Chapter 264: Section Twenty-One: Traitor to Han

Your servant Yuan Chonghuan submits this memorial…

The memorial was filled entirely with tiny regular-script brushstrokes. Huang Shi held his breath and read on. Sure enough, in the memorial Yuan Chonghuan, while reviewing Huang Shi’s past military merits, obliquely hinted at his arrogance; Yuan Chonghuan praised Huang Shi’s great ambition in the memorial, and by the way also slipped in a mention of how he had righteously executed his own wife; then came the matter of Huang Shi’s earlier marriage proposal to the Zhao family…

Every attack was hidden within praise of Huang Shi’s forthright character. Even when Huang Shi himself read this memorial, he keenly felt the power of those attacks. They would flash out suddenly, and just as your anger surged and you were about to refute them, these attacks would cunningly vanish again, giving you no chance to defend yourself, so that your full indignation never had a chance to gather — yet the damage was already deeply branded.

Huang Shi read it through from beginning to end. Everything was correct, everything was within expectation. Finally, with a light touch, the peace talks were described as nothing more than private idle chat. Yuan Chonghuan said that when Huang Shi sprang up in a rage, he himself was so shocked he could not speak. Yuan Chonghuan also said that only after an entire night of reflection did he understand what had angered Huang Shi.

Thus, after an entire night of reflection, Yuan Chonghuan decided to submit a memorial impeaching himself for undermining civil-military harmony, yet in the memorial he still wrote with an upright brush, telling the Emperor that he still insisted peace talks were not an entirely unworkable path.

— Very clever, extremely clever. Yuan Chonghuan knew perfectly well that the Emperor’s attention would not focus on the issue of peace talks, so he took the chance to lightly brush past it and plant a seed.

It was unclear whether Yuan Chonghuan had considered the charge Huang Shi would use to impeach him. If the Emperor truly believed Yuan Chonghuan’s version of events, then Huang Shi’s impeachment of him for lacking the decorum of a subject would appear even more despicable — simply making trouble out of nothing.

There was nothing left to hesitate over. Huang Shi drew a deep breath, rose, and knelt before Tianqi: “Your Majesty’s heart shelters your humble servant; your humble servant would willingly smear his liver and brains upon the ground, yet could never repay this…”

…

Only after he had walked all the way out of the Forbidden City did Huang Shi let out a bitter laugh, his heart filled with a sense of defeat: “I am a man from the future. I can see through the fog of history. I can discern the first signs of things to come. I made no mistake at any step. And yet I have still been utterly routed. Yuan Chonghuan, you are truly too formidable.”

When Huang Shi saw that what Yuan Chonghuan’s memorial urged was not that he should proceed with the marriage to Zhao Yin, but rather that he should not withdraw from the engagement, Huang Shi realized that his opponent had already placed himself in an invincible position. Yuan Chonghuan said he advised Huang Shi not to rush to break off the engagement, but to wait and see whether a miracle might occur; furthermore, if the second daughter of the Zhao family had died preserving her chastity for the Huang household, then Huang Shi ought to give her a gravestone.

These words, when spoken, sounded utterly upright and beyond reproach. But as long as the Emperor accepted this account, then Yuan Chonghuan’s urging Huang Shi not to break off the engagement was of course out of public-mindedness, and Huang Shi’s subsequent outburst was beyond doubt personal retaliation. Huang Shi’s secret betrothal to Zhao Yin was the hidden blade he had prepared, but now this hidden blade had become completely useless.

Perhaps it was not entirely useless. Yuan Chonghuan perhaps assumed that in his fury Huang Shi would simply never finalize the engagement with Zhao Yin, which would further confirm the charge of personal retaliation. Although Huang Shi now went through with the marriage, this could perfectly well be explained as: Huang Shi still had some sense of shame, and after hearing Yuan Chonghuan’s words his innate conscience awakened, so he did not immediately push the marriage away.

