Chapter Seventy-Three: The Grand Banquet

Chapter Seventy-three: The Grand Banquet

Zhu Qizhen asked, “Did the Oirat envoy mention before that they wished to request a princess?”

Hu Ying replied respectfully, “The Oirat envoy did mention it. However, I believed it absolutely unacceptable and immediately rejected the notion. I did not expect the Oirats to be so madly audacious.”

Zhu Qizhen said, “The Oirats are a grave threat to our dynasty. Today, what I say must be relayed to the steppe, as well as to the envoy of Toghtoa Bukha. Why has he not appeared? And what of the Japanese envoy?”

Hu Ying answered, “Toghtoa Bukha has not sent an envoy to Beijing. As for the Japanese envoy, because of the ongoing piracy, there has been no diplomatic exchange between our court and Japan.”

Zhu Qizhen nodded, as if understanding something. “Regardless, what the Grand Empress Dowager instructed—to sow discord among the Mongol rulers—must be carried out without delay.”

Hu Ying was a most astute man. He immediately grasped the key point. The Grand Empress Dowager had given instructions to create dissension among the Oirat leaders? Hu Ying thought to himself, “This matter must have been entrusted to Yang Rong.” For a moment, he felt some dissatisfaction with Yang Rong. After all, this matter was somewhat related to the Ministry of Rites.

However, a thought soon struck him: “Your Majesty, do you truly not know to whom the Grand Empress Dowager assigned this task?” Hu Ying mused inwardly, “His Majesty is certainly clever in these little ways.”

“After I return, I shall be sure to remind Master Yang Rong,” Hu Ying said.

Zhu Qizhen chuckled to himself, thinking, “These small tricks have no effect on such old foxes.”

Zhu Qizhen had studied his five regents in detail. Each of the five had their own faction behind them. Though the Three Yangs appeared united, the relationship between Yang Shiqi and Yang Rong was not harmonious. Hu Ying was a confidant of the Emperor Taizong; it was Hu Ying who had scoured the land for the Jianwen Emperor. That Taizong trusted Hu Ying with such clandestine matters showed the depth of his trust.

Hu Ying’s relationship with Yang Shiqi was no more amicable. As for Yang Pu, compared to Yang Rong and Yang Shiqi, he was less experienced, always ranking last and seemingly inconspicuous. Zhang Fu, needless to say, had the support of the meritorious aristocracy.

These five men, together, represented the Ming court itself. Zhu Qizhen naturally did not wish for them to be too harmonious; if they were, what place would the emperor have? Now and then he would plant a seed of discord—whether it succeeded or not was another matter.

Seeing that the time was nearly upon them and the grand banquet was about to begin, Hu Ying took his leave. Although this banquet was hosted by the Imperial Banqueting Office, as Minister of Rites—especially after the mishap that morning—Hu Ying's presence was still required.

After Hu Ying departed, Zhu Qizhen quickly ate a bit more, knowing that once the banquet began, he would have no chance to eat.

Shortly after, Wang Zhen arrived. “Your Majesty, the auspicious hour has come.”

Zhu Qizhen changed his robes and, amid solemn and elegant music, entered the Hall of Heavenly Harmony. This was where the banquet would be held.

All officials of the fourth rank and above, as well as all ranks of nobility, were on the ramparts; lesser officials dined in the open air.

The banquet was rich with ancient tradition, following the separate serving custom. Before Zhu Qizhen was an imperial table laden with delicacies, many of which he had rarely seen.

If the emperor wished to indulge, he could; the enjoyment was supreme. Yet in ancient times, unlike the modern era, nothing was mass-produced; many ingredients were exceedingly rare, and Zhu Qizhen seldom partook of such fare.

Moreover, the Grand Empress Dowager constantly reminded Zhu Qizhen to cultivate virtue at all times. For an emperor, what is virtue? Simply open the histories of wise rulers past for examples: avoiding ostentation, shunning extravagance, refusing rare and precious things.

Zhu Qizhen abided by these precepts. Thus, he restrained his appetite as well. Each meal included some meat, but only three to five simple dishes, and little more. Now, faced with platter after platter of delicacies, Zhu Qizhen found himself tempted.

