Chapter 11: This Stirred Unpleasant Memories for His Majesty

Immediately, Zhu Youjian ordered Wang Cheng’en to gather all memorials from recent years concerning Yuan Chonghuan. He also instructed Wei Zhongxian to retrieve relevant intelligence sent back by the military overseer of Liaodong.

By now, Wei Zhongxian was utterly fearful of the young emperor, fearing him down to his bones. So when the boy on the dragon throne inquired about the great victory at Ningyuan, Wei Zhongxian immediately dropped to his knees, admitting that the so-called “great victory” was indeed somewhat exaggerated, and hastened to kowtow and admit his fault. Zhu Youjian calmly waved his hand, signaling no intent to punish. Seeing this, Wei Zhongxian hurriedly fetched the intelligence reports and memorials.

Zhu Youjian, however, would not blindly trust any faction’s information. He laid the various memorials side by side for comparison. After a thorough analysis combined with his own experience, he quickly discerned the true nature of the so-called Ningyuan victory.

First of all, the timing of the Ningyuan battle was highly questionable. It occurred in the first lunar month of 1626, the coldest month of the year. Unless the commanders of the Later Jin were mentally unwell, launching an offensive in the dead of winter was clearly not intended to seize the city. Cross-referencing this with the battle report from Juehua Island, not far from Ningyuan, the truth became clear. The Jin’s primary objective was to raid Juehua Island. Yuan Chonghuan, then the Deputy Military Commander of Ningyuan’s frontline—effectively the overall commander—chose to turtle up in the city, avoiding direct combat.

When the Jin launched their probing attack and found no resistance from Yuan, they simply moved on to plunder Juehua Island. During this superficial siege, which lasted three or four days on the surface but likely less than one day in reality, Yuan used red-barreled cannons to kill some of the Jin soldiers. The final battle report claimed two hundred sixty-nine heads severed and seventeen captives taken. Setting aside how much embellishment was layered into this report, what price did the Ming pay?

Juehua Island, a crucial supply transit point, was utterly looted. The island’s defending general died in battle, the inhabitants were nearly wiped out, over two thousand boats burned, and tens of thousands of shi of grain were seized. Yet, in Yuan Chonghuan’s memorials, Zhu Youjian saw only one word: victory.

Frankly, Zhu Youjian could understand Yuan’s conduct to some extent. After all, this was the twilight of the dynasty, and the Ming had suffered one crushing defeat after another against the Later Jin. A victory, even if partially fabricated, was desperately needed to shatter the myth of the Jin’s invincibility.

But what came next was intolerable.

After the so-called great victory at Ningyuan, Yuan Chonghuan cozying up to the Minister of War, Wang Yongguang, brazenly reported to the court with ambitions to command all military, political, and financial affairs in Liaodong. Fortunately, Zhu Youxiao, Zhu Youjian’s elder brother, did not approve and dispatched trusted men to oversee the troops in Liaodong.

Even more outrageous, Yuan was rumored to have secretly negotiated peace with the Later Jin. When this became public knowledge, he was harshly criticized by ministers and reluctantly resigned temporarily. This was absolutely unacceptable to Zhu Youjian.

Negotiating peace was permissible; he himself was adept at temporary compromises. But for a court general to simultaneously scheme to control Liaodong while privately parleying with the enemy—what was he aiming for? In Zhu Youjian’s eyes, Yuan’s behavior amounted to outright betrayal of the Ming, of his ethnicity, and of his bloodline. Both Yuan and Wang Yongguang had to be dealt with through severe means.

Zhu Youjian quietly rubbed his fingers together, the two names etched firmly in his mind. Yet he had no intention of ordering their execution immediately. As a seasoned statesman, he understood that in times of military adversity, one must never recklessly eliminate commanders. Incompetent or cowardly officers should be promptly removed from key posts; those who suffered defeats should be encouraged to regroup. Such leniency and fairness were vital to maintaining morale.

When the stalemate with the enemy solidified, then was the time to display the heads of men like Yuan as a warning, simultaneously intimidating other timid generals reluctant to fight. When victory was within grasp, it would be time to settle the distribution of rewards.

For now, Zhu Youjian’s priority was to encourage Liaodong commanders who had made achievements and stabilize morale. Those who died heroically, like Yao Fumin, the defending general of Juehua Island, must be posthumously honored and their families well cared for.

Zhu Youjian knew well that given the Ming’s current government efficiency and financial condition, any compensation would hardly reach the families. But at least such gestures could temporarily win hearts and minds.

Continuing to peruse the roster of Liaodong officials, he noticed the name Mao Wenlong and summoned Wang Cheng’en.

“Posthumously honor Yao Fumin, the defender of Juehua Island...” Zhu Youjian recited a dozen or so names of generals who had died for the Ming. Wang Cheng’en diligently recorded each one.

Having done so, Zhu Youjian issued a new edict:

“Send an envoy to Dongjiang Town (Pi Island) to summon the Imperial Commissioner and General Who Pacifies Liao, the former General Who Conquers the Barbarians, and Left Commander Mao Wenlong to the capital for a report.”

“Acknowledged, Your Majesty!” came the reply.

Mao Wenlong was a name Zhu Youjian had just encountered in the Liaodong battle reports. According to those reports, Mao frequently harassed the Later Jin and took in refugees fleeing from Liaoning. Remarkably, he managed all this without drawing much in the way of court grain supplies, making him somewhat of a steadfast anti-Jin warrior.

Yet, memorials painted Mao as rebellious, arrogant, lawless, and guilty of falsely claiming credit and embezzlement. The title “acting according to convenience” was itself dubious. But for Zhu Youjian, judgment was straightforward: if Mao came to the capital to report, he was loyal; if he found any excuse to avoid reporting, he was a loose end that needed to be dealt with.

Politics brooked no sentimentality.

...

With these arrangements made, Zhu Youjian returned once more to Mount Wansui for internal drills.

Today, his two hundred guards faced one hundred prisoners wielding knives and swords, fighting like cornered beasts. Yet this battle lasted only slightly longer than the previous day’s.

Though the young eunuchs had suffered greatly before, they still had enough to eat and thus better physical conditioning. Combined with numerical superiority, armor, and the incentive of a hopeful future, the hundred prisoners were soon slaughtered to the last.

Several days passed with Zhu Youjian’s time divided between poring over memorials, rosters, and overseeing drills. His two hundred guards no longer fought with mere brute force; they began to coordinate. Bolstered by the authority of the throne, the guards swiftly achieved disciplined obedience.

Meanwhile, dozens of memorials urging him to prioritize state affairs continued to arrive before Zhu Youjian.