Chapter 36: Cultivating with Patience, Half-Resistance, Half-Consent

Zhu Yijun always looked three steps ahead with every step he took.

He had long been considering a suitable candidate for Feng Bao’s position as head of the Eastern Depot.

Zhang Hong was the first to be eliminated.

First, he might not smoothly assume the post—resistance would be too great; too many were watching him, and too many were watching Zhang Hong.

Even Empress Li might not approve.

Second, even if he could snatch the peach, it would invite unnecessary hostility from all sides.

Feng Bao’s counterattack might be more than Zhang Hong could handle.

Third, Zhang Hong’s faction was far too weak.

The Eastern Depot was a military post, and Zhang Hong lacked the foundational background.

Feng Bao had held the Eastern Depot since Longqing’s first year—six years already—with deep-rooted influence.

If Zhang Hong took over, he truly could not easily seize control in the short term.

Moreover, Feng Bao held the Office of Eunuch Secretaries, the nominal superior of the Eastern Depot; if he remotely directed his loyal old subordinates, it was uncertain who would truly command the Eastern Depot.

But Li Jin was perfectly suited.

The Imperial Horse Supervision, among eunuchs, was inherently a military rank—narrowly speaking, it managed horses; broadly speaking, it commanded guard battalions.

As Director of the Imperial Horse Supervision, Li Jin, even if transferred, still had his own core faction.

Moreover, Li Jin was an imperial relative; once his status was elevated, a large number of eunuchs would immediately rally to him—a point Zhang Hong could never match.

All these factors would enable Li Jin to swiftly gain actual control of the Eastern Depot.

Most importantly, Li Jin was Empress Li’s cousin and had rendered them mother and son favors.

Whether through kinship or gratitude, he naturally passed the test of trust.

This would lessen Empress Li’s sense of being coerced by the civil bureaucracy.

It would also serve as a shield to deflect unnecessary scrutiny and hidden daggers.

As for how to control Li Jin… hadn’t that already begun, quietly and imperceptibly?

He was a man who valued gratitude—otherwise he wouldn’t have opened the back door to bring Empress Li into the Prince of Yu’s mansion.

And today’s affair, Li Wei would surely promote it well among relatives.

Li Jin naturally ought to know who he owed his rise to.

Zhu Yijun carefully reviewed everything in his mind, satisfied there was no oversight, and finally exhaled.

Another interim step.

Coming back to himself, he heard Zhu Xizhong’s voice.

“To ease the sovereign’s burdens is my duty,” Zhu Xizhong replied, kneeling beside him.

Zhu Yijun looked over.

This Duke of Cheng was truly reliable—he had never once failed.

He couldn’t bear the thought of this duke passing away.

He couldn’t help remark: “Your Grace must take good care of your health and continue to ease my burdens.”

Zhu Xizhong smiled bitterly: “Life’s span is ordained by heaven; how can I defy it?”

“Yet after my death, the entire Duke of Cheng household will continue to serve Your Majesty.”

Zhu Yijun chuckled—he was asking for a promise.

He stepped closer and helped Zhu Xizhong to his feet.

He said casually: “That jade pendant I sent via Zhang Hong—is it still with Your Grace?”

Zhu Xizhong hurriedly reached into his robe, preparing to return it.

Zhu Yijun stopped him with a hand and smiled: “Keep the jade, Your Grace.”

“Let it serve as a constant reminder to me: as long as this jade remains unbroken, I shall never forget the Duke of Cheng household.”

The implication was clear: as long as he lived, he would never betray the Duke of Cheng.

Zhu Xizhong paused, then sighed deeply: “I have served three emperors, blessed with boundless imperial grace—it is truly a fortune beyond three lifetimes.”

Whether he believed it or not, he still bowed in thanks.

He knew the emperor had reached his limit with such a promise.

One couldn’t ask a man to swear an oath before heaven.

Zhu Yijun nodded: “My mother has a niece of marriageable age; if Your Grace has a worthy young man, perhaps the two families might visit one another.”

This was a tangible benefit beyond the promise.

