Adding notes to a novel is particularly foolish, yet I can’t help myself. On one hand, I hope readers can find enjoyment in the story; on the other hand, it’s necessary to remind them that fiction differs from official history. Out of a sense of responsibility, I must present both, letting readers judge for themselves. Let’s begin with the Xuande Emperor’s ascension to the throne.
Among imperial successions throughout history, Zhu Zhanji’s ascension wasn’t the most complex, but it was certainly the most rushed.
After Ming Taizong died in the twenty-second year of Yongle, Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi ascended the throne and changed the following year to the first year of Hongxi. Upon his ascension, he immediately considered moving the capital back to Nanjing and began preparations. (Zhu Di’s reign title was “Yongle” and his temple name was “Taizong.” It wasn’t until the Jiajing era that it was changed to “Chengzu.” Therefore, before the Jiajing era, the Ming people only knew of Ming Taizong, not Ming Chengzu.)
Just as Zhu Gaochi was busy preparing for the capital’s relocation, Heaven seemed particularly uncooperative. From the second to the fifth month of Hongxi’s first year, Nanjing experienced thirty earthquakes, occurring so frequently as to arouse suspicion. Ancient Chinese believed in the correspondence between heaven and human affairs, and such frequent earthquakes were considered an extremely inauspicious omen. The Hongxi Emperor had no choice but to first send Crown Prince Zhu Zhanji to provide comfort and reassurance.
After Zhu Zhanji left the capital, he first went to Fengyang to pay respects at the imperial tombs, then proceeded to Nanjing to pay respects at the Xiaoling Mausoleum. Unexpectedly, shortly after his departure, on the eleventh day of the fifth month, the Hongxi Emperor suddenly fell gravely ill in the Forbidden City.
The use of “suddenly” here is no exaggeration. According to the “Renzong Shilu” (Veritable Records of Emperor Renzong), on the tenth day of the fifth month, he was still receiving tribal officials from Yunnan, showing no signs of illness. Unexpectedly, the very next day he became “indisposed.” Sensing his condition was critical, Hongxi summoned Minister Jian Yi, Grand Secretaries Yang Shiqi, Huang Zhun, Yang Rong, and others. Yang Shiqi drafted an imperial edict, and the court eunuch Hai Shou was immediately dispatched to Nanjing to inform the Crown Prince.
Hai Shou, of Korean descent, had served in the inner court since the Yongle era, and this wasn’t his first such mission. In the twenty-second year of Yongle, when Zhu Di died at Yumuquan during his northern expedition, it was Hai Shou and Grand Secretary Yang Rong rushed back to Beijing to inform Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi. So he was quite familiar with this task. Shortly after Hai Shou left the capital, the Hongxi Emperor’s condition deteriorated rapidly. By the twelfth day of the fifth month, his condition had progressed from “indisposed” to “critical,” and he passed away that night in the Qin’an Hall.
The exact nature of the Hongxi Emperor’s sudden illness has been the subject of much speculation. The most unreliable account comes from Korea. The “Annals of the Yi Dynasty” records that a Korean interpreter named Zhao Zhongzuo came to the capital, gathering gossip everywhere. Someone told him it was “heaven’s thunder” – that the emperor had been struck by lightning. After Zhao returned, he vividly related this to the Korean court, and it was recorded in their annals.
Lu Wu’s “Biyi Manji” (Random Notes on Diseases and Leisure) provides a more detailed record of Hongxi’s illness: “Emperor Renzong’s death came very suddenly. Some suspected lightning strikes, and others suspected palace servants attempted to poison Consort Zhang but accidentally poisoned the emperor instead. I once met Eunuch Lei and asked him about this; he said none of these were true, it was a ‘yin condition.'”
The Korean rumor of “death by lightning strike” wasn’t the only explanation at the time. There were even rumors that someone had attempted to poison Consort Zhang but accidentally poisoned the Hongxi Emperor instead. However, all these theories were denied by Eunuch Lei, who said the real cause was a “yin condition.”
“Yin condition” is a very broad term, with the most likely explanation being that the Hongxi Emperor’s death was caused by excessive sexual activity. He was corpulent and already had heart problems; if he didn’t restrain himself in bedroom matters, it could easily cause issues. A minister of Renzong’s reign, Li Shimian, once advised Hongxi “not to approach concubines in private,” resulting in the angry emperor throwing him in prison, nearly beating him to death.
Li Shimian’s colleague Sun Rujing’s biography also mentions that “the previous emperor’s reign lasted less than a month before he suddenly abandoned his ministers. Examining the cause, it was all due to treacherous men offering mineral medicines that led to illness.” “Treacherous” means “corrupt and flattering,” so this passage suggests that the Hongxi Emperor’s death within a year of his ascension was caused by corrupt officials offering mineral-based medicines.
From these fragmentary clues, we can speculate that the Hongxi Emperor regularly indulged in bedroom pleasures and necessarily relied on externally provided medicines for enhancement. These aphrodisiacs placed a great burden on his body, finally leading to serious consequences on the eleventh day of the fifth month. To cover up this cause of death, the court vaguely termed it a “yin condition.” Due to the suddenness of his illness, rumors of death by lightning spread outside the palace.
Of course, this is all speculation. The exact relationship between sudden death and sexual indulgence, the connection between sexual activity and mineral medicines, and even whether the Hongxi Emperor’s lifestyle could be considered excessive are all unknown. It’s worth noting that Ming dynasty scholars loved to exaggerate – if a ruler spent just one extra day in the imperial harem, they might describe it as complete debauchery, leading to predictions of national decline and expressions of deep concern.
So this speculation should be taken as merely food for thought.
