Chapter 205: Unifying the North

Over ten years, Gao Yingxiang, Li Zicheng, Zhang Xianzhong, and dozens of other rebel bands, combined with natural disasters like "one year of drought, two years of flood, three years of locusts…epidemic…," the decline of imperial authority, weakening control over local regions, and the corruption of most officials in the Donglin Party, the most critical factor was that Wang Yan secretly dispatched elite troops to infiltrate the peasant armies.

Wang Yan's subordinates were no match for those illiterate peasants and common soldiers; while "cultured and martial" might be an exaggeration, governing localities might be insufficient, but marching and fighting posed no problem whatsoever. Over these years, except for a few unlucky ones who died early, nearly all had risen to high ranks within various peasant armies. With their inclusion, the entire late-Ming peasant war was greatly accelerated.

Shaanxi, Shanxi, Huguang, Sichuan, Henan, and other regions were all at war. Because the Ming court grew increasingly crippled with each battle, ethnic minorities, native chieftains, and others in Sichuan, Guizhou, Yunnan, Guangxi, and elsewhere also rose in rebellion. It could be said that most of Great Ming's territory was engulfed in war, utterly chaotic.

Only the southeastern coastal regions—Nanjing, Jiangsu-Zhejiang, Fujian, Guangdong—suffered lesser impact; their internal contradictions were still extremely sharp, but those regions were home to wealthy merchants, magnates, and landowners who had money. Upon sensing trouble, merely releasing a small amount of it was enough to make a band of peasants fight to the death. Not to mention the powerful maritime merchant families there, whose men were all death-defying outlaws with guaranteed combat effectiveness.

By now, the third month of the thirteenth year of Chongzhen, Zhu Youjian could no longer hold out—enemy forces had reached Baoding Prefecture; further north lay Shuntian Prefecture, the capital itself. He had already been driven to his own doorstep. Thus, five days ago, Zhu Youjian ordered Sun Chengzong's Yongping troops to march south to suppress the rebellion.

Sun Chengzong had originally died in the eleventh year of Chongzhen, resisting Qing forces, his city breached and captured, then hanged himself. But with Wang Yan's existence, Hong Taiji could not even establish "Great Qing"; right now, that old bastard couldn't even hold onto "Jin." So Sun Chengzong did not die. Perhaps Confucianism truly possessed "magnificent righteous qi," and with Wang Yan continuously sending medicine, the old man, now seventy-seven, remained robust, his voice still strong.

Sun Chengzong feigned illness and did not lead the troops personally; instead, his subordinates Yuan Chonghuan, Zu Dashou, and others commanded the southern campaign.

Yuan Chonghuan had come over even before Sun Chengzong rose to power. When Sun Chengzong had previously supervised Jizhou-Liaodong, Yuan Chonghuan had served under him and found him acceptable, so he had not refused.

Speaking of Yuan the Inspector, one must mention the Island Lord. Wang Yan had already swallowed nearly half of Korea; Pidao naturally fell within his domain. When Wang Yan sent envoys to offer surrender, the Island Lord, perhaps addicted to being a local emperor, did not wish to be ruled from above, could not defeat them in battle, and did not want to get entangled in domestic chaos, so he simply took his men and fled southward… The sea was vast; he'd never claim much of it in his lifetime, so Wang Yan made no effort to stop him—let him fumble along…

As for Zu Dashou, he had originally surrendered to the Qing in the fourteenth year of Chongzhen alongside Hong Chengchou, but again, since Wang Yan was now the de facto emperor of Liaodong, Zu Dashou remained a loyal minister of Great Ming. His virtuous nephew Wu Sangui's path remained nearly unchanged—he passed the military examination and then joined Sun Chengzong; both were loyal ministers of Great Ming.

Because Zhu Youjian had moved even Sun Chengzong's troops guarding against his entry into the pass, and because Wang Yan had received intelligence from other channels, he judged that Great Ming was finished—it was time for General Wang to swallow the world, sweep the universe, and unify the eight directions.

