Chapter 653: Offering Bounties to Recruit Death-Defying Warriors

During this period, Chen Qiyu's circumstances were beset by troubles both within and without, and every day his heart was like dead ashes.

This was not because he had done poorly — on the contrary, he had exerted his utmost effort, mobilizing every force within the prefectural city that could be mobilized.

Even the Qin feudatory's Prince of the Blood, commandery princes, and heir-designates within the city, under his persuasion, made their greatest compromise, sending two sons to set up eight porridge stations at the city's four gates, cooking porridge every day.

Without the Qin feudatory's full support, relying on Xi'an Prefecture's remaining troops and grain, the city would have long since fallen on its own.

Of course, the Qin feudatory distributing porridge was not Chen Qiyu's original objective; on this point, he deeply resented the old Prince of Qin for being hidebound and timid.

But the Prince of Qin spoke with him openly and frankly, mentioning the difficulties brought by his own position, and said that if he absolutely had to donate his family wealth to aid the military, then he could only hang himself within the princely city.

By the Chongzhen period, only three feudatories among the Ming dynasty's princely fiefs held a transcendent status — the Lu, Rui, and Fu feudatories enfeoffed by the Wanli Emperor.

For one, when Wanli enfeoffed the princes of these three feudatories, he granted them extremely substantial wealth and privileges, and because they were new feudatories, there were not many clansmen within the fief dividing up the wealth; the princes held absolute wealth and power.

Secondly, it was because they were blood relatives of the Chongzhen Emperor within the five degrees of mourning.

As for the other feudatories, to the emperor they were more like distant relatives with no real connection, with no sentiment to speak of.

At the same time, the relationship between the princely feudatories and the bureaucracy was neither that of superior and subordinate, nor that of colleagues — in reality, it was more like adversaries.

Every official governing a region regarded these useless feudatories, which siphoned off vast wealth, as a thorn in the eye and a spike in the flesh, wishing desperately that the feudatory problem would vanish on their watch.

The old Prince of Qin, Zhu Yihuan, was already seventy years old this year.

In his long life, he had long since become aware of others' "prejudice" that he was "a problem for the Great Ming Empire."

To him, this was indeed prejudice.

Back then, when his elder brother was Prince of Qin, restricted by the Jiajing 40th-year imperial clan management regulations, Zhu Yihuan was only enfeoffed as a Bulwark Lieutenant; it was his elder brother who quarreled with the Ministry of Rites every day before Wanli finally enfeoffed him as Prince of Ziyang Commandery.

His elder brother inherited the title and died at twenty after only six years on the throne; Zhu Yihuan, as Prince of Ziyang Commandery, ranked first in the order of succession and met the condition in the "Clan Feudatory Regulations" that only a full younger brother could inherit the fief, thus becoming the new Prince of Qin.

So in this life, he cared about only one thing: since the princely title had fallen to their branch, he must not let it fall into another's hands.

Zhu Yihuan spent his entire life quarreling with the Ministry of Rites, most concerned with the titles of his brothers and sons.

Over fifty years, he petitioned to have his elder half-brother enfeoffed as Prince of Chongxin, and also resolved the heir-designate status of his son born of a concubine, Zhu Cunshu, putting a double insurance in place.

Actually, he had originally wanted six layers of insurance — he had four other sons, and the Tianqi Emperor had agreed at the time to enfeoff all four sons as commandery princes for a single generation.

Meaning they would be granted princely titles, but not hereditary.

But he could not overcome the Ministry of Rites dragging its feet and refusing to act, along with endless scolding, which ultimately forced the Tianqi Emperor to yield and issue an edict ordering the Qin feudatory's several sons to receive the rank of Bulwark Lieutenant.

Every official knew the imperial clan was a problem, so they were the people under heaven who most wished for the princely clans to die out without heirs — dying out was not even enough; best to abolish the feudatory entirely, and then the problem would be solved.

But a problem never wishes to be solved.

Why the hell should I disappear? This solitary one refuses!

The Qin feudatory has now been passed down for thirteen generations, during which the line went extinct five times — either a minor branch succeeded the main line, or a younger brother succeeded an elder brother — the feudatory has always struggled on the line between life and death due to the heirlessness problem, precarious in the extreme.

So timidity and fear of trouble had long been carved into the very bones of the Qin feudatory's imperial clansmen.

As early as the siege began, Chen Qiyu had sought out the Prince of Qin in Xi'an Prefecture, urging him to donate funds to aid military provisions.

But feudatory princes aiding provisions was not a rare thing in the Great Ming, and it was not so simple — it was not a matter of donating just because one wanted to.

The Great Ming's imperial clan did not refrain from aiding the court with provisions; since the defeat at Sarhu in the late Wanli years, it had become extremely frequent.