But no matter how tempted, he could not move his chopsticks. Everything proceeded according to the music: when to raise a cup, when to pick up chopsticks, and when eunuchs and maids would remove barely-touched dishes and bring new ones.

Zhu Qizhen felt himself growing hungry—very, very hungry. He could see but not taste; each toast had to be timed to the music.

He was fortunate, at least, to be emperor; the masters of ceremony turned a blind eye to his lapses. The officials below suffered more: as soon as the music stopped, someone would prompt them to offer toasts with auspicious phrases toward the hall. In the chill January air, they could not even drink a warm cup of wine and could not afford to make a mistake in etiquette.

The only entertainment was the music and dance performed before the Hall of Heavenly Harmony. One might think it pleasant to watch young ladies perform, but in fact, most of the dancers were men. This music and dance had a strong disciplinary purpose, far from the graceful performances one might imagine. For example, the “Dance of Pacifying the Realm” resembled the ancient “Qin King’s Formation” dance: sixty-four men in armor, brandishing weapons in a martial display.

To Zhu Qizhen’s eyes, it was quite crude. Not that there were no celebrated dancers in his day, but most of these performances had been established by Zhu Yuanzhang, whose rustic taste was worlds apart from Zhu Qizhen’s, who had suffered through endless variety shows in later ages.

At last, as Zhu Qizhen’s stomach began to rumble, the grand banquet drew to a close. All withdrew, but Zhu Qizhen’s duties for the year were far from finished.

That year, Zhu Qizhen had many more tasks ahead. Immediately following was the third day of the New Year, the anniversary of Emperor Xuanzong’s death, for which the palace would hold grand rites. Though the Son of Heaven mourned for only twenty-seven days, substituting days for months, by now even Emperor Xuanzong’s last legacy—his reign title—had been laid to rest. From this day, the Ming dynasty entered the Zhengtong era.

By this time, news of Zhu Qizhen’s actions at the New Year’s audience had spread throughout the empire, especially his rebuke of the Oirat envoy. People across the land now knew that though the young lord was still a child, he was gifted and intelligent. In time, Zhu Qizhen gained many new supporters outside the palace.

As the first month wore on, the weather grew warmer each day, and the capital bustled with festivity. First came the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth, when the city was aglow with exquisite lanterns. Zhu Qizhen, standing atop the Forbidden City’s ramparts, could see the crowds and lanterns thronging the night outside.

Naturally, he longed to join them. Though the palace itself was festooned with beautiful lanterns, finer than any outside, to Zhu Qizhen they lacked the flavor of common life.

It was said that the liveliest event in the capital was the Temple Fair of Yanjiu, held on the nineteenth in celebration of Qiu Chuji’s birthday. Every year, the people of the capital flocked to the White Cloud Temple—so many that it was a grand spectacle.

Yet, in this, the Grand Empress Dowager and the Empress Dowager were united in their opposition: they absolutely forbade it, each scolding Zhu Qizhen in turn. If Zhu Qizhen wished to go out with his full retinue, thousands of guards would fill the streets—safe, perhaps, but who among the common folk could still enjoy the festival? Who would dare step outside?

As for going out incognito, it was unthinkable. Crowded places were fraught with danger; in the Song dynasty, a princess had once been abducted during the Lantern Festival.

Should anything happen to Zhu Qizhen, it would be a catastrophe for both the imperial family and the realm.

Therefore, the Grand Empress Dowager and the Empress Dowager would not allow it under any circumstances. In truth, the secret excursions so popular in novels and dramas were mostly nonsense. Until Zhu Qizhen came of age, he might not leave the square confines of the Forbidden City even once, let alone anything more.

Thus, Zhu Qizhen could do no more than stretch on tiptoe atop the city walls to glimpse the festivities. Yet outside the Forbidden City was still the imperial city, and even from its walls, he could see little—just a blur of lights.

With a gentle sigh, Zhu Qizhen said, “Let us go back.”

After the fifteenth, all the offices reopened, and a multitude of affairs awaited. Zhu Qizhen’s holiday had come to an end.