The Weight of Tradition: Ming Dynasty’s “Dingyou” Custom

In the fifth year of the Wanli era (1577), Ming Dynasty Grand Secretary Zhang Juzheng—the de facto ruler of China—faced an existential crisis triggered by an intensely personal tragedy: the death of his father, Zhang Wenming. Though Zhang Wenming had been an undistinguished and even troublesome figure (known for local misconduct), his passing unleashed a political firestorm due to one immutable tradition: Dingyou (丁忧).

This centuries-old Confucian mandate required officials to resign for 27 months of mourning upon a parent’s death. Instituted since the Han Dynasty, Dingyou was more than ritual—it was a litmus test for loyalty. The logic was simple: if one couldn’t be filial, how could they be loyal to the emperor? Yet for career-driven officials like Zhang, it meant derailing hard-won political momentum. Some tried circumventing the rule by hiding deaths, prompting Ming Yingzong (r. 1435–1449) to decree harsh penalties for concealment. Only military officers were exempt—wars couldn’t pause for mourning.

The “Duoqing” Controversy: Power Versus Principle

For Zhang, then mid-way through his sweeping reforms (like the Single Whip Tax System and land surveys), resignation was unthinkable. His solution? Duoqing (夺情)—a rare imperial exemption allowing critical officials to forgo mourning. Precedents existed: Yang Rong of the “Three Yangs” and Li Xian had used it without major backlash. But the climate had shifted.

The turning point came from Yang Tinghe, a paragon of filial piety who, decades earlier, had insisted on full mourning leave despite Emperor Zhengde’s pleas. His moral stand made Duoqing politically toxic. Yet Zhang had no choice—Emperor Wanli (then 15), the empress dowager, and ally eunuch Feng Bao all demanded he stay. After token refusals (a customary dance of declined offers and imperial insistence), Zhang “reluctantly” accepted.

The Revolt of the Idealists

What followed shocked Zhang. Four junior officials—two being his own protégés—publicly denounced him:

1. Wu Zhongxing and Zhao Yongxian (Hanlin Academy scribes) accused him of moral failure.
2. Ai Mu and Shen Sixiao (Justice Ministry officials) joined the fray.

Their audacity stemmed from Zhang’s own reforms. His Kao Cheng Fa (考成法, performance audits) had centralized power, stripping traditional checks from censors and ministries. To bureaucrats, this was tyranny disguised as efficiency. The “mourning crisis” became a proxy war against his authoritarianism.

Blood and Defiance: The Aftermath

Emperor Wanli, enraged by the attacks, ordered tingzhang (廷杖, public flogging):
– Wu and Zhao: 60 strokes.
– Ai and Shen: 80 strokes.

The executions revealed brutal craftsmanship. Ming-era flogging was a lethal art—trained锦衣卫 could adjust outcomes via techniques like:
– “Light strikes”: Breaking skin but sparing organs (for bribed cases).
– “Solid strikes” (as ordered here): Internal trauma masked by intact skin.

Wu, frail and nearly died; Zhao, overweight, survived relatively unscathed—a macabre lesson in physiology. But the most defiant act came from Zhao’s wife, who preserved a strip of his flesh as a “badge of honor,” vowing eternal resistance against Zhang.

The Irony of Legacy

Zhang prevailed temporarily—Wanli issued an edict: “Anyone attacking Duoqing will be executed.” Critics fell silent, but the scars remained. This episode exposed Zhang’s existential bind: his reforms alienated the very class that bred him. Unlike predecessors who retired comfortably, Zhang had burned bridges. There was no exit.

His tragedy? Being both revolutionary and human. He schemed, exacted revenge, and enjoyed luxuries—yet risked everything for ideals:
– Land reforms hurt gentry tax evaders.
– Audit systems ended bureaucratic sloth.
– Tax simplifications eased peasant burdens.

In the end, Zhang’s story isn’t about perfection, but the messy heroism of real change. As his critics faded into history, his policies outlived him—proving that even the most flawed individuals can reshape empires when guided by conviction.

Epilogue: The Cost of Conviction

Zhang’s 1577 crisis foreshadowed his downfall. When he died in 1582, the resentful Wanli posthumously stripped his honors and nearly exhumed his body. Yet centuries later, historians recognize this paradox: the “autocrat” who was also China’s most visionary reformer. His tale reminds us that progress often demands painful choices—and that true legacy lies not in purity, but in the courage to act despite contradictions.