The Ming Dynasty: Starting with the Carpenter Prince!

September 10th.

On the steps in front of the Imperial Gate, civil and military officials had been standing for almost half an hour.

The September sun wasn't too harsh, but the imperial robes and hats made it feel stuffy. Someone in the back row wiped their forehead with their sleeve, only to be glared at by the official in charge of etiquette from the Court of State Ceremonies, and quickly withdrew their hand.

Today, the Crown Prince is officially appointed.

The three main halls have been burned down for twenty-three years without being repaired. The grand ceremony for the enthronement of the crown prince was held without even a roof.

Yellow felt was laid on the steps, the throne was placed in the center of the gate, and the ceremonial guards were lined up on the left and right. The Zhonghe Shaoyue troupe of the Jiaofangsi was already waiting in the two wings.

The officials' gazes, some openly, some subtly, drifted eastward; the eldest prince had not yet arrived.

The whispers in the back row were impossible to suppress.

"I heard he's not well-versed in classical studies and hasn't even read the Four Books."

"Whether one is learned in classical studies or not doesn't matter. Once he is conferred the title and sits in the Eastern Palace, he can be taught to read and study at his own pace."

"Teach? Who will teach? Which teacher will be hired? No matter how grand the ceremony, the few cold halls in the Eastern Palace can't even gather enough charcoal for a fire."

"Shh, stop talking, the people from the Court of State Ceremonial are looking this way."

Qi Shijiao, standing in the position of the Ministry of Rites, listened to all these words.

He was in his early forties, with a strong voice, clearly someone who had honed his eloquence in the corridors of the Sixth Division. He glanced back in Fang Congzhe's direction, but Fang Congzhe didn't look at him.

Qi Shijiao withdrew his gaze and adjusted his sleeves. He had a draft of a memorial tucked inside, impeaching the emperor for violating regulations regarding the appointment of the crown prince; he had written it overnight. If the imperial edict today truly included Cui Wensheng's case, he would hand the memorial over as soon as he left the Meridian Gate.

Yang Lian stood in the military section, a few people away, and heard all the discussions clearly.

He didn't turn around.

He wrote the three impeachment petitions against Cui Wensheng, and Qi Shijiao helped Fang Congzhe draft the memorial to shield Cui Wensheng from criticism. They didn't even greet each other when they met in the corridor of the Six Ministries.

Yang Lian held his left hand loosely at his side, his knuckles slightly bent—he also held a draft of a memorial, the fourth impeachment. If the imperial edict hadn't mentioned Cui Wensheng today, he would have submitted the draft that afternoon. No matter what the edict said, he could still submit something.

Give him a crack and he can carve out a tunnel. Qi Shijiao wasn't the only one practicing his speech under the corridor of the Sixth Department.

Fang Congzhe stood at the head of all the officials, wearing a first-rank official robe with a crane emblem, his face gentle.

He knew what was written in today's edict. He had read the final draft of the edict sent by the Directorate of Ceremonial last night. It was exactly the same as the one drafted by the Cabinet, a clean and simple edict for the heir apparent, without any faults.

But he always felt that something was wrong.

Three days ago, when he entered the warm pavilion to pay his respects, the Crown Prince, who was whittling wood in the corner, chimed in again. Emperor Taichang casually asked, "How was Cui Wensheng's matter resolved?" The Crown Prince didn't even look up and said, "Has that notification document been thoroughly investigated?"

Emperor Taichang didn't respond, and the Crown Prince didn't pursue the matter. He simply threw out a sentence and then ignored it, as if he had just tossed a pebble into a pond.

The pebble sank to the bottom, but the ripples didn't stop.

The next day, Emperor Taichang summoned Sun Ruyou of the Ministry of Rites alone and asked him two questions: how to proceed with the ceremony for the investiture of the crown prince, and whether the punishment of Cui Wensheng could be attached to the edict and issued together.

Sun Ruyou answered "Yes".

What did Fang Congzhe answer? No one asked him.

He subtly scanned the crowd. Three months ago, he was the only one in a red robe standing on the steps; now Liu Yizhu and Han Kuang stood three steps behind him, neither too close nor too far.

This distance was intentional.

Three cracks of the whip silenced the entire imperial court.

