Zhu Zhanji could not disobey the imperial command and went to “escort” Eunuch Zheng He to Nanjing.
Zheng He had returned from his voyage in the twentieth year of Yongle and had originally planned his seventh voyage to the Western Ocean this autumn and winter. All preparations were complete—he was just waiting for the monsoons and ocean currents to shift. But Emperor Taizong died in summer, and after the funeral proceedings in August, just as Eunuch Zheng He was about to head south to Liujiagang to assemble the fleet, instead of news about the Western Ocean voyage, Emperor Hongxi’s thirty-five-article enthronement edict arrived. Zheng He knew immediately that Ming’s maritime ventures were finished.
No one understood better than Crown Prince Zhu Zhanji that Zheng He’s voyages to the Western Ocean were absolutely not vainglorious displays of national prestige. Zheng He’s fleet was actually a massive, monopolistic, state-owned enterprise specializing in overseas trade—a maritime trust.
Under the guise of diplomacy, they used the entire nation’s resources to conduct overseas business. The silver earned was used to fill the empire’s war deficits from Jiaozhi and northern campaigns, while secretly purchasing new-style overseas firearms to be shipped to gunpowder factories for disassembly and reverse-engineering. This was the peak period for firearms implementation in Ming armies.
The Western Ocean voyages were a window the Ming Dynasty opened to the overseas world.
But since Emperor Gaozi had ordered maritime bans, these trades were conducted in secret. Publicly, they were diplomatic missions and tribute-based barter trade that appeared to lose money.
In reality, this was not the case. In years of natural disasters combined with northern campaigns, when the court couldn’t pay salaries and the imperial treasury was empty, it was Eunuch Zheng He who brought pepper from overseas to distribute as wages.
Pepper was an expensive spice for stewing meat, but it couldn’t be eaten as a meal. Officials had to sell it privately for silver coins, but with officials everywhere selling pepper, prices plummeted and couldn’t fetch much money. Officials complained bitterly about Eunuch Zheng He.
Actually, without Eunuch Zheng He, they wouldn’t have received even pepper. But when government finances were tight, someone had to take the blame. They couldn’t very well curse the emperor for spending money like water on personal campaigns, so they cursed the eunuch instead.
The civil official faction and the gradually rising eunuchs were tools the imperial power used for political balance. When pepper served as wages, regardless of the truth, cursing eunuchs was always right.
When Emperor Taizong was alive, no one dared openly curse Eunuch Zheng He.
Now with the new emperor enthroned, maritime ventures were directly banned, and Eunuch Zheng He was sent to guard Nanjing—ostensibly a lateral transfer, but actually a demotion.
With Eunuch Zheng He’s downfall, the civil official faction celebrated jubilantly, all praising the excellence of these thirty-five articles.
Before the Crown Prince could summon him, Eunuch Zheng He was already prepared to leave the palace. Crown Princess A’Lei went to see him off.
Eunuch Zheng He appeared calm and untroubled on the surface, acting as if he accepted everything: “Guarding Nanjing is what I desire. Ending things this way is not bad either. I have no shame before the Ming Dynasty. However, Crown Princess, the ship ticket this servant gave you six years ago has expired—I cannot fulfill that promise.”
A’Lei fought back tears. That was more than just a ship ticket—it was her dream. She had thought there would always be opportunities in the future, but that wasn’t how things worked. Opportunities wouldn’t wait for her forever.
In the days of youth: “Come on, let’s be merry—after all, we have plenty of time! Come on, let’s love—after all, we have plenty of desires!”
Under her parents’ protection, she could have whatever she wanted. When she wanted to enjoy love first, she set her dreams aside temporarily, thinking they could wait their turn—no need to rush.
Reality taught her that you cannot have both fish and bear’s paw. Having eaten the fish, the bear’s paw wouldn’t remain in place waiting for her. It vanished in an instant, and now she wanted it but could no longer obtain it.
A’Lei knew that Eunuch Zheng He’s disappointment far exceeded her shattered dreams. That he would apologize to her at this moment showed he had truly taken her past words to heart and hadn’t treated them as childish play.
A’Lei forced a smile: “With the court’s winds blowing as they do, Eunuch Zheng He shouldn’t be discouraged. In the future… the days ahead are long.”
A’Lei had wanted to say the Crown Prince supported the Western Ocean voyages, but now that the palace had changed hands and the winds had shifted, the Crown Prince’s position had to align with Emperor Hongxi’s. They couldn’t let anyone catch evidence of father-son discord. With ears behind walls, such words couldn’t be spoken aloud.
