Chapter Forty: It Is Exactly This Kind of Person Who Prevents Rulers from Approaching Confucian Ministers

Chapter Forty: The Reason Sovereigns Shun Confucian Ministers Lies in These Men

As the Grand Empress Dowager had predicted, her foresight proved true.

Zhu Qizhen scarcely had any time to attend to palace affairs. After he had merely acquainted himself with the chief officials of the twenty departments and distinguished their respective duties, he found little opportunity to concern himself with much else.

The main reason was that Li Shimian’s lessons were too demanding. Li Shimian, exemplary as a teacher—upright and stern—devoted himself wholeheartedly to Zhu Qizhen’s education. He could discern Zhu Qizhen’s progress with only a few probing questions. The daily assignments were almost tailor-made, leaving Zhu Qizhen with no spare time, especially as he strove to keep abreast of state affairs.

Although he had no place in the governance of the court, he could hardly remain ignorant of what transpired upon it.

“If I wish for more freedom, I must replace Li Shimian,” Zhu Qizhen mused privately. “But how?”

Wang Zhen had no shortage of mischievous suggestions, yet Zhu Qizhen dismissed them one by one. Wang Zhen’s methods were far too venomous.

Li Shimian had committed no fault, was indeed a good official, and moreover, had been personally appointed by the Grand Empress Dowager. Even if he did not care for Li Shimian’s feelings, he must respect the Dowager’s wishes.

Suddenly, Zhu Qizhen thought of Zhang Zhong, noting to himself, “Zhang Zhong is certainly a man with ideas.” He summoned Zhang Zhong to the palace and explained the situation, saying, “Master Li is excellent, but at present, he is not what I require. Do you have a way to persuade Master Li to step down as instructor?”

Zhang Zhong coughed twice.

Though he bore the title of Commander of the Guards at Qianqing Palace, Zhang Zhong seldom served there in person; the true duty fell to Shi Jing and Zhang Dachuan, both highly skilled. Zhang Zhong was a nominal official, yet he possessed leave to enter the palace at any time.

Zhu Qizhen often found occasion to converse with Zhang Zhong. The young Duke was indeed knowledgeable; the affairs of the realm were as clear to him as reading a book—whatever Zhu Qizhen inquired about, Zhang Zhong could answer fluently.

His only weakness was his frail constitution. If he were to visit the palace daily, it would surely exhaust him. The Forbidden City was vast, and in Ming times, there was no privilege for officials to ride within its walls. Zhang Zhong had to walk several miles after entering—an ordeal taxing to his health.

Thus, Zhu Qizhen could only meet Zhang Zhong every few days.

Zhang Zhong did not disappoint. He responded almost immediately, “If Your Majesty wishes to relieve Master Li of his duties without offense, it is not easy. However, the strategy of 'Nine Dragons Taming the Waters' may serve.”

Zhu Qizhen’s eyes lit up. “Nine Dragons Taming the Waters? What a clever scheme.”

When nine dragons attempt to tame a river together, none truly governs it.

To dismiss Li Shimian would be troublesome, but appointing several more instructors would be far simpler. Zhu Qizhen knew well that to serve as imperial tutor was the aspiration of countless scholars.

This matter required only a gentle push in the right direction.

Zhu Qizhen pondered, still uncertain where to begin. “Could you handle this for me?” he asked.

Zhang Zhong replied, “I accept your command, Your Majesty. Yet, to allow things to unfold naturally will require some time.”

Zhu Qizhen smiled faintly. “That is of no concern.” Yet his mood grew sombre. “Master Li is indeed admirable, but he does not teach what I wish to learn.”

Zhang Zhong returned to the Duke of England’s residence, lying on his bed for a good while before recovering his strength.

Though he had not often entered the palace lately, he had not been idle. His study contained several large tables joined together, countless books spread open with passages marked in vermilion, pressed by paperweights. Strings stretched across the room, with clips holding sheets filled with writing—his notes.

After offering counsel at Qianqing Palace, Zhang Zhong gradually understood Zhu Qizhen’s intentions. Yet, he cared little for that.

Previously, his idea remained only a thought, but now he sought to assemble it into a proper treatise.

Whenever his weakness overwhelmed him, he felt time slipping away—a sense that every moment counted.

