The Ming Dynasty: Starting with the Carpenter Prince!

Fang Congzhe arrived at Chenshi (7-9 AM) the next day.

The Grand Secretary personally entered the palace to pay his respects, but the procession was small, and he was accompanied only by a clerk.

He entered the warm chamber, bowed, and stood before the couch.

The man, in his fifties, stood ramrod straight, his face displaying just the right amount of concern—neither excessive nor perfunctory.

The sense of propriety cultivated over seven years of solitary observation is more accurate than any measurement.

Zhu Youxiao sat in the corner whittling wood, glancing at Fang Congzhe out of the corner of his eye.

This was the first time I had seen the chief minister so closely. He was not tall, had a gentle face, and smiled like an old man next door. He did not have the ruthless aura that one would expect from someone who held absolute power.

Yet this was the man who, while Emperor Wanli did not attend court for thirty years and the previous chief ministers left one after another due to their inability to continue, single-handedly held up the cabinet for seven years without making a dent.

The civil and military officials have come and gone, but he remains.

Gentleness is the skin, but resilience is the bone.

Fang Congzhe first reported three things: First, the list of lecturers for the Imperial Lectures had been prepared and was presented to the Emperor for review; second, Xiong Tingbi of Liaodong had submitted the latest report, stating that the situation in Puhe had been temporarily stabilized, but the military pay shortfall was still significant; and third, the plan for handling the Cui Wensheng case.

Prioritize important matters and leave the most difficult ones for last. Let the emperor nod twice in the safe zone to warm up before slowly sliding into the minefield.

A prime minister who had served as prime minister for seven years always presented his work with a rhythmic pace, warming up in a safe zone before sliding into the minefield—a skill that ordinary people couldn't master. Zhu Youxiao watched from the corner, memorizing this routine.

We should teach Emperor Taichang a lesson from this.

Emperor Taichang nodded in agreement with the first two points, but Fang Congzhe slowed down his speech for the third.

"Cui Wensheng misused medicine, and officials in the court have submitted numerous impeachments. I believe this matter should be resolved quickly to appease the people. Cui Wensheng should be imprisoned and punished, demoted to the Nanjing Imperial Guard, and never to be employed again." He bowed slightly. "In this way, his mistake will be punished, but the repercussions will not be too widespread."

The implications are too far-reaching.

Yesterday, Consort Li also used these four characters.

A woman confined to the inner palace and a prime minister who had reigned alone for seven years—they were completely unrelated in every way, yet when it came to the matter of Cui Wensheng, the words that came out of their mouths were exactly the same. It's hard to say whether great minds think alike, or whether the same rhetoric had been circulating throughout the palace.

Zhu Youxiao sat in the corner, whittling wood, his hands never stopping, and his ears never idle either.

Fang Congzhe's words were consistent with the wording of the memorial submitted yesterday, except that it was upgraded from "also out of loyalty" to "deliberation on charges in prison," which seemed to be more serious, but in essence it was still the same trick—Cui Wensheng took the blame alone, and the rest of the story was cut off.

Fang Congzhe wasn't trying to sever someone else's connection.

Five years ago, in the case of the club attack, someone stormed into the Eastern Palace with a stick, intending to kill the then Crown Prince, Emperor Taichang. The investigation eventually led to a eunuch in Consort Zheng's palace, but Emperor Wanli dismissed the case with a single sentence: "A madman stormed the palace."

The entire court awaited the Grand Secretary's statement, but Fang Congzhe remained silent. It wasn't that he was defending Consort Zheng; he simply refused to speak.

Silence is an admission of consent, and consent is a handle to be used against you.

Five years have passed, and Donglin still remembers this debt. Following Cui Wensheng's investigation, Yang Lian traced the events to the day Consort Zheng was discovered. The next question was, "Why did the Grand Secretary remain silent about the club attack case?"

These eight words are enough to give Fang Congzhe a hard time.

The word "wide" in "too wide" implies his own involvement.

Emperor Taichang leaned back on the couch and did not immediately respond.

His gaze shifted from Fang Congzhe's face to Zhu Youxiao in the corner.

"What did Yang Lian say?"

Fang Congzhe remained expressionless. "Yang, the Censor, has submitted three memorials impeaching Cui Wensheng, with very strong wording. I have read them all. There are indeed some merits in them, but there are also some excessive words. I believe that we should stick to the facts and not implicate others for Cui Wensheng's fault alone. If we allow the censors to investigate further, I fear that some people will use this as an excuse to create unnecessary complications."

