Chapter Eleven: Hong Taiji Returns to the Capital

Iron-Blooded Ming

Songshan, Qing army camp.

Inside the grand tent, Hong Taiji was gathering his ministers. Alongside the imperial princes of the clan—Prince Rui Dorgon, Prince Su Hooge, Prince Yu Duoduo, Prince Wu Ying Ajige, and Beile Abatai—were also high-ranking Manchu officials such as Daha, Ganglin, Xifu, and Sony, as well as surrendered generals including Kong Youde, Geng Zhongming, Shang Kexi, Li Yongfang, Tong Yangxing, and Zhang Cunren.

Hong Taiji’s expression was grim.

Although the Qing army had achieved a resounding victory, Hong Chengchou still held out stubbornly in Songshan, and Zu Dashou remained entrenched in Jinzhou. As long as Songshan and Jinzhou did not fall, this drawn-out decisive battle would not end. Each day saw the consumption of food and supplies in the hundreds of thousands, a staggering burden for the Manchus, who were already suffering a grain shortage.

Hong Taiji turned to Grand Secretary Ganglin and asked, “Has the imperial edict I wrote personally been shot into Songshan?”

Ganglin stepped out and replied, “It was sent in yesterday.”

“Has Hong Chengchou responded?” Hong Taiji pressed.

“He has, but—” Ganglin hesitated.

Impatient, Hong Taiji interrupted him, “Where is the letter?”

Resigned, Ganglin produced a letter from his sleeve, raised it high above his head, and said, “Here is the letter.”

Hong Taiji commanded in a low voice, “Read it.”

Ganglin hesitated, “This…”

“Read!” Hong Taiji ordered again.

Gritting his teeth, Ganglin unfolded the letter and read aloud, “From Hong Chengchou, Supreme Commander of Jiliao, Minister of War, and Left Censor-in-Chief of the great Ming, to the chieftain of the Jianzhou barbarians: Your ancestors were nothing more than a horde of wild, primitive savages on the borders of our great Ming, eating raw flesh and drinking blood. It was our great Ming that civilized them, taught them manners, instilled in them a sense of shame, taught them to farm and to hunt; yet you ungrateful savages have not only forgotten these favors, but instead raised arms against our great Ming, seized our cities, and slaughtered our people…”

“Outrageous!” Dorgon stepped forward, cutting Ganglin off. “This Hong Chengchou is truly insolent, daring to insult the ancestors of our Manchu people in such a manner. He deserves to die a thousand times! Once we break through Songshan and capture this traitor, I will see to it personally that he is torn to pieces.”

But Hong Taiji showed not a flicker of anger. Instead, he sighed deeply and said with genuine feeling, “The Ming is already rotten to the core, yet Hong Chengchou is still willing to die for it. He is a loyal minister! Pass on my command: after the city is taken, Hong Chengchou must be captured alive and brought to my tent. I wish to meet him in person.”

Prince Su Hooge asked in puzzlement, “Father, Hong Chengchou has just insulted our ancestors. Why not simply have him killed?”

“You do not understand,” Hong Taiji shook his head, looking at Hooge with disappointment. “This is the way to govern a nation.”

Hooge had nothing to say.

He truly could not grasp Hong Taiji’s painstaking intentions. He had no idea that Hong Taiji hoped to use the surrender of Hong Chengchou as an example to all the officials of the Central Plains, to build a reputation for the Qing as rulers who cherished and sought after talent.

“Your Majesty!” Suddenly, Oboi, a fierce general of the Bordered Yellow Banner, burst into the tent, knelt on one knee, and reported, “Urgent news from Shengjing!”

“Shengjing?” Hong Taiji’s heart skipped a beat. He shot to his feet and barked, “Speak!”

Oboi’s face was grave. “The messenger says that Imperial Concubine Chen is gravely ill and Your Majesty is requested to return to Shengjing at once.”

“What? Imperial Concubine Chen…”

Hong Taiji was already in poor health, suffering from nosebleeds before this campaign started. Now, upon hearing that his most beloved consort was critically ill, he was so stricken that he fainted dead away. Fortunately, Dorgon and Hooge rushed forward to catch him, and an imperial physician was summoned at once.

The physician administered medicine and eased his chest, and finally Hong Taiji revived, opening his eyes with a faint breath.

