Chapter Thirty-Three: The Demonic Monk

This man was a monk. His secular name was Yao Guangxiao, and his dharma name was Daoyan. Later generations would call him the "Demonic Monk" or the "Black-Clad Prime Minister." He followed the Fourth Prince into rebellion not for the sake of official rank, but to prove his own capabilities and validate his scholarship.

Had he not seen history in the modern era, Zhu Yuanzhang would never have imagined that this quiet monk, who had kept to himself during his own Hongwu reign, would go on to achieve such monumental feats after meeting the Fourth Prince. Nor would he have known that beneath those monk’s robes, Daoyan harbored such a ferocious ambition. Truly, being a monk was no simple matter; it was a breeding ground for extraordinary talent.

Zhu Yuanzhang mused on this, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, unsure whether he was praising Daoyan or himself.

The current plot by the Ming Cult in the capital of Zhongdu was not orchestrated by Daoyan. If it had been, he would have had the man arrested and executed in his previous life. How could he have allowed him to live and serve as a dog-headed strategist for the Fourth Prince? Rather, the Ming King had simply received some guidance from Daoyan years ago.

It was one thing not to know Daoyan’s true nature in his past life, but now, having returned to the eighth year of the Hongwu reign and knowing the cause and effect of all things, a man like Daoyan was not to be missed. However, Zhu Yuanzhang had not yet decided how to use him or to what end. Daoyan was a dangerous individual—capable, ambitious, and single-mindedly focused on rebellion. Used well, he could certainly bolster the Ming Dynasty, but used poorly, he could leave behind a grave threat.

Zhu Yuanzhang’s primary goal was, naturally, to find a way to make the man serve him. But if he could not be used, he would have to be destroyed. It would be a pity, but when destruction was necessary, he would not show the slightest hesitation.

For now, however, the most important task was dealing with the situation in Zhongdu. Daoyan could wait until that matter had reached a conclusion. This would also give him time to carefully consider how to handle the monk.

...

In Fengyang, a bald monk in monastic robes was holding a tattered alms bowl. He appeared kind-hearted and easy-going. Yet, when no one was looking, a sharp glint would occasionally flash in his triangular eyes. In those moments, the image of the benevolent monk vanished, replaced by the ferocity of a sick tiger showing its teeth.

Hearing the clash of armor and the shouting of men, the monk nimbly slipped to the side of the road. Soon, a group of soldiers marched past, escorting no fewer than three hundred laborers. These were common folk, unlike the able-bodied men previously conscripted to work in Zhongdu. Among this group, the ages varied wildly, from men with white hair over sixty to boys of only twelve or thirteen.

Li Shanchang was being too impatient. And Zhu Hongwu was not doing a very good job either.

Once the group had passed, the monk shook his head slightly, whispered a low prayer, and walked away. His mood was complicated. He both hoped the situation in Zhongdu would spiral out of control—perhaps even throwing the entire world into chaos—as that would give him a stage to display his talents. Yet, he also did not want to see the world fall into turmoil, as that would mean countless deaths and countless displaced people. Regardless of anything else, Zhu Hongwu had expelled the Tatars, restored China, and rebuilt the Han heartland.

Thinking this, he shook his head again. He understood that even if Li Shanchang went too far in Zhongdu, the chaos would likely be contained there. Beyond the city, the vast empire remained stable. Zhu Hongwu, despite his rough-hewn methods and his own past as a monk, had actually accomplished much. Under his hand, the chaotic world was becoming increasingly secure. It would not be easy to stir up trouble again—especially not under Zhu Hongwu.

But when it came time for Zhu Hongwu’s sons to take power, things would be different. His system of enfeoffing the princes was far too crude. To consolidate power away from his generals, he had pushed his sons to the forefront. The move seemed effective, but in reality, it was like drinking poison to quench one's thirst. The Ming Dynasty would surely face greater turmoil because of it in the future. The opportunity he had been waiting for would likely lie in that very issue.

"Achoo!"

A loud sneeze interrupted his train of thought. Using his sleeve to wipe his nose, the monk thought nothing of it, assuming it was a common occurrence rather than someone speaking of him, and continued on his way.

By the afternoon, he reached Linhuai County, about twenty miles from Fengyang. Further ahead lay the Huai River. It was just after the New Year; the weather was cold, and it was far too early for spring plowing. Yet, in some of the fields in Linhuai, many people were busy at work. They were not plowing, but building embankments, digging irrigation channels, and tidying up the farmland.

Daoyan had keen eyesight and spotted men dressed as yamen runners among the laborers. He even saw a man wearing the robes of a county magistrate. Zheng Shiyuan, the magistrate of Linhuai, was a man of action. Unfortunately, when he served as a Censor, he hadn't known how to hold his tongue, insisting on impeaching Zhu Yuanzhang’s nephew and forcing the Emperor to execute the man for his many crimes. He had gained a great reputation, but that was as far as his career would ever go. Given Zhu Hongwu’s petty and murderous nature, it was unlikely that Zheng Shiyuan would live for more than a few more years before some pretext was found to have him killed.

As he mused on this, he saw over twenty riders galloping toward them along the imperial road, kicking up dust. Daoyan quickly ducked to the side of the road once more. The riders thundered past, and the wind, laden with dust, whipped at his robes. Daoyan didn't care, his gaze fixed on the passing cavalry. He caught sight of the scarlet robes worn by the leader—an official of at least the third rank.

Both this high-ranking general and his personal guards radiated a sense of efficiency and the cold, bloody aura of battle. When they left the main road to turn onto a narrow path through the fields, they slowed their horses and extended their formation, taking care not to trample the crops.

There was a reason Zhu Hongwu had managed to conquer the world.

Under Daoyan’s watchful gaze, the general rode up to the magistrate, Zheng Shiyuan. Zheng stepped forward to greet him, bowing respectfully to the officer who had dismounted. The onlookers saw nothing strange in this; in the current Ming Dynasty, military status was prized over civil, and civil officials were expected to be respectful to military commanders.

Daoyan watched from afar, shaking his head slightly once more. The military might look prestigious now, but in a few decades, or perhaps a hundred years, it would likely be the third-rank general bowing to a civil official in the same situation.

He stopped to watch for a while, noticing that the general and the magistrate walked deep into the fields, leaving the others behind. Daoyan narrowed his triangular eyes, sensing that something was unusual, though he lacked enough information to discern exactly what. After lingering a moment longer, he continued on his way.

Before long, he arrived at the ferry crossing on the Huai River. Six boats packed with migrants were slowly docking one by one. As the people disembarked, dragging their families and belongings with them—mostly victims of the Ming Dynasty’s mass migration policy, forcibly or semi-forcibly removed from their homes—they looked out over this strange land where they were to settle, mostly appearing anxious and lost.

But among the crowd, three young men in patched coarse clothing stood out. They felt no reluctance at leaving their hometowns, nor any helplessness at arriving in a strange place. Instead, they were filled with curiosity, a burning desire to make a name for themselves, and anticipation for the great feats they would surely accomplish. They believed they were embarking on a new chapter of their lives, destined to become the great heroes of legends, never suspecting the "surprises" their Imperial Father had prepared for them.

These three were, naturally, the sons of Zhu Yuanzhang, traveling under assumed names and disguises.

"Fourth Brother, look! There’s a monk over there!" The second brother, the Prince of Qin, had sharp eyes and pointed toward Daoyan, calling out to the Prince of Yan, Zhu Di.

Hearing this, Zhu Di turned his gaze in that direction.