Rewrite the Sun and Moon

In the first month of the tenth year of Xuande, Emperor Xuanzong of Ming, Zhu Zhanji, died. His nine-year-old crown prince, Zhu Qizhen, ascended the throne and adopted the reign title Zhengtong.

That year, Wang Zhen was promoted to Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial.

That year, Yu Qian was still building canals in Shanxi.

That year, Esen had just united the Oirat tribes, and the horses of his tribute mission had yet to set out on the road to invade the south.

That year, Zhao Ying, a history graduate student, spent the night reading the Veritable Records of Emperor Yingzong of Ming in the library, then fell asleep with his head on the desk.

When he woke, he heard a shrill voice calling from outside the tent:

“Your Majesty, it’s time to attend court.”

He had been afraid. He had tried to run. In the dead of night, he had bitten his quilt and wept in silence on the imperial bed. But the next day, he put on the dragon robe weighing heavily on his shoulders and walked into the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

Zhang San’s case file was locked in a drawer. Beside the words “guilty as charged” on the list of those sentenced to death in autumn, he wrote, in crooked handwriting, “Commute the sentence.”

On the day 317 Oirat envoys left the capital, he watched the empty city gate and wrote “Noted” on a memorial.

On the walls of Xuanfu, the border troops knelt. The clatter of their armor was torn to shreds by the wind. He stood there for a long time, then said:

“I, your emperor, came too late.”

The first year of Zhengtong, the winter solstice. The shortest day and longest night of the year.

Starting tomorrow, the days will grow longer, one by one.

He is Zhao Ying, and he is Zhu Ying. He did not come to replace anyone. He came to make the sun and moon shine upon the land once more.