Chapter 840: The Hearts of Men

The seventeenth day of the third month, in the seventeenth year of the Chongzhen reign.

At dawn, dark clouds gathered from all sides, a fine rain falling without cease. Mist veiled the land, and soon a light snow began.

Gazing far into the distance, smoke and flame blotted out the sky across the four suburbs — the roving bandits were burning and plundering every city, every village, every town around the capital. Within the capital, rumors surged daily, everyone saying the bandits were coming, the bandits were coming, yet how far away they truly were, no one could agree. Some said the bandits were only a hundred li from the capital, some said only a few dozen li.

The capital dispatched scouts daily, but most were captured by the bandits and dragged into their camps; few horses ever returned. Even when someone did come back, their reports were all contradictory, each account differing from the next.

Amid the rain and snow, the towering capital stood firm, tinged with a melancholy, misty hue. Upon the majestic city walls, crowds of figures swarmed like ants, busily toiling.

This great city, ever since the Yongle Emperor formally established the capital at Beijing in the nineteenth year of his reign, had been expanded and reinforced continuously over many years, until it had become extraordinarily thick, solid, and impregnable. Within the vast city walls, there were further divisions: the Palace City, the Imperial City, the Inner City, and the Outer City.

The Palace City within was six li in circumference, with eight gates. The Imperial City was eighteen li in circumference, with six gates. The Inner City was forty-five li in circumference, with nine gates. The Outer City enclosed the southern part of the capital, curving around to embrace the corner towers to east and west, twenty-eight li in circumference, with seven gates. The Inner and Outer city walls combined stretched sixty to seventy li.

A city so majestic and vast existed only in the Great Ming of this age; looking across every nation of the world, in East or West, there was nothing like it.

In the chill, drifting rain and swirling snowflakes, Fu Yingchong, Regional Commander of the Capital Training Divisions, ascended the Yongdingmen gate tower with heavy steps. Behind him followed four armored soldiers, each clad in heavy armor, every plate forged of fine iron; as they moved, the armor leaves clanked and clattered.

These armored soldiers were no ordinary men — they were elite warriors Fu Yingchong had recruited from Xuanfu Garrison through his connections with Chen Jiugao, every one of them possessing the skill of a ranked swordsman. Their builds were well-proportioned, their bodies unusually powerful; thirty or forty catties of iron armor draped upon them seemed to cost them no effort at all, and their footfalls as they moved were as light as a wildcat's.

As a hero of the Jinzhou campaign and a favored general in the Emperor's heart, with the roving bandits pressing ever closer, Fu Yingchong as Regional Commander naturally had to shoulder the heavy responsibility without hesitation. Thus the gate he defended was the largest of the Outer City gates, the great thoroughfare for entering and leaving the capital from the southern metropolitan region — Yongdingmen.

This, the main gate of the capital's Outer City wall, situated on the central axis between Zuoanmen and Youanmen.

Two years had passed, and Fu Yingchong was still as tall and lean as ever, but the shrewdness on his face was now entirely replaced by bewilderment. A man knows his own affairs best, and he knew that when it came to cultivating connections and making money through commerce, he was a master hand, but when it came to leading troops into battle...

The Jinzhou campaign in the fourteenth year of Chongzhen had relied entirely on the military achievements of the Jingbian Army; his own subordinates, for all their imposing and heroic appearance, were in truth nothing but showpieces. Not to mention that after the plague, the Capital Training Divisions had suffered heavy losses, and whether the newly recruited sons and brothers were soldiers or bandits, Fu Yingchong had no idea at all.

These years he had been busy socializing and making money, and had in truth rarely devoted any thought to military affairs; in most matters he simply let things slide. Only during the period when Hong Chengchou was overseeing matters did he show a little more initiative; after Hong Chengchou fell gravely ill, he had grown slack again.

Ai, Fu Yingchong let out a heavy sigh. He felt some regret — he should have listened to Chen Jiugao earlier and dropped everything to go to Xuanfu Garrison. With his current wealth, he could open a few trading houses there, or follow Chen Jiugao's example and open a security bureau; either way, he could still live a carefree life.

It was just that he could not bear to abandon the foundations he had built in the capital, and he had also clung to a faint hope, never imagining that the roving bandits would sweep all before them and reach the capital's feet so quickly. He could only hope the capital could hold out — as long as they could endure for a few months, the Marquis of Yongning would not stand by and do nothing.

