A Ming Dynasty Power Struggle

In the late 16th century, the Ming Dynasty faced systemic corruption, with bureaucratic abuses draining state resources. At the heart of this crisis was the misuse of the yidi (驿递) system—a network of courier stations meant for official business but exploited by elites for personal gain. Enter Zhang Juzheng (张居正), the Grand Secretary determined to restore order, even if it meant challenging sacred cows like Kong Shangxian (孔尚贤), a descendant of Confucius holding the revered title of “Duke Yansheng” (衍圣公).

Zhang’s dilemma was political: Kong’s illicit use of the courier system was bankrolled by Feng Bao (冯保), the influential eunuch whose relatives profited from storing Kong’s goods. To reform the yidi was to strike at Feng’s wealth—a risky move requiring finesse.

The Dinner That Changed History

Zhang’s solution was a masterclass in diplomacy. At a carefully orchestrated banquet, he framed the yidi crisis as a threat to the empire, skillfully pivoting to Feng’s private interests: “Your relative’s镖局 [security agency] profits from Kong’s shipments. Reforming the yidi will hurt their business—but surely, the state comes first?”

Feng, though initially defensive, recognized the stakes. His theatrical pledge—”Even my own interests must bow to the law!”—masked a pragmatic retreat. With Feng’s tacit approval, Zhang unveiled sweeping reforms in June 1575:

1. Strict Usage Rules: Courier stations were reserved for official business only, with cargo limits enforced by rank.
2. Austerity Measures: Local officials were barred from lavish provisions, reducing taxpayer burdens.
3. Personal Travel Bans: Even mourning or promotions no longer justified yidi privileges.

The Symbolic Sacrifice: A Son’s Journey

To legitimize the reforms, Zhang ordered his third son, Zhang Maoxiu (张懋修), to travel 1,500 kilometers from Beijing to Hubei—by oxcart. The months-long journey became a public spectacle, contrasting starkly with Kong Shangxian’s entitled tantrums.

In Shandong’s Zou County, Zhang Maoxiu witnessed Kong’s caravan blocked by officials citing the new rules. Kong’s outrage—”I’m a sage! Since when do laws apply to me?”—collided with bureaucratic defiance: “Even Confucius’ heir can’t override the Grand Secretary!” When Zhang Maoxiu revealed his identity, the scene turned farcical: officials kowtowed, while Kong fled, vowing revenge through court petitions.

The Letter That Silenced a Sage

Kong’s complaint to the emperor backfired. Zhang’s response was a razor-sharp rebuke:

> “The dynasty weakens because elites like you—cloaked in sanctity—exploit the people. My son endures an oxcart to uphold the law. Shouldn’t a ‘Duke Yansheng’ lead by example?”

The subtext was clear: no one, not even Confucius’ descendant, was above reform. A subsequent imperial decree reduced Kong’s Beijing visits from annual to triennial, humiliating the once-untouchable sage.

Legacy: Authority Over Tradition

Zhang’s victory reshaped Ming governance:
– Anti-Corruption Symbolism: The oxcart journey became folklore, embodying leadership accountability.
– Eunuch Checkmate: By outmaneuvering Feng Bao, Zhang proved even palace networks could be challenged.
– Confucian Pragmatism: The episode revealed tensions between moral idealism (Confucianism) and legalist rigor (Zhang’s reforms).

Yet, the triumph was fleeting. After Zhang’s death in 1582, conservatives reversed many policies. Kong’s heirs regained privileges, and the yidi again decayed—a cautionary tale about reform’s fragility without institutional buy-in.

Modern Echoes: Power vs. Principle

Zhang’s clash resonates today, where elites often weaponize tradition against accountability. His insistence that “laws must bind their makers” remains a benchmark for leaders combating systemic corruption—a lesson as urgent now as in 1575.

As for Kong Shangxian? History remembers him not as a sage, but as the man who chose pickled leeks over principle—and lost.