That day, in Shenyang, the newly completed imperial palace, Chongzheng Hall—the so-called Golden Throne Hall—Wang Yan sat high upon a throne forged entirely of pure gold, looking down upon the assembled civil and military officials.

The Shenyang palace had been under construction since Nurhaci's time and continued through Hong Taiji's reign, but construction halted later due to material shortages. After Wang Yan drove Hong Taiji away, the latter had only set fire to it in haste and failed to destroy it thoroughly. Since it was already half-built, leaving it abandoned seemed wasteful; moreover, Wang Yan had no shortage of people, money, or resources, so construction resumed. Today marked his first time sitting upon it.

To complete it fully would take a long time; historically, this palace took 158 years to build… Wang Yan treated it purely as a monument to stimulate domestic demand…

Wang Yan had indeed visited the real-world Shenyang Imperial Palace before, but back then, the Golden Throne Hall was sealed off—he could only gaze from afar beyond the fence at the dragon throne and the Nine-Dragon Jade Wall beneath it. Compared to now, the feeling was certainly different, for the entire city of Shenyang, the entire territory of future Liaoning Province, the entire steppe—all belonged to him. If he had to name the greatest feeling at this moment… hmm, the dragon throne was hard, a bit too jarring on the buttocks—he'd have to instruct them later: no jade cushions, make it soft.

After savoring the moment, Wang Yan addressed the grinning senior officers and the civil officials with varied thoughts: "Enough with the silly grins. Speak up—how prepared are you?"

Sun Fugui, head of the military officers, glanced around, seeing no one speak, cleared his throat: "Your Excellency—er… Your Majesty?"

"But I haven't been crowned yet—why the rush? Keep things as they were."

"Yes, my lord." Sun Fugui straightened, shouting: "My lord, all logistical supplies have been delivered to the front lines—sufficient to sustain two hundred thousand troops for six months."

Wang Yan nodded. Sun Fugui bowed and stepped back. Another officer spoke: "My lord, overseas troops, except those necessary for internal stability and security, have all returned and are stationed in Dandong, Liao Hai (Kaiyuan), and Jianzhou Guard—all fully rested."

"My lord, the ten thousand troops of the Security Bureau are now in combat readiness, conducting uninterrupted patrols across all of Liaodong and most of the steppe."

"My lord, last month, troops behind the Jianzhou Jurchens reported that, aside from suppressing local resistance, they have entered the Xing'an Mountains and are advancing south on schedule."

"My lord, reserve officials and civilian infrastructure supplies are fully prepared…"

…

After hearing the reports from the civil and military officials, Wang Yan waved his hand: "Tomorrow, we march into Korea. I will lead the troops north to eradicate the Jianzhou Jurchens. This campaign must utterly pacify the north. Dismissed."

"Yes, my lord."

Wang Yan had not moved against these two powers earlier not because he lacked the will, but because the timing was not right. Back during the Liaozhong battle, when Wang Yan shelled Shengjing, he could have killed Hong Taiji in one strike—but after winning, what would he gain? Later, when his strength was sufficient, he began dividing forces to expand overseas, for only through seafaring, trade, or piracy could one amass great wealth. Thus, he paid little attention to Hong Taiji and Korea—they were right there; he could wait.

This time, he intended to topple these two sovereign powers: first, because Great Ming's mandate was nearly exhausted, and to enter the pass, he must first stabilize his rear. Second, both had been nearly fully nibbled away by him and were easy to digest.

He recalled his troops merely to prepare for entering the pass; otherwise, thirty or fifty thousand men could have easily conquered Later Jin and Korea. More importantly, Hong Taiji and Korea's diehard resistance had gathered hundreds of thousands—these were all to be conscripted as laborers. Without sufficient troops to suppress such a vast number of slave laborers, trouble would multiply.

Returning to… the inner quarters, a gaggle of children who had spent the day playing and marveling at the new palace rushed over. The eldest, Wang Junren, was twelve; the youngest, Wang Junrang, was only three, led by the sensible Wang Jinyun.

