Chapter 261: Zhu Youjian's First Letter to Hong Taiji (Requesting Monthly Tickets~)

Using the Abatai affair, Hong Taiji had finally slipped his hand into the power to appoint and dismiss gūsa ejen.

The next step would be to use the appointment and dismissal of gūsa ejen in other banners to gradually widen this crack of authority.

The next candidate would need careful selection and deliberation; it would be best to start by picking from banners close to him, so as to warm the water slowly, without drawing attention. But for now, there was no rush — he could take his time searching later.

Although the Eight Banners' encampments were mostly only a few days' journey apart, in this season of heavy snow sealing the mountain passes, the time and manpower required to gather everyone together was still not to be underestimated.

Thus, this hard-won assembly of all the principals would certainly not disperse hastily after discussing Abatai's matter alone.

The many military and state affairs, great and trivial, piled up on the desk, all had to be brought out and reviewed while everyone was present.

These matters, though not as important as Abatai's affair, were also crucial to Hong Taiji's gradual consolidation of power and establishment of authority.

Among them were weighty affairs of state, and also domestic trifles.

In this fledgling regime, state affairs were family affairs, and family affairs were state affairs; the two were often muddled together, exuding a raw and rugged vitality.

The minor matters were mostly criminal lawsuits, marriage alliances, and internal administrative disputes.

For instance, a certain banner's Beile, indulging his appetite, had slaughtered a plow ox for food without authorization; according to the law, he was to be punished and had to repay the common treasury with double the number of live oxen.

Then there were household retainers under a Beile's mansion who, bullying others by relying on their master's power, forcibly bought pigs and, because the Han bannerman had crossed banners to trade, gathered household slaves and beat the man until his head was split and bleeding.

When this matter was brought before the assembly, aside from losing face, fines of silver and pigs were also imposed.

Further, the Sahalca tribe to the north had dispatched a sixty-man mission to pay court, offering tribute of fine sable, lynx, and fox pelts, which required rewards and pacification according to precedent.

There were also marriages and funerals within the imperial house: for example, Princess Fengkuoxi, who had been widowed for many years, was now decreed to remarry Beile Sonom Dügüreng; and the newly submitted Beile Sechen Joriktu, in order to solidify his position, had come specially to request a marriage alliance, thereby forging a bond of Qin and Jin.

Each and every one of these items, trivial and complicated, was the lubricant that kept this barbaric war machine running — not one could be dispensed with.

Once these trivial matters were dealt with, the assembly turned to discuss the final two major affairs.

The first was that chicken-rib of a place, Joseon.

In the first month of this year, the Second Beile Amin had led a great army sweeping across the peninsula, pressing up to the city walls.

After forcing the Joseon king, Yi Jong, to sign a treaty under the city walls and become brotherly states, the Later Jin side felt it had already shown ample face and sincerity. Yet this Joseon was an out-and-out slippery customer.

When the Later Jin sent dispatches demanding the return of fugitives, Joseon simply spread its hands and put on an innocent face.

"Uiju is already occupied by your esteemed nation's great army; we truly wish to help but lack the strength, and cannot exercise control."

Then, in the ninth month of this year, Hong Taiji, to demonstrate sincerity, ordered the withdrawal of troops from Uiju and returned the land to Joseon.

The Joseon side, however, switched to a different set of excuses.

"Alas, the Pyongan and Hwanghae provinces are devastated; of the Joseon people who fled, not one in ten survived. These people endured countless hardships to return to their homeland, and we truly cannot bear to deport them. And as for the Liaodong fugitives, how could they flee to Joseon? Most have likely fled to Mao Wenlong's Pidao by now, and we are likewise unable to catch them." In short, they stalled when they could and deflected when they could.

But to say Joseon's attitude was improper would not be quite right either.

Envoys of every kind streamed to Shenyang like flowing water, and locally produced specialties of negligible value arrived month after month without fail, their posture done to perfection. Yet, strategically, the Later Jin truly had no good way to deal with this neighbor.

