Chapter Twenty-One: Benevolent Governance

Chapter 21: Benevolent Governance

For the past two months, Zhu Qizhen had attended lectures every day, and had also listened to the Grand Empress Dowager's explanations of state affairs. He had come to understand much about the Ming court and the current era, known for the benevolent rule of the Ren and Xuan Emperors.

After all, Li Shimian, in teaching Zhu Qizhen the Analects, did not confine himself merely to that text. Civil officials placed great importance on these sessions precisely because they believed the principles of governance rested with the sovereign, and so, they sought to instill Confucian ideals in the emperor. The hope was that the emperor would uphold the Confucian way in ruling the world.

The Grand Empress Dowager herself had been deeply influenced by Emperor Renzong. All her actions were guided by his ideals, which closely aligned with the political philosophies of Li Shimian and his peers. Her own political doctrine was to put aside all non-urgent affairs.

Why was this so?

Because, in this era, every great endeavor exacted a cost, and it was the people who bore it. This was the root of the conflict between Emperor Renzong and Emperor Taizong—a divergence in political vision. Emperor Taizong waged campaigns against the northern steppe, seeking to end enmity for generations to come. Yet, Emperor Renzong saw the hundreds of thousands of conscripted laborers, the people of the south transporting grain to the front, and the countless lives lost in constructing Beijing, which—though justified by Taizong for many political reasons—was, in Renzong's eyes, built with the fat and blood of the people. Who could tell how many perished for that city? Even in later ages, no construction project could guarantee zero casualties, let alone in these times.

Thus, she chose to suspend all non-urgent undertakings and allow the people to rest. The northern barbarians could not cross the Great Wall; Annam dared not invade the north. If war could be avoided, it should be. For the common people, perhaps this was best.

It was like that ancient song:

“At sunrise, I work; at sunset, I rest. I drink from the well I’ve dug and eat the food I’ve grown. What need have I for the emperor’s power?”

Such a simple, unadorned political philosophy—Zhu Qizhen found it deeply appealing. Yet he also knew that such beauty could not be sustained. The three-century cycle of dynastic fate proved the illusion of this ideal. Of course, that was a matter for later times.

The Ming dynasty was still young. The thirty-first year of Hongwu, four years under Jianwen, twenty-three under Yongle, one year of Hongxi, and ten years under Xuande—sixty-nine years in all. Even counting the years Zhu Yuanzhang held the title of Prince of Wu, it was scarcely more than seventy. For an individual, seventy years marks the end of life, but for a dynasty, this was its most vigorous age.

Though the repeated undertakings of the Yongle era had left the treasury depleted, if Zhu Qizhen followed the Grand Empress Dowager's methods—allowing the people to rest, governing with a benevolent heart, employing virtuous ministers like Yu Qian—he could well record an era of genuine prosperity in Chinese history, where every household had food stored, villages thrived with children and elders, and women and children wore smiles.

It was not impossible.

Yet this was not what he truly desired. But what was it he wanted? Even he was uncertain. The path was clear before him—if he chose it, he would secure fame both in life and after death. But another road beckoned, one whose end seemed bright, though filled with twists and turns.

What Emperor Yang of Sui once sought to achieve might not have been a bad thing. There are too many examples of well-meant deeds ending in disaster. Not to mention the cost—whatever he wished to do, be it some great work or reform, lives would be lost. The taxes of Ming bled the people as it was; every dynasty in history had been the same.

For a moment, Zhu Qizhen felt lost.

“Your Majesty,” came a gentle knock at the door. It was Wang Zhen.

“Come in,” said Zhu Qizhen.

Wang Zhen entered and said, “Your Majesty, you asked me to recommend a commander for the Embroidered Uniform Guard. He has arrived.”

Zhu Qizhen had little choice—how many people did he truly know? Most he recognized only from documents, and many things never found their way into records. So he had to rely on Wang Zhen.

Rising from his seat, Zhu Qizhen said, “Let him in.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Wang Zhen replied.

