Chapter 113: Discussing Lu Chuan, Part Four

Chapter 113: Discussing the Luchuan Issue, Part Four

“Martial arts?” Zhu Qizhen asked, “How do we begin?”

Martial arts, after all, were not entirely novel in China; they had existed since the Song dynasty. Yet, throughout the ages, martial arts had mostly been superficial displays.

True military strategy and scholarship were not something one could learn through martial arts alone.

Wang Ji quickly interjected, “Since the court has tightened the rules on hereditary succession, there have been pleas for leniency. These families are descendants of meritorious officials; it would be unreasonable to bar them all from inheriting their positions.”

“My suggestion is to offer them a way out. Those who fail the succession examination could study martial arts until they pass.”

“If they still cannot succeed, then the court cannot be blamed for being harsh. Their families might also send others to try.”

Zhu Qizhen felt a tinge of disappointment upon hearing this.

It turned out Wang Ji’s idea was merely a crash course in hereditary succession, not the military academy Zhu Qizhen had envisioned.

Still, upon reflection, Wang Ji’s proposal had practical reasons.

Indeed, households with hereditary command positions—be they commanders of a thousand or a hundred troops—though not noble titles, effectively held the same status as minor nobility.

These families were pillars of the Ming dynasty’s meritocratic aristocracy and, by extension, the foundation of the realm itself.

If the criteria were too stringent, leaving none to succeed, the issue became political rather than academic.

Wang Ji’s approach seemed like a compromise, but it had its merits.

Politics itself often involved such compromises, though achieving harmony was never easy.

Zhu Qizhen said, “Very well. Upon your return, draft a proposal so that I may consider it carefully.”

Regarding the matter of opening the sea, Zhu Qizhen had realized that as emperor, it was best to act as an arbiter rather than intervening directly. Yet he could still steer matters toward the outcome he desired.

He had already prepared a modified version of Wang Ji’s suggestion.

When Wang Ji returned from Yunnan, he would scarcely believe that this plan originated from his own ideas. Regardless of how the matter unfolded, as its instigator, he would have to support it.

After seeing Wang Ji off, Zhu Qizhen reviewed additional memorials and instructed his aides to bring the resumes of all the ministers.

In truth, Zhu Qizhen had examined these documents multiple times, even those of the deputy ministers.

Tomorrow would be his first solo appearance before the court; he needed to prepare thoroughly.

At that moment, Wang Zhen said, “Your Majesty, the heir to the Duke of Ying has arrived.”

Hearing this, Zhu Qizhen’s heart stirred. “Why has he come?”

When it came to Zhang Zhong, Zhu Qizhen was filled with a mixture of admiration and sorrow.

Zhang Zhong’s health was deteriorating. In the first year of the Zhengtong era, he visited the palace every three to five days; later, only once every ten to fifteen days; this year, barely once a month.

Each time he arrived, his complexion grew paler.

Zhu Qizhen often urged him to rest, but Zhang Zhong refused.

Still, Zhu Qizhen greatly valued him.

Zhang Zhong was one of his strongest supporters and advisors on external expansion.

From him, Zhu Qizhen received unique insights and analyses of military intelligence.

No matter how highly Yang Rong or Wang Ji boasted of their military knowledge, they did not mingle with the nobility; their perspectives differed.

Civil officials often held superior strategic control compared to generals, a fact that could not be denied. Yet when it came to leading hundreds or thousands in battle, civil officials were powerless.

Zhang Zhong was both a scholar and a warrior; he could discuss any matter with Zhu Qizhen on equal footing.

Whatever military ideas Zhu Qizhen entertained, Zhang Zhong always offered reliable counsel.

When Zhang Zhong entered, Zhu Qizhen was startled.

His face was as pale as paper, his movements labored, as if each step required support.

Zhu Qizhen promptly said, “Please be seated.”

Once the young eunuch helped Zhang Zhong settle into a soft chair, Zhu Qizhen remarked, “Your health is poor; do not rush to the palace. If you have matters, send a memorial instead.”

