Volume One, The Young Dragon Opens Its Eyes Chapter 142: Mountains Divide, Seas Separate

Chapter 142: Mountains Divide, Seas Separate

Wang Wen spoke, “There are now traitors who, with reckless haste, go against the ancestral teachings. Though they are already dead and should not be pursued further, I implore Your Majesty to reaffirm these ancestral precepts to set the record straight.”

Chen Wen listened for a long while and understood in his heart that he had been drawn into a trap.

Was he here today to discuss the vassal kings?

In a way, yes.

But that was not the main point. The primary concern was to uphold the national policy long advocated by the Empress Dowager — to rest and recuperate the realm, rather than revert to the circumstances of the Yongle era.

The elders who had witnessed the Yongle period knew well what it was truly like.

Leaving aside the extensive damage of large-scale wars on the populace — campaigns to the south in Annam, expeditions to the northern deserts — if the people had not been overburdened, Tang Saier’s rebellion would never have escalated so greatly.

Simply put, the militarization and consequent rise in status of generals was something they opposed.

After the Hongxi reign, the status of civil officials rose dramatically, exemplified by figures like Wang Ji.

As the foremost civil official leading troops in the Ming dynasty, Wang Ji extended the influence of civil officials into the military. The Five-Army Command gradually lost its functions, becoming almost a department for retirement.

Whether judged by political ideals or practical interests, this was unacceptable to Wang Wen.

When Wang Wen spoke of nations not to be conquered for fifteen years, he echoed the expansionist principles of the founding emperor. The emperor’s original words were: “The various barbarian tribes beyond the four seas are separated by mountains and seas, inhabiting remote corners. Their lands cannot sufficiently sustain them, nor their peoples be compelled to obey. If they recklessly disturb our borders, it is ill fortune on their part. If they do not trouble China, but we rashly send troops, that too is unfortunate. I fear that future generations, relying on China’s wealth and strength, will greedily seek fleeting military glory, unjustly waging wars and causing loss of life. This must be strictly avoided.”

Yet, the same words were interpreted differently by different people.

In the minds of civil officials, the explanation was clear — like Emperor Taizu of Song crossing the great Dadu River with a jade axe — to abandon distant, costly-to-govern regions.

But the generals understood otherwise.

Zhang Fu loudly declared, “Minister Wang, your words are mistaken. What the founding emperor meant was that these lands would not become a threat to China, and so sharing peace with them is not without merit. Yet Emperor Taizong’s campaign against Annam was because they killed our envoys. The Tatars and the Wala are hereditary foes. If I wished to share peace with them, they would not agree.”

“That absurd rabble in Luchuan dare to insult the great nation. This shows the nature of these barbarians. They fear power but lack virtue, so righteousness and benevolence cannot be expected. This was the grand campaign of Emperor Taizong.”

“The founding emperor said their lands could not sustain them, and their peoples could not be commanded, thus they were nations not to be conquered. That is the policy of a coward. Replacing their lands with vassal states, a hundred years hence, is not impossible. To transform barbarians into subjects — this is the teaching and civilizing work of the sage.”

“This is a strategy that achieves the best of both worlds.”

“What is so impossible about it?”

Wang Wen retorted firmly, “Duke of Ying, you speak grandly, but do you not realize that once war breaks out, the people are burdened with transport duties, and soldiers perish in the trenches? With the lives and loyalty of countless civilians and the heads of soldiers, you exchange the honor of a surname. Have you forgotten the twenty years of warfare in Annam that disturbed the entire realm? Now you wish to repeat the same mistakes. Does the Duke of Ying think not enough people have died?”

Zhang Fu’s face flushed red with rage.

At this moment, Wang Wen struck a vulnerable nerve in Zhang Fu, who had enjoyed smooth sailing his entire life as the foremost general of the realm, yet harbored two deep pains.

One was the abandonment of Annam, which wasted half a lifetime of his achievements. The other was the death of Zhang Zhong, upon whom he had pinned his hopes for fame and success.

Wang Wen’s words hit both wounds at once, truly enraging Zhang Fu.

Grabbing his collar, Zhang Fu tore his official robe open, revealing a white inner garment. As he began to pull it aside, his chest was revealed, covered with scars and old wounds, none of them unmarred.

Clenching his teeth, Zhang Fu said, “I, Zhang, followed my father into battle at fifteen, killing enemies. This title of Duke of Ying was earned by my late father’s sacrifice in battle and my own tenacious survival. Minister Wang, since you know the hardships of war, why do you not consider the suffering of the soldiers? Yesterday we abandoned Annam, today Daining, tomorrow the Nurqan Command, then Hami’s fortified garrisons. These useless lands were won by us in countless battles, yet you discard them with a single word.”

