Chapter 232: The Spy

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Beyond the vast mountains north of Qinghai Lake, the sky stretched high and the clouds were pale.

White birds skimmed over the lake, yaks grazed leisurely on the grasslands, and at the foot of the mountain stood a few lonely felt tents with warhorses tethered outside.

A woman chopped firewood outside the tent, while a child clutching kindling gazed into the distance, eyes full of sorrow.

Inside the tent, Chen Qindai, the Lion Camp's commandant of Mongol descent, sat around the fire with the host, roasting highland-barley buns and chatting warmly over bowls of tea.

The host was a herdsman of the Khalkha Seven Banners, short but solidly built, who said they had once pastured north of the Gobi, but after losing a battle and their grazing lands, their chieftain had brought them here.

The fighting started because the Great Khan Ligdan wanted to subjugate the Tümed, Yongshiyebü, and Ordos tribes by force — civil war erupted among the Southern Mongols, with some nobles defecting to the Later Jin and others crossing the Great Gobi to seek refuge with the Khalkha.

The many Khalkha feudal lords then fought fiercely among themselves to seize these people.

The war still raged on, but the herdsman's noyan had lost, and his noyan's Chogtu Taiji had lost too, so much so that they were driven out of the lands their ancestors had roamed for generations.

So since the year before last, they had been drifting and pasturing as they went, stopping and starting, never settling anywhere — beaten by the Muslims at Hami, and thrashed by the Han when they reached Gansu.

From Gansu to Xining, every plea for tribute and reward failed, until the herdsman was finally brought by his noyan to Qinghai, attaching themselves to the Lesser Lhazang Chogyal Taiji, who pastured along the Gansu-Qinghai border.

At this very moment, they were at war with the Lesser Lhazang's elder brother, Güru Huang Taiji.

As he spoke, the herdsman showed Chen Qindai his armor — a complex suit of rawhide.

The helmet was shaped like a monk's alms bowl, complete with a crest plume and neck guard, but only two finger-wide iron strips crossed it vertically and horizontally; the rest was all rawhide, edged with copper nails.

The body armor was the same — square rawhide plates nailed onto a rawhide backing with iron studs, along with over thirty old iron plates. The herdsman pointed at the iron plates and said he had bought them from the Great Ming Khan's Gansu border troops with lambs frozen to death.

The herdsman also said the Great Ming Khan was just like him — spoke Mongolian and believed in the Western Tibetan faith.

Chen Qindai told him not to get sidetracked and to go on about Güru Huang Taiji.

Among the Mongols, the only true Great Khan was the Chahar Great Khan; Jinong or Jinang was a prince of the blood; Huang Taiji was the Crown Prince, an honorific for the eldest son or heir apparent of the Great Khan and the Jinong; Taiji was an honorific added to the sons of the Great Khan and the Jinong.

In the earliest days, when that title was mentioned, everyone knew exactly who it referred to — but not anymore. With the khan's court losing its grip on power, anyone far enough from the Chahar Great Khan dared to name their son Huang Taiji.

Naming one's own son Huang Taiji carried a very obvious symbolic meaning: it was to place oneself on equal footing with the Chahar Great Khan.

The basic distribution was: west of the Chahar, from the Tümed to the Oirat, Huang Taijis were everywhere; east of the Chahar, there was only one Huang Taiji — in the house of the Jianzhou Guard Commander.

That was why Nurhaci was so formidable.

After all, the Mongols were a basket into which anything could be tossed. The Numuchen of the Yongshiyebü's Ten Camps were Han bowyers; the Shibaochen were a bunch of Jurchen falconers — they all came from the old Yuan dynasty's Yunxu Bureau.

This Güru Huang Taiji in Qinghai had no connection to Ligdan Great Khan of the Chahar. He belonged to the Doluo Tümed tribe, an important branch of the Tümed Tümen.

In the past, their camp had been six or seven hundred li north of Pianguan Pass. When Altan Khan paid homage to the Buddha, they responded enthusiastically, and the tribesmen who entered Qinghai were led by Khulochi. Güru Huang Taiji and the Lesser Lhazang Chogyal Taiji were both sons of Khulochi.