Fang Congzhe would never utter the words "Consort Zheng"—mentioning it would only bring trouble upon himself.

But Yang Lian didn't care about any of that.

On the day Cui Wensheng was impeached, Fang Congzhe advised him to confess. The man raised his neck and shouted, "Death is death, what crime has Lian committed?" Everyone in the warm pavilion heard it.

A seventh-rank official has the power to reject petitions; give him a clue and he can investigate to the ends of the earth.

Emperor Taichang, with his eyes half-closed, suddenly asked, "Does Grand Secretary Fang think that Cui Wensheng's use of medicine was a mistake or intentional?"

There was a moment of silence in the warm room.

This question is ten times more incisive than Yang Lian's question.

Fang Congzhe's smile faltered for a moment, then returned to normal. "I dare not make a rash judgment. However, Cui Wensheng has served in the palace for a long time and has some knowledge of pharmacology. Whether the use of rhubarb, a purgative, on a weak body was intentional or due to a lack of medical knowledge must be investigated in detail."

Fang Congzhe witnessed firsthand how Ye Xianggao, the predecessor, held the cabinet for six years before being impeached and forced to resign. From then on, he learned one thing—you can say anything, but you can't imply anything.

Every word is like a soft cushion, so no matter how much you fall, it won't hurt.

It's remarkable that even when Emperor Taichang was so ill, they couldn't get a single truth out of him. No one else could have gotten one either.

To have survived to this level in the central government, one's thick lips are a kind of talent.

Emperor Taichang remained silent for a moment.

"Let me think about it some more."

It's "I'll think about it some more" again, exactly the same as yesterday.

Fang Congzhe handed over the proposal, but Emperor Taichang neither agreed nor disagreed, and kept putting it off.

The two were dragging their feet in different directions—Fang Congzhe wanted to put out the fire quickly, while Emperor Taichang wanted to wait for it to extinguish itself. One wanted to pour water on it, the other wanted to wait for rain; neither of them spoke their minds.

Fang Congzhe did not urge the emperor. It was not the chief minister's job to urge the emperor to make a decision, especially since the emperor was ill.

He bowed and replied, "Your subject obeys," then took a half-step back, preparing to take his leave.

Zhu Youxiao put down his carving knife.

"Father, Cui Wensheng was originally from Consort Zheng's palace, wasn't he?"

Emperor Taichang and Fang Congzhe looked over at the same time.

Before Fang Congzhe could even take his leave, the Crown Prince, who was in the corner, suddenly interrupted without any greeting or preamble, and started whittling wood.

Emperor Taichang grunted in response.

"Then how did he end up in the Imperial Pharmacy?" Zhu Youxiao gestured with his carving knife. "Shouldn't there be some kind of notification document for this kind of transfer?"

The warm room fell silent for a moment.

Fang Congzhe's gaze fell on Zhu Youxiao's face.

The prince, whittling wood in the corner, had wood shavings all over his hands and a simple, honest look on his face.

"The notification document..." he said cautiously, "The Imperial Pharmacy is related to His Majesty's safety. When Cui Wensheng was transferred there, the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs notified the Cabinet as usual."

"Oh, I understand." Zhu Youxiao nodded. "Who signed it?"

Fang Congzhe's smile froze.

Among all the civil and military officials, he ranked among the top three in terms of self-cultivation; not showing his emotions was his fundamental skill.

But everyone present saw this freeze.

Who signed the notification document?

For seven years, there has only been one person in the cabinet. If he signs, it means he knew about the release of the person; if he doesn't sign, it means he failed to supervise and missed the person. Neither path looks good.

What a gentle knife! The Crown Prince, who was whittling wood in the corner, asked a casual question that pierced the softest spot on the Prime Minister's ribs, where he had been the sole prime minister for seven years.

The soft cushion, Tai Chi, and impeccable technique of the past half hour have all been destroyed by these six words.

Wang An paused for a moment while holding the document.

The old eunuch lowered his head and continued tidying up, his fingers turning the pages a beat slower than before.

He could tell too.

Zhu Youxiao didn't even look up; the carving knife had already been turned back to the wood, and he looked as if he had forgotten about it as soon as he asked the question.

Fang Congzhe's expression returned to normal. Instead of giving a direct answer, he looked at Emperor Taichang.

