Chapter 8: Lies Do No Harm, It Is the Truth That Cuts Deep

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Gazing upon his cousin Zhu Wenzheng, who lay on the sickbed ravaged beyond recognition, Zhu Zhuan’s heart ached deeply. Now unkempt, with hair and beard turned white, and his face gaunt to the point of skin clinging to bone, Zhu Wenzheng seemed a fragile shadow, so thin and brittle that a mere touch might shatter him. It was difficult to reconcile this image with the vibrant, spirited, tall, and robust young general he remembered.

His mother had told him that Zhu Wenzheng’s father was his great uncle. After his great uncle’s death, his aunt had fled with the infant Zhu Wenzheng to the Zhu family in Zhongli West Village, Haozhou. A few years later, pestilence struck northern Huai, and famine ravaged the land. Zhu Yuanzhang, desperate to survive, was forced into monastic life at a temple. Zhu Zhuan’s other two great uncles and aunts succumbed to the calamity. Orphaned, Zhu Wenzheng endured untold hardships in the chaotic times before finally finding Zhu Yuanzhang, who had just joined the Red Turban rebellion. At that time, old Zhu was but a lowly soldier under Guo Zixing, living in a tiny room barely large enough for a bed, shared with his four-years-younger nephew. The uncle and nephew ate and slept together daily, like father and son. Zhu Wenzheng’s martial skills and military talents were all nurtured by Zhu Yuanzhang. Later, Madam Ma joined them in adopting her nephews Li Wenzhong and Mu Wenying as foster sons, all raised together in the same courtyard as brothers. Whenever Zhu Wenzheng went hunting, he always brought the best game for Zhu Biao and Zhu Zhuan, taking the worst for himself. To him, Zhu Wenzheng was the elder brother. When Zhu Zhuan rode a horse for the first time at age four, it was Zhu Wenzheng who held him, patiently guiding him step by step. Now, tears welled in Zhu Zhuan’s eyes because the last time the brothers met was when Zhu Wenzheng was about to depart for his post in Hongdu. At five years old, Zhu Zhuan had clutched his hand desperately.

“A true man does not shame himself with the airs of a little girl. Brother will follow uncle and conquer this realm for you,” Zhu Wenzheng had said, swinging up onto his horse with a hearty laugh.

Only he knew that parting might be forever.

“When I reach Luoyang, the flowers bloom splendidly; yet I arrive to find no spring,” reciting this line, Zhu Zhuan’s tears streamed down his face.

Zhu Wenzheng slowly opened his eyes, bitterness curling his lips: “A man does not shed tears lightly. Little brother, you don’t deserve even one tear for me. As a criminal in Hongdu, death is no great loss.”

Zhu Zhuan gripped his brother’s skeletal hand, fury burning in his eyes: “Father deceived you. Brother, you are not at fault.”

Among the few who knew the truth, Zhu Zhuan was fully aware. Chen Youliang’s 600,000-strong army attacked the Hongdu stronghold. To allow Zhu Wenzheng to lead 20,000 exhausted old, weak, and wounded soldiers in its defense, Zhu Yuanzhang had promised a grand reward once victory was secured.

At twenty-five, Zhu Wenzheng was already the Grand Commander of the Wu Army, commanding all military forces inside and outside. Even a blind man could see what such a reward implied.

For eighty-five days, he wore his armor without rest, clutching his horse spear even in sleep, fighting Chen Youliang’s troops on the walls of Hongdu, securing the decisive battle that determined the fate of the realm. In this battle, Zhu Wenzheng had almost bled dry his entire life’s worth of blood.

“When your father and I captured Hongdu, he grasped my hand and said: ‘Once the realm is pacified, we will make you crown prince. But Chen Youliang is treacherous and will rebel again. Our soldiers’ families are all in this city. If we lose it, we become rootless trees and water without source. You must hold Hongdu, hold the Zhu family’s foundation.’”

“Serving a ruler is like coexisting with a tiger. The promises of an emperor are the most delicious poison in the world. Foolish young Zhu Wenzheng could not see this simple truth. I thought, since my brother was young, I would have time. But at his birth, I had already lost. Yet I did not realize it, blinded like a gambler who has lost everything, despairing and reckless.”

Tears fell from Zhu Zhuan’s eyes—tears of sympathy for Zhu Wenzheng, but also for himself. The primogeniture succession system laid down in the “Imperial Ming Ancestral Teachings” meant he himself was but a whetstone to sharpen Crown Prince Zhu Biao.

In history, three years after his nephew Zhu Yunwen was made imperial heir, Zhu Zhuan was poisoned to death by an old woman in the household. The empire’s mightiest vassal collapsed instantly. Private affairs—like the five-clawed dragon bed in the palace and concubine Deng wearing phoenix crowns—were known even in the distant Forbidden City. Such a dark joke as a prince being poisoned at home under the Hongwu reign, where the embroidered cavalry patrolled the empire, was unheard of.

Old Zhu was not the mastermind but at least tacitly approved.

Looking back at the historical record of the “crippled” Prince Han, deceived by Zhu Di over the crown prince’s seat, one sees this craftiness is a family trait.

