Chapter 1669: Commissioner Yuan, Regional Commander Mao

In the twelfth month, ice sealed the rivers and snow drifted through the air.

However unsteady the four corners of the realm might be, in the vicinity of Beijing beneath the Son of Heaven's feet, one could still feel a prosperity quite unlike anywhere else.

At the very least, in this winter of the seventh year of Tianqi, the lands outside Beijing still enjoyed the peace of a golden age.

Along both sides of the official road from Tongzhou to Chaoyang Gate east of Beijing stretched an unbroken line of shops, wineshops, and warehouses, a scene hardly different from inside the city itself. This official road was Beijing's "golden passage." Every year, the several million shi of grain and all manner of other goods sent to Beijing by the Grand Canal had to be unloaded at the Tongzhou docks. For the stretch from Tongzhou to Beijing, everything had to travel this official road outside Chaoyang Gate. And officials entering or leaving Beijing who meant to take the canal southeast likewise had to go out through Chaoyang Gate to Tongzhou.

Over time, the twenty li of official road from Chaoyang Gate to Tongzhou grew ever more prosperous and ever more bustling. Even in the bitter cold of the twelfth month, carts and horses still flowed along it in an endless stream, conjuring a scene full of life and vigor.

A column of soldiers in red narrow-sleeved battle dress, with front-opening armored jackets over it and flying-saucer hats on their heads, all with sabers at their waists, long spears on their shoulders, and bows and arrows on their backs, had formed ranks and was swaggering toward Chaoyang Gate. Behind them came a train of carts and horses: more than a dozen wagons lashed with large chests, several covered carts carrying people, and men in traveling clothes riding on horseback.

The people who made their living on the official road outside Chaoyang Gate knew at a glance from these soldiers, carts, and horses that some border commander had come to the capital. And seeing those heavily laden wagons, they knew he had brought no small number of gifts. But this border commander was keeping a low profile: he had not sent men ahead with his rank placards, nor had he ordered gongs beaten to clear the road. It seemed he simply wanted to slip into the city quietly. And the more low-key a border commander or provincial grandee was, the more real power he usually had — quite possibly he was a local hegemon holding a heavy force in his hands.

With the court situation now in violent upheaval and storms suddenly rising, even commanders far off on the frontier could hardly avoid being drawn in. Summoned to Beijing by an edict at so sensitive a moment, this man naturally had to kowtow more, send more gifts, and stir up less trouble.

The man who had come was none other than a figure of great controversy in later ages — at one moment hailed as the great pillar holding up the Ming, at another said to have deserved losing his head — Mao Wenlong, the Mao Commander of Dongjiang, holder of the office of Regional Commander for the Pacification of Liao, recipient of the imperial sword, and additionally enfeoffed as Left Commissioner-in-Chief.

From the Tianqi years until the early Chongzhen years, this Mao Commander of Dongjiang was a most unconventional border commander. He had not climbed the normal ladder of promotion, rank by rank, to the post of Regional Commander of a garrison. Instead, after the great defeat at Guangning, when Liaodong had fallen and Ming power there had utterly collapsed, he had led a small Ming force of one or two hundred men by sea to strike at the rear of the eastern barbarians, broken through to take Zhenjiang, killed no small number of eastern-barbarian officers and men left to hold the place, and kept recruiting Liaodong Han who refused to submit to eastern-barbarian rule, along with remnants of the Liao army. He had raised a force of his own, then borrowed Pidao, an island hanging alone in the sea, from the Joseon as a base, and also seized many islands along the coast of the Liaodong peninsula. Thus he had carved out a Dongjiang garrison for himself and made himself its Regional Commander.

In other words, Mao Wenlong's territory was won by his own hand, and his army was raised by himself. Other border commanders might keep a few household retainers as their hawks and hounds, but he, Mao Wenlong, possessed the entire Dongjiang army!

Other border commanders were watched over by a crowd of civil officials and eunuchs — but who could restrain him, Mao Wenlong? No prefectures or counties had been established over in Dongjiang either! The Governor of Dengzhou and Laizhou controlled Mao Wenlong's supply route, it was true, but Mao Wenlong claimed a force of two hundred thousand, and in reality had close to thirty thousand officers and men. With the three hundred thousand-odd taels of silver and two hundred thousand shi of grain the court actually delivered into his hands, he could not possibly have supported them no matter what.

The sea trade between the Ming and Joseon was the Mao Commander of Dongjiang's chief source of revenue!

And so this Mao Commander of Dongjiang had troops, land, and a source of wealth — and was, moreover, hanging alone beyond the sea: a warlord through and through, a hero of troubled times!

For such a man, receiving an imperial summons to enter the capital for an audience at a moment of violent upheaval in the court was naturally enough to set his heart pounding.

