Yongle Year 18 (3)
"Commander, we're ready."
Cheong Hak, vice commander of the Blood Death Archery Corps, reported that preparations for the sortie were complete.
Gong Jeong-mun, Cheong Hak, and every last one of the thousand Blood Death archers had dressed uniformly in snow-white robes — both to account for the deep snow and to cloak themselves against the mountain.
"Well done. Has the scout returned?"
"Yes, just now. The usurper has pitched his encampment on the northwestern face of Mount Baohua."
"The northwest face? That's not how it's been in years past."
"Indeed. We fully expected the southeastern slope, as usual."
The unexpected report left Gong Jeong-mun and Cheong Hak lost in thought.
The western face of Mount Baohua was steep; the eastern face, gentle. Along that gradual eastern slope, traces of human presence appeared at intervals, which meant the hunting grounds lay deep in the forest. That, in turn, had made it easy for them to approach in secret, using the terrain and cover of the outer woods.
The western face was another matter entirely. From the very foot of the mountain, one stood already at the hunting grounds. If the Yongle Emperor did not push deep into the forest, at least one of their approach routes would be a wide-open plain — and crossing that kind of open ground would be no different from parading their murderous intent in broad daylight.
"Nothing for it. We adjust the plan. We enter from the north of the mountain and break through."
"Understood."
A silent ambush had just become far more difficult. Once they punched through the outer perimeter, an alarm would not be long in coming, and to preserve any element of surprise they would have to move fast. But this was a winter mountain where every step sank into snow, and the western face was treacherous besides — speed would not come easily. In the end, they would have to abandon the advantage of stealth, accept the risk of exposure, and take the shortest possible route to fall upon the camp in a single rush.
"Has the usurper grown old? His whims have gotten worse."
"You're telling me. It was supposed to be Mount Lao's turn this year."
"Nothing like this has ever happened."
"This is the first time."
A grave expression settled over both Gong Jeong-mun and Cheong Hak's faces. In the past ten years, there had been no precedent for this. Year after year, the usurper had rotated his hunting grounds in order — Mount Lao, Tangshan, Mount Baohua — and this year should have been Mount Lao. And yet the word that had come down from the palace named Mount Baohua, the same as last year.
Mount Lao had the Yangtze River as a natural barrier between it and Yingtianfu, which gave their side an absolute advantage. Tangshan was a small, low mountain, easy to encircle and easy to approach at speed. Of the three, Mount Baohua was by far the most troublesome.
"Mount Baohua, and the northwest face of all places. A damned headache."
That the venue had changed to Mount Baohua was surprise enough. Still more surprising was that, for the first time in history, the imperial encampment had been pitched on the northwest face — the face from which a stealthy approach and ambush were hardest of all. Surprise piled upon surprise; variables stacked upon variables. Enough to make a man wonder whether it was truly coincidence.
"We'll have to accept the casualties."
"No choice. We cannot let this opportunity slip."
"Agreed. Once the capital moves, there won't be another chance like this."
"There won't. Shuntian Prefecture is the usurper's own front yard."
North of Shuntian Prefecture stood the Great Wall. The closer the distance to the nation's greatest enemy — the Northern Yuan — the thicker the concentration of soldiers compared to the south. The Imperial Guard units stationed at Yingtianfu numbered seventeen, roughly a hundred and ten thousand men; those at Shuntian Prefecture numbered twenty-two, roughly a hundred and forty thousand. And the Rear Military Commission, which included Shuntian Prefecture and stood watch against Northern Yuan and Jurchen incursions across the northern frontier, was the Ming's most elite army.
"Our organization and this plan haven't been exposed, have they? What's the level of their defenses?"
A thought flashed through Gong Jeong-mun's mind, and his eyes sharpened. The fact that a hunting ground which had never once been changed had now been changed left a sour taste in his mouth.
"Unlikely. The soldiers climbing the mountain number roughly five thousand, with about fifteen thousand waiting on the open ground."
"I see. That's the usual level."
The hardness left Gong Jeong-mun's face, and Cheong Hak's next words swept the last of his unease away.
"Exactly. If they knew about our organization and this plan, they would have cancelled the hunt altogether, wouldn't they?"
A short while later, on the northwestern face of Mount Baohua.
The journey of half a shichen was over. The Zhu clan, the women of the Inner Court, and officials of every rank were each celebrating the New Year in their own fashion. The men of the palace, the Yongle Emperor among them, had formed into parties and begun the hunt, while the women exchanged greetings with people they were lucky to see once a year.
