Chapter 2770: The Capital (Part 126)
"But the Emperor..." Qian Taichong recalled His Majesty's instructions.
"The Grand Canal remains frozen. When spring arrives and flowers bloom, there will surely be a definitive resolution on the matter of opening the port."
At the second drum of the night, somewhere between nine and eleven in the evening, Chongzhen finished reviewing the memorials before him and turned to the reports newly delivered by the Office of Transmission. More than ten memorials citing disaster reports awaited his attention, but a quick scan revealed no urgent military or national emergencies. He allowed himself a quiet breath of relief.
Whether his day and night prayers to the ancestral spirits had finally taken effect, or whether fortune had simply turned in his favor, he could not say. But the "Three Great Worries" inscribed on the screen of the Palace of Heavenly Purity—the Eastern Barbarians, the Kun, and the Roving Bandits—had all fallen silent of late, bringing no fresh calamities to his door.
Tonight he would retire early. His body was too weary for company; the Emperor summoned no concubines to attend his sleep and withdrew directly to the Warm Pavilion.
In the night, a dream came to him. Beneath a cliff, a monkey wept, its cries drawing a crowd of its fellows to inquire after its distress. The weeping monkey pointed upward at the sun and moon hanging in the sky, beating its chest in fury. The assembled monkeys yearned to climb into the heavens and touch those celestial bodies, but the sky remained beyond their reach. Then they glimpsed the sun and moon reflected in the water below. Seizing upon this, the monkeys boarded a boat to fish for the moon.
Just as they busied themselves with their impossible task, another troop of monkeys arrived with the same intention. The first group refused to share, and soon three factions were locked in a chaotic melee, tearing at each other without resolution. Watching this absurdity unfold, the dreaming Emperor laughed aloud—only to draw the monkeys' collective wrath upon himself. They pounced as one. He cried out for his guards to protect the Emperor, but no answer came. Helpless, he found himself cornered beneath an ancient locust tree. Then, across the lake's surface, a raft appeared bearing yet another band of monkeys come to fish for the moon. The three groups screeched and brawled when suddenly a Monkey King leaped from the raft—tall and imposing, wielding the legendary Golden-Hooped Rod. He thrashed the other two factions until they squealed and scattered. Then this Monkey King turned on Chongzhen with a thunderous shout: "I am Sun Wukong! How dare a mere mortal mock me? Taste Old Sun's rod!"
Chongzhen jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, heart pounding. Only a dream. He forced his breathing to steady and began to interpret what he had seen. The sun and moon in the dreamscape surely represented the Great Ming—the very characters that formed the dynasty's name. Monkeys boarding boats to fish for them must signify thieves seeking to steal his empire's rivers and mountains. How ridiculous. The sun and moon traversed the heavens themselves; what hope had these monkeys of ever laying their paws upon them? They were merely exhausting themselves in futile effort. This reasoning calmed his nerves somewhat.
After the morning meal, an imperial attendant eunuch presented "Nanyang Fruits." Upon a jadeite dish lay rings of golden-orange fruit flesh, their bright color striking against the gray and gloomy winter light that filled the hall.
They called them "Nanyang Fruits," but everyone knew they were purchased from the Kun. These exotic rarities, unfamiliar to most, arrived packed in expensive glass bottles filled with sweet juice. Transported thousands of miles from the south to the Capital, the fruit maintained its fresh sweetness and crisp texture even after opening. A bite of such delicacy on a cold winter day was truly among life's supreme pleasures.
The price, naturally, was beyond what ordinary people could bear. This small dish of fruit—a mere three or four slices—cost nearly ten taels of silver.
The Emperor had long considered such indulgence excessively extravagant and had intended to forgo it. Thus the Nanyang fruits he now enjoyed were all offerings from Consort Tian's family, whose household possessed the most abundant supply of Nanyang goods.
