Emperor Yongle had personally campaigned twice, with the Crown Prince serving as regent twice, each time lasting nearly two years. “With the Crown Prince as regent, no state affairs were neglected”—this was the unanimous assessment of both Eastern Palace supporters and political enemies like Prince Han.
This limping Crown Prince possessed real ability.
During his regency, the Ming bore the pressure of wars on two fronts—south in Jiaozhi and north against the Oirat tribes. Fighting on dual fronts was something even Emperor Gaozhu of the Hongwu era hadn’t dared attempt, since a single war could consume at least five years of a nation’s accumulated resources.
Armies needed food, weapons, ammunition, clothing, compensation, and more. War was burning money, and the Ming was like a candle burning at both ends.
Besides warfare, the Ming’s other major expenditures included dredging the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal and Zheng He’s voyages to the Western Seas.
Of course, there was also the capital relocation and construction of the new capital and imperial palace.
These undertakings, placed in any dynasty, would be enough to leave one’s mark in history if just one were accomplished—showing a capable ruler.
But in the Yongle era, they did them all at once. Ordinary monarchs would choose, but Emperor Yongle declared he wanted everything.
Emperor Yongle made decisions and pointed the way forward, then headed north for his campaigns, becoming a hands-off manager. It was almost entirely up to the Crown Prince to implement these several great national projects from top to bottom.
All of these required money, but taxes couldn’t be raised casually. The Crown Prince had no choice but to focus heavily on economic development, making the pie bigger to barely fill the deficits of these major projects that were like money-shredding machines.
Emperor Yongle only spent money while the Crown Prince managed earning it. The Crown Prince was under great pressure and had even lost weight (two taels).
However, the Crown Prince had no complaints or regrets. High pressure was nothing, losing two taels was nothing—being able to share Father Emperor’s worries and prove the Crown Prince’s value was enough.
Even when Prince Han wanted to slander the Crown Prince, he wouldn’t be so tactless as to speak nonsense about the Crown Prince being incompetent or negligent in his regency duties. He always found excuses like being obsessed with women, associating with subjects, buying people’s hearts, enjoying literary gatherings and poetry meetings, and listening to flattery—never questioning the Crown Prince’s governing ability.
However, the Crown Prince never imagined that his conscientious work would earn not appreciation, but suspicion.
The Crown Prince was also unlucky. The first regency hadn’t been like this—then Emperor Yongle was in robust health with the court firmly in his grasp.
But during the second regency, Korean consorts actually dared to poison Emperor Yongle with mushroom powder. When the emperor felt his brain about to explode at his most excited moment, after barely surviving, his body weakened, he experienced betrayal from those around him. Then Xie Jin added fuel to the fire with his “lacking proper ministerial courtesy,” showing no respect for the ruler. Emperor Yongle couldn’t help suspecting that during the Crown Prince’s regency, he had controlled the court and made the emperor a figurehead.
Imperial power is supreme and unique. All emperors’ fear of losing imperial power far exceeds their fear of losing sons.
One can have many children and grandchildren, even have more. But once imperial power is lost, an emperor has nothing.
Emperor Yongle threw Xie Jin and other officials with Eastern Palace positions into prison to establish authority, telling all ministers who was the real boss and who were employees. Though he was old and physically weak, he was the only monarch and could still control court politics.
The Crown Prince was wronged—he had no intention of usurping power. As a cripple, most military generals in court supported Prince Han. He had no troops, only a group of civilian ministers around him. Scholars’ rebellions take ten years to succeed—could the Crown Prince stage a coup with his 300 pounds of fat?
He only wanted to slowly wait for Emperor Yongle to age and smoothly ascend the throne.
Emperor Yongle: No, you do want to.
Once the Crown Prince spoke up for Eastern Palace officials, it would confirm his opposition to Emperor Yongle’s decisions.
As heir apparent, the Crown Prince’s actions must align with the emperor’s to show: I am your puppet, I obey all your arrangements, I have no thoughts of usurping your position.
If Emperor Yongle wanted to imprison them and the Crown Prince wanted to free them, that would be resisting Emperor Yongle’s arrangements, defying the emperor’s authority, wanting to rebel and usurp!
This way, the Crown Prince would be deposed, those loyal Eastern Palace officials in prison who refused to implicate the Crown Prince would be executed, the court would be purged, the power game would end, and everyone would be finished.
So the Crown Prince had no choice. No matter how others cursed him as cold-blooded, heartless, and naturally callous, he dared not say a word.
If he didn’t petition the emperor, those people in prison might still live.
If he opened his mouth even once, all the ministers in prison would be wiped out.
I’ll endure!
Why can turtles live so long? They endure.
As long as I make no mistakes, Father Emperor will drop his suspicions and I won’t be deposed.
The Crown Prince had always thought this way, supported by the belief of “thousand-year turtle, ten-thousand-year tortoise,” helping him swallow insults and endure difficult times.
But before old problems were solved, new ones arose.