Of course, the amount of each aid contribution was indeed not very large; usually, a single princely estate would donate one thousand to three thousand taels of silver.

This was not only not a small sum, but an extraordinarily vast amount of wealth.

Because the princely feudatories and imperial clansmen, restricted by the system, were a very special group of people.

In their perception, they had absolutely no connection whatsoever to the boundless world outside.

The vast majority of these people were born within the palace walls, grew up their entire lives within the palace walls, and ultimately died of old age within those same palace walls.

What difference was there between donating funds to aid the court's provisions and throwing it into the palace lake?

The answer is that throwing it into the lake at least makes a splash.

So expecting a feudatory prince to ruin his family and relieve hardship for a world utterly unconnected to him, to bring out more family wealth to aid provisions, was simply unrealistic.

The most they could do was like the Prince of Rui in Hanzhong, Zhu Changhao — because his childhood, boyhood, and youth were all spent growing up within the Forbidden City, he had memories of that place and a conception of the realm.

As it happened, his fine eldest nephew was now on the throne, so he donated funds to aid provisions every year, sometimes even twice a year, receiving two commendation edicts in return, and felt very pleased after spending the money.

But for most of the other feudatory princes, they could neither attend funerals nor pay court audiences; the Forbidden City, the Palace of Heavenly Purity, and the realm were merely distant and mysterious terms.

Their relationship with the emperor could not even compare to that of Liu Chengzong, a pen pal, so they simply did not care what sort of thing was sitting on the dragon throne.

They had no concept of it.

And on the other hand, the Great Ming had the "Clan Feudatory Regulations"; the princely estates had their own rules, and their donations to aid provisions had their own procedures, which were not the same as officials donating funds to aid provisions.

A feudatory prince could not hand money and grain directly to the local authorities.

When a feudatory had the intention to aid provisions, it had to first be reported to the local chief official, generally the grand coordinator; the grand coordinator would report to the court, and the emperor would write in vermilion ink: Well done!

Then the emperor would send the decree down to the Ministry of Revenue, ordering them to prepare to receive this sum of money and grain.

The grand coordinator would receive the money, and dispatch men to transport it to the capital, or to the Ministry of Revenue's provincial branch.

This procedure was called "Commendation Edict and Receipt Acknowledgment" — the first two characters referring to the emperor's commendation decree, the last two ordering the Ministry of Revenue to reply upon receiving the funds.

This was also the standard practice for feudatory aid contributions.

Of course, sometimes there was no commendation edict — for instance, last year the Prince of Tang had been quarreling in court over reassigning imperial clansmen to official posts, ostensibly supporting Chongzhen, but Chongzhen greatly disliked feudatory princes meddling in state policy.

So when the Prince of Tang donated funds to aid provisions last year, Chongzhen only gave him verbal praise.

But directly taking out money and grain and distributing it to the local garrison as military supplies — if done by an ordinary commoner, official, or gentry, it would most likely be fine, because their parent-like official was the county magistrate, and the county magistrate could decide to accept and allocate money and grain.

Once the court learned of it, not only would it not assign blame, it would bestow ceremonial caps and sashes to honor them, and erect commemorative arches to display commendation.

But a princely estate could not do this, because their parent-like official was the emperor.

The army belonged to the state, not to the Zhu family; and the state belonged to Zhu Youjian, not to Prince Zhu.

The same act, when done by a feudatory prince, was no longer called aiding provisions — it was called offering bounties to recruit death-defying warriors.

If today, when Liu Chengzong came, you dared to offer bounties to recruit death-defying warriors, then tomorrow, after Liu Chengzong left, what might you be thinking of doing? Even Chongzhen dared not imagine!

Yet precisely, Chen Qiyu's wish was to make the old Prince of Qin, Zhu Yihuan, offer bounties to recruit death-defying warriors.

He did not want the Prince of Qin to donate money and grain to the government office and go through the formal procedures.

Because Chen Qiyu knew better than anyone that once money reached the government office, it was very hard for it to truly end up in the hands of the soldiers defending the city.

This didn't even require considering whether there were people so money-mad they would embezzle the donations others gave.

Even if everything went normally, when Chen Qiyu had no money in hand, there was no problem; the moment he had a sum of money, everyone would fix their eyes on it — in war, there is no such thing as having made sufficient preparations before the war begins.

The city walls need repairing; once repaired, they need shed-towers added; once the shed-towers are there, they need cannons; once they have cannons, they need ammunition; once the cannons are sufficient, they need fire lances, fire arrows, and Ten Thousand Foe grenades.

Not to mention all sorts of small odds and ends — all of it requires money.

When there was no money, everyone could think of ways — donating was fine, demanding was fine, even extorting was fine; they could forcibly mobilize the common people to defend the city and serve without pay.

