A Tense Meeting in the Zhang Residence

The moment Yang Bo and Ge Shouli stepped through the gates of Zhang Juzheng’s residence, they were swiftly escorted to his study. There, the Grand Secretary sat upright, as if he had been anticipating their arrival. Yang Bo immediately sensed that Zhang was prepared, and so they wasted no time in addressing the urgent matter at hand.

Yang Bo spoke first: “The Eastern Depot has no conscience—they seek to implicate the innocent. I stake my life and family’s honor on Gao Gong’s innocence.”

Ge Shouli echoed: “I too pledge my entire household’s safety to vouch for Gao Gong.”

Zhang Juzheng had indeed prepared for this discussion, but he had not expected these men—whom he deeply respected—to misunderstand him and lay blame at his feet. After a tense silence, he erupted: “Do you two believe I orchestrated the Wang Ji incident?”

Ge Shouli fell silent at Zhang’s visible anger, but Yang Bo pressed on: “No, but only you possess the power to intervene and save Gao Gong now.”

Zhang exhaled slowly. “Others may slander me—I care not. But if even you suspect me, it wounds me deeply. I learned of this matter soon after it arose and explicitly instructed Feng Bao not to let it spiral. Yet Feng Bao…” He trailed off, realizing the impropriety of mentioning Feng Bao, the powerful eunuch, in this context.

Yang Bo grasped Zhang’s hesitation and interjected: “Feng Bao erred, but we implore you to rectify this. Frankly, officials are whispering relentlessly outside.”

Zhang’s anger flared anew—first at Feng Bao’s recklessness, then at the gossipmongering officials. Though he claimed indifference to rumors, their corrosive potential unsettled him.

“I’ve already taken measures,” he said, leaning back wearily. “Truth will out. Await the outcome. Remember two things: First, Gao Gong remains one of the men I most revere. Second, tell those chattering officials to focus on their duties, not slander.”

The visitors departed hastily. Moments later, Zhang’s aide You Qi rushed in: “Wu Baipeng requests an audience.”

Zhang frowned. What could Wu want now? You Qi intuited his thoughts: “It’s about Wang Ji.”

With a sigh, Zhang agreed to receive him. Wu Baipeng entered with deliberate calm, seating himself uninvited. Their relationship had cooled since a prior dispute over border defenses, and Zhang knew Wu had criticized him privately—though he’d dismissed such slights.

After strained pleasantries, Zhang snapped: “You excel in military affairs—let’s discuss those.”

Wu retorted coldly: “I didn’t come for that. There’s a matter graver than war.”

Zhang waited silently as Wu unleashed his accusation: “Innocent officials are being framed with exaggerated charges, pushed toward execution. As Chief Grand Secretary, do you bear no responsibility?”

“Are you imagining this,” Zhang countered, “or is it real?”

Wu matched his sarcasm: “Wouldn’t you know best?”

Zhang’s voice turned icy: “This is the Eastern Depot’s doing.”

Wu laughed dryly: “Since when do eunuchs act honorably?”

“Escort him out,” Zhang commanded.

Stunned, Wu left in fury, his unspoken accusations festering. Watching him go, Zhang’s expression shifted from scorn to grim resolve. The Wang Ji case was delicate—he’d initially planned for joint investigation by the Censorate and Embroidered Uniform Guard, but distrusting Feng Bao, he petitioned Emperor Wanli for a triple tribunal including the Eastern Depot.

The emperor consented. Feng Bao, flattered by his inclusion, sent Wang Ji wine—which the terrified prisoner refused until forced. Wang vomited some up, then lay awaiting death… which never came. Feng Bao ominously warned: “Surviving today doesn’t mean you’ll survive tomorrow’s tribunal. Speak carefully.”

The Tribunal and Its Consequences

Ten days later, the tribunal convened under Zhu Xi Xiao, a prestigious descendant of nobility. Zhang had chosen him for his unimpeachable reputation—his verdict would silence dissent. Representing the Censorate, Ge Shouli and Feng Bao flanked Zhu, asking few questions. Feng remained conspicuously quiet.