Emperor Yongle had a third option besides deposing or not deposing: promoting Crown Prince’s heir Zhu Zhanji as first in line of succession.
Emperor Yongle didn’t have Ji Gang suppress the “rumors” outside about deposing the Crown Prince and having the Crown Prince’s heir inherit the throne for two reasons.
First, this heart-piercing rumor would give the Crown Prince greater pressure and crisis awareness, making him reflect on his “mistakes,” behave as heir apparent, and abandon thoughts of usurpation.
Second, Emperor Yongle truly was considering replacing the Crown Prince with the Crown Prince’s heir.
For this, Emperor Yongle even visited the Xiaoling Mausoleum to pay respects to his father, Emperor Gaozhu.
Looking at his father’s portrait, Emperor Yongle sighed: “Father, when Crown Prince Yiwen died suddenly of illness, Crown Prince’s heir Zhu Yunwen was only fourteen. At that time, second brother Prince Qin and third brother Prince Jin had both died, making me the eldest among the brothers. I considered myself to have guarded the borderlands for the Ming for many years, governing Yan region with merit—none of my brothers matched me. According to the Imperial Ancestral Instructions’ inheritance rules: establish the legitimate heir if available, otherwise the eldest. I was the eldest and most capable. Crown Prince’s heir Zhu Yunwen was born to a secondary consort, and the only legitimate grandson Zhu Yunting was reportedly brain-damaged from birth complications, a half-wit. Father was aging and needed to establish a new heir—eighty percent would choose me.”
Emperor Yongle laughed self-mockingly: “So when I brought my wife and children to the capital for the funeral, I felt a small joy inside. But I never expected Father would establish the weak Zhu Yunwen as national heir, enfeoffing him as Crown Prince’s heir, and keeping my four children in the capital as hostages. At that time… and for a long period after, I couldn’t understand Father’s actions, thinking Father had become senile. How ridiculous—only when I’m in Father’s position, after a serious illness with rapidly declining health and growing powerlessness, do I finally understand Father’s choice then.”
Position determines perspective. Emperor Yongle had once hated his father for being “blind,” establishing a politically inexperienced child as national heir, thinking his father made a grave error that was incomprehensible.
Now sitting in this position, he deeply understood his father’s actions. If it were him, he would make the same choice.
What could be safer than having an obedient, well-behaved grandson as heir—one raised personally from childhood, with no court influence, no faction, depending entirely on the emperor’s arrangements?
The Crown Prince’s heir was an heir who posed no threat to the throne.
The Crown Prince was the opposite.
Moreover, the Crown Prince’s weaknesses were obvious—obesity, lameness, frailty. He probably wouldn’t live long. The imperial physicians had said that diabetes complications causing foot deformities made it unlikely he’d live another ten years.
Perhaps the Crown Prince would die before me? The meat rots in the pot—then the first successor would still be Crown Prince’s heir Zhu Zhanji anyway.
If so, wouldn’t it be better to let the Crown Prince’s heir gain more experience and political training a few years early, so when he inherits the throne he’ll be skilled?
Thus Emperor Yongle developed thoughts of changing the succession—thoughts that became like demons, impossible to dismiss, growing larger in his mind.
Hearing Ji Gang say Emperor Yongle hadn’t suppressed outside rumors about changing succession, Hu Shanwei’s heart grew cold as she guessed the situation.
She was an old hand who had personally witnessed Emperor Gaozhu’s mental process when establishing Zhu Yunwen as Crown Prince’s heir. There was nothing new in the harem—the Ming Dynasty was beginning a new cycle.
Hu Shanwei sighed: “Now it’s the Crown Prince’s heir’s turn to suffer.”
Originally, Zhu Zhanji had grown up in Kunming and wasn’t close to the Eastern Palace. Now with rumors flying everywhere, his relationship with the Eastern Palace became even more distant.
Zhu Zhanji had no intention of seizing the succession, but couldn’t avoid the Eastern Palace’s suspicions!
Grandfather suspected son, son suspected grandson, grandfather used grandson to restrain son—the grandson was like meat in a sandwich, caught in the middle, not pleasing anyone, wrong to favor either side.
Ji Gang said indifferently: “The imperial family is like this—tormenting each other, torturing each other. They enjoy the greatest wealth in the world while suffering the most heart-wrenching torment. It’s quite fair.”
Zhu Zhanji never expected things would develop to this point. He immediately felt panicked—his father was alive and well, having served two successful regencies. If he took his father’s heir position, wouldn’t that be greatly unfilial?
If his father’s Crown Prince position were abolished, he would be cursed through history. Others would only say his father was deposed because of him, not because of Grandfather Emperor.
About this, Zhu Zhanji was helpless—more passive than the Crown Prince, able to do nothing but suffer.
Zhu Zhanji still visited the Eastern Palace daily for morning and evening attendance, paying respects to the Crown Prince and Crown Princess.
