Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Beam of Light Piercing the Darkness

Zhang Juzheng was diligently teaching the young emperor. To the young emperor, the hour passed in the blink of an eye, but for Zhang Juzheng, it felt like every second dragged on for an eternity. The young emperor would pose questions with every line and every sentence—questions that were continuous, coherent, and at times, even bordering on heterodox.

Most crucially, for a scholar of Zhang Juzheng’s caliber, these difficult questions were ones he had to face head-on.

When the imperial lecture finally concluded, Zhang Juzheng felt an unexpected sense of relief. He was struck by a sudden, intense impulse: let Wang Xilie or Ge Shouli take over the duty of teaching the young emperor!

Faced with such pointed, fact-based inquiries, those Confucian scholars, who were masters of circular reasoning, could go and engage in sophistry with His Majesty to their hearts' content!

Didn't Ge Shouli question his monopoly over the imperial lectures? Then let Ge Shouli come and face these untouchable, slippery traps! Let Wang Xilie come and see exactly what kind of difficulty these lectures truly entailed!

Zhu Yijun rose and bowed slightly, signaling the end of today's audience.

Feng Bao dispatched a young eunuch to signal the attendant scholars to copy a transcript for him. As a eunuch, Feng Bao lacked formal scholarly training; he found many books difficult to read, understanding only fragments. With his cultivation of the *Qi Ren Jing* reaching the twelfth level, he needed to replenish his "ammunition" by delving into the very field the civil officials excelled in—the Four Books and Five Classics.

To defeat an enemy in their own area of expertise would inflict double the damage and humiliation!

The logic discussed between His Majesty and Zhang Juzheng was profound; it did not matter if he did not understand it. If the Senior Grand Secretary Zhang Juzheng himself did not fully grasp it, why should he, Feng Bao, be expected to? He knew his true vocation was to go out and bite people; it was enough for him to simply understand what the sages' books were saying.

In the afternoon, Zhu Yijun met his sparring partners. Among the ten, two drew his particular attention.

The first was Zhao Zhenyuan, the eldest son of Zhao Mengyou, a military *jinshi* of the forty-fourth year of the Jiajing era, commander of the Henan Regional Military Commission, and assistant commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

The second was Luo Sigong, the son of Luo Bingliang, a salary-drawing thousand-man commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

Zhu Xixiao was getting old, and the fathers of these two ten-year-old boys—Zhao Mengyou and Luo Bingliang—were both strong contenders for the position of Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Both were from families of military merit, their ancestors having followed Emperor Taizu, Zhu Yuanzhang, since his uprising; they were true, old-guard nobility under the Great Ming flag. Zhao Mengyou held an advantage in the contest for the commandership, as he was a legitimate military *jinshi*.

Zhu Yijun’s group of sparring partners had grown from ten young eunuchs to twenty. Today was another monotonous, tedious day of stretching and standing in a horse stance.

According to Zhu Xixiao, there were no shortcuts to martial arts; it was all about patient, grinding effort. The entry-level practice of standing in a stance for three years required perseverance and grit—it was extremely arduous. For a Ming emperor, there was no need to endure such suffering; if he only wanted to put on a show to balance the power of the agencies, coming to watch for a while each day would have sufficed.

The afternoon sun filtered through the antique window lattices, illuminating the room and casting a golden glow upon Zhu Yijun as he held his deep squat. Behind him, a group of children also held their stances.

As the weather grew warmer, a fine layer of sweat gathered on Zhu Yijun’s forehead. Zhang Hong stood nearby with a towel, unsure whether he should step forward to wipe it.

"Useless!" Zhu Xixiao kicked Luo Sigong hard on the rear, his temper flaring. The emperor’s words had come true: the young nobles truly could not hold the stance.

Luo Sigong had begun to slack off, his center of gravity shifting upward bit by bit, his tightly clenched fists relaxing. The moment Zhu Xixiao looked away, the boy had even braced his hands on his knees, hoping for a rest.

Zhu Xixiao possessed eyes that saw in all directions; he had caught the ten-year-old’s slackness in his peripheral vision. When the boy braced his knees, Zhu Xixiao did not hesitate to land a kick.

It was a disgrace to his noble lineage!

The emperor’s words were irritating enough, but Luo Sigong’s performance was even more infuriating.

