Chapter Three: The Surprise Attack on Shengjing

That night, in Wang Pu’s command tent.

Wang Pu summoned Xiao Qi and asked, “Xiao Qi, roughly how many firearms do we have in the camp?”

Xiao Qi, a trusted family retainer of Wang Pu, was in charge of military supplies and rations. He pulled a ledger from his breast, glanced at it, and replied, “Counting bird guns, muskets, and triple-barreled guns, we have just over two thousand three hundred firearms in the camp, but…”

“But what?”

“But only about a thousand of them are actually usable.”

Wang Pu’s face darkened. “What’s going on? Why are less than half of our firearms usable?”

Xiao Qi replied with some grievance, “General, you said maintaining these firearms was too costly, so we left them in the warehouse unattended. That’s why more than half of them have rusted and can’t be used.”

“Fine, then a thousand it is. Immediately send someone to collect all the usable firearms, and issue double rations of gunpowder and lead shots for each. Also, gather all the retainers, and make sure each has three days’ worth of dry rations.”

Xiao Qi was taken aback. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Wang Pu said in a low voice. “Now. If we delay any longer, it’ll be too late.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. While Hong Chengchou was still thinking about making a final stand against the Qing army tomorrow, men like Tang Tong and Wu Sangui were surely already planning to flee under cover of darkness. Once they made their escape, the Qing forces would seize the opportunity to attack, and by then, all would be lost. So, action had to be taken before Tang Tong and Wu Sangui slipped away.

“Understood. I’ll see to it right away,” Xiao Qi nodded and hurried off.

Within the span of half an hour, Xiao Qi had gathered over a thousand family retainers on the parade ground. Wang Pu looked around. Under torchlight bright as day, over a thousand cavalrymen stared at him, unwavering. Every one of these men was a trusted retainer, elite among elites, loyal only to Wang Pu—not to the Ming Empire.

The retainer troops were a peculiar phenomenon in the Ming military system, a deformed product of its evolution.

[A brief introduction to the Ming military system is necessary here:

After Zhu Yuanzhang established the Ming Empire, he created the hereditary military household system, organizing troops into local garrisons and assigning farmland per head to support them. This system solved supply issues and secured local defense. It was effective in the early years, but over time its flaws emerged. Officers appropriated communal resources for themselves, and the military households at the bottom became virtual slaves to their superiors.

Unable to endure the exploitation, more and more military households fled. By the Jiajing era, garrisons across the country were over seventy percent understaffed, and the remaining thirty percent were mostly the old, the weak, the sick, and the disabled—unfit for battle. The once-mighty garrison system built by Zhu Yuanzhang had become an empty shell.

To replenish manpower, the Ming rulers adopted conscription, but the quality of conscripts was poor. Soon, recruitment by volunteers replaced conscription, and by the late Ming, recruited soldiers became the mainstay of the army.

Unfortunately, this system had its own fatal flaws. Regional commanders, holding military power, embezzled funds, and “ghost soldiers” became widespread. They spent money on their private retainer troops rather than the state army, resulting in chronic understaffing, poor equipment, and lack of training in the regular forces—a key reason for repeated Ming defeats.

A typical example was the Battle of Sarhu. The Ming army claimed 200,000 men, but in reality had no more than 70,000–80,000. The scholar Yang Hao, inexperienced in military matters, tried to launch a pincer attack, only to hand Nurhaci a resounding victory. Even with divided forces and inferior numbers, had the Ming army not been rotten to the core, the 50,000–60,000 poorly equipped Banner troops of Later Jin could never have prevailed.]

Seeing his thousand retainers, all spirited and formidable, Wang Pu nodded in satisfaction and asked Xiao Qi, “Have the firearms and rations been distributed?”

“All done,” Xiao Qi replied. “Each man has double rations of powder and shot, and three days’ dry rations.”

“Are all the horses’ mouths muzzled?”

