MLMD -Chapter 443 Zaisang’s Visit

As a capital that had been managed by the Manchus for nearly half a century, Shenyang was undoubtedly prosperous—no one could deny that. Yet the scene before them completely overturned Zaisang and his party’s impression of Shengjing.

Ruined walls and scorched timbers were everywhere. From time to time, the air was filled with the heavy stench of corpses and the smell of burned flesh. Squads of fully armed soldiers patrolled the streets without pause. One cart after another rolled past, while many Manchus in tattered clothing were using tools to clear the streets.

“By Eternal Heaven… is this still the Shengjing I know?”
Zaisang stared at the familiar yet utterly alien city, his eyes wide and his mouth agape like a hippo about to have a tooth pulled, too shocked to know what to say.

Beside him, Zhezhe and Dayu’er already had reddened eyes, tears falling like strings of pearls. Dayu’er managed to cover her mouth to keep herself from crying aloud, but the gentler-natured Zhezhe could not hold back and began to sob softly.
“How could this happen… how could it be like this? It was just one battle—how did it become like this?”

“Move it… smack… what are you looking at, you old bastard? Keep moving!”

Just as the group was left speechless by the scene before them, an elderly man in a nearby work gang lagged slightly behind and was immediately lashed by a foreman with a leather whip. The blows rained down mercilessly, knocking the old man to the ground where he rolled in pain—yet the beating did not stop.

“You—”

Zhezhe, who had spent decades within palace walls and had never seen such brutality, cried out without thinking, still reeling from shock. “Stop!”

Her shout did make the foreman halt, but it also drew his attention. He glared viciously at Zhezhe and snarled, “Who are you people, meddling in our business?!”

Seeing trouble brewing, Dayu’er quickly reached out to pull her aunt back, signaling her to stop speaking. But Zhezhe, overcome with emotion, ignored her and pointed angrily at the old man on the ground. “He’s already in such a miserable state and you still beat him! He only walked a bit slower—was it necessary to be so cruel? Aren’t you ashamed?”

“Ha! Ha ha ha—”

The foreman burst into loud laughter, his voice filled with venom and bitterness. He suddenly tore open his clothes, exposing his upper body—covered entirely in whip marks and scars. Pointing at his own battered flesh, he said hatefully:

“See this? Every scar on my body was given to me by that old bastard on the ground. I was his bondservant slave for three whole years. Every day I ate food fit for a dog, did work fit for an ox, and got beaten by him day after day. That wasn’t even the worst of it—his son ruined my wife, who then jumped into a well, and my own son was starved to death alive. Do you know what the first thing I did was when the Ming army broke in a few days ago? The first thing I did was sleep with his two wives and his daughter. I wanted all the women in his family to carry my seed. This is what he owes me… I’m just collecting my debt now. Do you understand?”

As he spoke, the foreman laughed—but the smile sent chills down Zhezhe’s spine.

“Karmic retribution… this is retribution…”

Dayu’er shook her head silently, her heart heavy.

“All right, stop looking. Let’s go.”

Zaisang, who had been watching coldly, said nothing more. He had seen too much in his life to be shocked by such things. Reaching out, he tugged on Zhezhe’s reins, and the group continued forward at a slow pace.

The farther they went, the more horrifying the sights became. Corpses were pulled from the rubble and thrown onto carts like discarded sacks. Many bodies were missing limbs; others had been burned to charcoal. Piles of grotesquely deformed corpses lay stacked on the carts—the visual impact was overwhelming. Even Zaisang and Wokeshen, hardened veterans accustomed to death, felt their stomachs churn.

Seeing their obvious discomfort, a Ming officer escorting them signaled the group to move faster. After about ten minutes, they arrived at a street that was relatively well preserved. It had clearly been cleaned up already. Though a few buildings were damaged, it was vastly better than what they had seen before.

Soon, they stopped before a grand-looking mansion. The officer leading them turned and said, “The Marquis is inside. Please wait a moment while I report your arrival.”

After he entered, Zaisang and the others waited at the gate.

Zhezhe looked at the imposing residence and sighed softly. “This was Fifteen’s residence. I never thought it would be requisitioned by him.”

At that moment, Dayu’er lifted her barely-toddling son from the carriage, holding him as they all silently gazed at what had once belonged to Prince Dodo of the Yu line.

No one spoke. Since ancient times, the victor takes all. Now that the Qing had fallen, everything they owned became the spoils of the victor.

The officer soon returned and gestured for them to enter. They followed him inside.

Within the residence, Ming soldiers in uniform moved about everywhere. Before long, they reached the main hall, where Yue Yang stood at the entrance to greet them. Seeing Zaisang’s group, he stepped forward with a smile.

“Your son-in-law greets Father-in-law. I failed to welcome you personally—please forgive me.”

Zaisang laughed heartily. “I know you’re busy with official duties. There’s no need for such formalities. We Mongols don’t fuss over these things.”

Yue Yang smiled and led them into the hall.