The Yongle Emperor had formed one party with Zhang Fu, Left Commander-in-Chief of the Central Military Commission; Sa Hapji, Commander-in-Chief of the Brocade Guards; and Jin Heup, Minister of War. Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi and his family made up another. Prince of Han Zhu Gaoxu and his household made up the last.
The Yongle Emperor's party was, in truth, hunting for the pleasure of it. The real contest had been drawn between the Crown Prince's family and the household of the Prince of Han.
"That's the way! Hahaha!"
Zhang Fu, Sa Hapji, and Jin Heup burst into hearty laughter at the sight of a pheasant dropping from the sky, transfixed by an arrow. The shaft that had punched through the bird belonged to Zhu Zhanji. Ever since his first match against Zhu Zhanhe a few days prior, the Imperial Grandson had been grinding his teeth in determination, practicing every day with a Joseon horn bow.
"Your Majesty, to this old general's eye, the Imperial Grandson's archery has improved considerably."
"Indeed, Your Majesty. His realm is altogether different from last year's."
It was Zhang Fu and Jin Heup who stepped forward to praise Zhu Zhanji. Sa Hapji, standing beside them, nodded in agreement.
"Mm. He found himself a good teacher, that's all."
"A teacher, Your Majesty?"
Zhang Fu asked.
"There's a man. In the Directorate of Ceremonial."
"The Imperial Grandson's archery master is an inner-court official, Your Majesty?"
Zhang Fu cocked his head. Setting aside the matter of seating a eunuch as the Imperial Grandson's teacher, he knew of no eunuch who could shoot a bow well. Since when did eunuchs have the leisure to sit around loosing arrows? Rather than draw a bow, those were the sort of men who would leap in with the blinding speed of the Sunflower Manual and snatch their prey with that infamous Sun-Moon Claw.
"He's at the Imperial Grandson's side this very moment."
"At his side, you say..."
Zhang Fu narrowed his eyes in puzzlement — and into those ears came a voice he had heard to death only a few days before.
"Your Highness, there's barely any wind today. Aim one pace ahead and that will suffice..."
It was Jin Myeong. For a full half-shichen — nearly an hour — he had been trailing Zhu Zhanji, offering instruction at every turn. Zhang Fu turned to Jin Heup.
"Minister of War, isn't that the inner-court official we saw the other day?"
"...It is. Jang Jinmyeong, Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial."
"Your Majesty, then that fellow is...?"
"That's right. He is the Imperial Grandson's archery master."
"Well, I'll be...! I knew he was no ordinary man, but to think he's accomplished in archery as well."
"You know him?"
"A few days ago at the Ministry of War, that fellow took me apart. Hah!"
"You? The Ministry of War, a few days ago...?"
A gleam of interest crossed the Yongle Emperor's face as he asked. The Left Commander-in-Chief of the Central Military Commission, taken apart? What else had happened in the meantime?
"Yes, Your Majesty. I was discussing today's escort with the Minister of War when the Grand Director cut in, so I drew a line and told him the business wasn't his. Next thing I knew, that one came charging at me demanding an apology, and this old general's spirit was quite drained by the end of it."
Grasping the situation, the Yongle Emperor gave a slow nod. Drawing a line meant telling him not to interfere — and eunuchs were all too ready to take exclusion or rejection as contempt. As if that audacious eunuch would have sat still. He would have come at Zhang Fu ready to take them both down together.
"He would have. He is a man who doesn't so much as blink in Our presence."
"Well, I'll be...! Is that so, Your Majesty?"
"Director at twenty. We bestowed a python robe upon him."
"A python robe! No wonder — I thought he was no ordinary man."
Zhang Fu could not stop the exclamations. Jin Myeong had arrived that day in ordinary eunuch robes, so Zhang Fu had never known he had been granted a python robe.
I nearly brought disaster down on my own head.
Zhang Fu looked at Jin Myeong with fresh eyes. What did a python robe mean? It meant a minister who enjoyed the Emperor's favor. And now he was the Imperial Grandson's master besides. Had yesterday's quarrel been allowed to properly explode, Zhang Fu realized, he himself would almost certainly not have walked away unscathed.
"Zheng He likely intends to pass the Grand Director's cap to that one. You and Zheng He are both Our subjects. Be at peace with each other."
