Chapter Sixteen: To Kill, One Must Use a Sharp Blade

If the majority of ministers in the Ming Dynasty shared Zhang Juzheng’s pragmatic style, then Zhu Yijun would naturally have dared to launch a military campaign against Xinzheng, summon Gao Gong to the capital, mobilize troops to demand justice, and carry out a relentless purge of the Jin faction.

Zhu Yijun would not have held a pessimistic view of the Ming’s affairs, nor believed the dynasty was inevitably in decline.

Would arresting Gao Gong and reprimanding him for promoting the Jin faction provoke a backlash from the Jin faction?

Certainly, it would.

The Jin faction was deeply entrenched in the court, with vast roots and branches, controlling the military, politics, personnel appointments, and constitutional authority. This was their power. The Jin faction was a regional, self-serving political clique bent on usurping state control.

This group monopolized the smuggling trade with the Tatars for economic interests, as well as the border armies of Xuanfu and Datong for military interests.

Would the Jin faction sacrifice itself, damaging its own interests, just to revive the diminished vitality of the Ming?

No.

The root of the Jin faction was a privileged economy, encompassing tribute markets from Andafeng, smuggling in border trade, and mining operations. The essence of this privileged economy lay in monopolizing a critical link in the industrial chain through powerful political means to seek exorbitant profits.

This privileged economic system, founded on harming collective interests for private gain, dictated that the Jin faction’s political structure would never make the slightest concession for the greater good of the Ming.

If the imperial authority insisted on punishing Gao Gong and thereby curbing the Jin faction, it would inevitably provoke fierce opposition from them.

Illness comes like a collapsing mountain, but recovery is as slow as pulling silk threads.

The Ming had been sick for too long; healing had to proceed bit by bit.

Zhu Yijun returned to the Qianqing Palace. Instead of taking out the straightforward explanations of the Four Books, he produced a sheet of draft paper containing notes he had secretly written during a session at the Wenhua Hall.

The name Yang Bo, Minister of Personnel, was crossed out.

In his place was Zhang Siwei, a man who was cunning and duplicitous.

Zhu Yijun suspected that the conspiracy to assassinate the king was orchestrated by Zhang Siwei, a merchant family scion whose ancestors were long engaged in commerce. Merchants chase profit; if the price was right, they would sell even their own noose.

Moreover, his family was among the Shanxi merchants—those who had entered the Qing court to receive rewards from the Shunzhi Emperor.

Wang Chonggu and Zhang Siwei were related as uncle and nephew, underscoring the Jin faction’s strong ties of blood and region.

Another figure was Wang Guoguang, Minister of Revenue, annotated as a traitor to the Jin faction.

There is no such thing as a class betraying its own interests, only individuals who do so—and Wang Guoguang was one such individual. He was more like an ally of Zhang Juzheng, who, after Zhang’s death, was purged by Zhang Siwei as a member of Zhang Juzheng’s clique.

This was a traitor officially recognized by the Jin faction!

Yang Bo said Wang Guoguang was "cautious and independent," meaning he was resolute in his integrity, unwilling to conform to vulgar customs, and acted according to righteousness—a concept derived from the Book of Rites.

Wang Guoguang’s cause aligned with Zhang Juzheng’s; they were comrades.

Zhu Yijun sought to discern who were truly comrades, who deserved to be comrades, who were enemies, and who should be sent to the dissection chamber.

“Your Majesty, Feng Dabian requests an audience outside the palace. He says the hard pen you requested is completed and has been delivered,” Zhang Jing hurried in, reporting Feng Bao’s request.

“Show him in,” Zhu Yijun nodded.

“Your Majesty, the hard pen you ordered is completed and respectfully presented for your inspection,” Feng Bao entered the Qianqing Palace in haste, presenting the finished pen.

The wood was pine from Wanping County near the capital, featuring Huamei Mountain, known for its black but soft stone resembling ink. Palace maids often used it to darken their eyebrows.

It was a long pencil, with a graphite core—not lead—and a wooden shaft, a hard pen rather than a soft brush, similar to the pencils used by schoolchildren in later eras.

Graphite was ground into powder, washed to remove impurities, mixed with clay, fired, then embedded into a grooved wooden strip and glued with another strip to form the pencil.

