xymnovel Chapter 58 Smoke of War Obscures the Sun
Chapter 58 Smoke of War Obscures the Sun
August 29th, the sixteenth year of the Chongzhen reign, Beijing, midnight.
The candlelight in the Wuying Hall was half as dim as usual, casting a long shadow of Empress Zhou on the golden brick floor. Three people stood before her: Duke Zhang Weixian of Yingguo, Marquis Huang Degong of Jingnan, and Li Ruolian, the Deputy Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
"Have you seen it all?" Empress Zhou gently pushed the secret edict, which had been delivered from Nanjing by express courier, onto the table.
The candlelight illuminated the familiar handwriting on the paper, hasty yet forceful—"If things cannot be accomplished, three things should be done: First, the Crown Prince, the imperial family, and all officials should move south; second, the granaries and armories should be burned and destroyed, leaving no resources for the enemy; third, an edict should be issued to the world that this is a strategic retreat, not an abandonment of territory. Remember, saving people is more important than saving land."
Tears streamed down Zhang Weixian's face, his hands trembling so much he could barely hold the paper: "Your Majesty... do you really want to burn it?"
"Burn." Empress Zhou's voice was terrifyingly calm. "Not a single grain of rice, not a single knife, can be left to the Tartars."
Huang Degong knelt on one knee: "This humble general requests the order! The matter of burning the granary is entrusted to this humble general!"
Empress Zhou shook her head: "I will personally oversee the burning."
The three of them were stunned.
"It's not that I don't trust General Huang." Empress Zhou stood up and walked to the palace window. "In the Jingtong Granary, there is old grain stored up during the Yongle era, and military equipment left behind by Emperor Chengzu during his northern expedition. When these things are burned, the Empress of the Ming Dynasty must be present to watch—so that our ancestors know that their descendants are not unfilial, but forced by the circumstances of the world to do so."
She paused, then her voice turned serious: "Duke of Ying, you will lead the last 20,000 troops of the Beijing Garrison to guard the nine gates until dawn tomorrow. Once dawn arrives, regardless of whether I return or not, immediately withdraw from Beijing and take the secret passage to Tongzhou to meet General Huang."
Zhang Weixian kowtowed deeply: "This old minister... obeys the decree!"
"General Huang," Empress Zhou said to Huang Degong, "you will take three thousand elite cavalry and leave the city now to meet me in Tongzhou. If I am not seen by dawn, do not wait, head south directly."
With tears welling in his eyes, Huang Degong said, "This humble general is willing to die waiting for Your Majesty!"
"His Majesty wants Huang Degong alive, not a loyal subject who dies," Empress Zhou said softly. "As long as you are here, the spirit of the Capital Garrison will remain. Go."
Huang Degong kowtowed again, then stood up and strode away, his armor clanging.
Only Empress Zhou and Li Ruolian remained in the hall.
"Commander Li." Empress Zhou took out a brocade pouch from her bosom and handed it over. "Here is His Majesty's jade pendant, as well as several letters he wrote to me in his early years. Take this and leave now, go directly to Nanjing."
Li Ruolian took the brocade pouch; it felt heavy in his hand. He looked up and saw a fleeting tear in Empress Zhou's eyes.
"His Majesty said," Empress Zhou softly repeated the words not written in the secret edict, "Beijing is the brickwork, and Your Majesty is the living Great Wall. If the brickwork is lost, it can be regained; but if the Great Wall collapses, the Ming Dynasty will truly be gone."
Li Ruolian's throat tightened: "Your Majesty...I understand."
"Go," Empress Zhou waved her hand, "and tell His Majesty that I... have done my best."
On the same night, on a high platform outside the Jing-Tong warehouse.
Empress Zhou did not enter the granary, but instead stood on a makeshift wooden platform erected outside the main gate. The platform was two zhang high, offering a panoramic view of the entire granary. Two hundred Imperial Guards stood in formation, carrying torches, while the granary's supervisor, Old Clerk Zhao, knelt below the platform, trembling all over.