When the Hongxi Emperor died, Zhu Zhanji had already reached Nanjing. According to the “Ming History,” his subsequent schedule was: “In the fifth month, on the day of Gengchen, Renzong became ill, and a sealed letter was sent to recall him. In the sixth month, on the day of Xinchou, he returned to Liangxiang, received the posthumous edict, entered the palace, and began mourning. On the day of Gengxu, he ascended to the imperial throne.” The Hongxi Emperor fell gravely ill on the eleventh day of the fifth month, and on the same day, Hai Shou urgently left the capital to recall the Crown Prince. Zhu Zhanji arrived at Liangxiang on the third day of the sixth month and ascended the throne on the twelfth day of the sixth month. From the eleventh day of the fifth month to the third day of the sixth month was twenty-two days, and the distance between the two capitals was 2,235 li, or about 1,100 kilometers. Considering that Hai Shou’s one-way journey needed to be subtracted from this time, the schedule was extremely tight.
One theory suggests that it was Crown Prince Zhu Zhanji who truly caused the Hongxi Emperor’s death. Because looking at the schedule, if Zhu Zhanji had waited for Hai Shou to reach Nanjing before returning, there wouldn’t have been enough time. His arrival in Liangxiang on the third day of the sixth month must mean he had returned early. Why would he return early? Naturally, because the Crown Prince knew in advance that the emperor would die.
This theory stems from a lack of understanding of the Ming dynasty’s postal system.
The Ming dynasty’s postal system, in terms of transportation methods, can be roughly divided into water couriers, horse couriers, and foot couriers. The first two are self-explanatory, using boats and horses or donkeys for message delivery, while foot couriers relied on human foot power for delivery.
Contrary to intuition, Ming dynasty document delivery relied primarily on human power, and the speed was not slower than horses. Along postal routes, there were many urgent relay stations (which gradually merged with postal stations by the middle Ming period), with stations spaced ten li apart. The stations were staffed with young and strong relay soldiers who wore bells at their waists and would immediately run out upon receiving documents, continuing until the next station.
According to regulations, the ten li distance between stations had to be covered within forty-five minutes by the relay soldiers. With two Chinese li converting to one kilometer, this means the foot courier’s moving speed was about six to seven kilometers per hour. If this speed isn’t conceptually clear, I, as a fat person doing regular exercise, can run five kilometers within thirty-two minutes.
For those strong young men to complete this distance was very easy.
When a relay soldier reached the next station, another soldier would be waiting there, and after transferring the documents, would continue at the same speed. This relay system continued, with stations connecting, each segment progressing at optimal speed without the need for rest. This delivery method continued day and night, theoretically covering about 150 kilometers, or 300 li, within twenty-four hours.
This speed was already equal to ordinary horse courier speed. The distance from Beijing to Nanjing was 2,235 li; whether by foot courier or ordinary horse courier, a document theoretically could be delivered from Beijing to Nanjing in eight days.
But horse couriers could also use a relay system, continuing day and night, achieving even faster speeds – the so-called “800-li urgent delivery.” Of course, this “800-li urgent delivery” was only theoretical; considering factors like limited night visibility and terrain obstacles, the actual daily progress was about 500 li or just over 200 kilometers. Disregarding costs, the one-way journey between the capitals would take only six days. (This accounts for crossing the three major rivers: Yellow, Huai, and Yangtze.) This type of urgent delivery was extremely costly, as the horses involved would certainly be ruined. Only the most urgent military matters could use this method of delivery. And “recalling the Crown Prince” certainly qualified as one of the most urgent matters.
Considering that Hai Shou alone couldn’t possibly ride continuously for eight days and nights, the court likely used a dual dispatch system: the official sealed letter carried by Hai Shou, along with a separate message sent via horse courier to notify the Crown Prince first. After all, the court’s most urgent goal wasn’t delivering the sealed letter but ensuring the Crown Prince received the news and returned promptly.
In other words, Zhu Zhanji could have received news from the capital before the eighteenth day of the fifth month. He then had fifteen days to return from Nanjing to Beijing. While this timeline was tight, it wasn’t impossible. The theory that Zhu Zhanji’s travel schedule exposed a patricide plot doesn’t hold up.
According to the “Xuanzong Shilu,” when Zhu Zhanji received Hai Shou’s message in Nanjing, rumors of the Hongxi Emperor’s death were already circulating throughout the city. This is quite strange. When Hai Shou departed, he carried news of the emperor being “indisposed,” not knowing about the following day’s death. So how and when did these rumors in Nanjing arise?
The official records are quite vague. One possible explanation is that after Zhu Zhanji received the news, he didn’t suppress it, and the information quickly spread throughout the city, becoming distorted from “indisposed” to “deceased” through repeated tellings, with the rumor accidentally becoming a prophecy.
Regardless, Zhu Zhanji could no longer remain in Nanjing and had to return to the capital immediately. At this time, the Crown Prince’s advisors urged him to be careful during this sensitive period, suggesting he wait for his guard unit to be fully assembled before returning. Others suggested avoiding the official postal routes and instead quickly heading north via secluded paths.
From these suggestions, it appears these advisors foresaw some kind of danger along the return journey. But Zhu Zhanji rejected both proposals. Whether assembling troops or taking back roads would take too much time. He said: “With the sovereign father above, the realm’s hearts are united, what other intentions could there be? Moreover, my arrival and swift return are beyond others’ calculations. Besides, when the sovereign father summons, how can there be any delay!”
Zhu Zhanji, having fought alongside Zhu Di, was quite decisive. He believed that since he had just arrived in Nanjing, his immediate return would far exceed others’ expectations, leaving no time for reaction. Zhu Zhanji knew that at this crucial moment, returning to the capital quickly was paramount, regardless of the risks involved.
As for what these risks were, Zhu Zhanji didn’t specify. The “Veritable Records” only says he “thus returned to Beijing via the main road.” The main road refers to the postal route, but whether he traveled by water, land, or a combination of both is impossible to determine. However, in the “Ming History’s” “Biography of Zhu Gaoxu,” a dramatic detail is recorded: “Shortly after, Renzong died, and Xuanzong rushed back from Nanjing for mourning. Gaoxu planned to ambush him along the way but failed due to haste.”
