MLMD -Chapter 290 The Dispute

Early December, 1636 — Shengjing Imperial Palace

The newly renovated Chongzheng Hall this year was lit with countless candles. On the Golden Throne Hall, the roof was covered with yellow glazed tiles trimmed in green, with colorful glazed dragons and flaming pearls decorating the ridge. The square columns of the hall, the chiseled dragon heads spouting water at the base, and the roof—all were adorned with yellow glazed tiles trimmed in green. On the corners of the front terrace, a sundial stood to the east and a measuring device to the west. Inside, the hall bore the inscription “Che Shang Ming Zao” painted in brilliant colors. Thrones and screens were arranged inside, flanked by incense burners, incense pavilions, and candlesticks, exuding a strong sense of imperial luxury.

Wearing an apricot-yellow robe, Huang Taiji sat on his dragon throne, looking around at the ministers standing before him, his expression dark and somber.

Although the Manchus constantly belittled the Han people, in secret they were always learning from them. After all, a people just emerging from a primitive society in the deep mountains to a feudal society naturally lacked cultural and historical depth. This was evident in their palaces and customs; the emperor’s attire, palace layouts, and rituals all bore traces of Han influence.

Today was a routine court assembly. Except for a few absentees, nearly all the high-ranking Manchus in Shengjing were present. At the front stood the second-highest-ranking Beile after Huang Taiji himself—Da Beile Daišan. Below him was Huang Taiji’s eldest son, Prince Doro Haoge, followed by Dorgon, Dudu, Duoduo, and others. Ajige stood beside Dorgon.

Seeing the slightly tense atmosphere, Huang Taiji spoke: “Prince Hésùo Lǐqin, a few days ago I sent people to your Plain Red and Bordered Red Banners to select men for the Bayala Camp, yet the task has still not been completed. Why is this?”

Daišan stepped forward and reported: “Your Majesty, the Bayala Camp’s requirements are too high. Even counting everyone from the Plain Red and Bordered Red Banners, we do not have enough men to meet the quota. I beg your understanding.”

“Not enough?” Huang Taiji snorted in dissatisfaction. “Is it that you simply do not want to provide enough?”

Though his voice was not loud, it carried an imposing authority. Everyone could hear the discontent in his words.

Seeing Huang Taiji’s accusatory stance, Daišan lowered his head in silence, appearing unbothered—as if impervious to punishment. Yue To, standing nearby, could only sigh helplessly at his father’s predicament.

As the first to support Huang Taiji’s ascension, Daišan would normally have been highly valued, but in fact Huang Taiji did not favor him much—something not hidden among the Manchu high ranks. The reason was well-known: when Nurhaci was alive, there were three capable contenders for the khanate—Da Beile Daišan, Fourth Beile Huang Taiji, and Fourteenth Beile Dorgon. As the eldest, Daišan had the greatest chance of ascending, but one incident destroyed that hope.

It involved Nurhaci’s family matters. Among the still semi-primitive Manchus, there was a custom: “when a father dies, his son may marry the father’s wife.” Nurhaci had five consorts, one of whom was Consort Fucha Yuanfei, a highly spirited woman. Though she had borne two sons, she was restless and took a liking to Daišan, nearly twenty years her senior. She often dressed flamboyantly and flirted with Daišan, even entrusting him with her private funds.

When Huang Taiji discovered this, he immediately reported it to his father, Nurhaci. Nurhaci became furious; though he had intended to entrust both the consorts and sons to Daišan after his death, he was still alive. The result: Consort Fucha was executed, and Daišan severely reprimanded. Nurhaci did not kill Daišan, perhaps out of fatherly sentiment, but Daišan’s chances of rising to the top vanished.

After Nurhaci’s death, Huang Taiji harbored lingering resentment, blaming Daišan and Fucha for hastening his father’s demise. So, even though Daišan had strongly supported Huang Taiji’s succession, he still received little favor.

Seeing Daišan silent, Huang Taiji could do nothing but snort lightly. Though now emperor, he did not command absolute obedience. Of the eight banners, only the top three were under his direct control; the remaining five were held by his brothers. Thus, Huang Taiji proposed the Bayala Camp, Aliha Chaohai Camp, Gabu Shixian Camp, and Wuzhen Chaohai Camp plans. Yet progress was slow; his brothers, particularly the banner chiefs, resisted, knowing that strengthening others would weaken themselves.