Not like minor figures such as Zhang Hong or Jiang Keqian.

A Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard and one of the Three Excellencies—mere verbal promises were too feeble.

Binding the Duke of Cheng household to Empress Li through marriage added real substance.

He had already discussed this with Li Wei—not merely interested, but ecstatic.

With Li Wei’s attitude, he could safely make such promises—this was not an age of free marriage.

Marriages among imperial relatives were typically alliances with meritorious nobles; for example, Empress Li’s sister married the Marquis of Pingjiang, Chen Wangmo.

All Zhu Yijun could do was ensure the other side wasn’t a scoundrel, and their faction wasn’t prone to self-destruction.

But if one sought brilliance or beauty rivaling Pan An, one might as well go to sleep.

Zhu Xizhong had not expected the new emperor to be so generous.

He had just performed a service, and now received such lavish reward—he hurriedly bowed: “Your servant…”

Zhu Yijun cut him off: “Enough. Let’s speak of matters of state.”

Zhu Xizhong fell silent, thinking: Sure enough, the sweet treat was always followed by a task.

Zhu Yijun turned to Zhu Xizhong and spoke plainly: “Last year, the late emperor wished to reappoint Gu Huan as Viceroy of the Capital Garrison, but he was impeached and forced to retire—do you know of this?”

The Capital Garrison was the permanent garrison stationed in Beijing; the Viceroy was its commander.

Last year, the late emperor strongly supported Gu Huan’s command of the Capital Garrison, but censors relentlessly impeached him for old age.

The Censor Wang Zongzai of Guangxi even accused Gu Huan of greed for power, clinging to office, and sowing discord between ruler and ministers, demanding his title be stripped.

Terrified, Gu Huan suddenly fell ill with paralysis overnight—only recovering once the late emperor agreed to his retirement.

Whether he was truly old or senile enough to warrant impeachment?

He knew historically, Gu Huan would be reinstated next year to lead the Left Military Directorate—Zhang Juzheng clearly did not consider him too aged or unfit.

Zhu Xizhong naturally knew of this and made no attempt to conceal it.

He spoke plainly: “The Marquis of Zhenyuan, Gu Huan, since the twelfth year of Jiajing, has served as Commander of the Left Military Directorate, Commander of the Nanjing Central Military Directorate, Viceroy of the Grand Canal, and Commander of the Right Military Directorate; during his tenure as Regional Commander of Guangdong and Guangxi, he personally led troops to decapitate enemy commanders.”

“Especially after the Gengxu Incident in Jiajing’s thirty-third year, he was specially summoned to Beijing to reorganize the Capital Garrison.”

“His military achievements were illustrious, his prestige immense, his rank among the Three Excellencies… beyond the control of the Ministry of War.”

If one didn’t understand by now, one was a fool.

The Five Military Directorates were originally the foundation of the Privy Council; the Viceroy of the Grand Canal possessed administrative ability; the Commander of Guangdong and Guangxi had battlefield kills.

Not to mention he was the powerful figure who, during Jiajing’s reign, was entrusted with reforming the Capital Garrison in a crisis.

Such a nobleman, outstanding in both civil and military affairs, if he seized control of the Capital Garrison, the Ministry of War could only watch helplessly.

Perhaps some feared such a scenario, hence the repeated impeachments.

Zhu Yijun, upon hearing this, did not directly explain why he had raised the matter.

Instead, he pressed further: “What of his successor, the Marquis of Zhangwu, Yang Bing?”

His appointment stirred no controversy.

Zhu Xizhong sighed: “After assuming command of the Capital Garrison, the Marquis of Zhangwu’s first act was to change the reporting procedure—from direct submission to the emperor, to routing all reports through the Ministry of War, which then resubmitted them.”

A change in procedure was a change in power.

Reporting directly to the emperor became a process filtered through the Ministry of War—this was a retreat from Gu Huan’s former independent status, a bowing to the Ministry of War, a lowering of oneself.

?C〇

Since the reign of Yingzong, this was the norm for meritorious nobles.