"Your Majesty... more than three million shi of grain!" Old Official Zhao kowtowed, weeping blood. "If we burn it, how will the people view the court? How will the history books record Your Majesty?"
Empress Zhou stood at the edge of the high platform, the night wind ruffling her cloak. Gazing at the endless shadows of the granaries in the darkness, she slowly spoke:
"Ambassador Zhao, you've been in the granary for forty-two years. Have you ever considered how many more soldiers these grains could feed if they fell into the hands of the Tartars? How many more Ming citizens could they kill?"
Old Zhao was speechless.
"Burning it is my fault," Empress Zhou's voice was clear and carried far in the night wind, "but I would rather bear this guilt than let the enemy use the Ming Dynasty's grain to kill the people of the Ming Dynasty."
She turned around and took the torch from the Imperial Guard.
The firelight danced in her eyes.
"Open the warehouse—light the fire!"
The warehouse doors were pushed open one after another. The Imperial Guards, divided into ten teams, rushed into each warehouse carrying bundles of firewood soaked in kerosene. Soon, the first fire blazed, followed by the second, the third…
The fire spread extremely quickly. The aged, dried grain was the best fuel, and flames climbed upwards along the grain mound, crackling and popping. Heat billowed from the granary; even standing on the high platform, one could feel the heatwave.
Empress Zhou did not retreat; she stood there, watching the flames engulf the granaries. The firelight illuminated her face and the outline of Beijing behind her.
In the capital, the people were awakened.
"Fire!" "It's the granary! The imperial court has burned down the granary!"
Cries, curses, and screams erupted from the alleyways. Some knelt in the streets kowtowing, some held their children and stared blankly at the sky, and many more began frantically packing their belongings—even the granaries had been burned; Beijing truly could not be defended.
Below the platform, Old Official Zhao collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down his face: "Burn it...burn it...burn it all away, that's good..."
Empress Zhou heard this and closed her eyes briefly.
"Your Majesty," the commander of the Imperial Guard stepped forward and whispered, "the fire is too big, please move your carriage."
Empress Zhou nodded, took one last look at the warehouse that had turned into a sea of fire, and then turned and stepped down from the stage.
Before getting on the bus, she heard a scream coming from afar:
"The imperial court no longer wants us!"
"Your Majesty! Please spare our lives!"
The voice was harsh and shrill. Empress Zhou gripped the carriage curtain tightly, her fingertips turning white.
The carriage did not stop.
At the same time, in Dezhou, Shandong, at the canal wharf.
Crown Prince Zhu Cilang's fleet was blocked here.
It wasn't the Qing army that caused the disaster, but the common people—more precisely, the canal workers and panicked masses who were incited.
Hundreds of cargo boats lay across the river, completely blocking the waterway. On the boats and on the banks, thousands of people had gathered, torches flickering, shadows dancing in the air. A few particularly loud voices mingled among the crowd, constantly shouting:
"The imperial court has fled south! They've abandoned the northerners!"
"Your Highness, come out here! Give us an explanation!"
"You can leave, but take us with you!"
The escorting flotilla was not Zhang Weixian—he was defending Beijing—but his son, Zhang Shize, a general in his early thirties with a resolute face. At this moment, he stood with his hand on his sword at the bow of the largest official ship, with the thirteen-year-old Crown Prince Zhu Cilang standing beside him.
"Your Highness, please retreat into the cabin," Zhang Shize said in a low voice. "Among these people are remnants of the Grand Canal Gang. They are deliberately inciting trouble, and there may be unforeseen circumstances."
Zhu Cilang shook his head.
He wore an apricot-yellow robe with dragon patterns, and although he was thin, his back was very straight. In the firelight, his face was somewhat pale, but his eyes were unusually calm.
"I am the Crown Prince of the Great Ming Dynasty," he said. "If the people want to see me, I will let them see me."
Before Zhang Shize could stop him, Zhu Cilang stepped forward and stood in the most conspicuous spot at the bow of the ship.
The commotion on the shore gradually subsided. Everyone was looking at the young man in the yellow robe.