But once people knew he had money in hand, not paying them became indefensible.

Yet this was precisely the thing the Prince of Qin absolutely dared not do.

Never mind recruiting death warriors — he didn't even dare provide meals for the government troops, and could only let his fourth son Zhu Cunji and fifth son Zhu Cunqi handle it.

That he could let his two young sons cook porridge for the government army already counted as Old Prince of Qin being sensible.

After all, the Prince of Qin had never lived outside since childhood; his way of life and his mindset were worlds apart from a normal person's.

Old Prince of Qin thought to himself, Are you just here jerking me around for laughs?

Our family, generation after generation, has racked its brains to preserve the vassal state; now it's my turn, and you want me to stick my own tail out for others to grab?

If I die, I die — I'll die right here. If one of my five sons gets out and hasn't committed any offense, the Emperor will have to let him inherit the Qin princely title.

He told Chen Qiyu: "Three thousand taels of silver, three thousand dan of grain — the official document has already been drafted by the princely manor's Chief Clerk. If the Supreme Commander reports it to the Emperor and the Emperor issues an approving rescript in vermilion ink to accept it, the Qin manor will immediately hand over the money and grain, and will also submit the next official document for three thousand taels of silver and three thousand dan of grain to the Supreme Commander."

Chen Qiyu thought, Oh, go screw your mother's egg!

The damn city of Xi'an is besieged so tightly not a drop of water can get through — I'd like to communicate with the Emperor, but the letter has to be able to get out!

If I could get a letter out, I'd go ask the Emperor myself — why would I come to you?

For an imperial prince, doing this sort of thing is not necessarily a crime, nor does it necessarily bring punishment.

There were extenuating circumstances.

But no matter how Chen Qiyu tried to work on the Prince of Qin, it was useless; the old man was utterly impervious, his face saying Do whatever you want, I'm not far from reincarnation anyway, nothing you say matters.

In truth, Old Prince of Qin had thought the matter through very clearly; timidity and fear of trouble may have been part of the reason for his decision, but by no means the whole reason.

Rather, in the current situation, whatever he did, the outcome would be about the same.

At his advanced age, with poor health and a pile of ailments, he certainly wouldn't live much longer, nor could he possibly flee.

If he acted like a parasite and a miser, and the city wasn't held, the money and grain would all be gone; but if one of his five sons got out, there would be someone to inherit the Qin vassal princely title. If by luck one of the five sons neither died nor fled, then by relying on the Qin vassal's wealth and offering it to Liu Chengzong, they might even keep their lives.

That outcome wasn't bad.

If the city was held, the money and grain would also be gone, but his five sons would still be there, and the vassal state would be inherited as before.

That outcome also wasn't bad.

If he opened the state treasury and offered gold to recruit death warriors, and the city was held, the money and grain would be gone.

When the court later assigned blame, the achievements would all belong to others, while their Qin vassal would bear the crimes of privately associating with officials and privately recruiting death warriors. Not being pursued would be good luck; once pursued, at the least the old man would be thrown into the high walls of Fengyang, and at worst the vassal state would be gone.

That outcome wasn't good.

If the city wasn't held, the sons who didn't flee would certainly be blamed by Liu Chengzong and slaughtered to the last; those who did flee might very well be blamed by the Emperor and thrown into the high walls of Fengyang — finished.

That outcome was the worst.

And in Chen Qiyu's mind, he could not fathom Old Prince of Qin's instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm; he only felt… it was all Liu Chengzong's fault!

He felt that the Prince of Qin's attitude of a dead pig not fearing boiling water was entirely Liu Chengzong's fault, for being a separatist rebel army in the northwest yet not fearsome enough.

You're already a rebel army, so why still act like a good man? When you took Lanzhou, you should have dragged out the Prince of Su, known for his virtue, and slaughtered him. When your troops reached Pingliang, you should have hacked that little muddle-headed Prince of Han into eight pieces, and the thousands of vassal state clansmen — every last one of them, one slash each, all killed.

Then see if the Prince of Qin is afraid or not. His army would surely still be eight hundred li away, and he'd already be offering gold to recruit death warriors, setting reward rates, and voluntarily funding the repair of the city walls.

If it were really like that, things would actually be easier to handle.

The problem now was that little bastard the Prince of Han was bouncing around lively as could be below the city walls, and even kept coming down in his dragon robe to urge him to surrender.

The sight of the Prince of Han in that dragon robe made Chen Qiyu so furious his brain nearly bled.

What decent person runs around in formal court attire?

Formal court attire looks good, but it's ceremonial dress.

In this era, ceremonial dress was work clothes.

From low-ranking officials all the way up to the Emperor, everyone only wore formal court attire when on duty.

The dress and ceremonial regulations stipulate what people of a certain status may not wear, not what people of a certain status must wear.

