold gaze turned to surprise.

Zhang Fu’s body suddenly stiffened, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed to the ground.

He had fainted!

…

Mount Your Majesty was quiet and cool, its scenery pleasant; when the breeze blew, it carried a faint floral scent.

The scenery was gentle, and for a moment, silence reigned.

Zhu Yijun watched Zhang Fu’s fluid, seamless actions, stunned.

He then laughed, waved to a nearby attendant, signaling the eunuch to handle the matter.

The attending eunuchs hurried forward.

Yet despite frantic efforts—slapping his forehead, pressing his renzhong point—the man showed no sign of waking.

Wei Chao hesitated: “Your Majesty, should we summon the Imperial Physician?”

Zhu Yijun shook his head.

“No need. Let Minister Zhang think slowly. He’ll wake when he’s ready.”

After uttering this cryptic remark, Zhu Yijun clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly into the pavilion.

Xu Jie, inside the pavilion, rose nearly in alarm upon seeing the emperor approach: “Your Majesty, this matter has nothing whatsoever to do with me!”

Heaven be merciful—these past years, he had been more fearful than ever before the Shizong Emperor!

The civilian unrest in Huzhou had nothing to do with him—not even a fraction!

He had foreseen it: being summoned for a morning mountain climb was surely an ill omen.

Zhu Yijun glanced at Xu Jie.

Perhaps due to the climb’s exhaustion, the Grand Secretary’s face flickered like a lantern’s glow—shifting between dark and light.

Zhu Yijun smiled inwardly, yet his expression remained gentle: “Minister Xu, calm yourself. I merely asked you to observe and advise me.”

He waved his hand, signaling the old man to sit.

Xu Jie remained skeptical, truly baffled—what was there to advise on? If they had organized a rebellion, why not execute them?

He had never seen this dog emperor show mercy.

Zhu Yijun chuckled, sitting on a stone bench: “Minister Xu, how much do you know of the Huzhou civilian unrest?”

No sooner had he spoken than Zhang Fu’s ear outside the pavilion twitched faintly.

Xu Jie cautiously sat beside the emperor, paused, then replied cautiously: “Your Majesty, I am retired, ears closed to worldly affairs. The Huzhou unrest is a thousand li away—I know only the barest scraps.”

“I heard that at the start of the land survey last year, Huzhou received many cases of land encroachment and hidden populations from the Dong and Fan families.”

“Though the yamen handled a few clear-cut cases, the backlog grew ever larger, with petitioners rushing to submit documents, clogging the streets.”

“Seeing this, and fully aware of the court’s resolve to survey land, the Dong and Fan families dared not defy it. They adopted the old stratagem of Feng Xuan burning promissory notes: each approached the original sellers of their land deeds, offering to let them repurchase the land at half the original price.”

“Returning land was good, yet this move did not quell public anger—it drew in the previously Guanwang masses.”

“Rumors spread: if you came to their gates and caused trouble, you’d receive a sum of ‘peace money.’ Crowds surged, numbering in the thousands, pounding doors and shouting insults.”

“Then the unrest grew larger, spiraling beyond control.”

“All this is hearsay from the streets—I cannot vouch for its accuracy.”

Xu Jie’s calm narration clearly contradicted his claim of being deaf to worldly affairs.

Especially in how precisely he relayed only street rumors, with perfect restraint.

Zhu Yijun smiled and asked: “When you first heard this, did you think it an accident—or a calculated plot?”

Xu Jie, upon hearing this, glanced at Zhang Fu, still unconscious outside the pavilion.

Reveal the answer first, then test?

Unable to fathom the emperor’s intent, Xu Jie replied ambiguously: “The Dong family owns twenty thousand mu of land, one hundred and sixty pawnshops, a thousand servants, three hundred large boats. The Fan family, though lesser, is not far behind.”

With such wealth, they must have bullied markets and monopolized trade—people competing to file complaints is entirely understandable.

“Yet the rumors that followed came too strangely. Feng Xuan burning promissory notes was always a good way to win public favor—it should not have escalated so wildly.”

“When I first heard this, I too could not tell.”

“I never imagined someone was truly stoking the flames behind the scenes!”

Xu Jie raised a trembling hand, pointing at Zhang Fu, shaking his head vigorously: “Thank heaven Your Majesty sees with piercing clarity, discerns as if through fire—had this villain entered the central court, he might well be Yan Song or Qin Hui reborn!”