The official in charge of announcing the arrival of the Crown Prince announced loudly, "Please invite the eldest son of the Emperor to enter the ranks—"

The music of Zhonghe Shaoyue suddenly began, bells and chimes rang out, and the sound waves surged out from both sides, filling the entire Huangji Gate Square.

Zhu Youxiao stepped out from the east side of Fengtian Gate.

The ceremonial robe was tried on yesterday. The nine-tassel crown was placed on top of my head, with nine tassels in the front and nine in the back, each tassel containing nine jade beads. A beaded curtain hung in front of my eyes, so I had to walk slowly, otherwise the beads would sway so much that I couldn't see the cracks in the bricks under my feet.

The blue and red fabric of the robes was thick, and even in the September heat, they made one sweat profusely. The jade tablet was held in the hand.

He ascended step by step from the eastern steps to the imperial steps.

Officials lined up on both sides, with scarlet robes in front and green robes in between, stretching all the way to the end of the line of sight.

The gazes of thousands of people fell upon them simultaneously, feeling like being pricked by needles.

This is the first time I've been stared at by so many people. Even my thesis defense and job presentation weren't this grand. In my previous life, the biggest event I attended was a department-wide report with about thirty people sitting below. Compared to this, it wasn't even a warm-up.

The gold-brick floor had been baking in the sun for half an hour, and it was so hot that it burned your feet even through your boots. Looking out from behind the beaded curtain, all you could see were rows of people in black gauze hats and official robes, making it impossible to tell who was who.

When you reach the place of worship, stand still.

The music of Shao music ceased.

The entire venue was solemn, with only the sound of the wind and the fluttering of flags.

The official chanted, "Bow—"

Zhu Youxiao knelt down, prostrated himself, and then stood up. The beaded curtain of his crown swayed twice, and the jade tablet almost slipped from his hand; he gripped it tightly.

"Bowing again—"

Kneel again, prostrate again, rise again.

I practiced this routine three times with Wang An at the East Palace yesterday, but when I actually went on stage, the dull thud of my knee hitting the yellow felt still startled me.

Emperor Taichang sat on his throne, looking down through the doorway. His gaze lingered on the Crown Prince for a moment. His lips moved slightly, but he remained silent, placing the teacup he was holding back on the armrest.

The official in charge of the imperial edict emerged from the palace gate beside the throne and stood on a high place outside the gate; this was Sun Ruyou from the Ministry of Rites.

Sun Ruyou unfolded the imperial edict and read it aloud.

The preceding was a set of platitudes: "I have inherited the great throne and, mindful of the weighty trust placed in me by my ancestors, I establish an heir and set the foundation for the nation's stability." He then appointed his eldest son, Zhu Youxiao, as Crown Prince, bestowed upon him a golden book and seal, and placed him in the Eastern Palace.

The Hanlin Academy could write such parallel prose with their eyes closed, and the officials could respond to it with their eyes closed as well.

Then Sun Ruyou turned the page.

"Cui Wensheng's improper use of medicine caused the Emperor's health to deteriorate—"

Zhu Youxiao's heart skipped a beat. They've arrived.

"—Cui Wensheng was imprisoned and punished, dismissed from his post in the Imperial Pharmacy, demoted to the Nanjing Garrison, and never to be employed again."

Zhu Youxiao's brow twitched.

These words sound familiar.

That sounds so familiar.

"Imprisoned for prosecution," "Demoted to Nanjing as a military officer," "Never to be employed again"—aren't these the exact words Fang Congzhe said in the warm pavilion three days ago?

Emperor Taichang adopted Fang Congzhe's plan.

Before Zhu Youxiao could figure it out, Sun Ruyou's voice continued the next sentence.

"The Ministry of Rites, together with the Directorate of Ceremonial, shall thoroughly investigate the relevant documents concerning his transfer to the Imperial Pharmacy and submit a truthful report."

There was a moment of silence on the steps.

In an instant, whispers spread like water seeping into sand. Someone in the back row gasped, while the officials in the front row exchanged bewildered glances.

Zhu Youxiao knelt on the steps of the palace, his face hidden behind a beaded curtain, his mind in turmoil.

The first half of the sentence is Fang Congzhe's plan, and the second half is the seed he planted.

Emperor Taichang put the two things together.

