Chapter 37: Strong Wind, Tough Grass—Steady and Improving

Night fell.

“What is Gao Gong waiting for?” Lu Diaoyang murmured.

This had been his troubling question all day.

At court, Gao Gong’s reaction to Yang Bo’s betrayal was unnervingly calm.

Even the impeachment against him landed like a punch into cotton—Gao Gong offered almost no resistance.

Was it because the two imperial edicts pressured him into realizing the Empress Dowager and the Emperor would no longer tolerate him?

Or did seeing Lu Diaoyang’s impeachment make him realize it was Zhang Juzheng’s doing, leaving him utterly disheartened?

No matter how he thought about it, he could not convince himself—he only grew more confused.

Lu Diaoyang, still puzzled, reached his front gate.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice that none of his servants had come out to greet him, nor did he see that not a single lamp burned inside the house.

He pushed open the side gate of the courtyard and walked in as if in a daze.

Only when he opened the door to his chamber did he suddenly realize the entire interior was pitch black.

He was about to react.

Inside, two lamps suddenly flared to life.

On either side of the main seat, attendants held candles.

His gaze snapped over—and there sat Feng Bao on the high-backed chair.

He leaned forward, abruptly raised his head, and fixed Lu Diaoyang with his stare.

Feng Bao’s expression was dark, his tone aggressive: “Lu Minister, I know exactly what Gao Gong is waiting for.”

“But Lu Minister, you’ve cost me the Eastern Depot—how can I still trust you?”

…

At Gao Gong’s residence, the study remained serene.

At the center of the storm, Gao Gong sat at his desk, rewriting his petition for resignation.

He showed not a trace of agitation—as if he were merely copying it anew due to damage.

Ge Shouli pushed open the door and happened upon this scene.

He stood silently to one side, waiting without a word.

Gao Gong glanced up, then lowered his head and continued writing: “Yuli, I’ve told you before—close the door when you come in.”

Yuli was Ge Shouli’s courtesy name.

Their bond was extraordinary.

In the early Longqing reign, when Ge Shouli served as Minister of Revenue, Xu Jie led a group to attack Gao Gong; even as Gao Gong was powerless to resist, Ge Shouli stood by him without reservation.

After Gao Gong’s defeat, Ge Shouli also submitted a petition requesting his own dismissal.

When Xu Jie retired and Gao Gong returned to power, his first act was to appoint Ge Shouli as Censor-in-Chief.

The two had weathered storms together—they were comrades who trusted each other with their backs.

Today’s massive event made Ge Shouli feel as if he had returned to years past, when Gao Gong was besieged by Xu Jie.

That was why he disregarded the gossip and came visiting at night.

The matter was urgent, yet his first words upon entering were this.

Ge Shouli looked at Gao Gong, calm as if nothing had happened, sighed, and turned to shut the door.

Only then did he face Gao Gong again: “Your Excellency has such remarkable composure—it makes me seem emotionally unsteady.”

Even he couldn’t tell whether Gao Gong was unshaken by crisis or had already decided to step down.

Gao Gong grunted: “It does need more polishing.”

At this moment, still making jokes—Ge Shouli was even more astonished.

He asked, puzzled: “Did you already know Yang Bo would betray you?”

He had racked his brain trying to understand why Yang Bo acted this way.

Was it because Wang Chonggu was promised a seat in the Grand Secretariat, and Yang Bo felt aggrieved?

Or was there some secret collusion with Feng Bao or Lu Diaoyang?

Gao Gong shook his head: “I’m not a worm in his belly, nor do I control the Eastern Depot or the Embroidered Uniform Guard—how could I know what he thinks?”

This only deepened Ge Shouli’s confusion.

He gave up trying to guess and demanded outright: “Gao Suqing, stop playing games.”

Seeing Ge Shouli’s irritation, Gao Gong finally laid down his brush.

He smiled: “Of course I didn’t know Yang Bo would do this—but…”

He dropped the smile and added: “I was already prepared.”

Ge Shouli frowned: “Prepared?”

Gao Gong nodded: “Not just Yang Bo—even if you suddenly impeached me, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Ge Shouli fell silent.

The statement wasn’t wrong, but using himself as an example—how could anyone find that pleasant?

