Chapter 234: The Oath at Xi'an

On the first day of the tenth month of the second year of Dashun's Yongchang era, the walls of Xi'an were once again crowded with countless Dashun soldiers and officers clad in white armor, each with spirits soaring high—by the look of them, they could hardly wait to march on Beijing.

According to what Li Zicheng and his generals had agreed upon, this day would mark the ceremony of consecrating the banners and setting forth for their second eastern expedition.

In truth, without taking Beijing, Li Zicheng's claim to the title of Emperor carried no legitimate mandate. Though Li Zicheng himself still harbored a special fondness for his homeland of Shaanxi and wished to settle down securely as the King of the Northwest, not all of his subordinates in the Dashun army shared that view.

Moreover, it had been barely any time since the Dashun army had withdrawn southward last year, and Li Zicheng had already noticed the old ailments creeping back into each camp—first, the problem of military discipline, and second, the problem of pay and provisions.

Dashun had absolutely no grain reserves whatsoever; wherever they went, they carved up the local landlords, gentry, and wealthy households clean, nor did they have any means of earning silver. After a year of sitting idle and eating through their stores, soldiers in some places had already grown restless.

No money, and no grain either.

Now that everyone was in their own homeland of Shaanxi, before the eyes of their own fathers and elders, it truly would not do to resort to plunder—Li Zicheng could not bear to show such a face. Just at this critical juncture, the imperial court, as if courting death, suddenly launched a campaign against the Doyan, draining the Northwest Great Camp of nearly all its troops.

Li Zicheng sighed that heaven's mandate truly lay with him. Without much deliberation—indeed, with no second option—he could only accede to his generals' request and, in proper order, consecrate the banners and march east.

On the tall corner tower of the Xi'an city walls fluttered the Dashun banner; beneath it stood Liu Zongmin, Tian Jianxiu, Niu Jinxing, and the full complement of Dashun civil and military officers.

Apart from the troops of the Five Great Veteran Camps, who were all equipped with iron armor and steel blades, the majority of the remaining Dashun soldiers carried standard-issue Ming military sabers and spears, wore white arrow jackets with "Dashun" characters embroidered on the chest and back patches, and the better-equipped among them added a layer of fine leather armor or cloth-faced armor over the chest.

Even up to now, at the very least they appeared to each possess a complete set of standard-issue equipment.

Among the various camps of the Dashun army, the most elite were the so-called Five Great Veteran Camps. Most of these men had followed Li Zicheng through thick and thin since the era of Gao Yingxiang, roaming north and south, and their combat prowess was formidable.

Li Zicheng, who had never crossed swords with the Qing slaves, firmly believed they were even capable of matching the Qing slaves beyond the pass.

The Left Support Camp, whose banner was white, had originally been commanded by General Liu Fangliang. However, last year Liu Fangliang's southern route army suffered two defeats in two battles, and the Left Support Camp's forces were completely annihilated by Chen Qiyu and Dong Qi in an encirclement at Gu Pass. Including General Ma Shiyao, Right Majestic General Liu Rukui, and other commanders of considerable prestige within the Dashun army, all remained missing to this day—their heads were presumed to have already been sealed as trophies of merit by the Ming army.

After those two battles, the Left Support Camp ceased to exist.

Of course, Li Zicheng had it in mind to rebuild the Left Support Camp, placing it under his own command and restoring the five-camp military structure. But the other Dashun generals, Liu Zongmin included, did not want their own subordinates carved up, and some with ulterior motives did not want Li Zicheng's personal power to grow too great—naturally, they all tacitly opposed it with every effort.

As things stood, the matter of rebuilding the Left Support Camp had no way forward.

Apart from the Left Support Camp, the Right Wing Camp flew a red banner, commanded by General Yuan Zongdi, with Left Majestic General Bai Minghe and Right Majestic General Liu Tichun as his deputies; the Vanguard Camp flew a black banner, commanded by General Liu Xiyao, with Left Majestic General Xie Junyou and Right Majestic General Tian Hu as his deputies; the Rear Elite Camp flew a yellow banner, commanded by General Li Guo, with Left Majestic General Zhang Neng and Right Majestic General Ma Chongxi as his deputies.

