Chapter 49: Dimmed and Outmaneuvered, Strategizing in the Shadows

Songjiang Prefecture!

These three characters churned endlessly in Gao Ar’s heart.

He suddenly understood why Zhang Juzheng had spoken to him that morning about Xu Jie of Songjiang Prefecture.

He also suddenly understood what the final words—“If you do not care about court politics and power struggles, are you not harboring treasonous intent?”—were truly pointing at.

So this… was all prepared for this moment.

What a masterful Zhang Juzheng.

Back then, he had already assumed the posture of a victor, issuing a preemptive warning.

Probably last night, he had allied with Li Shi and Feng Bao and others to take control of Empress Chen.

Today, he joined forces with the Emperor to force him with a mid-level edict.

Gao Ar held the edict, silent for a long while.

He neither accepted the decree with thanks, nor declared it an unlawful order to be rejected.

At this moment, the entire court fell utterly silent.

All eyes turned to Gao Ar.

Gao Ar stared at the edict in his hand, letting out a bitter laugh.

Honor, ha—what a fine honor.

Shangzhuguo—this title was commonly granted at the founding of the dynasty, but only because the Yuan’s old system had not yet been reformed.

Afterward, it became no longer a desirable thing.

When the Jiajing Emperor wished to grant Yan Song the title of Shangzhuguo, Yan Song declined, saying, “There can be only one supreme ruler; ‘Shang’ is not a title befitting a minister,” causing the Jiajing Emperor to “greatly rejoice and accept his refusal.”

In effect, this remark set the tone: only the dead could receive this title—even those dead in their official careers.

Going back further, the last person granted Shangzhuguo was Xia Yan—his fate needs no explanation.

Not to mention being granted a noble title.

How many civil officials in the Great Ming have ever been ennobled?

When the Jiajing Emperor once granted Yang Tinghe, Jiang Mian, and Mao Ji the title of Marquis, all three firmly refused.

Why? To civil officials, a noble title is dung—so repulsive, even stepping on it feels disgusting.

Avoiding titles is the norm for civil officials!

The ideal is to advance steadily with the current, relying on ability and talent, without ever losing the status of a renowned minister.

But if one rushes for advancement, even if granted a title and a symbol of authority, it is a rare honor for a civil official—yet one that ruins reputation and prestige, and may even lead to stripping of titles; one’s moral integrity is at stake, and must not be taken lightly.

In short, the title is trivial; losing one’s moral standing is grave.

Even if, hypothetically, Gao Ar did not care about his reputation and accepted the title, could he still remain in the position of Chief Grand Secretary?

Accepting the title means severing his official career.

This entire set of rewards is meant to elevate him, forcing him to admit defeat and resign voluntarily.

But seeing through the scheme is easy; resisting it is hard—it is almost an open stratagem.

Can Gao Ar refuse?

A simple reward could be accepted, but this edict carries hidden malice.

You Gao Ar constantly claim to act for the realm, for court order—

Now that you have failed, we do not punish you; instead, we offer you a chance to continue serving the court and the realm unto death. Will you accept or not?

If you refuse, no one will believe your earlier lofty, heartfelt justifications for your power struggles.

If you were not fighting for court politics, then what else could your motive possibly be but treason?

If the Chief Grand Secretary commits treason, heads will roll—his disciples and followers will all be implicated.

This is naked coercion.

In fact, after realizing he had lost, Gao Ar had prepared himself.

Worst case: death and the end of his Dao; best case: dismissal and return to his hometown.

But Zhang Juzheng has made things even more extreme.

He does not merely threaten Gao Ar’s life—he uses Gao Ar’s posthumous reputation, his disciples and old associates, and the entire Great Ming court to coerce him.

Truly, what a ruthless heart.

Gao Ar gripped the edict, his knuckles white, motionless for a long while.

Seeing the Chief Grand Secretary remain still, everyone held their breath.

It seemed as if what he held was not merely an edict, but the very breath of the court officials.

Almost everyone understood: if Gao Ar rejected this decree, it would mean certain death.

Not just Gao Ar’s own.