"Your Majesty, the transfer of Cui Wensheng to the Imperial Pharmacy is a matter of established practice in the palace after Your Majesty ascended the throne. The Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs has informed you as usual, and I have already signed and filed the documents." He spoke at a measured pace, "However, this is an internal affair and is not the same matter as the case of Cui Wensheng's improper use of medicine. They should not be confused."

Pretty.

A single sentence deflected the question of "who signed it." The personnel of the Imperial Pharmacy were under the supervision of the Directorate of Ceremonial, and the cabinet's signature and filing were merely formalities—according to the rules, the Grand Secretary's signature did not equate to agreement, but only to "I understand."

Fang Congzhe used this rule to deflect criticism, and there was nothing wrong with the system itself.

After sealing it, he remained calm and composed, the seam as smooth as if it had been waxed. No wonder he was the prime minister who had remained in power for seven years; even after being stabbed, he could still stand and wipe the blood clean.

Whether he wipes it clean or not is not important.

The important thing is that Emperor Taichang heard the words "signature and record." Signing meant he was aware of the receipt, and being aware of the receipt meant he had a responsibility. This thorn was stuck in his side, and he couldn't pull it out.

Emperor Taichang's gaze lingered on Fang Congzhe's face for a couple of moments longer.

Those two breaths of silence carried weight.

Emperor Taichang may not have been able to fathom how much effort Fang Congzhe had put into navigating Cui Wensheng's case in the past half hour. But the question of "who signed the notification document" was the key—signing it meant they knew about it, and the Grand Secretary knew but did not stop it.

The emperor was not confused.

"I understand," said Emperor Taichang. "Grand Secretary Fang may leave now."

Fang Congzhe bowed and took his leave without the slightest hesitation; his back was composed and steady as always.

The moment he stepped out of the warm pavilion, he mentally reviewed the scene that had just unfolded.

"Who signed the notification document."

The question came out of the mouth of a fifteen-year-old prince. His words were so blunt and direct that they didn't seem like someone who had grown up in the palace. But the angle of the question was so tricky that the prince almost couldn't answer it on the spot.

Not right.

The Crown Prince was illiterate in classical studies, a fact known throughout the court. But how could someone illiterate in classical studies know the term "notification document"? How could he know that the transfer of personnel from the Imperial Pharmacy required notification to the Cabinet?

This kind of thing is something that people who haven't spent ten or eight years in the palace have never even heard of.

Someone taught me.

Fang Congzhe narrowed his eyes. The person who could teach the Crown Prince these things must be familiar with the inner court procedures, be close to the Crown Prince, and have a motive to direct the criticism at the Grand Secretary.

Three in a pair – Wang An.

The eunuch in charge of writing had served Emperor Taichang for twenty-six years and was intimately familiar with the inner workings of the palace. It was he who submitted Yang Lian's memorial.

He was free to come and go as he pleased around the Crown Prince, so it was perfectly normal for him to teach him a few words.

As for the Crown Prince himself? Give him a pen and he wouldn't know which way to grab it; he's just a mouthpiece.

Fang Congzhe let out a soft breath, feeling relieved.

The keen intuition honed over seven years was like a net drawn from three lines, crystal clear and unambiguous. This judgment was swift, decisive, and flawless, leaving no room for criticism.

The only problem is that it's wrong.

…………

Wang An escorted him to the corridor.

Fang Congzhe took a few steps, stopped, and smiled.

"Eunuch Wang, His Highness the Crown Prince has been taking care of him in the warm pavilion these past few days. He must be exhausted."

"Your Highness is so filial; this old servant merely assists from the sidelines," Wang An replied, bowing.

"It is indeed filial piety." Fang Congzhe smiled gently, "However, the Crown Prince is young, and the affairs of the court are complicated. There are some things that should not be mentioned casually before the Emperor. Eunuch Wang is a former servant of the late Emperor. Please give His Highness some pointers."

He spoke of it casually.

But who submitted Yang Lian's memorial? Wang An. Half of the Donglin ministers who were reinstated since Emperor Taichang ascended the throne were promoted by Wang An behind the scenes.

Fang Congzhe had been dealing with this eunuch who was in charge of writing for several years—if Wang An loosened his grip when approving imperial edicts, the impeachment memorials from the Donglin faction would be submitted to the emperor; if he tightened his grip, the chief minister could catch his breath a little longer.

"Give me some pointers" is not a sign of concern, but rather an underlined phrase.

Wang An was a shrewd and experienced man; he understood immediately upon hearing it.