With complicated thoughts, Fu Yingchong ascended the Yongdingmen wall. Here, many soldiers were busily toiling, hurrying to add defensive equipment and set up red-barbarian cannons. Among them, conspicuously present, were the Qing state's four-wheeled millstone cannons captured during the Jinzhou campaign.

In the Jinzhou campaign, the Ming army had won a complete victory and had furthermore captured over a hundred Han Eight Banners red-barbarian heavy cannons. After the court consulted Wang Dou's wishes, several dozen of the red-barbarian heavy cannons were left to defend the various cities of Liaodong. A portion was transported to Ji Garrison, and the remainder were all shipped back to the capital, assigned to Fu Yingchong's Divine Machine Battalion — among them these four-wheeled millstone cannons.

Yongdingmen was first built in the thirty-second year of the Jiajing reign of the Ming, its name meaning "eternal peace." It had a gate tower and an archery tower; the city wall was not only tall and thick, but below it there was also a deep moat and defensive river.

Though the fortifications were strong, as Fu Yingchong looked along the way, the unease in his heart grew ever more intense. The soldiers who were busy were only a small minority; the great majority were lazy and slack, not in the least regarding the bandits' imminent arrival as anything out of the ordinary. Many gathered in groups, laughing and joking as usual, looking at those who were working with the eyes of men looking at fools.

The various Company Commanders and Mobile Corps Commanders watched with equal indolence; some had even gathered inside the straw depot to warm themselves by the fire, unhurriedly playing madiao cards, utterly indifferent to defensive preparations. Occasionally they would shout a few words, but it was all set phrases like "serve the nation loyally, devote yourselves wholeheartedly to His Majesty's service," which stirred not the slightest ripple among the soldiers outside.

Amid the mist, snow, and rain, as they watched Fu Yingchong's party approach, the soldiers atop the wall wore varied expressions. Some were cold and indifferent, others hailed him with mocking grins. The Capital Training Divisions were mostly filled with the sons of noble and meritorious families, the descendants of military officers; though Fu Yingchong was Regional Commander, few of his subordinates held any awe or reverence for him.

Especially those rotation soldiers who were being driven to work — every one of them wore a numb expression, and as Fu Yingchong passed by, they simply acted as if they had not seen him.

Some people's gazes flicked toward him, carrying a look of pure, icy hatred.

A few of them, seeing the four armored soldiers following behind Fu Yingchong and the fine iron armor upon their bodies, even had eyes full of envy.

Without exception, every one of these rotation soldiers was dressed in rags, their uniforms tattered. Most of them wore only mandarin-duck battle jackets, with no leather caps or fur robes; in the lingering chill of early spring, amid the rain and snow, they could only shiver and tremble. They did not resemble soldiers so much as conscripted laborers.

Fu Yingchong sighed inwardly. The rotation soldiers suffered much bitter toil; sometimes when he saw it, he too felt sympathy, but he was powerless to do anything — after all, he was one of the beneficiaries. As Regional Commander of the Capital Training Divisions, he frequently used camp soldiers for private labor, driving them to exhausting work, and often made them toil without paying them.

Though he felt uncomfortable in his heart, he still had to say the customary words. Fu Yingchong, revealing his two large tiger teeth, offered a few words of encouragement, but from the city wall came only a sparse and scattered response.

Some camp officers close to him naturally had to help Fu Yingchong keep up appearances. They shouted, "Lord Fu is speaking — listen carefully, all of you!"

While lashing the soldiers with leather whips.

But those they beat were mostly the honest men who were actually working; the soldier-hooligans, the idlers, and those of suspicious appearance — those they dared not strike.

Fu Yingchong felt even more discomfited. He was about to say something when suddenly a cheer rang out, and someone shouted, "His Majesty has issued funds from the inner treasury to reward the troops!"

The Company Commanders of each camp fetched the money and distributed it to the soldiers guarding the city. Each soldier guarding the gates received one hundred yellow cash; the soldiers guarding the walls received only twenty cash per man. Holding the copper coins, many wore cold sneers. Some even flicked the coins with their fingers and said in a mocking tone, "The Emperor wants his life, so he orders us to guard the city. This money is only enough to buy five or six sesame cakes."

A man beside him said with a grin, "Five or six sesame cakes isn't bad. Third Master Chen, when you go buy lunch at noon, remember to bring three sesame cakes up for your brother here."

The men around burst into raucous laughter. There were no cooking implements on the city wall; the soldiers guarding the city bought their meals at the markets, and when hungry they all went to the market themselves to buy food.