Prince Han had set up an ambush along the way, planning to eliminate his nephew. Only because Zhu Zhanji’s speed was too quick, and they couldn’t close the encirclement hastily enough, did the Crown Prince escape with his life. This reveals that the palace advisors’ warnings in Nanjing were well-founded, and Zhu Zhanji’s decisive action was truly brilliant.
Unfortunately, due to incomplete historical records, we can only imagine exactly where Prince Han “set up the ambush” and how it “failed due to haste.” This became the inspiration for this novel. Initially, Professor Chang Jiang felt this episode had great potential as a story and told it to me. I exchanged it with a Western Han story I had researched, and thus began Zhu Zhanji’s great adventure.
After evading Prince Han’s ambush, Zhu Zhanji arrived at Liangxiang on the third day of the sixth month. Before this, the Hongxi Emperor’s body remained in the Forbidden City, his death kept secret, awaiting his arrival. Soon, a group of ministers hurried to Lugou Bridge, bearing the imperial edict to welcome the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince fainted several times from crying at the incense altar.
What followed were standard procedures, with no further incidents. Zhu Zhanji smoothly ascended the throne, establishing his reign as “Xuande.”
However, the “Veritable Records” specifically mentioned: “When news of the Emperor’s death slightly leaked to the outside, before His Majesty reached Beijing, there were loud rumors about Gao Zhao intending to attack the palace, causing great public unrest. Only after His Majesty’s return did things settle, though the capital had been under martial law for some time.”
The capital was not peaceful before Zhu Zhanji’s return. Both the “rumors about Gao Zhao” and “intentions to attack the palace” were extremely serious matters, especially under martial law in the capital. Who had the power and resources to create such a disturbance? The “Veritable Records” doesn’t specify, but those in the know understood. After all, this wasn’t the first time such events had occurred.
Zhu Gaoxu had been restless since the Yongle era, practically wearing “rebellion” on his face. When he wasn’t framing officials – Xie Jin died because of his slander – he was mocking his brother Zhu Gaochi, privately maintaining troops, and killing local military commanders. Finally, even his father Zhu Di couldn’t tolerate it anymore and stripped him of his princely status. Only thanks to Zhu Gaochi’s plea was he restored to princely rank, but was relocated to Le’an Prefecture and forbidden to leave the city.
Zhu Gaoxu’s ambitions didn’t cease. He sent his son Zhu Zhandie to Beijing to monitor the capital’s situation, sometimes sending six or seven intelligence reports daily. Especially after Zhu Di’s northern expedition, he dispatched many supporters to infiltrate the capital, watching for opportunities.
Therefore, when Zhu Di died during the northern expedition, Yang Rong was extremely vigilant, keeping the death secret until Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi received the coffin, precisely to prevent any schemes from Zhu Gaoxu and his son.
Later, Zhu Gaoxu killed Zhu Zhandie’s mother, causing a rift between father and son. Zhu Zhandie reported his father’s various evil deeds to the Hongxi Emperor, while Zhu Gaoxu retaliated by personally traveling to Beijing to report Zhu Zhandie’s crime of privately spying on the court in the capital – truly a remarkable father-son pair. The Hongxi Emperor didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, saying “You have brought slander to such extremes between father, son, and brothers; the young one isn’t worth executing.” He sent Zhu Zhandie far away to guard the imperial tombs in Fengyang and made the second son, Zhu Zhantan, the heir instead.
Less than a year later, the same situation arose. This time the emperor died in the capital while the Crown Prince was away. This heaven-sent opportunity couldn’t be missed by Zhu Gaoxu; besides setting up an ambush for the Crown Prince, he naturally had to create disturbances in the capital. No, not just in the capital – Zhu Gaoxu’s usurpation attempt this time was far larger than imagined. The full scope of the plan would only surface a year later.
After the Xuande Emperor’s ascension, he was surprisingly kind to this uncle who had tried to assassinate him. Not only did he not issue any reprimands, but he increased his rewards. He did this because he realized Prince Han’s network was too extensive to deal with immediately. Better to wait until his position was secure before settling accounts.
The first year of Hongxi passed in this strange atmosphere of harmony. By the eighth month of the following year, the first year of Xuande, Prince Han finally couldn’t contain his internal fear and decided to act.
He sent a trusted follower named Mei Qing to infiltrate the capital and coordinate with military nobles for internal support but was caught by the Duke of Ying, Zhang Fu. Meanwhile, Prince Han somehow convinced Shandong Commander Jin Rong to raise a powerful force in Shandong, assigning official positions to various commanders with grand promises. More dramatically, the military commanders in Tianjin, Qingzhou, Cangzhou, and Shanxi all agreed to support Prince Han in their cities.
If this plan had succeeded, it would have surrounded the capital, possibly succeeding.
Unfortunately, this series of actions was entirely within the Xuande Emperor’s expectations. Over the past year, like Duke Zheng dealing with his brother Gong Shu Duan, he quietly and patiently waited for the other side to make the first move, waiting for Prince Han to “bring about his destruction,” then strike legitimately with one decisive blow.
When Prince Han officially raised the banner of rebellion in Le’an Prefecture, the Xuande Emperor finally moved. He led the capital’s troops to surround Le’an Prefecture, with divine mechanism artillery and arrows thundering from all sides. Under this terrifying intimidation, Prince Han finally realized he had no chance of victory and voluntarily surrendered.
The Xuande Emperor designated a young censor named Yu Qian at his side to enumerate Prince Han’s crimes. Historical records state that Yu Qian “spoke righteously and forcefully, his voice and manner severe. Gaoxu prostrated himself trembling, claiming he deserved ten thousand deaths.” He perfectly completed his task, greatly pleasing the Xuande Emperor. This set him on a smooth path for his future career.
However, the Xuande Emperor didn’t execute Prince Han, instead bringing him and his sons back to the capital and confining them inside Xian’an Gate. Others involved weren’t so fortunate – over 640 were beheaded, more than 1,500 were exiled to frontier garrisons, and 720 were conscripted as border civilians. One can imagine the scale of Zhu Gaoxu’s rebellion.
