Chapter 43: A Hungry Dog Stares at the Granary—Why Be a Loyal Hound?

Zhang Yi’s tongue truly lived up to its reputation as the bane of Zhang Zhengchang’s existence. Old Zhu’s temper had already reached its peak, teetering on the edge of eruption.

At that moment, Zhu Biao spoke up:

“Brother of the Zhang family, in truth, His Majesty has his own hardships…”

He successfully drew both men’s attention to himself, diffusing Old Zhu’s imminent outburst.

“Our Great Ming inherited a dilapidated realm from the Northern Yuan. Now, the land is desolate, nine out of ten households empty, wars in the north continue unabated, and our neighbors eye us like hungry wolves! In such circumstances, the imperial treasury has long been stretched thin. His Majesty, ever mindful of the people’s welfare, has reduced taxes wherever possible, so the court collects little revenue. Rumor has it that His Majesty himself lives frugally—he rarely eats meat throughout the year, and is content with simple tofu and scallions! Thus, when it comes to officials’ stipends, it’s not that His Majesty is stingy—it’s simply that Great Ming cannot afford it, and His Majesty leads by example…”

Zhu Biao spoke with heartfelt sincerity, filling Zhu Yuanzhang with gratification. How good it was to have a son who understood his difficulties. Old Zhu had just been exposed by Zhang Yi and was looking for a way to back down gracefully, but Zhang Yi refused to oblige.

Now, as Old Zhu had yet to lavishly reward his meritorious ministers, most people would have accepted Zhu Biao’s explanation. But Zhang Yi was a man from the future!

Zhang Yi sneered, “Then if His Majesty enfeoffs his sons, what standards will he use? If he can treat all members of the imperial clan equally, I’ll concede to him!”

Zhu Yuanzhang’s expression froze; Zhang Yi’s words struck straight to the heart, making Old Zhu wince. Though no one knew how the emperor would distribute titles among the imperial clan, Old Zhu already had plans in mind. His anger, already simmering, was now tinged with guilt at Zhang Yi’s words.

“How many sons does the emperor have? Even if the imperial family receives better treatment, isn’t that only natural?”

“Of course, the empire is his, he can do as he pleases. But then, Brother Huang, don’t talk about leading by example!”

Zhang Yi’s sharp tongue made Zhu Yuanzhang’s teeth ache with fury. Yet, being a true hero, he would not destroy such a rare talent over a mere clash of wills. Still, conversing with Zhang Yi truly made his liver ache.

Time and again, Zhu Yuanzhang recalled Zhang Zhengchang—so this was how he’d suffered all along. How difficult it must have been for him…

“Let’s not talk about the imperial clan. Tell me, do you think scholars shouldn’t have a little ambition?”

Zhu Biao quickly nodded in agreement with Zhu Yuanzhang, but Zhang Yi grinned, his face full of sarcasm.

Why should he have ambition? Such workplace psychological ploys might sway the scholars of this age, but could they fool someone from the future like him?

Everyone has their own perspective. Huang He was a merchant, naturally siding with merchants and employers, and he could put himself in the emperor’s shoes. But who was Zhang Yi? Just a wage-earner who had traveled through time. What he loathed most was bosses selling empty dreams again and again.

Zhang Yi had no love for extolling hardship or self-sacrifice; such feelings, in his view, should arise naturally, not be imposed by moral constraints or forced upon anyone.

Zhu Yuanzhang was not a good employer. No matter how great his historical achievements, Zhang Yi would not change his opinion. He was double-faced, stingy, and his background had made him deeply guarded—sometimes to a paranoid degree.

Faced with Uncle Huang’s rather naïve question, Zhang Yi countered:

“Uncle Huang, you’re a businessman, with many managers under you. Do you believe all of them are loyal and without ulterior motives?”

Zhu Yuanzhang shook his head.

“There are no such honest men in this world; it’s only a matter of balancing favor and punishment!”

“Since even you, Uncle Huang, know that honest men are rare, why demand that all scholars aspire to sainthood?”

Zhang Yi’s words left Old Zhu uncomfortable, but instead of getting angry, he sat across from Zhang Yi, curious to hear what the child had to say.

“In my view, it’s like the worshippers who come to Dragon Tiger Mountain for divination. Are they all sincerely seeking the Way? In all my years, truly devout ones are one in ten at most. The majority are just ordinary people.”

“What do you mean by ordinary people?” Zhu Yuanzhang sensed what Zhang Yi was getting at and calmed down.

“They lack firm resolve, are easily swayed, go with the flow. They might sacrifice for loyalty or betray for profit… Most people in this world are just ordinary folk. When they seek the Way, it’s not the Truth itself they desire, but peace of mind. If the Three Pure Ones on Dragon Tiger Mountain can’t provide that, they’ll turn and worship the monks instead!

It’s the same for worshippers as it is for scholars. Where do you find so many saints in this world? We are all but ordinary people…”

“Uncle, you look down on those seeking rank and fortune only because you’ve already found wealth yourself. Can you not understand how, after ten years of study, a man might wish for a better life beyond just serving the people?

Not even hoping for luxury—at least let it be respectable! Uncle, you’ve traveled the land—do you think Ming officials, poor as church mice, truly keep their dignity?”

Zhu Yuanzhang could not answer Zhang Yi’s question, for he had never seen how officials under Ming rule truly lived. Yet, inwardly, he remained unconvinced; Old Zhu’s will was not so easily shaken.

“In all honesty, I think that if the emperor wants every scholar to be a saint, it only means he doesn’t see them as people at all… Why work for such a boss?”

“Not see them as people?”

Zhu Yuanzhang did not get angry this time, but felt as if a heavy stone weighed upon his chest.

“Not seeing them as people means treating scholars as mere symbols, never considering this question: Can a starving dog keep its eyes off the granary behind it?

A master’s dogs—some may scheme to steal food, some may rather die than betray, but most just want a full belly! Uncle, what do you think—those watchdogs, stomachs growling, knowing there’s food behind them—will they become wolves, or starve as loyal hounds?”

The air grew heavy; Zhu Yuanzhang’s expression was clouded and somber.

Zhang Yi’s words were simple, yet he had thought of this before. Officials, endowed with imperial authority, had countless opportunities for “stealing food.” By Zhu Yuanzhang’s temperament, if anyone dared steal, he would execute them—kill enough and the rest would be too terrified to covet the granary.

Zhang Yi’s claim that the emperor didn’t see scholars as people was not because Old Zhu looked down on them, but because he overestimated them.

Why should scholars sacrifice themselves for the people? Why must they be like loyal hounds willing to starve?

Human hearts are fickle; we are all just ordinary people. Good and evil hinge on a single thought—one thought leads to enlightenment, another to destruction.

Zhang Yi was mocking him—suggesting that his methods had turned many officials, who might have wished to be good, into wolves.

In that instant, Zhu Yuanzhang realized he had underestimated Zhang Yi.

Today, a seven-year-old child had taught him a lesson—the lesson of human nature.

PS: I rarely open my phone assistant app or read the comments, but today I happened to check and found a patron’s generous donation—many thanks to the illustrious benefactor! I’m truly flattered. Thanks also to all the other readers who have donated. Today (March 20th), I’m adding an extra chapter. During the new book period, I can’t update too much, but once it’s on the shelves, there will be an explosion of content. Thanks again!