Huang Shi went over the whole affair from beginning to end once more and was horrified to discover that even if he had seen Yuan Chonghuan’s memorial beforehand, he still could not win this battle of brush and ink. If he wanted to counterattack, he would first have to overturn the Emperor’s preconceived impression, but Huang Shi simply could not produce any evidence to prove what he and Yuan Chonghuan had actually said to each other.

“If I really go and argue before the Emperor, insisting on clarifying that there was originally no marriage arrangement between myself and the Zhao family, and that Yuan Chonghuan is now forcibly pinning it on me, I fear that would be falling right into his trap. The Emperor has no leisure to investigate such domestic matters, and in the Emperor’s eyes, it would be me stubbornly undermining civil-military harmony, doubly confirming the charge of personal retaliation against me.”

Now that he had some free time, Huang Shi conducted an experiment. He tried to explain in the briefest possible words the tangled and complex relations between himself, the Zhao family, and Yuan Chonghuan, but quickly discovered he simply could not make it clear — there were far too many threads involved. “Once the Emperor grows impatient listening, he will conclude that I am arguing for argument’s sake. Yuan Chonghuan will have successfully transformed the dispute between him and me into a dispute between the Emperor and me, and once I start quarreling with the Emperor, my fate is all too easy to imagine.”

Moreover, Yuan Chonghuan’s version was a double safeguard. Even if Huang Shi, relying on Tianqi’s trust, kept quarreling, he could never obtain the investigation result he wanted. If Zhao Yin lost his post because of this, he certainly would not speak well of Huang Shi. If Zhao Yin concluded the marriage with Huang Shi and kept his post, then… what persuasive power would Zhao Yin’s words have?

Just now, the moment Huang Shi finished reading the memorial, he had apologized to Tianqi. He knew the Emperor had withheld this memorial mainly to protect him, so Huang Shi sincerely expressed his gratitude to Tianqi and, following Yuan Chonghuan’s account, splashed some dirty water on himself. What made Huang Shi most unable to decide whether to laugh or cry was this: under the present circumstances, Yuan Chonghuan’s version of events was actually the most favorable account for himself.

Huang Shi told Tianqi that he had indeed been somewhat displeased at the time, because this sort of matter was inherently humiliating, but… at this point Huang Shi did not forget to thrust a parting blow: he still insisted that peace talks were absolutely impermissible. Huang Shi admitted that his attitude at the time had indeed been poor, but he did not admit that he had made a line error.

All right, enough was enough. Huang Shi struck back once, drawing a clear line between himself and Yuan Chonghuan’s peace-talk policy, and then further emphasized the rudeness Yuan Chonghuan had shown at the time, as well as his own displeasure. Finally, Huang Shi told Tianqi that he was resolved not to hold any of this against Yuan Chonghuan any longer — all of this, of course, out of regard for Tianqi’s protective care for him, and basically unrelated to Yuan Chonghuan.

However, Huang Shi also readily expressed that he was willing to hold his nose and write a letter of apology to Yuan Chonghuan as a token of reconciliation. To prove his own magnanimity, Huang Shi told Tianqi that he had not broken off the engagement with Zhao Yin. Seeing Huang Shi’s breadth of spirit, Tianqi appeared very pleased and immediately announced another reward for Huang Shi: his future second son by his principal wife would receive the hereditary post of Embroidered Uniform Guard Battalion Commander.

On the road back to the military camp, Huang Shi repeatedly reviewed the situation and finally confirmed that his improvisation had indeed been the best possible response. Even if Tianqi harbored some displeasure in his heart, his prompt admission of error could sweep it clean; he had also given the Emperor face and satisfied his wish to act as peacemaker. His own image had, in the end, not suffered too much damage.

“Truly a complete rout.” After weighing the gains and losses between himself and Yuan Chonghuan, Huang Shi helplessly reached this conclusion. Yuan Chonghuan had scored many points before the Emperor — that went without saying. And what was most outrageous was this: for the sake of his own interests, Huang Shi had been forced to endorse Yuan Chonghuan’s views. And this was actually Huang Shi’s optimal solution: “I had better return to my Changsheng Island. In officialdom I am no match for Yuan Chonghuan, but on the battlefield he is far from being my equal.”

