Chapter 4: Changing Oneself Is No Match for Changing the Ming Dynasty

A group of ministers knelt on the bluestone floor of the Hall of Heaven’s Grace, watching the couple on the dragon throne whisper back and forth as if no one else existed. It went on until, with a thud, the elderly Scholar Song Lian, whose legs were not up to the strain, lost his strength and fell.

Zhu Yuanzhang slapped his forehead. That rebellious son had thrown the morning court into such chaos that he had nearly forgotten the day’s real business.

“Rise, my lords.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” The ministers finally rose as though granted a reprieve.

“Bring seats for the elder gentlemen.”

There was no help for it. If they kept standing much longer, the first day of the Great Ming court might end with the absurd tale of someone literally working himself to death in a meeting.

“May Your Majesty live ten thousand years.”

While the eunuchs hurried in with stools, Empress Ma withdrew in her palanquin on the grounds that women of the inner palace must not meddle in state affairs.

“The new dynasty has only just been founded, and the first great matter is the compiling of history.”

The old hands present knew full well better than to ask a foolish question like which history was to be compiled.

Yet the sleeve of Grand General Xu Da, who had been standing at the front with his eyes half closed in repose, was tugged.

“Uncle Xu, which dynasty’s history are we compiling?”

Xu Da cast a sidelong glance at this troublesome son-in-law and said softly, “His Majesty means the history of the Yuan.”

Zhu Shuang was a modern man who had studied business administration. His knowledge of history was no more than a middle-school education. How could he possibly know which history Zhu Yuanzhang intended to compile in which year?

As a survivor of the age of information explosion, however, he naturally knew of the Yuan History, the book later generations of historians mocked as a joke among the Twenty-Four Histories.

“Scholar Song Lian and Assistant Minister of Rites Wang Yi are hereby appointed chief compilers of the History of the Yuan, to be completed within one year.”

And as someone who had lived within the system, he still had a keen sense for politics. Old Zhu was eager to settle the final verdict on the Yuan Dynasty so that the mandate of legitimacy could pass cleanly into his own hands.

Only, the Yuan still occupied half the realm and remained very much alive. Granted, this outcome was inevitable sooner or later, but could one really nail the coffin shut before the corpse had even been laid inside?

And if you were going to do it, why make the coffin so shoddily fashioned, as if cut from paper? Was this not an invitation to become a laughingstock for a thousand years?

Song Lian and Wang Yi, both eminent men of the age and each already past fifty, showed no delight at being entrusted with such a grave charge. On the contrary, their faces were long and bitter, for everyone knew this was the kind of task that would earn curses from later generations. They were just about to bow and thank him.

“I object.”

At those words, Crown Prince Zhu Biao nearly lost the will to live. Second brother, did you perhaps hold a grudge against our father in a previous life?

Zhu Yuanzhang’s glance could kill. Zhu Shuang was already riddled with holes, but thinking of his wife’s instructions before she left, he gritted his teeth and asked, “Then does the Prince of Qin object to the compilation of the History of the Yuan?”

“No. I only think finishing a history in one year is a bit outrageous.”

Zhu Yuanzhang wanted nothing more than to curse aloud. As if I don’t know that already.

If not for a lack of money, who would want to leave behind a reputation for infamy in the history books?

“Does the Prince of Qin have any better plan?”

“No.” Zhu Shuang answered with righteous confidence.

That almost made Zhu Yuanzhang laugh in anger. So he issued an edict: “Scholar Song Lian and Assistant Minister of Rites Wang Yi are appointed chief compilers of the History of the Yuan. The Prince of Qin, Zhu Shuang, is appointed deputy chief compiler of the History of the Yuan. All funds and materials necessary for the compilation are to be prepared by the Prince of Qin.”

Zhu Shuang trembled with rage. This was retaliation, pure and simple.

What mattered was that his good elder brother wrote briskly upon the imperial decree and affixed the great seal in one seamless motion. The two old men, Song and Wang, instead let out long breaths of relief. No deadline was best; they were both over fifty, and who knew which day might be their last. Better to have a shoddy history and share the blame with another than be the only one cursing under heaven. On my first day of formal duty as the Prince of Qin, I am already tired of life.

…

As soon as he left the Hall of Heaven’s Grace, his third brother, the Prince of Jin, Zhu Gang, who was two years younger than he, suddenly appeared around a corner like a rat emerging from the sewers beneath the Forbidden City, with a sly, beady-eyed grin.

“Second brother, good thing I slipped out earlier to tell Mother, or you’d have suffered terribly today.”

As he spoke, he wore the expression of someone waiting to be praised. Zhu Shuang, with money on the brain and nothing to spare, said perfunctorily, “Then thank you very much.”

The third brother looked at him expectantly. “Second brother, we’re real brothers. ‘Thank you’ is too formal. How are you going to properly repay me?”

Zhu Shuang said helplessly, “Second brother is short of money right now. Good third brother, can you lend me a little so I can breathe easy for a few days?”

The third brother quickly waved his hands. “Second brother, we’re brothers. Talking about money hurts our feelings.”

