Chapter Sixteen: The Imperial Lecture

Chapter Sixteen: The Imperial Lectures

February arrived.

Zhu Qizhen's deep mourning had ended, though the period of national mourning was not yet over.

The capital was quiet and subdued. No weddings or banquets were allowed to take place.

The Grand Empress Dowager had already instructed the Inner Cabinet to suspend all non-urgent matters, following the precedent set in the Xuande era.

All major construction projects, except for the Xuande Emperor’s mausoleum, had been halted after disaster relief and tax exemptions were provided across the land.

Every memorial submitted by Yang Shiqi was promptly approved by the Grand Empress Dowager.

For instance, the reorganization of military affairs both inside and outside the capital, and the inspection of civil officials throughout the empire.

With the Grand Empress Dowager’s endorsement, the authority of Yang Shiqi and the Inner Cabinet increased greatly. So long as they avoided any major political disturbances, as per the Grand Empress Dowager’s instructions, Yang Shiqi and his colleagues could push forward administrative reforms—submitting proposals one after another, leaving Zhu Qizhen with little room for objection.

First, he did not fully understand many of the issues; second, even if he did, how could he compete in governance with seasoned statesmen like Yang Shiqi?

Most of the time, he merely had Wang Zhen use the vermilion brush to inscribe the character “approved” on the petitions.

However, one memorial in particular stirred a storm within the palace.

Strictly speaking, the so-called “memorial” only emerged in the Qing dynasty; in the Ming, they were called “reports.” The relationship between reports and memorials need not be elaborated here.

Generally, reports were public documents, passed up through the bureaucratic ranks, while memorials were confidential, not to be ghostwritten or shared, delivered directly to the palace.

A report consisted of a long sheet of paper, folded accordion-style. It looked like a small booklet, but could be unfolded to great length depending on the content.

Yang Shiqi’s report was titled, “Petition to Open the Imperial Lectures.”

“With utmost respect, Your Majesty has ascended the throne, succeeding the illustrious emperors above, governing the people below. To emulate the ways of Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang, and to revive the governance of the Three Dynasties, is to secure the state and ensure peace and prosperity for the ages. The foundation of this lies in devotion to the study of sage learning.”

He then cited, from the founding Emperor Taizu to the Xuande Emperor, the importance placed on sage learning, arguing forcefully that eternal peace depended on the emperor's dedication to scholarship.

Attached to the report was a supplementary letter explaining the daily lectures and the system of imperial teachings, with details of the required rituals.

Zhu Qizhen had never concerned himself with these, but as he read the schedule, he noted that on the 2nd, 12th, and 22nd of each month, imperial lectures would be held, with additional lectures on the second day of the second month and the twenty-second day of the eighth month each year.

Daily lectures, however, were to take place every day, with the lecture officials attending upon the emperor morning and evening—these were usually members of the Hanlin Academy.

Within such a system, the emperor valued the lecture officials at his side greatly. Most of them enjoyed promising futures, many rising to become members of the Inner Cabinet.

Yang Shiqi had no personal designs in making this move. By now, advanced in years, he would not last much longer, and even if Yang Rong were to gain imperial favor, by the time the emperor truly held power, Yang Shiqi would have retired to his hometown.

Yang Shiqi did not seek to make any particular impression on Zhu Qizhen, but could not allow Yang Rong to use this as leverage against him.

Thus, he preferred to introduce other favorites into the emperor’s circle. After all, Yang Rong was burdened with daily cabinet affairs and would only make an appearance at the imperial lectures, whereas the daily lecturers would be by the emperor’s side every day.

After reading it, Zhu Qizhen turned to Wang Zhen and asked, “Grand Eunuch Wang, what do you think?”

Wang Zhen replied, “The esteemed ministers of the Inner Cabinet believe my learning to be limited, so I have little to say. However, Your Majesty, as sovereign of the world, holds the fate of the realm in your hands. The study of letters is, of course, important, but it is not the primary concern.”

“Consider our founding emperor, who rose from humble beginnings with a sword in hand to conquer a vast empire; Emperor Chengzu rode out from Beijing with just eight hundred cavalry, claimed the realm in four years, campaigned north to the steppe and south to Jiaozhi; the Xuande Emperor has also made repeated tours of the frontiers.”

“Your Majesty, inheriting the legacy of the founding emperors, should learn the arts of war and command. When the time comes, lead the armies in person, spread the might of the Ming across the world—not simply read and compose essays to become a scholar.”

