Chapter Twelve: The Jin Party's Exceptionally Favorable Terms

After finishing his evening meal, Zhu Yijun recounted every detail of the affairs at the Northern Town Pacification Office to Empress Dowager Li, carefully omitting only the conversation with Feng Bao.

Both empresses dowager were young and somewhat overwhelmed when facing the seasoned schemers of the outer court; there was no need to trouble them further.

“How did the young emperor come up with the idea to have Zhang Hong impersonate Feng Dabian?” Empress Dowager Li’s eyes brightened as she listened. It seemed her child had gained some early wisdom. Without Wang Zhanglong's mistaken identity, Feng Bao could hardly have so easily escaped suspicion; more troubles would likely arise.

Zhu Yijun, his innocent eyes gleaming, said matter-of-factly, “Feng Dabian is a high-ranking eunuch in the palace; a lowly servant like that villain could not have met him. Even if Feng Bao did it, how could he have appeared in person? That villain Wang Zhanglong insists that Feng Dabian ordered it, but that must be false.”

“Good, good. Our son is wise; it reassures me and, I believe, would bring a smile to your father,” Empress Dowager Li said, her eyes moist with emotion. Since her husband passed, she feared nothing, except that the emperor might be incompetent and unable to safeguard the dynasty’s foundation.

Now, after such hardships, the young emperor showed some change, however slight, enough to comfort Empress Dowager Li.

Under the lamplight, Zhu Yijun studied the "Four Books Explained" for half an hour before rubbing his eyes, deciding to rest early for the sake of health.

Zhang Hong, attending to the emperor’s washing, hesitated, clearly wanting to speak but uncertain how.

Zhu Yijun handed him a square cloth. “Speak plainly; there’s no need to hesitate.”

“Your Majesty, it probably isn’t Gao Gong,” Zhang Hong finally voiced his doubts. When Feng Bao asked whether the emperor would dispatch troops to arrest Gao Gong, the emperor said to wait, implying Gao Gong would survive the night.

Zhang Hong, residing at Langxia House, knew that those who came there lacked the power to send people directly to the Qianqing Palace. Neither Chen Hong nor Gao Gong were capable anymore—they had lost their influence.

“Whether it’s Gao Gong or not,” Zhu Yijun said calmly, gazing at the dim crescent moon outside the window, “tomorrow will tell how much benefit we can gain from this matter.”

Zhang Hong drew back the bed curtain for the young emperor, then bowed and took his leave, only lowering his head to say, “I take my leave.”

In the Ming court, eunuchs leaving Qianqing Palace after their shift could only return at dawn. In the Chongzhen era, a eunuch named Chen Derun was demoted for entering the palace a quarter-hour early, charged with trespassing.

Zhu Yijun looked at the sandalwood-carved dragon bed and solemnly reviewed the day and a half’s events before drifting into a drowsy sleep.

The waning moon hung overhead amidst countless stars, with only scattered lights in the capital. Yet, at the east entrance of the Western City Mule and Horse Market, in the southern side of the Quan Chu Guild Hall, the lamps blazed brightly.

The Quan Chu Guild Hall? It was the private residence of Zhang Juzheng, the prime minister of the Ming dynasty.

In front stood two majestic, lifelike stone lions, imposing under the palace lanterns at night. Though curfew had passed, two men still handed over visiting cards at the gate.

Curfew was a rule for commoners; the captains of the Five City Military Command dared not block these two.

Shortly, the gatekeeper respectfully came out. “My lord says just to pay your respects; no gifts are necessary.”

He gestured for the two men to leave their gifts before ushering them inside.

Zhang Juzheng accepted bribes, but not indiscriminately. For the case of the king’s assassination attempt, he could not accept; to do so would invite impeachment from officials and questioning from the empress dowager.

At the entrance of the Quan Chu Guild Hall stood a screen wall inscribed with “Su Fen Zi Yuan” in large characters. Beyond it were corridors with hanging arches, leading after a few steps to a white marble, nine-bend stone bridge, flanked by a century-old celtis tree and small lakes with willows dipping into the water. The spring breeze scattered the moonlight, starlight, and lantern light across the lake—a poetic scene.

Crossing the nine-bend bridge was the Ziwu Well; to the left, a theater stage; to the right, the Wenchang Pavilion; straight ahead, the Chu Wan Hall, covering thirty acres.

This was only the front hall. The rear residence encompassed more than thirty acres, totaling over seventy acres—roughly the size of seven football fields.

In the capital, where every inch of land was precious, a seventy-acre private residence was extravagantly luxurious.