Countless others would be dragged down with him.

Court officials all hoped Gao Ar would accept the edict—even his own disciples and old associates did; apart from Gao Ar’s stubborn nature, everyone else saw this as a favor.

Time trickled by.

Gao Ar still stood there, silent.

Zhu Yijun watched Gao Ar with patient calm.

Would Gao Ar accept?

Nine out of ten times, yes.

The only possible exception: if Gao Ar disregarded the late Emperor’s grace, disregarded his posthumous reputation, disregarded the fate of his disciples and subordinates, and disregarded the lives of his own children.

Oh yes—even if he disregarded court stability.

Only then would Gao Ar refuse this decree and die heroically.

But Zhu Yijun did not believe Gao Ar’s character could change so drastically in so short a time—human nature remains fundamentally shaped by social context.

Since a single mid-level edict once drove him home in history, it would not be different now.

As he thought this, Gao Ar finally moved.

Slowly, he knelt: “This edict has not yet been drafted by the Grand Secretariat.”

“For others’ promotions and rewards, the drafting can be completed afterward—but for my own and Zhang Ge’s rewards, it is impossible to entrust to another.”

“Your Majesty might as well accompany me to the Grand Secretariat, so I may draft the edict myself before formally receiving the decree.”

The court officials exchanged glances, bewildered by this turn.

Was this defiance, or mere reluctance to let go?

Only the parties involved understood.

Zhu Yijun looked at Gao Ar with a complex expression.

Gao Ar’s words assumed he was about to step down.

Once Gao Ar left office and Zhang Juzheng became Chief Grand Secretary, how could Zhang possibly draft the edict granting Gao Ar his own title? It would be absurd.

The same applied to Gao Ar’s noble title.

Thus, others’ drafts could be completed later by Zhang Juzheng.

But these two edicts must complete the full procedure.

In other words, Gao Ar agreed to retire.

In the end, he still bowed.

Yet he sought, through this final act, to secure one last audience.

Zhu Yijun understood, and slowly nodded: “Your words, as those of a seasoned and prudent minister, are fitting.”

In truth, the situation was already settled; no matter what Gao Ar chose, the outcome was identical.

As long as all court officials received their rewards, and Gao Ar’s faction clearly saw the Two Palaces and the majority of ministers united, his removal was inevitable—whether he accepted the edict or not.

Yet Zhu Yijun still granted him this courtesy.

Because he had always intended to summon Gao Ar for one final audience.

Now, it was an unspoken agreement.

At that moment, Zhang Juzheng suddenly stepped forward: “If so, I shall accompany you to the Grand Secretariat as well.”

Zhu Yijun glanced at the man.

Was he afraid Gao Ar might strike some unfavorable accord with him?

He said nothing, waiting for Gao Ar to reject him.

But Gao Ar merely raised his head, glanced at Zhang Juzheng, and muttered: “Let’s go, Zhang Chief.”

Then, gripping the edict, he walked alone toward the Grand Secretariat.

Zhang Juzheng, seeing this, stepped forward to guide the Emperor in close pursuit.

Zhu Yijun, helpless, allowed him to follow.

The court officials watched the three depart, their expressions unreadable.

…

Along the way, palace eunuchs, ladies-in-waiting, and secretaries kept a respectful distance, not daring to approach.

Gao Ar turned to Zhang Juzheng again: “I have matters to report to His Majesty alone.”

Zhang Juzheng complied without hesitation, bowed, and slowed his pace, falling slightly behind.

Zhu Yijun watched Gao Ar curiously, waiting to hear what he would say.

Would he accuse him of treating him so cruelly?

Or would he plead for mercy, making one final attempt to submit?

After Zhang Juzheng had moved far away, Gao Gong turned his head and looked at the Emperor.

After much deliberation, he slowly spoke: “I had intended for you to be a peaceful sovereign, a contented emperor—but it seems I was deluding myself.”

“You’d rather invite wolves into your home just to drive me out—I underestimated you.”

“What I’m about to say, remember it well—even if you don’t understand, just keep it in your heart.”

He paid no mind to the Emperor’s startled, confused expression.

