Chapter 310: Acute Illness

Far away on the front lines at Jinzhou, Yoto was indeed in exactly the predicament Chen Qiyu had guessed — caught on a tiger's back with no easy way down. Facing the Ming army holed up in the fortress towns of Songshan and the others, he felt a deep sense of helplessness for the first time.

When he had first led his army south with such confidence, he had believed that apart from Jinzhou city itself, which could not be breached, the other small forts and towns would be broken with ease — then he could slaughter and plunder to his heart's content before returning to Shengjing, avenging the loss of Yizhou while seizing large numbers of captives and supplies, and upon his return to Shengjing he would also gain face before the main western expedition force that was on its way back.

Judging by the Eight Banners' many years of experience fighting the Ming army, although the Jinzhou garrison had taken Yizhou and annihilated the thousand men of the Bordered White Banner, their own losses would also have been severe. Their main force would surely have withdrawn to Jinzhou to guard against the inevitable Eight Banner retaliation, and the defensive strength of the other fortress towns should have been very weak.

What he had not expected was that the defenders of these fortress towns were not the Jinzhou troops who had fought the Eight Banners for years, but rather regular imperial forces transferred in from inside the passes by the Ming court.

Though these regular troops were not numerous, whether in equipment or fighting will they far surpassed Zu Dashou's men, giving one a feeling that they could not be easily shaken.

After deliberating with Kong Youde and the others, Yoto and his officers unanimously concluded that this Ming force was the same one that had blocked Ajige beneath the walls of Changping the previous year — the sharpness of their firearms and the strictness of their military bearing matched Ajige's description exactly.

But even knowing where this Ming army had come from, Yoto and the others had no idea how to defeat them.

The enemy simply fought from behind their walls, protected by the mighty cannons atop the ramparts, with ranks of musketeers guarding both flanks — like a hedgehog, hard to get one's teeth into. The only option would be to pile on with human lives, ignoring the terrible killing power of cannon, muskets, and long spears, using heavily armored infantry to break open a gap and charge into their formation — but the cost of doing that would be far too great. The Eight Banner soldiers were elite, to be sure, but their numbers were still too few. Never mind trading one for one — even trading ten Ming soldiers for one Eight Banner veteran was not worth it.

After suffering one setback after another beneath Songshan and Daxing Fort, Yoto saw there was no advantage to be gained, so he ordered the entire army to withdraw north of Jinzhou, pitch camp, and then reconsider their options.

By now Jinzhou and the fortress towns of Songshan and the others were like chicken ribs in Yoto's mind — tasteless to eat, yet a pity to throw away.

Honored by the Emperor's regard, he, as one of the outstanding young generation of the Eight Banners, had led twenty or thirty thousand men on a long and arduous campaign. Over the course of several months he had consumed vast amounts of money, grain, and supplies, yet in the end he had only lost troops and generals while reaping nothing at all — instead he had thrown away several hundred lives for nothing. To be sure, he had killed and wounded a fair number of Ming soldiers, but the results were in no way proportionate to the cost. How could he have the face to return to Shengjing?

But if he continued to grind away at the Ming army around Jinzhou, setting aside the fact that grain and supplies were already becoming hard to sustain, the steadily sagging morale of his troops and the gradually cooling weather — all these unfavorable conditions and factors for the Eight Banners combined made Yoto's resolve to withdraw grow stronger by the day.

Just as he was caught in this dilemma, Yoto received a secret letter sent by his father Daišan: His Majesty's health had taken a turn for the worse, and he was now lying ill in bed.

Upon receiving the secret letter, Yoto immediately summoned the Three Obedient Princes to discuss matters, and in the end they decided to prepare for withdrawal.

But this order absolutely could not come from his own mouth. He would submit a memorial to Shengjing and push the blame onto the Emperor instead.

Although the Emperor had fallen ill, he was still perfectly capable of handling state affairs — he simply could not work long hours.

Far away in Shengjing, Hong Taiji likewise had never imagined that he, a man in the prime of his life, would suddenly be stricken with such a serious illness.

As the main western expedition forces gradually returned laden with spoils, the great numbers of captives and supplies they had seized filled Hong Taiji with relief. The consequences of the severing of the trade route through Zhangjiakou Fort were gradually becoming apparent — the daily grain rations of the Han booi bondservants of each banner had already been greatly reduced. If this situation continued, before next spring arrived the entire Eight Banners would face an unsustainable grain shortage. Although small-scale smuggling with the Ming army at Jinzhou provided some supplement in between, the shortage of grain and supplies was growing ever more severe.

