Chapter 1382: Autumn

How do we fight? At Sarhū, they boasted of fierce generals and famed commanders, with martial houses and military clans gathered in droves — and how did that turn out? Total annihilation. Those who died in battle, died; those who took their own lives, took their own lives. The Liaodong Iron Cavalry was hailed as the finest under heaven — and what happened? Since the fighting began, they have not won a single victory.

Sun Chengzong, Xiong Tingbi, Wang Zaijin — all were renowned ministers versed in military affairs, none of them muddled fools who only theorized on paper, and they never acted rashly. Yet at best they could only fight to a stalemate, and total collapse came more than once.

Some even spout that nonsense: "Jurchens under ten thousand are invincible; over ten thousand, unbeatable" — making everyone under heaven think it refers to the Ming and the Jianzhou Jurchens, when in fact it was a saying from the late Northern Song about the Jin kingdom.

Serving in the Ministry of War, one is steeped in these military campaigns day in and day out. As an official of the Ministry, one naturally feels that helplessness and impotence. The Ming has practically exhausted every possible method, yet none have had any effect. All we can do is delay the arrival of defeat, watching helplessly as the noose tightens.

For some reason, whenever the Ministry of War staff conferred, there was always a feeling that if the Ming army went to war against the Jianzhou Jurchens, the Zhao Family Army might well not exploit the opening. So everyone considered transferring troops from the Three Frontiers of Shaanxi to Liaodong. But Ligdan Khan of the Chahar Mongols was entrenched in Guihua City north of Shanxi and Shaanxi, eyeing us like a tiger watching its prey, while the former Tümed tribe was waiting for a chance to push east from the western Hetao region. If we pulled the border garrisons from the Three Frontiers of Shaanxi, would the Mongol cavalry seize the moment to sweep south and east, repeating the invasions of the past? That would be a crisis of letting the tiger in through the front gate while the wolf slips in through the back — even more helpless.

In the grip of such helplessness, some people secretly gnashed their teeth and thought: So what if your Zhao Family Army covets the realm? You may seize the realm, but you will still have to face wolves and tigers like the Jianzhou Jurchens and the steppe Mongols. I fear the prize will be snatched from your hands before it even has a chance to grow warm. And that would be fitting — that would be divine retribution upon the rebels.

Today, after inspecting the severed heads, after seeing the armor and weapons, they went from disbelief to belief, and then felt the shock. Standing amid these mounds of heads heaped into a Jingguan, what they saw were not the heads of individual Jurchen soldiers, but the heads of this Great Ming Empire, of the Zhu clan's realm and altars. At this moment, everyone could finally confirm one thing: the Ming's mandate has run its course.

The Jianzhou Jurchens, against whom the Great Ming threw the full might of the state and a million troops to no avail, have been effortlessly defeated by the Xuzhou Zhao Family Army — and with such a crushing victory.

If the Jianzhou Jurchens are strong, then to what degree has the Zhao Family Army grown strong? And to what degree has the Ming grown weak? No talk of sage-kings and great righteousness, no talk of "the righteous find many supporters while the unrighteous find few" — none of it can compare to such a staggering disparity in strength.

So this is the true shape of the great trend — it really is irreversible. Then what choice remains? To die a loyal martyr for this hopeless court, or to go offer one's service to the Zhao Family Army?

"It's barely autumn, and already it's turned cold far too fast."

Gazing at the withered yellow grass in the courtyard, Eunuch Wei Zhongxian — Wei the Eunuch, who once held overwhelming power — let out a sigh.

In recent years, the weather has turned cold faster with each passing year, and this year was especially strange. There was no summer heat at all, and now, barely into the ninth month, the wind is already bleak and shivering; one cannot do without thicker clothes.

Eunuch Wei had lived through the Wanli reign, and in his early years he had scrapped and struggled among the common folk, so he naturally remembered how different the seasons used to be. When he was a child, though it was hardly perfect weather, at least the four seasons came in their proper time. Yet from that time onward, it seemed to grow colder year by year.

This scene of moaning autumn winds and withered, yellowing grass might hold a certain elegant charm for refined scholars, who could mourn the autumn and grieve over their sentiments, producing any number of famous verses. But to Wei Zhongxian, who came from a peasant background and had been used to farm labor since childhood, this likely foretold the coming of a great drought.

The colder and drier the weather, the more the common people of the realm will suffer — how are they supposed to survive?

The question flashed unbidden through his mind.

Then he gave a bitter smile and shook his head. Right now, his own life hung by a thread — what use was there in pondering such a question?

The chill wind brushed his face, making his skin cold, but his heart was colder still.

Once, he alone enjoyed the favor of the Son of Heaven, and every civil and military official in the court, high and low, went in deep dread of him. What a blazing, illustrious career that had been! Yet in the blink of an eye, he had fallen, and now he was like withered grass in the wind, his life hanging by a thread.

The late emperor passed away, a new emperor ascended the throne — a new reign brings new ministers, and glory and riches vanish in an instant. He had heard many such stories before, and had sighed over them with feeling, but he never imagined it would befall him so quickly.

A favored eunuch suddenly losing power was not without precedent in past dynasties. Wang Zhen, Liu Jin, Feng Bao — those senior worthies each met their own fate. He only wondered which fate would be his.

At best, it would be like Feng Bao — banished to Nanjing, and then dying in despondency.

