Chapter 17: Recounting the Deeds!
“Who’s there!”
Zhu Di sprang upright in a flash, staring in disbelief at the elderly man before him, draped in a fiery red imperial robe, his face stern and commanding. Zhu Di’s heart quaked in his chest. Though nearly thirty years had passed since their last meeting, the moment they came face to face, that familiar dread rooted in his bloodline surged uncontrollably through him.
Old Zhu Di shivered and stammered, “Father?!”
The greatest fear of his life had always been how he would face his father and his elder brother Zhu Biao after his own death. That was why he waged war year after year, launching campaign after campaign to the north. Even when additional expeditions could yield no further gains, he persisted stubbornly, personally leading his armies into battle.
The reasons were many, but two stood above all. First, as any emperor would, he longed to prove himself—to achieve glory and merit, to reach the pinnacle of greatness, to invite tribute from all corners of the earth, and to see the Ming dynasty flourish at his hand. Second, he wanted to die on the battlefield. Only then, he thought, could his guilt and unease be somewhat assuaged; only then would he have deeds to speak of when facing his father and brother in the afterlife.
“How did I end up with such a scoundrel for a son? Creating all this nonsense in the palace in broad daylight! I’d like nothing more than to thrash you!” Zhu Yuanzhang glared at him, his anger undisguised.
In truth, the old man wasn’t so opposed to such behavior—he himself had fathered children at sixty-seven. But with his eldest grandson present, he feared setting a bad example, even if the “child” in question was already thirty years old.
But to the old patriarch, children would always be children! Zhu Laosi didn’t count, even if the present Zhu Laosi was three years older than him. Yet his tone as he scolded him was as smooth as ever, wholly natural.
“Withdraw at once!” Though Chongzhen admired the Yongle Emperor’s unrestrained ways, he knew better than to linger. He discreetly hustled the startled beauty away.
“Father, you—this is…?” The emperor, who had ruled the world from horseback for decades, was now flustered and fearful, clearly shaken to the core. Gone was the lofty, commanding air he’d worn moments ago when admonishing his son; even at sixty, he looked like a child caught in the wrong, helpless and lost.
“What now? You usurped my throne and became emperor, and now you don’t even recognize your own father?” Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice was ice.
Thud!
“Your son wouldn’t dare!” Zhu Di collapsed to his knees in terror, prostrating himself and stammering in dread. His hairpin fell, scattering his gray hair on the ground.
Zhu Yuanzhang, though unable to bear the sight, still barked harshly, “Enough, enough, get up! At your age, why are you still groveling on the floor?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll get up right away,” Zhu Di exhaled with relief, hurrying to his feet and helping his father to the dragon throne with utmost respect.
Chongzhen, not wasting any words, led Zhu Di on a walk through the Hongwu era, letting him see for himself the young Zhu Di kneeling outside the Hall of Supreme Harmony all those decades before—battered and bruised though he was.
After this, Zhu Di looked at Chongzhen with new eyes, finding him more pleasing by the minute—better than even his own cherished grandson!
“Great Ancestor, do not be angry. Your achievements are immortal, shining brightly in the annals of history and dazzling the generations to come!” Chongzhen, seeing that Zhu Yuanzhang was still fuming, offered soothing words. “You presided over the compilation of the magnificent ‘Yongle Encyclopedia,’ a work encompassing all knowledge from ancient times to the present, containing over 370 million characters, all copied by hand. It is the greatest, most comprehensive, and most perfect book ever created in Ming history, gathering all of Chinese culture up to that time, with a profound influence on posterity!
“During your reign, you led imperial campaigns yourself, commanding the elite forces of the Yongle court to decisively crush the remnants of the Northern Yuan. Five times you campaigned north, year after year, suppressing the Tatars and Oirats, winning long-term peace for your descendants—a truly indelible achievement.
“Afterward, you dispatched Zheng He on seven voyages to the Western Seas, commanding an invincible fleet that proclaimed Ming’s might and prosperity to the world. Even in far-off Africa, land of the famed Kunlun slaves, you left your mark. Not only did this spread the Ming’s renown to the four corners of the earth, it also made many nations yearn for the Ming, creating a maritime Silk Road!”
Tears welled in Zhu Di’s eyes as he listened, wishing he could swear brotherhood on the spot. Who doesn’t love praise? For Zhu Di, it was all the sweeter—especially with Zhu Yuanzhang himself as witness!
