Chapter Ten: Lord Jian Departs

Chapter Ten: The Departure of Grand Mentor Jian

Zhu Qizhen had anticipated this scene and said, “Grand Mentor Jian, speak your mind—I am listening.”

Grand Mentor Jian’s trembling, withered hand gripped Zhu Qizhen’s. That hand, so thin and frail, with every joint protruding, dark and marked with age spots, contrasted sharply with the emperor’s own fair and tender fingers. The old man’s expression suggested he was using all the strength he had left, yet Zhu Qizhen felt only the gentlest of grasps, as if a simple movement would free him. Grand Mentor Jian spoke: “I know the Grand Empress Dowager is a formidable woman. I understand a little of her intentions and struggles, but she is nothing like Empress Lü. The world has already recognized Your Majesty’s ascension; as long as you hold to integrity and virtue, no one in this realm can threaten your throne. Draw close to the Grand Empress Dowager; even if it means entertaining her in filial piety, it is worth it. As long as harmony reigns between the two palaces, the realm will be at peace.”

Even in this moment, Zhu Qizhen saw that Grand Mentor Jian’s thoughts were for the state, for his emperor. Now, he understood why both his grandfather and father had held Jian in such high esteem. Unable to suppress his curiosity, he asked, “What are your thoughts on Prince Xiang?”

This matter was at the heart of both Zhu Qizhen’s and the Grand Empress Dowager’s concerns.

Though the Grand Empress Dowager claimed she had only taken Prince Xiang’s jade book to have him oversee state affairs as a prince, Zhu Qizhen could not fully trust her motives. Whether he believed her or not, the present circumstances forced him to accept it.

“It is better for Your Majesty to feign ignorance about certain matters,” Grand Mentor Jian coughed violently, then said, “Your Majesty need only remember: you are now the emperor. Do not trouble yourself with trifles.”

Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, Zhu Qizhen could not hide his anxiety from Grand Mentor Jian.

“These are but minor matters,” the old man insisted. “Your Majesty is the ruler of a nation; patience is your greatest ally. In time, all under heaven will be yours.”

“Do you mean I should do nothing?” Zhu Qizhen asked.

Since ascending the throne, Zhu Qizhen had been filled with plans—reforming the military, purging officialdom, shifting grain transport to sea, establishing a province in Liaodong to end the Jurchen threat, and much more. Seen from a future perspective, there was so much to be done.

“Exactly,” Grand Mentor Jian replied. “The more you do, the more mistakes you make; the less you do, the fewer errors; do nothing, and no errors at all. As long as Your Majesty avoids mistakes and cultivates virtue, when the day comes for you to govern directly, you will achieve greatness.”

“Until then, do nothing but be a filial son.”

Zhu Qizhen understood. If he did nothing and devoted himself to serving the Grand Empress Dowager, as long as she protected him, no one in the realm could threaten his position. And after all, she was already advanced in years—how long could she possibly live? She was not much younger than Grand Mentor Jian himself.

Time is merciless; it beats down on all.

Xia Yuanji, Jie Jin, Jian Yi, the three Yangs, even Emperor Renzong—they were all of a similar age, men of the same era. Time had already claimed Jie Jin, who died an unnatural death, and Xia Yuanji, who perished in the fifth year of Xuande. Jian Yi, his equal, was unlikely to survive the present crisis either. The three Yangs and the Grand Empress Dowager—how much longer could they hold on?

Age was Zhu Qizhen’s greatest advantage.

But this kind of stifling wait was not what he desired. He asked, “Does Grand Mentor Jian have any arrangements for your descendants? I can make provisions for them.”

“No need.” Grand Mentor Jian immediately sensed Zhu Qizhen’s reluctance and sighed inwardly, saying no more. “My family has enjoyed enough grace. Even if my descendants are not accomplished, they will want for nothing. Your Majesty need not trouble yourself.”

Grand Mentor Jian seemed weary, reclining against his bedding, half asleep. Zhu Qizhen called softly, “Grand Mentor Jian? Grand Mentor Jian?” Suddenly, the old man’s hand slipped from Zhu Qizhen’s wrist and fell onto the brocade quilt.

