bullyxtreme Chapter 62 Gui De Closes the Net
Chapter 62 Gui De Closes the Net
On the 24th day of the tenth month of the sixteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, at the third quarter of the
The wind blew from the old course of the Yellow River, carrying mud, sand, and bits of withered grass, which hit the stone lions in front of the Guide Prefecture government office, making a soft rustling sound.
It was still dark, with only a very faint line of pale white on the eastern horizon, like a line drawn on rice paper with the thinnest ink.
When Zuo Liangyu walked out of the government office gate, his steps were somewhat unsteady.
He stayed inside for a full hour. An hour earlier, he had been summoned by Sun Chuanting for "urgent military intelligence." His personal guards were stopped outside the second gate, and when he entered the study alone, he even touched the short knife at his waist—the knife was made of fine steel, and the handle was wrapped in cowhide, which would get sweaty if held for a long time.
But Sun Chuanting didn't give him a chance to draw his sword.
There were only two people in the study. Sun Chuanting sat behind his desk, several documents spread out on it. The candlelight illuminated his thin face, his deep-set eyes, and his prominent cheekbones, making him look like a half-weathered stone statue. He gestured to the chair opposite him: "Please sit, Duke."
His tone was calm, as if he were greeting an old friend.
Zuo Liangyu sat down, his hand on the hilt of his knife. Sun Chuanting glanced at him, picked up a file from the desk, and pushed it towards him.
"have a look."
Zuo Liangyu opened the book. After reading only three lines, his blood ran cold.
These are secret files from the Nanjing Imperial Guard. Written in tiny, meticulous characters, they contain detailed records.
"On the fifteenth day of the third month of the sixteenth year of Chongzhen's reign, in a private room at the Yellow Crane Tower in Wuchang, Zuo Liangyu secretly met with a man who claimed to be a 'Shanxi merchant,' but was actually a Qing army officer of the Bordered White Banner. They discussed: if the Qing army marched south, Zuo's troops would remain stationary, and he would be rewarded with 100,000 taels of silver."
"On April 22nd, at Yueyang Tower, Jin Shenghuan, a subordinate of Zuo Liangyu, received a personal letter from Dorgon, along with ten catties of old ginseng from Liaodong and a box of pearls. The letter contained the phrase 'sharing the south of the Yangtze River'."
"On the eighth day of the fifth month, Zuo Menggeng exchanged letters with a vice minister in Nanjing, trying to ascertain the truth of the court's new policies. This vice minister has since been dismissed and imprisoned, and his confession is here."
Page after page, each word like a knife.
Zuo Liangyu's hands began to tremble. Not from fear, but from anger—anger at himself for being like a puppet on strings, every move he made under the watchful eyes of others; anger at the world that had forced him to resort to such means to protect himself.
"Duke," Sun Chuanting began, his voice low but each word striking deeply, "His Majesty has asked me to ask you one question: Do you desire a peaceful end, or a complete disgrace?"
Zuo Liangyu looked up and stared intently at him.
"What does 'a peaceful death' mean?"
"From this day forward, you shall be the Duke of Chu and General Who Conquers the Barbarians of the Great Ming Dynasty. Your troops shall be reorganized into the new army, and your provisions and pay shall be directly allocated by the imperial court. Your family shall be moved to Nanjing to enjoy a life of comfort."
Sun Chuanting paused for a moment, then said, "His Majesty said that the Zuo family has served as generals for generations and has rendered meritorious service to the country. As long as you sincerely submit, all past events will be overlooked."
"And what about being utterly disgraced?"
Sun Chuanting didn't speak, but instead took out another document from under the table. The cover was made of bright yellow silk and stamped with the imperial seal.
Zuo Liangyu knew what it was without even looking—an edict to quell the rebellion.
Once this is made public, he will be a traitor, a collaborator, and a sinner for all time.
The reputation accumulated by the Zuo family over three generations, and the title he earned through twenty years of risking his life, all vanished like a bubble.
"If I don't surrender," he hissed, "will Commander Sun take my life today?"
"No." Sun Chuanting shook his head. "I will let you go, take your 30,000 soldiers back to Wuchang."
But by this time tomorrow, this edict will have spread throughout the land. Then, without the court even lifting a finger, the Qing army will think you are worthless, your subordinates will live in constant fear, and the gentry of Huguang will refuse to see you. Duke, how many days do you think you can live?
The candlelight crackled.
Zuo Liangyu slumped into his chair, feeling as if his spine had been ripped out. He suddenly recalled how glorious he had been in 1640, when he commanded 100,000 troops and was stationed in Wuchang.