"How could I do otherwise, Your Majesty? There is no lingering grudge between this officer and the Grand Director. We shook it all out then and there. Hahaha!"
"Good. Let's go over there."
Zhang Fu followed the Yongle Emperor with a smile, privately pleased that his eye for men and his insight had not rusted. The four of them approached Zhu Gaochi's family. Jin Myeong's voice reached them again.
"...Don't shoot while the wings are beating — shoot when they stop. That's when a bird's speed and path become certain."
"Understood. Hup...!"
The black horn bow creaked as the arrow was nocked and the string drawn back, bending to its limit. Then — a burst of wingbeats. The taut string released with a singing hiss, and the arrow flew true, punching through the pheasant without the slightest error. Color rose in Zhu Zhanji's face.
"Magnificent, Your Highness."
"A fine shot, Imperial Grandson."
"It's all thanks to Director Jang...!"
Zhu Zhanji was ducking his head in modest embarrassment under the praise of Jin Myeong and Zhu Gaochi when a voice came from behind them.
"Not bad at all."
It was the Yongle Emperor.
"Your Majesty honors me beyond measure."
Hearing his grandfather's voice, Zhu Zhanji turned at once, assuming the words were meant for him, and answered in a hurry. But the Yongle Emperor's gaze was fixed on Jin Myeong.
"The Imperial Grandson is rather good — but you are the one who is truly rather good. To know such principles..."
"Your Majesty honors me beyond measure. But it was not this servant's tongue that took the pheasant — it was the arrow the Imperial Grandson loosed."
"That mouth of yours is rather good as well. How did he do?"
"The Imperial Grandson's archery has reached a new realm. Already twelve pheasants..."
Jin Myeong caught the Emperor's coded meaning at once. A glance toward Zhu Zhanji and a question of how did he do — that was asking whether the grandson had performed well. When Jin Myeong reported the number of beasts Zhu Zhanji had taken, admiration washed over the faces of all four men.
"Your Majesty, the Imperial Grandson's take appears to be fully double."
As Jin Heup said, a single hunter — Zhu Zhanji — had taken fully twice what the entire household of the Prince of Han had managed. They were not even hunting far apart, merely in different directions, and yet the number of beasts taken differed by half. If that was not a difference in skill, what was it?
"The inner-court official's merit is truly great."
And that difference in skill was, as they had just heard, because Jin Myeong had taught him. The Yongle Emperor was in fine spirits, pleased with himself for having attached such an outstanding man to his grandson.
"Had the Prince of Han's household not abandoned the New Year's wager the other day, they would have suffered a far greater disaster on your account."
Had Prince of Han Zhu Gaoxu and Zhu Zhanhe accepted the Yongle Emperor's proposal that day and competed today, even Zhu Zhanhe's designation as heir would have been stripped. That was precisely what he meant.
"...Your Majesty honors me beyond measure."
The humility in Jin Myeong's answering voice ran deep — but in truth he was straining with everything he had to cork a laugh that kept trying to leak out.
You damned eunuchs. You'd better not get caught.
The truth of it was that Jin Myeong was running a con on the entire Zhu clan.
At the same hour, in the forest that lay in the direction of the Crown Prince's hunt.
A long ribbon of figures was tramping through the snowfield, and from the middle of that column came young, complaining voices.
"Damn it, do we have to keep this shit up for another two hours?"
"What do you want me to do about it? You and I are low-ranked. If it pisses you off, go make Director."
The first to speak, voice thick with grievance, was Yang Gwang, the dark-skinned eunuch from Fujian. The one who answered in a tone of weary resignation was Zhao Gou, the compact youth from Guangdong.
"Hah... Quit complaining and just drive the game. If we fill the quota, we might finish early."
The one who sighed was Wang Zhen. The three Cheongsa eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial were shivering violently, their soaked official robes seeming to suck every last bit of warmth from their bodies. They were burning through their inner energy just to keep from freezing solid. But what choice did they have? It was the iron command of Jang Jinmyeong, the foremost inner-court official in the realm. Even the sixth-rank Jeonbu in their thirties were following without a word of complaint.
"But martial eunuchs using the Sunflower Manual to drive game? Am I the only one who thinks this is insane?"
As Yang Gwang said, the three Cheongsa eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial, along with every Jeonbu of the sixth rank and below, were under Jin Myeong's orders, driving beasts toward the Crown Prince's family.
"The Grand Director must have authorized it. If he approved it, what's the point of you running your mouth?"
