Chapter Four: Imperial Authority Granted

The Ming imperial palace was drafty and porous, no different from a sieve.

The Ming emperor who lived the longest was the founding Emperor Taizu, Zhu Yuanzhang, at seventy-one. Second was Emperor Chengzu, Zhu Di, at sixty-five. The third was Zhu Yijun’s grandfather, the Jiajing Emperor—the "Taoist emperor" who spent his days consuming various elixirs—at sixty. None of the other emperors reached the age of sixty.

Given the cutthroat nature of the inner palace, which even saw palace maids attempt to assassinate the old Taoist Jiajing Emperor, what kind of treacherous place was this palace? The other emperors all had their own ways of meeting their ends: some consumed toxic potions mixed with wine, others drowned due to an inability to swim, and some met mysterious, unexplained fates. Few enjoyed a peaceful end. Was the Ming emperorship truly so absurd that not even a decent ending was possible? Then there were those whose fates were too scandalous for even the official historians to record, such as the Daizong Emperor, Zhu Qiyu, whose life story was dismissed in history books with a single, perfunctory word: "died."

In the Ming imperial palace, no matter how strange or bizarre an event might be, it was hardly a surprise.

"Mother, Empress Dowager, the hour is late. I am tired, and I have my studies and the classics lecture tomorrow," Zhu Yijun said, his eyes filled with feigned innocence as he signaled that if the two Empresses Dowager kept talking, dawn would soon break.

Upon hearing this, Empress Dowager Li and Empress Dowager Chen both stood up. Empress Dowager Li checked Zhu Yijun’s forehead one last time before saying with reddened eyes, "You must attend to your studies and the classics lecture, though it pains me so. Go and sleep now, my son."

Empress Dowager Chen added with a pained expression, "Why not take a day off tomorrow? The Emperor has suffered such a fright; a day of rest would do no harm. Surely the ministers at court wouldn't dare criticize him for that? A bunch of pedants, knowing nothing but their 'zhis, hus, and yeses,' keeping the Emperor trapped within their rigid frameworks—'you cannot do this,' 'you cannot do that.'"

Empress Dowager Li remained silent for a long time. Looking at Zhu Yijun, she said with profound helplessness, "Sister, he cannot rest."

Empress Dowager Chen was also left speechless. She knew that Empress Dowager Li spoke the truth; with a young sovereign and a doubting nation, being a child emperor was no easy task.

"Sigh." The two Empresses Dowager looked at each other in silence, their only response being two heavy sighs. Even after such a calamity, the young sovereign still had to face his daily studies and the classics lecture.

Zhu Yijun, however, maintained his look of innocence. This young shell was an excellent disguise; in this Ming Dynasty, rife with monsters, one had to be cautious at every step. In truth, he could have chosen another path—to live like the Wanli Emperor of history, muddling through everything with indifference. But Zhu Yijun was unwilling to be indifferent; he would not settle. To be bullied by eunuchs, bullied by civil officials, and—damn it—even bullied by the Jianzhou Jurchens? If that was the case, he might as well not be emperor at all. He didn't want to, and that was that. His resolve was unshakable.

After the two Empresses Dowager left, Zhu Yijun stared at the plaque hanging high in the Qianqing Palace, inscribed with four large characters: "Revere Heaven and Follow the Ancestors." This was the ancestral instruction left to the Ming Dynasty. "Revere" meant to respect; "Follow" meant to emulate. The meaning of these four characters was to follow the way of heaven and to learn from the wisdom of the ancestors. Zhu Yijun’s pursuit of martial arts was naturally seen as being idle, neglecting his proper duties, and straying from the right path, but by invoking the ancestral laws, he had finally managed to touch the fringes of military power.

Yet, in a few decades, this plaque would be replaced by the "Upright and Honorable" written in both Manchu and Chinese by the Qing Jurchens.

Zhu Yijun stood straight, his eyes locked onto the plaque. Counting the time, the Battle of Sarhu was still forty-one years away; there was plenty of time. Having accepted his identity as the young emperor, he set a bottom line for himself: even if he had only one breath left, even if he had to crawl or bite with his teeth, he would crush the Jurchens. The Ming could fall to its people, but it would not fall to the Jurchens.

To make the Ming great again was a long and arduous journey. One had to walk step by step and eat one meal at a time. Compared to the grand goal of restoring the Ming's greatness, he first had to clean up his own surroundings.

"Zhang Hong," Zhu Yijun said suddenly, still looking at the plaque.

"This servant is here," Zhang Hong replied hurriedly.

Zhang Hong had observed the young emperor's performance all day. Feng Bao, usually so trusted, had been beaten to such a state that he nearly died before barely passing the test. He was severely injured; a little more force, and he might have been dead. Empress Dowager Li had always trusted Feng Bao implicitly—whatever Feng Bao said, she believed. Had it only been between Feng Bao and the Empress Dowager, Feng Bao's silver tongue would likely have saved him with a few slaps. It was clear that today's events had everything to do with the young emperor before him. The usually timid and submissive boy was now vastly different from the one he knew.

"Clean the floor; it is covered in blood," Zhu Yijun said with a hint of indifference.

The young eunuchs behind Zhang Hong immediately began to scrub the floor, as if they would gladly lick the blood away with their tongues. They were all Zhang Hong’s adopted sons, all bearing the surname Zhang.

Zhu Yijun looked at the plaque and said coldly, "You deliberately endured the pain, refusing to bandage your wounds before coming to see me, all for a chance to get ahead. You succeeded."