After they were seated, soldiers brought in tea. Yue Yang took a sip and began chatting casually, wandering from one topic to another. Zaisang humored him at first, but soon realized that after several years apart, his son-in-law’s talent for rambling had grown by leaps and bounds—he could probably talk nonsense all day without stopping. Straightforward by nature, Zaisang was no match for him, so he finally cut in:

“Well… son-in-law, I came to Shengjing first to congratulate you on recovering the lost lands. Second, it’s been a long time since we last met, so I wanted to see you. And third… there’s something I wish to consult you about.”

Yue Yang set down his teacup, his smile fading as he looked at Zaisang seriously. “Please speak, Father-in-law. I’m all ears.”

As Yue Yang’s expression turned solemn, an invisible pressure seemed to radiate from him, making Zaisang uncomfortable—especially after witnessing Shengjing’s tragic state, which easily led to dark associations.

After coughing twice, Zaisang finally voiced his purpose. “Son-in-law… now that the Great Qing is gone, what are your thoughts on Liaodong’s future direction?”

Yue Yang looked at him calmly and smiled faintly. “Why ask this, Father-in-law? Now that Liaodong has been recovered, the court will naturally send officials to govern it. Everything will gradually improve. Why worry?”

“Don’t try to brush me off with empty words.” Zaisang laughed bitterly. “It seems you still hold a grudge. Last time, I had no choice but to follow Huang Taiji into battle against you and the Chahar tribe. I regretted it deeply afterward, but at the time, I had no alternative. The Khorchin are far weaker than the Qing—if we hadn’t followed him, you know what would have happened. If you’re still angry, then go ahead and scold me now.”

Zaisang shook his head helplessly. Age had dulled his edges—words like these were something he would never have spoken six or seven years ago.

Yue Yang sighed lightly. “Father-in-law, there’s no need to rush. Now that I’ve destroyed the Qing, matters should settle down. In the short term, the Ming army will not move against the Mongol tribes.”

Everyone first felt relieved—then their hearts tightened. In the short term? What about after that?

Zaisang, the leader of the Khorchin; Wokeshen, a seasoned commander; even Dayu’er and Zhezhe, once mistresses of the imperial harem—all understood state affairs far too well to think naively. This world was nakedly ruled by the law of the jungle. When the Mongols were strong, they ruled half the world. When the Ming rose, the Han drove them back to the grasslands. Now the Ming had produced a monster like Yue Yang, who had annihilated the once-invincible Qing—how could he not turn his hand against the Mongol tribes next?

At that moment, Dayu’er, who had been silently holding her child, spoke up. “Brother-in-law… may I call you that?”

“Of course,” Yue Yang smiled. “We’re family. There’s no problem at all. Is that your child? What’s his name? How old is he?”

Holding her son close, Dayu’er’s face softened with maternal warmth. “His name is Fulin. He just turned one.”

“Mmm…” Yue Yang fell silent, thinking that this child was truly unlucky to have encountered him—otherwise, he would have been the Qing emperor Shunzhi. The thought slipped out naturally: “This child is Huang Taiji’s, right?”

As soon as the words fell, the atmosphere in the hall froze.

Dayu’er’s composed expression shattered instantly. Her face turned deathly pale as she clutched the child and shrank back. Holding him too tightly, she woke him, and he immediately burst into tears.

The crying snapped Dayu’er back to herself. She hurriedly soothed him. “There, there… Fulin, don’t cry. Mother is here.”

Zaisang and the others also looked at Yue Yang with alarm. What does he mean by that? Was he planning to root out all remnants? Destroying the Qing wasn’t enough—did he intend to kill even his sister-in-law’s child?

Seeing their hostile looks, Yue Yang immediately understood and could only smile wryly.
“You people… what are you thinking? Do you really see me as some inhuman butcher who’d kill his own nephew? Bumubutai, don’t worry—I won’t harm your child. Frankly speaking, I defeated even his father. Do you think I’d fear a child? And take ten thousand steps back—do you really believe he’d have the ability to take revenge on me when he grows up?”

Everyone fell silent.

Indeed—after the Qing, dominant for decades, had been destroyed, most Manchus were relocated into the interior, and the few remaining hid deep in forests. Without centuries, revenge was impossible. What could Fulin rely on even if he grew up? The Khorchin? Impossible. This was a patrilineal society—Wokeshen was still alive and well. No matter how muddleheaded Zaisang might be, he would never let Fulin control the tribe.

As this realization sank in, Dayu’er felt relief—yet also a quiet sense of loss.

Watching the shifting emotions on her face, Yue Yang said seriously: “Bumubutai, let me be clear. Times have changed. Now that the Ming has recovered Liaodong, this land will never be allowed to fall into your hands. But honestly, haven’t the Khorchin lived quite well these past years? We trade you grain, salt, cloth, medicine, and other goods for horses and livestock. Isn’t this a good life? No killing, no bloodshed—everyone prospers. Must the land run red with blood to be satisfied? I can guarantee that as long as the Khorchin do not oppose the Ming, trade will continue as before. What do you say?”

After Yue Yang finished speaking, Zaisang and the others fell into silence.

On the surface, his words made perfect sense. Live honestly, herd livestock, avoid war, and enjoy prosperity—who wouldn’t want that? Yet Zaisang and Dayu’er understood all too well: to accept this meant placing the tribe’s lifeline entirely in Ming hands. If one day the Ming ceased trade, the Khorchin would rapidly be driven back to their former misery—an outcome no one could bear.