Chapter 16: Jin Zhong

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“Seize him! I want to drag him to death behind a horse…”
“That’s enough. Nai’er Buhua, I’ve tolerated your usual misdeeds in my military camp, but to lay hands on my beloved son-in-law? I see you simply don’t regard me, the supreme commander of the entire army.”

As Chaghan Temur appeared, clad in fine scale armor and wearing a bamboo hat-shaped helmet, Nai’er Buhua, who was initially furious, suddenly deflated like a punctured ball. Casting a glance at Zhu Ruo, he limped away, clutching his bloodied groin.

At the end of the Yuan dynasty, every commander of a thousand households held the title of Grand Marshal. Though Chaghan Temur was a true authority, Zhu Ruo’s nominal title only allowed him to bluff his soldiers. Anyone daring to speak out before a real power like Chaghan Temur would be dragged out and executed on the spot.

“So you are Zhu Ruo, Prince Qin of the Ming. I am Chaghan Temur, the maternal uncle of Qingtie and Guanyin Nu.”

Looking at the refined middle-aged man before him, with a thin build and a goat beard, Zhu Ruo’s pupils dilated in shock. Historically, Chaghan Temur had been dead for over a decade by this time.

It seemed the chain reaction triggered by his little butterfly was far greater than he had imagined.

He knelt on one knee and bowed deeply. “Prince Zhu Ruo pays respects to the venerable elder.”

“Rise, my worthy son-in-law.”

Chaghan Temur helped him to his feet and even embraced him warmly.

“Hahaha, Guanyin Nu has good taste; I like you very much.”

“Regarding your marriage with Guanyin Nu, let us go to the central military camp’s tent to discuss matters.”

Following closely behind Chaghan Temur, Zhu Ruo’s expression flickered uncertainly.

This man was far more formidable than the reckless Wang Baobao of the present. During the chaotic late Yuan, with rebels everywhere and generals ruling their own troops like warlords, this man was not a noble scion but a scholar who rose to lead a coalition of Han landlords’ militias, decisively defeating various Red Turban armies and nearly unifying the north to prolong the Yuan dynasty.

He even historically attempted to recruit Zhu Yuanzhang. Upon hearing of his assassination, old Zhu lamented, “There is no one left in the world.”

When inspecting Henan, he personally paid respects at his tomb and composed an epitaph.

In this lifetime, Tian Feng and Wang Shicheng did not act; old Zhu, wary of him, held back from northern campaigns even in the fifth year of Hongwu, resulting in a tense north-south standoff between Ming and the Northern Yuan.

Should he kill him?

If killed, the northern Yuan army would fall into chaos without their leader. When Xu Da led the northern expedition, it would surge forward just as before. Yet his beloved Minmin and Wang Baobao would hate him forever, with no hope of reconciliation.

If spared, Chaghan Temur and Wang Baobao’s bond was like father and son; together they would be more than a match for him and could become a grave threat to Ming.

Zhu Ruo had never felt such inner conflict. In guilt over his wife, he quietly reached for the short dagger at his waist.

“Son-in-law, why are you so uneasy? And what’s with the knife?”

“Old Tai Shan, would you believe me if I said it’s for a sheep-killing demonstration?”

“I haven’t had my midday meal yet; that’s considerate of you.”

Others might not believe it, but Chaghan Temur truly did. After all, historically, despite knowing the danger, he was relentlessly blocked by his men but refused to turn back, going to his death.

Even Zhu Ruo couldn’t help but admire: this man truly was a gentleman.

So he dragged a sheep outside the central camp tent, dug a pit, and built a fire.

He slit the sheep open—don’t ask why. This method of opening the belly to kill sheep was decreed by Mongol leaders Ögedei and Kublai. They thought beheading was cruel, but opening the belly was, well, far tastier.

Mimicking the prayers of later generations, he recited a passage to bless the sheep, then salted it with lake salt and dropped it into the pot.

Chaghan Temur watched with great interest.

When the meal was ready, Zhu Ruo brought it to the table.

He took some cream and sprinkled it around the four directions and the hearth, chanting in Mongolian: “Thanks to Tengri’s protection of the steppe. Thanks to Mother Earth for the gift of food. Thanks to the holy ancestors for granting us strength and wisdom.”

After completing the full Shamanistic ritual, he cut off a leg of the sheep and placed it before a dumbfounded Chaghan Temur.

“Why does a Han prince like you handle this better than I, a Mongol?”

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“Would you believe me if I said it was taught by an old white-bearded man on a white horse in my dream?”

When all else fails, attribute it to dreams.

Chaghan Temur murmured: “Sun-scorched but unyielding, drowned but unsinking, burned but unscathed.”

With a solemn face, Chaghan Temur said, “Do you know why the national tutor Ba Si passed his legacy onto you?”

