Chapter 612: The Emperor's Heart Is Hard to Fathom

Chapter 612: The Inscrutable Imperial Heart

For the Jiaqing Emperor, today was yet another day when the Grand Secretary gave him a lesson.

He felt a vague premonition that today's lesson would be extraordinarily important, perhaps another turning point that would profoundly affect the empire.

Thus the Jiaqing Emperor dared not linger a moment; after finishing his routine morning studies, he hurried to the place of instruction.

Within this sprawling complex, which resembled a city in its own right, the young emperor deliberately donned a plain robe commonly worn by Confucian disciples, walking briskly alone.

Beside him there was neither a canopy-borne palanquin nor a throng of countless artificial servants—a sight unheard of and unseen among emperors of all ages.

Even in the dynasties preceding the Great Ming, when even the last emperor of a declining realm was powerless to reverse its fate, his circumstances would never have been reduced to such penury.

Yet the Jiaqing Emperor had long grown accustomed to this, indeed having himself requested it.

Since his accession, he had proactively trimmed palace expenditures, dismissing great numbers of attendants.

Had the cabinet not memorialized, begging to retain essential staff to maintain the normal lives of other imperial members, many floors of this towering palace would surely have lain abandoned for lack of caretakers.

Likewise, although the Yellow Millet Dream was not forbidden within the palace, the young emperor remained scrupulously aware, hardly ever choosing to link himself to it voluntarily.

Even when he did occasionally link, it was only to enter the enduring Confucian dreamscapes of places like the New Donglin Academy.

In short, over these years the Jiaqing Emperor's constant companions have been, aside from the sages of Confucian antiquity, only the present Grand Secretary, the empire's preceptor, Zhang Fengyue.

“Teacher, you’ve come early again.”

As the young emperor arrived at the place of instruction, Zhang Fengyue was already waiting there ahead of time.

“Your Majesty, this is merely the duty an old minister ought to fulfill.”

Zhang Fengyue lifted his robe to kneel in salute, but the young emperor, having anticipated this, stepped forward swiftly and caught his arms before he could bow.

“How many times must I say it, teacher? You need not do this; here we are master and pupil—what reason is there for a teacher to kneel before a student?”

The young emperor’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he feigned reproach.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Zhang Fengyue, without obstinacy, rose smoothly to his feet.

Regardless of outside rumors, at present the two get along exceedingly well.

“Teacher, any progress on the matter at the border?”

Having just taken his seat, the young emperor could not wait to ask.

“All who were supposed to come have arrived; everything proceeds smoothly.”

Zhang Fengyue spoke in an even tone, brushing the matter aside with a single sentence.

Not hearing the expected twists and turns, nor the open and covert struggles among the various factions, the young emperor could not help but feel greatly disappointed.

He pressed on, his curiosity unsatisfied: “Teacher, could the Sangyan Temple really be toppled so easily? After all, it is one of the great powers of the Buddhist sect; surely it would not be utterly devoid of resistance?”

“Whether a force is great or not depends on whom you measure it against. Before the court, the Sangyan Temple is no more than a slightly larger ant. Compared with the other powers already seated, sharpening their blades, the Sangyan Temple stands isolated and alone; even if it contended, it would have the will but lack the strength.”

The young emperor sighed, somewhat bored, yet in his heart he knew this was the truth.

When one stands opposed to the prevailing interests, the outcome can only be to be ground to ash by the ‘great trend’ represented by the majority.

The exhilaration of rising against the tide in dire straits, carving a bloody path, perhaps exists only in the Yellow Millet Dreams fashioned from storybooks.

In reality, even a slight disadvantage can prove fatal.

And let us not forget that the hidden manipulator behind all this is none other than his own teacher.

“Teacher, how did the Sangyan Temple come to such a pass?” the young emperor continued.

“Foolish.”

Zhang Fengyue spoke concisely: “Within the Han and Fan Buddhist sects, who besides Lin Jiabao knows she has taken the wrong path? Everyone watches from the shadows, yet only she chose to step forward as the spearhead, naturally becoming the target of all. As the saying goes, ‘The tree that stands out in the forest is felled by the wind.’”

The young emperor fell silent for a moment, then ventured: “Teacher, I don’t think that is foolish.”

In his view, if Lin Jiabao truly became that spearhead to rescue the Buddhist sect from its deviant course, then even if the final outcome were unfavorable, she ought not to be labeled ‘foolish.’

Rather, it would evoke the heroic Buddhist legend of the Buddha slicing his flesh to feed a hawk.

“Fearlessness does not equate to wisdom.”

Zhang Fengyue said calmly: “Only a dead Buddha sacrifices himself for others; a living Buddhist sect does not. Her notion was nothing more than a desire to leap ahead in promotion, thereby unifying the entire Buddhist sect and becoming a true Buddha of the mortal realm.”

“Lin Jiabao’s folly lay in overestimating herself, believing she possessed the ability to bargain with a tiger, while underestimating the ruthlessness and cunning of the other Buddhist sects.”

