Chapter Four: The Empress Dowager
Chapter Four: The Empress Dowager
The late Emperor’s body still lay in state in the Palace of Heavenly Purity. As Crown Prince, every move Zhu Qizhen made was watched by countless eyes. While Wang Zhen wielded some influence within the palace, it would never be enough to shield him for long.
After exchanging only a few words with Lord Huichang, Zhu Qizhen heard Wang Zhen knocking at the door.
He knew he could not delay any longer.
He left Lord Huichang with a brief admonition: “Take care of yourself.”
Then he returned to the Palace of Heavenly Purity.
Before the imperial coffin, the cold January wind rustled the white mourning streamers, sending a chill that seemed to seep into one’s very bones. Zhu Qiyu could not tell whether it was the cold or fear that unsettled him. He pressed close to Zhu Qizhen for comfort.
Zhu Qizhen could only pat Zhu Qiyu’s hand and say, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”
After soothing his younger brother, Zhu Qizhen fell into deep thought. He had never held much hope for Lord Huichang, but he had not anticipated that the entire Huichang line could not muster even a hundred able-bodied men.
They were as good as useless.
If there was no one to be found outside the palace, he would have to look within.
He recalled what Wang Zhen had once told him.
The eunuchs of the palace generally belonged to two factions: those who had come from Nanjing, and those who had originally served in the capital.
At this time, Beijing had not yet been officially established as the imperial capital of the Ming; it was still referred to as the “Traveling Court.”
The rivalry between these two groups of eunuchs was rooted in the tangled history between the Emperor Taizong and the Emperor Renzong.
Emperor Taizong had resided in Beijing for many years and had even declared it the capital in his time. But upon Taizong’s death and Emperor Renzong’s accession, the latter found Beijing unsuited for the role. Having governed from Nanjing, Emperor Renzong believed all the resources required for a capital would have to be transported via canal, needlessly burdening the people.
Thus, only a few months into his reign, he decreed Beijing to be a temporary court and prepared for a move back to Nanjing, ordering Emperor Xuanzong to go to Nanjing to offer sacrifices at the Xiaoling Mausoleum and oversee preparations for the relocation.
It was then that Emperor Renzong passed away. Emperor Xuanzong ascended the throne in Beijing, having spent most of his life there with Emperor Taizong. He was unwilling to move the capital, and so the matter faded into oblivion. Yet Beijing remained only the “Traveling Court,” not the official capital.
Thus, the two factions of eunuchs: those who had served Emperor Taizong, and those who had accompanied Emperor Renzong from Nanjing.
When the Prince of Han raised his banner in rebellion, some Beijing eunuchs had supported him and were executed in large numbers.
Yet it was impossible to purge them all. The survivors were relegated to subordinate roles, serving under the Nanjing eunuchs.
Now, in the tenth year of Xuande, little more than a decade since the Yongle era, time was eroding the Beijing eunuch faction. In a few more years, they would fade away entirely as age and death took their toll.
Wang Zhen himself had entered the palace during the Yongle reign and spent his years in Beijing; his allegiance was clear. The Empress Dowager, on the other hand, had come from Nanjing and always controlled the inner palace. The eunuchs by her side were undoubtedly of the Nanjing faction.
Zhu Qizhen thought to himself, “I hope the eunuchs from the Yongle era still have some strength left.”
The Yongle Emperor had relied heavily on eunuchs—Zheng He himself had been one of his most famous servants. Many eunuchs in his service were even capable of leading troops into battle.
But who knew how many remained now?
It was little wonder emperors relied on maternal relatives and eunuchs; in the final reckoning, they alone shared in the emperor’s fortunes and misfortunes.
At that moment, Wang Zhen quietly approached Zhu Qizhen and whispered in his ear, “Lord Huichang has been summoned by the Empress Dowager.”
Zhu Qizhen’s gaze sharpened, boring into Wang Zhen.
Wang Zhen knelt before him and murmured, “Your servant deserves to die.”
Wang Zhen had assured him earlier that his meeting with Lord Huichang would go unnoticed. He had never expected events to take such a turn.
For a moment, Zhu Qizhen entertained murderous thoughts toward Wang Zhen.
Wang Zhen had grown up at his side; there was a bond between them, yet Zhu Qizhen could not help but be influenced by later generations’ judgments of Wang Zhen.