That wretched piece of land, Joseon, aside from a narrow strip of plain on its western side, was entirely towering mountains to the east, the terrain rugged and difficult to traverse, bearing more than a passing resemblance to the Liaoxi Corridor.

(See attached map: the total grain output here is less than a quarter of Vietnam's.)

The land was barren and the population sparse — a proper "chicken rib."

As the saying goes, "There is land that is not worth contending for" — this refers precisely to the Joseon peninsula.

If they truly followed Amin's proposal and insisted on annexing and incorporating Joseon, it was feared that nearly half of the Later Jin's military strength would be trapped in this quagmire, dragged thin and worn down by those endless mountains.

That would be the worst of all foolish moves. But at present, the Mongol Tiger Khan's prestige was waning daily, and more and more tribes on the steppe were defecting to the Later Jin — every open mouth needed feeding.

Although the Later Jin had built up modest reserves by scraping Joseon clean earlier this year, combined with last year's resumption of production,

sitting idle and eating through their stores was no long-term solution; they had to prepare for a rainy day.

Since they could not fight, they could only switch to another method of bleeding them dry.

After a brief discussion, the assembly settled on a policy:

Since military occupation was not cost-effective, they would open frontier trade markets at Uiju and Hoeryong to conduct commerce.

The Pyongan and Hwanghae provinces had already been scraped cleaner than a face; the remaining six provinces further in were either barren mountains and foul waters or too far away — it was simply not worth sending the troops again.

Better to use silver and coin to exchange for grain and cloth — that would yield practical benefits.

As for the second major affair, it naturally could not avoid that colossal entity, the Ming dynasty.

Ever since raising troops with the Seven Grievances, the ambitions of the Later Jin leadership had been like a roller coaster, rising and falling unpredictably.

At the very start, they won fame at the Battle of Sarhū, then swept through Fushun, Shenyang, Liaoyang, and Guangning like splitting dry weeds and smashing rotten wood — the momentum seemed almost to replicate the glory of the Jin dynasty's rise and annexation of the Liao dynasty back then.

Yes, the Liao dynasty.

After all, the Sixteen Prefectures of You and Yun were not in the Song dynasty's hands at the time, so the comparison lacked a certain flavor.

With smooth sailing all the way, even after suffering a major setback beneath the walls of Ningyuan, the men's morale had never truly dropped.

Just at the start of this year, the Later Jin's peace envoys had even put forward a price they had carefully deliberated:

A one-time "friendship gift" of one hundred thousand taels of gold, one million taels of silver, one million bolts of satin, and ten million bolts of blue cloth (cotton cloth)! Thereafter, each year, the Ming dynasty would also have to pay tribute of ten thousand taels of gold, one hundred thousand taels of silver, one hundred thousand bolts of satin, and three hundred thousand bolts of blue cloth.

And the Later Jin would give in return, each year, ten eastern pearls, one thousand sable pelts, and one thousand jin of ginseng.

But these ambitious men who had emerged from the white mountains and black waters truly did not feel they were making an outrageous demand.

The head of the Literary Office, Dahai, was renowned among the Jurchen for his thorough knowledge of history, and this annual tribute was not arbitrarily set — it had a basis.

Their basis was that the annual tribute standard the Song dynasty paid to the Jin dynasty was two hundred fifty thousand taels of silver and two hundred fifty thousand bolts of silk per year.

The Ming dynasty was so much larger than the Song dynasty, and their Later Jin was so much smaller than the Jin dynasty — a slight discount was understandable. Moreover, compared to the five million two hundred thousand taels of military pay for Liaodong each year, what did this paltry sum even count for?!

The Later Jin Beiles felt they were being far too conscientious.

Yet reality soon cooled these feverish minds.

In the fourth month of this year, at the Battle of Ningjin, the Ming army held fast behind their walls, their cannons sharp, sending the Later Jin's great army home with broken wings.

