Chapter Sixteen: Choosing Concubines

On the twelfth day of the twelfth month, the courtiers petitioned that Empress Zhao, Lady Liu, be entrusted with the selection of imperial consorts for the Emperor. Zhu Youjiao had met her before and knew her to be a woman disinclined toward wielding power, with a gentle and even temperament—precisely the kind of person most suitable for overseeing such an affair.

Fang Congzhe once again submitted a memorial requesting retirement, though by now, Zhu Youjiao had lost count of how many times this had occurred since his accession. On previous occasions, Zhu Youjiao had always persuaded him to remain, but now, the mounting attacks from below were perhaps too much to bear. The criticisms were threefold: first, his recommendation and rewarding of Li Kezhuo; second, his failure to prevent the late emperor’s demise; and third, collusion with the Zheng family.

Zhu Youjiao was reluctant to let Fang Congzhe go, for if he were to leave, the court would become a singular voice dominated entirely by the Donglin faction. Even as a shield, Fang could not be spared. Thus, an imperial decree was issued: “All that the Grand Secretary has done is clear to Us. The recommendation of Li Kezhuo is a duty of the Grand Secretary; the rewards were the will of the late emperor. As for the other accusations—failure to prevent disaster and collusion with the Zhengs—these are groundless. Censors must not judge by hearsay, but must have concrete evidence. We hereby confer upon Fang Congzhe the title of Grand Preceptor and promote him to Grand Scholar of Zhongji Hall.”

At this, the entire court fell silent. Last time, their clamor had toppled Xiong Tingbi, emboldening the censors and officials. For so long, the Donglin faction—Sun Shenxing, Hui Shiyang, and others—had ceaselessly attacked Fang Congzhe for his handling of the Red Pill Case, to the point that he had resigned himself to fate, even reaching a private agreement with the Donglin Party: the final verdict on the Red Pill Case would be that all ministers bore guilt, thus providing Fang a graceful exit and allowing him to request retirement himself.

Now, not only were the Donglin men stunned, but even Fang Congzhe himself was taken aback. Yet, being a man of principle, having made promises to the Donglin Party, he could not break his word. So he resolutely refused the Emperor’s appointment and insisted on retiring.

Zhu Youjiao could not understand why the old man was so determined to step down, but it was clear his desire was genuine, while Zhu himself was equally resolute in refusing his resignation. Left with no other recourse, he declared, “Since My accession, all that you, Sir Fang, have done has been in accord with My heart. What fault in My virtue so offends you, Grand Secretary, that you would so disdain Me? What have I done that so offends the entire court, that you all would strive to remove My right arm?”

The words were severe, and all the ministers fell to their knees, crying in unison, “Your Majesty is endowed with innate wisdom; it is we, your ministers, who have failed in our duties!” Those who had most vigorously assailed Fang Congzhe kowtowed repeatedly, pleading, “Your servants are guilty unto death; we beg Your Majesty’s punishment.”

This was not a court nomination, which could be returned by the censors; it was Fang Congzhe’s own resignation, which the Emperor would not accept. The ministers were powerless, and, moreover, the Emperor’s words implied that they were guilty of coercion—a charge too great to bear.

At this, only Fang Congzhe could mediate: “Your Majesty, I am aged and infirm, and fear I might fail the state; hence my request to retire. I did not perceive Your Majesty’s true intent, and the fault is mine. My colleagues share this concern, and their accusations were not directed at Your Majesty. I beg Your Majesty to retract your words, else none of us shall find peace.”

Thus, Zhu Youjiao gained the upper hand, discovering a new way to deal with his ministers. If they liked to speak of great principles, he would speak of even greater ones, to see whose held greater weight. This realization exhilarated him, for after all, who cannot reason? The Emperor’s reasoning was always supreme, and time would tell who prevailed.

With that, Zhu Youjiao let the matter rest, and all were satisfied with the outcome. Zhu Youjiao retained Fang Congzhe; Fang Congzhe, forced to resign, remained Grand Secretary; and the ministers escaped the charge of coercing their sovereign. As for whether the Donglin Party was pleased, that was another matter, though as they left the hall, the faces of Yang Lian and Zuo Guangdou were notably grim.