“Piercing clarity, discerning as if through fire”—these were not flattery; they were Xu Jie’s sincere admiration.

Zhejiang lay a thousand li away; even if someone raised an army in rebellion, the court would need several rounds of memorials to learn whose banner they raised.

Under Provincial Governor Wang Daoqun’s inaction, how could the emperor name the Taicang Zhang family directly? Who wouldn’t tremble at that?

Zhu Yijun knew exactly what Xu Jie was thinking. He wore an expression of complete control and explained calmly: “It is not that I see clearly—it is the Northern Commandery Surveillance Office’s loyal diligence.”

No sooner had he spoken than Xu Jie’s face showed shock—and even Zhang Fu outside the pavilion let out a faint groan.

Northern Commandery Surveillance Office? The emperor sent the Embroidered Uniform Guard to Zhejiang?

Accounting for travel time, how long had the emperor known the situation’s direction before this?

Seeing Xu Jie’s awe-struck expression, Zhu Yijun’s smile grew even more enigmatic.

In truth, this time it was pure coincidence.

When promoting Fan Yingqi to oversee the granary system, Zhu Yijun had hesitated over the Fan family’s moral character (Chapter 186).

To prevent the tragedy of “a family seizing land, triggering mass unrest, forcing father and son to suicide,” Zhu Yijun had long ago dispatched Embroidered Uniform Guard with Fan Yingqi’s personal letters to Huzhou, monitoring the Fan family’s land returns and disciplining their household.

Returning land was no quick task—thus, this civilian unrest coincided precisely with the Northern Commandery Surveillance Office’s mission in Huzhou!

Had it not been for this, Zhu Yijun, not being a god, could never have pinpointed the Taicang Zhang family.

“According to the secret memorial from the Northern Commandery Surveillance Office, the Huzhou unrest began as genuine injustice by the two families, with the people acting spontaneously.”

“But once the families began returning land, things turned suspicious.”

Zhu Yijun’s voice rang clear, deliberately audible to the unconscious Zhang Fu outside: “A newspaper, utterly unannounced, appeared within Huzhou Prefecture.”

Xu Jie froze: “Newspaper?”

Zhu Yijun nodded to a secretary in attendance.

The secretary produced from nowhere a large stack of newspapers and placed them on the pavilion’s stone table.

Zhu Yijun picked up the top newspaper and handed it to Xu Jie.

Xu Jie received the newspaper with solemn respect.

He had not taken newspapers seriously at all, assuming they were merely another form of anonymous placards—until he read one and was stunned.

The newspaper’s first issue exposed the Dong and Fan families’ oppression of the countryside and their tyrannical conduct, bringing them no small amount of trouble.

That was bad enough.

It detailed actual crimes committed by their servants—coercive sales, usurious land mortgages—none of which were fabricated, merely slightly embellished.

After the Dong and Fan families submitted, burned their debt notes, and returned the land, the Dong family personally visited the newspaper office, hoping for a few kind words to restore their reputation.

But the next day, the newspaper published an article accusing the Dong family of secretly plotting revenge after publicly returning the land, threatening them at their doorstep.

The Dong family was enraged beyond measure.

The Fan family, humble and meek, could only swallow their anger, redoubled their efforts to return land, and hoped to buy peace with money.

But this did not quiet things for long.

The newspaper inexplicably began slandering the Fan family, claiming they had amassed a million in ill-gotten wealth, were guilty as thieves, and that anyone who protested could claim a large sum.

Once a few incendiary newspapers spread, the situation changed instantly.

Over a hundred people beat drums to clear the way, raised white banners, surrounded both families’ homes, tore down Dong’s houses, chopped down trees in Fan’s ancestral graveyard, slaughtered pigs and sheep to feast inside both compounds, and even harassed their womenfolk.

At this point, the prefecture and county authorities’ hope that “fair trials would naturally disperse the crowd” collapsed completely.

So the county yamen led constables to block the rioters, arrested the ringleaders, then turned around and urged both families to pay more money to appease the people, urging mutual compromise to restore peace.

The yamen’s mediation was naturally welcome—a carrot and a stick—and the rioters seemed ready to disperse.

But the newspaper intervened again.