A moment later, Wang Zhen brought in a man dressed in the distinctive flying fish robe of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. He had a brisk, decisive air. With a single glance, Zhu Qizhen could tell he was a man of martial bearing—handsome, yet marked by the wind and frost of a hard life, rugged and imposing.

“Your servant, Ma Shun, Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, pays his respects. Long live Your Majesty!” the man declared.

“Speak while standing,” Zhu Qizhen said.

Ma Shun straightened and stood with hands clasped.

“Have you always served in the Embroidered Uniform Guard?” Zhu Qizhen asked.

Ma Shun replied, “Your Majesty, my entire family has lived by serving in the Guard. I inherited the post during the Yongle reign, followed Emperor Taizong on his northern campaigns, and many times traveled the steppe as a merchant in service of the army. That is how I earned the rank of Commandant.”

Zhu Qizhen nodded, considering for a moment before saying, “Very well. You are to be the new Commander. Upon taking office, there are several tasks you must complete.”

“First, send people to Henan to assess the disaster there—find out if local officials are embezzling relief grain, or if anyone is stirring trouble. If all is well, remain in the shadows; if not, report to Yu Qian and come under his command. Upon your return to the capital, you will await further orders.”

At this, Zhu Qizhen turned to Wang Zhen. “Eunuch Wang, prepare an imperial edict for him as proof of authority.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Wang Zhen answered.

Ma Shun immediately said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Zhu Qizhen continued, “Secondly, take over Lü Zheng’s case. Find out everything behind it—who he serves, and anything you think I should know.”

Ma Shun replied, “Your servant obeys.”

“Third, send men to Oirat. I want all intelligence from Oirat reported here. This is a long-term mission—whoever is sent must be prepared to remain there ten, twenty, even a lifetime if need be. I don’t care how you do it, but from now on, whatever happens in Oirat, I must know all details within a month.

“The first two matters are urgent—see to them quickly. Oirat intelligence can develop at its own pace.

“Eunuch Wang recommended you, so I place my trust in you. Whether you prove worthy depends on your performance. If you do well, the command and even a title of nobility may be yours. If not—you know what that means.”

Ma Shun’s face flushed red. “Your servant understands, and will do all in his power to serve Your Majesty.”

“Eunuch Wang, see Commander Ma out,” Zhu Qizhen said.

“At once, Your Majesty,” Wang Zhen replied, and led Ma Shun out.

Once outside the Palace of Heavenly Purity, Ma Shun immediately said, “Eunuch Wang, I shall never forget your guidance. From now on, I will follow all your instructions.”

Wang Zhen’s demeanor was entirely different from when he stood before Zhu Qizhen. He raised his head slightly, regarding Ma Shun from above, his voice a little sharper but without the usual note of a eunuch—having been castrated as an adult. “You’re not working for me, you’re working for the emperor. If you serve him well, I share in your glory. If you fail, I’ll be the first to deal with you. Remember, I can afford to keep useless men, but the Embroidered Uniform Guard cannot.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Ma Shun hastily replied. “Your kindness is beyond repaying.” He slipped a few gold bars from his sleeve. “A small token, I hope you’ll accept it.”

Wang Zhen turned away, refusing to look at the gold. “Is that what you think of me? I simply see your talent as rare, and besides, what use have I for such things in the palace?”

Suddenly, his tone shifted. “I have no roots here, nothing to care for—but I do have a nephew in the capital. I trust you’ll take good care of him.”

Ma Shun understood at once, cursing inwardly: “So he just wants me to send the gold to his nephew.” Though he thought this, he dared not say it. “You can count on me, Eunuch Wang. Your nephew is my brother. As long as I have a bite to eat, so will he.”

Wang Zhen’s heart burned with longing. After years of hardship, he had finally risen to power—how could he not wish to profit? But both the Grand Empress Dowager and the emperor were not easily deceived, so he had to restrain himself and find subtler ways. Smiling at Ma Shun, he said, “Then I’ll thank you in advance.”