Chapter Ten: The Sovereign and Minister’s Night Discourse in the Eastern Warm Pavilion (Part Two)

“What is the situation with the city’s defenses?” Chongzhen continued to inquire.

“The capital garrison troops are sufficient to defend the city. The Western cannons have all been transported to the city walls and have already been consecrated,” Yang Sichang replied directly, having come prepared this time.

“Since I ascended the throne...” Chongzhen paused briefly, a trace of sorrow flickering across his face. After a moment’s hesitation, he continued in a low voice, “The eastern barbarians have invaded our borders four times already. Our proud capital region has been allowed to suffer such wanton devastation. Especially in the autumn of the ninth year, when Changping fell and our ancestral tombs were disturbed—a humiliation beyond measure. Now, after only two years, the barbarians have come again to ravage the capital. What are we to do?”

Hearing the emperor’s words, Yang Sichang trembled all over, feeling as if a cold wind brushed against him, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Momentarily at a loss for words, he knelt quickly, bowing his head repeatedly as he said, “As a humble soldier, I have failed to quell the bandits within and to repel the eastern barbarians outside. I deserve death ten thousand times over. Given the current situation, the only course is to first concentrate all loyalist forces to ensure the capital’s safety, then devise a strategy to drive the barbarians beyond our borders.”

Chongzhen closed his eyes and remained silent, leaning his head against his chair. After a long while, he opened his eyes and spoke slowly, “The internal rebellion remains unsettled, and external troubles arise anew. The court’s military expenditures over the years have heavily drained the treasury, severely weakening the nation’s vitality. Sir, relay this to Lu Xiangsheng: unless victory is certain, it is best to maintain a full force without deploying it.”

Yang Sichang had just stood when he hurriedly bowed again and whispered, “I shall certainly deliver your command to Lu Xiangsheng.”

Summoning his remaining strength, Chongzhen pressed on, “Hong Chengchou and Sun Chuanting have been diligently pursuing the rebel forces and have met with much success. Can we hope to crush them all at once?”

Yang Sichang did not answer immediately but pondered silently before bowing and responding, “According to reports from Hong Chengchou and Sun Chuanting, the rebel factions are being defeated or eliminated, some have surrendered, and few remnants remain. The armies led by Hong and Sun are vigorously pursuing the rebels, surrounding them on all sides to ensure total annihilation. The rebels can no longer move south to Henan, enter Hubei, or flee to Sichuan. They are forced to escape northward through the Shangluo mountains. Hong Chengchou has already deployed heavy forces outside Tongguan, setting a trap to await the enemy. I believe victory will be reported to the capital soon.”

A faint, long-lost smile flickered across Emperor Chongzhen’s pale face, and his spirit brightened. Raising his voice slightly, he said, “Please, have a seat.”

Overcome with emotion, Yang Sichang knelt quickly, bowing in gratitude. Two young eunuchs brought a low sandalwood chair and placed it diagonally opposite the emperor. Yet Yang dared not sit fully, only perching on the edge, an awkward and uncomfortable posture indeed.

“Serve tea,” the emperor gently ordered as Yang Sichang settled.

Yang hastened to stand, bowing again in thanks.

Chongzhen’s spirits lifted somewhat, the earlier weariness fading. Taking a cup of hot tea from a palace maid, he sipped lightly and said with solemn confidence, “The surrendered rebels have been pacified. The rebel forces remain a grave threat to the court. If we can crush them in one decisive blow, the other bandits will likely surrender without further combat.”

“Your Majesty’s insight is most accurate. The rebels are the former followers of the dead traitor Gao Yingxiang and have always been the fiercest among the bandits. Once the rebels are eliminated, the others will likely capitulate without a fight.”

The emperor’s frown eased, his mood lifting at the good news from Shaanxi. He said to Yang Sichang, “If the rebels in Shaanxi can be utterly destroyed, order Hong Chengchou and Sun Chuanting to march their troops overnight to the capital to assist in its defense without delay. Sir, draft an imperial edict commanding Hong and Sun to annihilate the rebels utterly, ensuring not a single one escapes to cause future trouble. Any negligence or failure in battle will be dealt with severely under the law, and I shall show no mercy.”

Yang Sichang rose quickly and bowed, “I shall carry out Your Majesty’s command.”

The two continued their discussion, focusing on the imperative to eliminate the rebel forces within the set timeframe without fail; the surrendered rebels, though pacified, must be strictly monitored to prevent rebellion and avoid draining the treasury; the Manchu barbarians now near Tongzhou require urgent orders to muster loyalist troops swiftly to the capital, while closely observing enemy movements to prevent reckless open-field engagements.

Finally, the emperor smiled at Yang Sichang, “If Lu Xiangsheng arrives in the capital tonight, inform him that I shall meet him alone on the platform tomorrow morning.”

“As you command.”

Seeing that night had grown late and the emperor was fatigued, Yang Sichang bowed deeply and took his leave from the Wenhua Hall.

...

In the second watch of the night, at the Xuanfu garrison camp outside Changping city, embers flickered faintly.

After continuous marches and a day of camp repairs, all the soldiers had now rested.

Except, of course, those on patrol duty and the sentries posted outside the camp, both overt and covert.

However, Zhang Cheng, the cavalry commander of Xuanfu town, had not rested. He was leading his personal guards, Chen Zhong, on a patrol. Not only had he remained vigilant, but so had his three subordinates in charge of sentries. Following Zhang’s orders, each sentry commander patrolled the camp every night, only returning after confirming all was secure.

Zhang himself inspected the entire thousand-strong cavalry camp. He knew all too well that of the once vigorous horsemen, few would return from the Battle of Julu to Xuanfu.

Though aware of this grim outcome, Zhang could confide in no one—not even his own uncle. Often, a deep and inexplicable sorrow would swell within him, a powerless lament for the times.

He felt like a lone wild goose adrift, without a kinship group or anyone to share his innermost thoughts. He was an outcast in this world, surrounded by endless darkness. Even if he burned himself out, he doubted he could effect any change.

In his heart, he knew the only path was to strive to grow stronger—not only in martial skill but in spirit. He sought genuine strength, for without it, he feared he could not endure these lonely, desolate days.

Of course, all this would have to wait until after the Battle of Julu, when time might allow such reflections.

As Zhang Cheng thought this, he considered it an honor to serve under Governor Lu Xiangsheng—a towering hero in his eyes. Given his current status, he could not avoid this mission to defend the capital region. The only thing left was to fulfill his role wholeheartedly and fully engage in this momentous historical event.

He hoped to influence it somewhat, perhaps even rescue Lu Xiangsheng at a critical moment. Such an outcome would be a great blessing for the Ming dynasty.

Returning from patrol, seated in his tent with a book in hand, Zhang’s mind wandered into endless reverie and restless thoughts.

For a month now, he had been like this—often detached from reality, lost in his own world, sometimes overwhelmed by dread.