Zhu Yijun wanted this pencil because writing with a brush was cumbersome and troublesome.

China’s earliest writing instruments were hard pens.

The idiom “carrying lead and writing on bamboo slips” refers to ancient times when people used hard pens made of lead-tin alloy to inscribe bamboo slips. Later, writing with soft brushes dipped in ink replaced this because carving was too slow.

The pencil in Zhu Yijun’s hand was about a zha in length and could write continuously for over 45,000 characters without grinding ink or needing a lamp—its greatest advantage was convenience.

It allowed for fast writing.

Zhu Yijun wrote several characters carefully at his desk, nodding approvingly. “Hmm, well done. A first-class item. This is excellent—present it to the Prime Minister.”

“As you command.” Feng Bao exhaled in relief, glad to have completed the emperor’s task.

Zhu Yijun put down the pen and asked Feng Bao, “Feng Dabian, I’ve heard that during the reign of Emperor Yingzong of the Ming’s Zhengtong era, there was a Grand Companion called Wang Zhen. Do you know him?”

“I know of him,” Feng Bao replied quickly. After the Tumu Crisis, when the capital’s army was annihilated, the eunuch Wang Zhen became the scapegoat for everything.

Zhu Yijun continued, “Wang Zhen deceived Emperor Yingzong inside the palace. When conducting business outside, he refused to return before the gates closed, insisting on a written imperial order to reopen the gates after locking.”

“Wang Zhen entered the palace at night. When officials heard of it, they rose up to attack him. He knelt and wept, claiming he was loyal but unfairly accused. Such tricks were countless.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Feng Bao said, trembling as he knelt. He wondered who had told the emperor this story.

It must have been Zhang Hong, the eunuch of the Qianqing Palace!

“The ministers outside the palace have long lost their respect, I know well,” Zhu Yijun’s tone hardened. By Wanli’s reign, Ming officials had abandoned the centuries-old rites of ruler and subject.

“The Grand Companion in the palace leads in breaking palace rules, rendering the palace’s prohibitions meaningless. Anyone can slip inside, and news spreads instantly throughout the capital. These outside ministers then naturally extend their reach into the palace. This is the root of all evils.”

“The Grand Companion is the palace’s face. If he is corrupt, the entire palace is rotten. When conducting affairs outside, the Grand Companion represents the imperial family—this must be remembered.”

Feng Bao replied respectfully, “I humbly obey Your Majesty’s teachings.”

“I take my leave,” he said.

Feng Bao bowed and slowly exited. The story was surely from Zhang Hong, but the emperor’s words were true. The palace’s rules were in chaos, and officials treated the palace as another battleground, breeding countless sinister events.

Feng Bao, carrying several pencils, headed to the Quanchu Guild Hall. These were the emperor’s new writing tools—extremely convenient.

When Feng Bao arrived, the guild hall staff dared not neglect him. Zhang Juzheng personally greeted him at the gate.

“Feng Dabian,” he said.

“His Majesty commands: this item is excellent and is gifted to the Prime Minister. By imperial decree,” Feng Bao said, handing over the gift without entering.

Zhang Juzheng, so clever and imaginative, soon found a use for the pencil. The old saying went: a good memory is no match for a worn pen. Spontaneous inspirations were best recorded with this. Using a brush required grinding ink and steady nerves. He assumed the eunuchs had designed this to please the young emperor’s reading and writing.

“What does the Empress Dowager say about the assassination plot?” Zhang Juzheng flicked his sleeve, dropping a few salt certificates into his hand, which he casually handed to Feng Bao.

Ming banknotes were worthless, but salt certificates remained robust. A small certificate was worth 120 jin, about 1 tael and 5 qian of silver; a large one 400 jin, worth 5 taels. Zhang Juzheng had over twenty large certificates, totaling more than a hundred taels.

Seasonal tributes of charcoal and ice were no more than a thousand taels. Qi Jiguang, under Zhang Juzheng’s patronage, sent tributes twice yearly, totaling two thousand taels.

This hundred taels was quite lavish.

Yet Feng Bao did not accept the salt certificates as before, instead pushing them away.