Eunuch Zheng He understood perfectly. Both Zhu Zhanji and A’Lei had grown up under his watch. Zhu Zhanji had youthful spirit and governance ideals consistent with Emperor Taizong’s. In the past, when Emperor Hongxi was exhausted from regency duties, he never said a single word of opposition or complaint—he was more patient than a turtle. Now that the Crown Prince disagreed with Emperor Hongxi, he had no choice but to follow Emperor Hongxi’s old path—endure.
Zheng He could still go to Nanjing as a supervisory eunuch, but if a legitimate eldest son couldn’t stabilize his position as Crown Prince, he would have no path forward.
“This servant knows. This servant understands everything,” Eunuch Zheng He said. “This servant has already submitted the maritime chronicles to the Ministry of War for safekeeping—everything from sea charts and ship designs to water and food provisions is included. Should the court need them in the future, this servant’s six voyages of experience might prove useful. The Ming Dynasty has abundant talent. Without Zheng He, there will be others.”
The seeds had been preserved.
At this point, Zhu Zhanji arrived. Seeing A’Lei bidding farewell to Eunuch Zheng He, he immediately felt a sense of crisis. Six years ago, if not for that kiss that sealed their fate, A’Lei would have already departed with Eunuch Zheng He to the Western Ocean—she wouldn’t be Crown Princess.
Seeing Zhu Zhanji, Eunuch Zheng He knew it was time to leave. Despite reluctance, lingering would be useless—better to part with dignity.
As Zheng He left the palace, Emperor Hongxi naturally provided rewards. Zheng He kowtowed toward Qianqing Palace in gratitude, then turned to leave. Before departing, he advised the couple Zhu Zhanji and A’Lei: “In the current situation, you husband and wife should work together with one heart. Don’t let others sow discord between you. In this palace, only you can watch over each other and trust each other.”
From Emperor Hongxi’s immediate course correction upon taking power, reversing governance strategies, Zhu Zhanji—deeply influenced by Emperor Taizong—would certainly be viewed with suspicion. Even if Zhu Zhanji remained silent and endured, did Emperor Hongxi not know what his eldest son was thinking?
Emperor Hongxi would inevitably give the Crown Prince a thorough grinding, properly wearing him down to make him act according to his own wishes.
The two watched Eunuch Zheng He depart. Seeing A’Lei’s reluctant expression, Zhu Zhanji felt uncomfortable. He took A’Lei’s hand, and thousands of words condensed into one sentence: “You must trust me.”
A’Lei squeezed back: “Of course I trust you. This is your most difficult time—I’ll stay by your side throughout.”
Six years of wonderful times had been as beautiful as a baby’s sleep—you close your eyes, open them, and they’re gone, always seeming too short.
Zhu Zhanji was about to embrace A’Lei when Emperor Hongxi’s eunuch came again with a summons, saying there were matters to discuss with the Crown Prince.
Zhu Zhanji hurried away.
Emperor Hongxi had been Crown Prince for twenty-one years and regent for over a decade. His political experience and methods were extremely sophisticated—he needed no adjustment period. After over a decade as regent trainee, having defeated his two brothers, he debuted in the top position and immediately reached the peak.
Just after taking power, he seamlessly gained firm control of imperial authority. His governance strategy shifted from offense to defense, emphasizing rest and recuperation. While appearing gentler, his governing methods were as forceful as his father Emperor Taizong and grandmother Emperor Gaozi—everything was decided by Emperor Hongxi and implemented top-down without encountering any strong resistance.
True absolute authority—something newly enthroned emperors of the past couldn’t achieve. During his regency years, Emperor Hongxi had cultivated and supported his own people in court. Even after Eastern Palace retainers were nearly completely purged, they quickly grew back like grass after spring winds.
Officials still continuously gravitated toward the regent Crown Prince because the Crown Prince represented the future.
Now that Emperor Hongxi was enthroned, looking at the vigorous new Crown Prince, Emperor Hongxi deeply understood why Emperor Taizong had always made things difficult for him, nearly wiping out all Eastern Palace retainers in one sweep.
Previously, he had always felt sad about why his father treated him so unfairly. Now that he was emperor, he immediately understood his father’s intentions. There was nothing unfair about it—he had to do the same.