After thinking it over, Zhu Shuang remembered that the third brother, not yet enfeoffed, was just as penniless as he was and had not a drop of oil to squeeze. Instantly losing interest, he wandered off, dejected. Before leaving, he said solemnly, “Third brother, let me give you one piece of advice: when you go to your fief in the future, you must be careful around the people beside you, especially the cooks.”

The third brother was equally bewildered. “Second brother is acting strange today, oddly serious too. Why would he tell me to be careful of the cooks?”

This is the future Forbidden City in Nanjing. In the twenty-sixth year of the Zhengtong era, the famous Ming diviner Liu Ji, courtesy name Bowen, had surveyed the site and pronounced it an auspicious geomantic treasure, a place where the dragon coils around Zhong Mountain and where emperors are meant to dwell. More than two hundred thousand soldiers and laborers were conscripted to fill in Swallow and Sparrow Lake and build a new capital. After three years, construction began in the first year of the Hongwu era.

Aside from the inner core—the sleeping palace and the Hall of Heaven’s Grace where state affairs were discussed—most of the palace complex was still unfinished. The Forbidden City in Nanjing would continue under construction from the days before old Zhu became emperor all the way to the fourth year of the reign of the Second Nephew’s Jianwen era, more than thirty years in all, and still it was not completed. It was not until the fourth year of the Yongle era, when the nightmare-prone Fourth Brother decided to move the capital to Beiping, that things finally changed.

Looking at the grand palace complex before him, already taking shape in majestic splendor, Zhu Shuang could not help thinking that even the Son of Heaven, exalted above all, spent his life worrying over one thing most of all: building houses—houses for the living and houses for the dead.

He sighed inwardly, “When a dynasty rises, the people suffer; when it falls, the people suffer.”

His plump personal eunuch Gou Bao came to report, “Second Master, Eunuch Pu from the Palace of Spring and Harmony has come to deliver a message. His Highness the Crown Prince requests your presence.”

As the eldest prince not yet enfeoffed, Zhu Shuang lived alone in a side hall. The one truly overseeing the compilation of the History of the Yuan was the future heir to the throne, the Crown Prince. As a prince, Zhu Shuang was only an adjunct. For this informal meeting, he removed his cumbersome princely robes and ornaments with the help of several elderly palace matrons. There was no help for it; the sort of scene in novels where bright, lovely palace maids attend him was out of the question for him as an unmarried prince.

Once he had changed into a loose Taoist robe, he felt several pounds lighter. No wonder that fool Jiajing in later times preferred Taoist robes to dragon robes. If a prince’s garments were already so cumbersome, one did not even want to imagine what the emperor’s must be like.

Walking with measured, square steps and led by a line of little eunuchs, Zhu Shuang made his way to the Crown Prince’s residence, the Palace of Spring and Harmony, known in later ages as the Eastern Palace. There was no help for it: only the emperor, empress, and empress dowager were entitled to the privilege of carriage or palanquin within the imperial city. Given the emperor and empress’s favoritism toward Zhu Biao, even if he were frail and often ill, it would not have been impossible. But he observed the rules meticulously, leaving no room for criticism.

Though the Crown Prince was the heir apparent, the heir apparent was still a sovereign, while a prince was a subject. When a subject sought audience with his lord, he had to kneel at the palace gate to pay respects before being admitted. As a prince, Zhu Shuang only needed to send someone ahead to announce his arrival.

Bored while waiting outside the palace gate, Zhu Shuang glanced at the broad hundred-pace square before the Palace of Spring and Harmony. Aside from a few carved auspicious beasts, a row of ceremonial columns, and several copper cisterns in the corners for firefighting, it was bare and monotonous. In the future, one could dig a fountain pool in the center, place a rockery in it, and keep some koi fish there. Yes, that would improve the feng shui of the Eastern Palace.

The Crown Prince’s personal eunuch, Pu Wuyong, approached with quick mincing steps, bowed before Zhu Shuang, and gestured for him to enter. Zhu Shuang nodded and followed. Along the way, remembering a few Korean clients from his previous life, he suddenly asked on impulse, “Pu Wuyong, xi, annyeonghaseyo.”

Ahead of him, Eunuch Pu looked at him in confusion, then bent respectfully. “What are your orders, Your Highness?”

“Kamsahamnida.” Eunuch Pu stared back blankly.

“Aren’t you from Korea?” Having failed to crack the code, Zhu Shuang was a little puzzled.

Eunuch Pu answered honestly, “In reply to Your Highness, this servant is from Jeju in Korea.”

“Oh. What language do people there speak?”

“In reply to Second Master, everyone in my hometown uses Chinese and studies the written classics.”

Zhu Shuang slapped his forehead in frustration. The so-called Korean monarch who later created that barbaric script known as the Correct Sounds for the Instruction of the People was still little more than an amoeba now; his ancestor Yi Seong-gye was still serving as a guard for the Goryeo king.

Then he thought, Speaking Chinese and writing Chinese characters is fine. What an excellent foundation for rule.

Eunuch Pu led the way in silence, not daring to look back. Hearing the Prince of Qin’s occasional strange laughter made his scalp prickle with unease.