After reporting to his lord, the gatekeeper led the guests to the five-room, nine-beam Wenchang Pavilion—Zhang Juzheng’s study, furnished with hardwood furniture and antique shelves filled with various precious stones and artifacts. Zhang waited at the door and greeted the visitors as they entered.

“You truly live in grandeur, the Quan Chu Guild Hall’s winding paths nearly confused me,” said Yang Bo, the Minister of Personnel, glancing around and complimenting.

Zhang Juzheng replied steadily, “My fellow countrymen have been generous. The Quan Chu Guild Hall is grand, but it cannot compare with Minister Yang’s Quan Jin Guild Hall. Please, have a seat.”

Though Zhang Juzheng’s private residence, it was not registered under his name; it was funded by scholars from Huguang province. During the imperial examinations, Zhang would open his residence to scholars from Huguang arriving in the capital.

Zhang Juzheng was now considered the leader of the Chu faction, though his followers largely were not from Huguang.

For example, his deputy Lü Diaoyang was from Guangxi; Qi Jiguang, commander of Jiliao, hailed from Shandong; Minister of War and Jiliao Governor Liang Menglong was from Zhending in Northern Zhili; and the Huguang Left Provincial Governor Chen Rui was actually from Fujian.

At this time, the Chu faction had no regional exclusivity.

After brief pleasantries and comments on the pleasant weather, Yang Bo said, “I came mainly about the Wang Zhanglong case.”

Ge Shouli, Chief Censor of the Censorate, stated firmly, “It’s definitely not Gao Gong’s handwriting. The three judicial offices have already proven it false. Even if the Eastern Depot’s agents continue their clamor, they are overstepping their authority. Someone is framing him.”

“The head minister understands well. Gao Gong is known for his uprightness; even if virtuous, he exposes enemies, and if unworthy, he denounces friends. He has many enemies. Now that he has fallen, the monkeys have scattered. Give me a few days, and I will unmask this villain.”

Yang Bo looked at Ge Shouli, angered yet resigned, then smiled. “Chief Censor Ge, why not enjoy the courtyard’s scenery first? The Quan Chu Guild Hall is known for its elegance.”

The handwriting was irrelevant; what mattered was Zhang Juzheng’s stance.

“I have no mood to enjoy the view now,” Ge Shouli said, about to speak more but seeing Zhang Juzheng and Yang Bo lifting their tea cups, he gave an awkward smile and followed them to the courtyard.

When grown men have matters to discuss, children should play elsewhere.

Zhang Juzheng set down his cup, considering carefully. “Minister Yang is a man of great virtue, and we share a deep bond despite our age difference. Regarding the handwriting Chen Hong presented, surely you understand who forged it, otherwise you would not have come to my Quan Chu Guild Hall.”

Yang Bo was quite certain. “That eunuch Feng Bao probably cannot tell.”

Feng Bao was clever but not clever enough. After the grand funeral of the Longqing emperor, Ming officials and the eunuch faction led by Feng Bao had contended several times. Feng Bao was not to be underestimated.

Zhang Juzheng shook his head. “What if he did see through it?”

He did not care whether Feng Bao discerned the truth or not. He was rejecting Yang Bo’s invitation to collude, refusing to follow a corrupt path, refusing to relinquish the authority of the Ceremonial Supervisory Office, and refusing officials’ overreach.

Gao Gong’s attempt to usurp the Ceremonial Supervisory Office’s power was a precedent Zhang Juzheng would not follow. The emperor was too young; imperial authority was weak and could not counterbalance the civil officials. If the Ceremonial Supervisory Office’s power was further diminished, the Ming dynasty would fall.

Zhang Juzheng understood the Ming state system deeply; it was designed so that without the emperor’s core authority, nothing could be effectively governed.

Yang Bo was silent for a while, unconsciously rubbing his thumb against his middle finger. Then he said, “During the two Song dynasties, factional strife engulfed the heavens. Whether to uphold ancestral laws or innovate, they fought to the death, ultimately ceding half the empire to the Jin, and only then did the chaos subside.”

Zhang Juzheng smiled and replied promptly, “I understand your meaning, Minister Yang. Factional strife signals downfall. Better to have the imperial guards investigate first. If evidence is found, act; if not, do nothing. I bear no grudge against Gao Gong; where is the factionalism? Let facts speak. What do you think, Minister Yang?”