“So it is that this Sangyan Buddha’s demise is hardly to be lamented.”

The young emperor suddenly understood; his earlier sentiment turned into a sneer of contempt.

“But teacher, you often tell me that the human heart is complex and cannot be judged by a single aspect. Did Lin Jiabao, when she first chose this course, never imagine that one day she would be besieged by all? One who attains the third rank ought not to lack such self‑awareness.”

“The craving for sectarian power and the desire to lord over all beings can drive a person to forget life and death. Knowing full well that what others offer may be a deadly poison, they will still hesitate not to drink it to quench their thirst.”

Having said this, Zhang Fengyue’s face suddenly flickered with a smile: “Those who devised the plot to harm the Buddhist sect truly harbor a vicious mind.”

The young emperor started, blurting out: “Teacher, could it not be you—”

“I merely went with the flow. The one who coaxed this herd of bald monks onto the wrong path is not me.”

The young emperor gaped, struck with horror.

One must realize that this decades‑long conspiracy’s victims are not merely a single faction or individual, but an entire lineage, affecting tens of millions.

Furthermore, the scheme was ingeniously crafted; at its outset it even enabled the Buddhist sect to successfully ascend to the rank of the Three Teachings.

Had not the myriad mountain‑gate Buddhist patriarchs, while seeking promotion to the second rank, uncovered the flaw, the Buddhist sect would likely still be kept in the dark to this day.

Now Zhang Fengyue claims that the architect of the layout is not himself—a notion utterly beyond the young emperor’s expectation.

Who, then, within the Great Ming Empire, aside from his own teacher, could possess such capability?

The young emperor, lips tense with nervousness, pondered a moment and then asked: “Teacher, in the memorial sent back by Liu Jinxun I saw that persons from Longhu Mountain have also arrived at the border, claiming to bear the edict of the former ‘Celestial Master Zhang’ to assist the court in investigating the truth. Could it be that the one who plotted against the Buddhist sect is truly the New Dao sect?”

“Zhang Jiji still lacks the wit for such a scheme.”

Zhang Fengyue gave a contemptuous laugh: “The New Dao sect once held a splendid prospect, but his rash pursuit of quick profit reduced it to utter chaos; how could he possess the ability to contrive such a deception?”

“The sole deed of his life that could earn even a glance of respect from this old man is merely having snatched a single life from the hands of the ‘True Man Zhang,’ then lurking in patience until today; everything else is not worth mentioning.”

The young emperor murmured to himself: “Not him, then who could it be?”

Zhang Fengyue did not give a direct answer; instead he concluded the discussion of the border situation and turned to examine the young emperor’s progress in the Six Arts.

An hour’s lesson passed in the blink of an eye.

Zhang Fengyue rose to take his leave, while the young emperor, his belly full of questions, walked alone through the floor named the Hall of Heavenly Mandate.

“Not Zhang Fengyue, nor Zhang Jiji—who could turn one of the Three Teachings, the Buddhist sect, into a spinning top, if not someone else?”

“Could it be the hitherto obscure Agrarian Sect, long hidden in the borderlands? Or perhaps the ever‑extraterritorial Yin‑Yang Sect? Or might it simply be the Buddhist sect staging its own production?”

A lesson meant to dispel doubts has instead stirred the Jiaqing Emperor’s heart with yet more uncertainties.

He is eager to uncover the opponent, for anyone or any faction capable of this must surely be a grave internal threat to the Great Ming Empire.

“Besides, what’s the point of all this worrying? With my teacher presiding, could the other side really stir up any trouble?”

The young emperor muttered to himself, and the heaviness in his brow evaporated like smoke.

He stretched his arms lazily, but his steps suddenly halted, his sharp gaze turning toward a massive circular building not far off, shaped like an altar.

This was the most important place in the entire Fengtian Hall, the Imperial Ancestral Temple of the Ming royal house.

"Really troublesome."

The young emperor closed his eyes, smoothed his furrowed brow with a hand, and stepped toward the Ancestral Temple.

Within the architecture symbolizing heaven’s roundness and earth’s squareness, the ranks of tablets on the altar were as countless as smoke and sea, arranged like mountains.

Besides the direct line of the Zhu imperial clan, there were also meritorious officials from generations past who had served the Ming.

Naturally, at the highest point of the tablet mountain stood the founding ancestor of the Ming, the Hongwu Emperor; beneath him lay the restorer of the empire, the Yizong Emperor.

Such an arrangement clearly violated the empire’s ancestral customs, yet the Longwu Emperor, overriding opposition, declared ‘not by ancestry, only by merit,’ and placed the Yizong Emperor’s tablet before many of his forebears.

Yet now, as the Jiaqing Emperor entered the Ancestral Temple with no intention of offering worship, his solemn gaze fell upon a figure kneeling before the altar.

"Old minister, I pay my respects to Your Majesty."

The figure on the futon, hearing footsteps behind, hastily turned, bowing low and knocking his head to the ground.