Although from existing materials we cannot determine which high officials participated in this rebellion, judging from the capital’s disturbances, Prince Han certainly wasn’t acting alone; there must have been internal and external coordination to have any chance of success. The most suspicious was the Crown Prince’s Grand Guardian and Minister of Rites, Lü Zhen.
Although Lü Zhen had a successful career, his character was sycophantic and dangerous, and his conduct was unreliable. He wasn’t implicated in Prince Han’s rebellion, but shortly before Prince Han’s downfall, he suddenly died mysteriously. Historical records say he went to sacrifice at the Imperial Ancestral Temple, drank heavily with Tibetan monks until completely drunk, and suddenly died after returning home – quite a strange incident.
Prince Han was truly unruly to his core. Even when confined inside Xian’an Gate, he wouldn’t behave himself. The “National Tribute Records” recorded his end: Once when Xuande visited Prince Han, he unexpectedly tripped the emperor, making him fall flat. This time Xuande was truly furious. He brought a 300-jin bronze vat and directly trapped him underneath. Prince Han still wouldn’t submit and tried to lift the vat. Xuande ordered people to light charcoal fires nearby, literally cooking him to death inside. Prince Han’s ten sons, including Zhu Zhandie, Zhu Zhantan, and Zhu Zhanyu, were all executed.
Even in such dire circumstances, he still courted death – one can only say Prince Han was truly a man of passionate temperament, willing to sacrifice his life just to vent his anger. While dealing with Prince Han, the Xuande Emperor was also busy with another matter: building mausoleums for his predecessors.
This wasn’t unusual – every emperor did the same after ascending the throne. The problem was that Zhu Zhanji had to build two mausoleums simultaneously.
In the seventh year of Yongle, Zhu Di selected Huangtu Mountain north of the capital, renamed it Tianshou Mountain, and began building his Changling Mausoleum. Changling was grand in scale, a massive project. By the eleventh year of Yongle, only the underground portion was completed, while the above-ground section was never fully finished. After the Hongxi Emperor’s ascension, construction on Changling continued. But no one expected Zhu Gaochi to suddenly die less than a year into his reign – not only was his father’s mausoleum unfinished, he hadn’t even started his own.
Both mausoleums had to be overseen by Zhu Zhanji, no small burden. Fortunately, the Hongxi Emperor’s final edict stated: “As my reign was brief and my benevolence had not yet reached the people, I cannot bear to burden them further. The mausoleum’s design must be frugal.” So Zhu Zhanji selected a burial location not far northwest of Changling, personally determining its design, which became Xianling. Xianling’s scale and design completely followed Hongxi’s final wishes – not extravagant, striving for simplicity, with many structures reduced where possible.
Xianling’s official construction began in the seventh month of Hongxi’s first year, one month after the Xuande Emperor’s ascension. For this, Marquis of Xiangcheng Li Long from Nanjing personally led 10,000 soldiers, along with 110,000 military personnel and craftsmen from nearby Nanjing garrisons. Additionally, 50,000 civilian laborers were recruited from Henan, Shandong, Shanxi, and Zhili regions.
With such a scale of manpower mobilization, plus the relatively simple tomb design, construction progressed quickly. In the same year’s eighth month, the underground palace was completed, and the Hongxi Emperor was officially interred. However, other supporting structures like the Ming Tower temporarily halted construction, as Changling had to be completed first – it would be improper for the son’s mausoleum to be finished before the father’s.
Changling was finally completed in the second year of Xuande. However, the large stone memorial gateway and Ling’en Gate we see today when visiting were only added during the Jiajing era. As for Xianling’s official completion, it was delayed until the eighth month of the eighth year of Zhengtong, long after the Xuande Emperor had passed away. Incidentally, the Jingling Mausoleum where Xuande was buried after his death was even smaller than Xianling. Before his death, he expressed that as a son, he dared not make his mausoleum larger than his father’s, let alone as labor-intensive and costly as Changling. Thus, later generations concluded that among the Ming Thirteen Mausoleums, Xianling was the most modest, while Jingling was the smallest.
Speaking of these Ming imperial mausoleums, there’s one cruel topic that cannot be avoided: human sacrifice.
Human sacrifice, as an ancient and barbaric burial custom, flourished during the Shang and Zhou dynasties, declined during the Spring Autumn and Warring States periods, and disappeared after the Qin and Han dynasties. Afterward, the Central Plains dynasties no longer saw institutionalized burial sacrifices. But after the founding of the Great Ming, this ancient burial custom suddenly revived. According to Mao Qiling’s “Gleaned Records of Royal History,” when Zhu Yuanzhang died, a total of forty-six consorts were buried with him in Xiaoling, along with over ten palace servants. The “Random Notes of Wanli” states “forty consorts were buried, all sacrificed alive for burial. Only two were buried east and west of the mausoleum, as they had died earlier during the Hongwu era.”
Whichever account is accurate, they both indicate that the number of palace women buried with Zhu Yuanzhang was astounding. These unfortunate sacrificial women had a specific term – “Heaven-facing Women,” and their relatives were known as “Heaven-facing Households,” receiving considerable imperial care.
During the Jianwen Emperor’s reign, a group of relatives of imperial consorts who were to be buried with the emperor were specially permitted to join the Jinyiwei (Imperial Guard), becoming Baihu or Qianhu (commanders of 100 or 1,000 men). After the Jingnan Campaign, these people should have been purged as Jianwen supporters, but Emperor Yongle (Zhu Di) specifically issued an edict to retain them, treating these “Heaven-facing Female Households” differently by transferring them to the Xiaoling Guard. A poet named Cheng Sijun wrote: “Serving in the imperial palace for many years, Always worried about the uneven distribution of imperial favor. When the dragon spirit ascended, they were first given titles, Pitiable female households all facing heaven.”