"Fellow countrymen along the canal—" Zhu Cilang began, his voice still young, yet he strained to make sure everyone could hear, "I, Zhu Cilang, the Crown Prince of the Great Ming, am here!"
A silence.
"I know you are afraid," Zhu Cilang continued, his hands trembling slightly in his sleeves, but his voice steady. "You are afraid that when the court leaves, the Tartars will come, and no one will care about you."
"But look—" he pointed south, "Father has already prepared the army in Nanjing, General Sun Chuanting has built a defensive line in Henan, and General Zheng Sen has cut off the enemy's supply lines at sea! The court is not fleeing, but retreating! It is accumulating strength to prepare for a counterattack!"
He paused, then took out a roll of yellow silk from his robes: "This is Her Majesty the Empress's decree—all those who wish to migrate south may travel south with the fleet. The court will set up resettlement points in Yangzhou and Nanjing, distributing land and grain to ensure your survival!"
The edict was unfolded, bearing the Empress's imperial seal.
The crowd began to stir. Some hesitated, some didn't believe it, and some started to cry.
At this moment, a scarred man shouted from the cargo boat, "Don't believe him! Can you trust the imperial court? Once you're on board, they might just throw you halfway up to feed the fish!"
Several voices echoed, "Yes! Don't believe it!"
Seeing that the commotion was about to start again, Zhu Cilang suddenly bowed deeply.
Everyone was stunned.
"What that man said is true." Zhu Cilang straightened up and looked at the scarred man. "The imperial court has owed the people too much over the years. There is war in the north, taxes are being increased in the south, and the grain transport workers are often embezzled despite their hard work—I know all of this."
The scarred man was stunned, not expecting the crown prince to say that.
"That's why Father Emperor is making the southern tour, reforming the canal transport and salt administration, punishing corrupt officials, and bringing peace to the people," Zhu Cilang said, raising his voice. "But these things take time! Now that the Tartars have attacked, if the court defends Beijing to the death, it will only cost tens of thousands more lives! By retreating to Nanjing and preserving our foundations, we can fight back in the future and truly allow the people to live a good life!"
He looked around at the crowd: "Those who are willing to believe, follow me! Wherever my ship is, that is your way of survival! Those who are unwilling to believe, I will not force them, but please make way for those who wish to go!"
A long silence.
Then, an old canal worker stepped forward shakily: "Your Highness... my family of five is willing to go with you."
Then came the second, the third...
The scarred man's expression shifted, his gaze lingering for a moment on Zhu Cilang's youthful yet resolute face. A complex, indescribable emotion flickered in his eyes—doubt, wavering, and perhaps a long-lost, rough-and-tumble feeling for the concepts of "benevolence and righteousness."
He ultimately said nothing, only spat out a word, turned and pushed through the crowd, quickly disappearing into the throng of people and the flickering torchlight, his movements as practiced as a drop of water flowing into a river.
The cargo ships began to move slowly, clearing the way.
Zhang Shize breathed a sigh of relief and said in a low voice, "Your Highness is wise."
Zhu Cilang shook his head, looking at the people on the shore who were staggering onto the boat with their families, and said softly, "I just... did what I had to do."
As he turned to go back to the cabin, a tear flashed across his eye.
September 1st, Nanjing, Wenhua Hall.
Li Ce didn't sleep all night.
Three urgent reports lay before him: Xuanfu had fallen, Beijing's granaries had been burned, and the Crown Prince's journey to Dezhou had been blocked.
The candlelight flickered, casting swaying shadows on his face. Only Ni Yuanlu, Shi Kefa, and Li Ruolian were in the hall—Li Ruolian had arrived the night before, carrying Empress Zhou's brocade pouch and the last news from Beijing.
"Your Majesty the Empress..." Li Ce stroked the jade pendant in the brocade pouch, his voice hoarse, "still refuses to leave first."
Li Ruolian lowered her head: "Her Majesty said that she wants to see the Jingtong Granary burned down with her own eyes and watch the last group of people leave the city."
"Nonsense!" Li Ce slammed his hand on the table, then slumped down. "It was I...it was I who forced her."