The sight of these fruits turned his thoughts to the Kun, yet at this moment his hatred for them had considerably lessened. For one thing, the Kun possessed too many useful commodities. Setting aside the Nanyang fruits before him, governors across the realm had been petitioning the Imperial Court for permission to purchase "Nanyang Guns and Cannons." Armed with these weapons, the Dengzhou Army and Guangning Army had repeatedly frustrated the Eastern Barbarians' assaults. Though they achieved no inspiring "Great Victories," at least the constant stream of defeats had ceased, and they could even claim ten or twenty genuine Manchu heads.
If peace negotiations with the Kun truly succeeded, not only would pressure on the southeast ease, but perhaps more guns, cannons, and ammunition could be obtained from them. According to officials who understood the Kun, they cared nothing for right or wrong, friend or foe—they would sell to anyone who paid.
After finishing the fruit, the Emperor summoned the Grand Secretaries of the Grand Secretariat to the Wenhua Hall to discuss affairs of state.
The Grand Secretariat in the tenth year of Chongzhen was led by Wen Tiren as Senior Grand Secretary. Cabinet ministers such as Xue Guoguan, Liu Yuliang, and Zhang Zhifa were largely his partisans. This was, in effect, the Wen Cabinet.
Wen Tiren bore an exceedingly poor reputation in historical accounts, known for his tireless efforts to pander to the Emperor's wishes while ruthlessly excluding dissidents. Yet he possessed formidable administrative ability, particularly in practical matters like criminal justice and fiscal affairs. Many cabinet ministers could only pontificate abstractly about the Dao, or else stare in tongue-tied bewilderment, uncertain what to say. Wen Tiren, by contrast, could explain matters systematically, step by step. He was an incorruptible official; even his political enemies could find no leverage against him on that front. His capacity to manage the endless tedium of administrative affairs amid turmoil and crisis, both internal and external, demonstrated his genuine competence. Thus, although the Chongzhen reign was notorious for cycling through more than fifty prime ministers, Wen Tiren remained in office the longest and enjoyed the Emperor's deepest trust.
This trust also stemmed from another quality the current Emperor prized highly: "Shen Du"—cautiousness when alone, the discipline of self-watchfulness even in private.
Throughout his time in power, Wen Tiren consistently maintained the Emperor's belief that he did "not form cliques." Nothing provoked the Emperor's displeasure more than "factional strife." Any official suspected of "forming a clique" would inevitably incur imperial disgust or even dismissal. The Donglin Party's fall from grace—from the proud declaration of "Many Upright Men in Court" in the early Chongzhen years to exclusion from the core of power in just a few years—owed much to this imperial mindset.
Yet in the court politics of the late Ming, a cabinet minister without a faction could not even secure his seat. Wen Tiren not only had partisans but had brought the entire Grand Secretariat under his control—all while the Emperor remained utterly oblivious, still believing him "Loyal in Isolation."
At noon, sunlight rarely penetrated the Wenhua Hall. Today it fell upon the coiling dragon pillars, making the golden-winged dragons carved upon them appear poised to spread their wings and take flight.
Winter summons were not held in the cavernous main hall but in the East Warm Pavilion.
Wen Tiren was the last of the cabinet ministers to arrive. His late appearance was not meant to flaunt his status as Senior Grand Secretary, but rather to demonstrate his "Shen Du"—his refusal to engage in private discussions with colleagues.
Typically six or seven cabinet ministers held office, though not all attended every summons. However, since the Jiajing reign, the Senior Grand Secretary had wielded the heaviest authority, and the power of "Piao Ni"—drafting imperial rescripts—rested almost entirely in his hands. So long as the Senior Grand Secretary was present, government affairs could proceed.
Upon reaching the Warm Pavilion, he exchanged formal greetings with his cabinet colleagues, then seated himself upright and closed his eyes in silence.
Though the eunuchs stood duty outside, the Emperor knew every move made within the Warm Pavilion—even the words spoken there reached his ears. Therefore, Wen Tiren simply kept his mouth shut. First, to demonstrate he shared no private friendship with his cabinet colleagues. Second, to avoid the disaster that careless words might bring—he himself had once seized upon an unguarded remark by Zhou Yanru to drive that man from the Grand Secretariat. Third, to review in his mind the matters likely to arise in today's summons.