After the fall of Nanjing, the Jianwen Emperor mysteriously disappeared with no burial site, thus there was no opportunity for burial sacrifices. However, when Zhu Di passed away, his final edict followed ancestral customs, which naturally included the practice of burying imperial consorts alive. According to “Taichang Xukao,” sixteen consorts were buried with him at Changling’s tomb, though their specific identities are now unknown. Only in Volume 26 of the “Annals of the Li Dynasty” are the names of two Korean consorts, Lady Han and Lady Cui, recorded, along with the detailed process of their burial sacrifice. The full text recorded here still sends chills down one’s spine:
“When he passed away, over ten palace women were to be buried with him. When the time came, they were all given a feast in the courtyard. After the feast, they were led up to the hall, where they wept before the imperial tablet. In the hall, small wooden stools were placed, and they were made to stand upon them. Ropes were hung around their necks and inserted into the nooses. Then the stools were kicked away, and they all died by hanging. When Lady Han was about to die, she turned to Gold Black Wound Sister and said, ‘I am going now, Sister,’ but before she could finish speaking, someone kicked away her stool. Lady Cui died along with her. All those who died had ascended the hall earlier, and Emperor Renzong personally came to bid them farewell.”
Though the Hongxi Emperor was known for his benevolence and was given the temple name Renzong, he showed no mercy regarding the burial of palace consorts. Various historical records such as “Da Ming Hui Dian,” “Taichang Xukao,” “Wanshu Zaji,” “Xuanzong Shilu,” and “Wanli Yehuo Bian” differ in their accounts of the number and names of his buried consorts. However, in total, five consorts were buried with him at Xianling’s tomb, including even a Noble Consort Guo. Lady Guo had borne him three sons, and according to custom, consorts with children should not have been included in burial sacrifices. Whether she went voluntarily or if there were other circumstances remains unknown.
According to the “Changsha Prefecture Records,” among these five consorts was Lady Tan from Xiangtan, whose father had served as an Inspector in Zhejiang. She was selected as a crown prince’s consort in the twenty-second year of the Yongle reign, but less than a year later, the Hongxi Emperor passed away. She “hanged herself” and was posthumously titled by the Xuande Emperor as “Zhaorong Gongxi Shun Consort.” Consider how terrifying it must have been for a young girl who had only been in the palace for a few months to be dragged into a dark tomb for burial. Lady Tan’s life story was the earliest inspiration for the character of Wang Jing’s sister in the novel.
When the Xuande Emperor passed away, the burial custom continued. “Taichang Xukao” records eight consorts being buried with him, while other materials cite different numbers. The “Yingzong Shilu” records the highest number with ten consorts, complete with their surnames, titles, and posthumous names, making it likely the most reliable account.
[Translation continues with the special cases of the Zhengtong and Jingtai emperors…]
The custom became increasingly prevalent, spreading to the common people, where widows following their husbands in death became praised as virtuous acts, leading to widespread imitation. Countless innocent women died as a result.
Emperor Zhengtong (Zhu Qizhen), though historically not well-regarded, proved better than his predecessors regarding consort burial. In the eighth year of Tianshun, before his death, he issued an edict stating: “Burial sacrifice is not an ancient ritual, and the benevolent cannot bear it. The consorts shall not be buried with me.” Fearing others might think he was merely being polite, he specifically emphasized, “These words must be followed, do not disobey,” showing his sincere intention to abolish the practice.
Thus, from Emperor Zhengtong onward, Ming emperors no longer practiced burial sacrifices, and this barbaric tradition came to an end. However, though the imperial court had applied the brakes, the momentum below was not easily stopped. During the Chenghua and Zhengde reigns, burial sacrifices among princes and nobles continued, with sporadic records continuing until the Longqing reign. This shows how the influence of evil policies can extend far beyond one or two generations.
When I initially set out to write this novel, I simply wanted to create an adventure story. However, as I delved deeper into the research materials, especially when reading about burial sacrifices, I realized I couldn’t turn a blind eye to this. The emperors Hongwu, Yongle, Hongxi, and Xuande, known for their great talents and benevolent nature, all made significant contributions from a broader historical perspective. However, regarding the sacrifice of consorts, their responsibility cannot be shirked. Therefore, I thought I should leave something behind for these women who were inexplicably sacrificed. While Wu Dingyan is the protagonist, the true spiritual force driving the waves of events in the book is Su Jingxi.
Speaking of these characters, there are a few things to mention:
Wu Dingyan is completely fictional; no such person existed in history. However, the “Ming History Chronicles · Volume 18” records the fate of Tie Xuan’s family: “His wife Lady Yang and two daughters were sent to the Court Entertainment Bureau. Lady Yang died of illness, and the two daughters never submitted to humiliation. After some time, through the intervention of fellow officials, Emperor Wen said, ‘They still haven’t yielded?’ and finally pardoned them. They both married scholars.”
Tie Xuan’s wife Lady Yang died in the Court Entertainment Bureau, and though his two daughters lived miserably, they were not dishonored. With the secret help of Tie Xuan’s colleagues, Zhu Di eventually pardoned them both and released them to marry scholars.
Tie Xuan’s father Tie Zhongming and mother Lady Xue were exiled to Hainan, where they spent the rest of their lives. Of Tie Xuan’s two sons, the elder Tie Fu’an was exiled to Hechi but was later pardoned during Hongxi’s reign and returned to Weijia Village in Yanshi. The younger son Tie Fushu fled to the regions beyond the Great Wall. Both lines developed and flourished, eventually forming several branches including the Shenyang Tie clan, Yanshi Tie clan, and Nanyang Tie clan, all regarding the Yanshi Tie ancestral hall as their primary ancestral shrine.
Tie Xuan himself was captured and executed by dismemberment. There are folk tales about him being fried alive while remaining defiant and dying while facing north, but these are largely fictional. However, it is undoubtedly the historical fact that Tie Xuan died a horrible death. Because he died opposing Zhu Di, he could not be officially vindicated. But the common people began worshipping Lord Tie early on, secretly building many memorial temples. For instance, in Jinan there is a Temple of Seven Loyalists, reportedly built to commemorate Tie Xuan and six others who died in the defense of Jinan; in Dengzhou, there is an empty tomb on a hill by the Nandiao River, believed to be Tie Xuan’s cenotaph.