But judging by the new emperor's evident attitude toward him, he feared that even begging for a despondent death might be beyond his reach…

Strange to say, even knowing he might soon face death, Wei Zhongxian felt no real fear in his heart — only exhaustion.

Yes, he had toiled alongside the late emperor managing the realm for so long; he was weary enough. Handing it over to others might even be a kind of release… Wei Zhongxian gazed at the guards by the courtyard's edge and thought to himself.

Ever since the new emperor took the throne, Cao Huachun, Wang Cheng'en, and their ilk had become the most favored eunuchs, and he had naturally become a thorn in the side of these new favorites. His guards had long since been replaced in their entirety, and those who remained had long ago switched their allegiance to them. If they decided to make a move, they could probably put him to death right here.

Just as Wei Zhongxian was still lost in thought, a stir ran through the group of guards, and then a cluster of people began walking toward him.

What, so soon? Are they going to make their move already? Wei Zhongxian felt a jolt of alarm, but he made no gesture, nor did he feel any urge to resist.

What must come will come. Dying sooner or dying later — what difference does it make?

Yet, to his surprise, this group had not come to finish him off.

"Grand Secretary Yang?" Looking at the grim-faced Yang Lian before him, Wei Zhongxian could not help feeling a twinge of curiosity.

If it had been anyone else, he would have guessed they had come to gloat over his misfortune — taking the chance to curse him out now that he had fallen, venting their spleen while winning a good name for themselves. But given Yang Lian's current standing, he had no need to do such a thing.

Yang Lian's expression was also off. His brows were faintly furrowed, his eyes completely bloodshot. There was little anger to be seen; instead, they were filled with exhaustion and anxiety, as if his mental state was not much better than Wei Zhongxian's own.

After seeing Wei Zhongxian, Yang Lian did not speak, merely studying him with a look that seemed to want to say something but held back.

"May I ask what matter brings the Grand Secretary here?" After a long silence, seeing that Yang Lian still had not opened his mouth, Wei Zhongxian could not help asking.

Though he addressed him as Grand Secretary, Wei Zhongxian's tone carried little deference. He still held onto a bit of the hauteur from his days of supreme power, unable to make the turn. Even knowing full well that his life now hung in the other man's hands, he refused to lower his head and beg for mercy.

He did not even invite Yang Lian into the hall to continue the conversation. In any case, this place was no longer his home; he would simply wait for the other man to give the orders.

Yang Lian, however, did not take issue with any of this. He studied Wei Zhongxian for another moment, then finally lowered his head and let out a long sigh.

"Ah… Eunuch Wei, at a time like this, let us set aside factional prejudices. I have come because there is a matter on which I wish to seek your counsel…"

"The Grand Secretary is mistaken. I am now utterly defeated — what standing do I have left to speak of factional prejudices with the Grand Secretary?" Wei Zhongxian thought he was being mocked, and his expression hardened. "If you wish to dispose of me, then simply pronounce your sentence!"

"Eunuch Wei, I did not come here to mock you. If I wished to mock you, do you think I would lack for men to do the job?" Yang Lian knew he had been misunderstood, and could only give a bitter smile. "State affairs have now reached such a pass that I have no heart left for verbal sparring."

At these words, Wei Zhongxian's agitation and unease gradually subsided.

That was true. From what he knew of Yang Lian, the man was indeed not that sort of person. Yang Lian could be called rigid, even stubborn, but at least he was one of the few within the Donglin faction who still possessed some moral integrity.

Once Wei Zhongxian had calmed down, Yang Lian still did not speak. He merely turned his gaze toward the courtyard as well.

The withered yellow grass, the chill wind swirling in every direction — they stirred in his heart the same feelings Wei Zhongxian had just experienced. And since he was the one now managing the court, with bad news arriving one after another, this feeling was especially intense.

"Eunuch Wei, regarding your disposition, the court has reached a decision," Yang Lian said with some difficulty, watching a lantern swaying in the cold wind.

Wei Zhongxian's heart gave a sudden leap, but it quickly settled back into that same detached calm.

"Oh? And how does the court intend to dispose of me?"

"The court… the court has decided… to banish you to Fengyang for confinement."

Banished to Fengyang!

Wei Zhongxian drew a sharp, cold breath inwardly.

Fengyang was where the imperial ancestral temple was located. Any member of the imperial clan who committed an unpardonable crime would be banished to the high-walled prison in Fengyang for confinement. Having once held the reins of state, he knew all too well what sort of place that was.

More importantly, ever since the court made peace with Zhao Jin, the entire area around Fengyang had been ceded to him. That place was a death trap! To reach Fengyang, no matter which route he took, he would have to pass through Zhao Jin's territory. That Zhao Jin was a notorious devil who turned the world upside down. Given the enmity between himself and Zhao Jin, if he fell into Zhao Jin's hands, could he possibly survive?

For an instant, the world spun around him, and he could barely keep his footing.

But when he saw the faint trace of pity in Yang Lian's eyes, a sudden surge of pride rose in his heart and forcibly suppressed his terror.

Yes, he was going to die anyway. What difference did it make whether he died at the emperor's hands or at Zhao Jin's?

Only… the boy thought himself a heaven-sent genius, yet when he wants to kill someone, he still has to borrow Zhao Jin's blade? A cold sneer flickered through Wei Zhongxian's mind, along with a trace of contempt for that young emperor.