Zhang Zhong coughed twice and said, “I am well aware my body is failing; it is only a matter of time. Yet I have heard Your Majesty is troubled over the Luchuan affairs. I have come today to ease Your Majesty’s burden.”

Zhu Qizhen said, “You have heard of the Luchuan situation. Speak freely—what solutions do you propose?”

Zhang Zhong produced a memorial from his robes and handed it to Wang Zhen, who then passed it to Zhu Qizhen.

Upon opening it, Zhu Qizhen saw three words unrelated to Luchuan: “On Feudalism.”

He glanced up at Zhang Zhong, then carefully read the entire memorial.

This essay was not about Luchuan per se, but about the political and strategic ecology of the Ming.

It began with Confucian theory and the founding emperor’s enfeoffment policy, explaining that commandery-county and feudal systems were just two methods of governance. Neither commandery-county was absolutely right, nor feudalism inherently wrong.

One must adapt according to circumstances.

Just reading this introduction, Zhu Qizhen felt admiration—it was as if the founding emperor himself was being wielded to support the argument.

Regardless of whether the founding emperor’s enfeoffment of princes was right or wrong, in the Ming court, the founding emperor’s system was political orthodoxy.

When the court’s officials read these words, they likely had countless criticisms but could only keep their grievances to themselves.

The memorial went on to critique past dynasties’ mismanagement of the Western Regions, analyzing why those territories were repeatedly gained and lost.

It noted the instability of the southwest and attributed it to the great distance from the central government.

Therefore, in regions beyond the court’s reach, where ethnic minorities predominated, feudal enfeoffment was preferable to commandery-county governance.

In particular, it cited the abandonment of Annam as a grave mistake.

It then compared Ming border affairs, contrasting the Yongle era’s grand campaigns with Emperor Renzong and Xuanzong’s retreats from the steppes and seas.

The text described the simultaneous unrest caused by the Waci, Luchuan, and Tatars, which exhausted the court’s military resources.

It calculated that with 220,000 troops and the various stipends of imperial relatives, as well as the potential future numbers of such relatives, the court’s limited resources could not indefinitely support an unlimited number of royal clansmen.

Moreover, it pointed out that the local chieftains in the southwest held as much power as the feudal princes.

Could the descendants of the founding emperors be less reliable than these southwestern “barbarians”?

Hence, the memorial proposed a feudal strategy.

In areas beyond the court’s effective control and where peace could not be secured, feudal princes should be established to govern.

It outlined a system for these princes, who resembled the princes of the Han dynasty.

Within their domains, they would have a “prime minister,” appointed by central ministers, while other officials would be appointed by the princes themselves.

These princes would also owe tribute to the central government.

Zhang Zhong acknowledged that these princes would likely have limited wealth, as the territories suitable for enfeoffment were hardly prosperous.

Truly desirable lands had long been organized under commandery-county administration.

Finally, Zhang Zhong sketched the future borders: neighboring states surrounding the court, serving as buffers.

Foreign invaders would have to defeat these states first.

The buffer states’ armies would be defensive, while the court’s forces could maneuver beyond them to counterattack.

If victorious, the court could relocate these states, incorporating their lands as inland commanderies.

After finishing the memorial, Zhu Qizhen said, “A remarkable treatise. Minister Zhang truly plans state policy for the court.”

Zhang Zhong coughed and said, “Your Majesty is wise; I am but the scribe.”

Zhu Qizhen understood that many ideas here had been discussed between him and Zhang Zhong, such as the number of feudal princes.

Yet even so, it did not diminish Zhang Zhong’s talent.

To organize scattered knowledge into a coherent, systemic essay was itself a great skill.

Zhu Qizhen’s heart stirred as he reread the memorial, then asked, “It seems, Minister Zhang, that you propose enfeoffing a prince in Luchuan. But whom do you have in mind?”

Zhang Zhong replied, “In my opinion, Prince Xiang is most suitable.”

At the mention of Prince Xiang, Zhu Qizhen immediately frowned. “He is the favored son of the Empress Dowager; I fear that would be impossible.”

Zhang Zhong said, “Precisely because Prince Xiang is the Empress Dowager’s favored son, he is suitable.”