“The burial grounds of our soldiers are all in foreign lands. Is this what you call reason?”

“Do you not wonder how you will face Emperor Taizong in the afterlife?”

Zhang Fu’s words were like blades, his gaze blazing, leaving Wang Wen momentarily speechless.

Wang Wen’s throat moved slightly as he said, “That is not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?” Zhang Fu demanded. “Allow me to speak plainly: today the Wala have united with the Tatars, becoming masters of the steppe. Although Tu Huan is dead, he was never a trivial opponent. Within a decade or less, the Wala will inevitably move south.”

“Whether Minister Wang wants war or not, war is coming.”

“If war is coming, we must think carefully. The abandonment of Annam must be explained: was it because we failed to root out the evil, or because some people failed to win the hearts of the people, causing twenty years of continuous war and exhausting the nation’s strength?”

“Indeed,” Duke Cheng Zhu Neng exclaimed loudly, “why was Huang Fu’s governance in Jiaozhi peaceful, but after his departure, chaos erupted? We must clarify who deserves credit and who deserves blame.”

The Empress Dowager suddenly spoke.

Her voice was low but firm, and upon her utterance, everyone below bowed respectfully, unwilling to speak further.

She coughed softly and said, “Old grievances have little value now. We must look forward. The lessons from Emperor Taizong’s time are clear: merits are merits, faults are faults. We must identify and mend our shortcomings. Most importantly, we must not repeat past mistakes.”

The abandonment of Annam occurred during Emperor Xuanzong’s reign. It is impossible to undo history now. Digging up old grievances will only sow further chaos.

“Understood,” Zhang Fu said, donning his robe and bowing.

Zhu Qizhen quickly said, “Minister Wang, Zhang Zhong’s memorial is but a reference. Even if you disagree, the court must have a clear policy.”

“Take today’s battle at Luchuan, for example. Luchuan is remote, with deep mountains and thick forests. It is easy to lose a large army there but difficult to eliminate the threat. South of Luchuan lies Burma, a remote region that scorns the court.”

“If Luchuan is destroyed, Burma benefits most. Removing one rival, Burma would dominate the southern border. To suppress Burma, the court must station heavy troops in Yunnan, leading to endless transport and warfare. Meanwhile, the Wala threaten the north.”

“Direct administration by the prefectures is untenable. Dividing land among local chieftains results in weak forces unable to resist Burma. Yet empowering a single chieftain too greatly raises the risk that today’s loyal servant might become tomorrow’s traitor.”

“If Luchuan is abandoned, Dali is endangered, and Yunnan nearly lost. We cannot advance, nor retreat.”

“I too am caught between a rock and a hard place. Even if you all do not mention Zhang Zhong’s memorial, I will find time to discuss this with you. This matter must reach a conclusion.”

Zhu Qizhen’s words magnified the difficulty.

Burma in these times was not yet the Burma of later centuries; Luchuan dared to challenge them outright. Destroying Luchuan and deploying Ming troops to the southern border would, for years or even decades, compel local chieftains to respect the might of the Ming.

As for the long term, that was uncertain.

Many officials, unless intimately familiar with the realities, did not fully understand the situation in Luchuan. At least, not in detail.

Even in He Wenyuan’s memorials, there were obvious errors.

But this was not their fault.

After all, as emperor, Zhu Qizhen received far more comprehensive information than his ministers. The Eastern Depot and the Embroidered Uniform Guards were his eyes and ears; the imperial secret archives were his repository.

Many eunuchs who had been trained in the inner halls served Zhu Qizhen directly.

The ministers below did not have such resources.

Of course, not all ministers were unaware of this truth. Yang Rong, at least, was keenly aware.

As the chief strategist during Emperor Xuanzong’s reign, Yang Rong had a commanding understanding of the realm’s situation. Zhu Qizhen’s petty tricks might deceive others but not him.

But why did Yang Rong seek to undermine Zhu Qizhen?

In recent years, Zhu Qizhen had consistently shown reliance on Yang Rong, who naturally wished to draw closer to the emperor and even aimed to use Zhu Qizhen to overthrow Yang Shiqi and become prime minister himself.

So he feigned ignorance, allowing Zhu Qizhen to speak.

Perhaps some ministers suspected Zhu Qizhen’s words were flawed, but as long as they were not foolish, they would not dare expose the emperor outright.

One after another, they fell silent. It was unclear whether they truly did not know what to do or were merely playing dumb.