Although annoyed with Daišan’s attitude, Huang Taiji could do nothing against him due to his prestige. He withdrew his gaze and asked Kong Youde, standing quietly to the side: “Prince of Gongsun, how goes the formation of the firearms camp I ordered you to assemble?”

Kong Youde stepped forward respectfully: “Your Majesty, the formation of the Wuzhen Chaohai Camp is proceeding smoothly. I have built 26 great general cannons, 35 tiger-crouching cannons, and 3,000 handguns. The only concern is that the handguns have a range of only fifty paces, inferior to the Yingzhou army. I fear that if we face them in battle, we may suffer a disadvantage.”

“Do not worry too much about that,” Huang Taiji waved a hand. “From the several encounters my 14th and 12th brothers had with the Yingzhou army, their strength lies mainly in their cannons. If we can limit their artillery, their handguns are negligible. I refuse to believe that such handguns can stop the iron hooves of our Manchu warriors.”

At the last sentence, Huang Taiji’s eyes gleamed with a sharp intensity, glancing subtly to the left.

Ajige’s expression darkened. Two months ago, he had suffered a crushing defeat, losing nearly 20,000 men out of 100,000 and abandoning all plundered goods. For the Manchus, already short on manpower, this was a major loss. Mongol tribes under their influence had begun to murmur in discontent. To calm both the court and the Mongols, Huang Taiji demoted Ajige from prince to Beile and stripped him of military command. Now he held only the title without power.

At this moment, Dorgon stepped forward and bowed: “Your Majesty, my brother recalls that two years ago Yue To once said that to defeat Yue Yang’s forces, our Qing army must adopt firearms. At the time, many officials opposed the idea. Now, it seems Yue To was correct. I propose not only equipping the Han army banners with firearms but also arming a portion of our Eight Banners, so we may better contend with the Yingzhou army.”

At these words, many in attendance frowned. When Yue To first suggested firearms, the Manchu high ranks opposed it, insisting their ancestral archery and cavalry traditions were the foundation of their power. But the Yingzhou army, with their firearms, had cruelly proven that a soldier trained for over ten years could still be defeated by a recruit trained only three months. Yue To, Dorgon, Duoduo, and Ajige had taught this lesson in blood.

“Well…” Huang Taiji frowned after hearing Dorgon, contemplating for some time before shaking his head: “Equipping the Eight Banners with firearms is a matter too weighty to decide hastily. We shall wait and observe the results first.”

Dorgon’s patience wore thin. This was his second formal proposal to form a Manchu firearms unit, yet Huang Taiji rejected it again. Impatiently, he said: “Your Majesty, from these recent battles with the Yingzhou army, firearms are unstoppable. Our Qing must go with the tide and establish our own firearms camp. Relying solely on the Han banners is insufficient!”

“Nonsense!” Huang Taiji’s face darkened. He slammed the armrest of his dragon throne with a crisp crack, glaring at Dorgon. “Do you doubt my judgment?”

“My brother dares not!” Dorgon knelt and wept. “I only grieve for the warriors of our Qing. How many losses have we suffered from Yingzhou firearms? Across the Mongol Eight Banners, Han banners, and our Qing Eight Banners, at least thirty to forty thousand soldiers have perished these past years. Great Khan, how many of our warriors can withstand such attrition?”

Tears streaming, he kowtowed repeatedly, until his forehead swelled from impact, looking utterly pitiful. Those present could not help but be moved.

“You…” Huang Taiji’s finger trembled as he pointed at Dorgon, his face purpling. He wavered on the throne, and a eunuch quickly stepped forward to support him. As soon as the eunuch touched him, Huang Taiji slumped sideways and fainted.

“Great Khan…”

“Great Khan, what’s happening?”

“He’s fainted! Hurry!”

“Summon the imperial physicians!”

Everyone surged forward, chaos erupting in the hall. In the rush, Dorgon was almost completely forgotten—no one noticed the faint, barely perceptible smile at the corner of his mouth as he remained kneeling.