Chapter Thirty-One: Jiaozhi and the Western Seas

Chapter Thirty-One: Jiaozhi and the Western Seas

The summer of the tenth year of the Xuande era was unusually hot. Yet in the early morning, before sunrise, a cool freshness still lay over the paving stones of the Forbidden City, making everything feel invigorating.

A group of more than a hundred people, led by Wang Zhen, walked between the red walls. At the very front was Zhang Zhong, followed by Shi Jing. Behind Shi Jing marched the sons of various noble families, including members of the Sun and Zhang families, who were related to the imperial clan. Nearly a third of those present, however, were not from the circle of nobles; these were true experts in martial arts—not quite invincible, but certainly the kind of men who could charge into battle and hold their own time and again.

As they walked, Wang Zhen spoke: “While you serve in the Palace of Heavenly Purity, you must maintain proper decorum. Your area of activity is strictly limited to the Palace of Heavenly Purity; you are forbidden from entering any other place, especially the harem. If you break this rule and lose your head, dragging your family down with you, do not say I didn’t warn you.”

“These four characters—‘palace gate strict as forest’—are written in blood,” Wang Zhen continued. “Do you know the name Hu Mei? If not, go and find out. Don’t die without knowing why.”

Each of these guards was striking in appearance; in ancient times, even officials were chosen for their bearing, to say nothing of those serving close to the emperor. The case of Hu Mei was decades past, a matter from the Hongwu reign, and many present knew nothing of it—but Zhang Zhong understood well.

Hu Mei, originally named Hu Tingrui, had changed his name to avoid using a character from Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang’s name. He was once a great general under Chen Youliang, stationed in Jiangxi. When Zhu Yuanzhang sought his surrender, Hu Mei insisted that his troops not be disbanded. Zhu was initially reluctant, but Liu Bowen, from behind, kicked his imperial seat, prompting him to agree.

Afterward, Hu Mei joined forces with Xu Da, attacking Wuchang, then moving on to campaigns in Fujian and Guangdong, earning great merit; one of his daughters even married Zhu Yuanzhang. Yet, because Hu Mei’s son entered the palace without authorization and was rumored to have improper relations with someone inside, the entire Hu family was executed. Once a founding general, not even his reputation survived.

Most of the guards did not know this story, but those from noble families with deep traditions, like Zhang Zhong, understood its significance. The mood instantly grew somber, especially as they approached the Palace of Heavenly Purity. None dared to breathe too loudly.

One hundred and twenty men, arrayed in two columns, each dressed in brocade uniforms, long swords at their waists, their armor gleaming.

Wang Zhen entered briefly, and soon a young eunuch led them inside. Emperor Zhu Qizhen had already risen. The group immediately prostrated themselves and said, “Greetings, Your Majesty.”

Zhu Qizhen waved his hand and said, “Rise.”

Wang Zhen, standing nearby, quietly introduced each person to Zhu Qizhen.

Although Zhu Qizhen had already seen the list of names, he knew that written names did not always match the impression of the real person. Scanning them, he noticed a clear distinction: the sons of nobility, well-versed in palace etiquette from childhood, and another group, who clearly faltered in observing the proper rituals. Zhu Qizhen immediately realized that only these dozens of men were true fighters.

He pointed to one burly man and said, “You, step forward and announce your name.”

The man’s voice boomed like a bell: “Your servant is Zhang Dachuan, centurion of Zunhua Garrison.”

Zhu Qizhen checked the name against his list and said, “Zhang Dachuan, I recall you were promoted by the late emperor.”

Zhang Dachuan replied loudly, “Yes, Your Majesty. In the third year of the Xuande reign, I served as a night patrolman. With only ten or so men, I fought the Tartar raiders, beheaded four, and the rest fled. The late emperor heard of this and promoted me. Truth be told, if not for my poor horse that day, not one of the Tartars would have escaped.”

Zhu Qizhen could tell that Zhang Fu had put real thought into this selection. A man who could face a dozen enemies in the wild and emerge victorious was no ordinary soldier. If Zhang Dachuan was of this caliber, the rest of the non-noble guards must also be formidable.

More importantly, all these men had been personally promoted by Emperor Xuanzong. Had Xuanzong lived for decades more, these men might have become founding heroes, following in the footsteps of those who had established the dynasty. Their loyalty to Emperor Xuanzong was beyond doubt, and now that loyalty would transfer to Zhu Qizhen himself.