The first part of the sentence is to shut Fang Congzhe up with his own words—"Your suggestion of 'imprisonment for prosecution' is approved by me. You proposed the plan yourself; how could you object?"

The second half of the sentence hit Fang Congzhe's weak spot—whoever signed the notification document can be found out by checking.

Fang Congzhe's original intention of "quickly closing the case" was to pin the blame on Cui Wensheng alone, thus eliminating the need for further investigation. However, Emperor Taichang used his own words as a hammer, adding another nail—"You want to close it, right? Fine, close it. But before closing it, find out the whole story clearly."

Cut in half, the first half is comfort, the second half is the blade.

He didn't teach that.

He planted the seed of "information document," thinking that Emperor Taichang would simply ask questions. But Emperor Taichang did more than just ask; he devised a more ruthless, more brilliant, and more infuriating strategy than the Crown Prince had anticipated.

I'll hit you with your own words.

Zhu Youxiao paused for a moment behind the beaded curtain.

This was the first time he had been surprised by Emperor Taichang since he transmigrated.

The person who rubbed his temples in the warm pavilion and said, "Even if I know, there's nothing I can do," the person who would only frown and not refuse when Consort Li urged him to grant him a title—this person brandished a knife in a decree appointing him as crown prince, and his knife skills were more swift than the crown prince had expected.

A father is not just a shield.

The father is playing his own game of chess.

Pretty.

The six words "carefully investigate the notification documents" had been uttered by the Crown Prince three days ago in the warm pavilion. Fang Congzhe had heard them, Wang An had heard them, and Emperor Taichang had heard them.

But now it was read aloud by the official in charge of the imperial seal, in the emperor's tone, and bearing the imperial seal.

The phrase "to be imprisoned and prosecuted" was uttered by Fang Congzhe himself three days prior.

The two knives, one handed to them by the Crown Prince and the other sharpened by the Grand Secretary himself, were welded together by Emperor Taichang.

Three days. From the fragments in the corner of the warm pavilion to the black and white words of the imperial edict appointing the heir apparent, it took a total of three days.

Fang Congzhe's expression remained unchanged; his seven years of self-cultivation as prime minister truly showed its power at this moment.

This clause wasn't in the final draft I reviewed last night. It was added this morning through an expedited process by the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs; he didn't handle it.

The phrase "to imprison and discuss the crime" was familiar to Fang Congzhe—it was a proposal he himself had put forward, and he should have breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing those words.

But when the document followed, "detailed investigation and notification," he couldn't relax.

Yang Lian clenched his sleeve, then slowly released it. He didn't need to submit the draft of the memorial in his left hand for now—the imperial edict had traveled further than his petition.

Zhu Youxiao knelt on the steps of the palace, taking in every single reaction.

Once the notification documents are examined, Fang Congzhe's personnel chain will be laid bare. This knife can not only cut Cui Wensheng.

Fang Congzhe didn't even have the right to object—you said the first half yourself.

have to.

After the imperial edict was read aloud, Zhu Youxiao entered through the east gate of the palace.

The light in the doorway suddenly dimmed.

Emperor Taichang sat on his throne, looking much better than he had half a month ago. He was dressed in full regalia and wore a faint smile.

The palace attendant knelt down, and Zhu Youxiao knelt as well.

The official who proclaimed the edict knelt to his left, unfolded the golden edict, and read it aloud. Zhu Youxiao didn't hear a single word of the Hanlin Academy's elegant prose; his mind was filled with the edict he had just received.

He took the book with both hands and handed it to the eunuch, then took the gold seal and handed it to the eunuch.

The gold book was surprisingly heavy; a thin gold leaf felt like a brick in my hand.

The gold seal is heavier, with a tortoise-shaped knob and four seal characters "Imperial Crown Prince's Seal" engraved at the bottom. It feels cool to the touch.

These are the four words.

Zhu Youxiao paused for a moment in holding Jinbao's hand.

He knew who the last person to hold this golden seal was. Zhu Changluo, his father. He had been the crown prince for thirty years and had only been on the throne for twenty-nine days.

If history hadn't taken a turn, the next one to laud him would have been himself—the Tianqi Emperor, in the seventh year. Then his younger brother, Zhu Youjian, ascended to the throne, in the seventeenth year, at Coal Hill, with a single rope.