Fu Yingchong felt somewhat embarrassed. He knew the Emperor had no money; the inner treasury funds had long been exhausted, and after scraping together the treasury gold, only this much remained.

Of course, the soldiers guarding the city would not care about that. Their hearts were full of resentment, and Fu Yingchong could hardly say anything.

Using the pretext of inspecting the defenses, he walked away, only to see another crowd gathered over there. A man with a dark, sinister face was speaking animatedly about something, his brows dancing. Squatting beside him were several rotation soldiers in tattered uniforms; they nodded continuously, every face filled with yearning and eager anticipation.

"...Do you know? The righteous army has always been generous. Just during the Lantern Festival alone — do you know how much Chen San and the others got?"

Under the expectant gazes of those around him, he stretched out his fingers: "This much."

The several rotation soldiers beside him all drew a sharp breath: "Thirty taels?"

The man said smugly, "So — I think everyone knows which way to turn now, don't you?"

He abruptly raised his head, only to see Fu Yingchong, his face ashen — clearly, everything he had said had been overheard.

He showed no fear; his gaze met Fu Yingchong's with a look of open provocation. He even began to hum a ballad under his breath: "Eat his mother, wear his mother, if eating and wearing fall short, there's always King Chuang. Open wide the gates to welcome King Chuang, when King Chuang comes, no grain tax to pay."

Not far from him stood a Company Commander; this soldier was mouthing the most treasonous and blasphemous words, yet the officer merely listened with an expressionless face.

As the soldier hummed his ballad, the soldiers around him laughed and joked; the "Third Master Chen" who had been flicking coins heard it and burst into loud guffaws.

The several rotation soldiers beside this man also stared fixedly at Fu Yingchong, their gazes filled with resentment and hatred.

Fu Yingchong clenched his teeth, at a loss for what to do. At that very moment, with a ringing clang like a dragon's cry, a flash of cold light — one of the armored soldiers behind Fu Yingchong, his face cold and ruthless, had drawn his blade. The long sword in his hand swept across the man's neck.

The man froze. In disbelief, he touched the line of blood that had appeared on his neck, and then blood sprayed forth. With a thud, his head fell to the ground, and his body slowly collapsed.

A smell of blood spread through the air.

Everyone atop the wall was startled. The coin-flicking "Third Master Chen" stood up, his face filled with terror.

Before he could even speak, another armored soldier behind Fu Yingchong drew his blade. He lunged forward a few steps, and as "Third Master Chen's" mouth gaped wide, the long sword in his hand thrust fiercely in — as easily as piercing a sheet of paper, it stabbed straight through his body and pierced his heart.

"Third Master Chen's" body shuddered violently, and very soon, his body slowly crumpled to the ground, his expression a mixture of agony, bewilderment, and stunned shock.

A dead silence fell upon the city wall. Those officers opened their mouths, hesitated, but no one stepped forward to speak.

Footsteps fell heavy step by step, the armor leaves upon him clanking and clattering with the motion. The cold-faced armored soldier held his long sword pointed slantwise, a few drops of blood sliding from the blade, as he advanced step by step.

The several rotation soldiers beside that man looked terrified; some were about to kneel and beg for mercy. But one of them stiffened his neck and said, "What, you want to kill people? You nobles and powerful men, you eat delicacies from mountain and sea, great fish and rich meat every day, yet you won't even pay our monthly salt and grain stipend in full. I, Zhang Shouyin, ever since I came to the capital, today I build gate towers, tomorrow I repair city walls, the day after I build mansions for some noble house — yet even the grain ration that keeps me alive is in arrears... I can't even save enough money to buy a piece of cloth for my sweetheart... Living like this is worse than death. Kill me then — better to die and be done with it!"

His tear-streaked howl stirred a shared feeling in many, especially among the rotation soldiers.

One man muttered, "Exactly. On ordinary days they don't treat us like human beings; now that the roving bandits are attacking, they suddenly remember we exist."

The cold‑faced armored soldier halted. He scrutinized the conscript who was straining his neck and howling — saw the haggard look, the face full of wrinkles. The man might have been only in his thirties, yet his hair was white everywhere, his whole bearing marked by wind, frost, snow and rain. But his expression was stubborn, brimming with defiance.

He slid his blade back into the scabbard and said with a cold laugh, “You live so bitterly, so you think when the roving bandits strike you’ll have good days? I won’t kill you — I’ll just watch how you die once you fall into the bandits’ hands.”

Everyone on the city wall fell silent; many still watched numbly. Fu Yingchong opened his mouth, then suddenly felt overwhelming regret — regret that he had spent all his days busy socializing and chasing money while neglecting the officers and soldiers under his command.