Watching the endless stream of Eight Banner soldiers returning to Jianzhou with tens of thousands of Mongols, driving countless livestock and lele carts laden with grain, the great boulder pressing on his chest finally loosened considerably.

In his delight, Hong Taiji decided to go hunting in the mountain forests to relax, hoping to ease his long-tensed spirits.

But what he could never have anticipated was that just as he rode his warhorse and shot down an elk, he suddenly felt a warmth in his nasal cavity. A stream of salty liquid flowed into his mouth, and then a great gush of bright red blood poured rapidly down from his nostrils.

Seated on his horse, Hong Taiji felt dizzy and lightheaded, his strength seeming to drain away along with the nosebleed. He hastily reined in his horse with one hand, cast aside the longbow in his grip, tilted his face skyward, and pressed his other hand against the bridge of his nose, trying to stop the flow — but these measures were utterly useless. Great quantities of blood continued to pour out like a spring, quickly soaking the robes across his chest.

The guards on either side spotted Hong Taiji's abnormality and swiftly spurred their horses to surround him. The burly guard commander Oboi urged his mount to Hong Taiji's side, and seeing the Emperor swaying perilously in the saddle, Oboi leaped down from his horse and caught hold of his body, then with strength in both arms and a soft grunt, lifted the large and imposing Hong Taiji down from the horse. Turning around and bending his legs slightly, he carried his master on his back and sprinted toward the carriage parked in the distance. The blood streaming from Hong Taiji's nose soon stained the cotton armor on Oboi's back a deep red.

"Empress, please be at ease. His Majesty's illness is epistaxis, brought on by wind-dizziness syndrome. The nosebleed has now been stopped. In a little while, after His Majesty wakes, he should take a bowl of decoction containing sedative and mind-calming ingredients. After taking the medicine, His Majesty will sleep soundly for a time, and when he wakes his symptoms should be somewhat alleviated. This illness requires a period of quiet recuperation, during which he must not consume beef, mutton, ginseng, or other aggravating foods. Your servant will now wait in the outer hall, so that the Empress may summon me at any time!"

"Thank you for your trouble, Imperial Physician Li. You may withdraw! If anything arises, I will send someone to summon you! His Majesty's illness must not be spoken of to anyone — otherwise, I will have your entire clan executed!"

The imperial physician Li Cunde, past fifty years of age, was so frightened he shivered, hastily kneeling to kowtow to Empress Zhezhe and to Bumbutai, Hailanzhu, and the others. Rising and bowing, he retreated to the doorway of the hall before turning and leaving with his medicine chest in hand.

"Empress, is His Majesty's illness serious? Should we send someone to recall the eldest prince?"

Bumbutai — narrow-eyed and flat-nosed, she who would later be famed throughout history as Consort Zhuang — looked at Hong Taiji lying on the bed with closed eyes and a pale face, and asked with concern.

"Don't worry, His Majesty's constitution is very strong. This time it is only a minor ailment he happened to catch — he will be better in a few days!"

Zhezhe, deeply worried herself, spoke to comfort her.

She was Bumbutai's aunt, and the two had married Hong Taiji one after the other, but within the palace they addressed each other by rank.

"Sister, don't worry. His Majesty is protected by heaven and will come to no harm. What matters now is not letting outsiders think His Majesty has fallen gravely ill — otherwise, who knows what crooked ideas some people might get into their heads!"

The speaker, Hailanzhu, was Bumbutai's elder sister, who had married Hong Taiji at the advanced age of twenty-six. Though Hailanzhu's features were not especially striking, a pair of eyes — black and white clearly defined, sparkling with life — made her entire face vivid and animated. Having married into the palace only last year, she had already won sole favor through her distinctive charm. When Hong Taiji assumed the imperial title and conferred titles upon the five consorts of the rear palace, Hailanzhu had overtaken the others and been named Consort Chen, "Senior Consort of the Eastern Palace," second in rank only to Empress Zhezhe. Hong Taiji had also borrowed the famous line from the Book of Songs — "Guan guan cry the ospreys, on the islet in the river" — to name Hailanzhu's residence the "Guanju Palace."

"Consort Chen, no need to worry. I am fine. This illness has plagued me for some years now — it has merely flared up more severely this time. In a few days I will be well again. Empress, send someone to convey my decree and summon Prince Rites to the palace!"

Hong Taiji on the sickbed suddenly spoke, comforting them in a weak voice.

"Your Majesty, you're awake!?"

Zhezhe and the other two exclaimed with joy simultaneously.

"I told you I am fine — I know my own condition! Go quickly and send someone to convey the decree!"