Ever since entering the palace, Hu Shanwei had wandered on the edge of death several times without dying, but this time was the closest she’d ever come to the gates of hell.
A group of people had already dragged Hu Shanwei to the threshold when Empress Ma said: “Your Majesty, what harm is there in hearing what she has to say? The noble consort’s funeral is urgent.”
Emperor Hongwu raised his hand, and the crowd dragged her back again, throwing her into the middle like a piece of torn cloth. Her black gauze cap rolled away.
Hu Shanwei supported herself on a chair and struggled to stand, straightened her clothes, picked up her black gauze cap and put it on properly, then performed a bow: “Your Majesty, in traditional funeral rites, the rules of male superiority over female are far above the natural human relationships of filial piety to parents. The basic rules of traditional funeral rites are ‘no two masters in a household’ and ‘honor fathers, despise mothers.’ When fathers die, children must observe the heaviest mourning of ‘zhan cui,’ but when mothers die, children are downgraded to only the second level of ‘qi cui.’ This is the so-called ‘no two zhan cui in a household.'”
Funeral rites had five grades, from heavy to light: zhan cui, qi cui, da gong, xiao gong, and si ma.
Zhan cui required children to wear mourning clothes made of the coarsest natural hemp cloth that couldn’t be hemmed, exposing the scattered edges of the fabric, and women had to bind their hair with raw hemp. Qi cui allowed children to wear ordinary natural hemp mourning clothes that could be hemmed, and women didn’t need to bind their hair with raw hemp.
Emperor Hongwu said coldly: “You’re talking about the difference in funeral rites between spouses. What does that have to do with the noble consort’s funeral? You’re wasting my time!”
The noble consort was a concubine—no matter how high her status, she was still a concubine.
Hu Shanwei said: “Your Majesty, you are a man, the ministers of the Ministry of Rites are men, and the crown prince is also a man, so naturally you don’t think there’s anything wrong with ‘no two masters in a household,’ ‘honor fathers, despise mothers,’ and ‘no two zhan cui in a household.’ After all, things have been this way for thousands of years.”
“But I am a woman, and I naturally feel this is unfair. Every life is conceived from father’s essence and mother’s blood, carried for ten months in the womb, and born in one day. According to what Court Secretary Ru told me, almost one in ten women dies on the birthing bed. Every time a mother gives birth, she risks her own life to bring forth new life. If this is so, why in life’s final journey—the funeral—must she be a step lower than her husband? Just qi cui? Why can’t she enjoy the same zhan cui standards as her husband and have a grand burial?”
“Your Majesty, if even the legitimate mother is treated this way, looked down upon by her children and made to stand a head shorter than the father, how sorrowful can a concubine’s funeral be?”
“Therefore, in my humble opinion, the only way to convince the ministers to agree to change ‘no mourning for concubines’ is to elevate mothers’ funerals to the same standard as fathers’—both zhan cui—implementing equal honor for fathers and mothers.”
“This is the first step, and also the most important one. If anyone objects, use the hat of filial piety to suppress them—disrespecting mothers, ignoring human relationships, being fossilized, is unfilial. The second step: once the legitimate mother’s funeral is elevated to the same position as the father’s, then concubines naturally rise with the tide. There would be no embarrassment of ‘no mourning for concubines.’ For concubine funerals, remove the barriers for scholars and commoners, making the system uniform for rulers and subjects—when concubines die, all sons should observe si ma mourning for three months before removing mourning clothes.”
Equal honor for fathers and mothers, uniform system for rulers and subjects. This was Hu Shanwei’s solution.
Upon hearing this, Emperor Hongwu fell silent, while Empress Ma showed signs of being moved.
Yes, women’s sorrows were only truly understood by women. Similarly, women’s rights ultimately had to be fought for by their own people. Silently waiting for men to bestow and grant them was nearly impossible. This was the selfish side of human nature at its core—resources were limited, and they wouldn’t generously share with you just because you were their daughter, wife, or mother. They closed their eyes and took all inequity for granted.
Empress Ma was a woman and a mother—she naturally hoped that when she died in the future, she could receive the same respect as Emperor Hongwu.
Noble Consort Sun had been glorious in life but had a desolate funeral in death. At its root, if even the legitimate mother’s funeral was like this, what could a concubine expect? Any slight deviation from protocol would result in ministers putting big hats on the emperor’s head like “blinded by beauty,” “disrespecting the legitimate wife,” or even “favoring concubines over wife.” Even a founding emperor like Emperor Hongwu wouldn’t want to bear the stigma of being “blinded by beauty” for a mere concubine.
It wasn’t worth it.