At this moment, blood-tinged foam leaked from Zhu Wenzheng’s mouth. Relief softened his face: “Little brother, my time is near. To see family before death is my only regret fulfilled.”

“Brother, don’t rush. I’ve sent word to Mother. Hang on just a little longer. Your life should not end this way.”

The Embroidered Uniform Guard escorted an aged eunuch into the cell. Wu Yonglang, steward of the Kunning Palace, announced: “The Empress has decreed that the rebel criminal Zhu Wenzheng be brought to the palace for treatment at the Imperial Medical Bureau.”

The old eunuch Wu Yong carefully placed a basket covered with cotton cloth beside the bed, looking at Zhu Wenzheng: “Prince Qin, this is your favorite osmanthus cake, made by the Empress herself. She also sends a message: 'My son has suffered.'”

Of course, this was not Zhu Zhuan, who was enduring the prison life, speaking. Nor did he care for osmanthus cake.

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At these words, Zhu Wenzheng, who had never flinched under torture, broke down into tears, shouting hoarsely: “Mother.”

At this moment, he no longer sought death but clung to life.

...

Inside the Imperial Medical Bureau’s small chamber, originally meant for treating palace maids and eunuchs, the room was crowded. Li Wenzhong and Mu Ying, training troops outside Nanjing city, dared to come. Even his close friend Lan Yu approached Zhu Zhuan with a clasped fist:

“Among the million troops, I, Lan Yu, respect only two men: my brother-in-law, unmatched across the land, and the Grand Commander. It was the Grand Commander who saved my life on the battlefield. Had he not pulled me from the dead, there would be no Lan Yu today. Prince, you saved my benefactor as if you saved me. Whenever you need me, you have but to command. Through fire and sword, if I ever frown, I am no man.”

Coarse and blunt, but endearing. Sometimes, friendship is built simply by mutual respect. No wonder Lan Yu later gained fame as the boisterous “Lan the Fool.” Why shout so loudly? Aren’t you afraid Old Zhu will accuse you of colluding with a vassal prince?

“Captain Lan, you jest. I only did a trivial thing. I am still a sinner. Let us speak as equals,” Zhu Zhuan replied.

“No need for thanks; then I shall boldly call you ‘brother,’” Lan Yu said.

“Brother Lan,” Zhu Zhuan smiled.

“You are truly bold, daring to call the Prince brother. But your loyalty is undeniable. When Brother Wenzheng recovers, I will host a feast at the Drunken Fragrance Pavilion. Brothers shall not leave sober.”

Li Wenzhong laughed, slinging an arm around Zhu Zhuan’s shoulder.

“Last month it was my turn to host. Why you?” Mu Ying protested.

“I am older than you by a few years. The eldest brother is like a father,” Li teased.

“Li Ba’er, go to hell! This banquet is mine,” Mu Ying snapped.

Like club officers, they all vied to host the release feast for their leader.

Zhu Zhuan noticed the imperial doctor frowning at the noise. He quickly raised a hand to quiet them:

“Brothers, I decide to set the release date for the day Brother Wenzheng fully recovers. Then I will rent the Drunken Immortal Tavern and invite you all to celebrate with family and friends.”

The Drunken Immortal Tavern was reputedly several ranks above the Drunken Fragrance Tavern. Their eyes gleamed. Booking such a place would cost at least a thousand taels. Though they were dukes of great estates, they could not afford such extravagance. They had long heard that Prince Qin was the wealthiest in the palace. This was a wealthy ally to have.

Mu Ying mocked Li Wenzhong, “Look at our second brother, so open-hearted. Unlike you. Second brother, rest assured, we will all be there to support you.”

Duke Li Wenzhong muttered, “I will send notices to all my men. Anyone who fails to show will lose face before Li Wenzhong.”

Lan Yu agreed: “I will bring my brother-in-law to celebrate with you, too.”

Zhu Zhuan felt a surge of satisfaction. He had fully entered the circle of Huaixi warriors. The fourth prince in later history, despite marrying into Xu Da’s family, never truly integrated with these men, which contributed to the disastrous “Eight Dukes’ Rebellion” of the Jingnan War.

These rough men were the core staff of Old Zhu’s rise to power. Though they were mostly vassals loyal to the Crown Prince, none but Old Zhu could command their fierce loyalty. The Crown Prince never led troops and could not control these proud warriors; only Old Zhu could keep them in check.

This was why in his later years Old Zhu used the Lan Yu case to massacre meritorious officials. Had a weaker Zhu Yunwen ascended, Old Zhu would have been haunted daily by fears of a coup and someone donning the yellow robe.

These rough men were simple: if you were capable and loyal, they'd follow you. This was something Crown Prince Zhu Biao could not achieve—not for lack of ability, but because as a civil official, he could not neglect governance to constantly accompany these soldiers on campaigns. Zhu Zhuan envied the Fourth Prince, the Northern General, who had the stoic, unfeeling memorial-writing bureaucrat Zhu Gaochi at his side.