Wang Zhen, who had been standing behind Grand Mentor Jian, stepped forward to check, then whispered to Zhu Qizhen, “Your Majesty, restrain your grief—Grand Mentor Jian has passed.”

With his passing, one of the last officials to have entered service in the Hongwu era was gone. His death signaled the end of that age, now slowly crystallizing into history. Zhu Qizhen knew it was not appropriate for him, as emperor, to remain in the Jian residence; it would only complicate the mourning rites.

Jian’s children had long been prepared for this moment.

After all, the old patriarch had reached a great age.

Amidst the sound of mourning, Zhu Qizhen departed.

The imperial cabinet swiftly issued honors: Grand Mentor Jian was posthumously awarded the titles of Senior Grand Master of Ceremonies, Grand Preceptor, and the posthumous name Loyal and Steadfast.

His death, amid the national mourning for the late emperor, attracted little attention—white mourning banners already blanketed the capital.

On the way back to the palace, Zhu Qizhen fell into deep thought.

He pondered Grand Mentor Jian’s advice and found it sound. Following this path, he would surely reach full regency smoothly. By then, no matter what happened, nobody would be able to depose him.

Still, there was a sense of dissatisfaction.

Another matter troubled him even more. Jian Yi and Xia Yuanji had been the leading ministers of the Yongle era; one had died in the fifth year of Xuande, the other now in the tenth. The three Yangs were perhaps a little younger, but they too were old. How much longer could they endure?

Even Zhang Fu, once the youthful general who replaced the commander in the campaign against Annam, was now old—that had been over thirty years ago. Among the heroes of the Jingnan campaign, Zhang Fu was still considered young, yet he too had aged.

That whole generation of officials, who had risen in the late Hongwu, Jianwen, and early Yongle reigns, had sustained the Ming dynasty through thirty years of storms. Now, one by one, their time was ending.

But who would succeed them?

The phrase surfaced in Zhu Qizhen’s mind: “The torch will not pass in time.”

History showed a strange phenomenon: talent rarely appeared singly, but rather in waves, just as with the current group of Hongwu and Xuande statesmen. The three Yangs would have been considered outstanding talents in any era of Ming history.

Suddenly, Zhu Qizhen recalled a name: Yu Qian.

He vaguely remembered that, years later, after the Tumu Crisis, Yu Qian would be Minister of War. But he did not know what position Yu Qian now held.

Still, this matter was not urgent; he would simply keep an eye out.

Unconsciously, Zhu Qizhen was starting to adapt to his role as emperor.

Upon his return, someone reported that the Empress Dowager had repeatedly sent for news of his whereabouts.

Zhu Qizhen knew his mother’s mood had been unsettled lately, likely because he, her son, had grown distant from her, drawing closer to the Grand Empress Dowager.

Before, he had always stayed by Lady Sun’s side. When Emperor Xuanzong lived, Lady Sun could rely on his favor and maintain her own power in the palace. But with Xuanzong’s death, the entire palace had been transformed by the Grand Empress Dowager into a fortress of discipline. Any hint of disloyalty, from anyone, was punished immediately.

In the brief days between Emperor Xuanzong’s death and Zhu Qizhen’s accession, countless people vanished from the palace without a sound.

It was not so much that the Grand Empress Dowager targeted Lady Sun, but that, in such extraordinary times, strictness was essential.

Nevertheless, Lady Sun feared these purges signaled her own downfall. In this moment, her only support was her son, Zhu Qizhen.

It was not that he avoided her, but as emperor in mourning, Zhu Qizhen was compelled by many rituals to appear in public. The rest of the time, he stayed close to the Grand Empress Dowager to reassure her.

Now, with the twenty-seven days of mourning nearly at an end, Zhu Qizhen finally had time to visit his mother.

Glancing at the sky, he saw he still had some time. He ordered Wang Zhen to lead the way to the Palace of Earthly Tranquility. Recently, Zhu Qizhen had been resting in a side hall of the Palace of Heavenly Purity, so it was only a short walk to the Palace of Earthly Tranquility.

Word of his approach reached Lady Sun before he arrived. She sent a trusted servant to escort him. The moment Zhu Qizhen entered, Lady Sun could contain herself no longer—she threw her arms around him, almost smothering him in her embrace, and cried out, “My son—!”

And tears began to flow.