The Ministry of Rites ministers and the crown prince understood Emperor Hongwu’s concerns and staged their “hunger strike protest” because they knew Emperor Hongwu wouldn’t really let them starve to death. They could endure temporary hunger and thirst to win future glory as upright ministers and a virtuous heir apparent.
Hugely profitable.
The study fell into brief silence. Emperor Hongwu waved at the crowd: “All of you leave. Hu Shanwei stays.”
The group quietly departed.
Emperor Hongwu said: “You have great audacity, daring to overturn the nation’s mourning system.”
Men and women started from different points. Emperor Hongwu always disliked the previous dynasty’s collapse of ritual and music, most loving to establish rules and perfect ritual systems. But no matter how he changed things, he wouldn’t think there was anything wrong with “no two masters in a household” and “no two zhan cui in a household.”
Well, it was indeed somewhat contrary to human relationships. Emperor Hongwu still respected his own mother, but as a man and an emperor, Emperor Hongwu did indeed feel he was somewhat more noble than the empress. The Son of Heaven was unique and naturally had higher status than the empress.
So, relying solely on human relationships couldn’t convince Emperor Hongwu.
But if Hu Shanwei’s suggestion of “equal honor for fathers and mothers, uniform system for rulers and subjects” held no appeal for Emperor Hongwu, her head would have rolled by now. Emperor Hongwu kept her behind because he found merit in her suggestion.
Hu Shanwei had to find more convincing reasons.
The greater the crisis, the faster Hu Shanwei’s mind worked. Since it had already reached the point of gouging out eyes, she might as well go all out.
Hu Shanwei said: “Ritual, in the end, serves education, using repetitive and elaborate procedures to show attitudes toward matters. Equal honor for fathers and mothers in funeral rites shows Your Majesty’s view on filial piety—fathers and mothers should both receive respect. How one shows filial piety to fathers should be how one shows filial piety to mothers. Your Majesty’s change to the mourning system represents progress in filial piety, not regression. This is Your Majesty’s achievement.”
First, some flattery, pushing the credit to Emperor Hongwu. As a founding emperor, Emperor Hongwu was more easily accepting of change than ordinary peacetime rulers.
Emperor Hongwu pondered for a moment, saying what ministers had said countless times: “No two zhan cui in a household—this has been the rule since ancient times. It has always been this way.”
Hu Shanwei said: “Has it always been this way, so it must be right?”
Emperor Hongwu remembered the past…
“Zhu Chongba, born a peasant, an illiterate farmer. What rebel army? Just a bunch of bandits, a motley crew. Never heard of a bandit chief becoming emperor.”
Back then, Emperor Hongwu had also used “Has it always been this way, so it must be right?” to respond to others’ various doubts. He had overturned countless “always been this way” to create today’s Ming Empire. What he was best at was bold reform and establishing his own rules.
Like abolishing the chancellor system—the chancellor position that had lasted a thousand years, Emperor Hongwu had still chopped it off when he said so.
This small female official actually had such thoughts too.
Thinking this way, changing the mourning system to equal honor for fathers and mothers did conform to human relationships and emotions—it was indeed progress.
And importantly, once someone opposed it, he could put the hat of disrespecting their own mothers on them, scold them for being unfilial, occupy the moral high ground, and facilitate implementing the new system.
Emperor Hongwu was silent for a moment: “You may withdraw. Summon the Autumn Official for audience.”
Since abolishing the thousand-year-old chancellor system, Emperor Hongwu wielded sole power, rising earlier than chickens, sleeping later than dogs, working harder than oxen. With so many affairs, he had established Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter rotating officials to help handle government business. Now in autumn, it was the Autumn Official’s turn on duty. Emperor Hongwu apparently wanted the Autumn Official to draft documents and revise the mourning system.
No need to gouge out eyes.
Hu Shanwei didn’t dare let down her guard and tried her utmost to control herself, leaving Qianqing Palace with apparent calm and composure.
Just after walking out of the great hall, she encountered Mu Chun hurrying over.
Seeing that Hu Shanwei’s eyes were perfectly intact, Mu Chun’s suspended heart finally settled.
Hu Shanwei gave him a look, indicating he shouldn’t ask questions.
Mu Chun understood and brushed past her, but took several detours and went to her residence via another route. Pushing open the door, he found Hu Shanwei sitting on the swing in the courtyard, swaying back and forth.
Mu Chun hurried over: “How did I hear that His Majesty flew into a rage and wanted to gouge out your eyes? What happened? You—”
Hu Shanwei suddenly reached out and hugged his waist, as if she’d lost all strength, her upper body slumping against his waist. Only then did Mu Chun discover that Hu Shanwei’s whole body was trembling, as if trapped in the depths of winter, shivering.
