Chapter 17: Section Five

Last night Huang Shi racked his brains for a way to escape, and felt that Hong Taiji’s regard for talent was his only lifeline, so today he put on a desperate display — the consequence of misjudging the measure was that he lifted a rock only to drop it on his own foot. Though Huang Shi regretted it inwardly, the immediate difficulty still had to be faced. After thinking it over repeatedly, he felt that lying before this kind of man would ultimately be useless, and that his own scheming still seemed far from mature. Finally he clenched his teeth, met Hong Taiji’s earnest gaze, and said, “This humble man seeks only to cling to life in these troubled times, not to win fame among the lords.”

The smile on Hong Taiji’s face did not change, as if this answer had long been within his expectations — and indeed it was exactly what he had expected. “This Beile’s word is as weighty as nine tripods. Nevertheless, you must still come with me to Zhenjiang. What was spoken today touches upon the military secrets of my Great Jin. It is not that I do not trust you, but only that I wish to avoid any misunderstanding between us.”

This was simply too baffling — there was no benefit in doing this. Thoughts raced furiously through Huang Shi’s mind. He had originally planned to first decline once, to display his “true nature,” and then, when Hong Taiji pressed him further, to swear devoted service out of “gratitude.” This would seemingly dispel his opponent’s suspicions and incidentally erase the bad impression he had just made.

Now Hong Taiji’s reaction made him feel as if his punch had struck empty air. Could it be that he had already resolved to kill? Dispirited and distracted, Huang Shi mechanically uttered, “Yes.”

Hong Taiji seemed to see right through him and burst out laughing. “He who harbors the heart of a king wields the blade of a hegemon. Even a treasured sword can only be used by a true king. This realm is teeming with heroes, and bold spirits fill every corner of the land. Great Jin is not so short of talent that it cannot do without one Huang Shi. I was not speaking to test you. Huang Shi, you may set your mind at ease — serve Sun Degong well, and that too will be contributing to my Great Jin.”

Hong Taiji rose to leave. Huang Shi’s reaction had confirmed his judgment: this man still harbored some lingering attachment to the Ming state, but it was not strong — a minor problem, easily resolved. Before departing, Hong Taiji let out a sigh, as if merely speaking to himself:

“The great divide between Hua and Yi — that it should come to this!”

Huang Shi chewed over this lament: the regret of seeking a worthy man in vain, and the sympathetic understanding of Cao Cao releasing Guan Yu. Hong Taiji’s conduct today truly made him seem like a man of open and upright character — a figure so imposing that it even pressed a sense of shame out of Huang Shi.

Hong Taiji had devised a multi-layered double-agent stratagem: the imperial court would see an envoy detained and then released; Wang Huazhen would see a spy successfully infiltrate the enemy army and even conduct a reconnaissance within the Later Jin forces. Every link interlocked. Huang Shi’s first impression was that Hong Taiji cared about his safety, but thinking a layer deeper, even if he turned himself in, his bare word carried no proof. Not to mention the imperial court, even Wang Huazhen might not necessarily disbelieve Sun Degong, his trusted confidant.

Although his own position as a liaison was important, Huang Shi had thought it over repeatedly — the Later Jin surely had other spies; such a grand scheme could not rest on a single person. He reckoned that some incriminating material on himself had already been fabricated. If he defected, he would certainly meet disaster. Huang Shi held no high estimate of Wang Huazhen’s intelligence or judgment.

“I hope Hong Taiji can believe that I only want to live out my days in peace. After all, I can’t threaten him in any way. And he still needs me to go back to reinforce Wang Huazhen’s trust — surely he wouldn’t kill me over a groundless danger.”

Huang Shi himself did not believe this explanation, but it counted as self-consolation nonetheless. He picked up the object Hong Taiji had left behind and admired it. It had indeed been hastily made — the workmanship appeared rushed — but every feather had been carefully selected; it was evident that Hong Taiji had put real care into it.

Huang Shi stroked the fan and stared blankly for a long while. Only after a long time did he startle out of his daze. He immediately drove away the surge of emotion in his heart: “Die for the one who knows you? Pity that I come from an extraordinary era, one without scholar-officials. In that era, though people still did not do well enough, everyone was aware that there should no longer be an emperor as master. Coming to this era, I’ve knelt and kowtowed more than enough times, but I do not have the instinct to be a slave.”

