Chapter 17: Seize the Opportunity Before the Emperor Realizes

Liu Ji—Liu Bowen—was a name that, even though Zhang Zhengchang had long distanced himself from the court, he still recognized. In those days, under Zhu Yuanzhang, Liu Bowen had made quite an impression. After the founding of the Ming dynasty, Liu Bowen had been appointed by the emperor as Vice Censor-in-Chief, concurrently serving as Director of the Imperial Observatory—a high official by any measure.

How had this child, who’d lived in seclusion on Dragon and Tiger Mountain, come to know of such a grand figure? Zhang Zhengchang cast a meaningful glance at Zhang Yi. Ever since the boy had asked to leave Dragon and Tiger Mountain, he’d become increasingly uninhibited. Everyone knew he carried secrets. Though Zhang Yi was only seven or eight, he always gave Zhang Zhengchang the sense of conversing with an equal.

Realizing he’d misspoken, Zhang Yi hurried to mend his words and, in passing, comforted his father:

“You should count yourself lucky. The current emperor, if he gives you silver, that already means you’re highly valued! His way is to offer praise in words, but as for material rewards—never, or if he does, he’s stingy about it. Just look at the salaries of Ming officials… He’s the type who wants the ox to plow the field but begrudges it a mouthful of grass…”

“Be quiet! Walls have ears—do you have no sense of self-preservation?”

Zhang Yi might not have known the emperor was paying attention to Dragon and Tiger Mountain, but Zhang Zhengchang certainly did. He quickly cut him off. This reckless child was like a ticking time bomb; Zhang Zhengchang could not help wondering if entrusting the hopes of Dragon and Tiger Mountain to him was a grave mistake.

He dared not say more, so he changed the subject:

“You’re taking over the temple. What are your plans?”

Zhang Yi grinned. “Make money, and survive… My immediate goal is just to avoid dying young!”

“Survive?” Zhang Zhengchang was puzzled. Although Zhang Yi had been exiled from the capital, as a legitimate son of the Zhang family, even if he couldn’t provide the finest life, at least he could ensure his son wanted for nothing. How could surviving possibly be an issue in such circumstances?

“To survive is very, very difficult…”

Zhang Yi’s understanding of survival differed vastly from his father’s. People of this era were accustomed to life’s uncertainties and would instinctively overlook how hard it was for a child to simply reach adulthood. Even imperial children had high rates of mortality—look no further than Zhu Yuanzhang’s eldest grandson, Zhu Xiongying, who died young. Smallpox, cholera, malaria, even a common cold could claim a life. The ancients were blithely unconcerned, but Zhang Yi, with the caution of a modern soul, lived each day with care.

He felt compelled to take action, but whatever he attempted would require money—a great deal of it. Ask the Zhang family for help? Leaving aside whether Zhang Zhengchang would oblige, the family’s foreseeable future would be one of cautious modesty; they could offer little.

What Zhang Yi intended to do would require vast sums! He doodled a few chemical formulas on a scrap of paper, not bothering to explain to his father. Zhang Zhengchang was already used to his son’s indifference. After a brief conversation, the elder left.

“He still can’t let go of his grief.”

Zhang Yi watched his father’s departing figure, murmuring to himself. Zhang Zhengchang was, in truth, a good Celestial Master. Though eight decades of prosperity had bred some corruption in the ranks of Dragon and Tiger Mountain, as its leader, Zhang Zhengchang was worthy of his title. In his remaining decade of life, he made many contributions to the mountain and later succeeded in pacifying Zhu Yuanzhang. Yet, precisely because of his sense of duty to the Celestial Masters’ lineage, he could never escape the shame of losing his position. The conversation with the emperor would forever be recorded in the history of the sixty-fourth Celestial Master’s succession—a blot of disgrace.

If he had the choice, Zhang Yi would have gladly helped his father, but he knew his own influence was too slight. There was little he could do.

The night passed in silence. The next day, Zhang Zhengchang led his disciples to escort Zhang Yi and Deng Zhongxiu to the Pure Heart Temple. After settling his son in, the Celestial Master prepared to depart, and Zhang Yi and Deng Zhongxiu once again saw him off.

“Go back now. Deng Zhongxiu, take good care of your junior!”

“Here are twelve taels of silver for your expenses.”

Before leaving, Zhang Zhengchang handed the silver to Deng Zhongxiu, knowing that as the older of the two, he would need to manage their affairs. Father and son exchanged a long, silent look. Zhang Zhengchang seemed to have a thousand things to say, but in the end, he swallowed his words.

“I’m leaving now.”

“Brother Zhang!”

As Zhang Zhengchang bade farewell to Zhang Yi and turned to go, a voice called out behind him. He turned and saw a carriage approaching. The curtain was drawn aside, and Zhang Zhengchang was shocked to see that the person sending him off was none other than Zhu Yuanzhang—or, more precisely, his “close friend” Huang He.

Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhu Biao both alighted from the carriage, and Zhang Zhengchang hurried to greet them.

“Your Ma—Brother, what brings you here?”

“Uncle Huang!”

Zhang Yi, ever at ease, greeted Zhu Yuanzhang with a smile, and the latter laughed heartily:

“Brother Zhang, how could I not come to see you off from the capital? Besides, I must keep an eye on your second son…”

“Come, let’s talk over there.”

There was a pavilion by the roadside. The group sat down inside.

“Brother Zhang, after this audience with the emperor, I trust you are returning loaded with honors. Who knows when we will meet again after this parting!”

Old Zhu’s words overflowed with warmth, as though he were a different person. Zhang Zhengchang could only respond with a forced smile.

“Twenty-four taels of silver—a bountiful reward indeed. The emperor’s grace is boundless!”

“Silver—ah, that reminds me!”

At these words, Zhang Yi was suddenly struck by a thought. He glanced meaningfully at Zhang Zhengchang, realizing he had almost forgotten something important.

“If you have something to say, say it. Why the funny faces?”

The mention of money had reminded Zhang Yi of another matter: Dragon and Tiger Mountain’s sources of revenue. One stream came from the Zhang family’s widespread landholdings and the grain collected as rent; another was the business of issuing ordination certificates. Though the emperor had stripped the Zhangs of much power, he had yet to take this prerogative from them.

He reminded his father, “Dad, before the emperor changes his mind, you should issue as many certificates as you can. This is a business the emperor is certain to claim for himself sooner or later—earn what you can while you still can.”

The moment Zhang Yi spoke, the pavilion fell silent.

“What’s wrong with all of you?”

He was genuinely perplexed. Was there any harm in reminding his father of this opportunity? Even if the emperor found out, it was a minor matter. If he disapproved, he would simply rescind the right. Failing to use a power one holds is to let it slip away for nothing.

Tears welled in Zhang Zhengchang’s eyes. There was nothing wrong with the advice—but why say such things now, and not last night? Of all times, you blurt it out with the emperor present. How is that different from conspiring aloud?

His heart bled, but he kept a stern face and scolded Zhang Yi:

“What kind of hare-brained idea is that? I am not that sort of man!”