He therefore did not enter the capital at once. Instead, he first brought several thousand of his personal troops by sea to Lüshun, then sent men to Dengzhou and Laizhou to gather news. Only after learning that his old superior Yuan Keli had likewise been summoned to Beijing by the new Emperor Zhu Youjian, and seemed about to be put to great use, did he set his mind at ease and take ship for the Tianjin garrison. He then waited more than ten days in Tianjin until Yuan Keli, making his unhurried way north from Henan, arrived. Only then did he shamelessly go forward to greet him, first presenting a lavish gift, and only after that enter the capital together with him.

He looked ahead at the towering, majestic Chaoyang Gate, which in the sunlight gave off an air of inviolable authority.

Mao Wenlong, fifty-two years old this year, his originally fair face long since tanned dark by years of island life, and with a full, bristling beard that made him look rather like a fierce Zhang Fei, still felt somewhat uneasy at heart.

While waiting in Tianjin for Yuan Keli, he had heard a good deal about how decisive and ruthless His Majesty was in killing!

He had also heard of His Majesty's methods of confiscating households and selling indulgences to scrape together money!

He had heard even more: that His Majesty had established a personal guard before his tent, and had sent men to the northwestern armies to recruit daring warriors skilled in riding and archery — no matter what their previous status, if they were chosen as a knight before the tent, they would immediately be allotted five hundred mu of farmland near the capital as their office land!

Such treatment could not be matched even by the most trusted household retainers of a great border commander, let alone ordinary camp soldiers!

If this treatment was real, then it was indeed generous enough. As long as the men handling the matter below were capable enough, the Emperor would very soon have ten thousand household retainers of his own!

Mao Wenlong, who had rolled and crawled through the army for many years, knew full well how formidable ten thousand mounted household retainers would be.

Back in the day, when Li Chengliang dominated Liaodong, he had had fewer than five thousand household retainers at his disposal. Not that Li Chengliang's five thousand household retainers were anything superhuman — they too were men with two hands and two legs. As long as His Majesty truly gave sufficient pay, sufficient equipment, and had capable men to drive them hard, in less than three years his ten thousand household retainers would be tempered into form.

When that day came, could warlords like himself who carved out their own territories still have good days ahead?

Yuan Keli, riding beside Mao Wenlong, was already an old gentleman past sixty. After decades in office, he had accumulated a bellyful of pent-up frustration, and since his family was fabulously wealthy, he had simply retired and gone home to enjoy his ease. So when he received Zhu Youjian's edict recalling him to office, Yuan Keli did not eagerly set out northward; instead he submitted a memorial asking to decline.

But how could Zhu Youjian let him off so easily?

Zhu Youjian still wanted him to serve as Commissioner Yuan!

Yuan Chonghuan could not become Governor-General, but Yuan Keli absolutely had to come out and work for Zhu Youjian!

For no other reason than this: at present, only Yuan Keli could work with that great thorn in the side, Mao Wenlong. So Zhu Youjian wanted Yuan Keli to serve as Governor-General, overseeing military affairs in Joseon and Liaodong while also managing Dengzhou and Laizhou. He was to cover for Mao Wenlong and settle matters in southern Liao.

So after Yuan Keli's first refusal, Zhu Youjian sent several more edicts in succession, earnestly worded, begging him to come out of retirement and serve the state.

Pressed beyond endurance by the Emperor, Yuan Keli could only journey north to Shuntian and once more labor for the Ming court.

Now, seeing the gloomy look on Mao Wenlong's face, Yuan Keli felt a certain satisfaction in his heart. This Mao Wenlong had given him no small amount of grief in the past!

"Zhennan," Yuan Keli said with a smile, stroking his white beard, "in the edict His Majesty sent this old man, he said he wants me to be Governor-General of Liaodong, and also to manage the whole business of Dengzhou and Laizhou.

His Majesty has not taken a fancy to this old bag of bones of mine; plainly he has taken a fancy to you, Zhennan. So set your mind at ease."

Mao Wenlong gave a bitter smile. "This humble general's little holdings on Pidao are truly worth nothing. Were it not for a pack of children, I would have asked to resign long ago."

Even as he spoke, Mao Wenlong suddenly heard the thunder of galloping hooves, which gave him a start — it was a reflex; when fighting the Tartars on the Liaodong front, the sound of such thunderous hoofbeats never meant anything good!

He turned his head toward the sound and saw, not far south of the official road, an unknown number of cavalry, in groups of several dozen riders each, charging back and forth across a stretch of flat ground covered in ice and snow.

This must be training, surely?

In such cold weather, with the new year almost upon them, and still training... These men could not possibly be Capital Camps troops, could they? Could they be the legendary household retainers of the Son of Heaven?

(End of Chapter)