It seemed the rumors in the palace that the Prince of Qin had gone mad were not groundless after all. If there was a chance, he would have to persuade His Highness the Crown Prince to keep his distance from the Prince of Qin. Such a righteous and benevolent heir could not be led astray by that abnormal prince.

Zhu Shuang, oblivious to the storm of thought in Pu Wuyong’s head, would otherwise have lifted the several-hundred-jin bronze vat in the corner and smashed that dead eunuch to pieces.

Before he had even crossed the threshold, a handsome youth in a light yellow brocade robe embroidered with five-clawed nine-python insignia caught hold of him and laughed warmly.

“This Palace of Spring and Harmony is to be treated as your own home. Between brothers, there is no need for ceremony.”

Then he turned to those at his sides and said, “From now on, when the Prince of Qin comes to the Palace of Spring and Harmony, no announcement is necessary. Anyone who dares obstruct him will be struck from the palace rolls and never employed again.”

The palace attendants inside were so frightened they dropped to their knees and begged forgiveness. To be struck from the palace rolls was worse than death.

Seeing the way he dealt with others, Zhu Shuang could sum it up in only two words: as warm as spring. No wonder he was the heir so favored by old Zhu. Li Shimin had written the Model for Emperors as a guide for rulers of all ages, but this elder brother of his was a living textbook for the Crown Prince. Zhu Shuang even felt a little jealous of old Zhu. It seemed he should learn properly from his brother. Since his brother had said to treat the Eastern Palace as his own home, if he could not inherit old Zhu’s throne, inheriting his brother’s place would be fine too.

Led by his elder brother into the inner hall, he found the two chief editors, the old men Song and Wang, locked in a heated dispute on the left and right, their faces red. Judging by their loosened topknots, they had probably lost quite a bit of hair these past days.

When the attendant eunuch reported that the Prince of Qin had arrived, the two old men made no move to rise from their seats.

Zhu Shuang had no choice but to clasp his hands and bow respectfully. “This student Zhu Shuang pays respects to Master Song, and to Master Wang.”

Both old men were eminent scholars of the age. Besides serving as officials, they also held posts in the Great Hall as instructors of the imperial princes. Apart from the Crown Prince, which prince had not tasted their ruler’s cane?

Old Wang returned the salute without airs, but when Old Song saw him, his expression turned stern and he gave a cold snort. “The Prince of Qin is surely a man of great affairs. This old man has not seen you in the academy for more than half a year.”

Zhu Shuang was displeased, but there was nothing he could do. Old Song’s seniority was such that even old Zhu had to address him as Master Song. Of course, later on old Zhu would not hesitate to slaughter his children and grandchildren.

He could only answer, “Master Song, this humble prince has recently caught a chill. Merely opening a book gives me a headache, and even the imperial physicians are helpless. Once I have recovered, I will certainly attend the Great Hall again to receive the sages’ instruction.”

“Hmph. The Prince of Qin said much the same last year. In the future you are to govern a realm on Heaven’s behalf. I hope you do not neglect your studies and become a wise prince, so as to bring benefit to the common people.”

Zhu Shuang could only answer awkwardly in the affirmative.

He dared to butt heads with Zhu Yuanzhang because Zhu Yuanzhang was his own father, and because Empress Ma and the Crown Prince were still alive; Zhu Yuanzhang had not yet become the butcher of his later years.

Old Song was much like those elders who gather at family reunions over the New Year—ostensibly admonishing you for your own good, but in truth making you feel utterly embarrassed. You think so highly of me, yet not long ago you still advised old Zhu: “The Prince of Qin is frivolous and cannot be entrusted with rule.” I, Zhu Shuang, truly want to ask you, old Song, how much is your monthly salary? Even Li Shanchang’s son became a son-in-law of the throne; what about your son?

Seeing that Old Song was about to press the attack, Crown Prince Zhu Biao hurriedly intervened.

“Master Song, I summoned you both today to discuss matters of state concerning the compilation of histories and the writing of the canonical records.”

“This old minister has been heartbroken to see the Prince of Qin idling away in pleasure and refusing to strive for progress. In the end, I was presumptuous.”

Zhu Shuang was thoroughly exasperated. Scholars truly had no shame. So I’m the one at fault for your insults?

From the bottom of his heart, he envied someone like Zhu Biao, the proverbial child of another household. His soul came from later ages, yet he found himself everywhere at odds with the rituals and proprieties of this feudal society.

Every era bears its own social mark. The habits of more than thirty years in his previous life could not be erased by the mere ten-odd years of this one.

Just as people often look down on their parents as ordinary, thinking their generation’s ideas are outdated and out of step with the times—yet if you had lived in that era when even filling your stomach was a struggle, could you have guaranteed that, with no learning, you would have managed to eat? Let alone support an entire household.

If people could so easily change themselves, who would willingly become the “mad prince” in the mouths of the common folk?

Zhu Shuang had no intention of changing himself. Even if he studied the Four Books and Five Classics and the principles of the sages with all diligence, even if his talent were superb, he would only become another Zhu Biao, not Zhu Shuang.

If I cannot change myself, then I can only change Great Ming. Even if I have only a single province as my fief, he remembered that one great man once said, “A single spark can start a prairie fire.”