Zhu Qizhen said, “Commander Zhang, let Shi Jing and Zhang Dachuan serve as your deputies.”

Zhang Zhong immediately replied, “As Your Majesty commands.”

The 120 guards were split into two shifts for day and night duty. Zhang Zhong, because his father was the Duke of Britain, was appointed as chief commander of the palace guards. Yet Zhu Qizhen knew that Zhang Zhong’s health wouldn’t allow him to stand watch day and night; true authority would rest with his two deputies: Shi Jing, the future imperial son-in-law, whom he could trust, and Zhang Dachuan, chosen for his humble origins with no ties to the noble class.

Had Emperor Xuanzong not promoted him, Zhang Dachuan would still be a mere night patrolman. Judging by his current rank after six or seven years, it was clear he had no powerful patrons above him.

Zhu Qizhen instructed Zhang Zhong to arrange the palace guards, then summoned him for a private audience.

Zhang Zhong was thin and frail, but in Zhu Qizhen’s presence, he was impeccably respectful. Zhu Qizhen noticed sweat at his temples. Even though it was summer, the morning air was still cool; the armor, sword, and gear were clearly a burden to him.

Seeing this, Zhu Qizhen felt uneasy. On one hand, Zhang Fu had rendered great service to the realm, yet his descendants were so weak; clearly, the Duke of Britain’s household could not bear the mantle much longer. That household was a pillar supporting the nobles against the civil officials. Once Zhang Fu was gone and the family line failed, who would check the power of the scholar-officials?

On the other hand, Zhu Qizhen privately felt a hint of relief. Zhang Fu, as the foremost military hero of his age, commanded immense prestige and experience, and his battle honors were unmatched. Even now, though semi-retired and serving only as an advisor in the Grand Secretariat, he could not be entirely trusted by the emperor. If Zhang Fu’s sons and grandsons had all been outstanding, Zhu Qizhen would have been even more uneasy. Now, with the empire in a precarious state and Zhang Fu’s only son so feeble, Zhu Qizhen felt all the more secure. If Zhang Fu ever rebelled, he would only be paving the way for others—so why worry?

Thus, Zhu Qizhen’s manner toward Zhang Zhong was all the more gracious.

He immediately offered him a seat. Once they were settled, Zhu Qizhen handed a memorial to Wang Zhen, who then passed it on to Zhang Zhong. Zhu Qizhen said, “Earlier, the Grand Secretariat submitted a memorial regarding those who abandoned Jiaozhi, the traitors still imprisoned, asking how they should be dealt with.”

“Eunuch Wang often says that the loss of Jiaozhi is the greatest regret of our dynasty.”

“Your father quelled Jiaozhi several times and knows the region well. At the time, he alone opposed the decision to abandon it. Now, seeing you here, I wish to ask—what is your view of the matter?”

Zhang Zhong immediately understood what to say, sensing the emperor’s inclination from his tone. It was simple: Zhang Fu’s greatest achievements had been in Jiaozhi, and everyone knew his stance. As his son, he would never contradict his father.

He replied, “Your Majesty, common opinion holds that the fall of the Chen dynasty in Jiaozhi was the reason our dynasty conquered the region. Yet at that same time, the Yi dynasty in Korea also usurped the throne—why did Emperor Yongle not campaign against Korea, but instead attack Jiaozhi?”

“Was Jiaozhi’s crime greater? Not so. It was that Emperor Yongle, in directing his armies south, had his sights set on the Southern Seas.”

“Emperor Yongle dispatched the Grand Eunuch of the Three Treasures to voyage to the Western Oceans at the very same time as the campaign against Jiaozhi. These were two sides of the same coin. The aim was not to covet Jiaozhi’s territory, but to subdue it in order to awe the Southern and Western Seas, using the lands south of Jiaozhi as a base for the imperial navy—barely a step from the Southern Seas. With just a single elite force stationed there, the Southern Seas would fall within our grasp.”

“The Han and Tang dynasties extended their reach to the Western Regions; that was their glory. Now, the Western Regions are barren and indefensible—worthless to us. Therefore, Emperor Yongle wished to seize the Southern Seas, to bring forth a new era of glory for our dynasty. That was his true intention.”

“Now that Jiaozhi is lost, within a few years, all that the Grand Eunuch of the Three Treasures accomplished has been erased. To lose Jiaozhi is to lose the Southern and Western Seas as well.”