What the Emperor would specifically discuss when summoning cabinet ministers was never fixed, though it usually concerned recent important affairs. Some matters, though accumulated over years, would show signs of being raised again beforehand. Drafts had to be prepared in advance. Once the Emperor inquired, there had to be a ready plan—one that conformed to His Majesty's inclinations. This required the delicate skill of discerning the imperial mind.
Speaking of the important affairs of recent years, they amounted to little more than the Three Great Bandits that tormented the Emperor and the endless natural disasters. But these were not what occupied Wen Tiren's thoughts. Though such matters were grave, precedents from previous years provided guidance. Following established procedures to draft rescripts would not lead to error. How subordinates actually handled implementation was another matter entirely.
What concerned him most at this moment was neither military nor national affairs, but the Restoration Society.
The Donglin Party and the Restoration Society were Wen Tiren's mortal enemies. Especially after he had framed Qian Longxi and ousted both Qian Qianyi and Zhou Yanru, the enmity between them had become irreconcilable.
Since the previous year, he had received intelligence that the Restoration Society was secretly maneuvering to bring Zhou Yanru out of retirement and back into the Grand Secretariat.
Zhou Yanru had once been his ally. Together they had conspired to bring down Qian Qianyi. Only later, fighting over the position of Senior Grand Secretary, had they turned on each other and become enemies. Now Zhou Yanru sought to return with the backing of Donglin and Restoration Society forces—and this represented Wen Tiren's gravest crisis.
Should this man return to court and enter the Grand Secretariat, a powerful anti-Wen coalition would rapidly coalesce. Wen Tiren knew all too well how many enemies he had made over the years. With someone to rally behind, officials would swarm to attack him. Moreover, standing behind Zhou Yanru were the two mightiest political forces in the realm.
Zhou Yanru was not himself a member of the Donglin Party, yet his connections to them ran deep; he had been a student of Ye Xianggao, the Donglin leader. Though he had offended the Donglin over the Qian Qianyi affair, once he entered the Grand Secretariat to lead the government, he blocked Chongzhen from employing Wang Zhichen and others implicated in the Eunuch Party Rebellion Case. He had used his position presiding over the metropolitan examination to vigorously promote members of both the Donglin Party and the Restoration Society—including Zhang Pu, the "Hierarch that Reaches Heaven" among the "Two Zhangs of Loudong."
Though Zhou Yanru had seemingly retreated to a secluded life among hills and streams after losing power, he had in fact drawn even closer to the Donglin Party and the Restoration Society. This was precisely why these factions so ardently championed his return: though Zhou Yanru was not Donglin, he served their purposes better than any true member. Moreover, the fact that he had once impeached the prominent Donglin figures Qian Qianyi and Qian Longxi made him all the more useful—his history was deceptive, more likely to earn Chongzhen's trust.
"This 'Hierarch that Reaches Heaven' truly commands formidable means!" Wen Tiren reflected. In truth, the Donglin Party itself concerned him less. After several major incidents in the early Chongzhen years—the Yuan Chonghuan affair especially—the Emperor had grown deeply suspicious of "faction forming" and remained vigilant against Donglin members, consciously barring them from the inner circles of power. However, the Restoration Society, known as the "Little Donglin," had gradually risen to prominence through Zhou Yanru's deliberate cultivation during his years in office. Now it had become a formidable force in its own right. Though they lacked a spokesman at the center of power, their influence had spread throughout both the Capital and the provinces.
Zhang Pu's scheme to orchestrate Zhou Yanru's return betrayed obvious ambition. With Zhang Pu threading the needle, even Qian Qianyi—whom Zhou Yanru had once wronged—had now joined this plan for a political resurrection. Such support did not come without a price; Zhou Yanru had very likely already promised that upon his return, he would help Qian Qianyi regain his position at court—perhaps even secure him a second entry into the Grand Secretariat.
Compared to the somewhat notorious Zhou Yanru, Qian Qianyi posed the far greater threat. His reputation stood far higher; he was both a master of the literary world and one of the Donglin leaders. Should he return, he would inevitably unite with Zhou Yanru against their common enemy. After all, Wen Tiren had once attempted to have him executed...
(End of Chapter)