The hall was deathly silent.
After a long silence, Ni Yuanlu spoke: "Your Majesty, the most urgent task is to establish the Nanjing system. Beijing is no longer defensible, and we must announce to the world as soon as possible that the central government of the Ming Dynasty will be moved south to prevent the people's hearts from collapsing."
Shi Kefa added: "His Highness the Crown Prince is about to arrive. We should perform the rites of regent to establish the foundation of the state and reassure the people."
Li Ce nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on the north: "Issue an imperial decree: From this day forward, Yingtian Prefecture shall be renamed 'Xingzai' and shall temporarily assume the functions of the capital. All government offices, including the Six Ministries, the Censorate, and the Office of Transmission, shall be moved to Nanjing."
He paused, then announced to the world that he had arrived in Nanjing and that the Crown Prince would soon assume the regency. This was not an abandonment of territory, but a "southern hunt"—a temporary retreat from the Tartars' sharp edge to reorganize the army and prepare for war, in order to surely recover the lost lands.
"The edict shall specify three points: First, all officials, soldiers, and civilians in the north who are unwilling to surrender to the Qing may come south and be settled by the court; second, all those who die resisting the Qing shall be posthumously granted generous compensation and their descendants shall be recorded; third, all those who collude with the enemy and betray the country shall be executed along with their entire clan, even if they flee thousands of miles away."
Ni Yuanlu wrote furiously with his pen in hand.
Li Ce then looked at Li Ruolian: "How many people are still stuck in Beijing?"
"About three thousand people, including members of the imperial family, officials below the rank of secretary in the Six Ministries, and artisans, left through Chongwen Gate last night. General Huang Degong is leading three thousand cavalry to meet them in Tongzhou. Her Majesty the Empress..." Li Ruolian's voice lowered, "...is still inside the city."
Li Ce closed his eyes, his fingers clenched so tightly they turned white.
"Your Majesty," Shi Kefa said softly, "the Empress is blessed with good fortune and will surely be protected by Heaven."
"Heavens?" Li Ce smiled bitterly. "I have reincarnated seven times and have seen far too many cases of 'Heaven not protecting' people."
He opened his eyes, bloodshot: "But in this life, I will defy fate. Li Ruolian—"
"Your subject is here!"
"Take one hundred elite Imperial Guards and head north now. At all costs, bring the Empress out of the capital." Li Ce said, enunciating each word clearly. "I want to see her alive, or... I want to see her body."
Li Ruolian kowtowed heavily: "Your subject obeys the decree!"
He got up to leave, but Li Ce called him back: "Wait."
"His Majesty?"
Li Ce took out a short sword from under the table. The scabbard was mottled and looked quite old. "This sword was a gift from the Empress's father to me when we got married. You take it to her."
Li Ruolian accepted it with both hands.
"Tell her," Li Ce said softly, "that I am waiting for her in Nanjing. When I arrive, I will... personally style her hair."
Li Ruolian's eyes welled up with tears. She bowed again, turned around, and strode away.
Silence returned to the palace. A rooster crowed in the distance—dawn was approaching.
Li Ce walked to the palace gate and pushed it open. As dawn broke, the outline of Nanjing gradually became clear through the thin mist.
At this moment, a young eunuch rushed in and presented a secret report: "Your Majesty, urgent dispatch from Wuchang."
Li Ce opened it, glanced at it, and his eyes suddenly turned cold.
Ni Yuanlu, observing the situation, said, "Your Majesty, it's Zuo Liangyu..."
"He's going north to 'serve the emperor.'" Li Ce threw the secret report on the table and sneered, "Leading 50,000 troops, leaving Xiangyang, heading north along the Han River—claiming to serve the emperor, yet traveling only 30 li a day, demanding provisions along the way, is this serving the emperor or just a tour?"
Shi Kefa frowned: "His intentions are suspicious."