On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth month, Grand Secretary Fang Congzhe and others, citing urgent news from Liaoyang, requested a loan from the treasury. Zhu Youjiao decreed: “I am mindful of the Liao army’s lack of pay; grant them a temporary loan of one million taels originally allotted for the wedding ceremony.” Minister of Revenue Li Ruhua reported that due to the excessive demands for Liao’s pay, the outer treasury was nearly depleted, necessitating recourse to the inner treasury. This made Zhu Youjiao even more anxious about the coin-minting machine, urging Xu Guangqi to press the missionaries for news. The missionaries replied that a one-way journey from Ming to the West took over a year, so the matter must wait.

On the twenty-second day of the first month of the first year of Tianqi, the Imperial Astronomer chose this most auspicious day for the Emperor’s capping ceremony. Traditionally, men underwent this ceremony at the age of twenty, but the Emperor was, of course, an exception. One could hardly say the Emperor was not yet an adult, even if by age he was not, for as Emperor, he must be considered a man. The logic of it amused Zhu Youjiao, reminding him of the words of former Soviet General Secretary Khrushchev: “When I was a common worker, I knew nothing of art. As district secretary, I knew nothing of art. As city party secretary, still nothing. But now that I am the First Secretary, how could I not know art?” Truly, the same principle applied.

The selection of an imperial bride was proceeding at a frenetic pace, comprising eight rounds. The first was a nationwide selection, whittling the candidates down to five thousand beauties, who would then be further screened in the capital. According to reports from the Embroidered Guard, Zhang Yan had returned to her native place to participate and had passed the first round, ranking first in Xiangfu County of Kaifeng Prefecture.

On the third day of the second month, all five thousand beauties arrived in the capital for the second round, the palace preliminary. Lady Ke asked the Emperor whether he wished to observe. Zhu Youjiao asked in surprise, “Am I allowed to watch?”

Lady Ke laughed. “Of course, you cannot go as the Emperor. I meant you could sneak a look.”

The selection was overseen by Empress Zhao, Lady Liu, who would not personally attend at this stage. In fact, the selection was managed by Zhao the Chosen Attendant, Li the Chosen Attendant, and Lady Ke. Yes, this Li was West Li, whom Zhu Youjiao intended to gradually elevate—after the selection, he would use her contribution as a pretext to confer upon her the rank of Imperial Consort.

She and Lady Ke were close and both knew the Emperor favored the young lady named Zhang Yan; naturally, they would not allow her to be eliminated. Zhu Youjiao suppressed his desire to view the garden full of beauties and declined Lady Ke’s suggestion. In truth, he thought five thousand was too many; better to wait until the numbers were smaller, for only then could quality be savored.

The palace preliminary was held in a large hall. The eunuchs lined up each hundred beauties in a row, arranging them by age, inspecting each in turn, and eliminating those who were slightly too tall or short, too plump or thin. The process was swift: in less than a day, twelve hundred were eliminated.

On the fourth day of the second month, the third round—the re-selection—took place. The eunuchs, applying the strictest standards, scrutinized each candidate’s features, hair, and complexion, dismissing anyone who failed to meet every criterion. Then, they required each girl to state her family background, name, and age, judging their voices and deportment, and eliminating those with coarse or unclear speech or lacking in grace. In this way, another two thousand were dismissed.

On the seventh day, the fourth round—the refined selection—began. The eunuchs measured the girls’ hands and feet with rulers, then had them walk several paces to observe their bearing and charm. Those with feet slightly too large, wrists a bit thick, or unrefined manners were eliminated. In the end, one thousand beauties remained to continue the selection in the palace.

On the tenth day, the fifth round—the palace stay—was held. The remaining candidates were distributed among the palace’s senior maids and led to secluded chambers for physical examinations. Any with birthmarks, peculiar odors, or unattractive features were eliminated. After this screening, three hundred were selected to remain as palace maids.