MLMD -Chapter 363 When Two Powers Conflict, Choose the Lesser Evil

Once it was confirmed that this Qing incursion was connected to the Liaodong Army, the atmosphere in the Imperial Study instantly plunged to freezing point. An uncontrollable sense of panic rose in everyone’s hearts.

Standing behind Yang Sichang, the Minister of Rites, Jiang Fengyuan, immediately cried out in alarm, “Your Majesty! If the Liaodong Army has colluded with the Qing, then the great affairs of our Ming are finished! What are we to do?!”

“Slap—”

A crisp sound rang out. Jiang Fengyuan’s face instantly swelled red—Yang Sichang had finally lost patience, turned around, and struck him across the face.

“Outrageous!” Yang Sichang glared at Jiang Fengyuan and shouted angrily. “The sky hasn’t fallen yet—what are you panicking for? Making such a spectacle before the Emperor, where is your decorum?!”

With that, Yang Sichang stepped forward, cupped his hands toward Chongzhen, and said, “Your Majesty, Jiang Fengyuan has lost his composure before the throne and fears the enemy like a tiger. He is unfit to serve in Your Majesty’s presence. I, in my capacity as Grand Secretary, humbly request that Your Majesty strip Jiang Fengyuan of his post as Minister of Rites to serve as a warning to others!”

It had to be said—this move by Yang Sichang was ruthless. Jiang Fengyuan, as Minister of Rites, effectively oversaw what in later terms would be the responsibilities of the Ministry of Education, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Central Party School combined. In times of peace, it was an extremely powerful position. Ordinarily, removing him would require a cabinet proposal and imperial approval, following established procedure. Yet Yang Sichang raised the issue suddenly, right in an imperial meeting, without the slightest forewarning—an exceptionally rare occurrence, showing just how deeply he loathed Jiang Fengyuan.

And Yang Sichang was far from alone. As soon as his words fell, the other Grand Secretaries and the senior ministers of the Six Ministries stepped forward together and declared in unison, “We concur.”

“Approved,” Chongzhen replied.

With that single word, the Minister of Rites—who had been in office less than a year—was expelled from the center of Ming power, stripped of rank entirely and reduced to a commoner.

In less than a few minutes, Jiang Fengyuan had his black gauze cap removed and was dragged out of the Imperial Study. His fate had long been sealed. Not long ago, he had already been expelled once by Chongzhen; before the dust had even settled, he caused another scene today, fully exposing himself before both the Emperor and the assembled ministers. Scholars of this era prized emotional restraint—“even if Mount Tai collapses before you, your expression should not change.” Someone like Jiang Fengyuan, who turned pale at the mere mention of collusion between the Liaodong Army and the Qing, was bound to be despised. Though the world had few who truly feared death, being scared out of one’s wits before the enemy even arrived was simply absurd.

Ignoring Jiang Fengyuan being dragged away by the guards, Chongzhen took a deep breath and addressed the assembly, “My ministers, I believe Yang’s earlier analysis is quite sound. For the Qing to have advanced into our territory so silently, the Liaodong Army must bear responsibility. The question is—what clever strategy do you propose to deal with this?”

The ministers’ faces darkened. The problem sounded simple, yet was nearly unsolvable. After decades of evolution, the Liaodong Garrison had become a family-based military bloc. Especially after Yuan Chonghuan’s death, no one in the Ming court could suppress the military group led by the Wu and Zu families. Centered on Shanhaiguan and Jinzhou, they tightly controlled over a thousand li of borderlands.

Take Jinzhou, for example. It was now in a semi-autonomous state. The court had repeatedly ordered Zu Dashou to return to the capital to report, but he always declined, citing ill health. Worse still, Jinzhou under Zu Dashou treated imperial orders with indifference. By rights, Zu Dashou was already arrogant enough—yet the court could do nothing to him. Not only that, it had to placate him: ask for grain, give grain; ask for silver, give silver—out of fear that, in a moment of despair, he might surrender to the Qing. If that happened, the entire Liaodong defense line would become a joke.

Seeing the ministers standing in silence, brows furrowed, Chongzhen could not contain his anger. “You receive the court’s salaries and live off the people’s support—yet when the crisis arrives, none of you can offer a single idea?! Yang, Xie, Cheng—say something!”

