Chapter 849: A Turning Point

The campaign of “pursuing illicit gains to subsidize military provisions” did not unfold only in the capital. As the Shun army attacked cities and seized territory along the way, they stationed troops in various prefectures and counties. Moreover, because the number of troops that had reached the capital was too great to be accommodated inside or outside the city, they were dispersed to different places to forage for provisions.

While Liu Zongmin was in high spirits in the capital, torturing officials and nobles, and Shun soldiers were breaking down doors house by house to extort wealth, this wave likewise spread to every region occupied by the Great Shun.

For instance, in Great Ming Prefecture, “officials were posted in every department and county, cruelly plundering the gentry.” In Hejian Prefecture, “edicts were issued to levy contributions from the gentry and military officers of great families; they were clamped with the five wooden restraints, subjected to the utmost cruelty, and ruthlessly squeezed for money.” In Shunde Prefecture, “the scholar-officials were brutally put in the three wooden collars, and many died under savage torture.” In the Tianjin Guard, “in demanding provisions, they actually used head-vises, ankle-pressers, branding irons, and beatings.”

In this campaign of pursuing illicit gains to subsidize provisions, every official and gentry member lost all dignity; their family wealth could not be safeguarded, and their lives were hard to preserve. They had originally hoped to pledge allegiance to the new dynasty and preserve their former wealth and rank, but once again they were disappointed. The Great Shun recruited and appointed extremely few officials. Take the capital officials, for example: out of several thousand capital officials, no more than a hundred or so were employed, and all were below the third rank. In the localities, only Provincial Graduates who had never held office were selected as officials; the original officials were basically not used and were all rounded up to be tortured for contributions.

This utterly disillusioned the original officials and gentry. Some of those who had been seized and tortured for contributions and had survived by luck voiced their indignation even more vehemently: “Is this the new governance of a rising dynasty? They are still nothing but roving bandits after all.”

In the capital, all the Ming officials who had surrendered began to feel regret. Some sought opportunities to escape in secret; others nursed their hatred in their hearts and plotted in the shadows.

Some of the officials who had accepted posts also had a hard time, especially the local officials. “Whenever Shun troops passed through, they would first search for women from the common households to offer up. If there was the slightest shortage, the soldiers would rain down blows with the backs of their blades, and the department officials suffered unspeakable misery. The beautiful ones were taken away; the ugly ones were cast aside, with orders still given to the local official: ‘Keep them for those who come later.’”

The campaign of pursuing illicit gains to subsidize provisions evolved into a wave of plunder, and it quickly spread to the common people in every locality. Since you high-ranking officers and generals could extort the officials and gentry, we lowly soldiers and squad leaders could just as well lay hands on ordinary commoners. The tragedies that befell the populace of the capital were reenacted in every region occupied by the Shun army.

“Soldiers hacked down doors and burst in, seizing gold, silver, and women. The people could not endure the poison; those who hanged themselves were seen in succession.”

“Not a day passed without killing; the people began to suffer bitterly from it.”

Once, the common people had yearned so eagerly for the arrival of the Chuang army, the Shun army, and Li Zicheng. Before Li Zicheng entered the capital, the capital’s populace “always said that when the roving bandits reached our gates, we would immediately open the gates and invite them in. Not only did they hold this thought privately, they also voiced it openly.”

Who would have known that they had driven the tiger from the front door only to let the wolves in through the back? These ravenous wolves were even more brutal and greedy than the tiger before. And so they regretted it. A nostalgic thought of “the present cannot compare to the past” first arose among the common people. Countless people began to yearn for that Ming dynasty they had once cursed countless times.

And toward the Great Shun — no, the roving bandits! — they hated them to the marrow of their bones. As great as their former longing had been, so great was their loathing now!

In secret, they cursed Li Zicheng bitterly as a born bandit, a damnable swindler, a bunch of murderous mounted brigands and bandits who did not even look like a sovereign of men!

This single campaign of pursuing illicit gains to subsidize provisions made Li Zicheng and his ilk offend everyone. If, when they first raised their troops, many of the gentry had opposed them while many commoners still hoped for and supported them, now there was only hatred — a hatred that pierced to the marrow of their bones.

Thus a very strange phenomenon arose in history: before entering the capital, everyone longed for the arrival of the Chuang King, and the army he led was greeted by people rallying to his cause wherever the wind blew; he attacked cities and seized territory, never failing to win. Yet after he entered the capital, this phenomenon ceased entirely.

After he was defeated and fled the capital, he never won a battle he fought. In the departments and counties he passed through, no one cheered his arrival anymore. The common people either watched coldly from the sidelines or joined the students and former Ming officials in killing and expelling the puppet officials and driving out the bandit raiders — just like a rat crossing the street, with everyone shouting to beat it.

……

Matters underwent a subtle change. After entering the fourth month, among the Ming officials in the capital, there was none who did not regret; among the commoners of the capital, there was none who did not hate the bandits.

Some rumors and false reports also quietly spread through the neighborhoods. They were recounted with vivid detail, saying that the Crown Prince had already been rescued from the capital by righteous men, and that he had now fled to Xuanfu Garrison, where he was with the Marquis of Yongning, the General Who Subdues the Caitiffs, Wang Dou, preparing to dispatch troops. In a few days, they would annihilate the roving bandits and deliver the people from their hanging upside-down plight.

On the eighth day of the fourth month, someone suddenly posted a “private notice” on West Chang’an Avenue, which read: “The ordained days of the Great Ming are not yet exhausted, and men think of serving with loyalty. On the twentieth of this month, the Eastern Palace will be enthroned as Emperor, and the reign name will be changed to Yixing.”