He glanced at the officers around him. Some acted as if they had neither seen nor heard what happened here; some wore awkward expressions; some had evasive, darting eyes; some were indifferent; some sneered.

His disheartenment only deepened. Forget it — if one truly wanted to investigate, there were hardly any officers or soldiers in the city who did not deserve to be executed.

They spurred their horses and rode along the city wall. Fu Yingchong gazed beyond Yongdingmen. Encampments were set up along the outer bastion. Because the roving bandits were coming from the north, once they reached the capital they would likely press their main assault from the east and south. Therefore the capital had detached the Three Great Battalions, with their fire‑carts, giant cannons, caltrops and abatis, deploying defenses all along Yongdingmen, Guangqumen and Zhaoyangmen.

But after what had just happened, whether those encampments outside the city could hold even a little — Fu Yingchong had no confidence whatsoever.

At that moment, however, they were riding west. Ahead lay Youanmen. Fu Yingchong looked into the city: the southwestern corner of the outer city, a district called Yange, from Youanmen to Guanganmen, was heavily inhabited by Hui. Fu Yingchong had heard rumors that the Hui community was plotting to rise in revolt and open the gates.

He sighed inwardly. Setting aside what had just happened — who in the capital was not saying the same thing now? From common soldiers and civilians, to the ministers of the court, to the ennobled relatives and eunuchs — who did not harbor such thoughts? And who knew what they were truly thinking deep inside?

After reaching Youanmen, the situation there made him frown just as it had at Yongdingmen. He then rode on toward Guanganmen, only to see a general receiving a command arrow from the eunuch guarding the gate. The city gate promptly swung open, and crowds of refugees surged in, with not a single person daring to challenge them. The ennobled ministers assisting in the defense merely stood by and watched.

Fu Yingchong sighed again in his heart. The roving bandits were pressing close; refugees were countless. Many wanted to enter the city for refuge — but who knew how many among them were civilians and how many were bandits? Anyone truly thinking of the city’s defense should have allowed not a single person in.

Fu Yingchong knew that His Majesty now trusted only the eunuchs. At every gate, the eunuchs held the real authority over the defense. Even the Superintendent of City Defense, Li Guozhen, Count of Xiangcheng, deferred in every matter to Wang Chengen, who oversaw the inner and outer city defenses. They often stayed atop the Yongdingmen gate tower — Fu Yingchong knew this very well.

Yet who could tell whether these eunuchs also harbored thoughts of switching to a new master?

He wheeled his horse and rode back, passing Youanmen and Yongdingmen again, then headed east. That direction led to Zuoanmen and Guangqumen.

Zuoanmen lay on the eastern wall, considered a remote “village gate.” All around were open fields planted with vegetables and grain, then reed marshes stretching everywhere, with no trace of a city to be found. This was low‑lying, flood‑prone land with abundant water and grass; it had never been the enemy’s main avenue of attack, so the defenses there were passable.

Finally Fu Yingchong reached Guangqumen. In the second year of Chongzhen, Huang Taiji had led the Eight Banner Tatars in a main assault here, so this time it was again a critical point of the city’s defense.

But as soon as Fu Yingchong arrived, he heard a wave of whispered murmurs: “…The Son of Heaven has fled south. Several dozen eunuch riders have surged out of Deshengmen, escorting him.”

Watching them pass the tale around with such vivid detail, Fu Yingchong sighed once more. Just then, an armored soldier beside him said, “Master Fu, the troops’ morale is unsteady. You must reward the men generously to settle their hearts.”

Fu Yingchong felt a pang of reluctance, but on reflection this was no time for miserliness. He clenched his teeth: “So be it. I, Fu Daya, will go all out. I’ll go to my residence and fetch thirty thousand silver yuan to bestow a rich reward on the troops.”

They descended from the wall at Guangqumen and prepared to enter the inner city through Chongwenmen, heading to his mansion to get the silver.

But as they passed through a stretch of low, cramped alleys off Chongwenmen Avenue, they saw the residents there whispering among themselves. There were men and women, old and young, mostly women. They had gathered in a circle, listening intently to a man in the middle who looked like a merchant.

“Did you know? The Emperor has fled. Several dozen eunuchs escorted him out through Deshengmen…”

“Ah, if even the Emperor has run, then why are we still defending the city?”