Khulochi was the most powerful Mongol chieftain to enter Qinghai since the Wanli era.

Lhazang was an honorific for a noble's son who became a monk. Khulochi had two sons who took monastic vows, and the people of the Western Sea, to tell them apart, called them the Greater Lhazang and the Lesser Lhazang.

Chen Qindai had stayed here two days, and the herdsman held nothing back, giving him a basic grasp of the general situation in Qinghai at this time.

It could be divided into eight parts.

The northeast was the Great Ming's Xining; the southeast held the many horse-tribute vassals and the Lesser Lhazang Chogyal Taiji; the southwest was Güru Huang Taiji; the northwest was the two camps of the Yongshiyebü.

Beyond the northeast was the Chahar's Ligdan Khan, who sought to reconquer all the Mongols.

Beyond the northwest was the Khalkha's Chogtu Taiji, pasturing beyond the Gansu border, trying to find a place to settle.

Upon the snow mountains of Ü-Tsang to the southwest was the Tsangpa Khan, patron of the White Sect, who warred endlessly with Qinghai in defense of his faith.

Chen Qindai summed up this intelligence, licked the dry skin at the corner of his mouth, and revealed a complicated smile.

But before he could take his leave, the thunder of hooves erupted outside the tent. A dozen or so Khalkha riders wrapped in hide robes and brandishing sabers had already surrounded it, shouting loudly: "Spy, come out!"

Chen Qindai turned back. Inside the tent, the host had already gripped his blade and said to him: "Don't draw your sword. Come and meet my noyan, you spy!"

Chen Qindai had intended to fight to the death, but upon hearing he was to see the chieftain, he relaxed his clenched fists — only to be immediately closed in on, punched in the stomach, hoisted up by the waist, and thrown onto a horse's back.

They traveled north for nearly an entire day, passing three pasturing felt tents along the way. Chen Qindai was filled with regret; having stayed so long in Han territory, he had misjudged the value of armor.

He should have realized that beyond the frontier, that suit of armor was worth a fortune — an ordinary herdsman was lucky just to have a padded coat.

That man had been a Khalkha warrior. His grazing land, his tent, his wife, his child — all of it was plunder.

On the road, Chen Qindai overheard that they had just returned from a campaign, having driven off the Tümed tribe that had originally pastured north of the lake, and had also raided the Red Hat Tibetans farming in the mountains to the north.

The herder escorting him said the Tibetan people of Qinghai were broadly divided into two kinds: one was the Red Hat Tibetans, skilled with the bow; the other was the Zanza Tibetans, skilled with the blade.

The former were the remnant descendants of the Four Garrisons of Anding; the latter were of the same stock as Ü-Tsang.

The journey was long, over mountains and across ridges, until Chen Qindai had vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach. Only then did they finally reach a large stockade by a small river.

The stockade was not large, with a few dozen felt tents and over ten dwellings scattered about. The dwellings were unlike those in Han lands — the large ones were seven or eight zhang tall, built up layer by layer with stone, just like stupa towers; the small ones were two or three zhang tall, built on timber frames, covered with red earth, with wooden ladders going up and down, the lower levels serving as stables for large livestock like cattle and horses.

Yaks and large horses were bred in the stockade. By the well, several Mongol soldiers were carrying out executions on a Tibetan tribal chief and a shaman's family. All the facets of human life were on display — some kowtowed and begged for mercy, some cursed furiously, some went to their deaths in silent defiance, and a mountain-god shaman chanted curses at the top of his voice.

Chen Qindai was shoved along. Those people were all cut down, one by one, their blood staining the stone well's edge a deep, spreading crimson.

The Tibetan tribespeople were herded into the fort, carrying out sack after sack of highland-barley flour, tea, and fermented milk curd, loading them onto the backs of yaks.

The herder escorting Chen Qindai brought him outside that tall stone tower-house, shoved him inward, and stopped at the foot of the wooden ladder.

"Go on in, spy. The noyan is paying homage to the Buddha."

The wooden ladder was old and rotted, its cracks stuffed with mud from which blades of grass sprouted; it creaked underfoot.

Inside the tower-house lingered a sweet fragrance Chen Qindai could not quite name. He searched around — the scent came from nine butter lamps burning in the dim chamber.