“Legacy? That old monk’s broken iron bowl?” Zhu Ruo was bewildered. Why pass it to me? Am I supposed to become a monk?

Seeing that only a trusted scribe was nearby, his father-in-law whispered mysteriously, “You are the one chosen by Tengri.”

Tengri, in Mongolian, means the Eternal Heaven, the Supreme God.

Zhu Ruo’s expression was baffled. Although his mother was Mongol in his previous life, his ID card said Han, which had cost him extra points for the college entrance exam—something he’d long regretted. But what did Tengri have to do with it? Uncle Tengger was just a TV personality.

“Though you are Han, Tengri’s supreme wisdom is beyond mortal comprehension. He taught you Mongolian language and rites for a reason.”

“I don’t know.”

“To save the steppe people from fire and flood.”

“Ah, Old Tai Shan, isn’t this a bit… well, to restore the glory of the Great Yuan, it is our duty.”

“I am glad you have such awareness.”

Patting his shoulder, Zhu Ruo feigned enthusiasm but was inwardly confused.

Were ancient people, including ethnic minorities, really this imaginative?

“Lean in close. What I am about to tell you must never be leaked.”

Suddenly, Zhu Ruo blushed and thought: could it be his father-in-law intended to lead troops to the capital to enthrone him?

Old man, draping that yellow robe on me isn’t trying to force me into rebellion, is it?

…

Zhu Ruo, feet on the desk, said bluntly, “No way, not even if you kill me.”

After listening for a while, it turned out his father-in-law wanted to use him as a figurehead to support Crown Prince Ayushiridara’s rise.

But he was a man of the Zhu family. If he were to seize the realm, he wouldn’t hesitate to chop off the heads of Yuan Shundi and Zhao Zong and feed them to the dogs.

Helping him was less likely than his wife bearing him a younger brother.

“You, you… you are Tengri’s messenger. Can you bear to watch the steppe people suffer under that foolish Toghon Temur?”

Chaghan Temur stomped angrily, scolding him like a disappointed parent.

Zhu Ruo slapped his thigh, suddenly earnest:

“Old Tai Shan is right. Perhaps we should think bigger. The descendants of Kublai have lost their virtue. Why not put someone else on the throne?”

“Who? Batu’s descendants are thousands of miles away, and the Ilkhanate is gone. Where do we have a descendant of the Golden Family to enthrone?”

“Why not be bolder? Isn’t there one right here before your eyes?”

Chaghan Temur laughed bitterly and pointed: “Do you have Golden Family blood? You are Han and want to be our Mongol Khagan?”

Zhu Ruo was unabashed, smiling wryly: “Old Tai Shan, if an ethnic minority like you can become Mongol, why can’t a Han like me be the lord of the steppe?”

He stood up, hands behind his back, speaking loudly: “Genghis Khan’s descendants are Golden Family, but does Genghis Khan himself outrank Tengri?”

“Minmin is carrying my child. If your grandson becomes Khagan, won’t the Temur family become the next Golden Family?”

“My father is the man about to unify the world—Zhu Yuanzhang. The crown prince is frail; I am the legitimate second son, and if the crown prince dies, I become the eldest legitimate son.”

“Is the khanship only for the Borjigin clan? Can the Temur family not claim it?”

“Old Tai Shan, no matter how much you have done for the Great Yuan, you are still an outsider. In Toghon Temur’s eyes, you are just a guard dog—he knows well that when the clever rabbit dies, the hound is cooked. But your grandson, taught by you to ride, to shoot, to rule the steppe, with your blood running through his veins, isn’t he more trustworthy than Crown Prince Ayushiridara?”

“With the Ming as our stronghold and Tengri as our backing, Old Tai Shan, would your grandson not be the emperor of the four seas and the Khagan of all Khagans?”

Chaghan Temur was stunned, then slowly responded, “You are the most terrifying demon I have ever met, but your words strike my weakness.”

“Borjigit Temur is dead.”

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“Ah? Which Borjigit Temur?”

It was no wonder Zhu Ruo asked; Mongols often had many with the same name.

“The Borjigit Temur who was the Right Chancellor of the Great Yuan and commander of all troops.”

Zhu Ruo suddenly understood. At the end of the Yuan, the Red Turban rebels from Henan and Shandong planned to jointly attack the capital. Chaghan Temur blocked the Henan forces, and the Shandong rebels frightened Yuan Shundi into fleeing the city, only to be crushed by Borjigit Temur, who also reclaimed lost northwest territory.

His dragon-riding, life-saving merits were undeniable, but because he secretly harbored the national tutor, he was dismissed by the crown prince’s slander. Borjigit Temur seized the capital under the pretext of purging corrupt officials; the crown prince fled to Taiyuan. Borjigit Temur even spent a hundred days sleeping with Yuan Shundi’s empress Qi—a power move reminiscent of the treacherous Dong Zhuo. Yuan Shundi initially endured it but lost his senses when he sought to marry Empress Qi.