Wang Yan's approach to his children's education was relaxed; aside from slight favoritism toward daughters due to broader societal conditions, overall he treated them equally.

He taught them nothing useless. In this era, as long as they learned what all children knew, and with the resources provided by his position as their father, the first, second, and even third generations could be guaranteed to become accomplished. Even if they failed to excel, they would never turn truly wicked. Beyond that? It was over—he'd be gone; how could he care for the next generation?

This was the flaw of hereditary rule: the uneven quality of top decision-makers was a key factor in the decline of ancient dynasties. Of course, land consolidation was also a major cause. But ultimately, it came down to the leader failing—unable to perceive the root problem, or even if he saw it, lacking the strength to correct it. Like Zhu Youjian now: through his series of actions, Great Ming collapsed smoothly, each step precisely advancing its downfall.

But frankly, Wang Yan didn't care. After all, his heart belonged to Yanhuang Huaxia. As long as the territory was large enough, as long as the meat stayed in the pot, who ruled didn't matter. If his descendants lacked ability, they had no one to blame but themselves.

He would never force his children to do what they disliked. Like the third son, who had been brainwashed by Wei Zhongxian with imperial arts—Wang Yan gave him money, resources, and let him go out and fight. If, like the second son born to Ding Baiying, he preferred leisure and refused to do anything, that was fine too. He had no interest in pushing his children to strive—comfortable was good enough. Let them do as they pleased. If none of his children could inherit his empire, he'd establish a constitutional system.

The eldest son hesitated for a long while, then cautiously looked at Wang Yan: "Father… I heard you're leading a northern campaign against the Jianzhou Jurchens tomorrow?"

Wang Yan, holding his tenth son, smiled and glanced at his several grown children: "So, you want to go?"

The eldest son nodded frantically: "Father, please talk to Mother for me…"

The second son, though reserved, was still a child and couldn't hide his feelings—his eyes darted back and forth, clearly tempted.

The most ambitious third son grinned, showing his teeth: "Father, my sister and I want to go too. And Sun Da's second son, and Zhang Shu's eldest—they're all sons of military families, and they all want to come along and see."

"Father, I want to go too, I want to go too!"

Wang Yan's youngest, the tenth son, understood nothing—he thought it was an outing, and shouted loudly, afraid of being left behind.

Wang Yan glanced at his second daughter, grinning foolishly at him, thought for a moment, and nodded: "Those ten and older—go if you want."

Instantly, the children erupted in cheers. The third son was the quickest—he shouted "Thank you, Father!" and ran off to notify the other kids who had come along.

After a long pause, the second daughter asked foolishly: "Father, what if Mother says no?"

Wang Yan shook his head and smiled: "I'll tell them at dinner tonight."

Why not tell them directly? Because his harem had their own duties. Ding Baiying and Wei Ting were training female soldiers; the Zhou sisters studied poetry and literature with scholars to compile books for children's enlightenment. Zhang Yan, as Wang Yan had originally planned, had become Minister of Health—busy with epidemic prevention, public hygiene education, clinic construction, training physicians and physicians, and organizing professional female midwives.

The other concubines also had their own tasks: ethnic integration, unity, women's rights, and so on…

Of course, none were top leaders—these women were capable, but only to a degree. The one with the greatest authority was still Zhang Yan.

That night, the entire family of dozens gathered for dinner. Wang Yan mentioned the matter. Though the women voiced objections, none opposed it. Though Wang Yan said only those ten and older could go, he knew that by tomorrow's departure, every eligible child whose family resided in Shenyang would go—including his own sons, whether they wanted to or not.

This was a side effect of power—but put bluntly, this very side effect was the allure of power. It was also a key factor in the corruption and loss of direction among officials—the passive control over others was truly intoxicating…

The next day, beneath the northern city gate, inscribed with Wang Yan's own bold calligraphy reading "Shenyang," amid the chatter of onlookers, a thousand disciplined cavalry rode out northward.

