Chapter 190: Hong Taiji's Vexation

Chongzhen gazed at the forty or fifty examination candidates in the hall — men who had ultimately shown their cleverness only to be ruthlessly eliminated — and said flatly, "Apply your cleverness to commerce, and you could become a house of great wealth.

Apply it to the investigation of things, and it is not impossible you might achieve something. Apply it solely to the official career, however, and in the end you will find it hard to avoid ending up like that Huang Liji, hanging beyond the Meridian Gate."

Having finished his reprimand, the Chongzhen Emperor had also lost all interest in critiquing the top three ranks or anything else, and simply said to Wen Tiren, "Wen, my beloved minister, together with Shi, my beloved minister, and Zhang Ruitu, my beloved minister Zhang, go over these papers once more together, select the superior ones, and report them to Us."

These papers, which had answered only the first question, contained only a single question, yet the substance encompassed within it was exceedingly vast.

First, one had to judge whether a candidate had observed the prefectures and counties he had passed through on his journey to the capital; moreover, within the small sub-question of how to regard whether a prefecture or county was prosperous, one could also roughly determine whether a candidate had ever truly considered how to serve as an official, and whether he understood how to be an official.

Having lost all interest, Chongzhen simply declared the court session dismissed and turned back toward the rear palace. Just think of that academy run by that fellow surnamed Yun — look, not a single person there chose to answer this question.

Then look at my own Great Ming — damn it all, every last one of them has learned the art of compromise, you bastards!

Chongzhen had lost interest, and far away in Liaodong, Hong Taiji was also in no mood — or rather, he was in a very foul mood indeed.

The Ming army — especially that bastard Mao Wenlong — who the hell gave him this sense of superiority, to make a fool of this Khan again and again as if I were a half-wit?

"'Your servant Mao Wenlong addresses a letter to the Great Khan of the Great Jin State: Your servant originally had no desire to make an enemy of the Great Jin; it is merely that he who eats his sovereign's pay must be loyal in his sovereign's affairs.

The court compelled your servant to march north; your servant originally did not wish to comply, but as the court used grain and pay as a threat, your servant had no choice but to obey.'"

"'Hearing that the Great Khan is raising a great army to attack, your servants are overwhelmed with terror, fearing only that the Great Khan shall weary his troops on a distant campaign, dining on wind and drinking rain, unable even to reunite with his family at the Mid-Autumn Festival.'"

"'We have further heard that the remnant survivors of the old Nine Tribes of Yehe have now again raised a great army, calling themselves the Eight Tribes of Xibo, and do battle with the Khorchin tribe without a day's rest.

Should Khorchin fall, the Great Khan shall become a rootless wandering ghost!'"

"'Should the Great Khan be willing to withdraw his troops from Liaodong, he need only grant your servant an annual bestowal of three thousand dan of grain and fodder, and your servant shall assuredly not dare to violate the border.'"

"'Weapons are instruments of ill omen; the sage uses them only when he has no choice. May the Great Khan reflect thrice.'"

"'Mid-Autumn, eighth month, first year of Chongzhen. Penned by Mao Wenlong.'"

Hong Taiji clutched the letter that his soldiers had presented to him, shot by arrow into the great camp by Mao Wenlong's men. Examining it from every angle, he was at once furious and amused.

Bastard — it's written prettily enough, telling this Khan to bestow three thousand dan of grain and fodder on you annually, but the question is, if this Khan gave it to you, would you honestly behave?

The Nine Tribes of Yehe? The Eight Tribes of Xibo? I know about them too, all right! Liaodong is a piss-ant little place — how could this Khan not know the news coming out of his own backyard?

Damn your mother! He's treating this Khan like a fool! Who the hell gave you this bafflingly delusional sense of intellectual superiority!

Hong Taiji, utterly enraged, very much wanted to capture Mao Wenlong alive on the spot, then put him through the Ten Great Tortures and teach him how to be a proper human being!

However, this was of no damn use whatsoever. Mao Wenlong, only a few dozen li away from Hong Taiji, was precisely this self-assured.

Faced with Geng Zhongming's doubts, Mao Wenlong laughed and said, "So what if that brat Hong Taiji retreats or not? I never planned on one letter making him withdraw anyway. It's nothing more than disgusting him."