…

In the middle of the third month of the sixth year of Tianqi, urgent warnings again flew in thick and fast from Liaoxi. Dongjiangzhen, Liaozhen, the Northern Garrison Surveillance Commission, and the current Mongol Genghis Khan all sent emergency reports to the Great Ming court: the Later Jin army was once again massing at Liaoyang, its objective aimed directly at the Genghis Khan in Liaobei. And Nurhaci’s subsequent intent was also very clear: he had heard that the new Liaodong Provincial Governor Yuan Chonghuan was building fortifications at Jinzhou, so he had formulated a strategic plan to first smash the Genghis Khan in the northwest, then turn south and smash the Guan-Ning Army in the southwest.

The Changsheng Island army had still not left the capital at this time; it seemed the Great Ming Grand Secretariat was deliberating over the use of this force. Faced with emergency reports flying in like snowflakes, Tianqi directed a string of cold sneers at the Grand Secretariat: “Do the Jian slaves think our Great Ming has no men? Issue an edict at once: promote General Huang to Right Regional Commander, and have him prepare to rush to the aid of Liaoxi immediately, to extinguish the Jian slaves in one blow.”

Huang Shi did not think rushing to the aid of Liaoxi was a good strategy. Historically, this large-scale Later Jin offensive had ended in a whimper. Although the battle of Ningyuan greatly strengthened the Later Jin army, the siege of Shenyang allowed the Dongjiang Army to reap a hefty harvest as well. Now the Dongjiang main force and the Right Corps already possessed powerful strategic offensive capability, and unlike Liaozhen, they also had an active desire to attack.

At Huang Shi’s earnest request, Tianqi finally approved his strategic judgment and agreed to let Huang Shi transfer his troops back to Liaonan and prepare for an attack northward. Just after Huang Shi received approval, Mao Wenlong’s memorial also reached the capital. He had already ordered the Dongjiang main force to mobilize, and Mao Wenlong assured the Emperor that he was fully prepared to once again strike into the central Liaodong plain.

…

“Old sir, please pass on a message for me. Please tell the Grand Secretary that this junior general departs tomorrow.”

Before leaving, Huang Shi once again visited the Sun residence to call on Sun Chengzong. These days Huang Shi had come to the Sun residence to request an audience nearly every day, but had always returned empty-handed. Today Huang Shi waited a long time again, but still saw the gatekeeper old man come back shaking his head. The eager hope in Huang Shi’s heart felt as though a basin of ice water had been poured over it. He smiled helplessly, flung his cloak, and turned to leave.

“General Huang, please stay your steps.” A familiar voice came from behind. Huang Shi turned his head and saw Sun Zhijie running out from a side gate. Panting, he ran up to Huang Shi: “General Huang, today I and Young Master Mao have a tea gathering. Would General Huang be willing to accompany us?”

On this trip to Beijing, Huang Shi’s official duties had been heavy. He had met Mao Chengdou only once, and had invited him to tour the military camp, since Young Master Mao was, after all, the future leader of the Dongjiang Army.

“Deference is no substitute for compliance.”

Huang Shi was about to follow along when Sun Zhijie glanced at his attire. Although Huang Shi was not wearing armor now, he was still in full military dress: “General Huang, we are going to a tea gathering — would it not be better to change into official robes?”

Huang Shi raised his hand and touched his helmet, and the white plume standing proudly erect upon it: “No need. Young Master Sun, please lead the way.”

Hearing Huang Shi say this, Sun Zhijie did not insist. He took a soft sedan chair and set off. Upon arriving at the Mao residence, Mao Chengdou, as the future great general of Liaodong, also mounted a sedan chair. The sedan chairs of Sun and Mao, together with Huang Shi’s guard escort, proceeded along the road, drawing astonished gazes from the crowds on both sides, who wondered what august personages were inside the chairs, able to command an escort of these white-plumed soldiers.