At that time, he believed that in chaotic times, whoever had an army was king, and the court and the emperor had to defer to him.
But it's only been a year.
In just one year, the imperial court built workshops, trained a new army, emptied the imperial treasury, and established schools in Jiangnan, like a withered old tree sprouting new buds from its roots.
Zuo Liangyu, however, still clings to the old tricks of the past, believing that by possessing military power he can live a carefree life forever.
How stupid.
"Your Majesty...can you really not dwell on the past?" He heard his own voice, dry and rough like sandpaper being rubbed against his skin.
"A ruler's word is law." Sun Chuanting stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open a crack. A cold wind rushed in, making the candlelight flicker wildly. "But His Majesty also asked me to convey this: He will only give you one chance. If you go back on your word, your entire family will be exterminated without mercy."
After a long silence, Zuo Liangyu finally spoke: "I... am willing to surrender."
Outside the government office, Zuo Menggeng had been waiting for a full hour.
He led three hundred personal guards, each with their swords drawn and bows strung, and surrounded half of the government office. The biting wind at dawn was piercing, and many soldiers' faces turned blue from the cold, but no one dared to move.
"Young General," the lieutenant leaned closer, his voice extremely low, "if there's still no movement in fifteen minutes, we'll..."
"So what?" Zuo Menggeng interrupted, "Charge in? And then what? Kill Sun Chuanting? Then rebel?"
The lieutenant was speechless.
Zuo Menggeng stared at the tightly closed gate, his palms sweating. He remembered his father's words from the night before: "If I don't return within an hour, you know what to do." He knew—he should lead these 30,000 men out to fight his way back to Wuchang and establish his own independent regime.
But then?
The imperial army was taking shape; Qin Liangyu had already marched east out of the Three Gorges, and Huang Degong had stationed himself in Anqing. To the north, Dodo's Qing army was watching with predatory intent, and to the south lay the imperial army's impregnable defenses. Where could these 30,000 exhausted soldiers retreat to?
Just as I was lost in thought, the door opened.
Zuo Liangyu walked out, his steps unsteady, as if he were walking on cotton. The faint light of dawn revealed his bloodless face and sunken eyes, making him look ten years older overnight.
"Father!" Zuo Menggeng rushed forward.
Zuo Liangyu waved his hand and mounted his horse—but he stumbled as he mounted, and Zuo Menggeng quickly helped him up.
"Return to camp." Zuo Liangyu's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. "Order the entire army... to reorganize according to the new military system from this day forward. The officer roster, the real one, not a single fictitious position is allowed."
"Father?!" Zuo Menggeng was shocked.
"And another thing," Zuo Liangyu said, glancing back at the gate of the government office from his horse. Sun Chuanting stood in the shadows inside the gate, nodding slightly at him.
That's not a victor's boast.
It's a sign that you're being given a way out.
"You," Zuo Liangyu looked at his son, "take five hundred personal guards and go to the Nanjing Military Academy. Study hard and train hard. In the future... the Zuo family will depend on you."
Zuo Menggeng's eyes welled up with tears, and he nodded emphatically.
He knew that his father meant that the Zuo family was now entrusting their lives to the imperial court. He was a perfectly suitable hostage.
At Chenshi (7-9 AM), in the council hall of the Guide Prefecture government office.
Sun Chuanting sat in the main seat, with his generals lined up on either side. On the table lay a newly written military order, with Zuo Liangyu's bloody fingerprint pressed at the end—bright red and glaring.
"Zuo Liangyu has signed his pledge of allegiance," Sun Chuanting said calmly. "His 30,000 troops will be dispersed and incorporated into various battalions of the New Army. Zuo Menggeng and his 500 personal guards will depart immediately for the Nanjing Military Academy for training."
The hall was completely silent.
Lieutenant General Gao Jie couldn't help but ask, "Commander-in-Chief, what if Zuo Liangyu changes his mind...?"
"He won't." Sun Chuanting took out another document from under the table and pushed it over. "Last night, Li Ruolian's men arrived in Wuchang and 'invited' Zuo Liangyu's elderly mother, wives, concubines, and young son to Nanjing. His Majesty granted them a residence by Xuanwu Lake, providing them with thirty shi of rice and one hundred taels of silver per month, and dispatched a royal physician to reside there."
The generals looked at each other, then suddenly realized.
This is an open conspiracy. It's telling you frankly: surrender, and your family will enjoy prosperity; betray, and your family will be held hostage. Which will you choose?