Twenty-four years.

From the time he took over until the Ming Dynasty closed the shop, a total of twenty-four years passed.

Jinbao felt cold in his palm, a temperature unlike what one would expect in September.

I felt the same way the day I passed the civil service exam in my past life; my hand trembled slightly as I held the acceptance letter. It wasn't excitement, but a sudden realization that my life was now tied to a massive machine. That machine was called the system. This machine was called the Ming Dynasty, and I had twenty-four years left to live.

That's a bit lacking.

The hall was dark, with only the palace lanterns on either side of the throne illuminating the outline of Emperor Taichang's face. From that position, the kneeling crown prince was probably just a shadow of a figure in blue and red robes.

But for Zhu Youxiao, the golden seal he held in his hands changed everything.

A knife that had been lying unsharpened for fifteen years has finally been sheathed today.

All the skills he had accumulated in his previous life—judging people, speaking, weighing pros and cons, finding loopholes—were completely wasted on a prince without a title. But from this day forward, with a title in hand, his words would carry more weight.

He plans to make the journey, which took his father thirty years to complete, much faster.

Twenty-four years is enough for a dynasty to breathe its last.

That's enough to turn things around once.

Jinbao was handed over to the eunuch.

Zhu Youxiao's hands were empty, but his palms were still cold.

They left the hall, returned to their positions, and bowed four times.

The music of Shao began again, and the golden books and jewels were loaded into a colorful palanquin and carried towards the Wenhua Hall.

The officials dispersed and walked from Huangji Gate toward Wumen Gate. The crowd dispersed in twos and threes, and their voices gradually grew louder.

Qi Shijiao did not walk towards the Meridian Gate, but turned into the corridor on the east side of the Danchi, where he waited for the Crown Prince's entourage to pass by.

After a short while, the Crown Prince's palanquin came down the passageway, led by several eunuchs holding yellow umbrellas, followed by Wang An and two palace attendants.

Qi Shijiao went up to greet him and bowed with his hands clasped.

"Your Highness, I, Qi Shijiao, a supervising secretary of the Ministry of Rites, have a question to ask. During the investiture ceremony just now, the ceremonial procedures did not include the reading of the imperial edict. The case of Cui Wensheng was attached to the edict of investiture and was issued. This seems inappropriate according to the rites. As I am in charge of the Ministry of Rites, I must speak out."

The palanquin stopped.

Zhu Youxiao lifted the sedan curtain and glanced at him.

"Qi Gejian, were the ceremonial procedures for the edict of investiture of the crown prince drafted by the Ministry of Rites or the Grand Secretariat?"

Qi Shijiao was taken aback. "Naturally, it is drafted by the Ministry of Rites, drafted by the Grand Secretariat, approved by the Directorate of Ceremonial, and signed by all three parties. None of them can be missing."

"What did the imperial edict say? Did Minister Sun of the Ministry of Rites approve it?"

"Of course, Lord Sun signed it himself, I can see it clearly."

"That settles it then." Zhu Youxiao lowered the sedan curtain. "Lord Sun is in charge of etiquette. He's given his approval, so he knows better than anyone whether the ceremonial procedures are in accordance with the rules. If Qi Gejian wants to correct the ceremonial procedures, go find Lord Sun, don't come to me. I'm not well-versed in classical texts, and I don't understand the intricacies of ceremonial procedures."

The sedan curtain fell, and the palanquin began to move.

Qi Shijiao did not move aside.

He took a step forward, cupped his hands in a respectful bow, and spoke in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft, just loud enough for the officials passing by in the corridor to hear.

"Your Highness, please wait. Lord Sun's signature is on the official document of the investiture of the heir apparent. Cui Wensheng's entry was added this morning on urgent notice. When the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs sent it, the Six Ministries were not yet on duty, so this entry has not been rejected by the Six Ministries."

The palanquin stopped.

Zhu Youxiao's eyelids twitched behind the sedan curtain.

The six departments rejected the application.

Under the Ming Dynasty system, imperial edicts had to be reviewed by the Six Ministries of Censors before being issued. These censors had the authority to reject edicts—returning any clauses they deemed improper. This was not a mere formality; it was a tangible power enshrined in the "Collected Statutes of the Great Ming."