When they reached the pavilion they frequented, Sun Zhijie explained to Huang Shi that because Sun Chengzong rather disapproved of the Emperor transferring frontier troops into the capital, his grandfather now, in order to make his position clear, could not meet with Huang Shi. But Sun Zhijie emphasized that if Huang Shi had entered the capital alone this time, Sun Chengzong would originally have been very eager to speak with him face to face.

Huang Shi nodded in agreement. With Sun Zhijie’s explanation, he understood it was a matter of political stance: as long as the frontier troops had not left the capital, Sun Chengzong, who had voiced opposition from the start, could not well meet with Huang Shi. Today Huang Shi was behaving very meekly. Sun Zhijie hesitated slightly, then added: “My grandfather bade me bring a message to General Huang.”

“Young Master Sun, please speak.”

But Sun Zhijie did not say it immediately; instead he added another remark: “Mm, these words may be somewhat unpleasant to hear, but they are also my grandfather’s kind intentions. I hope General Huang will not be angered.”

“The Grand Secretary’s goodwill toward Shi has always been like a bright mirror in my heart. Young Master Sun, please speak freely.”

“Mm. My grandfather said that General Huang achieved success at a young age, does not quite understand the art of concealing one’s brilliance, and probably does not remember the story of Jiang Bin.”

Jiang Bin in his day had rendered illustrious military service to the Great Ming, defending the empire’s frontiers and its people, and had thus deeply won Emperor Wuzong’s favor. After he led the frontier troops into the capital, the civil official bloc endured in silence, but once Wuzong died, Jiang Bin was utterly ruined. Using this story as an analogy for Huang Shi, though apt, was deeply inauspicious to speak aloud, so after Sun Zhijie finished, he was inwardly uneasy, worried that Huang Shi would fly into a rage.

To Sun Zhijie’s surprise, not a trace of anger appeared on Huang Shi’s face. On the contrary, Huang Shi stood up and gave a respectful bow: “Many thanks to Young Master Sun for conveying this. The Grand Secretary’s protective regard for this junior general fills me with gratitude beyond measure.”

Seeing Huang Shi so humble, Sun Zhijie and Mao Chengdou both let out a great breath. The two exchanged a smile and hastily urged Huang Shi to sit and talk. Mao Chengdou smiled at Huang Shi: “Good, good. Just now I was thinking that if General Huang could not take it in, so be it — as long as he did not lose his temper and have a big quarrel with Brother Sun, that would be enough. I was truly breaking out in a cold sweat inside.”

Huang Shi was greatly puzzled. He did not understand how he had left such an impression on Mao Chengdou: “Young Master Mao, in all this time, have I ever been rude to Young Master Sun? Why would you worry that I could not take it in?”

Mao Chengdou was taken aback. Sun Zhijie laughed and said, “Brother Mao was letting his imagination run wild. General Huang, please do not take offense.”

“Yes, it was my wild imagining.” Mao Chengdou also hastily admitted his error.

Though Huang Shi found it strange, he was unwilling to probe further and let the two of them gloss over the topic. After the three had exchanged a few more words, Sun Zhijie again smiled at Huang Shi: “General Huang is magnanimous. I have another friend who wishes, on behalf of someone, to beg General Huang’s forgiveness, so as to turn hostility into amity.”

At last, an unfamiliar young gentleman walked into the pavilion from outside. The young man stood to Huang Shi’s side and bowed to him: “I am Yuan Wenbi. I pay my respects to General Huang.”

Huang Shi smiled faintly but said nothing, nor did he turn his head to return the greeting. The pavilion instantly fell into an awkward silence. The smile on Sun Zhijie’s face stiffened, and he hurriedly stood up to greet the newcomer: “Young Master Yuan, you have kept us waiting. Please, sit over here.”