Zhu Zhuan could win them over simply by having the ability and by saving men from Zhu “Skinflint” Yuanzhang’s grasp—something even the Crown Prince and Madam Ma could not do. Loyalty was a bond stronger than blood; risking youthful friendship was like plucking the dragon’s whiskers from Old Zhu.

In the Ming realm, was there anyone more loyal than I, Prince Qin Zhuan?

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Outside the Qianqing Palace, clad in prison clothes, Zhu Zhuan knelt at the palace gate, loudly proclaiming: “Criminal Zhu Zhuan requests an audience.”

Chief eunuch Huang Gou’er hurried over, holding an umbrella, whining: “My lord, the Emperor said he never wants to see you again in this lifetime. Please go back. With such heavy rain, if you fall ill or worse, the Empress will have my entire family executed alongside you.”

“He says he won’t see me? Who does he think he is?” Zhu Zhuan knelt on the bluestone pavement, the puddles rising past his heels.

Huang the eunuch was numb. Serving in the Inner Court was hard. During Prince Qin’s imprisonment, palace staff dared not breathe loudly before the Emperor. Just days ago, an elderly man from the Prince of Wu’s residence, who had served the old Emperor on campaigns, was beaten to death by the Emperor’s furious order for placing a wrong teacup. The Heavenly Mandate’s wrath was unpredictable. Only when Prince Qin was present did the old Emperor show any humanity.

Truly, if Prince Qin were gone, the palace maids and eunuchs would miss him most.

Zhu Zhuan stared at the old eunuch, who remained silent. He hurried: “Huang Gonggong, please tell him, if he refuses to see me, I will bring a coffin to the ancestral temple. This unworthy son, Zhu Zhuan, has no face before His Majesty and will join the ancestors below.”

Inside Qianqing Palace, Zhu Yuanzhang sat at his imperial desk reviewing memorials. Empress Ma sat beside him, sewing and grumbling:

“What sin have I committed? Both you and your sons are stubborn as mules. Kneeling outside in this rain—what if he falls ill? Just thinking of it, I can neither eat nor sleep.”

Zhu Yuanzhang slammed a memorial on the desk, furious:

“It’s because you spoiled them. Without your backing, he wouldn’t dare to call me cruel and heartless to my face. Do you know what he said to me in the Fengtian Hall? ‘It’s not Zhu Wenzheng who betrayed us, but we who betrayed the eldest nephew. How can a ruler without credibility expect loyalty from his subjects?’”

Zhu Yuanzhang, hands behind his back, mimicked Zhu Zhuan’s posture:

“If the Emperor were truly the Son of Heaven, there would be no wars or famine. If the Emperor were a sage, there would be no treacherous ministers or deceitful courtiers. If an Emperor blindly believes he never errs, he is a tyrant like Xia Jie or Shang Zhou. Zhu Wenzheng’s rebellion is your fault, Zhu Yuanzhang. You lack the courage to correct your mistakes. How will later generations judge your Hongwu reign? Will they praise it like Li Shimin’s Zhenguan era, or whisper that a butcher sits on the throne of Fengtian Hall? Look at this little bastard—he’s alive and well, daring to teach me how to rule. It’s all your fault, you shameless woman, spoiling this troublemaker.”

Empress Ma put down her needlework, angry:

“You heartless bastard! Don’t you remember when the second son stuffed you with dog meat and you pretended not to know? Later, you bragged to me: ‘He’s truly Zhu Yuanzhang’s son; that ruthless spirit is ours.’ At ten, he dared kill with his own hands. I wanted to imprison him, but you stopped me, saying, ‘This boy has potential; it’s just that the grass wasn’t fully cut and the fire not well tended.’ It’s all thanks to me, the mother. Zhu Chongba, dare you say your son’s current state isn’t partly because you indulged him?”

Zhu Yuanzhang hurried to defend himself:

“I was still ringing temple bells at fourteen. He was already taking dirty money from palace eunuchs. Besides, Biao’er is weak and sickly, and this little bastard encouraged him to drink. I only meant to teach him a lesson.”

“Where did the money go? All into your pockets, wasn’t it? The army needs funds, history must be recorded, the palace’s tens of thousands need feeding and clothing, rewards to be given, palace workers’ wages—Biao’er’s worries made him lose hair. With no one to confide in, he turned to his younger brother for solace. Why? Because he didn’t trust you, his father. Could it be? Are you jealous of your own sons?” Empress Ma covered her mouth, smirking.

Zhu Yuanzhang’s face flushed, pierced by truth. He had planted spies around both Zhu Biao and Zhu Zhuan. Since Zhu Biao was heir, his agents were stationed on the periphery. As for Zhu Zhuan’s people—well, they felt unreliable. Now, the two sons met in the Crown Prince’s secret study whenever they had problems. He felt like an outsider, wondering what they discussed during their drunken talks. Sleep and appetite deserted him. He longed to know.

But he spoke with conviction: “I intended only to scold him that day. I never expected this little bastard to spit in my face before I spoke. Traditionally, only fathers teach sons. Which prince doesn’t tremble and submit, bracing for punishment? But this troublemaker defied me, making me lose face. The truth in his mouth hurts too much. Before him, I cannot muster the Emperor’s dignity or even a father’s authority.”