Yang Bo shook his head. “The imperial guards answer to the Eastern Depot’s overseer. Feng Bao instructs them to fabricate evidence. Soon, this case will be ironclad, and the blame pinned on Gao Gong. Yesterday it was Yan Song, the day before Xu Jie, today Gao Gong, tomorrow it will be you, Zhang Jiangling.”

“Feng Bao’s failure allowed villains into the palace—a capital offense. Now he is so arrogant and rampant, we should report to the empress dowager and the emperor and eliminate him.”

What did the Jin faction want? They wanted Feng Bao dead.

To break the iron triangle of Empress Dowager Li, Feng Bao, and Zhang Juzheng, they aimed to remove the weakest link.

Though this political alliance appeared unbreakable, united in major affairs, it could easily harm the core interests of the Jin faction.

Yet after the assassination attempt on the king, Feng Bao still appeared at the Wenhua Hall for court discussions. At that point, damage control should have begun immediately; continuing was detrimental to the Jin faction.

Just as Zhang Juzheng was about to speak, Yang Bo reached out and added, “Bai Gui, I’m old, worn from years guarding the frontier, with many old injuries flaring up. My time is near. When I go, I go. But look at our Ming, declining day by day. Our ancestors’ thirteen northern campaigns against the Mongols, Emperor Cheng’s five northern campaigns—then the northern barbarians fled thousands of miles, not daring to intrude. Now we seek peace with the northern barbarians.”

“Not to speak of grand affairs, even small matters you’ve seen: Ge Shouli is honest, Wang Chonggu quick-tempered, Wang Guoguang principled, Zhang Siwei... a two-faced snake, unfit for ministerial duty. If I leave, wouldn’t it be splendid for your Quan Chu Guild Hall and my Quan Jin Guild Hall to unite?”

“All in due time, why rush your governance plans?”

Yang Bo laid out his terms: after his death, the Jin faction leadership could pass to Zhang Juzheng, merging Jin and Chu factions. Then, even ambitious plans like those of Wang Mang might be possible.

The palace was but a widow and orphan; Feng Bao was just a slightly stronger dog, unlikely to make much trouble.

If Feng Bao could not be removed, they would co-opt Zhang Juzheng, making him an ally. Then Feng Bao and Empress Dowager Li would only manage palace affairs.

As for the young emperor? He was just ten years old.

Zhang Juzheng looked at Yang Bo and shook his head. “My heart is not that large. The Quan Chu Guild Hall is enough. I am not from Shanxi, Minister Yang, you mistake me.”

“I have an unmarried daughter, twenty this year, fair and lovely, waiting for a match. I would marry her to you, Bai Gui. You’d be my son-in-law from Shanxi, wouldn’t you?” Yang Bo seemed to anticipate Zhang’s refusal. He had no such daughter, but from many relatives, one could be chosen as a legitimate daughter.

No daughter? Could one not simply invent a daughter for the alliance?

Marriage was a form of kinship, mainly to establish connections.

Zhang Juzheng also had factions, but his had no clear regional or marital ties.

Yang Bo did not care whether the prime minister was Gao Gong or Zhang Juzheng. As long as he supported the Jin faction, he was a good prime minister. Gao Gong was from Henan, yet he still worked closely with Wang Chonggu.

Despite such generous offers, Zhang Juzheng remained unmoved. “Minister Yang, you stray too far. Let us return to the Wang Zhanglong case.”

Zhang Juzheng rejected the offer. After twenty-six years in office, he knew well that accepting Yang Bo’s terms meant succumbing to the Jin faction and conceding to their interests.

Governance ambitions? Mere empty words.

This was not Yang Bo’s first attempt to sway Zhang Juzheng. Since Gao Gong’s fall last June, Yang Bo had been courting him, each time with more generous terms, yet Zhang remained unyielding.

Seeing Zhang’s stubbornness, Yang Bo said, “I can compromise on the examination system.”

Finally, to the heart of the matter. To surrender was one thing, but without offering core interests in exchange, how to settle matters peacefully?

Zhang Juzheng considered briefly and shook his head. “Better to have the imperial guards visit Xinzheng tomorrow and bring Gao Gong to the capital for questioning. Gao Gong is a respected elder; he must not be lightly defamed.”

Hunting down Gao Gong equated to pursuing the Jin faction he supported; that benefit was insufficient.

Yang Bo stood and sighed, looking at Zhang Juzheng, who was not yet fifty, with sincerity. “Bai Gui, I am truly ill and old, like the setting sun over Ming, half buried in the earth. Would you not take over my Quan Jin Guild Hall?”

“See Minister Yang out,” Zhang Juzheng said without reply, only escorting him to the door.