Chapter Seventy-One: The Grand Court Assembly

Chapter Seventy-One: The Grand Audience

Zhu Qizhen conversed with Lady Sun for a while before Wang Zhen quietly reminded him, “Young master, the time has come.” Zhu Qizhen said, “Mother, I must go,” and Lady Sun watched as he departed.

At the moment when the sun rose, its rays touched the earth, offering little warmth—only a crisp chill. Zhu Qizhen felt the biting cold, even though he wore a thick cotton robe; it could not shield him from the penetrating chill.

Drums and court music resounded, all the instruments Zhu Qizhen had named in the past now playing, forming the elegant music of the palace. The slow and melodious rhythm evoked a sense of solemn grandeur.

Surrounded by countless guards, Zhu Qizhen arrived at the main hall of the Palace of Heavenly Purity. The grand hall had changed greatly in appearance. Twenty-four yellow banners, adorned with various designs—mostly images from the Classic of Mountains and Seas—waved in the wind, the rare and mythical creatures depicted upon them moving with each gust.

Originally, the ceremony should have taken place in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, but since the three main halls had been burned and not yet rebuilt, it was held temporarily in the Palace of Heavenly Purity.

Following the central axis of the Forbidden City, Zhu Qizhen entered the palace through the main gate by carriage. Along the way, he noticed that civil and military officials stood divided on either side of the axis; whenever he passed, they knelt and paid their respects. He saw some familiar faces, others unknown to him.

After Zhu Qizhen seated himself upon the imperial throne before the palace gates, the grand audience began.

The first to pay respects was the Prince of Yue. During the Hongwu era, the princes also attended the grand audience, but later this was discontinued. The Prince of Yue and Zhu Qiyu were the two princes residing in Beijing. However, Zhu Qiyu was still too young. The Grand Empress Dowager had excused him from attendance, so the Prince of Yue was the first.

The Prince of Yue bowed before Zhu Qizhen’s imperial table and thrice called out “Long live the Emperor.” Zhu Qizhen offered him a few words of comfort: “Uncle, you have worked hard.” Indeed, Zhu Qizhen believed the Prince of Yue truly had endured hardship.

The great affairs of the state lay in worship and war. At present, the Ming dynasty faced no major conflicts—only minor skirmishes along the borders, which were trivial matters. However, the many rituals and sacrifices could not be avoided.

When the emperor could not attend personally, noble kin would act in his stead. Most often, this was the Prince of Yue. Yet his health was not strong to begin with, and these duties had taken a further toll on him.

Noticing the prince’s pallor, Zhu Qizhen quietly instructed Wang Zhen to send imperial physicians to reside at the Prince of Yue’s residence.

After the Prince of Yue, the various nobles came forth. Although in later Ming times civil officials were esteemed above military, in the structure of the Ming court, the military still held precedence. Thus, at the grand audience, the nobles ranked before the civil officials.

At the forefront was naturally Zhang Fu. Besides him were Duke Cheng, Zhu Yong, and Duke Ding, Xu Jingchang. Zhu Qizhen’s attention lingered on Xu Jingchang, only to feel a pang of disappointment upon seeing him—he had grown old.

Zhu Qizhen knew that Duke Ding’s lineage would need to select talent from the next generation, yet the Ming nobility had always declined with each successive generation. Xu Jingchang likely could not match his father, Xu Zengshou.

Even Xu Zengshou, who won his title through sacrifice, was not much of a commander himself. As for the other two dukes, one was Duke Wei, the other Duke Qian; but one was in Nanjing, the other in Yunnan, and neither was present.

Next came the lesser nobles, most of whom were heroes of the campaign to pacify the realm. Zhu Qizhen scrutinized each closely. Some were veteran generals, still vigorous—like old Lian Po, able yet to take the field. But more belonged to the younger generation, with several not even fully grown.

There was little to be done. Their fathers had passed, the titles transferred to them, giving them the right to attend the grand audience. Zhu Qizhen thought to himself, “A gap between generations.”