The Jiaqing Emperor flicked his sleeve: "Rise."

The one who had kowtowed lifted his head, revealing the face of the Prince of Min of the Ming Empire, Zhu Pingyan.

"When did you return?"

Zhu Pingyan, hearing this, flushed with shame and whispered, "Your Majesty, I have just arrived."

"Good that you’re back."

The young emperor nodded, then his tone shifted abruptly, low and sharp: "Don’t you know today is the day I give my lecture? At this hour you dare show yourself?!"

"It is this old minister’s rashness; I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness."

Zhu Pingyan, face pale with fear, bowed again and knocked his head.

Just as his forehead was about to strike the gold‑bricked floor with force, a delicate hand suddenly thrust forward, propping up his brow.

"Uncle Wang, you usually act with steady maturity; such a slip cannot be without cause. Surely during your disappearance you encountered some urgent matter?"

Zhu Pingyan lifted his gaze to meet eyes that, though set in a youthful face, bore the weariness of ages.

"Your Majesty."

The young emperor smiled, helped Zhu Pingyan to his feet.

"Speak, what exactly happened?"

"I was in Jiangxi’s Nanchang Prefecture, intending to subdue Li Jun, when Zhang Jie exposed my whereabouts."

Zhu Pingyan steadied himself, voice deep: "He imprisoned me on Longhu Mountain, forcing me to watch as he devoured the authority of other Dao sect patriarchs. Now the celestial seats of Gesuo and Maoshan have fallen into his hands; before long he may reclaim the second rank."

"To live old and not die is to become a demon. Those elders who have survived to this day are none of them ordinary."

The young emperor, with an air of aged wisdom, remarked: "Yet this Celestial Master Zhang, having seized you then released you, surely does not merely seek to curry favor with our Zhu Ming house?"

Zhu Pingyan, voice strained: "Your Majesty’s discernment is keen; he wishes, through me, to meet you face to face."

"A meeting?"

The young emperor chuckled: "Uncle Wang, did you tell him of our Zhu affairs?"

"No!"

Zhu Pingyan hurriedly denied: "I have divulged nothing of Your Majesty’s affairs; I implore Your Majesty to see clearly!"

"Then why does he wish to see me, a powerless young emperor?"

Zhu Pingyan swallowed: "Zhang Jie says he can help you wrest power from Zhang Fengyue’s grasp. As long as you"

"As long as what?"

"As long as you agree, after assuming personal rule, to appoint him as State Preceptor and make the New Dao sect the state religion of Ming, he will aid you in removing Zhang Fengyue and his son, together with the New Donglin Party."

The young emperor smiled back: "Uncle Wang, what do you think?"

Zhu Pingyan’s expression brightened: "I believe this is not a bad opportunity to drive out the wolf and swallow the tiger."

"Drive out the wolf, swallow the tiger—hahaha."

The young emperor shook his head, laughing: "Even if we truly slew the tiger, a hungry wolf would still eye our flank; what difference would that make from now?"

Zhu Pingyan’s face blanched; he made as if to kneel again: "It is this old minister’s lack of foresight."

Uncle Wang, it is not that you lacked foresight, but that you are probably no longer yourself." The young emperor sighed, his expression helpless.

These words struck Zhu Pingyan like thunder; he froze mid‑motion, knees bent, back bowed.

"If Zhang Jie merely wanted you to deliver a message, he would not have kept you imprisoned so long. Uncle Wang, you are truly muddle‑headed."

Zhu Pingyan’s eyes lost focus: "Your Majesty… this old minister truly has not"

The young emperor cut off his feeble words with a raised hand, fixing Zhu Pingyan’s gaze, a faint smile touching his lips.

"Celestial Master Zhang, I know you are listening. If you intend to be my teacher, there is no problem. After all, I have already studied the Confucian classics; I might as well turn to Dao as well. But if you seek to emulate Zhang Fengyue, then I have no interest."

The young emperor added with a smile: "And remember, henceforth do not lay hands on members of the imperial house; they are the Ming’s royal kin, my closest bloodline, and to harm them is a capital offense—understood?"

Having spoken, the young emperor ceased to look into those eyes hiding a hidden light, and pressed his hand upon Zhu Pingyan’s shoulder.

"Uncle Wang, you have done your best these years; it is time to step aside and give the younger generation a chance to arise."

The old man, who had been about to kneel, felt his knees buckle at these words and fell with a thud to the ground.

"Your Majesty."

"Uncle Wang, no further words are needed. Before the assembled ancestral spirits, confess your fault."

A cold, emotionless voice drifted down from above, the piercing chill making Zhu Pingyan shiver uncontrollably.

"This old minister obeys the edict."

"Obey the edict—obey which edict? The Living Buddha of Nagqu has only just died; now they would have us leave our posts—has the cabinet gone mad?"

In the field headquarters of Nagqu City,

Zhang Siyuan glared with furious eyes at Liu Jinjun opposite him.