He continued: “I know Zhang Juzheng has now bewitched your mother, making you follow his every move, and because you fear me, you’ve used him to force me into retirement.”

“You may feel satisfied now, but in time, you will be crushed by this villain and regret it bitterly.”

“Watch closely: these men will join forces to coerce Empress Chen, and thereafter they will become inseparably united.”

Without expression, he gestured toward Zhang Juzheng behind him.

“Remember: Zhang Juzheng is trustworthy in affairs of state, but unreliable.”

“These past days, I’ve come to understand—he conspired with Feng Bao, won Li’s trust, all to seize sole power and push his new policies.”

Here, he sighed.

“Too hasty—his methods are the medicine of tigers and wolves.”

“Zhang Cong’s Single Whip Law—I understand it better than he does. It must never be implemented nationwide, or it will suck the marrow from the people and hasten the realm’s collapse.”

“Though you will be sidelined by this villain, you can outlive him. Remember: once you assume personal rule, abolish the Single Whip Law immediately.”

“Opening the seas is the true path.”

“Leverage the prosperity of Nanzhili and neighboring provinces to trade with foreign lands, draw silver into the Imperial Treasury, and only then can you revive the Single Whip Law.”

“I’ve already done half the work on opening the seas—you must seize control of the Maritime Trade Supervisor’s Office.”

“But this cannot be rushed, or you’ll trigger another self-destruction of official records.”

“And those useless men of the Jin Faction—Zhang Juzheng cannot subdue them; they will become a great threat later.”

“If, when you take power, the situation spirals out of control, send someone to kill Zhang Siwei’s father first, forcing him into mourning—then, once you control the Embroidered Uniform Guard, kill him outright. Don’t fear public outcry.”

“Wang Chonggu can enter the Grand Secretariat, but he must never hold military command—you can use him to stabilize the Jin Faction.”

“Do not lightly provoke war with the Mongols. With our current strength, two more major wars will break the central government.”

“Wait until maritime trade yields results, then gradually reduce their power through the Ministry of War.”

“Your imperial relatives must no longer be lavishly rewarded. Once you assume personal rule, find excuses to execute some of them and reclaim their lands.”

Gao Gong spoke on, endlessly.

From Yunnan to Lingbiao, even to the Western Barbarians and Eastern Savages—he covered them all.

Zhu Yijun regarded Gao Gong with a strange expression.

He suddenly realized: Gao Gong had never once truly looked at him.

Even now, after such obvious signs, he still blamed everything on Zhang Juzheng.

He thought himself merely a child acting on impulse.

He probably even believed he, like history’s emperors, had been sidelined by the triad.

Zhu Yijun unconsciously glanced behind him at Zhang Juzheng.

Zhang Juzheng, seeing the Emperor look his way, bowed slightly in greeting.

Gao Gong happened to see this, and snorted coldly: “This man has grand ambitions but little talent, acts recklessly, and will bring great disaster to the realm.”

“Your stepmother, the Empress Dowager, should be under guard—but that won’t stop the Emperor. You may visit her often; it might prove unexpectedly effective.”

“Since Ge Shouli has not been dismissed, you may seek his aid when needed. Above all, never issue a Self-Censure Edict.”

“After Emperor Yingzong, the military nobles are stray dogs—untrustworthy; they flock to whoever has food.”

“Men like Zhu Xizhong will surely side with Zhang Juzheng—perhaps even earn him a princely title, hah.”

Zhu Yijun listened quietly to his rambling.

He wondered whether it was the dying man’s kindness, or a transfer of affection toward the late Emperor, now finding expression.

Gao Gong’s words were all heartfelt.

Zhu Yijun listened in silence.

After a long while, Gao Gong finally finished.

He stared at the distracted Emperor, frowned, and asked sternly: “Did you remember?!”

His expulsion loomed before him; this was his final chance to speak. If the Emperor had heard nothing, it would all have been wasted.

Gao Gong knew his recent actions had enraged the Emperor and that the Emperor was determined to drive him out.

But he didn’t care—once the young Emperor was sidelined by Zhang Juzheng, he would regret today.

