Chapter 114: The Martyr Sets His Sights on a Quiet Life

“Eating melon?” Xu Cunren furrowed his brow slightly, yet he saw no melon in sight.

Zhang Yi chuckled softly, explaining, “It means watching a spectacle! For you, sir, this is a significant matter; for me, it’s merely a trivial affair! Actually, His Majesty is reforming the imperial examination system and centralizing power. Your colleagues may not even care...

In truth, the emperor has his personal motives, but on the surface, this move further solidifies Confucianism’s position. Everyone’s acting as if they’re brothers in harmony…”

Xu Cunren sighed, understanding Zhang Yi’s reasoning.

“You believe His Majesty suppresses thought and that teaching and transmission shouldn’t be this way. However, since the rise of the Cheng-Zhu school of Neo-Confucianism, which emerged in response to the encroachment of Buddhist and Daoist teachings and helped Confucianism establish ecclesiastical authority, the Confucianism passed down from the Sage Kong has been reinterpreted by past sages into a different form.

Before Cheng and Zhu, Confucianism might have barely qualified as half Confucian; after them, it became an orthodox sect, indistinguishable from Buddhism and Daoism in terms of restricting thought.

His Majesty’s further steps are hardly surprising…

Frankly, for a teacher to be so concerned is actually unusual!”

Xu Cunren was speechless.

Zhang Yi’s words struck a chord with him.

When this student began to voice his true thoughts so sharply, it was almost jarring.

“So, by your logic, your founder’s misinterpretation of the Tao Te Ching is the same?”

“Yes!”

Zhang Yi once again unleashed his earnestness, silencing the old scholar.

This youngster had no respect even for his ancestors; there was no hope he’d say anything flattering about Confucianism.

Zhang Yi’s attitude was simple: he was just a bystander watching the show.

The struggle between imperial authority and ministerial power was, to him, nothing but a joke.

Having talked so long, Zhang Yi roughly understood the true cause of Xu Cunren’s historical demise. His retirement was a polite refusal to accept Zhu Yuanzhang’s system.

Zhu Yuanzhang understood this and simply expedited his departure.

In his own way, Xu Cunren completed his martyrdom.

“You possess the demeanor of a gentleman from ancient times. This era truly is unsuitable for you. But if you must retire, at least give the emperor some face and wait until next year!”

With that, Zhang Yi felt he had repaid Xu Cunren’s sincerity.

Yet the old man wasn’t satisfied, asking stubbornly, “Without taking a stance, how will this affect the Ming?”

Zhang Yi hesitated, then shook his head.

The rise of rigid, formulaic essays caused more harm than good.

Zhang Yi understood Zhu Yuanzhang’s deep mistrust of the scholar class; it made him favor selecting officials who only worked without independent thought.

But frankly, these were not the kind of people he truly desired.

In the third year of the Hongwu era, the emperor allowed the imperial examination; by the sixth year, he suspended it, continuing to select officials by recommendation.

Old Zhu’s greatest dissatisfaction was with the talents chosen through these exams—he thought them useless.

Yet he never considered where the problem lay.

He demanded ability but restricted initiative.

It was the same contradiction in the salary and expectations he placed on officials.

Even with these constraints, the Ming dynasty produced many outstanding ministers, unmatched by any other era.

Certainly, many appointed were mediocre, but despite his efforts to limit officials, the civil bureaucracy was the strongest in Ming history.

Some decisions were classic examples of good intentions causing harm.

“It was a futile change with long-lasting poison.”

Zhang Yi yawned, unwilling to continue.

Xu Cunren nodded and stood up.

“There’s a bed here—rest.”

Zhang Yi, exhausted, lay down and soon slept soundly.

Xu Cunren did not return to his room but sat at the desk, pondering Zhang Yi’s words.

Then he picked up a brush and began to write fervently.

The next day, Zhang Yi awoke to find Xu Cunren gone.

He stepped out of the study and saw Madam Xu bustling about.

“You’re awake, child!”

“Madam, where is the teacher?”

“Your teacher said he went to the palace and told me not to prepare his meals. Oh, and he told you not to go to the National Academy today but to return to the Taoist temple.”

Hearing this, Zhang Yi’s face paled.

Upon learning Xu Cunren was entering the palace, he seemed to understand something.

“Child, what’s wrong?” Madam Xu asked with concern, noticing his sudden pallor.

“Everyone has their own path to walk. Even if I could glimpse the future, I might not change others’ fates—perhaps even push them toward ruin!”

Zhang Yi already regretted discussing those topics with Xu Cunren.

He declined Madam Xu’s invitation to breakfast, lost all interest, and wandered back to the Serenity Taoist Temple in a daze.

Meanwhile, in the imperial palace’s study, Zhu Yuanzhang unusually did not review memorials but pored over several sheets of paper, comparing details.

Only Zhu Biao remained in the study; the rest of the eunuchs had been expelled by the emperor.

After thoroughly examining the materials, Zhu Yuanzhang sighed deeply.

“These are priceless!”

“Father, are these scraps from the Zhang boys really maps of the future — and maps of our realm?”

Zhang Yi had shown old Zhu a world map and some discarded drafts.

Since receiving the papers, Zhu Yuanzhang devoted every spare moment to studying them.