As a supervising secretary of the Ministry of Rites, Qi Shijiao's job was to vet and reject official documents.

That cut was precise; it hit the program.

Programmatic issues are more troublesome than content issues. You can say the content is correct and the direction is correct, but you can't say the program isn't important—the program is the skeleton that runs the Ming Dynasty; ignoring the program is equivalent to ignoring the rules.

Zhu Youxiao lifted the sedan curtain again, but this time he did not laugh.

"Qi Gejian".

"Your subject is here."

"This edict is a formal edict for the investiture of the crown prince, not an imperial decree. The main text and accompanying clauses were issued together after being signed by the Minister of Rites. Lord Sun's stamp completes the Ministry of Rites' procedures. As for the six ministries' rejections—"

He paused for a moment.

"This clause was added by His Majesty himself. Qi Gejian must submit a rebuttal; he must submit a rebuttal before the Emperor."

Qi Shijiao's lips moved slightly, but he didn't make a sound.

Go before the Emperor to reject the petition.

It's not that he can't, it's that he doesn't dare. You, a mere censor, have just finished the investiture ceremony, and in front of all the officials who have left the court, you demand the rejection of the clauses that the emperor himself added to the edict of investiture—you are not exercising your right to reject, you are slapping the emperor in the face.

Zhu Youxiao gave him no time to catch his breath.

"By the way, Qi Gejian, the rules of the Six Ministries are good rules. Next time there are such expedited supplementary clauses, I will definitely remind Father to inform the Six Ministries in advance. Thank you for your reminder, Gejian."

The sedan curtain fell. The palanquin began to move.

This time, Qi Shijiao did not pursue the matter.

He stood under the eaves, his expression unreadable, neither angry nor anything else.

Zhu Youxiao's last words sounded like a thank you, but upon closer inspection, they were full of barbs—"I will definitely remind Father Emperor," implying that he had a good relationship with His Majesty and dared to stop him? "Inform the Six Ministries in advance," it's true that he didn't inform them this time, but if you investigate further, you'll be investigating the procedures of the Directorate of Ceremonial. Are you going to tear the Directorate of Ceremonial apart? "Thank you for your advice," he said, thanking him meant he remembered him.

Three sentences, three directions; each sentence is polite, yet each sentence blocks a path.

His face still wore an expression that said, "I don't understand anything."

amazing.

Several officials passing by on their way off duty saw this scene and their gazes lingered on Qi Shijiao for a couple of moments.

At the other end of the passageway, Yang Lian heard this story from his colleagues who were leaving work, and his lips twitched slightly.

The palanquin turned the corner and headed towards the Wenhua Hall.

A man in a scarlet robe and jade belt walked towards us from the passageway. He was tall and strong, and his steps were neither hurried nor slow.

Duke Zhang Weixian of England.

Zhang Weixian waited in the passageway. When the palanquin stopped, he knelt down, lifted his robe, and performed a grand salute.

"Your subject Zhang Weixian congratulates Your Highness on the successful appointment of the heir apparent."

Regardless of whether you've read the Four Books or not, Zhang Weixian recognized bloodlines and primogeniture as the basis for hereditary nobility—a 250-year-old ironclad rule.

"Please rise, Duke." Zhu Youxiao lifted the sedan curtain.

Zhang Weixian got up and patted the dust off his knees.

Unlike civil officials, meritorious officials do not need to submit memorials or express their loyalty. They simply kneel down, and that carries the weight of a 250-year iron certificate.

The palanquin continued on its way.

Zhu Youxiao lowered the sedan curtain. His palms were still cold. Jinbao had been handed over for a while, but the feel of those four seal characters still lingered on his fingertips, as if they were branded into him.

With the official title secured, the next step was to begin teaching.

…………

Cabinet Office.

Qi Shijiao plopped down opposite Fang Congzhe.

"Your Excellency, that prince slips like an eel. I caught his first sentence and used the Six Ministries' refutation to shut him up, but he immediately passed the buck to the Emperor—'to refute the Emperor's refutation.' Do I dare? If I dared, and I refuted the terms personally added by His Majesty on the day of the investiture ceremony, the people in the Six Ministries' corridor would tear my mouth apart tomorrow."