He did not know how many years remained to him, but writing is the work of a lifetime. If he could leave behind a work of lasting renown, his life would not have been in vain.

Yet he knew his own limitations. His literary talent was modest, and in the early Ming, the world of letters was subdued. Even the so-called luminaries of the time might not secure a place in history.

The celebrated ministers of his era were remembered for their achievements, not their writings.

However, he saw an opportunity.

The reigning emperor was wise and precocious, harboring grand ambitions. Though he strove to conceal them, his intent to annex the Southern Seas was evident.

Given this, Zhang Zhong resolved to write a “Strategy for the Southern Seas,” tracing its history, considering how to occupy and assimilate it.

Only Zhang Zhong could compose such a work.

Zhang Fu still lived, long stationed in Annam, and well-acquainted with the Southern Seas. He could advise on strategy, while Zhang Zhong, though weak in body, had studied since youth and possessed his own insights into governance.

His task was to weave these opinions into an unassailable treatise, like Jia Yi’s “Strategies for the Maintenance of Order.”

If he could shape Ming’s future strategy for decades—perhaps centuries—even in death, he would be content.

Yet for now, this matter must be set aside.

After a moment’s thought, Zhang Zhong said, “Send someone with my father’s card to invite Wang Ying, the scholar, for a meeting at the residence.”

Zhang Fu had always been friendly with scholars, and Zhang Zhong too had many connections among them. He knew well where to begin.

Wang Ying would be his point of entry.

Who was Wang Ying?

Wang Ying was a literary giant of the age. As a Hanlin scholar, he wielded little formal power, but his status was exalted in the extreme. Since the reign of the Taizong Emperor, all important imperial edicts and decrees had been drafted by Wang Ying.

It was said he descended from Wang Dao. He lost his father young and was raised by his mother. When poverty pressed them to the brink, others urged his mother to sell the family’s library, but she steadfastly refused, struggling to raise him.

Wang Ying became a successful candidate in the second year of the Yongle reign. He often attended the Taizong Emperor. A famous incident: when Taizong campaigned north and passed through Li Ling’s city, they unearthed a stele none could read except Wang Ying.

During the Xuanzong Emperor’s time, Wang Ying was compared to Song Lian and Liu Sanwu of the Taizu era, and to Xie Jin and Hu Guang of the Taizong era, urged to strive even harder, not to let his predecessors down.

Such was Wang Ying’s renown.

Zhang Zhong chose Wang Ying for his fame, as a prime candidate for imperial instructor. Another reason was Wang Ying’s temperament differed from Li Shimian’s.

Li Shimian was like a stone—malodorous and unyielding, never knowing compromise.

But Wang Ying had served the demanding Taizong Emperor without ever committing a grave error—a testament to his tact.

Not that Wang Ying was inferior to Li Shimian. In learning and letters, Wang Ying perhaps surpassed him. The Grand Empress Dowager simply believed Li Shimian’s conduct was unmatched, calling him a paragon—a Wei Zheng of the current dynasty.

The emperor needed upright men at his side, to benefit from their influence—more important than learning mere Confucian platitudes.

On the day of the banquet, Wang Ying arrived to find himself received not by Zhang Fu, but by Zhang Zhong, which piqued his curiosity. The young Duke seldom appeared in public due to his health, rarely inviting anyone to his residence.

After exchanging pleasantries, Zhang Zhong sighed deeply and said, “I have invited you today, Scholar Wang, because there is something lodged in my throat that I know not to whom I should speak. You are a veteran of three reigns, with wide experience. Surely you can advise me what to do.”

Wang Ying smiled gently, like an amiable old neighbor, regarding Zhang Zhong as if watching a mischievous child at play. “Oh? Young Duke, speak your mind.”

Zhang Zhong said, “I have received great favor from the Grand Empress Dowager and His Majesty, serving at Qianqing Palace and basking in imperial grace. Yet there is one thing I must say. His Majesty suffers.”

Wang Ying’s smiling brow gradually straightened, his gaze becoming solemn and measured, as if something hidden lurked within. “Is there someone in the palace unworthy, threatening His Majesty?”

Zhang Zhong replied, “With the Grand Empress Dowager present, certainly not. But the Chief of the Imperial Academy, Master Li, is somewhat lacking in human sympathy. I know he seeks to enlighten the emperor’s mind, but I fear it may have the opposite effect.”