He spoke these heartfelt words out of gratitude for the late Emperor’s kindness.

And because he saw his career ended, his ambitions unfulfilled, he offered these instructions to the Emperor, hoping to one day set things right—even if it was like trying to revive a dead horse.

Zhu Yijun suddenly stopped walking.

He looked at Gao Gong and said softly: “Ding’an Bo, I have remembered.”

“But… Ding’an Bo, you have misunderstood Grand Secretary Zhang.”

Zhu Yijun turned, faced Zhang Juzheng in the distance, and nodded slightly.

Then he raised his hand, signaling Zhang Juzheng’s attendants to wait.

They halted instantly, obeying without question.

Gao Gong froze, stunned, unable to react.

Zhu Yijun continued, smiling: “The title ‘Ding’an Bo’—I personally named it.”

Gao Gong involuntarily emitted a sound of confusion.

Then suddenly he realized something, his expression shifting.

He stared fixedly at the Emperor, waiting for more.

Zhu Yijun patiently explained to the astonished Gao Gong: “The edict granting you the title of Ding’an Bo—I dictated it myself. The Secretary of the Secretariat drafted it. I had Feng Bao executed to seize the imperial seal, then entered Ciqing Palace last night to gain your mother’s approval—only then did the edict reach your hands today.”

He reached out and took the edict from Gao Gong’s numb hands.

Pointing to its contents, he spoke with solemn gravity: “Ding’an Bo, look—this clause on opening maritime transport is my approval of your plan to open the seas.”

“This clause on strengthening border defenses is my recognition of Altan Khan’s tribute mission.”

“In future, I shall compare you to Fan Zhongyan—out of sincere admiration.”

“Every single point is my insight, forged after spending nights reading your decades of memorials—I feel genuine gratitude toward you, Ding’an Bo.”

Gao Gong was dazed.

Only when the Emperor returned the edict to him did he snap back to himself.

He finally understood.

He stared blankly at the Emperor: “It was… you.”

He had always believed the Emperor was a child, never once truly seen him.

Even now, as the Emperor had forced him out alongside Zhang Juzheng, he had assumed Zhang Juzheng was the mastermind.

But this sudden revelation from the Emperor left him utterly unprepared!

Zhu Yijun nodded calmly.

Then he gestured forward, inviting Gao Gong to continue walking.

He spoke with patience: “Seeing your sincerity and candor, I have no need to feign—so I speak plainly, to spare you further worry on my behalf.”

“The title of Grand Preceptor and Regional Commander—I granted those too. I bestowed the highest military honors merely to force you into retirement, to clear the way for the Chief Grand Secretary’s seat.”

“As for the marquisate, I pondered it long and hard.”

To make Gao Gong step aside, Grand Preceptor and Regional Commander were already enough.

The marquisate was for another purpose entirely.

Gao Gong walked forward, eyes unfocused.

He muttered to himself: “I thought Zhang Shuda had broken my strategy, and the Emperor was merely deceived or coerced…”

“I never imagined I had underestimated the heroes of the world.”

Zhu Yijun shook his head: “Not yet heroes, not yet.”

Hearing this, Gao Gong let out a bitter laugh.

He had never once taken the Emperor seriously.

Otherwise, he would never have said, “How can a ten-year-old rule the realm?”

Later, he had regarded Zhang Juzheng and Feng Bao as his rivals, never once glancing at the Emperor.

But now he saw—he had lost precisely because of this blind spot.

His earnest advice just now had become a joke.

If he had lost to Zhang Juzheng, he might have accepted half of it.

But to be defeated by a ten-year-old boy? That was pure incompetence on his part.

He suddenly understood how Yang Tinghe must have felt facing the Jiajing Emperor.

Gao Gong suddenly laughed wildly, as if mad: “What a holy sovereign! Truly a holy sovereign! This is the way of the master strategist—no glorious deeds, yet all is won.”

“I deserve my humiliation. A fool speaks too much.”

“If so, I have nothing left to say—I shall retire shortly.”

He spoke, alternating between self-mockery and bitter laughter, utterly broken.