During the Wanli era, the emperor issued the “Decree of Mercy for Descendants,” completely vindicating the “criminals of the Jing’an period,” including Tie Xuan. By then, one hundred and seventy years had passed since Tie Xuan’s death.
Su Jingxi is fictional, largely synthesized from various historical and literary figures including Zhao E, Wang Shun, Shentu Xiguang, Xie Xiao’e from Tang Dynasty tales, He Yufeng from “The Tale of Heroic Lovers,” Lu Siniang, and Shi Jianqiao who assassinated Sun Chuanfang to avenge her father, also drawing inspiration from the life of Tan Yunxian, a renowned female physician.
In terms of temperament, she most closely resembles the unnamed female protagonist in Pu Songling’s short story “The Female Knight-errant.” This heroine had always planned to take revenge on her enemy but delayed because her elderly mother was still alive. She would often walk past her enemy’s door, fearing she might forget her vendetta. A neighbor, Mr. Gu, took good care of the mother and daughter, and the woman shared his bed but refused to marry him. Later, she bore him a son, left the child for Gu to raise, and went alone to behead her enemy, never to be seen again—this knight-errant who pursued romance when appropriate had children when she wished, left the child-rearing to her partner, and never let these matters interfere with her mission, represents a very modern significance.
The bone-removal method for arrow extraction that Su Jingxi taught Zhu Zhanji came from “Liu Juanzi’s Ghost Prescription.” This book was written by Liu Juanzi during the Jin Dynasty and later re-edited during the Southern Qi period, becoming China’s earliest surgical treatise. Originally ten volumes, only five remained by the Song Dynasty. The book primarily recorded the diagnosis and treatment of gangrene, which may have inspired Su Jingxi’s poisoning of Zhu Buhua. It also recorded treatments for battlefield wounds and emergency care. Su Jingxi’s bone-removal technique came from this source. However, I haven’t tried it myself, so whether the prescription is effective should be taken as literary license…
Liang Xingfu was a civilian martial arts master during the Yongle era. “Du Gong Tan Fan” recorded his experiences, which were quite legendary. He was short in stature but possessed extraordinary arm strength. Once in Nanjing, he got into a conflict with guards at the city gate and single-handedly fought off a group of soldiers. When the commander heard of this feat, he invited Liang Xingfu to his hall, where Liang performed a set of boxing moves in front of over a hundred military elites, impressing everyone. When Liang Xingfu walked out, no one dared to stop him. Later in Beijing, he saw two men fighting and stood by laughing. One man became angry and, relying on his large size, grabbed him asking whether he wanted to be thrown east or west. Liang Xingfu said it didn’t matter. As soon as the words left his mouth, that man fell to the ground while Liang remained standing steadily. The other man was shocked and pushed him against a wall. However, Liang Xingfu lightly jumped over his shoulder to his back and knocked him down with one slap. Both men became his devoted students.
Liang Xingfu was obsessed with martial arts and traveled widely seeking worthy opponents. In his old age, he heard of a monk in Guangxi nicknamed “Bodhisattva Le” who was undefeated in boxing. They arranged to meet at a temple in the Wu region. Both jumped onto a several-zhang-high feeding platform, surrounded by countless spectators. They fought an intense battle, with Liang Xingfu ultimately proving superior, injuring the monk’s chest with a kick, but the monk’s final counterattack also struck Liang. Two days later, Liang died from internal injuries, and three days after that, the monk also died.
Zhou Dewen was also a real person, though not mentioned in official histories, with only traces of his life remaining in Huizhou documents.
After Zhu Di built Beijing, he forcibly relocated a group of wealthy households from the south. In the first year of Yongle, August, a Zhou family from Jingxi County was identified as wealthy, and the head of household Zhou Shijie was forced to move north. In the seventh year of Yongle, the court again transferred two thousand households from Jiangnan. By then Zhou Shijie had died, but the Zhou family’s troubles weren’t over, and they had to send Zhou Shijie’s third son, Zhou Dewen, to fulfill the obligation.
This relocation involved “bringing the entire family to the ministry for deployment,” meaning Zhou Dewen’s whole family moved north, essentially cutting off the possibility of returning home. These wealthy households were arranged in Wanping and Daxing counties, serving as ward chiefs responsible for tax collection, public affairs, and supporting the construction of the new capital.
Zhou Dewen’s specific job was to assist the court in purchasing and transporting various materials. According to the “Genealogy of the Zhou Clan West of Liang’an City”: “He traveled east to Zhe, west to Shu, south to Xiang and Min, with no rest from travel, no savings retained, worried only about the capital’s emptiness and the displacement of all professions and common people, not counting the cost of labor. In five or six visits home, his wife could hardly recognize him.” This work was extremely demanding. Zhou Dewen eventually contracted a cold illness due to overwork and died at Desheng Gate in Wanping County.
These minor historical figures wouldn’t appear in official histories. Fortunately, since Zhou Dewen was from Huizhou Prefecture, and Huizhou people liked to keep records, his story was preserved. Oh, and Zhou Dewen’s exhausting work was very likely related to Ruan An.
Ruan An, courtesy name Aliu, was from Jiaozhi (northern Vietnam). During the Yongle era, after Zhang Fu pacified Annam, he found this child to be handsome and clever, so he brought him back to the capital to serve as a eunuch.
Ruan An [阮安], surprisingly, proved to be an engineering prodigy who quickly turned his attention to construction. His talent was extraordinary—he could calculate dimensions and positions through mere visual inspection, without referring to blueprints. When officials of the Ministry of Works [工部] followed his specifications, their execution was flawless.
