Chapter Five: The Talented Schemer

After Wang Pu revealed his decision, Xiao Qi, Big Beard, and Scarface were first struck with shock. Yet, after the initial astonishment, the three quickly made up their minds.

Scarface’s eyes glinted with ferocity as he snarled, “Since the general has already decided, there’s nothing more to say. Even if the Manchu lair is a dragon’s den or a tiger’s lair, I, Scarface, will charge in. After all, the lives of my entire family are yours, General. For your sake, even if I must walk through blades or boiling oil, I won’t even flinch!”

Big Beard clenched his iron fists and declared with resolve, “That’s right! General, wherever you go, we follow.”

Xiao Qi, blood surging with excitement, exclaimed, “Well said! If we must die, we die together. On the road to the Yellow Springs, we won’t be alone!”

The three expressed their loyalty to Wang Pu, half out of gratitude, half for their own vested interests.

As long as Wang Pu lived and the Wang family stood strong, they could continue their days of luxury, and their families could share in the bounty. If Wang Pu died and the Wang family’s power in Datong crumbled, as the Wang family’s retainers, they would lose their support, be cast out, destitute, and become wandering refugees.

The rest of the thousand-odd retainers were much the same; their fates were tied to Wang Pu’s.

“Good.” Wang Pu nodded and instructed Xiao Qi, “Gather all the brothers; I have something to say to them.”

Xiao Qi went off to carry out the order.

After three beats of the gong, the well-trained retainers swiftly assembled, each holding the reins of their warhorse, forming a neat column on the riverside grass. Wang Pu rode slowly before the ranks, and every eye followed him. At that moment, Wang Pu seemed almost a stranger to them—hawk-eyed, wolfish, exuding a murderous aura. They could scarcely believe this was the young master-general Wang Pu they knew.

“Brothers, I won’t waste words. There’s only one reason I’ve called you together. We can’t go back to Songshan. Over a hundred thousand Manchu bannermen have surrounded the entire encampment, leaving not a gap. To turn back is certain death! Only one road remains: we go east, cut through Liaodong, and strike straight for Shengjing, destroying the Manchu lair! Then we detour through Korea and return to Dengzhou by sea. This is our only way to survive!”

A thousand retainers stood in utter silence; in the whistling wind and dust, only the occasional snort of a warhorse could be heard.

“This time, plunging deep into Liaodong is a near-certain death. We will be surrounded by over a hundred thousand Manchu troops. We have no reinforcements, no supplies, no rear support, not even hope. Many of us—perhaps all—will die in Liaodong, likely never to return home, not even our bones.”

A suffocating heaviness settled over the air. Despair showed in every retainer’s eyes; all men fear death—no one wishes for it. This was precisely the effect Wang Pu sought. The Bible says: ‘Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad.’ But Wang Pu’s creed was: ‘To drive men mad, first make them despair.’ Only the madness born of despair is true madness—the madness of beasts.

This journey into Liaodong would be fraught with peril, disaster lurking at every turn. If he didn’t awaken the beast within these men, transforming them into wild creatures bereft of humanity, they’d never survive the perilous road ahead!

“But let me tell you this: there are two ways for a man to die. One is as a coward, losing his head to a Manchu blade in despair. The other is as a man—if you must die, take a few Manchu with you! Even in death, bed their women, burn their stores, destroy their cities—leave these Tungusic savages with nothing!”

“Yes! Take their women first!”

“Burn all their grain!”

“Kill every last Manchu!”

“Drive these Tungus savages back to their grandmother’s house!”

The despairing retainers, whipped into a frenzy by Wang Pu, now had bloodshot eyes and roared like wild beasts.

Wang Pu spurred his horse eastward, raising his right arm and slashing it forward with a fierce command: “If you’re a man, follow me!”

That final shout was like a spark thrown onto dry tinder; in an instant, it ignited the most primal, savage instincts within the retainers. One by one, they mounted their horses and swept after Wang Pu toward the east. In the east, a red sun was just rising above the horizon, and the land of western Liaoning was stained crimson as if bathed in blood.

As Wang Pu led his thousand-strong force in a relentless charge toward Shengjing, Hong Taiji was sitting in his camp, awaiting dispatches of victory from his armies.