Zhu Yijun glanced at him, concerned he might have been crushed too deeply.

He could not help but comfort him: “I have no intention of humiliating you, Ding’an Bo—I originally intended to kill you.”

To Gao Ar, a scholar may be killed but not humiliated; his statement was naturally meant to soothe.

Gao Ar suddenly changed expression, his gaze stern and unafraid: “I fear not death—His Majesty may kill me now!”

Zhu Yijun fell silent abruptly.

He simply stared at Gao Ar, saying nothing.

Only when Gao Ar began to feel uneasy did Zhu Yijun speak slowly: “Had it not been for my late father’s instruction that I must grant you a peaceful end, do you think I would have spared you? And on what grounds would you have been granted a marquisate?”

“Do you truly believe I needed to bestow a title merely because I dismissed you?”

Gao Ar froze.

The words on his tongue turned back, unspoken.

Finally, he turned his head away, ignoring the emperor entirely.

Zhu Yijun continued: “When I was young, my late father held you in the highest esteem, saying you were vast and profound, deep and intricate, a statesman of the realm whose statesmanship shaped the nation.”

“He specifically instructed my mother and me to trust and employ you.”

“At that time, my mother held reservations about you and remained silent.”

“Seeing this, my late father finally revealed his true heart, saying that when he was Prince Yu, you had protected him; after his ascension, you had aided in governance. Even if he did not use you, you must be treated with utmost kindness.”

Zhu Yijun looked at Gao Ar’s averted face and whispered: “My late father truly regarded you as a second father.”

“Gao Ar, can you truly say you have no guilt?”

Gao Ar’s face flushed crimson. Zhu Yijun fell silent, waiting for his reaction.

The two stared at each other in silence.

Words vanished for a moment.

Suddenly, Gao Ar’s expression calmed. He sighed deeply: “Your subject truly underestimated Your Majesty.”

“If Your Majesty wished me to deal with Xu Jie, say so plainly—why resort to such words to manipulate me?”

These words were half-truths; he could easily accuse the emperor of lying.

But the events mentioned were accurate.

He and the late emperor had indeed been like father and son.

If one cannot overcome this inner barrier, no rebuttal matters.

The emperor’s piercing insight into the human heart made Gao Ar suddenly feel he had lost fairly.

Zhu Yijun shook his head: “Removing Xu Jie from office was merely incidental.”

Gao Ar was stunned.

He did not comprehend: “Incidental?”

Zhu Yijun turned to face Gao Ar: “Had I merely wanted to remove Xu Jie, I would not have gone to such lengths.”

Though Gao Ar had been dismissed, years of habit took hold—he began to ponder the words.

After a long while.

He suddenly realized something and exclaimed: “Your Majesty intends to act against Nanzhili!?”

Zhu Yijun was surprised by Gao Ar’s acumen, but quickly understood the reason.

He admired: “One of Great Ming’s historical tasks—protracted and enduring—it must begin with a move.”

Gao Ar did not grasp the implication, but suddenly felt a more unbearable attitude than humiliation—the emperor was looking down on him with approval!?

Accepting defeat was one thing, but now, before this young emperor, being shown the posture of a victor—it was unbearable in every way.

Gao Ar turned his head awkwardly: “What does Your Majesty want?”

The emperor invoked the late emperor to manipulate him—this could not be without purpose.

Zhu Yijun turned to Gao Ar: “Wang Zongmu, Viceroy of Grain Transport and Commander of Military Affairs, and Wang Ruyan, Director of Salt Transport for the Two Huai Regions.”

Gao Ar gave the emperor a long, deep look.

He nodded, then shook his head: “I can give Your Majesty these men, but it will be useless—the salt administration of the Two Huai is too deeply entrenched; not even a Viceroy of Grain Transport and a Salt Transport Director can handle it.”

Zhu Yijun suddenly smiled: “Then, before the Duke of Ding’an retires, he must petition me and recommend Hai Rui.”

“His post will be Assistant Censor-in-Chief, overseeing the salt revenues of the Two Huai and managing the river systems.”

(End of Chapter)