During major projects like Beijing’s construction and the Grand Canal’s dredging, Ruan An played crucial roles. Historical records state: “Since mid-Yongle reign, Imperial Eunuch Ruan An was dispatched to oversee Beijing’s city walls, palaces, and various government offices, with the Ministry of Works merely executing his plans.” The authority granted to him was remarkable, though in those early years, being young, he wasn’t yet fully utilized. His true opportunity for prominence came during the Zhengtong [正统] era.
Beijing’s layout then differed from its later familiar form. During our story’s timeline, the city comprised only the Forbidden City [紫禁城], Imperial City [皇城], and Outer City [外城]. The vast region south of Zhengyang Gate [正阳门] (today’s South City) remained outside the walls. Not until the Jiajing [嘉靖] era would this area be incorporated into the city proper. Moreover, the outer walls were primarily rammed earth, with the Nine Gates lacking their later gate towers, barbicans, and arrow towers.
The Zhengtong Emperor harbored ambitious plans for Beijing’s expansion, including brick-facing the city walls, excavating the South Lake of Taiye Pool [太液池], building towers at the Nine Gates, and most importantly, installing nine water gates at the Nine Gates and dredging the Tongji River [通济河] to address flooding problems.
Originally, Vice Minister Cai Xin [蔡信] of the Ministry of Works was to oversee this project. He grimly estimated needing 100,000 civilian laborers and considerable material costs, declaring it impossible otherwise. When the Zhengtong Emperor consulted Ruan An, he stated that 10,000 people would suffice, with no additional material costs required.
He directly recruited over 10,000 military soldiers, avoiding civilian disruption, and utilized materials stored in warehouses from the Yongle, Hongxi, and Xuande reigns, requiring no additional transportation from outlying regions. Under Ruan An’s brilliant coordination, these major projects were completed efficiently and economically.
Thereafter, he received continuous important assignments, including rebuilding the Three Great Halls, reconstructing various ministry offices, dredging canals, and managing rivers—essentially serving as the Ming Dynasty’s master problem-solver. Even in his later years, he was dispatched to manage the Zhang Qiu River [张秋河], where he ultimately died at the worksite.
Contemporary evaluations of Ruan An were extremely high: “Pure and skilled in planning, especially in construction matters. Whether concerning Beijing’s walls, Nine Gates, Two Palaces, Three Halls, Five Residences, Six Ministries, or the various rivers at Saiyang Village Post Station [塞杨村驿], all projects required only his calculations to succeed. He died while managing the Zhang Qiu River.” More remarkably, Ruan An focused solely on engineering excellence, showing no interest in wealth. He returned all imperial rewards. After his death, his belongings didn’t even include ten taels of silver—such integrity from someone handling multiple major projects was truly rare.
The text “Gu Shu Zhong Tan” [孤树衷谈] recorded a small piece of gossip: When Emperor Xuande approached death, a eunuch called Ruan Anliu [阮安留] attended him, noting that when the emperor passed, “his skin was as dry and cracked as dried fish, due to strong medicine.” This “Ruan Anliu” was “Ruan Aliu” [阮阿留], Ruan An’s childhood name, indicating his proximity to the Xuande Emperor during his reign.
Regarding the Nine Gates and water gates that Ruan An constructed, there’s an essential matter to discuss. The novel describes Beijing being devastated by heavy rain, with flood waters surging outside the Forbidden City and the protagonist floating out on a coffin. While this scene is fictional, it wasn’t created from nothing.
Flooding remained Beijing’s most troublesome problem throughout the Ming Dynasty. Although Beijing lay in the dry northern region of Yan, when heavy rains came, they proved no less severe than in the south. Every year from late May to late August, Beijing faced flooding predicaments, with water often reaching several feet deep, submerging half the city. Ming Dynasty documents frequently mentioned “city walls collapsing for hundreds of zhang; houses, walls, and buildings damaged in the tens of thousands” and “continuous rain lasting half a month, collapsing walls and houses.”
Li Shimian [李时勉] specifically described Beijing’s climate patterns: “This year saw no rain from the first month through the fourth. In the fourth month, rain fell three times; though insufficient, people rejoiced. On the first day of the fifth month, heavy rain began, bringing celebration to both court and common folk. From then on, the rain continued unceasing, with no three consecutive days of clear weather. Sometimes the rain turned torrential, causing ditches to overflow and streets to flood, with collapsing walls and buildings everywhere one looked.”
For instance, in the fourth year of Yongle, the eighth month, Beijing suffered flooding: “Damaging 5,320 zhang of Beijing’s walls, along with ten pavilions, gate towers, and platforms.” The destruction of over five thousand zhang of city wall represents truly shocking damage. Similarly, in the fourth year of Zhengtong, the fifth month: “Heavy rain fell suddenly, from dusk until dawn. City ditches remained undredged. The moat outside the walls, newly built, was narrower than before, reduced by half, and with new bridge gates built in sequence, creating blockages with nowhere for water to drain.” This disaster destroyed 3,390 official and private residences and drowned twenty-one people.
In the sixth and thirteenth years of Chenghua [成化], Beijing experienced two floods affecting over two thousand households each—these being residents of the capital itself. In the second year of Hongzhi [弘治], the seventh month, a flood occurred that was “the worst water disaster in several decades,” with an even more terrifying number of victims.
How severe could these floods become? In the twenty-fifth year of Jiajing, a flood submerged all ministry offices outside Chengtian Gate [承天门] (today’s Tiananmen [天安门]). The Ministry of Justice prison, situated in a low-lying area, flooded first. At the time, the prison held over a thousand inmates facing imminent drowning. The prison superintendent Xu Xueshi [徐学诗] made a swift decision to open the prison, calling on prisoners to save themselves by moving to higher ground, such as the City God Temple [城隍庙]. For those unable to relocate in time, he had them dismantle buildings to construct elevated platforms. The prisoners were cold and hungry, so Xu selected several strong swimmers to swim out and buy bread and ginger, finding ways to deliver these supplies. Three days later, when the water receded, ministry leaders were amazed to find no casualties—remarkably, the capital’s central prison had transformed into a survival drama on an isolated island.