The next day, it published another article accusing the yamen officials of favoring Dong’s student Shen Shixing and Fan’s third branch Fan Yingqi, among other high officials, by siding with the families, arresting innocent civilians, aiding evildoers, and extracting false confessions through torture.

If the people accepted bribes and dispersed easily, they might be picked off one by one and later settled accounts with.

Meanwhile, the newspaper allied with students and Confucian scholars to write letters to the Provincial Governor’s office, twisting facts and pressuring Governor Wang Daoqin, warning him not to “ignore public sentiment and tarnish his clean name.”

Xu Jie finished reading the newspapers, his forehead slick with cold sweat.

Brilliant move! Brilliant calculation!

This is a newspaper? It wields such power?

One copy per person is infinitely more potent than secret placards stuck on alley walls!

If only I had this back then…

Here, Xu Jie abruptly cut off the thought.

He looked up at the Emperor: “Is this newspaper office run by the Zhang family of Taicang?”

As soon as he spoke, a soft moan sounded.

Zhang Fuzhi, who had fainted outside the pavilion, finally stirred awake.

Zhu Yijun glanced toward the sound, still replying to Xu Jie: “The Zhang family has opened over a dozen newspaper offices in the south; the Huzhou office is one of them.”

“Perhaps since my ascension, I have been too lenient toward scholar-officials, never once ordering clan exterminations, so they dare incite the people and stir up rebellion.”

Zhu Yijun looked at the awakened Zhang Fuzhi, deeply disappointed: “Zhang Zizan, your family will be the first to bear the brunt.”

Zhang Fuzhi shuddered and immediately prostrated himself.

He seemed to have heard only the last two sentences, looking bewildered: “Huzhou newspaper office? Inciting the people? This is a terrible misunderstanding! Your Majesty, hear me! The Huzhou newspaper office is not run by my family—it must be someone impersonating us to commit crimes!”

He bowed repeatedly, crying out in anguish.

Seeing this, Zhu Yijun found it even funnier.

He ignored Zhang Fuzhi and turned to Xu Jie: “Though the Taicang Zhang family does not operate newspapers, behind the scenes they frequently donate generously and offer advice to various newspaper offices.”

“Once they control the scholars’ voices, internally they fabricate stories to spread reputation; externally, they twist truth, leverage power, and intimidate.”

“When any article causes trouble, as now, they instantly disavow all ties, loudly proclaiming the Zhang family never runs newspapers.”

Don’t play clever tricks. Don’t empower secretly. Don’t think you’re untraceable.

Zhang Fuzhi’s philtrum was red from being pinched.

His forehead was bleeding from bowing.

Add his flushed face and neck, and he looked truly like a red-hot iron: “Your Majesty, I am wronged!”

“There must be hidden circumstances. I beg Your Majesty to allow me to return home and investigate the truth!”

He bowed again, head slamming the ground.

This speech was the result of deep, rehearsed thought.

If he were truly doomed, he would already be in the Northern Capital Security Bureau’s prison.

The Emperor summoned him here personally—surely not to throw him off Wansuis Mountain just to vent his anger.

Perhaps the Emperor lacks full certainty and is merely testing the sons of southern newspaper owners one by one.

Perhaps the Emperor doesn’t wish to break the surface, so he speaks dramatically, merely to force submission.

Perhaps…

Too many possibilities—but there must be a glimmer of hope!

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of his head striking the ground never ceased.

Drops of blood splattered, staining the Emperor’s boots.

Zhu Yijun sighed, wiping the blood from his boots with Xu Jie’s robe hem.

“Zhang Qing, don’t misunderstand.”

“This time, I will truly kill. Many, many people. Many, many scholar-officials—including all thirteen hundred and sixty-two members of your Taicang Zhang family.”

Zhu Yijun waved his hand, signaling his attendants.

A eunuch immediately helped Zhang Fuzhi to his feet; Wei Chao appeared from nowhere with paper and ink.

Zhang Fuzhi rose dazedly, his mind reeling, the Emperor’s icy voice clinging to him like a parasite, drilling into his skull: “I give you only one chance.”

“Write. Write down the network resisting land survey. Write one name—and it buys your Zhang family one life.”

Zhang Fuzhi snapped his head up, pupils shrinking!

His already flushed face turned liver-purple; veins bulged on his neck.

How could this be!

How could this be possible!

He was no fool—he was a tyrant! A tyrant rivaling Zhu Yuanzhang!