He was old and his health had never been good, while the Crown Prince was in his prime. Moreover, when following Emperor Taizong on campaigns before, the Crown Prince often stayed in Beijing as regent, beginning to handle state affairs at thirteen—even earlier contact with power than Emperor Hongxi had.
Emperor Hongxi feared the Crown Prince was too capable, so capable that ministers would choose sides early and secretly align with the Crown Prince, gradually sidelining him. Once the Crown Prince’s wings were fully grown, he would… Emperor Hongxi recalled his strategy of dealing with Prince Zhao last year—their father had completely believed in Prince Zhao’s patricidal poisoning plot.
Power could truly make people call a deer a horse and blind their eyes and ears.
Emperor Hongxi deliberately had the Crown Prince escort Zheng He. He clearly knew the Crown Prince supported maritime ventures, yet still made him do it. But the Crown Prince’s reaction was too calm—not a single word of opposition, as if he naturally favored rest and recuperation policies.
The more docile and obedient the Crown Prince appeared, the more wary Emperor Hongxi became. Such deep scheming at such a young age—what would he become in the future?
Actually, besides nodding agreement, what other choices did the Crown Prince have? This was a one-way street.
The Crown Prince’s understanding made Emperor Hongxi even more suspicious, so he began a second test: “Your brothers are gradually growing up. I’ve enfeoffed them as princes. When they marry and move out of the palace to establish their own residences, I’m someone who’s been through this, so I don’t want them staying in the capital too long. Two or three years after marriage, once they have children, I’ll send them to their fiefs. I’ve already ordered the Ministry of Works to select sites in the fiefs for constructing princely mansions.”
Emperor Hongxi’s health was poor but he was quite fertile—ten sons and seven daughters, more offspring than Prince Han and Prince Zhao combined.
Hearing that his brothers would depart for their fiefs after marriage, Zhu Zhanji thought this was wonderful news for the Eastern Palace!
Perhaps Emperor Hongxi recalled the pain of being dominated by Prince Han and Prince Zhao, those two capital thorns who refused to depart for their fiefs well into their forties, constantly threatening the Eastern Palace.
Back then, Emperor Hongxi had been like someone on a broken ship with two great sharks circling around, biting whenever they got a chance—twenty years of such treatment was quite unbearable.
Such good fortune falling from heaven seemed unbelievable to Zhu Zhanji. He instinctively felt Emperor Hongxi was holding back some major move, saying: “Having brothers remain in the capital makes it convenient for them to show filial piety to father and mother. When they have children in the future, with grandsons and granddaughters bringing joy at your knees, the whole family can enjoy happiness together.”
Zhu Zhanji gave a watertight, standard answer, resisting temptation.
Emperor Hongxi stared fixedly at his eldest son, seeing his own past reflection in that somewhat slender frame.
No, he’s even more excellent and mature than I was back then.
Not only that, he’s both literary and martial. Back when I rode horses, I nearly crushed them to half-death.
Looking at the composed Crown Prince, Emperor Hongxi lost his composure and shamelessly deployed his ultimate move: “You have nine brothers. Building nine princely mansions in various places—such important royal residences must have garrison troops for protection. I think among all the capital’s guard units, only the Youth Army is most outstanding. If the Youth Army protected the princely mansions, I would feel at ease.”
“However, these twenty-eight thousand Youth Army troops were recruited and organized nationwide by Emperor Taizong specifically for you, trained personally by you, and only obey your commands. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to interfere.”
Just last month, Zhu Zhanji had led the Youth Army to the northern desert to escort Emperor Taizong’s coffin. After returning to the capital, the Youth Army resumed their positions with the Forward Guard, standing guard and keeping watch in the Forbidden City—something that greatly displeased Emperor Hongxi, who always felt they were a hidden danger.
Emperor Taizong had used excellent methods, going to great lengths for Zhu Zhanji’s future by creatively establishing a Youth Army that only obeyed Zhu Zhanji’s commands.
With Emperor Hongxi speaking so bluntly, how could someone as intelligent as Zhu Zhanji not understand?
The Youth Army had been personally selected, organized, trained, and even fought alongside Zhu Zhanji through shared hardships. In the Youth Army’s eyes, there was only the Crown Prince, not imperial authority.
Of course Zhu Zhanji was reluctant, but he couldn’t say no.
Whether as ruler and minister, or father and son, from any perspective, he had to comply with Emperor Hongxi.
