Chapter Twenty-Three: Understood

Chapter Twenty-Three: Understood

Within the Forbidden City, there are two gardens. One, naturally, is the Imperial Garden of the inner palace. The other is the Garden of Cining Palace.

Zhu Qizhen, supporting the Grand Empress Dowager, walked with her through the Cining Palace Garden, where the air was filled with the charm of the Jiangnan region and the riot of blossoms dazzled the eye.

The Grand Empress Dowager sat down at a waterside pavilion. She scattered the feed in her hand into the water, and at once countless koi surged forth, vying for the morsels. Amid the glimmering waves, golden and scarlet scales flashed, making for a delightful sight.

“The case of Lü Zheng—you have sorted it out?” the Grand Empress Dowager asked.

“I have thought it through,” Zhu Qizhen replied, and proceeded to relate his understanding in full detail.

“You are still lacking in experience,” the Grand Empress Dowager said. “Why did Wang Ji use Lü Zheng as a scapegoat?”

Zhu Qizhen was taken aback. He was about to say that Wang Ji sought to seize the authority of the Five Armies Command, but before the words left his lips, he realized something was amiss. After all, the Grand Empress Dowager had already issued an edict suspending all non-urgent affairs, to let the people of the realm recuperate in peace.

Moreover, the old generals like Zhang Fu were still present. How could the Ministry of War possibly replace the Five Armies Command in commanding the empire’s troops? The royal household and many nobles were bound by marriage, and many had direct access to the throne.

If Wang Ji understood this, he would never have made such a move now.

Seated as Minister of War, Wang Ji naturally wished to secure more power for himself, but he had no intention of altering the current political structure. He was not a reckless man.

So why had he acted thus?

Zhu Qizhen considered: perhaps he had run afoul of someone, or there was another reason entirely.

He dismissed the first possibility, for Ma Shun had said that such matters, while not exactly commonplace in the army, were by no means rare. After all, among the Mongol herdsmen, a man on horseback was a warrior, but once dismounted, a commoner. Sometimes, to show mercy was to court one’s own loss. Lü Zheng’s behavior was excessive, perhaps, but to single him out smacked of ulterior motives.

Zhu Qizhen fell silent. The Grand Empress Dowager asked, “Have you not read the latest memorials from Chief Minister Yang?”

Zhu Qizhen blurted out, “Yang Shiqi wants to reform the military.”

The Grand Empress Dowager nodded. “Good, you are teachable.”

The fog before Zhu Qizhen’s eyes seemed to clear at last. “If that is so, and Wang Ji acted on Yang Shiqi’s instructions, why did Wang Ji’s intention of severe punishment come to naught, and Lü Zheng was merely exiled?”

“It is Wang Ji’s strategy—advance two steps, retreat one,” the Grand Empress Dowager replied.

Zhu Qizhen was astonished. “So Wang Ji never intended to execute Lü Zheng from the beginning.”

“Even if he had wished it,” said the Grand Empress Dowager, “Yang Shiqi would not have allowed it. Yang Shiqi is a seasoned statesman. At present, there are two major abuses in the military garrisons—appropriation of land and forced labor.”

“When the founder first raised the army, he vowed to support a million soldiers without burdening the people. In those days, it was true. Yet, in the tumultuous Yongle years, the court was forced to subsidize the army.”

“Last year, your father increased the pay and rations for the border troops in recognition of their hardships, with the funds coming directly from the Ministry of Revenue.”

“Countless fertile fields across the realm are tied to the army, yet now they are insufficient to sustain themselves. Where has all that land gone?”

“And then there is forced labor. Even now, tens of thousands of soldiers are repairing the walls of the capital. Your father’s mausoleum, too, was built by garrison troops. How many elite soldiers remain in the capital?”

“I do not know, nor do I dare ask.”

“This is why Yang Shiqi seeks military reform.”

Zhu Qizhen listened and said, “Grandmother, you mean Yang Shiqi wanted to take Lü Zheng as an example for reform, but then why did he let Lü Zheng off with exile instead of execution?”

