Chapter 112: Emperor Chenghua, Zhu Jianshen—You Can Tell at a Glance That He’s His Own Son!
The eleventh year of the Chenghua reign.
May.
Night had deepened.
The officials and courtiers rose to wash up, preparing for the customary early court session.
At three in the morning, past the Meridian Gate, a dense crowd of civil officials gathered, yawning endlessly, their eyes heavy with sleep. After exchanging greetings, they waited inside the court chamber.
At the hour of the rabbit—five o’clock in the morning—everyone lined up obediently before the Hall of Supreme Harmony.
Then, the civil officials performed their formal bows: five kowtows and three prostrations.
The figure seated upon the dragon throne watched silently as they paid their respects.
When they finished, Zhu Jianshen rose briskly, said not a word, patted his backside, and left.
The civil officials stood in stunned silence.
Sometimes, one truly yearned to rebel.
...
In the inner palace, Zhu Jianshen was washing up. Having risen too early, he had yet to clean himself, staring into the mirror at his exhausted, bloodshot eyes and haggard face.
He pressed his lips together and murmured,
“I grow old before my time, already worn to this state. The ancestral edicts of the Ming declare that order must be maintained between the old and the young, that succession follows the eldest son, and if there is no heir... the younger brothers must step in.”
His gaze stretched far and empty, pierced with intense hatred as it cut through time itself, fixating on the period he dreaded to bring forth an heir again.
December, the seventh year of Chenghua.
Peng Shi, Minister of Personnel and Grand Scholar of the Wen Yuan Pavilion, submitted a memorial enumerating seven great offenses of Emperor Xianzong.
The first: Erring in moral conduct.
The way of the world is but right and wrong.
Rightness is the path of the emperor.
Wrongness is heresy.
Your Majesty believes in Buddhism—this is a deviant heresy. The Zhu family has become utterly absurd; they believe in everything except the cabinet.
We in the cabinet are furious. Prepare yourself for rebuke!
The second: Issuing decrees improperly.
Since the founding of the dynasty, edicts must be entrusted exclusively to designated officials!
Your Majesty’s imperial edicts should be drafted by the Hanlin Academy and delivered by the Censorate. This is the duty of the civil officials!
But look at what you have done—allowing palace eunuchs, even those from various departments, to carry the edicts and handle affairs. Do you want to make our cabinet obsolete?
Most outrageous of all, you have permitted the Ministry of Palace Provisions to deliver edicts. What is the Ministry of Palace Provisions? The imperial kitchen! You let kitchen staff run around with imperial decrees—what use is our cabinet then?
Should we be cooking pots and frying dishes now?
The third: Personal audiences.
Since time immemorial, even the sagest emperors and the great ancestors, including Zhu Yuanzhang, never refused to meet ministers for political discussions. You, however, are the first!
You dismiss court immediately after a brief greeting. We have had enough!
The cabinet must have the emperor’s approval to act. If we cannot even meet you, we can do nothing. This is intolerable and must change.
The fourth: Prudence in rewards and punishments.
You lavish rewards on eunuchs and artisans, yet treat the cabinet as if we were under the secret police, imprisoning or exiling us to the frontier. Such favoritism is unjust!
The fifth: Acceptance of remonstrance.
Even when we criticize you, it is for your good. Do not reject our counsel; you must accept it humbly.
The sixth: Encouragement and protection of officials.
If the cabinet errs, you should understand, encourage, praise, and tolerate us!
Never scold us, nor show displeasure or resentment.
Otherwise, if you are unhappy, so are we.
This memorial was submitted.
Zhu Jianshen’s temper was surprisingly mild; perhaps he had grown numb from too much criticism.
Two days later, as the cabinet wished, he summoned the ministers Peng Shi, Wan An, and others to the Wenhua Hall.
Zhu Jianshen spoke bluntly:
“Salary cuts. From now on, civil officials’ stipends will be halved.”
The cabinet fell silent.
Most importantly, they had no grounds to oppose. First-rank officials in the Ming dynasty earned an annual stipend equivalent to five hundred taels of silver; second-rank nearly four hundred taels, often holding multiple posts.
Take Peng Shi, for example—he drew pay as a Grand Scholar of the Wen Yuan Pavilion and as Minister of Personnel. His official income alone reached a thousand taels.
Meanwhile, soldiers stationed at the frontiers earned barely a dozen taels a year.
Not to mention the corrupt officials with their side incomes in bribes for ice, coal, and firewood, plus extensive land holdings.
They were pure capitalists.
Yet the cabinet resisted the pay cut, jointly petitioning to reduce salaries only during years of disaster and maintain full pay in prosperous years.
But as mentioned, Emperor Xianzong would never agree. If he did, the cabinet could guarantee that the Ming would enjoy perfect harvests every year, with no more disasters.
Naturally, the emperor refused outright.
“Very well, you are defiant.”
The cabinet said nothing further.
At the end of that month, the crown prince, Zhu Youji, who had been named heir only two months prior, suddenly died without cause at the age of three.
Afterwards, Emperor Xianzong no longer summoned any ministers; if there were matters to discuss, they were to consult the Office of Ceremonies.
Zhu Jianshen’s expression darkened as he softly said,
“I have no heir. Among my brothers, is there one wise and virtuous?”
Behind him, the eunuch Zhang Min’s voice trembled slightly,
“Your Majesty, you have a six-year-old child hidden within the palace.”
Suddenly—
Zhu Jianshen’s dead, hollow eyes fixed on him, unblinking and silent.
Thud!
Zhang Min trembled violently, falling to his knees without daring to lift his head, stammering,
“Your Majesty, this humble servant would not deceive you!”
If you dare not, many others would.
Zhu Jianshen’s cold gaze weighed heavily upon him, his thoughts turning over countless possibilities.
A child brought in from outside the palace?
Meant to replace me?
He closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered,
“Take me to see him.”
“As you command!” Zhang Min’s clothes were soaked with cold sweat as he hurried without delay.
With suspicion weighing heavily upon him, Zhu Jianshen proceeded toward the Anle Hall in the inner palace.
Suddenly, at a corner,
Zhang Min froze.
Zhu Jianshen frowned, passed him to look ahead, and his mind went blank.
There stood only a single child’s figure!
Yet at the very first glance, all suspicions and doubts vanished completely!
This was his own flesh and blood, beyond question!
The little Zhu Jianshen blinked and tilted his head, standing quietly at the corner, serene and remarkably composed.
“This—this!?”
The Chenghua Emperor’s hands and feet trembled with excitement.
This child was carved from the same mold as himself!
“My son? My son!”
Zhu Jianshen took a great stride forward, speaking in broken phrases.
He cupped the boy’s face, looking again and again, growing more excited and moved to tears.
Never in his life had he imagined his son would resemble him exactly as a child, even sharing the same birthmarks and warts behind the ear...
Astounding!
Exactly the same!
The Chenghua Emperor was stunned.
Even more shocked was the eunuch Zhang Min, who was now utterly dumbfounded.
...
(Foster Father!! You promised to give praise at midnight today, I need it, I want it—even powered by love is fine, all foster fathers please help me, I beg you!!)