After that campaign, the men's ambitions finally receded somewhat.

The failure of the siege was not the key point.

The key point was that the Ming people had changed.

While their mouths spoke of peace negotiations, behind their backs they frantically built fortifications — utterly and supremely treacherous.

Even more frightening was this: the Ming army could now not only hold their cities — they actually dared to march out and fight in the open field, meeting the Eight Banners' warriors head-on!

The city intelligence networks and bribed spies that had always worked flawlessly in the past were now useless.

By the ninth month, that Ming Assistant Regional Commander surnamed Xu had even dared to lead his naval forces deep into the Sancha River, swaggering in brazenly to scout the defenses of Niuzhuang. All of this was sending a dangerous signal:

The Ming seemed to be the same soft eggs as before — and yet, somehow… not quite so soft anymore.

Faced with a centipede that refuses to die even when broken, trying to gnaw through it by force was clearly unwise. Inside the great hall, the assembled men conferred in low voices for a long time, and in the end they had no choice but to face reality. They decided to send another envoy to Zu Dashou to deliver a letter — to see whether they could dispatch an envoy to the capital to pay respects to the recently deceased Tianqi Emperor and, by the way, offer congratulations on the new Emperor's ascension.

And, of course, most importantly, to also, by the way, discuss the matter of peace negotiations once more.

As for the previous terms…

Ahem — one starts with a sky-high asking price, and the other bargains it down. That is how it works.

The previous terms were admittedly a bit steep, but we are neighbors, after all — everything is negotiable. Why slam the door shut outright?

As long as they are willing to talk, everything can be worked out.

Yet things unfolded completely beyond the expectations of the Later Jin leadership.

Going by the usual habits of the Liaodong military houses, any document touching on relations between the two states would sit on a desk for ten days to half a month — otherwise, how could they show off their prestige?

Add in the relay stations going back and forth and the process of petitioning the capital for an imperial decree, and a single round trip would take at least a couple of months.

But this time, only five days passed.

Five days! And the reply was delivered!

Hong Taiji took the letter, swept a single glance over it, and immediately issued an urgent order to convene the council once more.

Only this time, he summoned only the core Banner lords of the Eight Banners.

"Dahai, brief the assembled Beile on the situation."

Dahai, the Director of the Literary Institute, stepped forward to report.

"Five days ago, by the Khan's command, this subject drafted a dispatch and sent it to Zu Dashou in Liaodong."

"This subject weighed every word of that letter with the utmost care. Following the formalities the Ming previously demanded, I removed the Tiancong reign title, used our Later Jin state seal, and sent it solely in the Great Khan's personal name."

"Such a humble posture already gave the Ming more than enough face and showed the utmost sincerity."

"We expected that receiving a reply would take at least a month or more."

"Who could have guessed that the reply would arrive this very morning? After the Great Khan read it, he immediately summoned you all to deliberate."

Dahai unfolded the letter in his hands and spread it out for everyone to see.

He drew a deep breath and read the brief reply aloud:

"We have received your letter. Your attitude was passable, but We greatly dislike this signature."

"After the Battle of Ning-Jin, all under Heaven know you to be a figure on the level of Pan Feng — how are you worthy of conversing with Us?"

"Henceforth, if there is to be further correspondence, send someone else to do the talking."

Dahai finished reading the letter. To a man, they were speechless.

Manggultai's ox-like eyes bulged wide as he looked left and right, as if checking whether he had misheard.

The Second Beile, Amin, had his arms folded across his chest, his shoulders twitching faintly — he was actually struggling to hold back his laughter.

In his eyes was both scorn for the childishness of the Ming Emperor and a certain schadenfreude at watching Hong Taiji be made a fool of.

The Great Beile Daishan said not a word. His brows were tightly knitted as he reached out, took the letter, and held it close to scrutinize it carefully.

The younger generation — men like Yoto and Dorgon — were already wearing expressions of pure fury, their fists clenched and cracking.