In the thirty-second year of Wanli [万历], the seventh month, another flood submerged the Jinyiwei [锦衣卫] prison. Unfortunately, without someone like Xu Xueshi present, all the prisoners drowned. When Shen Yiguan [沈一贯] later inspected the site, he was shocked: “This year has seen much rain, and even the ditches along the main roads outside the walls are submerged. How could this prison, situated like a valley bottom, await quiet dissipation? With many people in tight spaces, the air steamy and fetid, whether guilty or innocent, survival was uncertain—truly pitiful!”
This flood proved especially terrible. The Ministry of Works tallied three hundred zhang of reported collapses, followed by ten more days of continuous rain that destroyed 777 zhang of inner city walls and over 330 zhang of outer walls—nearly devastating the entire city. Common people had to climb to high places, carrying their cooking pots to prepare meals, with many starving to death on their rooftops.
In the summer of Wanli’s thirty-ninth year, First Minister Ye Xianggao [叶向高] rose early intending to go to work but, seeing the conditions outside, wrote an “Emergency Flood Report” to the emperor: “Heavy rain has continued for days, flooding the entire city. Yesterday at the fifth watch, I rose planning to attend court and receive imperial edicts, but from my residence to Chang’an Gate [长安门], everything had become a long river, five or six feet deep, impassable by horse or foot. With no alternative, I could only kowtow at my private residence and report separately to express gratitude for imperial grace.”—The rain was simply too heavy, flooding the entire route from his home to the office five or six feet deep, impossible to traverse by horse or foot. He simply couldn’t make it to work and needed to inform his superior.
That even the empire’s Prime Minister couldn’t reach his office, reduced to such a predicament, demonstrates how extreme Beijing’s rain disasters could become. Only the Forbidden City remained unaffected; all other areas suffered.
The famous playwright Tang Xianzu [汤显祖] wrote a poem “Yi Ji Du Cheng Da Shui” [乙己都城大水] describing Beijing’s floods: “Boats sail the corridors in endless sorrow, River fish swim east in vast ocean waves. All cast aside the golden accounts of the palace, No need for mortal red-paper grain rations.” The mention of “corridor boats” indicates the depth of water allowing boats to travel along Chang’an Street, revealing the flood’s scale and magnitude.
Yu Ruoying’s [于若瀛] “Chou Yu Pian” [愁雨篇] provides an even more vivid description of boats in the city:
“Summer rain falls on the day of jiazi,
Diviners all say boats will enter the market.
This leap month brings jiazi rain,
Whispering beneath the dim moon, worrying ears.
Who expected days of torrential rain,
As if dragons rushed about in confusion.
Midnight pours without a moment’s pause,
Window winds snuff lamps into darkness.
Earth’s axis sinks, heaven grows darker still,
Chang’an becomes a water kingdom overnight.
Half-collapsed houses swallow crying voices,
Sunken stoves, croaking frogs—how to eat?
God’s anger refuses to subside,
In the seventh month, the sixth day, the rain grows fiercer.
Thunder shakes houses, roof tiles clatter,
Lamp-lit steps reveal rising waters.
Dawn brings doors that cannot open,
Inside and outside the capital all turned to soup.”
Indeed, the “Xuanzong Shilu” [宣宗实录] contains clear records. In the seventh month of Hongxi’s first year, just one month after our story takes place, Beijing experienced a torrential flood that damaged the Huitongguan [会同馆] buildings and walls, even causing collapses at the Qihua [齐化], Zhengyang [正阳], and Shuncheng [顺承] Gates. By September, the Ministry of Works still complained: “Beijing’s walls on east, west, and north sides show collapse and tilting, with widespread damage to gate towers and guard posts. We request materials from our ministry and soldiers from the rear command for repairs.” Because the damage proved so severe, and Emperor Xuande focused on tomb construction, he had to announce that these matters would wait until spring’s warmth.
Therefore, when our protagonist Wu Dingyan [吴定缘] encounters major Beijing rainfall in early June of Hongxi’s first year, allowing him to navigate a coffin before the Forbidden City and along Chang’an Street, this represents no exaggeration.
A final word about the capital’s relocation and the Grand Canal. Emperor Hongxi always intended to return the capital to Nanjing [南京], explicitly stating in his final edict: “The burden of supporting both north and south exhausts military and civilians alike, with all regions looking to Nanjing—this has always been my inclination, and governing the people should follow the common will.” When Emperor Xuande inherited the throne, he too considered this but never implemented it. During his reign, his only gesture was maintaining the term “temporary residence” for Beijing’s Six Ministries, indicating that remaining in Beijing was temporary and he would eventually return to Nanjing.
Why didn’t he actively pursue this? The reason was simple: earthquakes. In the first half of Hongxi’s first year, Nanjing experienced thirty earthquakes, merely the beginning. When Emperor Xuande ascended the throne in June of Hongxi’s first year, Nanjing suffered nine more earthquakes. From the first through the eighth year of Xuande, another thirty-five earthquakes struck. In total, during the reigns of this father and son, Nanjing endured seventy-four earthquakes—the city seemed permanently set to vibration mode.
For perspective, throughout the Ming Dynasty, excluding the Hongxi and Xuande reigns, the emperor experiencing the most Nanjing earthquakes was Hongzhi with thirteen, followed by Chenghua with five, then Yongle with four, while other emperors saw only two or three scattered events. Combined, they didn’t match the Hongxi-Xuande father-son period. Heaven truly seemed unwilling.
Under such circumstances, even if Emperor Xuande wished to relocate the capital, he genuinely couldn’t. With numerous other court matters pending, he had to delay. This delay extended through the reigns of the Zhengtong, Jingtai [景泰], and Chenghua emperors, who had grown up in Beijing and felt no attachment to Nanjing, naturally abandoning any thoughts of relocation.
With the capital remaining in Beijing, the Grand Canal necessarily continued operations. Thus, the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal maintained its service, faithfully serving the Ming Dynasty until its very end.