This was the final straw. Persuaded by his men and Empress Qi, he reluctantly married a Yuan princess to Borjigit Temur. But Borjigit Temur captured the princess, along with over forty concubines and noble ladies from the Golden Family.

He forced these women to toast him daily at dawn. Even Zhu Ruo had to admire his audacity. Yuan Shundi, finally at his wit’s end, ambushed and assassinated him with six men on his way to the palace.

“Look at this.”

Chaghan Temur pulled out an imperial edict from his breast pocket—not from Shundi, but Empress Qi—ordering twenty thousand troops led by Chaghan Temur as vice prime minister to enter the capital to support the emperor and pressure him to abdicate to the crown prince.

The late Yuan was a chaotic era of constant natural disasters, over three hundred uprisings, and warlordism. Strictly speaking, old Zhu was also a warlord. Fierce factional struggles raged, especially between the emperor’s faction and the crown prince’s faction. Apart from foreign invasion, the dynasty’s collapse seemed inevitable.

Chaghan Temur and Borjigit Temur were twin stars of the late Yuan, ruling north and south of the Yellow River and were the greatest Northern Yuan warlords. Borjigit Temur was originally with the emperor’s faction, while Chaghan Temur sided with the crown prince.

The two cooperated yet were rivals. Now Borjigit Temur had been killed by the supported emperor Shundi, leaving Chaghan Temur dominant. This edict was very delicate.

“Toghon Temur and his son are obstinate and unpredictable. Old Tai Shan, if you go, you may never return…”

Zhu Ruo left it unsaid. People often called old Zhu cold-hearted, but compared to Toghon Temur and his son, he was a warm man.

Prime Minister Tuo Tuo, known as the Zhuge Liang of late Yuan, was dismissed twice and died from poison, only to be posthumously reinstated by power-hungry officials.

Borjigit Temur had life-saving merits but was dismissed by the crown prince’s slander, slept with Empress Qi, and was assassinated by Shundi’s order.

Historically, Chaghan Temur was assassinated after recruiting Red Turban generals Tian Feng and Wang Shicheng, who called him “the Cao Cao of the era.”

Historically, his brother-in-law Wang Baobao entered the capital to rally forces, defeated Borjigit Temur’s remnants, but was later distrusted by Empress Qi, the crown prince, and even Shundi, who stripped him of titles and military command and ordered the army to attack him jointly.

“I command many troops, and the court’s suspicion is not lost on me. Yet my family has served the Yuan dynasty for generations and received its grace. If I refuse imperial orders, how am I different from rebellious traitors?”

“If I go and never return, then so be it.”

Zhu Ruo sighed deeply and stepped out of the tent. Later generations often say ancient people revered the past without innovation, but a man of Chaghan Temur’s integrity would not be swayed by mere words.

Like old Zhu, a founder with great talent and ambition, who, despite years of persuasion over the enfeoffment of frontier princes, never wavered. In old Zhu’s eyes, Ming princes trained at the borders, and even if future descendants or ministers misgoverned, these princes could raise armies to quell unrest and restore peace.

In effect, old Zhu thought he was providing a double insurance for the Ming dynasty but was actually handing Zhu the Fourth a key to rebellion.

Before he moved, a clerk hurried out after him.

“Prince, please wait. This is a letter left for you by the prince.”

Zhu Ruo took the letter and, struck by the man’s confident bearing, asked,

“You carry yourself with the composure of a gentleman, not a mere military clerk. May I ask your name, sir?”

“I am Jin Zhong from Yin County. My family has fallen on hard times and I hold no official rank, but I dare not compare myself to Lord Chengyi of Ming.”

Zhu Ruo’s eyes brightened. Was this not the Xiao He or Liu Bowen under old Zhu’s command?

Compared to Yuan Gong’s overly flattering “Ten Thousand Year Emperor” prophecy for Zhu Zhanji, Zhu Ruo trusted Jin Zhong more. In his previous life, whenever old Zhu was not eating, drinking, or sleeping, he summoned Jin Zhong for counsel.

Bowing sincerely, Zhu Ruo said, “I am trapped behind enemy lines with no capable subordinates. May I humbly ask you to enlighten me? One day I will treat you as a national treasure.”

There was no other choice; his only subordinates were two eunuchs and two thugs. Literary men cared deeply about dignity.

Jin Zhong had expected to be ignored when joining Prince Qin’s camp but was surprised to be treated with the respect of a teacher.

He immediately bowed and said, “Thank you for your kindness, my lord. I am but a humble scribe under Prince Qin.”

“You are modest. I need you as King Wen needed Lü Wang, as Han Zhaolie needed Kong Ming.”

Jin Zhong’s eyes filled with tears. “I pledge my life to serve my lord.”