The Mongol noyan, prayer beads in hand and a large hat upon his head, wore his hair in a single tuft on top, the hair at his temples braided into looped plaits. He was dressed in a loose blue hide robe with a slanted lapel, and wore a large-beaded necklace of silver and Tibetan red sapphire. He did not look old. He said to him: "Come closer, let me have a look at you."

When Chen Qindai had approached within five paces, two monks standing in attendance to the noyan's left and right — one in a red hat, one in a yellow hat — raised their hands one after the other to stop him from advancing further. The noyan said: "I am Mergen Daiching. Let me guess who you are."

Mergen meant sharpshooter or skilled; Daiching meant a mighty warrior. Two years ago, that Dorgon of the Later Jin had defeated the Chahar Great Khan Ligdan and also received this noble title.

The later Great Qing — that was this very word.

Chen Qindai was not particularly afraid of being killed. Things beyond the frontier were different from inside the passes. To a Mongol noyan who could go a long way without seeing a soul, intelligence was far more important than killing — he possessed information the other did not.

"Güru Huang Taiji of the Tümed?"

Chen Qindai shook his head.

"The Yongshiyebü?"

Chen Qindai still shook his head.

"The Oirat Dzungars?"

After Chen Qindai shook his head again, Daiqing grew somewhat irritable.

The yellow-hat monk looked at Chen Qindai, bent down and whispered something in his ear, and Daiqing then asked, "The Great Ming Khan?"

Chen Qindai was stunned speechless. He had thought only that herdsman was ignorant enough to call the Great Ming emperor a khan, but now he realized the root of it was right here.

It was all taught by the monks — the Tumed khans believed it, the Right Wing Jinong believed it, the kings of Ü-Tsang believed it, and the Great Ming Khan believed it too.

It invisibly created the sense that all under heaven believed in the Lamaist faith; only the great khan of the Chahar did not, but he incited the Mongols to slaughter each other and launched wars — he was a wicked khan.

This "Great Ming Khan" left Chen Qindai not knowing how to reply. He thought for a moment, then said, "A Han noyan."

Daiqing asked, "A Han noyan of Gansu?"

Noyan originally meant a chiliarch commander among the Mongols, but by now it had extended to mean any noble, a general term for all aristocrats from jinong down to taiji.

So they also called Great Ming local officials "Han noyans," just as the Ming people called all noyans beyond the frontier "chieftains."

Chen Qindai shook his head and pointed at the ground beneath his feet. "A Han noyan from here."

"Ha!"

Daiqing let out a very surprised laugh, then said, "Here there are Tatars, there are Oirats, there are Red Hats, there are Zanza — only Han are absent. If your Han noyan wants to find Han people here, tell him to go fight the point road — there are still a few households there."

"There will be soon. My noyan is at war with the Great Ming emperor and demanded this land from the emperor. The Han army will be here soon."

Hearing this, Daiqing was not displeased; he merely smiled.

In Qinghai, aside from those pilgrims heading into Tibet, everyone who stayed was a loser in their own tribe's power struggles. Daiqing's taiji, Choktu, was a loser in the Mobei wars and a loser beyond the Gansu frontier as well.

Just the year before last, Choktu had led three hundred elite cavalry to Gansu to demand rewards by force of arms, only to be blasted by Gansu Chief Commander Xu Jiashou with cannons laid in ambush on the ground. Since then, he had not dared approach Suzhou.

Defeat after defeat had greatly damaged Taiji Choktu's prestige among the many noyans.

And now, in Daiqing's eyes, Chen Qindai's noyan was a loser among the Han.

He exchanged a few quiet words with the two monks of the Red and Yellow sects beside him, then said slowly, "Truly, two startled birds meeting on the same great pine tree."

Of the two monks beside Daiqing, the one wearing the red hat was of the Red Sect. In the past, when the Khalkha were in Mobei, they had all believed in the Red Sect.

The one wearing the yellow hat was of the Yellow Sect. Beyond the Gansu frontier, Yellow Sect monks had sought out his taiji Choktu, only to be expelled by Choktu, who believed in the Red Sect.