Only Ajige's gaze drifted about restlessly; no one could tell what he was thinking.

"Speak your minds, all of you. What do you make of this?" Hong Taiji's voice broke the silence.

"Heh!" Amin finally could not hold it in and let out an inscrutable strange laugh, but he was in no hurry to speak.

It was Daishan's son Yoto, young and hot-blooded, who could not bear to see his Khan subjected to such a monstrous insult. He could not help but speak first, his voice brimming with fury: "Is it not obvious? This is Zhuge Liang sending women's clothes to Sima Yi! It is clearly a taunt — a provocation meant to enrage the Great Khan and throw our army into disarray!"

"A taunt?"

Amin let out a derisive snort, cast a sidelong glance at Yoto, and drawled:

"What is there to taunt? Does he mean to goad us into marching out to attack him? That wet-behind-the-ears brat who just ascended the throne a few days ago? Would he dare?" At this, the smirk on Amin's face deepened, tinged with contempt:

"Who knows — maybe these are his true thoughts. Maybe this unweaned wolf cub simply does not know how to dissemble, and blurts out whatever comes into his head."

"Bullshit!"

Yoto flew into a rage and jabbed a finger at Amin, shouting: "You think I don't know what you're scheming… you…"

Just as the two were about to come to blows, Daishan, who had remained silent all the while, finally spoke, cutting the farce short.

"Something is not right about this letter."

The moment Daishan spoke, everyone's eyes converged on him.

Daishan rubbed the letter paper between his fingers and said slowly:

"If this were an edict from the Ming Emperor — even a secret decree — would it be written on such ordinary paper?"

"When we were young, we all saw the various edicts Father Khan kept. Which one of them was not written on the finest silk? And the prose was packed with classical allusions, the diction as ornate as it could possibly be."

He shook the somewhat coarse sheet of paper in his hand:

"Yet this letter — why is it entirely in marketplace vernacular? Not even a proper format? And the paper is nothing more than what one would use for an ordinary personal letter?" His words struck the others like a wake-up call.

One by one, they caught on, and a buzz of discussion arose.

"Indeed — and the letter was sent only five days ago! It is two thousand li from Shenyang to the capital. Even if it sprouted wings and flew, this letter could not have reached there, let alone a reply coming back!"

"Could it be… that this was forged by a Ming frontier commander?"

"Impossible! Even if you lent Zu Dashou ten times the courage, he would never dare impersonate the Emperor's tone and forge a state letter. Does he not value his life?!" Amid the clamor, Daishan raised his head and fixed his gaze on Hong Taiji, who had remained seated and motionless the entire time, and asked:

"What does the Great Khan think?"

Hong Taiji gave a slight nod, swept his eyes across the assembly, and said in a deep voice:

"This is precisely why I have summoned you all to deliberate."

"The insults in the letter are mere childish tricks, beneath notice. But hidden within those insults are details that grow more chilling the more one dwells on them." He raised a finger and tapped the letter:

"First: observe the tone of this dog emperor — arrogant and insolent. It seems this peace negotiation is off the table for now."

"In future correspondence, since he has no wish to discuss peace, there is no need for us to keep pressing the matter."

"Then we shall use Dahai's strategy — speak often in our letters of their unpaid wages, sow discord between ruler and ministers, and stir the minds of those frontier generals and soldiers. As for the signature…" Hong Taiji gave a cold laugh. "If he does not want my signature, then I shall not sign. A joint signature of the four Beile will do. Such empty titles — what harm in granting them to him?"

At this point, his tone abruptly darkened:

"But what matters more…"

Hong Taiji paused briefly, his gaze sweeping across every face, and spoke each word deliberately:

"This letter was absolutely drafted by that little emperor himself. No matter how domineering a Ming frontier general may be, none would ever dare forge an imperial brush-written state letter!"

"And moreover — this tone, arrogant, utterly childish, and entirely in plain vernacular — it is unmistakably the style of that boy emperor!"