Who wears formal court attire in their leisure time? They'd look like a complete fool. Apart from entering court for an audience, Chen Qiyu wasn't even willing to wear his rank-badge formal attire when working outside.

What did the Prince of Han mean by wearing a dragon robe down to the city walls, if not to flaunt it? Undermining our army's morale!

Chen Qiyu wished his soldiers would mistake the Prince of Han for Liu Chengzong and shoot him dead with a single arrow.

Besieging a city is something that drains morale badly; being besieged also drains morale badly.

This matter was not only a test for Liu Chengzong, but equally a test for Chen Qiyu.

As Liu Chengzong besieged without attacking for an increasingly long time, the discipline of the defending troops inside the city also slackened day by day.

From time to time, hungry soldiers with silver tucked in their bosoms would climb down the walls under cover of night and slip into the besieging camp to scrounge a meal.

This could not be stopped despite repeated prohibitions, because at the very beginning, some really did succeed without carrying weapons and only wearing their mandarin-duck battle jackets.

They would run to the open-air eateries in the market, order dried horse-meat soup and baked flatbread, eat until their faces shone with grease, and even buy some flatbread to take back to the city walls.

Later, as more people did this, some got detained — though it also depended on who detained them; it was all a matter of luck.

With bad luck, if you ran into Mongol soldiers, your silver would be taken, and a lock of hair behind your ear would be snipped off; they'd say you've already died once, so when we attack the city, surrender quickly — if we capture you again, it'll be beheading — and then send you back up the wall.

With good luck, if you ran into Han soldiers, you'd mostly get a beating for sneaking into camp, and then a squad leader would step forward and ask what you wanted to buy — dried vegetables, pickled vegetables, flatbread, dried noodles, fried noodles — you could more or less buy enough for two or three people to eat for several days, though the prices were rather high.

Still cheaper than inside the city, though.

Afterward, they'd egg them on, saying the soldiers had no use for silver, so next time bring gunpowder, arrowheads, spearheads, and armor plates — those were valuable, and could be traded not just for food, but they even had milk wine.

Of course, they also gave out two small talismans — carry one on your person, stick the other on the door of your own home in the city. If the city falls, it'll save your life.

Finally, they'd say: we're all brothers here. The Grand Marshal commands an army of righteous kings. Our forces have already fought their way into Henan. In Shaanxi, only the prefectural seat remains. You can't even get a full meal — why keep slaving away for the imperial court? When battle begins, surrender at once.

Then they'd have the Mongol soldiers loitering outside the camp perimeter escort the men safely to the city walls.

Chen Qiyu knew this was happening, but he was powerless to stop it. Because Liu Chengzong never assaulted the city, he could never find an opening to sally forth and engage.

It was only recently, when Liu Chengzong was reorganizing the new army outside the city with great fanfare — impossible to hide from him — that things changed.

The shift in military organization and the slackening of the siege lines gave Chen Qiyu a glimmer of hope. He immediately ordered the garrison to sortie and launch a raid.

But frustratingly, although the Marshal's troops rotated constantly, a portion of the army outside the city always remained on combat alert. The Ming forces inside organized two frontal assaults and one night raid — all ended in failure.

Yet it was precisely at this moment that Liu Chengzong ordered his soldiers to shoot several hundred letters onto the battlements.

The letters contained news that the Chongzhen Emperor was dispatching government troops — to the defenders of Xi'an Prefecture, word of a relief force.

In response to Liu Chengzong's troops massacring the Tong Pass garrison, and the Marshal's Headquarters Henan Regional Commander Zhang Yichuan rampaging through Henan — striking first Nanyang, then Luoyang — His Majesty, once again defying convention, appointed Zhang Renxue as Henan Investigating Censor and concurrent Army Supervisor, stationing him in Kaifeng with the aim of reversing Henan's collapse.

This letter spread widely through Xi'an. By the time Chen Qiyu got his hands on it, nearly everyone already knew the news.

That very night, the western gate of Xi'an Prefecture swung open. The defenders beckoned the Marshal's army to enter.

The Mongol Brigade chiliarch Tuba, stationed at the western siege camp, turned a blind eye and refused to enter the city. The two sides remained deadlocked for half a shichen. Over three hundred defenders then bound Li Kecong, the western gate commander, and came out of the city to surrender.

That same night, the defenders at the eastern gate mutinied. Muskets and cannon thundered, and the chaos was not quelled until daybreak.

Inside and outside the prefectural seat, both Liu Chengzong and Chen Qiyu understood: this city was on the verge of collapse.

Author's Note ①: The Prince of Qin's five-character name is Zhu Cun 'Fu' qi. The character 'Fu' is a wood-radical atop a cauldron and does not exist in the input method; 'Qi' is used as a substitute.