Zhu Qizhen smiled faintly. Had he been the nine-year-old child of history, such words would have stirred his blood. But now he merely smiled.

He already had his own ideas about the future.

“Get ready,” Zhu Qizhen said. “Prepare to go to Cining Palace. No doubt the Grand Empress Dowager will summon me soon.”

As expected, someone soon came to invite him—the Grand Empress Dowager wished to see him.

When Zhu Qizhen arrived at Cining Palace, he heard voices from within—a young girl’s voice. Upon entering, he saw a maiden of sixteen. She appeared nervous at his arrival and immediately bowed, saying, “Your Majesty.”

After paying his respects to the Grand Empress Dowager and Lady Hu, Zhu Qizhen returned the courtesy to the young lady, saying, “Greetings, Sister.”

This was the Xuande Emperor’s eldest daughter—Princess Shunde.

Daughter of Empress Hu, born in the eighteenth year of Yongle, now sixteen years old.

Zhu Qizhen had seen this sister only a few times; her face was merely familiar. Since she was born of Lady Hu, and his own mother, Lady Sun, was at odds with Lady Hu, it was only natural that Princess Shunde felt a little nervous in his presence.

The Xuande Emperor had three daughters—Princess Shunde, Princess Yongqing, and Princess Changde.

Princess Yongqing had died young, and Princess Changde, daughter of Lady Sun, was Zhu Qizhen’s own elder sister—their bond was naturally much closer.

“You’ve come at just the right time,” said the Grand Empress Dowager. “Shunde is about to be betrothed, so as her brother, you should take a look.”

“Oh?” Zhu Qizhen smiled. “May I ask who the young man is?”

“Shi Jing,” replied the Grand Empress Dowager.

Zhu Qizhen searched his memory but could not recall any prominent family by the name of Shi among the nobility.

The Grand Empress Dowager explained, “Don’t trouble yourself. His ancestor followed Emperor Taizong during the Jingnan campaign, but their merits were modest. They hold a hereditary position as Deputy Commandant in Dezhou, and have recently moved to Beijing, serving in the Imperial Guards.”

Zhu Qizhen frowned. “To give Sister to a mere Deputy Commandant seems a grave injustice.”

Before the Grand Empress Dowager could answer, Lady Hu spoke: “Thank you, Your Majesty, but Shunde has already set her heart on him.”

Zhu Qizhen glanced at Princess Shunde—not believing a word. The strict confines of the palace made it impossible for her to meet any suitor, not even at a distance—perhaps she had seen his portrait at most. But then it occurred to him why Lady Hu was so eager.

She wanted her daughter married off quickly, partly because of her age, but more so to act while the Grand Empress Dowager was still present. If the control of the harem passed to Lady Sun, she would lose all say in such matters.

Lady Hu knew well that she and Lady Sun did not get along, and although Zhu Qizhen seemed to favor her, she could not be sure if that favor would last once the Grand Empress Dowager was gone.

So rather than seek a prominent match, she chose a modest one—hoping her daughter could live peacefully ever after, not wanting a splendid marriage that would draw Lady Sun’s ire.

Even if the Grand Empress Dowager could restrain Lady Sun, the latter was still the emperor’s mother. When the Grand Empress Dowager was gone, nothing would stand in her way.

Zhu Qizhen could only sigh inwardly. “So be it. In the future, I shall find Brother-in-law a good position.”

“You two go and make preparations,” said the Grand Empress Dowager.

Lady Hu and Princess Shunde bowed and withdrew.

The Grand Empress Dowager smiled. “Your mother has also arranged a match for Changde.”

The image of Princess Changde flashed through Zhu Qizhen’s mind. He was closest to Changde, and she had always treated him with great affection. “Mother never mentioned it to me. Whose son has she chosen?”

“The Xue family,” the Grand Empress Dowager replied.

Zhu Qizhen frowned slightly. “That Xue family—is it not a Tartar family?”

Since the Yongle reign, many Mongols had served the Ming, and there was even debate among the civil officials about the wisdom of allowing so many surrendered Mongols to remain in Beijing.

Several families had been granted the surname Xue along with titles.

Although Zhu Qizhen had no prejudice against Mongols—so long as they served the court, any man would do—he could not bear to see his own sister married to one.

It was not that he looked down on the Mongols, but their customs were hard to accept—rarely bathing, they were known as “the stinking Tartars.”

The Grand Empress Dowager laughed. “Of course not. Your mother would never give Changde to a Tartar. It is the second son of Duke Yinguo.”