He was almost giddy with delight! Still, the mention of Zheng He brought a touch of embarrassment, for the original purpose of those voyages was hardly so pure—
Zheng He’s main mission: to find the vanished Jianwen Emperor.
Zheng He’s side missions: to make sure all the little brothers abroad knew that dynasties had changed, and that the Ming now served the Yongle Emperor. Time to pay respects and pledge allegiance!
“You did a lot of your father-in-law’s work. Against the steppe, you showed no mercy—not bad!” Zhu Yuanzhang nodded.
“On the throne, one must serve the realm. I only did what was required,” Zhu Di replied humbly, though his heart swelled with excitement.
Zhu Yuanzhang’s expression finally softened; he could not deny, no matter how much he resented the fact of Zhu Di’s usurpation, the scale of his achievements. The five northern campaigns especially pleased him.
Of course, in Zhu Yuanzhang’s heart, even if Zhu Di conquered the world, he would never compare to the crown prince Zhu Biao. Next to Zhu Yunwen, however, any comparison was laughable.
If Zhu Di could read his father’s mind, he would surely sigh, “It all comes down to who your peers are.”
To atone for his own role in the previous reign, Chongzhen laid on the praise thick, taking responsibility for his choices.
The merits of the Yongle Emperor, truly, were endless.
“Dispatching Zheng He to the Western Seas… compiling the Yongle Encyclopedia… five campaigns to the north… recovering Annam… establishing the Nurgan Regional Military Commission… expanding the borders… founding the cabinet system… dredging the Grand Canal… Such civil and military achievements are worthy of the title ‘Ming Chengzu’!”
Suddenly, Zhu Di’s look of rapture froze, and he shouted in anger, “What do you mean ‘Ming Chengzu’? Who called me that? Grandson, you mustn’t speak such nonsense with your eyes wide open!”
He had always been called “the Fourth” all these years!
Zhu Yuanzhang’s face visibly darkened at the words “Ming Chengzu,” his gaze turning icy as he fixed it on Zhu Di.
Old Zhu knew well: only the founder of a dynasty was ever called “zu,” and in the Ming that right belonged to him alone. Yet now, the Fourth was being called “Ming Chengzu”!
If Zhu Di took the title “zu,” it meant he didn’t acknowledge himself as a successor, but as the founder of a new dynasty! Would that not mean the empire he built with countless sacrifices ended with its second ruler?
“Laosi, have you removed me from the Ancestral Temple?” Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice was eerily calm.
“No, Father! You are the founding emperor of the Ming—no one could ever touch your place, not even if I died!” Zhu Di was chilled to the bone, anxiously pressing, “Good grandson, tell Great Ancestor, who is it that betrayed me? Which unfilial son gave me the title ‘zu’? Was it the eldest or the second?”
Zhu Di was so flustered he nearly blurted out the “official history” he had compiled himself—declaring he had been formally invested by the very hand of the Grand Ancestor in the thirty-fifth year of Hongwu!
When Zhu Yuanzhang died in the thirty-first year of Hongwu at the age of seventy-one, Zhu Di extended his father’s reign by four years, erasing the Jianwen era altogether. He had done everything possible to legitimize his own succession—he would never dig his own grave!
Chongzhen realized he’d spoken too hastily and gave a sheepish smile. “It was neither the Hongxi Emperor nor the Prince of Han, but the eleventh emperor of the Ming, the Jiajing Emperor.”
The divine Jiajing, in order to place his own father in the ancestral temple, had to displace an emperor. In the ancestral temple, the founder’s spirit tablet stands at the center, with four emperors on either side, making nine in all—if a new one was to be added, another must be moved to the side hall. The founder could not be moved, so the second in line had to go—but the second was Zhu Di! However bold Jiajing was, he wouldn’t dare move the ancestor of his own lineage, so he orchestrated a grand ritual: he promoted Zhu Di’s title from “Taizong” to “Chengzu.”
In this way, the Hongxi Emperor, who reigned only ten months, was relocated to the side hall.
Achoo!
On the road, the portly Hongxi Emperor sneezed and tucked his hands into his sleeves, reminding his beloved grandson, “It’s getting colder these days—be sure to dress warmly.”
…