The main army was stationed at the front, so few troops accompanied him—only Wang Yan's thousand personal guards and five hundred female soldiers set out north.

He brought female soldiers because it was inappropriate for his daughters and other officers' daughters to ride alone; even if Wang Yan didn't care, no one dared ride with his daughter. They had to be escorted by female soldiers.

As for the shouting boys, it was simpler—they were children, no matter how good their horsemanship, they weren't skilled enough; they simply rode double with the guards.

Wang Yan bringing children onto the battlefield, especially little girls, likely drew the strongest objections from the womenfolk. Though Wang Yan had consistently elevated women's status, traditional views remained entrenched—expecting women bound in tiny feet to fight was impossible; it would take two generations of women's rise before such ideas were truly accepted.

The abomination of "tiny feet" had long been abolished in Wang Yan's territory. Who first thought of it? No one knew—but since the Northern Song, some had favored it, reaching its peak in Ming and Qing. It was purely a top-down cultural infiltration: families with daughters bound their feet to marry into higher status. Of course, even at its height, many women remained unbound, largely due to Great Ming's vast population…

Ultimately, men still ruled; women's objections had to be suppressed. Moreover, since Wang Yan's own children were going, their mothers would all become imperial princesses—what did their families care? So, as Wang Yan had anticipated, all eligible children—male or female, willing or not—from the high-ranking officers and some civil officials who had relocated from Jinzhou to Shenyang came along. Not many—only a few hundred…

The main age group was between ten and fifteen; older ones were either already undergoing military training or studying in Wang Yan's newly established advanced "middle school."

These children, raised in comfort, might be terrified upon reaching the battlefield—certainly possible. But in this age of fierce competition, even girls were only to observe from afar—consider it a trip. As for the boys, since they came, every single one must witness firsthand how men are killed, how heads are cut off. If any, unbroken by fear, even showed eagerness, Wang Yan would permit them to pick up a blade and strike down an enemy.

But to be fair, his children, along with the children of a host of officers, were no slouches—they trained in martial arts and built their foundations from childhood. Even his most delicate, martial-averse eldest daughter, Wang Jinyun, swung her little fists with formidable force. This was the only thing Wang Yan demanded of his children: that their bodies be strong. Eventually, once his medicines were nearly perfected and no longer exorbitantly priced, he planned to dilute them broadly and provide them to the young ones under his command, strengthening the people at their very roots.

The army marched forward, slowed slightly by the large number of children, but reached Liaohaiwei by nightfall. After a night's rest, they split into three columns the next day and launched their assault.

One column attacked Changchun, another pressed forward relentlessly toward the Harbin region to link up with forces beyond the Greater Khingan Range, then turned back. A third column struck the plains along the western foothills of Changbai Mountain—the very birthplace of the Later Jin.

Wang Yan himself marched with a group of children alongside the column attacking Changchun, because Hong Taiji was there.

In fact, over these past years—especially after Wang Yan sent men to land on the North Sea, now known to the Russians as the Hoge Woczi Sea—he had captured many Banner people to cut trees, mine coal, excavate ore, farm, build roads, and construct houses. Hong Taiji's territory had shrunk to little more than parts of what would later become Jilin and Heilongjiang.

The dream of marching into the Central Plains and becoming emperor had long since been shattered by Wang Yan. Everyone knew the Jianzhou Jurchens' destruction was merely a matter of time; Hong Taiji refused to surrender, perhaps clinging only to the last shred of a warrior's pride.

"Great Khan, leave now—otherwise it will be too late."

Within Changchun City, hearing the relentless cannon fire outside and the frantic clamor nearby, Hong Taiji knew it was over—everything was over. He could have fled, but even if he survived, what would life be worth?

Hong Taiji drained a cup of solitary, harsh liquor, caught his breath, then shook his head hoarsely at his loyal retainer: "Where could I run to? Do me one last favor, then go—live well."

At all times, some choose death: "If the Great Khan does not leave, your servant will not live alone—but give your command."