Chapter 30: General, Please Set Forth!

Inside the temporarily erected command tent, Wu Sangui ordered his officers to repeat the intelligence report once more. Gazing at the more than thirty seasoned, weather-beaten generals of Guan-Ning, he asked in a low, solemn voice:

“The siege of the capital is lifted, the Shun army routed. What are your thoughts on this?”

He made no mention of Chongzhen’s massacre of civil officials and the powerful within the capital. First, these military men had always been at odds with the civil officials; second, those who perished had no connection whatsoever to low-ranking officers such as themselves. Whether said or unsaid, it was of no consequence.

Among the gathered officers, expressions varied—some were elated, some pensive, each with their own thoughts.

“The Shun army is defeated, yet His Majesty’s orders remain. If we continue our march until the Ministry of War issues new decrees, it would not be amiss. I for one do not wish to bear the accusation of defying imperial orders.”

“Indeed, His Majesty commanded us to abandon Ningyuan entirely. If we do not proceed to the capital in service to the throne, what will become of the more than fifty thousand Guan-Ning soldiers and the hundred thousand civilians who follow?”

“In my opinion, the best course is to station ourselves nearby at Shanhai Pass—there’s nowhere else to go. Even if we march a few days more and then return, it won’t waste much time. There’s no need to risk a charge of insubordination for such a trivial delay.”

“The General is considering our exhaustion from the march—that’s why he summoned us for counsel, not out of any intent to defy orders. Let’s not speak recklessly!” one officer reprimanded sharply.

“Let us not be agitated. The lifting of the capital’s siege is indeed cause for celebration. I have called you together only to ease your minds. How did this turn into talk of defying the throne?” Wu Sangui shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. “We shall proceed as usual, marching until the Ministry of War’s decree arrives, and then act according to the imperial will. Inform the troops there is no need to hurry; we depart only after they have rested.”

“We obey the General!” the officers responded, finally taking their leave.

Once the tent was empty, Wu Sangui closed his eyes in contemplation, absently rubbing a letter between his fingers.

The Guan-Ning cavalry, ever since his father Wu Xiang had been Commander-in-Chief in Liaodong, had ceased to be private soldiers and were now a formal part of the Liaodong army. On the surface, his officers seemed loyal and compliant, but in truth, each harbored private ambitions. Even after two generations of stewardship, he and his father had managed to win only a handful of confidants; the rest of this formidable army—the greatest of its age—remained beyond their full control.

The reason he had delayed advancing on the capital, refusing to emulate Yuan Chonghuan’s bold relief of the city with nine thousand cavalrymen, was that he believed the Ming dynasty’s days were numbered.

His most immediate ambition was to consolidate this force and, like Liu Zeqing in Shandong or Zuo Liangyu in Wuchang, carve out his own realm. When the capital fell to the rebel bandits, when there was no emperor and no country, and the land was fractured, he would follow the precedent of King Wei, Cao Cao, and declare himself sovereign.

But all of this depended on the Ming’s fall and Chongzhen’s death.

In the end, Wu Sangui sighed deeply and summoned a trusted Mongol bodyguard.

“Take this letter to Zu Dashou.”

The contents of the letter were brief, just two lines:

“Sangui has inherited the grace of the state, and swears to destroy the Manchu as repayment. Uncle, your suggestion that I betray the Emperor and side with the Manchu is not my wish.

Sangui would rather die than serve two masters! Each has his own ambitions—please, Uncle, consider your nephew’s resolve!”

Several days later, the Guan-Ning troops were still encamped when Fu Youde arrived in haste, leading five hundred cavalrymen, and went directly to the central command tent, his identity made clear.

“A decree from the Ministry of War! The Liaodong army and civilians are ordered to station at Shanhai Pass under my direct supervision! His Majesty commands that the Marquis of Pingxi, Wu Sangui, travel light and swiftly to the capital for an audience!”