“Right, no need to defend it. Otherwise, when the Righteous Army attacks, there’ll surely be death and injury. My sweetheart is up on Yongdingmen defending the city…”

“Aiya, Bagu, hurry and tell your sweetheart to come down! The Righteous Army is marching north — their main attack will surely hit Yongdingmen and Guangqumen. Blades and arrows have no eyes…”

“Yes, Bagu, these years have been so hard for you, raising Niannu all alone. You’ve finally found a man who truly treats you well — you can’t let him be lost just like that.”

The neighbors’ chatter from all sides only made the woman called “Bagu” more anxious. She was around thirty, with a haggard face, her clothes covered in patches — yet they were washed and starched spotlessly clean, her hair combed meticulously, and her face bore a distinctly stubborn cast.

Beside her stood a timid girl, fifteen or sixteen, with delicate features but a malnourished pallor, her clothes likewise patched.

This woman was called Yang Bagu, of gardener‑household origin. She asked the merchant hopefully, “Shopkeeper Tian, is the Righteous Army truly as you say — they don’t kill, don’t covet wealth, don’t loot, and let everyone live in peace and safety?”

The neighbors looked on with the same hopeful expectation. Shopkeeper Tian smiled as he spoke, his words carrying a thick Shaanxi accent: “Of course. The ballads have spread everywhere. Otherwise, why would the Great Shun Army sweep all before them, fight their way into Shandong, and now advance to the very foot of the capital?”

Yang Bagu asked again, “Once the Great Shun Heavenly King takes charge, can our corvée and tax money be waived too?”

Shopkeeper Tian smiled. “Of course. No corvée service, no grain tax — the ballads make it all very clear.”

The neighbors burst into jubilation: “Wonderful! This truly is delivering the people from their hanging torment.”

“I truly hope the Righteous Army strikes soon, so we can establish a new dynasty and live good days.”

A radiant light shone in Yang Bagu’s eyes.

Her daughter Niannu tugged at her sleeve, her expression also full of hope, imagining those heavenly good days.

Yang Bagu’s family belonged to the gardener households. In the Ming, there had always been the practice of assigning households to corvée duties. The capital, as the imperial seat, had countless government offices and an immense demand for labor. Besides ordinary civilian households, military households, artisan households, and salt‑maker households, there were also numerous miscellaneous service households — such as tomb‑keeping households, gardener households, lake households, banner households, storehouse corvée households, and so on — too many trivial categories to count.

Among the various service households, aside from officials, Provincial Graduates, Imperial College students, and Licentiates who enjoyed privileges and exemptions, everyone else had to bear miscellaneous corvée duties. By the late Ming, miscellaneous corvée had largely been commuted to silver payments, with the government hiring men to perform the service. Those men held official posts — such as storehouse keepers, government office runners, granary measurers, and the like — and received some wages in silver and grain, along with various kinds of gray income.

The rest, those without connections who could not secure an “official roster slot” or a quota, had to honestly pay up. For example, Yang Bagu’s late husband had been a gardener, counted as one able‑bodied male, liable for four taels of service silver per year — in practice, always paid at double that rate or more. After her husband died, Yang Bagu was still not exempt from this corvée money.

Moreover, because of the state’s dire straits and the fact that there was no man in Yang Bagu’s household, the service fees were collected with redoubled severity, now reaching ten taels a year.

This filled Yang Bagu with simmering indignation; she felt oppressed and was desperate to change this fate.

In ordinary times she was powerless — any resistance would only leave her battered and bleeding. Now, at last, there was hope of living a new life.

At this moment, she yearned so fervently for the Shun Army to arrive, to deliver the people from their hanging torment, so that she would no longer live under the Ming dynasty’s tyranny.

And just then, when they saw Fu Yingchong and his party approaching, their gazes were cold and hostile.

“Look, the running dogs are here.”

“Their good days are about to end…”

They whispered among themselves. The voices were low, but how could Fu Yingchong not hear? He no longer had the energy to contend with these commoners. He only felt that all the grievances in the capital were converging, finally merging into a single voice — change the master, change the dynasty.

He even saw patrol soldiers coming and going; several squads had already passed. It was impossible that no one had heard these seditious words, yet they all pretended not to have heard.

Fu Yingchong simply rode straight past. The cold‑faced armored soldier glanced at Yang Bagu and the others; his eyes were indifferent, yet within them there was a faint, almost imperceptible trace of pity.

Watching Fu Yingchong and his men pass by without a word, a smug look appeared in Shopkeeper Tian’s eyes.

He laughed. “The people’s hearts are with the righteous — you can see it at a glance.”