Zhang Hong felt a chill and bowed even lower. "Your Majesty’s wisdom is divine. My small schemes could not escape your eyes!"

Though the emperor was young, it did not mean he was easily fooled.

Zhu Yijun continued, "I saw it, the Empress Dowager saw it, and naturally, 'Big Brother' Feng saw it too. You are now a eunuch of the Qianqing Palace, which is tantamount to drawing your sword against him. That was his territory, and you used the pretext of catching assassins to carve out a large piece for yourself. Do you think he will spare you later?"

"Feng is my 'Big Brother,' and you are an old acquaintance from my days as a prince, also one of my 'Big Brothers.' Feng is the master of the palace, and you are also a master in your own right. Since Feng is currently in the palace, I am appointing you to the palace as well."

"You have received my imperial command. Do you know what to do?"

The term "master" represented a political relationship similar to that of a mentor. In the palace, it meant a high-ranking eunuch acting as a father figure to the younger ones, forming a community of interests where they prospered or perished together. As an old acquaintance from the prince's estate, Zhang Hong naturally had his own followers.

"This servant understands. But if the Empress Dowager finds out, I fear..." Zhang Hong hesitated, clearly worried about the Empress Dowager's reaction.

Zhu Yijun interrupted him, asking calmly, "Whose pawn are you?"

"The Emperor's pawn," Zhang Hong replied without hesitation. The Emperor was still young, but his silhouette appeared exceptionally steady. Ambition was not limited by age. Since the Empress Dowager had told Zhang Hong to follow the Emperor, he had only one master: the Emperor standing before him.

Zhu Yijun turned around and said with great solemnity, "If the Empress Dowager blames you, I will explain it to her. You are my pawn; if she blames anyone, she will blame me first. I will take the scolding before you are punished. Do you understand?"

"This servant understands!" Zhang Hong finally grasped the true meaning behind the Emperor's question about whose pawn he was. The Emperor was young, but he saw things more clearly than he did. Zhang Hong now understood his status: he was the Emperor’s pawn, a subordinate relationship. The Emperor's intent was clear: if the Empress Dowager truly held him accountable, the Emperor would step in. Whether the Emperor would actually fulfill this promise was secondary; the fact that he had said it was enough.

Zhu Yijun walked over to the bed, rummaged through it, and handed a command tablet to Zhang Hong. "I do not want the palace maids who groom me, the eunuchs who attend to my daily life and reading, or the gatekeepers who guide me to be Feng's men. Do you understand?"

"Go to my martial arts teacher, Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, Zhu Xixiao. Mobilize fifty guards to clear the Qianqing Palace. Anyone who dares to resist will be charged with treason and executed without mercy! Do you understand?"

"This servant understands! This servant is clear!" Zhang Hong gripped the tablet tightly. He finally understood why his master had insisted on learning martial arts from Commander Zhu Xixiao—it was to be used here!

Zhang Hong left with the command tablet. His master was easy to serve: he was willing to take responsibility, gave clear and specific objectives, and provided the methods for execution. All he had to do was carry them out.

Zhu Yijun watched Zhang Hong's retreating figure, lost in thought. Zhang Hong was a ruthless man, having endured intense pain to drag himself from the corridors to the Qianqing Palace, leaving a trail of blood. With his backing, the task was not difficult. If he couldn't handle this with the Emperor's tablet, Zhang Hong might as well stop trying to compete with Feng Bao and hang himself. As for the scope of clearing the palace, it was limited to his immediate surroundings; if Empress Dowager Li wouldn't even allow that, he would have to make other plans.

Standing behind the indestructible shield of imperial power, Zhu Yijun carefully tested the boundaries of his authority. He had to take the initiative; he had to fight. If he didn't fight, there was only one outcome: after Zhang Juzheng died, the officials would launch a counter-attack and liquidate him. As the supreme emperor of the Ming, he would have no choice but to follow their lead, liquidate Zhang Juzheng and his reforms, and then wait for the officials to throw a "Memorial on Wine, Lust, Wealth, and Temper" in his face, leaving him helpless.

In the fifteenth year of the Wanli reign, Luo Yuren, a judge in the Court of Judicial Review, submitted a memorial accusing the Wanli Emperor of being steeped in every vice. Did the Wanli Emperor have any recourse? None.

Without a fight, the consequences would be: becoming a puppet, sitting on the throne in the Fengtian Palace as a mere rubber stamp; facing the crumbling state of the Ming with no recourse, becoming a coward hiding in the inner palace; or allowing even the dogs of the Ming to bare their teeth at the throne while the people were bullied at will.

He would fight. He wanted to see if this "iron triangle" of Zhang Juzheng, Feng Bao, and the Empress Dowager would dare to defy the world and depose him!

Zhang Hong, accompanied by his adopted sons, arrived at the Wufeng Tower of the Chengtian Gate and found Commander Zhu Xixiao. Presenting the tablet, he said, "The Emperor has decreed: mobilize fifty guards to clear the Qianqing Palace!"

"How dare you?" Zhu Xixiao asked, his face pale with shock. Only then did he realize that the young emperor's martial arts lessons were a trap to drag him into the fray. When Zhu Xixiao realized he was on a pirate ship, it was too late. He had thought the Emperor just wanted to learn martial arts because of the assassination attempt. Why was this child so cunning?

Should he mobilize the guards?

Zhang Hong raised the imperial tablet with his injured hand and said sternly, "How dare I? By imperial authority!"

"Commander, are you intending to defy the imperial edict?"

Did Zhu Xixiao dare to defy the edict?