Although Liu Zongmin massacred the residents of several dozen households at the place where the notice was posted, new “private notices” of the people’s own accord kept appearing. The contents of these “private notices” were mostly absurd and unfounded, but to the capital’s populace, who had suffered grievous harm, they were undoubtedly a kind of ******, and they also ignited the raging fury hidden in their hearts.

……

The sudden fall of the capital was beyond everyone’s expectations. When the news reached Lengkou, Shanhai Pass, and other places, Yang Guozhu, Liu Zhaoji, Wu Sangui, and the others could not believe it.

By everyone’s estimates, the capital was tall, solid, and not short on troops. Even if it could not hold out for half a year or a year, as optimistic outside observers claimed, it should still have been defensible for two or three months. After all, the Tatar caitiffs had broken through the passes several times, each time attacking and besieging the capital with no fewer than a hundred thousand troops, yet the capital had always held out without falling.

They were seasoned military men and naturally knew that the Tatars were far mightier than the roving bandits. There was no reason that the Tatars had besieged the city many times without it falling, yet when it was the roving bandits’ turn to attack, it was taken so easily.

Yet the cold, hard reality was just that. Definite news arrived: the capital had not only fallen, but had fallen in just two days. The sovereign had died for the altars of state on the nineteenth day, and they themselves had all become orphaned ministers and abandoned sons of a fallen state and ruined families.

After Yang Guozhu and the others confirmed the news, they all wailed and wept bitterly. The entire army donned white mourning garb and held funeral rites for the Emperor. And then what followed was each man’s anxious confrontation with the choice of his fate.

As key frontier generals, they naturally could not simply die and be done with it. At this time, whether outside the Long Wall at Lengkou or outside the pass at Shanhai Pass, the great armies of the Tatar caitiffs were massed everywhere. If they were to die as martyrs for the state, would that not give the Tatars an opportunity to enter the pass with the greatest of ease?

Although the Tatars outside the pass walls had halted their attacks at this moment — clearly they too had received word of the Ming Emperor’s death — they still dared not let down their guard and kept strict watch over the pass walls.

Then they exchanged letters, asking each other’s intentions, and what step to take next.

At this time, the Great Shun King Li Zicheng sent the surrendered general Tang Tong to coax them into surrendering. The terms offered were quite good: Yang Guozhu was promised a ducal title; Liu Zhaoji was promised a marquisate; Wu Sangui, both father and son, were each promised a marquisate, and they would keep their original troops and horses unchanged. And so each man fell into a conflicted dilemma.

By rights, as subjects of the Great Ming, with their sovereign and father having died in distress, they ought to dispatch troops to avenge their sovereign and father. Yet all the grandees in the court had surrendered, the officials and generals in every region had surrendered, and the common people had rallied to the cause wherever the wind blew. For them to surrender as well would be a matter of logical course.

When the capital fell, they were still fighting bloody battles on the frontier passes. Having fulfilled their loyalty to this extent, it could be said they had shown the utmost benevolence and done all that duty required; no one could say anything against them.

Moreover, the Great Shun, however one put it, was still of the Han system. The robes and caps, the language, the institutions — everything was identical. None of them would have the psychological barrier they would feel in surrendering to the barbarian caitiffs beyond the frontier.

Every dynasty has its allotted span. The Great Ming had clearly reached the end of its span; otherwise, the capital would not have fallen in two days, and both officials and commoners would not have welcomed the Shun army into the city with the whole city’s acclaim. It was evident that the Great Shun enjoyed the popular mandate, and the matter of dynastic change was a natural course. Just like the Tang, Song, and Ming, a new Central Plains imperial dynasty was about to be born, or perhaps, like the Great Ming, it would endure for several hundred years.

The rise of the Great Shun was a foregone conclusion, so why should they resist stubbornly from a corner and needlessly increase the casualties among their own men? Wu Sangui and Liu Zhaoji inclined toward pledging allegiance to the new dynasty. The terms, such as being enfeoffed as marquises, also held great appeal for them. Though they did have misgivings in their hearts — after all, Li Zicheng had previously been a roving bandit.

But they reckoned that a new dynasty would bring a new atmosphere and would certainly change. Since none of the grandees in the court were worried, what did they have to worry about?

The Shanhai Pass Provincial Governor Li Yutian and the Grand Coordinator of Ji-Liao, Fan Zhiwan, were both preparing to pledge allegiance to the new dynasty. Even the Liaodong Provincial Governor Qiu Minyang agreed with throwing in their lot with the Great Shun.

Yang Guozhu was somewhat hesitant. He intended to ask Wang Dou for his view, but he did not oppose Wu Sangui and the others seeking wealth and rank in the new dynasty. So long as they did not surrender to the barbarian caitiffs, he would respect each man’s choice.

In fact, at this time, the Qing state had also sent people to urge surrender. When Dorgon learned that the Ming capital had fallen in two days and that the Ming Emperor had died for the altars of state, he was first shocked, then swiftly reacted. He personally wrote letters, one by one, to Yang Guozhu, Wu Sangui, Liu Zhaoji, and the others, promising even more generous terms.

He stated that if Yang Guozhu and the others were willing to pledge allegiance to the Great Qing, they would all be enfeoffed as princes, just like the Three Compliant Princes of that year.

To Li Yutian and Fan Zhiwan, he promised titles of count and marquis. To the Liaodong Provincial Governor Qiu Minyang, he was even willing to offer the position of Duke.

Of course, though he was sincere, in the end they all disappointed him. Between the princely title of the Great Qing and the marquisate of the Great Shun, Wu Sangui and the others still chose the Great Shun.

Yang Guozhu, needless to say, did not even see the envoy sent by the Qing state. He had them expelled on the spot, giving them no chance to speak at all.

The turning point in the matter came after the news of the campaign to pursue illicit gains to subsidize provisions arrived. Dorgon was first astonished, then said excitedly: “Truly, Heaven is helping me.”