Chapter Nine: Old Zhu’s Test

Old Zhu’s eyes fixed intently on him.

Zhu Yunrong’s expression shifted unpredictably.

Every word Old Zhu spoke pierced deep into his heart.

In his previous life, he had read quite a few time-travel novels.

Those who traveled back to ancient times invariably used their knowledge of modern science and culture to overpower the ancients on all fronts.

Yet, upon reflection, wasn’t that all just armchair strategizing?

Could reality truly unfold as they imagined?

How could it be?

Unless one possessed profound wisdom, an ordinary person sent back in time would likely be trounced by the locals.

Even if you held absolute truths, persuading ancient people to accept your ideas would be as difficult as reaching the heavens.

It’s like having the correct knowledge but failing to convince your own parents at home.

“Grandfather Emperor, your grandson has confidence in himself.”

Zhu Yunrong shook off the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind.

“When you first rose up, Grandfather Emperor, you were but a commoner. Mounted on horseback, you seized the realm; dismounted, you governed it.”

“Grandfather Emperor succeeded, so I surely can too.”

Old Zhu laughed heartily.

“Indeed, worthy of being my grandson, your confidence is quite robust!”

He praised him casually, then shifted tone.

“But do you know, Grandfather Emperor’s skill in warfare wasn’t innate.”

“I too had to crawl and struggle in the army for many years, learning from others, summarizing experiences, gradually figuring out how to lead troops and wage war.”

“You’ve never enlisted, never commanded a single day of soldiers, and yet you truly believe you can mount a horse and slay enemies, or even command tens of thousands into battle?”

Old Zhu’s voice suddenly rose, tone quickening.

After a breath, it eased back to calm.

“As for ruling the realm, that’s even harder!”

“If it were easy, why did I have to summon Song Lian and Liu Ji to assist in governing?”

“I didn’t know how to govern!”

“I learned from them, from previous officials, and from the scholars of the past.”

“Taxes, land, population — all based on prior records, cleared bit by bit.”

“After years of study and placing countless officials in court, I barely grasped how to manage the empire.”

“The Ming Dynasty had countless scholars—candidates, advanced degree holders, top scholars—each a remarkable talent, brilliant beyond measure.”

“But even they, after passing countless hurdles and excelling in examinations, were still far from ready to govern.”

“They had to study in the Hanlin Academy, gradually familiarize themselves with real affairs to gain the ability to govern.”

“You’re still young; it’s natural not to know many things.”

“But you don’t even know how many prefectures, how many people, how many troops, how much land the Ming has, yet you boast you can govern the world. Aren’t you ashamed?”

Zhu Yunrong’s heart tightened.

***

Can someone who has never been exposed to or learned the art of governance truly rule a country?

Not to mention a nation, even in later eras, which large company would entrust management to someone without any experience?

Even wealthy heirs require long periods of training before they can take over.

And most such heirs, upon taking charge, see their companies decline.

Many never recover.

Taking over without any training or business knowledge is tantamount to bringing a company to ruin.

Governing a country is far more complex than running a company.

Even in feudal times, the myriad affairs, the vast scope, the fierce struggles for interest, surpass any corporate challenge.

Politics and warfare remain the highest forms of human organization.

Failure in these realms costs lives and shapes centuries, whereas a company’s failure only yields unemployment and bankruptcy.

They simply are not on the same plane.

Old Zhu’s words were like a sudden awakening.

He believed that given time to learn, he could govern a feudal dynasty well.

After all, as a time traveler, he possessed centuries of accumulated experience, knowledge, vision, and insight far surpassing the ancients.

In short, he held a mental vantage point far above theirs.

Yet if he were tasked to rule now, he truly wouldn’t know where to begin.

Despite reading countless historical novels, they were just stories—worlds apart from reality.

To genuinely govern, he’d need time to understand, learn, and meld theory with practice until he could transcend.

“Of course, you don’t know how to govern, and your second brother, Wen’er, doesn’t either.”

Old Zhu said, “We can teach slowly; he can learn gradually.”

“My body may not be what it once was, but it can still last a few years.”

“Ruling the realm, bearing the immense burden of the Ming empire, is not as simple as you think.”

“Do you agree with me?”

Zhu Yunrong stood, clasped his hands in a respectful bow, and deeply kowtowed.

“Grandfather Emperor is absolutely right. Your grandson will remember this.”

“That’s good!” Old Zhu nodded.

“Let me ask you again: neither you nor Wen’er has studied how to command armies or govern the realm. Why then do you believe Wen’er is incapable, and only you are fit?”

“Don’t you find your words absurd?”

Old Zhu’s gaze bore into Zhu Yunrong as if trying to see through him.

“No,” Zhu Yunrong shook his head.

He knew precisely why.

Not because he possessed greater foresight or clarity than the astute Old Zhu.

But because he was a time traveler.

He knew history.

History had already given the answer.

To Old Zhu, the future was a mist, the unknown beyond even thicker.

To deduce and plan a little was already extraordinary.

The First Emperor of Qin swept across the six kingdoms with heroic grandeur.

But as soon as he died, Zhao Gao and Li Si dared to alter the sacred decree and deceive the world.

Countless great figures in history saw their political landscapes upheaved immediately after their deaths.

No matter how great a man, he was still human—not a god—and could not foresee the future.

But he knew it all clearly.

Zhu Yunwen’s reign would fail.

That was history’s verdict.

“A leaf can foretell autumn; subtle signs reveal the trend.”

“My second brother and I grew up together; I know his ability, talent, and character intimately.”

Zhu Yunrong said firmly, “Please, Grandfather Emperor, believe me: my second brother cannot shoulder the heavy burden of the Ming empire! You must never pass the throne to him!”

At these words, Old Zhu’s expression grew solemn.

The atmosphere in the courtyard tightened accordingly.

The grandfather and grandson, just moments ago so lively in conversation, now seemed like statues.

Only in Old Zhu’s eyes—though aging—still gleamed a rich, profound emotion.

No one could quite describe what that feeling was.

Zhu Yunrong pressed his lips together and refrained from speaking further.

For some reason, under Old Zhu’s gaze, he suddenly felt restless.

A long moment passed.

Old Zhu sighed deeply.

“Have we ever talked like this before?”

He turned to the freshly dug vegetable garden.

“It’s my fault for neglecting you. From now on, when you have time, come visit the palace more often and keep me company.”

“Yes, Grandfather Emperor,” Zhu Yunrong replied softly.

Suddenly, Old Zhu rose and paced out of the pavilion, then turned and pointed at the two pillars beside it.

“I’ve long wanted to write a couplet here but couldn’t think of what to write.”

“The Grand Secretaries at court are learned men, skilled in poetry and prose.”

“But I don’t want them to see it here.”

“Look at the poem you wrote in court today—that shows some real skill.”

“Why not have you compose a couplet for this pavilion?”

“Remember, the couplet must suit this vegetable garden, this pavilion, and this courtyard.”