Fang Congzhe blew on the tea foam, "You shouldn't have stopped me in the first place."

"Not stop it? If we let that edict get out, the whole court will know that the official documents will be investigated. Aren't you worried, Grand Secretary?"

"What's the use of rushing?" Fang Congzhe took a sip of tea. "The imperial edict has already been read, and it's written in black and white and can't be taken back. Your attempt to stop it will only make people think we're guilty."

Qi Shi opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

"The phrase 'thorough investigation of the notification documents' was written into the imperial edict, clearly indicating that someone was handing Yang Lian a knife behind his back." He changed the subject, lowering his voice, "Wang An and those Donglin guys are in cahoots; it's highly likely he's behind this."

Fang Congzhe didn't reply, put down his teacup, and leaned back in his chair.

During his seven years as prime minister, Yang Lian's reckless intelligence was something he had witnessed more than once.

Wang An counts as half.

But something was bothering him, not the words "notification document"—he had prepared those words. What bothered him was the first half of the sentence.

"Cui Wensheng was imprisoned and his crimes were discussed. He was demoted to the Nanjing Imperial Guard and never to be employed again."

This is his own plan.

He said it himself in the warm pavilion three days ago, word for word. Emperor Taichang didn't express his opinion at the time, assuming it was "to think about it some more." Unexpectedly, the emperor thought about it for three days and came up with a usage that Emperor Taichang hadn't anticipated—he used the Grand Secretary's own words as wrapping paper, and sent them out along with the knife that was the "detailed investigation and notification document."

You want to settle this? Okay, we'll settle it according to your plan. But let's investigate thoroughly before we do.

You can't very well object to your own proposal, can you?

Fang Congzhe rubbed the teacup. His fingertips touched the cool surface of the bowl.

Emperor Taichang served as crown prince for thirty years, spending those thirty years in the cold palace. During those thirty years, he endured countless acts of double-dealing.

Once such a person sits in that chair, their knife skills may become rusty, but their eyesight will not go blind.

But no matter who it is, their actions will always leave traces.

Where are the clues? We'll find out by checking the notification documents. The people investigating are from the Ministry of Rites and the Directorate of Ceremonial, and he has connections in both.

Fang Congzhe closed his eyes briefly, as if taking a nap. He no longer felt as at ease as before. Let them investigate; it's not certain who has the evidence.

After Qi Shijiao left, Fang Congzhe summoned the clerk.

"Has word spread that Qi Shijiao blocked the Crown Prince's carriage in the corridor?"

"It's been spread around. Everyone in the Six Ministries is talking about it. There are two versions. One says that the Crown Prince is not well-versed in the classics and can't even answer questions about rituals. The other says that the Crown Prince used Minister Sun of the Ministry of Rites and the Emperor's own handwriting to shut down the Ministry of Rites."

Both versions were circulated simultaneously. Fang Congzhe stroked his teacup.

Qi Shijiao couldn't swallow this insult. He knew that this person was skilled with words and would only try to make up for it after being humiliated. He was afraid that no one could stop him from asking questions next.

As for the Crown Prince, he repeated the exchange twice to Qi Shijiao.

The first line, "Go find Lord Sun," is nothing special; anyone could use a ready-made shield. But the second line, "Go to the Emperor to refute it," is a clever move. It doesn't just kick the ball away; it kicks it to the very position that Qi Shijiao dares not accept.

If someone were to teach him, they wouldn't just teach the first sentence and leave out the second. But if no one were to teach him, how could a semi-illiterate person know that the Six Ministries' rebuttals couldn't stop the Emperor's personal reply?

Most likely it was just a lucky coincidence, nothing unusual.

There's also Zhang Weixian.

Waiting in the passageway for the Crown Prince's palanquin to pass by, he knelt down and performed a deep salute, which the clerk reported. It's normal for a noble to acknowledge their master, but Zhang Weixian never did anything unnecessary. The Duke of Ying's residence exited the palace through the Xihua Gate; the direction of the Wenhua Hall had absolutely no connection to his way home.

He deliberately went around this place.

They waited in the passageway, not because they happened to meet the prince on the way and knelt down, but because they had calculated exactly when the prince's procession would pass by and waited at that exact moment.

This is troublesome.