Chapter Forty-Two: The Gengchen Coup! (Coup d'état!)

December 24th, the seventy-third year of the Chongzhen reign—The Divine Emperor’s eighty-ninth birthday had officially arrived!

If it had been a jubilee year, a multiple of ten, then by tradition, the capital would have been festooned with lanterns and banners, celebrations grandly orchestrated! On such an occasion, ministers and officials would converge upon the imperial palace to pay their respects; governors from Nanjing and the thirteen provinces would also attend, bringing priceless gifts and joining the grand festivities.

Not only officials from within the Ming realm but envoys from neighboring vassal states—Korea, Japan, Annam, Ryukyu, various Mongol tribes, and more—would arrive with reverence. Some were long-established tributaries, others newly subdued by the Divine Emperor’s decree. Beyond these, even distant lands unrecognized by the Ming court, awed by the sheer might of this earthly deity, would voluntarily send delegations to offer felicitation. Amid their visit, these emissaries would no doubt be curious about the transformations unfolding in this ancient Eastern kingdom...

In sum, such an event was magnificently grand—those fortunate enough to witness it would remember it for a lifetime!

Compared to that, the hastily arranged feast for the eighty-ninth birthday seemed pitifully meager.

No foreign delegations, no vassal envoys; not even the governors of Nanjing and the thirteen provinces had come. The celebration wasn’t held in the grand imperial palace but in the modest Changchun Garden hastily prepared for the occasion.

It was so humble it could hardly be called the Divine Emperor’s birthday banquet—more like a feast thrown by some wealthy merchant from the south!

Yet, as the saying goes, “A mountain is famed not for its height but for its immortal; a water is enchanting not for its depth but for its dragon.”

Despite the poor conditions, considering the Divine Emperor himself would grace the occasion, along with the attendance of the capital’s six ministries and the cabinet’s chief officials, and that this garden was a birthday gift presented by the newly appointed Prime Minister, the banquet’s status was elevated manyfold.

“Minister of Personnel, Xiao Renxin, present! Offering a keg of Eastern Pearl from the Jurchens!”

“Minister of Revenue, Zhuang Yaoqi, present! Offering a four-sided fire-concentrating lens from the Western Oceans!”

“Minister of War, Lin Xinwen, present! Offering three logs of golden nanmu from the Southern Seas!”

“...”

“Grand Secretary Chen Shuxue, present! Offering a scroll of the Sui Dynasty painter Zhan Ziqian’s ‘Spring Outing’!”

Early that morning, one by one, the anxious yet composed officials of the capital arrived. There were grand secretaries, ministers of the six ministries, vice ministers, and representatives from the various agencies—the Six Ministries, the Censorate, the Court of Judicial Review, and so forth.

Each of these powerful men was someone a commoner might never see in a lifetime. Now, knowing the risks of attending, they nonetheless obediently gathered in that small Changchun Garden.

They had no mind to admire the meticulously arranged scenery along the way; their hearts were heavy as they passed through pavilions and towers, stepping over stone arch bridges.

The koi in the clear waters blew gentle bubbles, playing and gazing curiously at these strange guests. Yet neither the humans could understand the fish’s joy, nor the fish the humans’ worries; their encounter was destined to leave no trace.

Perhaps years later, the fish might recall these odd visitors—this would likely be the last mark they left upon the world...

After some time, they finally arrived before a small building decorated with Western-style elements.

The anxious group looked up to see a Chinese plaque hanging above the Western-style structure.

“What a curious mismatch!” sneered Minister Xiao Renxin. “Such a clumsy hodgepodge of East and West—only that pretentious rustic from northern Shaanxi would appreciate this!”

His sharp critique gained unanimous agreement.

It wasn’t that they wished to belittle him, but the aesthetics were truly poor and inconsistent. Though corrupt officials, they were at least men of letters from scholarly families with some sense of taste.

Only Grand Secretary Chen Shuxue read carefully the plaque’s inscription—its name.

“Gongjing Cave?”

Chen pondered long but found no artistic meaning in it. Why name a shabby building after a “cave”? What could “Gongjing” signify? Though he was well versed in the classics and historical allusions, he had never encountered this phrase.

In the end, he could only shake his head: “This young man truly is a rustic from northern Shaanxi, a mere poseur of elegance, utterly lacking in taste...”

“Let’s go!” ordered the Grand Secretary.

He entered first, and the others followed solemnly.

Inside the “Gongjing Cave” of Changchun Garden, the officials were taken aback.

There were already people present—one was their long-anticipated new Prime Minister, Zhou Liang; the other was the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, Lu Zhongcheng. Yet these two did not cause the greatest shock.

At the head of the table sat a man in yellow robes, appearing to be middle-aged.

The Emperor himself had arrived first?!

The officials, already uneasy, quickly kowtowed in respect. The Divine Emperor smiled faintly and bade them to sit.

Seeing that His Majesty did not intend to trouble them, their tension eased, and they secretly rejoiced: perhaps their fears were unfounded, this was no trap; the Emperor still remembered old ties...

At ease, they took their seats in turn.

Once all expected guests were present, the Emperor smiled and began the banquet. Maidens brought out various bowls and dishes of rare delicacies and fine wines, every kind imaginable.

Then, singers and dancers were summoned to enliven the festivities.

In this comfortable setting, the officials, once wary, gradually relaxed and began to enjoy a convivial feast.

After several rounds of wine and a variety of dishes, around noon, seeing everyone fully engaged, your gaze suddenly turned cold.

You clapped your hands, and the dancers ceased their performance. Then two rare Korean female singers entered.

The two appeared nervous but began to softly sing traditional songs from their homeland.

Hearing these foreign melodies, the guests glanced at them with some surprise, then returned to their drinking.

“A little tune to expel pests and shoot the sun...” you smiled, as if adding a soundtrack to the impending events.

While the Korean singers sang, you glanced at Lu Zhongcheng, who had been quietly eating.

Though prepared in mind, when you looked at him, he trembled slightly.

It was fear—nervousness.

Though Lu Zhongcheng bore the grand title of Embroidered Uniform Guard commander and had apprehended many local officials before, those were at best provincial magistrates, mere administrators in the capital’s eyes.

Here at the banquet sat only the lowest-ranking vice ministers or mid-level censors, and above them ministers of the six ministries, grand secretaries—the ultimate powerbrokers.

More unnerving still, the Divine Emperor himself was present.

How could he not be terrified?

But you would not let him remain so.

“Come, brother,” you said with a smile, raising your wine pot.

“Don’t look so grim. Have a drink!”

Without waiting for a response, you poured a full cup of fine wine, your gaze icy.

Lu Zhongcheng shuddered but slowly lifted the cup. As if steeling himself, he drank it down in one gulp.

The wine seemed to give him courage. He bit his lip and suddenly shouted:

“Prime Minister! If you do not carry out His Majesty’s new policies, then who will?”

His words stunned the assembly.

But he was not done. Lu Zhongcheng glared fiercely at the gathered officials.

“How can you vermin effect reform?”

With that, seizing the moment of shock, he roared and lunged at Grand Secretary Chen Shuxue with the dining knife!

Chen was caught off guard, and Lu, empowered as an Embroidered Uniform Guard commander, was far swifter and stronger.

In a flash, the murderous Lu stabbed the knife into Chen’s neck!

“You—!”

The assembly gasped. Chen, bleeding, looked at Lu in terror. Then, as if realizing something, he turned his gaze painfully toward you, whose face remained expressionless, and the equally impassive Divine Emperor.

At last, unwilling, Chen swallowed his final breath.

With his death, the coup d’état known as the “Gengchen Incident” officially commenced!