Chapter 31: Zhang Juzheng’s New Memorial on the Five Matters

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Wang Jiaping and Fan Yingqi, upon hearing that the young emperor had offered them a way out, both let out long sighs of relief. If they had stayed any longer, they feared they would suffocate. The two respectfully performed the ritual of five bows and three kowtows, then lowered their heads and said, “Your humble servants take their leave.”

Such a perilous topic was best left to Zhang Juzheng to address.

The young emperor’s questions were extremely sharp and probing.

Before so many officials—the court attendants, record keepers, imperial tutors, speaking scholars, and eunuchs—the two scholars dared not attempt to resurrect the old case of Gao Gong’s memorial titled “Special Submission on Urgent Matters to Aid New Governance,” known as the “Memorial on Five Matters.”

They lacked the courage to do so, and would not dare to present Gao Gong’s theories to the young emperor.

If Feng Bao reported honestly to Empress Dowager Li, Wang Jiaping and Fan Yingqi would be dismissed the very next day just for stepping into the government office with their right feet.

The Ming dynasty’s official positions were extremely scarce—three or four people would wait for a single vacancy. If they were removed, regaining their posts would be as difficult as scaling the heavens.

Serving as imperial tutors required not only genuine talent but formidable ability in the political arena.

Zhang Juzheng held the position of chief minister and was a regent appointed by the late emperor on his deathbed to educate and assist the new ruler.

Under Zhang Juzheng’s leadership were officials overseeing military, political, household, and legal affairs. Certain matters and principles could only be explained by Zhang Juzheng as the imperial tutor; Wang Jiaping and Fan Yingqi lacked that authority.

Upon leaving the Wenhua Hall, Wang Jiaping and Fan Yingqi exchanged looks of relief, feeling as though they had survived a calamity. They did not know how Yang Bo would chastise them, but if the old case of Gao Gong’s “Memorial on Five Matters” was brought up again, they would be severely unlucky—perhaps fatally so.

Gao Gong, bearing the late emperor’s mandate, was excused to retire after submitting the memorial. If Wang Jiaping and Fan Yingqi spoke of it now, would the outcome be any less than forced retirement?

After exiting Wenhua Hall, the two scholars headed straight for the Wenyuan Pavilion opposite it.

The layout of the Wenyuan Pavilion was distinct from other parts of the palace.

Originally the imperial library of the Ming emperors, its location by the water was deemed safest, hence the name “Wenyuan” which implies a deep pool. The glazed tiles there were black, symbolizing the water element and protection from fire. This starkly contrasted with the bright yellow tiles of the rest of the Ming palace.

The pavilion was six bays wide, spanning ten zhang, less than five zhang deep, and two stories high.

Its columns were painted green, windows featured red railings, and the gentle sound of flowing water from the Jinshui River accompanied the atmosphere. After mustering courage, Wang Jiaping and Fan Yingqi had the secretary inform the officials inside and then entered.

At the center of the pavilion sat the chief minister’s seat, with desks of other officials lined up beside it. Deputy Minister Lü Diaoyang was discussing court affairs with Zhang Juzheng, while the secretary and a minor eunuch carried memorials to a small room for the Directorate of Ceremonial to affix imperial seals.

The Directorate of Ceremonial’s office, next to Wenhua Hall, was a mere half-room—exceedingly cramped. The entire Ming palace contained 9,999 and a half rooms; that half-room was where the eunuchs of the Directorate conducted their work.

“Minister Zhang,” Wang Jiaping and Fan Yingqi greeted him with respect, awkward and uncertain how to begin.

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Zhang Juzheng felt somewhat rueful. He had only slacked off for a quarter of an hour, yet these two eloquent scholars could not withstand the emperor’s pressure and had come seeking his help.

“I understand your purpose. I will attend to it immediately. You two should return to your offices,” Zhang Juzheng said, not giving them a chance to speak. Even he sometimes found the emperor’s questions difficult to answer.

Rising, Zhang Juzheng headed toward Wenhua Hall. Along the way, imperial tutor Xu Zhenming explained in detail what had just transpired there.

“Your Majesty, I pay my respects and pray for your health,” Zhang Juzheng bowed deeply before speaking solemnly, “The matters troubling Your Majesty are not as difficult as they seem.”

“I offer a ‘Memorial on Five Matters’ for Your Majesty’s consideration.” From his sleeve, Zhang Juzheng produced a memorial and handed it to Zhang Hong, who presented it before the emperor’s desk.

Feng Bao was struck with alarm. What was this about? Was Zhang Juzheng about to follow Gao Gong’s example?

Gao Gong’s memorial was also on five matters—was Zhang Juzheng now submitting his own?

Yet Feng Bao studied Zhang Juzheng’s expression carefully. His face was calm and composed. After consideration, Feng Bao decided to remain patient and listen further.