"Honestly, you're a eunuch whose brain is even shorter than what they cut off. Of course he authorized it! I'm asking whether they really dragged a thousand martial eunuchs out here just to use us as beaters."
"Gong Yang has a point. It's not as if the next throne is being decided by this hunt. Mobilizing a thousand martial eunuchs just to help His Highness the Crown Prince and the Imperial Grandson hunt is excessive."
Of the three, the one whose head still worked was, as ever, Wang Zhen, who had been reading the classics.
"They were saying earlier this is the first time. If it's not just a hunt, then what else is going on?"
Yang Gwang turned to look at Wang Zhen as he spoke. From the talk of their superiors on the way here, they had heard that this had never been done before. Eunuchs turning out for a winter hunt — and the entire body of martial eunuchs, no less — was a first since Zhu Yuanzhang had founded the Ming.
"..."
Wang Zhen shook his head, as if to say he didn't know that far either. Zhao Gou, his face stuffed full of grievance, shook the snow from his shoes and shuddered.
"How should I know! Ugh, what are they going to make us do next. Ahh! My feet are freezing! The second you try to conserve a little inner energy, this is what you get."
A short while later, near the Yongle Emperor's encampment.
Having peeled away from the Zhu clan, Jin Myeong was on his way to find Zheng He, intending to propose that they pull in the beaters and prepare for an assault. Zheng He would be in the Inner Court's tents, attending the imperial women.
Then, as he walked at a brisk clip, Jin Myeong spotted someone and stopped.
A grin spread across his face, mischievous and delighted.
"Well now! Director Do! Cold day to be working so hard, eh?"
He called out, laughter sitting in his voice.
"...Gonggong. You honor us with your presence."
A eunuch who had been tending the Yongle Emperor's mount turned to look at Jin Myeong, his expression thoroughly sour. A subordinate pulling a face at his superior. Not a common sight.
"I do, I do. As Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial, I am making my rounds to see that inner-court officials like yourself are conducting themselves properly."
"...How could it be otherwise."
Jin Myeong came up and clapped him on the shoulder by way of encouragement. Director Do's already sour expression twisted even further, and sparks flared in both his eyes.
You—you brat! What do you think you're doing?!
Tut tut! "Brat," is it? What if someone overheard you?
Director Do, the middle-aged eunuch of the Directorate of Imperial Horses who had been holding the imperial mount — his true identity was none other than Hyundo, the Wudang Palm King. Hyundo was flabbergasted, speechless, and, in the most literal sense of the words, struck dumb.
Why, you little—!
Whoa — you about to hit me?
Hah... This old Daoist shall hold his tongue. Is it certain those rabble — that "society" or whatever they call themselves — are coming today?
According to intelligence the Directorate of Ceremonial has gathered, it is certain.
Jin Myeong and Zheng He had informed the Carefree Pavilion that Suchengye would make a move today, and thanks to that, two of the Pavilion's five great masters had come forth, Hyundo among them. In truth, it was not intelligence the Directorate had gathered at all — Jin Myeong simply knew the history in advance. Regardless, Zheng He and Hyundo had swallowed the argument whole: that this being the last hunt before the capital's relocation, it would be wise to prepare thoroughly. Both men already knew of Suchengye's existence, and so they had agreed without resistance.
You brat! If nothing happens, just you wait. You've put this old Daoist through wasted hardship — you'd best be prepared.
Tut tut! "If nothing happens," you say? Those words are treasonous intent. Treasonous!
You little—! Today you are going to receive a proper thrashing—!
"Director Do, are you unwell? Hmm? Your complexion has gone completely. Completely gone. That's why you ought to hurry up and get castrated, learn the Sunflower Manual, and nourish body and mind, don't you think? Tsk tsk."
"...This humble servant is fine. Please don't trouble yourself, Gonggong. Grrk!"
Spare your concern, True One. They will come. Without a doubt.
Jin Myeong, who had been needling Hyundo by leaping between sound transmission and spoken voice, let a grave look settle over his face for a moment.
How can you be so certain?
They'll be here soon. Soon. True One, please protect the women and children.
Jin Myeong was certain. That incident from back then, when the Zhu clan had nearly met with disaster. The incident in which hundreds of Brocade Guard warriors had been transfixed by iron arrows and died. The assault of the Blood Death Archery Corps would happen. It had to. Those men would not let the last opportunity before the capital's relocation slip through their fingers.