"Don't worry, Your Excellency, I understand." His expression remained unchanged.

Fang Congzhe nodded.

As he walked out of the Qianqing Gate corridor, his pace slowed. A gust of autumn wind blew by, and he straightened the hem of his robe, his warm smile fading from his face.

The clerk jogged up behind him.

"Your Excellency, what His Highness the Crown Prince said..."

"Go back and check the notification document for Cui Wensheng's transfer." Fang Congzhe said without turning his head, "See which cabinet it was from and the signatures of the people in charge."

The clerk responded, then hesitated for a moment, "Your Excellency, if the official documents are found out, the people from the Donglin Academy might see them..."

Fang Congzhe kept walking.

"Whether Donglin can see it or not is not important; what matters is what is actually written on that document. If I have the information, I know what others are saying. If I don't, I'm afraid someone will look into it."

The clerk fell silent.

Fang Congzhe walked out of the Qianqing Gate and got into the sedan chair.

As the sedan curtain was lowered, he thought about it again—it was most likely Wang An who taught him.

most.

…………

In the warm room.

After Fang Congzhe left, Emperor Taichang looked at the crown prince in the corner, who was whittling wood with his head down, and remained silent for a long time.

"Schoolboy".

"Your subject is here."

How do you know about "notification documents"?

Zhu Youxiao blinked. "The day before yesterday, Grand Eunuch Wang was organizing documents and muttered something about notifications and filings. I don't understand it either, but I find it strange—how did a eunuch get in charge of the Imperial Pharmacy? Someone has to give their approval, right?"

Emperor Taichang scrutinized him for a long time.

Zhu Youxiao's expression was calm, with wood chips stuck to the calluses on his hands, and he looked like he had just asked casually.

Emperor Taichang closed his eyes.

He spoke only after a long time.

"This child is smarter than I thought."

It sounded like she was talking to herself, or perhaps she was addressing him directly.

Zhu Youxiao lowered his head and whittled wood, muttering, "Grand Secretary Fang signed the papers to let people in, almost causing Father's death. Is this something we should just accept?"

Emperor Taichang did not answer. But his closed eyelid twitched.

Wang Anli stood to the side, silent.

He understood Fang Congzhe's words of "giving more pointers," and the Grand Secretary thought that he had taught him how to "issue a notification document."

You were wronged, but in the palace, there was never a clear distinction between those who wronged you and those who harmed you. Going to argue with Fang Congzhe would only make you look like you were trying to cover your tracks.

The best argument is no argument at all. If Fang Congzhe thinks it's him, then let Fang Congzhe think it's him.

But if he didn't teach him, how did the Crown Prince learn it?

Wang An pondered this question in his mind for a moment, then suppressed it.

The biggest lesson he learned after living in the palace for decades was this: don't think about things you can't understand, don't look at people you can't see through, just do your job well. Otherwise, his head would have been gone long ago.

Zhu Youxiao held the carving knife and made a few strokes on the wood, his mind filled with countless thoughts.

Emperor Taichang said that he was "a little smarter." The word "a little" carries a subtle weight, adding a layer of probing compared to "smarter" and lacking a layer of confirmation compared to "not bad."

Doubtful.

it is good.

Being half-believing is better than not believing at all, and safer than believing completely.

If the crown prince is too stupid, no one will listen to you; if the crown prince is too smart, everyone will be wary of you; only by being neither stupid nor smart can you have room to maneuver. This is a path you have to follow for a lifetime.

There's no need to worry about how Cui Wensheng's case will proceed.

The phrase "notification document" was planted in Emperor Taichang's mind. The emperor would think about it himself, and once he understood it, it would be more effective than anyone pushing him.

For Fang Congzhe, going back to review the documents was a certainty.

He wanted to use this to his advantage, but as soon as news of the Grand Secretary personally investigating Cui Wensheng spread, the Donglin faction arrived. The person putting out the fire personally added fuel to the flames.

As for Fang Congzhe attributing "who taught him" to Wang An?

That would be perfect.

The Grand Secretary stared at Wang An, who shielded the Crown Prince from a bullet, while the Crown Prince quietly whittled wood in a corner.

Three people, three accounts, each keeping their own calculations, and none of them got it right.

Zhu Youxiao lowered his head and made another turn on the wood with the carving knife.

The first leg of the wooden horse is starting to take shape.

The notification document bears Fang Congzhe's monogram.

What about the documents for the allocation of Liaodong military funds?