After a long period of discussion and exchange, Ding Yun specifically revised her approach to her son's education many times. In the end, she reluctantly found that the most effective method was to tell stories and not just preach道理, or rather, to convey道理 through stories.
Considering that a slight lack of cultural refinement might not be an issue for an emperor, Ding Yun decided to abolish the tedious study of the Four Books and Five Classics. Instead, she hired over a dozen scholars deeply versed in historical research to recount the histories of various dynasties in a humorous, vernacular style.
Ding Yun herself would tell him stories, focusing on those rarely mentioned in historical records, including, but not limited to, the suffering of the common people, the wickedness of corrupt officials, and so on, so that he could fully grasp the underlying meanings within these narratives.
This way, the two approaches would complement each other.
It was essentially like combining official history with unofficial accounts, and official knowledge with folk wisdom.
The effect was certainly present, perhaps even better than solely studying the Four Books and Five Classics.
After all, what an emperor truly needed was not to become a Confucian sage, but to understand the plight of the common people, to know the good and bad of officials, to discern right from wrong, and not to be deceived by them.
The art of emperorship could not be found in the Four Books and Five Classics.
Indeed, after this change, the effects were evident. Before long, her son, Ji Ding, abandoned his previous disinterest in studies, his aversion to classes, and his habit of playing pranks on his teachers. He began attending classes punctually and consistently every day.
He also frequently pestered Ding Yun, eager for her to tell him more stories. Compared to the historical tales told by his teachers, he preferred the folk stories and fantastical myths that Ding Yun shared.
However, Ding Yun was so busy with her daily affairs.
She hardly had the time to tell him stories specifically.
So, she took this opportunity, capitalizing on her son's eagerness to hear stories, to set him learning goals. For instance, if he recognized a certain number of characters, or could write a certain number, she would tell him one story. If he learned more and knew more, he could even specify the type of story he wanted to hear, thereby motivating him to study.
Undeniably, learning still depended on personal interest and willingness.
For those willing to learn versus those unwilling.
The difference in learning efficiency was like night and day.
If learning speed for someone willing was like data transmission, then for someone unwilling, it was at best comparable to taking notes in class while dozing off; by the end of the lesson, only a few lines of text in the notebook would be clear, with the rest being gibberish.
With Ding Yun's serialized stories, punctuated at exciting and crucial moments as incentives, Ji Ding was compelled to begin studying diligently.
There was no other way. If his Grand Tutor used cliffhangers, he could directly threaten him to continue, or he could flip through ancient texts and historical records himself. Even if he encountered unfamiliar characters, he could ask someone nearby who knew them or have them read to him.
But with his own mother, the Empress Dowager, employing cliffhangers, he had no leverage and could not find the source of her stories. If he wanted to know the continuation of a story, he had no choice but to compromise. He knew full well that throwing tantrums, crying, or even threatening suicide would be utterly useless with his mother.
Thus, before long, Ji Ding's learning progress gradually caught up. While he couldn't be compared to a genius yet, he was at least at a normal level.
Several years passed.
When her son had just turned twelve, Ding Yun began to formally involve him in state affairs. Although he still had no decision-making power, he was allowed to freely read the memorials submitted by ministers and her responses. He was also frequently exposed to and observed cases handled by the Dali Temple.
In essence, although he lacked decision-making authority, he now possessed the right to observe.
He was in a phase of observation and learning.
It was a phase of observational learning, combining theory with practice.
Ding Yun's actions had a significant impact. At the very least, the civil and military officials breathed a collective sigh of relief. Before this, with Ding Yun regent, while they didn't voice their concerns, many inwardly worried that she might usurp the throne and declare herself emperor.
Now that she was allowing the young emperor, at such a tender age, to begin engaging with state affairs, it undoubtedly indicated that she likely had no ambition to seize the throne. This greatly eased the minds of the staunch imperial faction.
Furthermore, they began to actively cooperate with Ding Yun's arrangements and support the young emperor's observation and learning in various departments. Some even started cultivating good relationships with the young emperor in advance, hoping to secure their positions once he took the reins of power.
Everything seemed to be developing quite well.
However, reality proved.
There was nothing in this world that was perfectly smooth and comforting.
While Ding Yun was satisfied with the situation, and the officials were also content, her son was not.
After observing and learning in various government departments for half a year, he found Ding Yun with a troubled and melancholy expression, explicitly stating that he didn't want to do it anymore.
"?"
After a moment of surprised shock, Ding Yun naturally pressed him:
"What exactly do you mean by you don't want to do it anymore? Is there a specific department you don't want to observe, or what's going on? Explain yourself clearly!"
Their family was not like ordinary ones. If someone from an ordinary family said they didn't want to do something, they could simply change careers. But how could their family change careers? If they had several children, it might be possible, with one inheriting the family business. But they had only him.
He truly had a throne to inherit!
"Mother, I feel so exhausted.
I've thought a lot during this time. Being an emperor involves bearing too much responsibility. The welfare of the common people, the integrity or corruption of officials, even natural disasters and man-made calamities, all fall upon the emperor. I feel so much pressure!
So many officials are trying to get close to me, to curry favor with me.
I want to believe what they say is true, but I also feel it's all false, just flattery.
I truly don't want to bear these responsibilities. I feel that if I were to shoulder them, I wouldn't be able to sleep for entire nights. If a disaster occurs somewhere and people die, I would feel it was my fault. I don't know how to describe it, but I really don't want to bear this.
I'd rather be a prince with no real power and live a carefree life."
Ding Yun had raised him with the intention of cultivating him to be a compassionate and conscientious person. However, while Ding Yun considered a compassionate and conscientious emperor to be a great boon for the populace, she hadn't considered whether such an emperor could psychologically withstand the pressure of being responsible for the entire nation's well-being.
Previously, Ji Ding's understanding of the common people was through stories. Although he could sometimes empathize with the protagonists and consider things from their perspective, he knew it was just a story.
He knew it might not be entirely accurate.
Now, all the information he encountered during his observation and learning in various departments was real, it was what was happening in reality. The deaths were real, the suffering of the people was real, the corrupt officials were real, and the stories of persecution and families perishing were real.
Everything was bloody and starkly real.
This weighed heavily on him.
Especially since Ding Yun's upbringing had instilled in him the belief that he was the lord of the realm, and it was his responsibility to ensure the people had enough to eat and wear, knew honor and shame, and lived in peace and contentment.
With so many people suffering and dying unjustly in the world, the psychological pressure he felt was immense.
Ding Yun's initial intention was good: to cultivate a benevolent emperor who cared for his people. However, she overlooked her son's psychological resilience, sensitivity, and empathy.
The ultimate result was that her son was indeed deeply concerned for the people and felt their suffering, but he was psychologically unable to bear it. Instead of accepting or seeking to change things, he wanted to retreat.
He wanted to abandon his duties and be a carefree prince, living a more relaxed life!