What he didn’t say was that Emperor Shizong had suspected foul play in the Yingzong incident, and seized the opportunity of the Gengxu Incident to strongly support Gu Huan, bypassing the Ministry of War to reorganize the Capital Garrison.

Zhu Xizhong couldn’t determine whether Shizong was exceptionally perceptive or simply naturally suspicious.

But either way, it was past history—he didn’t care about truth or falsehood.

For meritorious nobles, the rank granted by Shizong had been real.

Unfortunately, as soon as Shizong died, the late emperor immediately revoked it.

Zhu Yijun frowned: “Has the Marquis of Zhangwu always been so cautious and restrained?”

Had he taken bribes from civil officials, or was he simply useless?

Zhu Xizhong shook his head: “At that time, the Marquis of Zhangwu’s heir was accused of crimes by the Censorate and the Ministry of Justice, and only cleared of charges a month later.”

Zhu Yijun fell silent—a clever chain of moves.

This was precisely why he had never reached for the Capital Garrison.

Military power was too complex a matter.

Originally, the Five Military Directorates were nearly equal to the Privy Council; after several reforms, they were reduced to subordinates of the Ministry of War, under its control.

The Capital Garrison, even more so, was a focal point of contention—only gradual maneuvering was possible.

Only now, with Zhu Xizhong standing behind him, did he dare entertain even a faint idea.

Military force was always the ultimate leverage to overturn the table.

The reason he first approached this Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard after his transmigration, and why he insisted on stripping Feng Bao of his Eastern Depot post, stemmed from this very consideration.

Zhu Yijun looked at Zhu Xizhong: “Your Grace, I ascended the throne as a child; beyond a general amnesty, I shall also bestow widespread favors and patronage.”

“I hear that Marquis Zhenyuan Gu Huan has no biological son—what do you think of granting patronage to his adopted son, Gu Chengguang, as Assistant Regional Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard?”

An adopted son is a son formally taken in.

Of course, under ancestral law, his status is identical; he is the one entitled to inherit the title.

With this additional favor, once he inherits the title, he may transfer this patronage to his close kin.

Zhu Xizhong fell silent for a moment, understanding the emperor’s intent.

He slowly nodded: “Your servant shall immediately investigate Gu Chengguang’s abilities and character.”

Zhu Yijun sighed with satisfaction: “I trust Your Grace to handle this.”

What was being assessed was not ability or character, but how much loyalty and devotion to the throne he possessed.

If Gu Chengguang were willing, like Jiang Keqian, to serve close at hand,

then it would mean Gu Huan approved of this arrangement.

It would also mean Gu Huan still wished to help this new emperor seize control of the Capital Garrison.

Of course, if he refused, we may have to lie low for a while—then bring Qi Jiguang to the capital.

In any case, the Capital Garrison must be secured.

Whether it’s fulfilling the promise to Li Wei regarding maritime transport, the mineral tax case in Huguang, using Xu Jie as the first target in land survey reforms, or suppressing unrest in Xuan and Da—all actions depend on securing the Capital Garrison first.

Zhu Xizhong bowed and prepared to take his leave.

Zhu Yijun nodded, watching Zhu Xizhong depart.

He stood before the door for a moment, then turned toward the front hall.

…

June 15.

The emperor bestowed silver coins upon his ministers, the Six Ministries, the Censorate, the Five Military Directorates, the Ministers of Military Affairs, the Bureau of Imperial Seals, and the Drafting Office.

And, by imperial decree, Empress Dowager Chen’s edict, and Empress Dowager Li’s edict, the following was issued in response to the seventy-six censors’ accusations against Feng Bao:

The ancestral laws are exquisitely refined and complete, to be observed forever.

In recent years, officials have neglected constitutional standards, causing chaos and confusion, leaving soldiers and civilians in alarm—how can this be governance?

To honor the intent of our ancestors and clarify the established laws, the inner court must lead by example.

Feng Bao, Chief of the Office of Eunuch Secretaries, Director of the Eastern Depot, and Superintendent of the Imperial Horse Bureau, has himself petitioned, stating that due to temporary necessity, he holds multiple key posts, and requests to relinquish his post at the Eastern Depot.