“All set, and the hooves are wrapped in cotton as well,” Xiao Qi said. “General, rest assured, I know enough not to make a sound on a night march.”

“Good.” Wang Pu ordered, “Extinguish the torches. Move out.”

Xiao Qi ran forward, stood atop the review platform, and shouted, “By order of the General, extinguish the torches! Move out!”

The retainers quickly put out their torches and mounted up. In the pitch-black night, they surged toward the camp gate. Such a large-scale mobilization could hardly go unnoticed; soldiers began pouring out of their tents, unease spreading as they speculated about what was happening.

“General, please wait!”

A flurry of hoofbeats approached as Zhao Wuzhu, Deputy Commander of Datong, caught up to Wang Pu, asking excitedly, “General, what are you doing?”

Wang Pu’s tone was cold. “Do I need your permission to move my troops?”

“Well…” Zhao Wuzhu stammered, “If you’re deploying troops, shouldn’t you at least inform us? And if you leave with your personal guard without a word, what about the ten thousand men in the camp?”

“You’re the deputy commander of Datong Garrison. If I die or leave, the ten thousand men are yours to command. Do I really need to teach you such basic regulations?”

“But—” Zhao started.

“Enough talk. Stand aside,” Wang Pu barked.

Seeing the murderous glint in Wang Pu’s eyes, Zhao Wuzhu shivered and reined his horse aside. Wang Pu turned his horse and rode away. At the gate, he couldn’t help but glance back, a trace of sorrow in his gaze. He didn’t want to abandon the ten thousand Ming soldiers in the camp, but he had no choice.

With Pen Rack Mountain lost, the defeat at Songshan was sealed.

Hong Chengchou still dreamed of a decisive battle with the Qing, but men like Tang Tong and Wu Sangui would never give him the chance. Staying meant death; fleeing with Tang Tong would also mean death.

The Manchu slave lord Huang Taiji had already dispatched troops to block every escape route the Ming army might take. When an army is routed, morale collapses, and all they wish is for an extra pair of legs to flee faster. With the Qing blocking ahead and pursuing from behind, history’s tragedy would repeat itself.

Even if Wang Pu fought his way out and returned to Shanhaiguan, his fate would be sealed—Emperor Chongzhen never spared defeated generals. Wu Sangui survived in history only because the Ming Empire was so short of capable leaders that they had to rely on him to hold the frontier.

Should he stay with Hong Chengchou and defend Songshan to the death?

That, too, was a dead end. The 130,000 troops under Hong Chengchou were the Ming’s final mobile force; Emperor Chongzhen had no more troops to relieve Songshan.

Fleeing meant death. Staying meant death. Was Wang Pu truly out of options?

Not quite. There was one path left: to launch a surprise raid on the Manchu capital, Shengjing, then detour through Joseon to seize ships and take to the sea, returning to Dengzhou by water. If he could take the Manchu stronghold and seize one crucial item, it would outweigh the disaster at Songshan and allow him to keep his post as Commander of Datong.

Of course, a surprise attack on Shengjing was unimaginably risky—a one-in-ten chance at best—but it was still a glimmer of hope.

Wang Pu was no stranger to peril. Once he made up his mind, he would see it through—come hell or high water.

A surprise attack must be truly surprising. Success relied on stealth and speed. Bringing all ten thousand soldiers would make concealment impossible and slow them down.

There was another, more important reason: Wang Pu had long withheld pay and mistreated the troops, and resentment in the ranks ran deep. If word got out that he was leading them to attack the Manchu capital, it would certainly provoke a mutiny. Better to cut the knot now than risk everything later.

Sometimes, to catch the wolf, you must risk the lamb.

So, with his thousand retainers, Wang Pu slipped away under cover of darkness, riding several miles before taking cover in a low-lying area. The Qing camp was not far ahead; any further and they risked discovery. This was a perilous moment—if Wang Pu was right, the Qing troops were already on high alert.

If they were discovered now, all would be lost.

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