"Bring him up!" Liu Zongmin bellowed in his loud voice. The generals turned to look and discovered that what the soldiers were escorting up from below the walls was actually a potbellied Ming prince.

This prince, whoever he was, was clearly scared out of his wits by the spectacle before him—where was any of the dignity of the Great Ming imperial house now? He knelt there kowtowing to Li Zicheng without cease, just short of clutching Liu Zongmin's leg and wailing at the top of his lungs.

The common folk below were also bitterly hateful toward the court, shouting and cursing in turns—one could tell from these very princes and imperial clansmen just what sort of stock the Great Ming court was made of.

If this dynasty did not fall, heaven's justice would not be served!

The literati, seeking fame and position, had first urged Li Zicheng to ascend the throne as the so-called Yongchang Emperor, and then ceaselessly pressed him to march out of the pass and unify the realm, praising Li Zicheng to the heavens while disparaging the Great Ming court as worthless.

Things like the Chongzhen Emperor improving the treatment of soldiers or abolishing the guard station garrison system—good deeds such as these, Niu Jinxing would never mention. Li Zicheng did not know of them, and even fewer among the common people had ever heard a word.

So what did this fellow bring up instead? He embellished and exaggerated how the Chongzhen Emperor was bloodthirsty, how he had lost the people's hearts—killing several ministers one day, beating several outspoken officials to death the next, with exorbitant taxes and levies springing up endlessly within the passes, the people living in dire misery, waiting only for him, the Yongchang Emperor Li Zicheng, to lead the righteous hosts of Dashun to their doorstep so they could survive.

As time went on, Li Zicheng himself came to believe that the Great Ming deserved to fall and that the realm ought by rights to be his.

That said, the internal hierarchy of the Dashun army was far from strict—it still operated on the old sworn-brotherhood basis. Liu Zongmin's troops were on par with Li Zicheng's, and within the army they were even considered equals.

Fully eighty percent of Dashun officers and soldiers still addressed him as the Dashing King; only literary officials like Niu Jinxing and Song Xiance who wielded brush and ink, along with a handful of exceptionally loyal military commanders like Tian Jianxiu, addressed Li Zicheng as Emperor.

At this eastern expedition oath-taking ceremony, Li Zicheng still wore his signature windbreaker and red felt cap—clear proof that he himself held a whatever-will-be-will-be attitude toward this hollow title of Emperor.

"Today, our Dashun raises a million-strong host for a second eastern expedition, sworn to annihilate the tyrannical Ming and restore a bright and clear world to the realm, giving the people a good life!" Li Zicheng declared loudly, then turned his head to look at the prince and said in a cold voice:

"Drag this prince of the tyrannical Ming who oppressed the people down to consecrate the banners! The next one to consecrate the banners will be that fatuous sovereign in Beijing!"

Watching the surrounding commoners cheer and acclaim without cease, the prince, at the final moment, knowing his death was now unavoidable, at last mustered a shred of imperial clan pride and shouted in a trembling, hoarse voice:

"Li the bandit! His Majesty will avenge this prince! You rabble—when that day comes, you will all be slaughtered just the same, and sooner or later you will follow this prince's fate!"

Li Zicheng had never held any fondness for these princes. He waved his hand in signal, and two Dashun soldiers raised their blades and brought them down—the prince's pig-slaughter-like screams ceased abruptly, and pig's blood spilled all over the ground.

Before long, a round head, fat of cheek and big of ear, was hoisted atop the city wall, its face frozen in utter terror, still dripping blood.

At the sight of blood, even the common rabble below who loved nothing more than watching a spectacle turned frenzied, cheering Li Zicheng on without cease, and the Dashun soldiers were each wildly excited in turn.

Li Zicheng looked down at the Dashun army surging like a torrent beneath his feet and thought to himself: it seemed the end of the tyrannical Ming was fast approaching.