“If you govern with such a mindset, disaster is sure to follow,” the Grand Empress Dowager admonished. “Three feet of ice do not form in a single day. Many matters cannot be rushed; the more haste, the more likely the error.”

“Let us speak of forced labor—most of it is tied to the construction of the capital. From the reign of Emperor Taizong until now, the work has gone on for thirty years, at times mobilizing over a million laborers, many of whom are military households. Even now, the rota of laborers for the city is not small.”

“Can these people be dismissed so easily?”

“The capital has been under construction since Yongle’s time and is nearly finished, but the gates and walls still need work. Your father’s tomb, your own in the future, will require labor.”

“Can these people be dismissed?”

“As for land appropriation—those who dare it are the key officers of the army. If you cleanse the army of these abuses, are you not afraid of unrest?”

“Yang Shiqi knows well what must be done.”

Now Zhu Qizhen understood completely.

This case had, indeed, been a matter of unfortunate timing. Lü Zheng’s exile demonstrated Yang Shiqi’s determination for reform, while subtly declaring his limits.

Generally, barring grave offenses, Yang Shiqi preferred not to take lives.

Zhang Fu, no doubt, was as aware of the army’s ills as Yang Shiqi. Thus he tacitly allowed some matters to pass, perhaps even negotiating with Yang Shiqi behind the scenes.

It might have been Zhang Fu who insisted on exile rather than execution.

Yet even as Zhu Qizhen grasped Yang Shiqi’s sense of proportion, he could not entirely approve.

Such measures would only last a few years; after that, the army’s situation would likely be worse, not better.

Yet Zhu Qizhen knew, too, that Yang Shiqi was not a Grand Chancellor—indeed, even as Grand Chancellor, unless one possessed the power of Huo Guang or Zhang Juzheng, these two great problems could not be resolved.

“I understand,” Zhu Qizhen replied, a sense of loss in his tone. It seemed that so long as the army remained capable in war, Yang Shiqi would not pursue every failing.

The Grand Empress Dowager said, “Emperor, know this: outsiders believe that a single imperial command compels the obedience of all the people. If you believe so yourself, you are gravely mistaken.”

“Remember, even the emperor cannot always act as he wishes.”

“In the future, there will be many occasions to swallow your pride. However aggrieved you may feel, you must endure. All must proceed step by step, and above all, you must always be aware. You may feign ignorance, but must never truly be blind.”

“Do not judge by what people say, but by what they do.”

“I understand,” Zhu Qizhen said. “But, Grandmother, what should be done with this memorial?”

The Grand Empress Dowager replied, “Have you not been copying Wang Xizhi’s calligraphy every day? Come, let me see how your writing has progressed.” With a wave of her hand, she had Wang Zhen bring brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. A vermilion brush was prepared for Zhu Qizhen.

The vivid red of the brush resembled fresh blood, as if a drop might fall at any moment.

At the blank space at the end of the memorial, Zhu Qizhen raised his hand and asked, “Grandmother, what should I write?”

“What do you think?” the Grand Empress Dowager countered.

Zhu Qizhen fell silent. Matters had come to this—could he change Yang Shiqi’s decision with a few strokes of the pen?

Impossible.

Not only would Yang Shiqi refuse, the Grand Empress Dowager would not permit it either. Her trust in Yang Shiqi lay not only in his long years of service to Emperor Renzong, but also in their shared political vision.

Zhu Qizhen longed to grow up quickly.

No matter how mature he acted, others still saw him as a child-emperor, and trusted him less for it.

All he could do was endure.

With a soft “drip,” a droplet of vermilion fell onto the memorial, blooming like a blood-red moon. Zhu Qizhen pressed his brush to the stain, wrist twisting, and after a moment, wrote three characters:

Understood.

The handwriting was barely passable, lacking in backbone and structure, but it marked the first time he left his mark on an official document.

His first act of reviewing a memorial brought him no sense of satisfaction.

The Grand Empress Dowager saw the words and said, “My child, I know you are unwilling, but many things require the right moment. If you act before its time, you will gain nothing, and may even do harm.”

“When will the time be right?” Zhu Qizhen asked.

“That,” the Grand Empress Dowager replied, “depends on you. Many opportunities are not awaited, but created.”