Hu Shanwei was the type who stayed calm on the spot with strong adaptability, but had particularly strong “aftereffects”—like last year when she and Jiang Quan encountered danger, chased by bandits and nearly killed in a carriage accident, she could still play dead, kill the bandit, and save Jiang Quan. But afterward, when Mao Qiang sent her back to the rear palace and Fan Gongzheng, Superintendent Cao and others questioned her, she screamed and fainted in fear, sleeping for a day and night before waking.
Today was the same. Having made several round trips through hell’s gates, she wasn’t made of iron. After exhausting all her courage and intelligence to save herself, she was like someone who’d collapsed from exhaustion. Her steps had been unsteady all the way back, and when she reached the courtyard, she didn’t even have the strength to enter the house, sitting dazed on the swing.
Hu Shanwei was seated while Mu Chun worried she might slip down if her arms lost strength, so he slowly crouched down, embracing her back in a half-kneeling position, gently patting: “Don’t be afraid. It’s all over.”
Earlier, Hu Shanwei’s head had been at his waist, but now they were level, head to head. Hu Shanwei’s head rested on Mu Chun’s shoulder—broad, thick, with muscles wrapping around his shoulder blade. It wasn’t uncomfortable resting her head there; it was resilient and warm. She felt the heat radiating from his body and an indescribable “human scent.”
She hugged him tighter and tighter, lengthening her breathing, like a black mountain demon greedily absorbing human essence. Her body hadn’t died, but her soul had died once.
What did it mean to serve a ruler like serving a tiger? What did it mean that when the ruler wanted a minister to die, the minister had no choice but to die? What was written in books was too shallow—only through real experience could one know that every word weighed a thousand pounds, pressing down until one couldn’t breathe.
For a very long time, Hu Shanwei was like a ghost who had absorbed enough yang energy to be resurrected. Lying on Mu Chun’s shoulder, she asked: “Is court life always this heart-stopping, with lives as worthless as grass?”
Mu Chun said: “It’s always been this way. You can never accurately predict whether glory or disaster will come first. Are you afraid?”
“Mm.” Hu Shanwei nodded. “Afraid, but also strangely excited. Do you know? The mourning system is about to change, and I pushed this step forward. This is something I never dared dream of before.”
Emperor Hongwu summoned the Autumn Official, then soon after summoned several young scholars from the Hanlin Academy. They worked through the night and wrote the voluminous ten-thousand-word “Record of Filial Compassion.”
The “Record of Filial Compassion” re-established the five degrees of mourning, removing the previous mourning system’s flaws of “honoring fathers over mothers, contrary to human feelings; harsh mourning systems, severing human nature.” It stipulated: children for parents, and sons born to concubines for their birth mothers, all observe zhan cui mourning for three years.
Legitimate sons and other sons all observe qi cui with mourning staff for one year for concubines.
That is, parents’ funerals were the same. Not only that, it emphasized “birth grace”—sons should observe equally heavy mourning for their birth mothers.
When concubines died, legitimate sons and sons not born to those concubines would all observe qi cui with mourning staff together.
Moreover, from then on, mourning rites would have a uniform system for rulers and subjects—whether commoners, scholars, or imperial family, all must follow the new mourning system established by the “Record of Filial Compassion.”
The publication of the “Record of Filial Compassion” shocked the court and the realm. Opposition voices rose like magpies, and the court was in uproar. Emperor Hongwu insisted: “If you oppose this, you’re disrespecting your mother, thinking she doesn’t deserve the same respect as your father—that’s unfilial. Do unfilial people have the face to be officials? Get out!”
Thus, Emperor Hongwu faced thousands of accusers with cold eyebrows and pushed the “Record of Filial Compassion” from top to bottom. Emperor Hongwu also ordered the fifth prince, Prince Zhou Zhu Su, to preside over Noble Consort Sun’s funeral, exceptionally “observing loving mother mourning of zhan cui for three years.”
The fourth prince, Prince Yan Zhu Di, had already gone far to his fiefdom. Among the princes in the capital, except for Crown Prince Zhu Biao, the fifth prince was the oldest. Prince Yan and Prince Zhou were blood brothers, both born to Noble Consort Shuo, but Noble Consort Shuo died early. It was Noble Consort Sun who took over the responsibility of raising the young Prince Zhou, showing him “nurturing grace.”
Prince Zhou had a gentle personality and always respected his foster mother, Noble Consort Sun. When the imperial edict came down, he immediately changed into the coarsest raw hemp mourning clothes. Princess Consort Zhou, Feng Shi (Mu Chun’s second aunt, daughter of Duke Songguo Feng Sheng), also undid her hair bun and bound her hair with raw hemp, joining Prince Zhou in mourning before Noble Consort Sun’s coffin.