Yang Sichang, Cheng Guoxiang, and Xie Sheng kept their heads lowered, unable to speak. Chongzhen grew even angrier and rose from his seat, about to erupt.

At that moment, the Minister of Justice, Feng Ying, muttered under his breath, “What can we do? Send the Xuan-Da Army to replace them in guarding Liaodong, perhaps?”

“Hm…?”

Suddenly, the room fell into dead silence. Everyone froze. After a long while, Yang Sichang abruptly raised his head and stared at Feng Ying, a sharp light flashing in his eyes. He strode out of line, stopped before Feng Ying, and shouted, “What did you just say? Say it again!”

Feng Ying was startled by Yang Sichang’s fierce expression and stammered, “Grand Secretary Yang… this humble official… I…”

“Repeat what you just said!” Yang demanded.

“I… I…”

“Speak!” Yang snapped, grabbing Feng Ying by the collar.

“T-Grand Secretary Yang, please let go… I said… perhaps we should send the Xuan-Da Army to replace them in guarding the Liaodong Garrison…”

“Yes—exactly that!”

Yang Sichang suddenly became animated. He spun around and shouted to Chongzhen, “Your Majesty, there is a way! We have a way!”

“What way?” Chongzhen, infected by Yang’s excitement, leaned forward eagerly. “Speak quickly!”

Yang Sichang said with visible excitement, “Your Majesty, isn’t the Liaodong Garrison relying on its border merits to defy court orders? Now, for personal gain, they’ve even colluded with the barbarians and allowed them through the passes—such conduct deserves universal condemnation. Why not do this… this…”

“Ah… isn’t that too obvious?” Even Chongzhen was stunned once Yang laid out the plan. This ‘driving wolves to devour tigers’ scheme seemed far too crude. Besides, though Zu Dashou was no saint, was Yue Yang really any better?

Seeing Chongzhen hesitate, Yang Sichang stepped forward and pressed on. “Your Majesty, I must speak frankly. In my view, both Yue Yang and Zu Dashou are no different from regional warlords. Since matters have already come to this, further words are useless. We might as well choose the one most beneficial to the court to continue serving it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Mm…”

Chongzhen pondered carefully. Yang’s words made sense. Strictly speaking, Yue Yang, Zu Dashou, and Wu Xiang could all be called warlords—but not all warlords were alike. After Yuan Chonghuan’s death, the Liaodong military bloc’s combat strength had declined drastically. Their sieve-like defenses over the years showed it clearly—they did little besides asking the court for silver and supplies. Yue Yang, however, was different. Though famously unruly, he could truly fight. Not long ago, he had crushed the Qing outside the passes, leaving corpses everywhere—even Huang Taiji and Yueto had perished in that battle. Now, Mongols and Manchus alike trembled at the mention of the Xuan-Da Army.

Moreover, Yue Yang had one major virtue: he kept his word. If he promised a million taels, he delivered every coin. Compared to the greedy fools of Liaodong, the difference was like heaven and earth.

Both were warlords, yet one bore responsibility and honored commitments, while the other was like a spoiled child—constantly demanding from the court, threatening it whenever payments were delayed, and now even letting the enemy through the passes. The choice was obvious.

“Very well,” Chongzhen finally decided, a cold gleam in his eyes. “We’ll proceed as you suggest. These traitors eat and wear what the court provides, yet refuse to shoulder its burdens—they deserve severe punishment. But first, we must drive those barbarians out…”

…

Far away, thousands of li from the court, Yue Yang knew nothing of these deliberations. He was busy reorganizing his forces in Datong.

As one of Shanxi’s major cities, Datong had always been a strategic stronghold—control Datong, and you controlled half the Xuan-Da defense line. Upon becoming Governor-General of Datong, Yue Yang immediately launched sweeping reforms. He issued a final ultimatum to the former Xuan-Da generals and deputy commanders: accept reorganization and prosper with him—or get out. Anyone who disobeyed would face his tens of thousands of troops, who were no decoration.