That foul temper of his—no wonder he had so few close friends.

Gao Gong, of course, lacked such delicate sensibilities; he didn’t care what Ge Shouli thought.

He continued: “Just watch—beyond Yang Bo and Lu Diaoyang, many others are watching me.”

At the rank of Minister of the Six Ministries, one no longer represents only oneself.

Not even the Ministry of Rites, seemingly powerless, has long controlled the vital levers of academies and imperial examinations.

It is, in essence, a composite of cultural propaganda, diplomacy, and education—with unparalleled influence among the scholar-official class.

Not to mention Lu Diaoyang and Yang Bo, each backed by their own factions—the Jin Party and the New Party.

Whoever takes this position cannot be ignored.

But how could one ever hope to accomplish great things by relying on everyone standing beside you?

Even the Emperor cannot achieve that—what makes you, Gao Suqing, think you can?

Spectators, traitors, enemies—he had prepared for them all.

Just as he said: even if Ge Shouli betrayed him, he would remain unmoved, steadfast to the end.

Ge Shouli froze, not grasping the meaning.

He frowned: “Not just Yang Bo? Who else?”

Gao Gong stood up, speaking as he walked: “Only Heaven knows.”

…

Lu Diaoyang stared at Feng Bao, his voice low and steady: “I, Lu Mou, Minister of Rites and Academician of the Hanlin Academy, rank Second Rank, a senior court official!”

“My residence, Feng Bao—you dare intrude!”

At this moment, his anger surpassed even his curiosity about Feng Bao’s claims regarding Gao Gong’s schemes.

A mere eunuch dared sneak into his home!

And to act as if he could take and give at will—did Feng Bao truly think Lu Diaoyang’s temper was made of clay?

Feng Bao shot back: “A fine senior court official you are!”

He suddenly smiled, bowed deeply, and spoke with rigid formality: “Then, my esteemed Senior Court Official, will you see justice done for me, now that my Eastern Depot has been stripped away?”

Lu Diaoyang dared not accept the bow—he quickly stepped aside.

His fury, however, had already been largely drained by Feng Bao’s performance.

He held firm only on appearances: “Your Eastern Depot? It belongs to the Great Ming—it belongs to His Majesty.”

Feng Bao chuckled softly, stepped closer to Lu Diaoyang: “So it’s not yours, is it, Senior Court Official?”

“Then why did you stand by and watch me lose my position?”

Feng Bao clung to this point, and Lu Diaoyang finally began to falter.

He softened his tone: “Feng Dang, you saw for yourself yesterday at court—I was dragged away by the Emperor himself. I was as helpless as you.”

“Would you have me throw a tantrum in front of the court?”

Feng Bao’s face darkened.

This was something he had never anticipated.

He never imagined the situation would shift so suddenly—in just one day, the Eastern Depot was gone.

He pressed: “Then what did you say to Empress Li?”

In the Cining Palace, even the number of flies buzzing could be known to him.

But fatefully, Zhu Xizhong, as an outer court minister, could not be received in the inner quarters—he was taken to the Qianqing Palace instead.

That place was guarded entirely by the Embroidered Uniform Guard; if they couldn’t keep Zhu Xizhong’s secrets, the Commander of the Guard was worthless.

Thus, even now, he had no idea what had transpired yesterday.

Lu Diaoyang glanced at Feng Bao, expressionless: “Yesterday, Empress Li asked me why the censors impeached you, and what ancestral laws were involved.”

“With Zhu Xizhong present, I could only answer truthfully.”

To answer truthfully meant harm to Feng Bao.

Both men understood this perfectly.

Hearing this, Feng Bao dismissed the two attendants holding the candles, ordering them to stand guard outside and keep all others away.

Only then did he ask Lu Diaoyang: “Then what of Li Jin?”

Lu Diaoyang answered honestly: “When I arrived, the Imperial Father-in-Law and the Duke of Cheng were already there.”

Li Jin was also recommended by the Duke; whether he and the Empress Dowager’s father have a tacit understanding is unknown.

From the perspective of outsiders.

As soon as rumors surfaced in the outer court accusing Feng Bao, the Empress Dowager’s father brought Zhu Xizhong to see the Empress Dowager.