Zhu sought answers, but Wang Ji could provide none—he’d awoken mute, gesturing frantically to no avail. Observing his distress, Zhu recalled the proverb “A mute tastes bitter herbs but cannot speak.” Feng Bao sighed theatrically: “How to try a mute?”

Ge Shouli seized the moment: “Regardless of his backer, trespassing in the palace merits death.”

Had Zhang been present, he’d have detected their subtext. Feng Bao was half-relieved—Wang couldn’t expose Eastern Depot secrets—but frustrated that Gao Gong’s alleged involvement couldn’t be proven. For Ge Shouli, this meant Gao’s safety.

The verdict came swiftly: Wang was a rogue who’d trespassed and falsely accused Gao to save himself. Emperor Wanli, unsatisfied, protested: “This can’t be so simple! There must be conspirators!”

Empress Dowager Li’s silence prompted Zhang’s own. Feng Bao intervened: “The tribunal’s findings are accepted by all officials.”

Under his mother’s gaze, the young emperor yielded. Wang Ji was beheaded—officially guilty, though historians later debated his true role. How had he entered the palace? Why? The answers died with him. Zhu Xi Xiao’s ten-day investigation found nothing, likely influenced by Zhang’s directive to “implicate no one.”

The Legacy of the Affair

The murky resolution bred endless speculation. Ge Shouli confided to Zhang: “This case leaves unease.”

Zhang replied coldly: “What matters is your own conscience.”

For Zhang, such intrigues were trivial next to his grand vision: enriching and strengthening the state. This required urgent administrative reforms—leading to his landmark Kaocheng Fa (Accountability Law).

Centralizing Power: The Kaocheng Fa Reforms

With the Wang Ji affair concluded, Zhang turned to governance. The Ming bureaucracy suffered chronic inefficiency—documents piled up while little was accomplished. Invoking ancestral statutes buried under neglect, Zhang devised a system:

1. Each ministry would maintain three ledgers:
– Original records of all documents
– A distilled version sent to supervising secretariats for tracking
– A copy for the Grand Secretariat to audit

This effectively centralized oversight under the Grand Secretariat—a radical shift from tradition. Since the Hongwu Emperor abolished the chancellery, the Grand Secretariat had held only advisory power. Now, through the six ministries and their supervisory offices, Zhang’s system gave the Secretariat unprecedented control.

The true obstacle was the eunuch-run Directorate of Ceremonial, which held veto power via imperial seals. Convincing Feng Bao to relinquish this required deft maneuvering. Appealing to his patriotism, Zhang framed the reforms as saving the empire—and secured his compliance.

Implemented in 1573, the Kaocheng Fa created a clear chain of accountability: local officials answered to ministries, which answered to supervisory offices, which answered to the Grand Secretariat. Efficiency soared—notably in Suzhou, where long-overdue taxes were swiftly collected.

The Zhou Beiyang Scandal

The system’s rigor soon faced its first test. In late 1573, newly appointed Minister of Personnel Zhang Han proposed recognizing exemplary officials. Among thirty-five nominees was Zhou Beiyang, a fellow native of Zhang’s hometown serving as Guangxi inspector.

Investigation revealed Zhou had sabotaged a military campaign against Yao rebels by withholding supplies—jeopardizing the operation to spite a rival. Only the emperor’s death had delayed his reckoning.

Zhang faced a dilemma: punishing Zhou risked accusations of betraying his hometown; leniency would undermine the reforms. He chose severity: Zhou was demoted three ranks, recommender Cui Yongnian was stripped of office, and the Guangxi governor reprimanded.

This sent an unequivocal message—the Kaocheng Fa would tolerate no favoritism. As Zhang declared: “Laws fail not from poor design, but lax enforcement. We must persist without regard to personal criticism.”

Conclusion: Zhang’s Enduring Impact

The Wang Ji affair and subsequent reforms epitomized Zhang Juzheng’s governance—pragmatic, authoritarian, and relentlessly focused on state strength. His Kaocheng Fa temporarily revitalized Ming administration, though its centralization also concentrated vulnerabilities that would surface after his death.

Historians still debate whether Zhang was a visionary reformer or calculating autocrat. What remains undeniable is his imprint on late Ming politics—a legacy forged in moments like that tense study meeting, where power, principle, and personal loyalty collided.