Under a mix of carrot and stick, the various garrisons in Shanxi had no choice but to submit. After nearly three months, Yue Yang completed a massive reorganization. Soldiers under eighteen—out. Over thirty-five—out. Slackers living off military rations—out. Of the original thirty thousand troops, only sixteen thousand remained. The rest were given severance pay and sent home. A few malcontents tried to stir trouble—but they were quickly pacified by triangular bayonets and the crack of Minié rifles.

After three months, Yue Yang now commanded fifty thousand effective infantry and twenty thousand cavalry. Including fifty thousand newly recruited and trained troops, he possessed a total of 120,000 men—making him the largest and strongest military force in the Ming.

On the eighth day of the eleventh month of Chongzhen’s tenth year, in the Datong Governor-General’s residence (now renamed the Loyal and Brave Marquis’ Manor), Yue Yang sat at the head of the hall, gazing at the rows of generals below, a sense of achievement swelling in his heart. Five years ago, he had been a penniless scholar. Today, he was a Ming marquis, a provincial military governor commanding vast armies—truly a journey to marvel at.

The hall was silent as Yue Yang shook the document in his hand and said gravely, “Gentlemen—last month, the Qing’s new puppet emperor, Dorgon, led a hundred thousand troops across our borders, now ravaging Baodi, Dingxing, Ansou, Dacheng, Xiong County, Anzhou, and more. The people weep, the realm is shaken. His Majesty has personally ordered the Xuan-Da Army to march at once to the capital region and expel the barbarians. What say you?”

“This…”

On his left sat the veteran Xuan-Da generals—Yang Guozhu, Hu Dawei, and others—new to serving under Yue Yang, they dared not speak rashly. On the right were Yue Yang’s longtime followers, led by Yue Shunbao and Hu Laosan, who immediately grew excited at the prospect of battle.

Shunbao sprang up first. “My lord, last time you went beyond the passes without me—Old Hu and the others all earned merit. This time, even by turns, it should be my turn!”

Yue Yang laughed, understanding his frustration. “I know. This campaign won’t be without you.”

He turned to Yang Guozhu and Hu Dawei. “General Yang, General Hu—are you willing to march with me?”

The answer was obvious. Both rose together. “We are willing to follow the Marquis and slay the enemy for the nation!”

“Good!”

Surveying the assembled generals, Yue Yang nodded. “Generals, heed my command!”

With a clatter, everyone rose.

“Hu Dawei, Yang Guozhu, Wang Pu, Wu Chengfeng, Yue Shunbao, Chu Di…”

“We are here!”

“Return and prepare your forces. In three days, each of you will lead ten thousand men to rendezvous with me in Datong. Together, we’ll go to the capital and meet this Dorgon. I want to see who gave him the nerve to invade our borders again!”

“We obey!”

On the twelfth day of the eleventh month, Chongzhen’s tenth year (1937 in this narrative’s alternate reckoning), Yue Yang led seventy thousand troops—infantry, cavalry, and supply trains—from Datong, marching at full speed toward the capital, determined to crush the Qing invaders once and for all.

Dark clouds hung low over the land. The fields lay silent, scarred with hoofprints, and occasional corpses lay by the roadside. In northern lands, November meant winter—snowflakes already drifted through the air. Wherever the Qing passed, devastation followed like locusts, leaving nothing behind—not even cooking pots.

Suddenly, rhythmic footsteps broke the silence. From the distant road emerged a long column, banners flying—red flags embroidered with the sun and moon.

The infantry wore no armor, only mottled camouflage cotton coats, green vest-like armor, and round green helmets. Green helmets, green jackets, green trousers—the sight was striking.

General Yang Guozhu of Xuanfu rode a red warhorse, dressed like his men: three-color camouflage, green steel helmet, and a stab-proof vest with a steel plate—looking like a modern construction worker.

Beside him rode Hu Dawei, dressed the same. Looking at the endless ranks, Yang Guozhu sighed, “I really don’t know what Marquis Yue was thinking, making us wear this green skin—so unsightly.”

Hu Dawei grinned. “Be grateful, brother. It’s warm, light, and stops blades and arrows. With the steel plate, even a strong bow at thirty paces can’t pierce it. Much better than our old heavy armor.”

Yang Guozhu frowned. “Still—too ugly.”

Hu Dawei laughed. “Ugly or not—if it keeps you alive, that’s all that matters!”