The Emperor and the Empresses have both approved.

Effective from the date of this edict, Feng Bao is stripped of his position at the Eastern Depot; Li Jin, a eunuch secretary of the Imperial Horse Bureau, is transferred to the Office of Eunuch Secretaries as secretary and appointed Director of the Eastern Depot.

Let all departments and offices be informed. So decreed.

The edict was issued in the names of both imperial courts and the emperor; its legitimacy is unquestionable.

The content is straightforward: the Eastern Depot is transferred from Feng Bao to Li Jin.

Whether it was forced by impeachment or a voluntary act is irrelevant; no one will press the matter.

When one seeks to fight without breaking ties, one must always preserve face.

With this edict issued, the Six Censorates suddenly displayed remarkable efficiency.

Before long, copies were distributed to all departments and reached the ears of the officials.

Among the Censorate, the censors were greatly encouraged, as if they had won a great victory.

After all, they had forced the regent Empress Dowager to retreat.

This was both a matter of seniority and reputation.

But matters would not be so simple.

The censors had not yet rejoiced long when two more edicts followed immediately.

One was Empress Dowager Li’s edict, inquiring why the palace had not yet received the chief minister’s self-assessment report on his tenure—had it been lost? Submit a detailed explanation at once.

The second was the emperor’s decree, ordering all officials who had not yet submitted their memorials to do so promptly.

Any astute observer could see these two edicts were spoken by the same mouth.

The target was clearly the sitting Grand Secretary, Gao Yi, who had not yet submitted a memorial requesting retirement.

That same day, the Tongzheng Office replied to the palace: the Grand Secretary Gao Yi’s memorial had been accidentally damaged and needed to be recopied, hence the delay.

On the same day, Minister of War Yang Bo, who had been preparing his reply to the Ministry of Revenue’s impeachment, was too occupied to attend court deliberation.

Yet for some reason, the Ministry of Revenue claimed it had already verified the matter and quietly withdrew its accusation, instructing Minister Yang to attend court deliberation as usual.

As soon as Yang Bo entered the court deliberation, he received the edict stripping Feng Bao of his post.

He then openly questioned in court: since Feng Bao was impeached under ancestral law, does the Grand Secretary Gao Yi, who concurrently holds the post of Minister of Personnel, conform to ancestral precedent?

Minister of Rites Lu Diaoyang immediately agreed.

He challenged Censor-in-Chief Ge Shouli: does ancestral law apply selectively?

Ge Shouli defended his position with reason.

Minister of Justice Liu Ziqiang accused Yang Bo and Lu Diaoyang of dragging others into the affair, accusing them of harboring malicious intent and destabilizing court affairs.

Meanwhile, Viceroy of the Grain Depots Wang Guoguang recited the edict’s words aloud: “To honor the intent of our ancestors and clarify the established laws.”

Since the edict was issued, how could one ignore it? One must clarify who violates ancestral law.

Feng Bao of the Office of Eunuch Secretaries repeatedly seized the chance to strike at Gao Yi.

He said: even the Office of Eunuch Secretaries leads by example—how can Gao Yi be worse than a eunuch?

After being rebuked by the court protocol officer, he added: Ge Shouli directs censors to impeach him, yet ignores Gao Yi—isn’t that clear proof of factionalism?

High officials—the Six Ministries, the Nine Ministers, and the Chief of the Office of Eunuch Secretaries—immediately formed opposing camps.

Under these circumstances, all vice ministers, assistant censors-in-chief, and presidents of the Imperial Academy had no right to speak.

They could only watch, trembling.

Unexpectedly, Gao Yi, at the center of the storm, was merely briefly startled at first, then stood at the head of the line as if nothing had happened.

He offered no defense, not even a single word—as if none of this concerned him, merely an indifferent onlooker.

The emperor, with the innocence of a child, asks directly when he has doubts.

After court, he asked the Grand Secretary why he had not defended himself.

Gao Yi replied only that he would soon submit a memorial requesting retirement.

It seemed he had truly lost heart and intended to retire.

In a single day, the court was in an uproar.