Chapter 105: The Second Hunt
Chapter 105: The Second Hunt
Wang Ying was certainly aware of this. Otherwise, given the temperament of the Grand Dowager Empress, how could she have consented to Zhu Qizhen’s reckless schemes? Wang Ying understood the political implications even more clearly than Zhu Qizhen himself.
Yet Wang Ying felt compelled to offer counsel.
Historically, the greatest pleasures of emperors were hunting and beauty. In truth, most tales of nations falling due to indulgence in beauty were fabricated, but stories of kingdoms perishing because of hunting were all too real.
The Liao dynasty was a prime example.
When the Jurchens rose, the Liao emperor was constantly out hunting, paying no heed to the looming threat.
Wang Ying said, “Your Majesty, today’s hunt is merely a commoner’s sport, not that of a sovereign.”
Zhu Qizhen asked, “Then what is a sovereign’s hunt?”
“A commoner’s hunt is simply leading yellow-hounds on one side and blue-hawks on the other, competing with dogs and fierce horses. But a sovereign’s hunt employs strategists and renowned generals as hawks and hounds, with the world itself as the hunting ground. Like Emperor Gao of Han, Emperor Gao of Tang, and the founding emperor—this is the true hunt of emperors,” Wang Ying explained.
Zhu Qizhen immediately understood; Wang Ying was worried he might become lost in the pleasures of hunting.
To be honest, during the recent hunt, there was indeed a certain exhilaration—a feeling not much different from playing a game. Had he been young, able to hunt every day, he might have easily become addicted.
But Zhu Qizhen’s mind was that of a mature man.
He had his own judgment on such matters.
He had long since set grand goals for himself and would never abandon them for mere pleasures.
Wang Ying’s words had served as a timely reminder.
Rising to his feet, Zhu Qizhen said, “Thank you, Master Wang. I shall remain vigilant every day.”
As they spoke, Wang Zhen returned, standing by Zhu Qizhen’s side. “Your Majesty, the matter has been dealt with.”
Zhu Qizhen sighed inwardly. He knew full well that Wang Zhen referred to several lives taken. But this was not the first time he had ordered executions; he was long accustomed to it.
By now, the hunting parties had all returned.
Immediately, someone began tallying the spoils.
Zhu Qizhen glanced at the numbers and smiled lightly. “It seems the rewards I offered are not enticing enough.”
He noticed the trick at a glance.
The top of the list belonged to the Duke of Yingguo’s household.
Zhang Zhong, Duke of Yingguo, had not participated in the hunt himself. Naturally, he could not attend such events at his age, so younger relatives represented his house.
The Duke had not been negligent about this hunt.
Zhu Qizhen knew Zhang Zhong’s health had deteriorated sharply since the fourth year of the Zhengtong reign. That he could even leave the capital signified his attitude.
No one could force the elderly Duke to compete with youths.
These past years had been difficult for the Duke.
He had taken numerous concubines, hoping for an heir, but to no avail. His only son, despite consultations with famed doctors, showed no improvement.
Many physicians had advised preparing for the inevitable, likely before the year’s end.
Under such circumstances, the Duke had largely withdrawn from court affairs.
Zhu Qizhen felt pity for Zhang Zhong. Had he been in good health, he might have been a trusted aide.
Even so, the Duke still ranked first.
Below him was the Duke of Chengguo.
The rest aligned strictly by rank.
Except for the newly ennobled Earl of Pingxi, Jiang Gui, who was absent from the capital and had no family there, the order was unblemished.
This stagnant scene irritated Zhu Qizhen.
If there had been someone orchestrating this, it might have been tolerable.
But Zhu Qizhen knew without investigation that no such coordination existed. The Duke of Yingguo had no interest in arranging anything. This was a direct sign of lethargy within the military.
If they could not even compete in hunting, what hope was there for them on the battlefield? It was a foregone conclusion.
Wang Zhen said, “Your Majesty, the subordinates do not grasp your true intent, which is why things have come to this.”
To be honest, the rewards Zhu Qizhen offered were modest—only a dozen or so exquisite swords, all finely forged by the imperial workshops.
But they represented honor.