Later, after Taiji Choktu was blasted by the Chief Commander's ground-laid cannons in Gansu, Daiqing used the pretext of scouting ahead into Qinghai to separate from his taiji, came here, and attached himself to the Tumed tribe's Yellow Sect reincarnated Little Lazun.

The Yellow Sect monk then sought him out, so now he had monks of both the Red and Yellow sects at his side.

Just now, the Yellow Sect monk had told him the story of how the Tumed Altan Khan had heavily employed the White Lotus Han man Zhao Quan and used the Tumochuan plain to achieve his great enterprise.

This story suited his intentions perfectly.

The Little Lazun he now attached himself to was not someone he could rely on.

Ever since the two brothers had attacked Ü-Tsang for the Yellow Sect years ago, they had been locked in internecine strife, as if the two of them were the only ones in all of Qinghai.

Men like that, no matter how great their power, would ultimately decline through internal chaos.

Taiji Choktu, watching the situation in Qinghai from afar beyond the Gansu frontier, planned to have Daiqing stir up the two brothers to fight even more fiercely, so that their Khalkha homeless dogs could reap the spoils and enter Qinghai.

And for Daiqing, this was an unprecedented great era.

Ligdan Khan of all the Mongols wanted to reunify Mongolia. Daiqing wanted to earn himself a taiji title. Whether the Yellow Sect or the Red Sect — whichever could help him obtain that status, that was the one he would believe.

That way, when Ligdan Khan's Chahar army came killing, he need only submit a memorial of allegiance to the great khan, and his taiji status would be secured.

There would be no shortage of warfare ahead. Having some Han people to make equipment and guard the home was no bad thing.

The monk had said that too many Han would bring chaos, but there were not no Han here — they had already seen several Erlang temples.

It was just that those Han, having left the Central Plains dynasty, had to either become Western Barbarians or turn into Tartars just to survive.

If he had Han assistance, perhaps gaining the taiji title would be a little easier; at least he could go out to war without worries at his back.

As for the Han military strength — sending out such a solitary scout, he estimated it would not be much.

Daiqing smiled at Chen Qindai and said, "Those two worthless sons of Huoluochi dare not provoke the Han army and only slaughter each other. If I attach myself to them, I cannot avoid fighting."

"I have eight hundred households in Qinghai. Does your noyan have five hundred Han soldiers? I could ally with him. When the time comes, I will send troops to raid the great Tartars, leaving my wife and children in the tents, relying on you to guard them. How about it?"

Chen Qindai did not know what the monk had said to this noyan, but seeing how rapidly his attitude had shifted, he could not help but harbor some private suspicions of intrigue.

But he did not care. Alliance or no alliance, it was not his decision to make anyway.

His primary mission was to keep himself alive, live until Liu Chengzong led the Lion Battalion into Xining, and deliver the Qinghai intelligence to the Grand Marshal.

As for Daiqing, who imagined there would be several hundred Han households — how he would feel when he saw over ten thousand Han people... Heh, that was none of Chen Qindai's concern.

He exclaimed in delighted surprise, "You would truly accept my noyan?"

"From the place you came from, all the way to here, is now my grazing land. I permit you to choose a place to farm. You can build a baising here too, just like in Tumochuan."

Daiqing raised his hand. "I have only two demands. If anyone attacks this place, you must also fight. Beyond that, when the time comes, you must help me request a gold tablet for tribute from the Southern Court."

With that, he waved at Chen Qindai. "You may stay with me for now, and wait for your noyan to arrive."

Chen Qindai thought to himself, when his Grand Marshal arrived, they would do far more than build a baising. As for the gold tribute tablet, that went without saying.

He might not be able to make the Grand Marshal help Daiqing request a gold tablet, but Daiqing could offer tribute directly to his Grand Marshal.

Note:

For the Qinghai situation and tribal territories, see Studies on the History of the Western Sea Mongols in the Ming Dynasty, Studies on Sectarian Conflicts and Local Changes in the Ming Dynasty Snow Region, The Tea-Horse Trade and the Monetary Economy of Ming Dynasty Qinghai, and Studies on the Commodity Economy and Market System of Ming-Qing Qinghai.