Previously, he had known from reports that there was a looming gap in Ming military leadership, but seeing it firsthand today, he realized the situation was far more severe. The true warriors were old. They might look able, but how many more years could they serve? The worry in Zhu Qizhen’s heart deepened. Still, overall, the Ming nobility could command respect.

Some officers from the Five Military Commanderies, though lacking noble titles, appeared energetic and spirited. Of course, Zhu Qizhen’s view was limited to those present. Sometimes, true ability could not be seen face-to-face; some men, before the emperor, were nervous and timid, unlikely to remain composed amid the chaos of battle.

A few promising military officials caught Zhu Qizhen’s eye, and he instructed Wang Zhen to take note of their names for later review of their records.

Then came the civil officials—far more numerous. All officials above the seventh rank in the capital had the right to attend. Zhu Qizhen greeted the leading ministers—such as the Three Yangs, Hu Ying, Wang Ji, and others. Afterward, the vice ministers and department heads came forward in batches.

While examining the military officials, Zhu Qizhen had paid careful attention; with the civil officials, he simply followed protocol with diligence.

Suddenly, a eunuch beside him announced, “Yu Qian, Prefect of Shuntian.” A minister in his thirties stepped forward, bowed, and thrice called “Long live the Emperor.”

Zhu Qizhen immediately grew attentive, watching Yu Qian. Yu Qian appeared strict and somewhat gaunt, with three long strands of beard and features typical of southern men. Zhu Qizhen asked, “You are Yu Qian?”

Yu Qian answered with measured formality, “I am, Your Majesty.”

Zhu Qizhen wished to ask him much, but knew this was not the time. Each audience was strictly timed—from princes, nobles, officials, envoys—all would be received by midday, when the grand banquet would be held.

Even Zhu Qizhen could not afford to delay too long; lingering would complicate subsequent affairs. He said, “Minister Yu, you have rendered meritorious service in disaster relief. I reward you with a treasured sword.” With that, Zhu Qizhen removed the sword at his side and handed it to Wang Zhen.

Wang Zhen was taken aback, unaware that Yu Qian held such weight in the emperor’s eyes. Though puzzled, he dared not hesitate. He received the sword with both hands and retreated, presenting it to Yu Qian. “Master Yu, do not betray His Majesty’s favor.”

Yu Qian too was startled, momentarily stunned. He took the sword with both hands, placed it beside him, and bowed deeply. “Your servant thanks His Majesty for this great kindness.”

A eunuch called the next official’s name. Yu Qian raised the sword and withdrew step by step, as the next official advanced.

In that moment, the name Yu Qian echoed across the realm, becoming the focus of all. Every word exchanged between Zhu Qizhen and his ministers was announced loudly by a dozen eunuchs, so that all on the square before the palace could hear.

Yu Qian’s sudden rise naturally drew attention; whispers spread as everyone sought to learn more about him. Though Yu Qian had once served as a provincial inspector, his reputation among officials was not yet universal. The censors, tasked with maintaining order, repeatedly stepped forward to quell the murmurs.

As Yu Qian returned to his place, all eyes focused on the imperial sword in his hands. Officials paid their respects as he passed. Even his subordinates in Shuntian Prefecture now bowed and deferred to him, their attitude transformed.

Yu Qian took it all in silently, outwardly composed, but inwardly deeply moved. He looked at the sword in his hands.

It was unmistakably an imperial sword, not one crafted for gifting. The dragon carving on the scabbard shimmered in the sunlight, seeming alive. On the hilt were two characters: “Rectitude.”

This was Zhu Qizhen’s own sword. Since he had no need to wield it in battle, its main purpose was, perhaps, for ritual suicide. Thus Zhu Qizhen had carved “Rectitude” upon it. When he spoke of rewarding Yu Qian, he had not prepared a gift—so he gave this sword instead.

Yu Qian knew none of this. He only understood that now the whole world regarded him as uniquely favored by the emperor; there was no choice but to repay this with his life.

Even Yu Qian himself felt the same.