Then, coincidentally, Zhu Xizhong recommended someone from the Empress Dowager Li’s maternal family.

Whether there is any connection between them is truly hard to say.

As for why the Emperor suddenly summoned him to meet the Empress Dowager—whether it was a whim or part of the same tacit understanding—Lu Diaoyang dared not think further.

Seeing Feng Bao’s grim expression, he could only soothe him: “Eunuch Feng, Li Jin is still an imperial relative. Once Gao Gong retires, we’ll find an excuse to impeach the imperial relatives for interfering in state affairs.”

Whether such distant relatives truly count as imperial relatives depends entirely on the whim of the court officials.

That it conforms to ritual propriety is what Lu himself says—it certainly doesn’t represent the attitude of the censors.

Upon hearing this, Feng Bao showed no improvement.

Instead, he flew into a rage: “Wait until Gao Gong retires!? I fear I’ll die in his hands first!”

Lu Diaoyang’s expression changed; he sensed the implication in those words.

He hurriedly pressed: “What do you mean? And what exactly did you mean earlier when you said Gao Gong is waiting for something?”

Feng Bao let out a cold snort.

His display was merely to seize control of this conversation—not to truly accuse or interrogate.

Mutual benefit is what he understood; he knew which grievances to swallow.

Feng Bao pulled a memorial from his sleeve and handed it to Lu Diaoyang: “This is a copy I transcribed from the Grand Secretariat’s main hall. Minister Lu, take your time reading it.”

Lu Diaoyang’s face darkened: “You dare steal documents from the Grand Secretariat!”

Even if the target was Gao Gong, Lu Diaoyang could never tolerate this.

If he could sneak into the Grand Secretariat to copy memorials today, what might he do tomorrow—he dared not imagine.

Feng Bao said nothing.

Lu Diaoyang gave Feng Bao a long, piercing look; he could only admit: no wonder he was Feng Bao—even without the Eastern Depot, his weight was not to be underestimated.

He also understood this was not the time for petty grievances.

Though he despised him inwardly, he still took the memorial.

The characters on the cover were crooked and uneven, clearly written in haste.

Lu Diaoyang initially paid it no mind, but after flipping through two pages, his face turned ashen.

He gasped in horror: “How dare Gao Gong!?”

…

Gao Gong sat down on one of the guest seats, idly adjusting his robe.

He carried himself with a certain casual ease.

Though his temper was poor, when facing major matters, he displayed remarkable calm.

He gestured for Ge Shouli to sit: “Don’t worry about who opposes me—we just carry on with our work as planned.”

Ge Shouli sat down reluctantly, puzzled: “But the palace keeps pressing us, and Yang Bo has already impeached you—this is clearly forcing you to submit your resignation. How can you still do anything?”

Gao Gong handed him the resignation memorial he had just written: “Good, you’ve come just in time.”

“This is my petition for voluntary retirement. I’ll send it to the Tongzheng Office first thing tomorrow morning.”

Ge Shouli leapt to his feet.

“Chief Grand Secretary…”

Gao Gong placed a hand on his shoulder: “Calm down.”

Ge Shouli’s voice was urgent: “Are you truly going to retire?”

Gao Gong looked straight into Ge Shouli’s eyes, suddenly grave: “Ge Yuli, listen carefully. I’m telling you this.”

Ge Shouli immediately sat up straight.

Gao Gong spoke slowly: “After I submit this petition, the Tongzheng Office won’t deliver it to the palace immediately—they’ll delay it for half a day.”

“Tomorrow, during the court assembly, you will present another memorial on my behalf.”

From his sleeve, he pulled out another memorial and gestured to Ge Shouli.

Ge Shouli frowned: “Won’t you attend the court assembly?”

If both memorials were to be presented by someone else, where was he?

Gao Gong shook his head: “I have other urgent matters.”

Seeing Gao Gong refuse to explain further, Ge Shouli could only nod helplessly and accept the memorial.

On the cover were bold, sweeping characters: “Memorial on Five Urgent Reforms.”

Not knowing the details, Ge Shouli flipped open two pages.