Zhu Qizhen said, “So be it. Issue orders to arrange the willow-shooting contest tomorrow as usual. Divide the nobles and marquises into two teams; the winners shall receive generous rewards.”
Wang Zhen replied, “Understood.”
Zhu Qizhen asked, “How do you understand?”
Wang Zhen answered, “I shall arrange for their rivals to be on opposing teams.”
Only then did Zhu Qizhen nod and send him off to make the arrangements.
Though nobles were often treated as a single collective, this was misleading. If factions existed among civil officials, why not among generals? It was simply that the nobles had been in decline for years, eroded step by step by civil officials. Moreover, Zhang Fu’s prestige was the highest, so naturally others rallied behind him as their leader.
But within, there were resentments.
Even more so between founding nobles and those honored for quelling the rebellion—many personal grudges lingered. On the battlefield, who took the lead and who supported often determined who received higher titles.
Could these men not contest for glory?
For instance, during the early Ming period, the son of Chang Yuchun drew his sword on Feng Guosheng, despite their kinship.
Take the recent Pingxi battle: Jiang Gui made his name and was ennobled as Earl of Pingxi, but Ren Li, who followed him, gained not a single feather in his cap.
Yet Ren Li harbored no resentment against Jiang Gui.
There was also tension between the Tartar and Han officers. Most Tartars had surrendered from the steppes. Emperor Taizong treated them well to encourage defections, but their prolonged stay in Beijing drew the ire of many civil officials, not to mention the generals.
Enemies once faced on the battlefield now bowed their heads together as comrades.
No collective could withstand such scrutiny.
In other matters, Wang Zhen might not have behaved flawlessly, but when it came to sowing discord, he was an expert. He promptly set the plan in motion.
He divided the nobles into left and right factions, each led by a respected general—preferably a younger man. Then, in sequence, representatives from each faction would compete in the willow-shooting contest.
Victory would be evident immediately.
The team that performed best would receive commendations.
Wang Zhen’s key strategy lay here: those chosen were unwilling to lose, especially not to their rivals—losing to anyone else was acceptable, but not to each other.
Once arranged, the list was sent to the Dukes of Yingguo and Chengguo.
Duke Zhu Yong of Chengguo glanced over it and said, “It seems His Majesty is displeased with today’s situation?”
Zhang Fu looked on and said, “Indeed, I am also dissatisfied. The Emperor clearly wants to test the mettle of the younger generation. Yet the subordinates have made this dull and predictable. How could His Majesty be satisfied?”
“This time, even I did not expect His Majesty to be so bold as to personally execute the head of Adai Khan.”
Zhang Fu still felt a surge of emotion recalling the pursuit and killing of Adai Khan, orchestrated by Zhu Qizhen. What stirred him was not the Emperor’s resolve but his luck.
Zhang Fu was an old campaigner, having fought north and south. He knew well how difficult it was to locate a single man on the vast steppes.
The greatest problem when Emperor Taizong led campaigns beyond the Great Wall was not defeating the enemy, but finding them.
The Ming cavalry could defeat foes without difficulty—the real challenge was tracking them down.
Even with a skilled guide, it was easy to get lost in the endless grasslands.
This time, relying solely on the intelligence of the Embroidered Uniform Guards, they had launched a thousand-mile raid, beheaded Adai Khan, and returned under pursuit by the Wala people.
No matter how Zhang Fu looked at it, the Emperor’s luck was extraordinary.
This only deepened Zhang Fu’s respect for Zhu Qizhen. He did not dismiss it as mere chance.
Veteran generals understood that on the battlefield, there was no luck—fortune was itself a form of strength, for so many factors determined victory or defeat. Many generals were deeply superstitious.
They believed in the saying: “Man plans, Heaven decides.”
Zhu Qizhen’s near-suicidal mission had succeeded so smoothly that Zhang Fu became convinced of one thing: the Mandate of Heaven rested with the Ming; their fortunes were on the rise.
Thus, Zhang Fu withdrew more and more from politics, refraining from interference, intending to let military power and influence gradually wane under his watch.
Yet, he had not anticipated that his hands-off approach would lead to such an ugly state of affairs below.