Today, he finally reached a conclusion.

“Indeed, these are maps from the future. Otherwise, I cannot explain why their detail surpasses even the maps I seized from the Mongols or those military maps I personally commissioned.

Except for some minor changes in mountains and rivers, everything matches perfectly! Damn it, Xie Mengmeng—could Zhang Yi’s words be true?

If future people cannot fly, they simply couldn’t create maps like this!

If not, then only a deity could have done it!”

Zhu Biao nodded solemnly. There was no need to question whether Zhang Yi could see the future.

With the emperor confirming the maps’ value, Zhu Biao was thrilled.

Having grown up alongside his father, although not a warrior, he understood the importance of intelligence in war.

A good military map was won through the lives of scouts, yet even so, its precision could not compare to Zhang Yi’s drafts.

“I have verified every location where I led troops; I know every blade of grass and tree along the way. If this is accurate…” Zhu Yuanzhang pointed north, “then the coordinates for Mongolia are equally precise. Although much has changed over time, many place names differ, all I need is to dispatch scouts to survey again based on this map, and we can produce a military map ten times more detailed.

With these maps, our Ming soldiers’ marching efficiency will multiply…”

The old emperor grew increasingly excited.

As a strategist and military man, these maps were as valuable to him as thousands of troops.

“I will have these maps verified and will use them to re-explore our borders. That boy has saved me at least ten years of effort!”

The seldom-excited emperor paced excitedly in the study.

“No, I must have him draw a detailed map of Ming’s territory for me, no matter the cost! And a resource map…”

Zhu Yuanzhang’s gaze fixed on the world map hanging on the wall, annotated by Zhang Yi with resource locations.

Far away, divine crops like corn, sweet potatoes, and potatoes glowed. Though the emperor coveted them, they were out of reach.

But one place held his full attention.

An island nation—rich in silver mines, as Zhang Yi had said.

Once, the Mongols had invaded eastward but returned defeated by typhoons.

Such small foreign states were beyond Zhu Yuanzhang’s conquest plans, as their tribute didn’t justify the cost of control.

Throughout history, these minor states only formally submitted, offering tribute to the Celestial Empire.

But now…

To Zhu Yuanzhang, that island had become a luscious piece of meat—yet for now, it could only be admired, not devoured.

“Step by step, the path unfolds. I must send envoys to let these tributary states know that the heavens have changed!”

As he spoke to himself, a eunuch entered with news: Xu Cunren, the National Academy’s chief instructor, had come to see him.

Zhu Yuanzhang paused, then smiled.

“Seems Mr. Xu has prepared to hand over his answer!”

“Announce!”

The eunuch bowed and withdrew, leading Xu Cunren into the study.

“I pay my respects to Your Majesty and to the Crown Prince!”

“Please rise, Master Xu!”

The emperor put away the maps, returned to his throne, and had a seat prepared for Xu Cunren.

“You did not come to lodge a complaint again, did you?”

The emperor joked instead of getting straight to the point.

“Those two children fought on the day I entered the palace, but they quickly reconciled…”

Xu Cunren recounted the squabbles and grudges between Zhang Yi and Kong Ne, leaving Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhu Biao astonished.

They were unsurprised the two quarrelled, but how Zhang Yi managed to win over Kong Ne was baffling.

Zhu Yuanzhang was somewhat vexed; placing Zhang Yi and Kong Ne in the academy was never a benign act.

He feared the Zhang family’s rising influence and deliberately guided officials to isolate them—a typical imperial strategy.

Kong Ne, held hostage by the Kong family, arrived alone. Under his elders’ influence, he should have harbored resentment toward the Zhang family.

How did that brat Zhang Yi possess some kind of charm potion to so quickly win over Kong Ne to the point of skipping school together?

“That rogue deserves a beating!”

Zhu Yuanzhang exploded in anger—more embarrassed than furious.

“Your Majesty, it’s not so bad—they’re just kids! I think Zhang Yi is quite admirable. If you want to reform the Kong heir, following that boy isn’t a bad idea.

Although the academy has many students, few enter at ages ten and seven respectively. The two are close in age; it’s natural they play together!”

“Master Xu, I notice you favor the Zhang boys more than the Kong heir!”

The emperor’s words carried a subtle meaning.

Xu Cunren smiled wryly.

“He truly suits my temperament. As an old man, encountering such a child stirs my love for talent. It’s a pity I lack the fortune; otherwise, I would take him as my disciple!”

A disciple?

Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhu Biao exchanged looks—student and disciple were entirely different concepts.

When Zhu Yuanzhang sent Zhang Yi to the academy, he never imagined Xu Cunren would value him so highly.

The emperor remained silent, but Zhu Biao was delighted for Zhang Yi.

“If Master Xu accepts him as a disciple, that’s his blessing. If he learns well, I will petition Father to revoke his Taoist status. If Master truly takes in a Zhang boy… I congratulate him in advance!”

Xu Cunren smiled knowingly but did not respond.

He produced a memorial and said, “Your Majesty, I have a matter to report!”

Zhu Yuanzhang took the memorial and read it, his expression growing stern.

When he looked up again, his gaze was filled with deadly resolve.

“Master, have you come prepared to die today?”

(End of chapter)