His first words were, “Quick, prepare my carriage. I must return to Shengjing at once.”

Dorgon spoke anxiously, “Your Majesty, you are already so ill. How can you travel?”

“I cannot worry about that now,” Hong Taiji replied, tears suddenly streaming down his face. “If Consort Chen’s condition were not truly hopeless, the empress would not have sent word at such speed. No matter what, I must see Consort Chen one last time. Fourteenth brother, I leave the siege of Songshan in your hands. I will leave behind two thousand elite cavalry to assist you.”

Dorgon protested, “But those two thousand are your personal guards!”

“They are of no use to me now, but in Songshan they will be of great value. We cannot take these cities without elite cavalry.” Then, turning to Oboi, Hong Taiji ordered, “Oboi, gather the guards. We return to the capital.”

“At once.”

Oboi responded and hurried away.

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Shengjing.

Wang Pu and his fifty retainers had been hiding in a private house all afternoon. To ensure secrecy, Wang Pu had ordered the execution of the household—every last man, woman, and child among the Manchu occupants—a ruthless decision driven by necessity.

Time crawled by in agonizing anticipation, until at last night fell.

As the city gates closed, the crowds in the streets thinned. The once-bustling capital of Shengjing grew quiet. Heaven seemed to lend its aid, for a thin veil of clouds covered the stars and moon, leaving the streets in total darkness—an ideal night for violence.

By midnight, the whole city was deep in slumber. Wang Pu led his fifty men quietly out of the house, heading toward the South Gate under the guidance of Zhen Youcai.

Inside the South Gate, all was silent except for the incessant, maddening chirring of insects.

Two torches stood at an angle atop the gate tower, their dim light revealing two Manchu soldiers standing idly within. The heat had driven them to strip down to short vests. A patrol with torches had just passed along the walls. The guardhouse lamp was still burning, indicating that the officer on duty was not asleep.

Scarface crept along the wall like a snake, inching closer to the two Manchu guards. As the distance closed, their figures became clearer. Suddenly, one of them glanced back, as if sensing something, and was about to shout when a flying dart pierced his throat. The guard could only gurgle, never uttering a sound again.

A flash of cold steel—another dart from Scarface’s hand struck the second guard in the throat.

The two fell heavily to the ground. The noise roused the duty officer, who emerged to investigate, only for a shadow to dart out from behind the guardhouse like a wildcat. A blade flashed, and the officer’s throat was sliced open, hot blood spraying several yards.

Scarface made short work of the officer and two soldiers. Wang Pu’s men surged forward, slaughtering the dozen or so sleeping Manchu soldiers inside the guardhouse. The city gate fell into Ming hands with barely an effort. Wang Pu posted two men in Manchu uniforms to stand guard as before, stationed twenty in the guardhouse for backup, and sent the rest to open the main gate.

Outside the city.

For half an hour already, Big Beard had been waiting outside with more than a thousand retainers, anxiously watching the gate. At last, a sliver of light shone from within, and a figure appeared, mimicking the call of a nightjar. Big Beard quickly answered with the same signal.

Suddenly, the gate swung fully open.

Waving his saber, Big Beard led his men inside. Over a thousand mounted retainers poured silently into Shengjing like a host of nightmarish horsemen from hell—their horses’ hooves muffled with cloth, their muzzles strapped to prevent any noise. The distant Manchu patrols noticed nothing, and the city slumbered on, unaware that disaster had arrived.

Since Hong Taiji’s expansion, Shengjing was a square city with a perimeter of about eight li, not very large. Its layout was a perfect grid: two main streets running north-south and east-west, dividing the city into nine blocks. The northern central block was the imperial palace, flanked by the mansions of the Manchu princes and beile, and the other six blocks housed the remaining Manchu nobility.

Wang Pu’s objective was first to deal with the Manchu troops stationed in the two barracks, then the palace, and finally to seize the entire city.

After entering through the South Gate, the thousand men split into two columns. Big Beard and Scarface each led four hundred men, riding north along the main avenues toward the palace. The distance from the gate to the Great Qing Gate was only five or six hundred meters—a short gallop. The two Manchu sentries outside the barracks barely had time to notice the commotion before the mass of dark riders was upon them.

…

P.S. I beg all new and old readers, the Swordsman urgently needs your recommendations.