In the eighth month of the first year of the Tianqi reign, Huang Shi donned a uniform of the Later Jin Han army and followed Hong Taiji’s troops as they drove straight for Xianshan Fort.

On the way he learned that Nurhaci had dispatched all four Senior Beile across Liaonan and Liaodong. Among them, Amin, Hong Taiji, and Li Yongfang formed the central army, with eight thousand men to deal with the Zhenjiang–Guangning army. The remaining forces were pinning down any movement around Zhenjiang. The Later Jin was using a butcher’s cleaver to kill a chicken — clearly they intended to sweep away all rebellions in the rear in one stroke.

Mao Wenlong did not seem to warrant the simultaneous deployment of all four Senior Beile; in other directions they had not even left anyone to guard the gates. Huang Shi privately speculated for a long while and felt this could only mean that the Later Jin had sufficient influence within the Guangning army high command, with absolute confidence that the Guangning army main body — Wang Huazhen’s one hundred thirty thousand troops — would not cross the Liaohe to strike at Liaoyang while it was left undefended. Under the influence of these high-level spies, the fate of the entire population of Zhenjiang, as well as that of Mao Wenlong’s Guangning army detachment, was thus sealed.

Along the way, whenever Huang Shi had the chance, he sought instruction in archery and horsemanship from the Later Jin soldiers — for him this was a rare learning opportunity. Hong Taiji’s personal guards looked down on Han people, and they never missed a chance to mock this clumsy Han. In the end they received a reprimand from Hong Taiji and reluctantly offered some guidance. Huang Shi silently endured these humiliations; now was not the time to act like a big shot. By the time the army passed Xianshan Fort and joined forces with Amin’s troops, he felt he had made considerable progress in both mounted archery and riding.

The Zhenjiang–Guangning army had fully withdrawn into the city. The surrounding area was densely laid with pit traps and obstacles. Hong Taiji, on one hand, ordered the hasty construction of siege equipment, and on the other, sent men to urge Li Yongfang to speed up the mopping-up of rebellions around Zhenjiang. The Han militia in the vicinity were mostly common folk with no weapons at all; deprived of Zhenjiang’s support, they surely could not hold out for long.

Hong Taiji always trustingly brought Huang Shi along to observe Zhenjiang’s city defenses, and Huang Shi always cautiously rode behind him. After several days, Hong Taiji finally made a small mistake. While the man in front was concentrating intently on observing the defensive arrangements, Huang Shi was stealing glances at the distance between himself and the Later Jin soldiers behind him, and comparing it with the distance to the Zhenjiang city gate. For the first time he felt it: the key to changing history was in his hand.

Sweat faintly seeped from his palm. The chance to change history was less than a meter from his blade. Huang Shi recalled some brutal history: Nurhaci, who bore deep hatred toward the Han; the cruel slave policy; the frenzied ethnic oppression. The population of Liaodong, numbering in the millions, fell to a few hundred thousand within a few years. The people flocked in droves to Mao Wenlong’s side, providing Dongjiang with abundant intelligence and manpower, suffocating the Manchu Later Jin regime inside an ever-shrinking cage.

Hong Taiji — the hegemonic king who bridged the early and later Manchu Qing — if only he were killed, then whoever inherited the khanate among the Later Jin would be nothing more than a minority clique that knew only brute oppression, at most an enlarged version of the She-An Rebellion. Huang Shi stared fixedly at the back before him. Its owner would alter Nurhaci’s ethnic policies, adopt a conciliatory approach toward Liaodong, intermarry with the Mongols, and issue orders to select Han licentiates as officials.

With a single stroke of the blade, Huang Shi knew he could utterly change history. The Later Jin would never be able to control Liaoxi, let alone enter the passes. Hong Taiji would create the Mongol Eight Banners and the Han Eight Banners, expanding the Later Jin standing army from the thirty thousand of Nurhaci’s era to his own eighty thousand, and raising the mobilization limit from fifty thousand in the seventh year of the Tianqi reign to two hundred thousand in the fifteenth year of the Chongzhen reign.

One stroke of the blade, and history would be entirely different.