As the second-ranked heir, each time Zhu Zhanji paid respects, he was accompanied by the Crown Prince’s heir palace Secretariat retinue. The Crown Prince’s Eastern Palace Secretariat also had a retinue. When father and son met, these two groups stood left and right in confrontation, creating tense atmosphere.
In this atmosphere, with over a dozen eyes watching, Zhu Zhanji suppressed all emotions, stepped forward to bow: “How is Father’s health today?”
Crown Prince: “I am well. Go see your mother.”
Daily conversations seemed the same as usual, but both father and son understood that something was quietly changing. Under heavy pressure, the Crown Prince’s feelings toward this eldest son were becoming increasingly complex.
Crown Prince’s heir palace officials couldn’t enter the rear courtyard, so when Zhu Zhanji paid respects to the Crown Princess, he wasn’t as constrained as before his father.
For the Crown Princess, if her husband became emperor, she’d be empress; if her son became emperor, she’d be empress dowager. Either way, her position was secure.
But precisely because of this, the Crown Princess was also caught in the middle between Crown Prince and Crown Prince’s heir, not pleasing either side. The Crown Prince and Crown Prince’s heir were clearly her closest relatives, yet both seemed to have distanced themselves from her psychologically.
Because they both felt she seemed to favor the other more.
Crown Prince’s heir thought: She wants to be empress more than empress dowager. Empress, mother to the nation, is every woman’s dream.
Crown Prince thought: She wants to be empress dowager more than empress. Above empress is still empress dowager—empress dowager is the true mistress of the harem.
Not only the Crown Prince’s heir suffered—Crown Princess Zhang was also in a difficult position, but she couldn’t say anything. Whatever she said would be wrong. She could only maintain silence like the Crown Prince and Crown Prince’s heir.
“Paying respects to Mother.”
The Crown Princess beckoned to Zhu Zhanji: “Come sit. You seem to have lost weight again.”
Yes, due to the succession change turmoil, Zhu Zhanji’s build had changed from wide-bowl noodles to thin-bowl noodles, becoming ever more elongated. His cheekbones protruded, his sharp chin like a dagger stuck in the middle of his neck. After all, he was the first son she’d carried for ten months—the Crown Princess deeply pitied how her eldest son had become like this. Now caught in the middle herself, she understood her eldest son’s suffering.
From his earliest memories, Zhu Zhanji had never acted spoiled in his mother’s arms or shed tears, but now similar circumstances created understanding between him and the Crown Princess. He said: “Mother has grown much thinner lately. Even without appetite, you must try to eat more.”
The meaning was: endure, stay steady. The whole family is under pressure now—we must stay steady and not panic.
The Crown Princess understood her son’s words. She patted his hand: “I understand. You must also take care of your health.”
Zhu Zhanji wanted to communicate more with his mother, but in this special period, if he stayed too long at his mother’s place, the Crown Prince might be displeased and suspect his mother, bringing her trouble instead.
So after paying respects, Zhu Zhanji hastily took his leave. The Crown Princess understood her son’s difficulty and waved: “Go about your business.”
The imperial family atmosphere was tense—even New Year’s Eve was deathly quiet.
Thus, the Ming welcomed the thirteenth year of Yongle amid succession change turmoil.
On the sixteenth of the first month, after the longest holiday ended, the court resumed work. Brocade Guard Commander Ji Gang reported to Emperor Yongle:
“…During New Year, five people died of illness in prison: Zongrenfu Registrar Gao Debian, Zhongrun Li Guan, Counselor Wang Ruyu, Hanlin Academy Compiler Zhu Hong, and Xiao Yin.”
These five were naturally all officials supporting the Crown Prince.
After hearing this, Emperor Yongle was silent for a moment, then asked: “Is Xie Jin still alive?”
Ji Gang was startled and said: “Still… alive.”
Emperor Yongle said nothing and dismissed Ji Gang.
What did His Majesty mean? Ji Gang pondered Emperor Yongle’s thoughts. Suddenly his mind lit up: Xie Jin is still alive—that was asking why Xie Jin wasn’t dead yet!
Finally, the chance for revenge had come!
Ji Gang returned to the prison and set up a wine feast outdoors, calling Xie Jin out and saying he was treating him to drinks.
Prison food was poor—otherwise five ministers wouldn’t have died of illness so quickly. Seeing fine wine and food, if Xie Jin didn’t eat, it would seem like guilt.
He simply sat down and poured wine to drink.
Xie Jin drank half a jar of wine and, unable to hold his liquor, collapsed drunk. The first month’s bitter wind was piercing, with heavy snow falling. In low temperatures, the human body loses perception of external temperature and feels hot, stripping off clothes to burrow into snow piles.
Xie Jin was the same. Snow fell for a day and night, completely covering Xie Jin’s whole body—only a human-shaped snow mound remained.
The next day, when the sun came out, Ji Gang brushed away the surface snow from the human-shaped mound.
Where was Xie Jin anymore? He had become “thawed”!