Feng Bao watched with amusement. The young eunuchs were all from impoverished backgrounds; even in the palace, they were used to hunger. They cherished this chance to train with the emperor, knowing that a poor performance meant a lifetime of servitude in the shadows—how could they dare to slack off? But the young nobles were different; even if they did nothing, they had hereditary titles of thousand-man commanders waiting for them. Even if they failed this training, they could return home to inherit their posts and never worry about food or clothing for the rest of their lives.

This was why Feng Bao no longer dared to bully the young emperor, and was even so submissive it verged on fear.

Although the young emperor was small in age, he was a truly ruthless individual.

Was the status of an emperor not more noble than that of these military aristocrats? Yet, since starting martial training, no matter how tired or sore he became, even to the point of limping, the emperor never allowed his form to falter. He would even use sharp words to provoke the commander into training him more strictly.

What a terrifying level of perseverance!

He was a man who was ruthless to others and equally ruthless to himself.

Zhu Yijun slowly rose from his squat, keeping his head level and eyes fixed forward. He calmed his heart and breath for five or six cycles. After finishing the session, he smiled and rubbed his legs, once again sighing that youth was a wonderful thing.

He took the towel from Zhang Hong to wipe his sweat and walked over to the fallen Luo Sigong.

Zhu Xixiao was getting on in years, but the kick had been forceful, and Luo Sigong had been sent to the ground. Because his legs were weak from the stance, he could not get up for a moment. Under the gaze of everyone, the ten-year-old’s eyes filled with tears that streamed down his face.

His family had warned him repeatedly not to bring shame upon his ancestors after entering the palace, yet he had failed to hold his ground.

Zhu Yijun wore a radiant, sunny smile as he reached out a hand to pull Luo Sigong up. "Commander," he said with a smile, "there is no need to be overly harsh."

Luo Sigong had been terrified of Zhu Xixiao’s punishment, his parents' and uncles' scolding, and the mockery of his peers. The moment he was kicked down, he trembled with fear. He was just a ten-year-old child; he did not know how to face this. He was so afraid that the entire world seemed to have turned to darkness.

But the supreme Emperor of the Great Ming had walked over to him. The most noble person under heaven had reached out his hand. Luo Sigong took that hand and stood up.

In that moment, those hands and the emperor’s smile were as dazzling as a single ray of light in an otherwise dark world.

"Perform well in the future and don't be lazy. If the commander catches you again, I won't be able to plead for you," Zhu Yijun said, releasing Luo Sigong. He turned to Zhu Xixiao and added with a hint of reproach, "Commander Qi’s method of training soldiers is naturally demanding, but there is no need to be so angry with a child."

Zhu Xixiao roared inwardly: You call others children, but aren't you a child yourself? As the exalted emperor, Your Majesty can hold the stance, so why shouldn't Luo Sigong? It was the emperor himself who had said earlier that the noble youths shouldn't even have been brought to the martial hall if they couldn't even outperform the young eunuchs!

Who was it that said that?!

Zhu Xixiao realized he had played the villain while the emperor played the hero. How was the emperor so skilled at playing the roles of the strict and the kind to win people over?

The sunny, cheerful young emperor was, in fact, an utterly cunning and devious person!

Zhu Yijun said quite solemnly, "In my work, I act once, then twice, but never a third time. I allow all my sparring partners to make mistakes, but there shall never be a third offense."

Everyone was dismissed to change their clothes. Soon, these young guards, blade-bearers, and eunuchs would follow the emperor to the Jingshan Hill to till the soil—another form of physical labor to train their endurance.

Agriculture and warfare—if one does not farm, how can one fight?

If one is too lazy to move, why practice martial arts at all? Wouldn't it be better to spend one’s life idling in brothels? Why go to all this trouble to serve as a sparring partner to the emperor?

Zhu Yijun walked over to Empress Dowager Li to begin his daily examination. As the person primarily responsible for the Ming Emperor’s studies, the Empress Dowager would test him daily, especially on the content he had learned in recent days.

Zhu Yijun answered fluently, without a single error.

"I am going to play at Jingshan Hill!" Zhu Yijun said, before heading off to the Qianqing Palace to change.

Empress Dowager Li watched his fast-departing figure. She did not rebuke him for his lack of decorum, but felt a flicker of worry. Martial training and farming were both exhausting; if he were to give up halfway, it would surely invite more criticism.

Zhu Yijun ran quickly. He had a belly full of questions to discuss with the old farmers, and Zhang Juzheng had also recommended a talent—an expert in land reclamation and water conservancy named Xu Zhenming.