The memorial was long and written in highly formal classical prose, without punctuation, only pauses. It was not vernacular but still comprehensible to the emperor, who read it carefully while taking notes with a pencil.

“The first matter: the emperor’s attendance at court sessions,” the emperor remarked while looking at the ornate carvings of Wenhua Hall, realizing he was already participating in governance. This was the result of the fierce struggles between the Jin faction and the eunuch faction after Gao Gong’s time.

The young emperor’s routine was unusually strange. While ministers quarreled below, the emperor read and listened upstairs.

This had become an unwritten rule, now formalized.

Zhang Juzheng’s first matter did not demand the emperor to hold court daily or to be as diligent as the founding emperor, who held three court sessions a day—morning, noon, and evening. “Attending court” here meant the Ming emperor coming to Wenhua Hall to participate in deliberations, even if only to listen quietly to what ministers discussed.

When attending court, ministers could see the emperor.

Even the highly diligent Zhu Yuanzhang had never imagined his descendants would devise such a scheme as not attending court; thus, the “Ancestral Instructions of the Ming” lacked specific regulations on this.

Zhang Juzheng’s request was not excessive—he merely wished for the emperor to attend court regularly, to hear what the twenty-seven ministers were up to, even if silent.

Feng Bao breathed easier—an emperor attending court was proper, and he was not afraid. He represented the emperor in disputes with ministers, and the emperor had highly praised Feng Bao’s “Manual of Provocations.”

“The second matter: all memorials must be concluded promptly,” the emperor continued, smiling at the second matter.

Zhang Juzheng’s second matter was lengthy, full of classical citations, urging the emperor to be diligent and criticizing many memorials being held without response, which hampered governance.

In summary, the second matter required that all memorials be promptly reviewed and answered.

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Zhang Juzheng’s meaning was clear—even a simple circle or cross by the emperor on a memorial counted as a response. Memorials should not be left unanswered in the palace, as it harmed the state.

“The third matter: summoning ministers to meet the emperor,” the emperor’s tone grew serious.

Zhang Juzheng’s third matter stated that in significant matters, the emperor should summon his principal ministers for consultation, meeting with all twenty-seven ministers in person without avoidance.

Ministers had the right to an audience with the emperor; if they requested a meeting, the emperor should see them all. Many issues should be clarified face to face to prevent slander and misunderstandings.

There were twenty-seven ministers in total, both civil and military. If the emperor refused to meet them, communication would be mediated through the Directorate of Ceremonial, creating gaps that could cause discord between ruler and ministers, threatening stability.

“The fourth matter: all affairs must be discussed—unconsidered matters inevitably cause errors,” the emperor said, looking curiously at Zhang Juzheng. If the emperor agreed to this, was Zhang Juzheng not binding himself as well?

This fourth matter emphasized that every issue must be deliberated in court. The court included civil and military officials, military commanders, ministers of the six ministries, vice ministers, legal officers, the Directorate of Ceremonial, and eunuchs controlling the treasury. Each faction held its own stance; consensus was reached through compromise.

Only after thorough court discussion could measures be implemented. How, then, could Zhang Juzheng act arbitrarily?

“The fifth matter: the triennial capital examination, with the emperor holding the six laws and four criteria to oversee appointments,” the emperor read, discovering Zhang Juzheng’s determination.

The founding emperor, Gaozu, had established the capital examination system, initiated by the emperor and overseen by the Ministry of Personnel, conducted every three years. During the Zhengtong era, it was changed to every ten years.

Later, under the Hongzhi Emperor, the interval became six years, and the method shifted to self-assessment—officials inspected themselves by submitting a report every six years. When exam time came, ministers vociferously claimed unworthiness and begged to resign, while the emperor gently refused. Thus, the examination became a farce, losing its true meaning.

The Hongzhi Emperor was truly indulgent.

Zhang Juzheng’s “six laws” referred to six aspects, and the “four criteria” to four angles for evaluating officials every three years.

The six aspects were: idleness, negligence, old age, illness, restlessness, and lack of talent—corresponding to six unhealthy habits in officialdom: shirking duties, neglecting responsibilities, clinging to power, inability due to illness, excessive personnel, and incompetence.

The four criteria were: integrity, governance, talent, and age—reflecting performance evaluations in four areas, divided into three levels with varying weight, primarily focusing on governance.

The fifth matter was a concrete expression and extension of performance evaluation among capital officials.

Officials like Hai Rui, Xu Zhenming, and Ma Yilong, who preyed on the gentry, all met unfortunate ends. What was Zhang Juzheng doing? Using specific assessment methods to evaluate capital officials—the very bureaucrats at the heart of Ming power.

Such actions would surely invite severe posthumous condemnation.

“Minister Yuanfu, are you not afraid?” Zhu Yijun asked, setting down the “Memorial on Five Matters—Zhang Juzheng’s Edition.”