Hong Taiji could never have imagined that a cavalry force of a thousand, led by Wang Pu, the general of Datong, was already thundering toward Shengjing!

If even Hong Taiji couldn’t anticipate this, who else could? Since Nurhaci raised his banners, the Later Jin and Ming armies had fought hundreds of times, with Ming victories rare. Except for the Battle of Sarhu, which the Ming initiated, the Later Jin had launched every other engagement. In this climate, who could imagine the Ming would ever dare attack Shengjing?

***

In the fourteenth year of Chongzhen (1641), drought gripped the Ming Empire, and Liaodong was parched and barren, its rivers dried up. Thus, Wang Pu and his thousand retainers were able to cross the Daling and Liao Rivers without hindrance.

Liaodong, once ravaged by the massacres of Nurhaci and Hong Taiji, was a far cry from the prosperity it had known under the famous general Li Chengliang decades before. Guangning, Haizhou, Gaizhou, Fuzhou, Jinzhou—all had become wastelands, with no sign of life for a thousand li. Wang Pu’s army advanced from the Daling River straight to the Liao River without encountering a single inhabited village.

Only after crossing the Liao and advancing thirty li did they finally spot a wisp of cooking smoke.

[By this time, the Manchus had left the barren, bitter lands of the Changbai Mountains and settled on the fertile Liao River plain around Shengjing. The tens of thousands of Han Chinese they’d seized from the Central Plains were penned into estates like livestock, enslaved. Later, when the Qing army entered Beijing, all the bannermen moved in to revel, and the surviving Han were brought along as household slaves. When Wu Sangui rebelled, the descendants of these slaves, led by Zhou Peigong, even distinguished themselves in battle.]

Xiao Qi, scouting ahead, saw the curl of smoke in the distance and hurried back to report to Wang Pu.

“Smoke?” Big Beard’s eyes flashed with murderous intent, and he grinned savagely, “It must be a Manchu village. Looks like tonight we won’t have to sleep in the wild, eh?”

Scarface also bared his teeth: “Nor will we need to gnaw on dry rations with cold water, eh?”

Xiao Qi asked Wang Pu, “General, should we wipe out the village now?”

“No rush,” Wang Pu said gravely, glancing at the sky. “Wait until nightfall, when all the Manchus have returned to the village, then we’ll strike. That way, none escape to give away our position.”

“Indeed, the general is right,” Big Beard and Scarface nodded vigorously.

Xiao Qi took the chance to flatter, “No wonder you’re the general, you think things through more thoroughly than any of us.”

Wang Pu’s voice was solemn: “Big Beard, Scarface, tell the men to rest while they can. No wandering off, or we risk being spotted. Xiao Qi, take two sharp-eyed brothers and recon the area, try to catch someone alive for questioning. We’re deep in Manchu territory now—caution in all things.”

The three acknowledged the orders and set off.

As dusk approached, Xiao Qi returned, mission accomplished—indeed, he’d captured a prisoner. The man was short and ugly, with a pair of scrubby whiskers like a clown. Xiao Qi dragged him before Wang Pu by the queue on his head, threatening, “General, should we light the lantern or skin him alive?”

“No, no!” The man nearly wet himself from fright and kowtowed repeatedly, pleading, “Mercy, lords! Please don’t kill me! I’m not a Manchu—I’m Han, Han like you!”

Wang Pu asked coldly, “You’re Han?”

“Yes, yes!” the man cried. “I swear I’m Han, genuine Han through and through!”

“And why should we believe you?” Wang Pu pressed.

“If I weren’t Han,” the man stammered, “how could I speak such fluent Han speech?”

“That’s not proof enough,” Wang Pu replied. “Some Manchus also speak flawless Han.”

The man began to wail, “Then what am I to do? But I really am Han—I wouldn’t dare lie to you for my life!”

“Very well, I’ll trust you for now.” Wang Pu’s voice was icy. “Now, I’ll ask questions, you’ll answer. If you dare lie, I’ll peel your skin and make a lantern out of it stuffed with reeds.”

“No, please, no!” The man waved his hands frantically. “I’ll tell the truth, I swear!”

“What’s your name?”

“My name is Zhen Youtai.”

ps: The new book is in its early release and especially needs your recommendations and support.