With their birth mother receiving a grand burial, Princess Lin’an and Princess Huaiqing were very grateful to Prince Zhou and treated him with special affection thereafter.
After Empress Ma finished mourning, she returned to Kunning Palace.
In the study, Empress Ma asked Hu Shanwei: “Do you find it surprising? That day you only suggested that when concubines died, all sons should observe si ma mourning for three months, uniform for rulers and subjects. But His Majesty ordered all sons to observe qi cui with mourning staff for one year for concubines?”
Three months versus one year. The lightest si ma versus the second-ranked qi cui. It was indeed unexpected.
Hu Shanwei didn’t know why Empress Ma suddenly asked her these things and could only speak safe words that wouldn’t cause trouble: “Rear palace ministers must not interfere in government affairs—those who do face execution. That day I only discussed family rites with His Majesty. I dare not comment on the ‘Record of Filial Compassion.'”
The iron plaque reading “Rear palace ministers must not interfere in government affairs—those who do face execution” still stood on East and West Long Streets—this was the first palace rule Hu Shanwei had learned. His Majesty asking her versus her volunteering to evaluate the “Record of Filial Compassion” were two different things—one careless move meant losing her head.
Empress Ma took out a scroll: “Open it.”
Hu Shanwei spread the scroll on the desk—it was a comprehensive map of the Ming Dynasty.
Empress Ma pointed to several border passes of the Ming Dynasty: “Prince Yan established his fiefdom in Beiping, guarding Shanhaiguan on the Great Wall. Prince Jin established his fiefdom in Taiyuan, guarding the north. The former Prince Qin established his fiefdom in Xi’an, guarding the northwest… Prince Zhou will probably also leave the capital for his fiefdom next year. After the Ming Dynasty’s founding, His Majesty overcame strong opposition and restarted the feudal system for imperial sons that had been abolished for a thousand years. All feudal princes have both power and troops.”
Hu Shanwei listened in bewilderment, not understanding why Empress Ma went from the “Record of Filial Compassion” to discussing the princes’ feudal system. Honestly, she came from common people—as a commoner, what did the princes’ feudal system have to do with her? No matter how fiercely the court argued, she just lived a simple life depending on her father.
Empress Ma sighed: “His Majesty’s push for all sons, whether legitimate or from concubines, to observe qi cui with mourning staff for one year for concubines aims to preserve brotherly affection between the crown prince and the various princes. All observing mourning for concubines achieves the goal that although birth mothers differ, the brothers can still sympathize with each other.”
“Actually, funeral rites aren’t for the dead—when people die, their lights go out. Funeral rites are for the living to see. Mourning the dead is how the living express their goodwill, grief, and sympathy. The princes have different origins and birth mothers, creating barriers between them, but the new mourning system lets all sons express mourning for concubines with whom they share no blood relation—this is a way to show care among half-brothers.”
“His Majesty hopes to use reformed filial piety to promote continued brotherly duty among them, hoping these future feudal princes can unite as one to jointly protect the Ming Dynasty’s realm.”
Looking at the comprehensive map of the Ming Dynasty and listening to Empress Ma’s explanation, Hu Shanwei suddenly understood the true significance of the “Record of Filial Compassion.” It turned out His Majesty’s heart held only the Ming Dynasty’s realm from beginning to end. And Empress Ma always remained calm, seeing through Emperor Hongwu better than anyone.
This was true imperial statecraft.
Hu Shanwei was suddenly enlightened. Empress Ma was like opening a door to a strange world for her, giving her “heavenly sight,” letting her push through clouds and mist to see the truth and grasp the essence.
All along, Hu Shanwei had been Empress Ma’s tool for managing the rear palace—a mouthpiece, an errand runner. No one would tell their “tools” what was in their hearts, much less provide guidance.
Why was Empress Ma doing this? Hu Shanwei’s heart was full of doubt, but she didn’t dare ask.
In the palace, the more you knew, the faster you died. But working beside the emperor and empress while knowing too little would make you die even faster!
Empress Ma saw through Hu Shanwei’s thoughts, her eyes showing both compassion and worry:
“His Majesty always wants to control everything, and most of the time, he succeeds. But human hearts… human hearts are the hardest to control. Sitting on the throne too long creates an illusion that you can control everything. Among commoners, even blood brothers dividing family property might break heads over who gets a single bowl. And in the court, what’s being fought over is far more than just a bowl. How could anyone give up the supreme imperial power because you observed one year of mourning for my birth mother? Yet His Majesty insists on fantasizing about brotherly affection and persisting in enfeoffing the princes. Shanwei, you must firmly remember—this is His Majesty’s reverse scale. Those who touch it will surely die. Remember today’s words, and in the future, you might live a little longer.”