Xu Zhenming was in his thirties and looked quite lean. His skin was slightly dark from exposure to the wind and sun. He carried a woven bamboo book box on his back rather than the more common hardwood one.

Any *juren* heading to the capital for the imperial examinations or studying at the Imperial Academy would carry a hardwood box, as their local gentry would usually sponsor them; carrying a bamboo box would only invite mockery. But as a *jinshi*, Xu Zhenming’s choice of a bamboo box was related to his mentors.

Xu Zhenming was to have an audience with the Emperor, but the location was Jingshan Hill, and the purpose was farming. He had not brought his official court robes; instead, he wore a cotton-padded jacket with a hemp garment over it, looking exactly like an old farmer.

His hands were covered in callouses.

"Your subject pays respects to His Majesty. Long live Your Majesty, ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand ten thousand years," Xu Zhenming said, setting his box aside and kneeling respectfully. This was his first audience, the first time he had seen a living emperor.

Most *jinshi* only saw the emperor during the palace examination, and since the reign of the Jiajing Emperor, even that opportunity had vanished. During the six years of the Longqing Emperor’s reign, even Gao Gong had been unable to enter the palace for an audience; he only saw the emperor once, just before his passing.

After the Longqing Emperor’s death, Gao Gong had memorialized to seize the authority of the Directorate of Ceremonial, demanding to report on all matters in person. Was this a lack of submissiveness, or did he truly believe that this was the correct way to govern?

"In our private audiences from now on, there is no need to kneel," Zhu Yijun said with a smile, signaling for Xu Zhenming to rise. From this first meeting, Zhu Yijun liked this official; he knew nothing of other things, only farming.

But it was this farming, and this attire that made him look like an old peasant, that made Zhu Yijun feel quite at ease with him.

Xu Zhenming was a *jinshi* from the fifth year of the Longqing era. What was the status of a *jinshi*? It was like a carp leaping over the dragon gate—a massive shift in class. Xu Zhenming could have chosen a different path, but he chose to do actual work. That made him a comrade. If they could walk the same path, they could naturally enjoy it together.

Xu Zhenming was stunned. The etiquette of the Great Ming was strict. Not kneeling before the Emperor—even Hai Rui, who had carried his own coffin to scold the Jiajing Emperor, had not dared to be so disrespectful. When ritual and imperial power conflicted, whose side should one take?

Xu Zhenming did not hesitate: "I thank Your Majesty for your immense grace."

When ritual conflicted with an imperial decree, Xu Zhenming chose to listen to the Emperor.

Xu Zhenming had been planning to return home. For a *jinshi* to serve as a magistrate for only two years and then slink back home was a disgrace. But the families in the capital had high standards, and Xu Zhenming truly had no money to grease the palms of officials. With no one to recommend him, he had no choice but to leave.

Just as he was about to depart, the chief steward of the Quanchu Guild Hall, You Qi, found him and told him to prepare for an audience at Jingshan Hill. Xu Zhenming had been overjoyed to land a position. A eunuch from the palace had told him to bring his agricultural books.

"What is in your box?" Zhu Yijun asked, looking at the bent bamboo frame.

Xu Zhenming opened the box and said, a bit shyly, "These are the agricultural books I have read over the years, along with my own annotations, as well as some of my humble notes and thoughts on land reclamation and water conservancy."

Zhu Yijun was overjoyed. He looked at the dog-eared books, some of which had been nibbled by silverfish. He turned to Feng Bao and said, "Big Brother Feng, can you prepare a pest-proof book box for Scholar Xu?"

"I will go get one right now," Feng Bao said. The injuries on his cheeks were healing, though a large bandage still covered his forehead. He didn't order anyone else, running to the Directorate of Palace Servants himself. The Emperor’s tone had been unusually distant—what did he mean by "can you"?

When the Emperor consulted with a eunuch rather than giving an order, it was a sign of distance.

This distance often filled Feng Bao with fear. He sought fame and, even more, power, but first and foremost, he sought to survive. A Director of Ceremonial who was distant from the Emperor would not live long.

Zhu Yijun was not being polite or distant; he was only ten years old and did not manage the finances. How would he know if Empress Dowager Li had forbidden high expenses? A pest-proof hardwood box was not cheap; a single box could cost six or seven taels of silver—enough to buy a young girl.

Feng Bao possessed an extremely flexible scale when it came to pleasing the Emperor.