Still, he knew that Wang Zhen was the only person he could truly use.
He took several deep breaths to calm himself. “Lead the way.”
Wang Zhen asked, “Where to, young master?”
“To the Palace of Compassion and Tranquility,” Zhu Qizhen replied.
He thought to himself, “Though Sun Yu, Lord Huichang, is unreliable, he was right about one thing—there is no avoiding the Empress Dowager in this matter.”
“Better to face it sooner than later.”
The Palace of Compassion and Tranquility lay to the west of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, and the walk was a long one.
Wang Zhen had prepared a carrying chair for Zhu Qizhen—a seat with long poles borne by four men. The Forbidden City was vast, and walking would be too time-consuming.
But Zhu Qizhen had no mind for such details now.
He harbored a faint hope that the Empress Dowager was merely hesitating, still undecided. But if her mind was made up, this walk would likely be his last.
Once he had “flown” away, what need would there be for feet? His soul would be scattered to the wind.
Passing behind the long palace wall of the Hall of Mental Cultivation, he saw only eunuchs and palace maids in mourning clothes hurrying to and fro. When they saw him, all knelt and paid homage.
He noticed a few young eunuchs dashing in the direction of the Palace of Compassion and Tranquility.
Clearly, word was already being sent to the Empress Dowager.
As he walked, Zhu Qizhen found himself growing steadier.
He felt as though he had already died once and was now ready to risk everything.
At the rear gate of the Palace of Compassion and Tranquility, several middle-aged and elderly palace women awaited him. Upon seeing Zhu Qizhen, they all bowed and greeted him, “Greetings, young master.”
“Is the Empress Dowager here?” Zhu Qizhen asked.
One of the women replied, “Her Majesty is waiting for you.”
Without breaking stride, Zhu Qizhen said, “Lead the way.”
“Yes, young master.” One of the women walked ahead, matching his pace.
Before long, he entered the main hall.
There, an elderly lady dressed in black knelt on the floor. On the central dais hung a portrait of a man, heavyset with a full black beard, not seated directly forward but with his gaze turned slightly aside, robed in imperial dragon robes adorned with twelve emblems—a true emperor’s attire.
Zhu Qizhen immediately understood: this was the portrait of Emperor Renzong.
He had not seen it before, but he guessed as much.
He had seen portraits of the Great Ancestor, Zhu Yuanzhang, in later years; though he had never seen one of Zhu Di, it was said Zhu Di’s figure was robust, befitting one who had dared to ride deep into the desert. As for Emperor Xuanzong, his own father, Zhu Qizhen saw him every day.
There had been only a handful of Ming emperors; one of them was famously obese—who else could it be but his grandfather, Emperor Renzong?
“Kneel,” commanded the Empress Dowager, her fingers moving over a string of prayer beads, without turning her head.
Zhu Qizhen obediently knelt on a cushion to one side.
“Do you know whose portrait this is?” the Empress Dowager asked.
“Yes, it is the portrait of Emperor Renzong,” Zhu Qizhen replied.
She did not turn around. “And how do you know that?”
In this era, portraits were rare, and even copies were few. When Zhu Qizhen was born, Emperor Renzong was already gone.
He could not say he had guessed.
He whispered, “My father showed it to me.”
At the mention of Emperor Xuanzong, the Empress Dowager fell silent.
Xuanzong was her eldest son, and she had cherished him above all. But his untimely death had left a pain in her heart far deeper than anything Zhu Qizhen could feel.
Compared to the loss of parents, children are always unfilial. The grief of losing a parent cannot compare to the agony of a parent burying their child. To lose a son in old age is a sorrow beyond words.
She did not question Zhu Qizhen’s honesty. Her son had been a gifted artist, and he had loved this grandson dearly; it was plausible that he had shown him the ancestral portraits.
Her mind was elsewhere, however. In a low voice she asked, “Do you admit your fault?”
“Grandson does not know what fault I have committed.”
“You are stubborn still. Was it not you who leaked the matter of the Prince of Xiang’s golden seal? And what were your intentions in summoning Lord Huichang so frequently today? Do you not see the error in your ways?”
Zhu Qizhen now understood: in the palace, nothing escaped the Empress Dowager’s notice. He knew that what he said to her now would determine his very life and death.