"It's not just suspicious, it's that he's already shown his rebellious nature." Li Ce walked back to his desk and tapped his fingers on the table. "But it's not the right time for him to rebel now. Issue an imperial edict: appoint Zuo Liangyu as Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, and Governor-General of the military affairs of Huguang and Jiangxi. Grant him ten thousand taels of silver and order him to 'quickly head north and not disappoint my expectations.'"
Ni Yuanlu hesitated: "This is... letting the tiger roam free?"
"Keep him calm," Li Ce said sharply. "Once I have some free time, I'll deal with this tiger."
He looked north, his voice deepening: "Now... let's bring the Empress home first."
September 3rd, Beijing, outside Deshengmen.
Empress Zhou stood on the makeshift platform, watching the last group of people leave the city.
It's been three days. Since the burning of the granaries began on August 29th, she has personally overseen the evacuation at each gate.
Now, all that remains in the city, besides a few elderly people who voluntarily stayed behind, are the two thousand feint troops left behind by Huang Degong—they plant flags all over the city walls and beat drums every day to create the illusion that the main army is still there.
"Your Majesty," a hunched figure approached; it was Cao Huachun. "This old servant... wishes to stay."
Empress Zhou looked at him. This old eunuch, who had served three emperors, now had completely white hair and deep wrinkles on his face.
"Why?" she asked.
Cao Huachun smiled, a hint of desolation in his smile: "In my life, this old servant has served Emperor Wanli, Emperor Taichang, Emperor Tianqi, and His Majesty."
"I've never done anything good; I've been greedy for money, abused my power, and harmed people. Now that I'm old, I want to atone for my sins."
He looked northwest, where the Ming imperial tombs were located: "The imperial tombs need to be guarded. The tombs of the Taizu Emperor and the Chengzu Emperor cannot be left unattended. Although this old servant is a cripple, I can still light incense, sweep the floor, and look after this great Ming dynasty on behalf of my ancestors."
He knelt down and kowtowed three times heavily: "Your Majesty, please take care. This old servant... takes his leave."
Empress Zhou's eyes welled up with tears, and she bent down to help him up, saying, "Eunuch Cao... thank you for your hard work."
"It's not hard work." Cao Huachun stood up, patted the dirt off his knees, and turned to walk into the city. His figure looked particularly thin in the morning light, yet there was a strange determination in it.
Empress Zhou watched his figure disappear into the city gate for a long time before turning around and getting into her carriage.
The carriage was an ordinary small carriage with blue curtains. Twenty imperial guards, disguised as caravan escorts, surrounded it.
"Let's go." Empress Zhou lowered the carriage curtain.
The convoy started moving and headed east along the official road. Not far along, Empress Zhou suddenly lifted the carriage curtain and looked back.
The city of Beijing stood tall in the morning light, its walls majestic and its gate towers soaring. This city, where she had lived for seventeen years, this capital of the Ming Dynasty, was gradually fading into the distance.
Tears finally streamed down her face.
But she didn't cry out; she just watched quietly until the city wall became a blurry black line on the horizon.
Outside the carriage, the commander of the Imperial Guards asked in a low voice, "Your Majesty, which road should we take?"
Empress Zhou wiped away her tears, her voice regaining its composure: "Take the secret passage to Tongzhou. General Huang should have arrived by now."
"Yes."
The carriage sped up, kicking up a trail of dust.
Thirty miles behind them, Qing scouts had already appeared on the horizon.
Hauge, mounted on his horse, peered through his binoculars at the flags fluttering atop Beijing's walls and sneered, "Still pretending? Issue the order: attack the city at Shenshi (3-5 PM) today! I want to see just how many Ming soldiers are still inside!"
He didn't know that there were only two thousand feinting soldiers and a few old men who were unwilling to leave the city.
He was unaware that the Ming Dynasty's empress had just departed, taking with her the last vestiges of the dynasty's dignity and honor.
What he didn't know was that in the southern city of Nanjing, an emperor who had lived through seven lifetimes had received a secret report from Wuchang and was now using a map to begin laying an even larger net.
The smoke of war obscured the sun, but the road was still under our feet.
Meanwhile, undercurrents are quietly surging along both banks of the Yangtze River.