Sun Chengzong, seated in the place of honor above Mao Wenlong, stroked his beard and smiled.

"Zhongming is still too young.

Today's letter — if Hong Taiji merely sulks to himself over it, that's one thing. But it was hardly just one copy shot into the Jianzhou barbarians' great camp; inevitably, others will have seen it, and when that happens, the barbarians' morale is bound to waver somewhat."

Geng Zhongming curled his lip. "Grandfather thinks too well of it. Pity that most of those Jianzhou barbarians can't read!"

Mao Wenlong, hearing this, cursed him with a laugh as a little bastard and raised his hand as if to strike, but Sun Chengzong said, amused, "Enough, enough. What does it matter whether those barbarian soldiers can read or not?

In any case, their commanders, especially those banner lords, can all read. So long as their hearts grow unsteady, this affair can be counted a success."

Zhang Xianzhong also laughed. "In that case, tonight I'll go over to the barbarians' camp and give them a bit of entertainment."

Shifting his tone, Zhang Xianzhong continued, "Though I have to say, those palm-thunder bombs the Ministry of War sent this time are really handy. Throw one out and it bangs, wounding countless men.

It really makes you wonder how those bookworms' brains ever came up with such a wicked, smoke-belching contraption."

Just as he was speaking, he felt someone beside him tugging at his sleeve. Zhang Xianzhong turned his head to look and saw his adopted son Zhang Dingguo, who had been standing beside him all along, pointing at Sun Chengzong with an odd expression.

His heart going thump, Zhang Xianzhong turned his head toward Sun Chengzong, only to see Sun Chengzong, his face dark, say, "This old man is also a bookworm!"

This so startled Zhang Xianzhong that he scrambled to his feet, cupped his hands, and said with an embarrassed grin, "Grand Secretary Sun, forgive my offense — your humble general is just a crude fellow. How could those bookworms compare with Grand Secretary Sun?

Grand Secretary Sun is the true Confucian gentleman, deeply learned in the classics."

Had he not said anything, it might have been fine, but after this speech, Sun Chengzong's face turned even blacker — The more books I've read, the wickeder I am, is that it?

But it had been some days since he had come from Shanhai Pass and then doubled back to Liaodong, and he had known this fellow called Zhang Xianzhong for more than just a day or two. Knowing exactly what sort of goods this man was, Sun Chengzong waved his hand helplessly.

"Enough, enough.

This old man said nothing else."

Once Zhang Xianzhong had sheepishly sat back down, Sun Chengzong continued, "Then it's settled. Tonight we'll send the Jianzhou barbarians a few more gifts.

In any case, the arms and ammunition here on the Dongjiang front are now supplied without restriction. Have the men rest well for a while; tonight, fire a few more cannon rounds toward the barbarians' side, and let the barbarians have a good night's sleep."

Mao Wenlong said, with wicked glee, "How about we also order the troops from a few guard battalions to stuff their ears and get some good rest, then go find some fun with the barbarians tomorrow during the day?"

Sun Chengzong stroked his beard. "Let it be as Zhennan says."

Seeing Sun Chengzong's approval, Mao Wenlong asked Zhang Xianzhong, "Does Yellow Tiger want to fire cannons at night, or go find fun during the day?"

Zhang Xianzhong, hearing this, was torn. Firing cannons at night was truly satisfying — the booming thunder of the cannons unceasing in the ears, that was the most exquisite sound in the human world.

And watching the red-hot shot fly from the sky into the barbarians' camp, that was the most supremely beautiful sight in the human world.

Wanting to take part in both, unable to give up either, Zhang Xianzhong agonized for a long while before venturing, "Your humble general will fire cannons first, then tomorrow during the day still follow little brother Zhongming to go find fun with the barbarians — will that do?"

Before Mao Wenlong could say anything, Sun Chengzong refused first. "You think so well of yourself! Where would one man get that much energy? You can only pick one!"

Zhang Xianzhong, who had not held much hope to begin with, said resentfully, "Then I choose firing cannons!"