Zhang Fuzhi stared at the Emperor’s face and felt an overwhelming tide of blood rushing toward him!

He clenched his teeth so hard he trembled uncontrollably, bit his tongue, and tasted coppery blood seeping from his lips.

Zhang Fuzhi raised his hand, struggling to take the paper and ink.

Seeing Zhang Fuzhi’s terrified state, Zhu Yijun shook his head.

Youth lacks cultivation—he still hasn’t learned to remain calm even when his entire family is dead.

Zhu Yijun called to Xu Jie and walked down the other side of the pavilion, growing distant: “I’ll take a walk. Write slowly.”

“The state favors students. You are a Shujishi. I summoned you first. If you can’t write this morning, I’ll go find Luo Xianshu and Zhao Nandou.”

Zhang Fuzhi froze, paper and ink falling from his hands.

He paid no mind to the eunuch crouching to pick them up; his face grew even more ghastly.

Luo Xianshu was Luo Yuren’s son; Zhao Nandou was Zhao Nanxing’s younger brother—both were juren students at the Imperial Academy.

The Emperor truly knew everything!

…

Zhu Yijun knew, of course—otherwise, why marry Li Chunfang’s granddaughter?

As for the excuse? He just made it up. Favoring Shujishi doesn’t extend to rebel leaders.

In truth, Zhu Yijun simply resented how easily Zhang Fuzhi’s generation had assumed the status of a “people’s emperor.”

Seeking fame and prestige is good—arbitrarily appointing zhuangyuan, dismissing grand secretaries.

Seeking fame and prestige is good—organizing riots, storming yamens, burning cities as if nothing.

Seeking fame and prestige is good—raising a cry, gathering ten thousand followers, where their pen points, the court trembles.

Since you love fame so much, the stigma of betrayal won’t hurt either.

As Zhu Yijun pondered, Xu Jie’s voice came from behind.

“Your Majesty, my body is no longer what it was. Another journey by carriage and boat would break me.”

Xu Jie looked pitiful, gazing pleadingly.

Zhu Yijun blinked, then realized what he meant; inwardly he praised him, outwardly frowned: “Only you are clever.”

Xu Jie sighed—say it plainly, don’t make others guess; guess too fast and you’re displeased.

Just like the Shizong Emperor!

He was about to speak when footsteps came from behind.

Both turned.

A eunuch hurried forward and bowed to the Emperor: “Your Majesty, the Grand Secretary is waiting at the foot of the mountain, requesting an audience.”

Zhu Yijun froze.

Wasn’t it agreed we’d meet tomorrow? Did they settle all four matters already?

He glanced at Xu Jie, then asked the eunuch: “Has the Grand Secretary finished the court deliberation?”

The eunuch quickly replied: “Your Majesty, the Grand Secretary did not attend court this morning. Hearing that Your Majesty was strolling on Wansuis Mountain, he came straight here to request an audience.”

Zhu Yijun couldn’t help rolling his eyes.

You’re rushing ahead before the matter’s even settled—Master Zhang, you’ve gone from diligent to lazy in a single day. Unbecoming.

Look at yourself: you claim you’re taking a break, but which of your actions isn’t an official duty?

Zhu Yijun shook his head: “Please, Master, come up.”

He’s already reached the foot of the mountain—we can’t refuse to see him.

Seeing this, Xu Jie promptly dropped the previous topic and followed silently behind the emperor.

The two walked one before the other, strolling through Your Majesty Mountain.

Moments later.

Only then did Wei Chao appear, leading Zhang Juzheng into view.

Xu Jie clearly saw the emperor’s earlier resentment vanish instantly, replaced by radiant sunshine as he beamed and stepped forward: “Master!”

Zhang Juzheng felt joy within, yet maintained composure: “Your Majesty.”

He approached, bowed deeply with precise formality.

Zhu Yijun quickly extended both hands to help Zhang Juzheng rise.

After the formalities, Zhang Juzheng and Xu Jie exchanged glances; the former bowed slightly, the latter gave a slight nod.

Zhu Yijun held Zhang Juzheng’s hand, his smile unwavering: “I thought only I missed you dearly—yet you, too, are equally fond. As soon as you heard I had free time, you rushed to see me.”

But Zhang Juzheng stepped back, withdrawing his hand from the emperor’s.