Zhu Zhanji forced himself to endure heart-piercing pain: “The palace has its own Imperial Guards for protection—it’s as solid as gold and stone. The Youth Army is dispensable. Now dividing the Youth Army to protect my brothers’ residences in various princely mansions demonstrates this older brother’s care and protection for his younger brothers. I’ll immediately divide the troops—twenty-eight thousand Youth Army members divided into nine teams of over three thousand each, certainly able to protect all nine princely mansions without worry.”
Emperor Hongxi nodded with satisfaction: “Mm, I knew you were a good older brother.”
Zhu Zhanji severed his own arms, dissolving the Youth Army. Within three days, all twenty-eight thousand Youth Army members rushed to what were currently just barren sites selected for princely mansions, guarding empty plots of land with nothing to do.
The Youth Army weren’t military registration—unlike military households that were lifelong, generational professional soldiers. Youth Army members were civilian registration and could choose to retire, resuming civilian status.
Emperor Hongxi instructed the Ministry of War to send people to each Youth Army detachment to announce policies allowing them to withdraw at any time and return home with retirement benefits.
Now the Youth Army was completely finished.
But no matter how the Ministry of War personnel tried to persuade them, very few Youth Army members chose early retirement. They stood like fools guarding barren land, waiting for the day the Crown Prince might summon them back to the capital.
This loyalty moved the Crown Prince and frightened Emperor Hongxi.
They had expected the Youth Army to resent the Crown Prince’s weakness in allowing them to be expelled from the capital, but the opposite occurred—the Youth Army showed no complaints, repaying the Crown Prince’s eight years of cultivation with silent loyalty.
Emperor Hongxi became even more wary of the Crown Prince. This young man was almost invincible—no difficulty could defeat him!
Since that was the case, don’t blame me for using the ultimate move.
Emperor Hongxi decided to break the Crown Prince from within, turning his attention to Crown Princess A’Lei. To find someone’s weakness, you had to see what they cared about.
He could bear to expel the Youth Army from the capital—what about the Crown Princess?
For these six years, the Crown Princess had enjoyed exclusive favor. The young couple was so sweet that Emperor Hongxi’s diabetes seemed to worsen from watching them.
Of course, Emperor Hongxi maintained his dignity as father-in-law and felt too embarrassed to speak directly with his daughter-in-law. Instead, he summoned Empress Zhang—after all, it was only proper for a mother-in-law to discipline her daughter-in-law.
Emperor Hongxi said: “The Crown Prince is twenty-two this year. So far, only the Crown Princess has given birth—one daughter. Eastern Palace’s Consort Sun and three concubines have shown no signs of pregnancy. Zitong, have a good talk with the Crown Princess about the matter of heirs. She mustn’t become so absorbed in marital pleasures that she neglects the important matter of offspring. As they say, of the three forms of unfilial conduct, having no heir is the worst. Our family has an imperial throne to inherit—we need sons.”
With Zheng He demoted to Nanjing and the Youth Army scattered to the winds, Empress Zhang naturally understood her husband’s concerns—wasn’t he just wary of the Eastern Palace? Generation after generation, everyone was the same. Nothing new there.
Empress Zhang played dumb while understanding perfectly: “Your Majesty is too anxious. When Your Majesty was twenty, this consort only gave birth to the Crown Prince—getting a son with the first child was already great fortune. When Your Majesty was twenty-six, Consort Li bore Your Majesty a second son, after which came eight more sons in succession. This shows that matters of offspring cannot be rushed—when the time comes, they’ll appear one after another in clusters.”
“The Crown Princess has already given birth to Princess Shunde, proving she can bear children. She’s also twenty-two this year—the most suitable age for childbearing. Moreover, the Crown Princess and Crown Prince are childhood sweethearts with excellent feelings for each other. Another pregnancy is inevitable. As for Consort Sun and the three concubines…”
Empress Zhang smiled: “The difference between legitimate and illegitimate children is like heaven and earth. His Highness ascended to the great throne precisely as the legitimate eldest son. For future imperial family stability, we should urge the Eastern Palace to bear a legitimate son as soon as possible.”
Author’s Note: Twenty-one years as Crown Prince, nine months as Emperor—everyone stop criticizing Emperor Hongxi. He doesn’t have much time left, and he’s been suppressed for too long.
This is why Hu Shanwei served as Palace Lady through five reigns, yet this book is nearing completion—because one reign was simply too short!