Just as Sun Chengzong, Mao Wenlong, and Zhang Xianzhong were discussing how to find some fun with the barbarians, the barbarians were likewise holding discussions.

Only, at this moment, Hong Taiji simply could not spare the attention to find fun with Mao Wenlong's side.

First he summoned Daishan, Amin, Dorgon, and the others, and then they began deliberating whether or not they should keep butting heads with Mao Wenlong: "Word has now come from Shengjing — first, the Xibo tribe, remnant survivors of the old Nine Tribes of Yehe, have again rallied several other tribes, calling themselves the Nine Tribes of Xibo, and are attacking the Khorchin tribe.

And then, the little southern-barbarian emperor personally led a campaign against Ligdan Khan, and now Ligdan Khan has already retreated back to the northern desert to rest and recuperate."

"The reason I've called everyone here today is to discuss with you all — do we keep fighting, or do we first withdraw our troops and go back to rescue the Khorchin tribe?"

Because both of Daishan's sons had fallen at Mao Wenlong's hands — although Yoto had fallen at the hands of Wanyan Hong of the Xibo tribe, Daishan had settled this account squarely on Mao Wenlong's head. Thus, Daishan was now the one most opposed to withdrawing the troops.

Seeing that Hong Taiji seemed inclined to withdraw and go back, Daishan was the first to object.

"Great Khan, if we withdraw now, the losses will truly outweigh the gains.

After an entire distant campaign, we've gained little in the way of supplies, but our expenditures have been even greater. If we go back now, I fear this year will be just as hard to endure."

Amin, however, held a different attitude.

"Great Khan, in your slave's humble opinion, we might as well just go attack Joseon.

That Mao Wenlong, the southern barbarian, has too many damned tricks over here — we can't even sleep properly day after day, let alone fight a war. Joseon, on the other hand, is as soft as a squash and easy to handle.

When the time comes, once we've gotten supplies from Joseon, it won't be too late to leave!"

Dorgon's heart was preoccupied with the situation in Shengjing — though how much of that preoccupation was for Da Yu'er is hard to say. Hearing this, he voiced his agreement.

"Great Khan, right now, as we fight this bitter war of attrition here with that fellow Mao, it is Joseon that benefits.

Moreover, even if we were to take Dongjiang, we would merely gain a gateway to Joseon. When the time comes, we would still have to fight it out with Joseon all the same."

"The best course for now is to first withdraw to Shenyang. After all, if we lose Khorchin, we lose our source of warhorses. Relying on our Eight Banners alone, how could we possibly have so many warhorses?"

In truth, Hong Taiji had long harbored the intention to withdraw.

This dog-fucking Mao Wenlong was simply too despicable. All along the march, there had not been a moment's peace.

Whichever road they took, that road was covered entirely in holes as wide as a bowl's mouth but over a foot deep — these holes were simply too ruinous. A man stepping in one twisted his ankle; a horse stumbling into one went lame!

And when they had slowly, painstakingly advanced to the vicinity of Dongjiang, this dog-fucker had brought out new toys — those little porcelain bottles, heaven knows what wicked bastard thought them up.

The moment one was thrown out and burst, the more people there were in a place, the more people it wounded!

Later on, even flat, open ground was no longer safe. Whenever the earth looked as though it had been freshly disturbed, one had to carefully check whether a large pile of the evolved version of those little porcelain bottles — big earthenware jars — was buried underneath.

But while this method of tearing open the ground to search had worked at first, later on, every other stretch of road had been dug up, and there was no telling which one had these things buried inside!

Sometimes several in a row had them, but sometimes there were none at all — yet they dared not simply send troops to walk straight across and test it.

It was all thanks to an idea Dorgon had come up with: first drive some nags across. If there was nothing, then advance the army; if it blew up, it would only blow up a few nags.

But even so, it pained Hong Taiji beyond measure. The Great Jin state could not compare with the Ming southern barbarians in wealth — nags were still money. And what was more, the Ming cannonballs had now been upgraded too; when the cannonballs they fired hit the ground, they actually exploded!

The situation now was just this: to the Great Jin, Mao Wenlong was like a toad sprawled across the top of your foot — it couldn't bite you to death, but it could disgust you to death!

(End of chapter)