“The Empress Dowager hopes Duke Jiangling will not follow Gao Gong’s mistaken path. She most earnestly wishes Your Majesty to inherit the ancestral legacy—that is paramount. But if there is a next time, the Empress Dowager will no longer be so lenient.”

“The palace gates will soon be locked. I shall take my leave.”

Zhang Juzheng stood in the cold wind of late spring, somewhat disheveled.

Was the sun truly rising in the west?

The Grand Companion in the palace had stopped accepting bribes and started obeying the palace rules—it was truly extraordinary.

Yang Bo came knocking again.

When Zhang Juzheng mentioned the dissection chamber, he did not say the young emperor had ordered its establishment—it was Zhang Juzheng who submitted the memorial, led the effort, handled the details, and profited from the exchange. Such a devious plan—he would blame the young emperor, and Yang Bo would have to believe it.

Zhang Juzheng knew the Jin faction would compromise because they could not win a full confrontation; the Ming could not win either, but the Jin faction would lose.

Sending people to the dissection chamber for gruesome punishment was a way to vent palace anger. Meanwhile, the Jin faction’s leader and prime minister had reached an agreement, so the political pressure could be managed.

Thus, the interests in the Wang minister case were fully exchanged.

The young emperor gained a dissection chamber and a few eunuchs and palace maids under his command to maintain order within the palace;

Zhang Juzheng secured the post of Minister of Personnel, advanced the examination system, and saw Yang Bo retire;

The Jin faction used the case to demonstrate their influence in court, stabilizing the precarious situation after Gao Gong’s downfall.

Before leaving, Yang Bo looked at Zhang Juzheng with a complex expression and said, “Baigui, I am old. A man’s words often grow wise near death. Hear my advice. I know your aspirations are noble and you may look down on me, but I still have the chance to retire gracefully. What about you?”

“You’ve offended all the officials with your examination reforms. Think carefully—retiring now is not too late.”

“See the Grand Secretary out,” Zhang Juzheng escorted him to the door.

“This matter is finally concluded,” Ge Shouli said quietly as he sat with children watching a play in the theater. After Yang Bo and Zhang Juzheng finished talking, Ge Shouli followed Yang Bo out of the Quanchu Guild Hall, speaking with a heavy heart.

If the investigation continued and Gao Gong’s guilt was confirmed, the Jin faction would be doomed.

Yang Bo shook his head at Ge Shouli. “It’s only a pause, not an end.”

Had the Wang minister case truly ended? The young emperor was still immature and lacked imperial authority. When he grew older, would he not reopen the case and continue the investigation?

The emperor was the victim, after all.

Yang Bo had heard from Wang Xilie, Deputy Minister of Revenue, about the young emperor’s studies. After such a big event, the young emperor seemed to have matured overnight. The scholars who expanded the imperial lectures, the tutors, and lecturers only left after the sessions.

These literary officials closely followed Zhang Juzheng’s lectures. The young emperor’s insights were unique, far beyond what eunuchs could teach.

Yang Bo still looked down on Feng Bao, but hearing that Feng Bao no longer accepted bribes and now observed palace rules gave him a grudging respect—though only slight.

The young emperor showed talent and was no longer idle. Once grown, he would be a ruler who remembered every grievance.

Because Zhang Juzheng believed in “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” how could a disciple taught by such a master ever be a pacifist?

Yang Bo was deeply worried about the future of the Jin faction. Ge Shouli actually thought the matter was completely resolved?

The next afternoon, after lunch, Zhu Yijun did not immediately go to the military training grounds at the Wugong Hall. Instead, he headed to Chengtian Gate to observe executions.

“Has the Grand Companion’s weapon been forged?” Zhu Yijun asked Feng Bao at the gate.

“It’s ready,” Feng Bao replied promptly.

Zhu Yijun passed through Chengtian Gate and proceeded toward the eastern suburb’s Millet Alley, where the southern gate of the Imperial Medical Bureau now served as the entrance to the dissection chamber. Chen Shigong’s medical advice was to control diet and exercise, so the sedan chair still followed behind, but Zhu Yijun chose to walk.

As he walked, he said, “A sharp blade is needed to kill.”

If the blade is dull, what kind of killing can be done?