“I obey!” Wu Sangui was so startled that he knelt and accepted the decree in a daze, his heart pounding.

He was afraid—regretful even. By now, that Mongol bodyguard had likely delivered his reply to his uncle Zu Dashou. It was too late for remorse; the deed was done.

Zu Dashou’s comfortable life among the Manchu was thanks to Hong Taiji’s constant attempts to win over Wu Sangui. Most of those persuasive letters were written at Hong Taiji’s behest, with Zu Dashou holding the pen. This letter, once sent, would fall straight into Hong Taiji’s hands. Its firm words left no room for retreat; if Wu Sangui wavered now, he was finished. He had cut off any possibility of turning back.

Though Wu Sangui told himself he had committed no great crime, was not Yuan Chonghuan in the same position? And was he not sliced to death by three thousand cuts in the end?

With the capital’s crisis only just resolved, for the Emperor to summon him so urgently—could it be to punish him for failing to come to the rescue?

The more Wu Sangui pondered, the grimmer his expression became. Cold sweat beaded on his brow as he asked in a low voice, “May I ask, General, for what reason does His Majesty summon me to the capital?”

“I am only here to deliver the imperial command. I know nothing else. There’s no need for further questions,” Fu Youde replied with a shake of his head.

“In that case, would it not be better for me to remain until the ten-thousand-strong force is settled at Shanhai Pass before I depart? Perhaps you could petition His Majesty for me?” Wu Sangui asked, forcing a smile.

At his signal, more than ten deputy generals quietly gathered behind him, standing watchful and silent.

Fu Youde smiled faintly. “Since all the officers are present, I may as well declare the Emperor’s will: From this day forth, Liaodong infantry are to receive a monthly stipend of three taels of silver and a measure of fine grain; cavalry, five taels and a measure of fine grain. For corporals, captains, and officers, the pay is doubled accordingly.

Furthermore, let me add: His Majesty has confiscated the fortunes of seven hundred corrupt officials in the capital, seizing tens of millions in silver. The treasury is full, and henceforth Liaodong’s pay will be issued promptly.”

Over thirty deputy generals of Guan-Ning were dumbstruck at first, then erupted in joy, falling to their knees and shouting:

“We obey the decree! Long live the Emperor!”

“Rise, all of you,” Fu Youde said, pausing before turning to Wu Sangui. “With the Emperor’s command, you must depart at once for the capital.”

“General, I’ll pack your things!” someone shouted.

“I’ll gather fifty guards for your escort!” another cried.

Wu Sangui’s close attendants, hearing this, busied themselves with zeal, eager to see him off as quickly as possible.

Finding himself surrounded by kneeling confidants, Wu Sangui could only swallow his bitterness in silence. With no alternative, he replied humbly, “Yes, yes, I will depart at once.”

He had not the faintest thought of resisting, for the Guan-Ning cavalry’s pay was already generous. Now, with the Emperor suddenly flush and raising the stipend, who in the army would listen to him?

A Guan-Ning infantryman’s monthly pay now stood at 1.4 taels of silver plus half a measure of rice; a cavalryman received 1.6 taels and half a measure of rice. At current prices, a measure of rice could be exchanged for about a tael of silver—enough to feed a family of five for over a month.

In effect, the ordinary infantry’s pay was more than doubled; the cavalry’s, tripled.

With fifty thousand Guan-Ning cavalry, annual pay would require three to four million taels of silver—a sum Wu Sangui could never hope to muster, even if he were sold off piece by piece.

More than thirty deputy generals, beaming, helped him mount his horse and made all the preparations.

“Please, General, be on your way!”

“Rest assured, General—the fifty guards are handpicked by me. On the road, we won’t let you escape—ah, I mean, come to harm!” a bearded deputy quickly corrected himself.

“Heh…thank you, all. Take good care of the people. I’ll be on my way,” Wu Sangui replied, his smile more pained than tears, and set out with a heavy heart.

…