He took a handwritten edict from his sleeve and bowed again: “I have completed the four matters in Your Majesty’s edict and have come to submit them as ordered.”

Zhu Yijun froze at these words.

Yesterday, Zhang Juzheng discussed the Lotus Case; this morning, he barely had time to consult the Ministry of Revenue on the Land Tax Consolidation—how could all four matters be settled already?

Before the emperor could speak, Zhang Juzheng continued: “Your Majesty’s verbal instruction stated: the four matters in the edict—whether sound or not—must be thoroughly explained to you during audience.”

“I deem the rectification of court officials sound, the Land Tax Consolidation sound; the other two matters are in fact one and the same, requiring no imperial deliberation—I can tell you outright: this matter is utterly unsound!”

Xu Jie stepped forward, reading the other two matters listed on the edict.

Third: internal strife in Huizhou.

Fourth: southern newspapers.

Zhu Yijun’s face darkened: “Two distinct matters—how can you call them one? There’s clear debate—how can you decide without deliberation?”

The civil unrest in Huizhou Prefecture is complex; Sun Piyang cannot handle it.

Public opinion in the newspapers makes court ministers hesitant to act.

How could this possibly be bypassed without deliberation?

Zhang Juzheng refused to rise: “Your Majesty clearly uses these two matters as a pretext—you have other intentions. I dare not endorse them!”

“Not only do I refuse to endorse them—I have a plea of blood to offer Your Majesty!”

He lifted his head, his gaze burning fixed on the emperor.

Now it was Zhu Yijun’s turn to fall silent.

Clever ministers are useful, but they see too clearly.

He’d just returned to the capital; I hadn’t even clearly revealed my intent—and yet Zhang Juzheng saw through it at a glance.

Truly impossible to deceive.

Zhu Yijun sighed and waved his hand toward Wei Chao.

The eunuch wisely led the attendants away silently; only the three generations of teacher and pupil remained.

Zhu Yijun said nothing, trudging forward in silence. Since the emperor refused to speak, his ministers could only follow quietly behind.

Dawn breaks over Lingshan; mist clears from the flowers, as if Mount Jueqiao bears a golden tortoise.

Sunlight filtered through the forest canopy, bathing the three men in golden rays as they walked slowly through the hills—calm, serene.

They walked far, yet knew not how far; time passed, yet knew not how long.

Finally, the emperor halted.

“This is the Qiu Long Tomb.”

Xu Jie and Zhang Juzheng both froze, then turned instinctively in the direction the emperor pointed.

Sure enough, in an unremarkable corner, they saw a mound of earth reaching to the ankle, topped by a tombstone no larger than two palms, inscribed with three characters: “Qiu Long Tomb.”

Xu Jie stepped forward involuntarily, crouching before the stone.

He traced the carved characters with his fingers, voice heavy with emotion: “Had Your Majesty not mentioned it, I would not have realized—it is indeed the hand of the Former Emperor.”

Xu Jie’s eyes overflowed with nostalgia.

During the Jiajing reign, Emperor Shizong kept a curly-haired lion cat named “Shuangmei.”

Its fur was faintly bluish, its eyebrows pure white, and it was exceedingly charming; the emperor carried it everywhere, leading with it on outings, sleeping beside it at night.

Such affection meant its death was no ordinary event.

Emperor Shizong ordered court ministers to compose eulogies; both Xu Jie and Zhang Juzheng wrote them—and were scolded by the emperor for being unfit to eulogize a non-human creature.

Later, Yuan Wei, a scholar of the Ministry of Rites, won first prize with the phrase “transforming lion into dragon”—thus the name “Qiu Long Tomb.”

Zhu Yijun walked slowly to the stone and shook his head gently: “But I believe Yuan Wei’s eulogy was poor, and ‘Qiu Long Tomb’ is a misnomer.”

Zhang Juzheng followed behind: “Too grandiose in wording?”

As soon as he spoke, he vaguely guessed what the emperor meant.

Zhu Yijun softly hummed: “Precisely. The wording is too grand—it cannot be called a true dragon.”

“A true dragon can grow or shrink, rise or hide; when large, it swallows clouds and spits mist; when small, it conceals its form and hides its scales; when rising, it soars through the cosmos; when hidden, it lurks within the waves.”

He turned to Zhang Juzheng, earnest: “This cat dwelled within the Forbidden City for eight years—how can it be called a true dragon?”

(End of Chapter)