Huang Shi knew something of this Yuan Wenbi’s history. In Huang Shi’s past life, Hongli and Zhang Tingyu, that master-and-servant pair, had told barefaced lies in the History of Ming. Later, some people, in order to defend the Jian slaves’ History of Ming, forcibly claimed that Yuan Wenbi was Yuan Chonghuan’s posthumous son. Yet they could not explain why, when the Ming court tried Yuan Chonghuan’s case, the judge sentenced this “posthumous son” Yuan Tingbi according to the Great Ming Code’s sentencing standard for those aged sixteen or above, nor could they explain how a child under ten had fled from Henan out beyond the passes and obtained an audience with Hong Taiji.

Listening to the footsteps approaching from behind, Huang Shi smiled faintly again, then reached out his hand toward the helmet he had placed on the table and gently bent the snow-white peacock plume. But the moment he released it, the white plume sprang back up, pointing straight at the sky like a sharp sword. Huang Shi gazed at the quivering white plume for a moment, then lifted the helmet and placed it on his head.

The three men across from him all froze at once, watching as Huang Shi, as if no one else were present, fastened his helmet, then stood up, threw on his cloak, and tightened it. Mao Chengdou also rose blankly and said in bewilderment, “General Huang, Young Master Yuan has come to make peace.”

Huang Shi finally swept his gaze silently over the three before him: Sun Zhijie, with the look of a frail scholar, who in the end would die beside his grandfather defending Gaoyang; Mao Chengdou, whose hair would be let down like a mountain, and who, when hunted down and captured, would still sternly refuse the wealth and rank delivered to his door. And as for Yuan Tingbi — he and his descendants would enjoy the trust and heavy employment of the Jian slaves for generations. During the Ten Days of Yangzhou, Yuan Wenbi, already enrolled in the banners, would give a splendid performance; during the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom period, his fifth-generation descendant Fuminga would pile up corpses in the Jiangnan massacres; Yuan Tingbi’s sixth-generation descendant Shoushan — that is, Yuan Chonghuan’s seventh-generation descendant Shoushan — would rise all the way to become the Jian slaves’ General of Heilongjiang.

Turning his head, Huang Shi strode out of the pavilion with his head high. Behind him came Mao Chengdou’s anxious voice: “General Huang! Discord between civil and military is a great taboo in frontier affairs! This concerns the lives of over a hundred thousand soldiers!”

On the road back to the capital, Hong Antong kept shaking his head. He remarked to Huang Shi, “Marshal Mao is a hero of extraordinary ability, but Young Master Mao, I fear, does not seem like the stuff of a great general.”

Huang Shi nodded gently: “However, I have not the slightest doubt about Young Master Mao’s and Young Master Sun’s integrity in serving the nation.”

Hong Antong shot Huang Shi a disapproving look and muttered under his breath, “What use is integrity alone? A military officer must have the ability to kill the enemy.”

"Better than nothing!"

Huang Shi thought to himself, wondering what kind of rules he would have to set down so that his descendants would be capable of fulfilling their hereditary military posts.

In the fourth month of the sixth year of the Tianqi reign, after Left Chief Military Commander Mao Wenlong confirmed that the Later Jin planned to sweep the northwest to remove the threat on one flank, he accordingly held a oath-taking ceremony on Dongjiang Island and set forth with the army. The Dongjiang Army and the Mongol forces coordinated with each other on the left and right flanks — this was precisely the situation where if the lips are gone, the teeth will be cold.

Liaodong Provincial Governor Yuan Chonghuan reported to the imperial court that he was in the process of fortifying Jinzhou, and therefore the hundred-thousand-strong Guan-Ning Army could not split its forces to take action. He also worried that after the Later Jin army finished sweeping through the Mongol territories, it would follow the momentum southward and destroy his Jinzhou city.

"Target — Liaoyang!"

Having finished sacrificing an ox and consecrating the banners, Mao Wenlong swung his arm down with force: "Move out! The safety and fate of Liaodong, victory or defeat, rest on this single campaign!"