He murmured aloud: “When the Emperor holds court to hear petitions, all departments must follow ancestral precedent: the Emperor must personally respond to each petition, to show that authority originates solely from the Son of Heaven, and ministers dare not interfere…”

His face turned pale; his heart thundered like lightning!

What did “the Emperor personally responds” mean?

It meant that when the Grand Secretariat submitted matters for approval, the Emperor himself would say yes or no.

Previously, the Grand Secretariat submitted documents to the Directorate of Ceremonial, which then passed them to the two Empresses Dowager and the Emperor.

Now, if the Emperor must personally respond, what role was left for the Directorate of Ceremonial!?

This was effectively abolishing the Directorate of Ceremonial!

And this memorial—this was Gao Gong’s plan to seize power from the Directorate of Ceremonial!

He read further, each line sending chills down his spine.

“If any edict is issued directly by the palace without prior draft by the Grand Secretariat, we, your ministers, must be allowed to formally object before it may be executed.”

“Direct imperial edict” meant the Zhongzhi.

If even Zhongzhi required the Grand Secretariat’s formal objection before execution, what was left of a Zhongzhi!?

The meaning was clear: any Zhongzhi not drafted by the Grand Secretariat could not be enforced.

Ge Shouli could hardly bear to read further.

“Petitions from officials and commoners, whether approved or rejected, must not be withheld in the palace. Henceforth, all petitions must be issued without delay.”

“Petition” meant memorial. What did “must not be withheld in the palace” mean?

It meant the Emperor could no longer withhold memorials indefinitely.

This was even restricting the Emperor’s privilege to withhold memorials!

His heart trembled; he dared not read further and slammed the memorial shut: “Chief Grand Secretary…”

Gao Gong had previously discussed power consolidation with him.

But he never imagined Gao Gong would go this far!

No wonder!

No wonder Gao Gong said he wouldn’t be surprised even if Ge Shouli turned against him.

Even he, just reading this, felt his legs trembling, ready to flee.

Gao Gong shook his head: “Do your utmost, leave the rest to Heaven.”

…

Feng Bao hissed: “He’s not just trying to kill us.”

“He’s declaring war on the entire inner court—even the Emperor and the two Empresses Dowager!”

If this memorial were enacted, not only would the Directorate of Ceremonial be abolished, but even the two Empresses Dowager could no longer interfere in politics; the Emperor would have to consult the Grand Secretariat on every matter—how could anyone endure this?

After reading the memorial, Lu Diaoyang remained deeply unsettled.

Gao Gong…

This was Gao Gong? No wonder he was Gao Gong!

Just the phrase “the Emperor personally responds” had shattered Lu Diaoyang’s composure.

If the Emperor and his ministers were truly in harmony, and the Emperor could handle all these affairs himself, this wouldn’t be overreaching.

But how did the Grand Secretariat come into being?

Precisely because the Emperor couldn’t handle so many affairs—that’s why the Grand Secretariat and the Directorate of Ceremonial were created.

There could be several Grand Secretaries, but only one Emperor.

How could any one man possibly oversee all state affairs? Not everyone had the genius of the Hongwu Emperor.

In the end, wouldn’t most matters still be decided by the Grand Secretariat?

And even more absurd—the current Emperor is only ten years old!

You want a ten-year-old Emperor to personally respond to every petition? How?

Didn’t you yourself say a ten-year-old Son of Heaven cannot govern the realm? Now you demand he personally respond?

Not to mention restricting the Emperor’s Zhongzhi and forbidding him to withhold memorials.

This isn’t the Grand Secretariat anymore—it’s a de facto Chancellor’s Office!

How could he dare? The inner court, the two Empresses Dowager, the Emperor—all will oppose him.

With such brazenness, what hidden move could he possibly have?

Lu Diaoyang looked up at Feng Bao: “Gao Gong would dare submit such a memorial only if he had some backing!”

“Eunuch Feng, things have changed—send for Zhang Gelao at once!”

Feng Bao glanced sideways at Lu Diaoyang, irritable: “Do you think I don’t know?”

“Zhang Gelao has ‘fallen ill from heatstroke’—he’ll be returning to recuperate in a few days.”

Lu Diaoyang ignored Feng Bao’s attitude.

He merely clutched the memorial, staring blankly into space.

How had the situation come to this?