Chapter 8: An Epic Betrayal—A Step-by-Step Guide for the Emperor to Deal with the Zhang Family

Zhang Zhengchang was probably the most uncomfortable figure in the room.

As the head of the Zhang family, he found himself in the bizarre position of the Emperor and the Crown Prince consulting his own son about how to deal with the Zhangs.

To make matters worse, that rascal Zhang Yi actually lowered his head and sincerely pondered the question, organizing his thoughts before replying.

“Ancestors, patriarch, why must you treat me this way?”

Though his heart roared, Zhang Zhengchang dared not let a single emotion show. He wished Zhang Yi could sense his distress, but Zhang Yi never even glanced his way.

“Brother Huang, I am… this is what the patriarch says!”

The Emperor entrusting the Zhangs with the administration of Daoist affairs in the realm wasn’t much of a problem; the Zhangs had handled it well in the previous dynasty. If the current Emperor were to treat the family too harshly, it would look bad—after all, the Zhangs hadn’t really done anything wrong. With the Emperor’s shrewdness, as he was still adapting to his new role, he would soon devise better ways to weaken the Zhangs once he settled in.

Zhang Yi’s words were not without foundation. In the fifth year of Hongwu, Zhu Yuanzhang did grant the Zhangs considerable authority—specifically, the right to “forever oversee Daoist affairs in the realm.” The Zhangs once more became the legitimate leaders of Daoism, but due to a series of manipulations by Zhu, they could scarcely feel any joy.

For by then, Daoism in the empire had already been reduced to almost nothing.

“What are the better methods?” Zhu Biao was not the only one intrigued; Zhu Yuanzhang himself was drawn in by Zhang Yi’s words.

“Letting the Zhangs oversee Daoism can win hearts, letting the people see that the Emperor honors old ties and treats the Zhangs well. But while bestowing favors, the cake of Daoist affairs can be smashed, thus controlling Daoism effectively. For instance… under the pretext that monks and priests mingle with laymen and indulge in food and drink, one could first begin to manage monks and priests in each prefecture…”

Zhu Yuanzhang’s expression shifted.

Not because Zhang Yi’s suggestion was particularly novel, but because he was astonished to find that the boy’s words were exactly what he himself had been planning. Old Zhu had already prepared to act thus, and even the pretext was precisely what Zhang Yi mentioned.

“Is this mere coincidence, or did that ancient immortal Zhang Daoling truly visit this child in a dream? My innermost thoughts—even Biao doesn’t know them—yet he speaks them so clearly?”

Zhu Yuanzhang was not exactly a skeptic, but he never put much stock in supernatural matters.

Yet Zhang Yi’s words struck straight at his heart. Having just ascended the throne, he felt uncertain about how to be a good ruler.

And the urge to centralize power, to eradicate all independent influences, was a natural instinct for any emperor. Zhu Yuanzhang had already devised a plan to weaken the Buddhist and Daoist sects; indeed, part of that plan was exactly what Zhang Yi described.

Even the most iron-hearted emperor, upon hearing Zhang Yi articulate his innermost plans, could not help but feel unsettled.

Was the patriarch of Dragon and Tiger Mountain sending him a subtle warning?

Or did this child possess extraordinary wisdom?

“Continue…” Old Zhu encouraged him, so Zhang Yi went on:

“By managing them, firstly, monks and priests can be gathered and prevented from wandering; secondly, their numbers in each prefecture can be limited. Simply put, restrict the issuance of ordination certificates! Issuing these certificates is the Zhangs’ greatest source of power; once cut off, the Zhangs lose their influence.

The Emperor could transfer this authority to the court, require monks and priests to take examinations, and only grant certificates to those who pass.

Those unqualified priests couldn’t even retreat to the mountains.

The Emperor could also establish the Daoist Registry Office to oversee all Daoists—so while the Zhangs nominally preside over Daoism, they are essentially just symbolic!”

“Excellent!” The Emperor, hearing this, could not help but applaud.

This child was truly remarkable. His suggestions were superb. Old Zhu had intended to control monks and priests, but hadn’t thought so far ahead. Zhang Yi’s advice essentially laid out the entire process by which Zhu would gradually tighten control over Buddhism and Daoism as history unfolded. Some of the more far-reaching policies, without Zhang Yi’s reminder, might only have occurred to Zhu decades later.

In other words, Zhang Yi helped the Emperor gather all the blows he would have dealt over decades into one sweeping motion.

How could Old Zhu not be delighted?

Such a thoughtful child—how could the Emperor not be fond of him?

But while the Emperor was pleased, Zhang Zhengchang wanted nothing more than to strangle Zhang Yi. In his eyes, Zhang Yi was no longer a harbinger of misfortune, but a veritable demon.

With that speech, Zhang Yi had stripped away three layers of the Zhang family’s skin. Was there ever a son so cruel?

Comrade Zhang wished he could simply faint, but the Emperor was still present, so he had to face the harsh world with fortitude.

At this moment, Old Zhu and Zhang Yi locked eyes. The Emperor suddenly realized he had misspoken.

Faced with Zhang Yi’s puzzled look, Zhu Yuanzhang kept his composure:

“What a remarkable Celestial Master from Dragon and Tiger Mountain, able to know the Emperor’s thoughts. A pity your father does not heed your advice, otherwise…”

“Uncle Huang, these words are just between us—please don’t let them spread!” said Zhang Yi with a wink, finding this dignified uncle rather agreeable.

The others stifled their laughter, not daring to let it out.

The person you least want to know is right in front of you.

The Emperor, buoyed by Zhang Yi’s advice, felt refreshed, and turned to Zhang Zhengchang with a promise:

“Today’s affairs will not be leaked. But I am curious: if your ancestor knew all this, why not go directly to your father?”

This was the greatest flaw in Zhang Yi’s fabricated story; for if Zhang Daoling truly visited, why not approach Zhang Zhengchang himself?

Zhang Zhengchang, in fact, shared this doubt, but Zhang Yi was ready.

“Addicted to fame and fortune, not a true cultivator—naturally estranged from Heaven. And since the ruler is the Son of Heaven, this disaster is the trend of the times; perhaps the ancestor thought telling father would be useless.”

With a single sentence, he left Zhang Zhengchang feeling deeply ashamed.

That phrase, “addicted to fame and fortune,” referred to him. If his own son had said it, Zhang would likely have smacked him dead.

But Zhang Yi attributed it to “Zhang Daoling,” implying even the ancestor was dissatisfied with his conduct over the years.

Zhang Zhengchang was bewildered. In truth, before the Mongols entered the Central Plains, the Zhangs, whether favored or ignored by emperors, had learned from the third Celestial Master Zhang Lu to keep a low profile.

But in the Yuan, the Zhangs for the first time received official recognition as Celestial Masters, rising to a height of power even Zhang Lu might not have reached.

Fame and profit make men lose sight of themselves.

Perhaps since Zhang Zongyan became Celestial Master, they gradually forgot to guard their hearts.

“Shameful!”

Zhang Zhengchang bowed his head in deep reflection.

Looking at Zhang Yi again, he found the term “harbinger of misfortune” less repulsive.

“Go on, tell your Uncle Huang why the Emperor is so petty.”

Just as his opinion of his son improved slightly, the Emperor steered the conversation back, and he nearly fainted.

He wished he could truly pass out, to escape hearing the Emperor pose such lethal questions.

“This boy is not a harbinger of misfortune—he is the demon who will destroy the Zhang family!”

“How could I, Zhang Zhengchang, have begotten such a wretch?”

He was utterly despondent.