"Furthermore," Sun Chuanting added, "the rations and pay for the Left Division will be directly allocated by the Ministry of Revenue in Nanjing, starting immediately, without going through the prefectures and counties, and will be checked every ten days. Anyone found to have a vacancy will be executed, and anyone found to have withheld funds will be executed."
Three shackles: family, salary, and official position.
Zuo Liangyu, this fierce tiger who had dominated Huguang for twenty years, was now bound by an inescapable leash.
"The commander is brilliant." Gao Jie clasped his hands in a gesture of respect, completely convinced.
Sun Chuanting waved his hand, but there was no joy on his face. He looked out of the hall. It was already bright outside. The autumn sun shone on the sycamore trees in the courtyard. The leaves were half yellow and half green, and they rustled in the wind.
"Gao Jie will oversee the reorganization." He stood up. "I need to see the new roster within three days. Ten days later, the 15,000-strong left vanguard will be transferred to Xuzhou—this is His Majesty's will."
"Xuzhou?" The generals were taken aback.
"Yes," Sun Chuanting said calmly. "With the Northern Expedition imminent, Xuzhou is the gateway. Sending Zuo Liangyu to lead the charge is both a test and an opportunity."
He paused, then his voice deepened: "Gentlemen, the real battle has not yet begun."
On the same day, in Nanjing.
The morning light slanted into the Wenhua Hall, casting long shadows of window frames on the blue brick floor. Li Ce sat behind his desk, holding two memorials in his hands.
One of the documents was an urgent message from Sun Chuanting: "Zuo Liangyu has surrendered, his family has arrived in the capital, and his troops are being reorganized."
One of them was a secret report from Li Ruolian: "The last group of members of the Beijing Embroidered Uniform Guard escaped, carrying Zhang Weixian's last letter and Cao Huachun's final words."
Li Ce first unfolded Sun Chuanting's memorial, and after reading it, he picked up his pen and wrote in vermilion ink: "Approved. Zuo Liangyu's troops are to be transferred to Xuzhou immediately after reorganization, and placed under the command of Sun Chuanting. His family members should be treated well and not be humiliated."
Then he picked up the secret report.
The letter was thick, with scorch marks and bloodstains along the edges, clearly having survived a brush with death before being delivered. He unwrapped the sealing wax; inside were three items:
A blood-stained sheet of paper bore Zhang Weixian's own handwriting, the characters illegible: "On the fourth day of the ninth month, the city is about to fall. Your Majesty, please do not worry about the northern capital. This old minister is willing to die for the country. I only beg the court to treat the northern people kindly, and that when the city is restored, we will not forget the blood feud of today." At the end, there was a line of even smaller characters: "Tell Shize to live well. The Zhang family... depends on him."
A burnt piece of clothing, embroidered with the python pattern of the Directorate of Ceremonial. On the back are a few words written in charcoal: "This old servant, Cao Huachun, died for his country in the Hall of Supreme Harmony. Your Majesty, take care."
There was also a brief intelligence report recording the situation after Beijing fell on September 5th: the Qing army massacred the city for three days, and more than 100,000 civilians were killed or injured;
Dorgon entered the Forbidden City and argued incessantly with Hauge; some officials surrendered to the Qing, while others locked themselves in the palace and set themselves on fire.
After reading it, Li Ce remained silent for a long time.
Ni Yuanlu and Shi Kefa stood below, noticing that the emperor's fingers were trembling slightly.
"Your Majesty..." Ni Yuanlu said softly.
"Issue the imperial decree," Li Ce said, his voice unusually calm. "Court will be suspended for three days, and the entire nation will mourn. Zhang Weixian is posthumously awarded the title of Duke of Loyalty and Valor, with the posthumous name 'Wu Min'."
Cao Huachun, the Loyal and Virtuous Duke, was posthumously honored with the title "Zhensu" (贞肃). His name was recorded among the civil and military officials who died for their country in Beijing, and a shrine to the Loyal Martyrs was erected on Zhongshan Mountain, where they are worshipped for generations.
He paused, then looked north: "Order the Ministry of Rites to draft a 'Sacrificial Text for the Northern Expedition,' which I will personally conduct."
"Your Majesty," Shi Kefa said with tears in his eyes, "if we launch a large-scale northern expedition now, I fear we will run out of supplies..."
"Not now." Li Ce stood up, walked to the hanging map, and slowly moved his finger from Nanjing to Beijing. "It's to tell the world, to tell the people still alive in the north—the Ming Dynasty has not forgotten them. The court is here, the emperor is here, and the blood feud must be avenged."
He turned and glanced at the two ministers: "Tell Sun Chuanting that once Zuo Liangyu's troops are reorganized, there's no need to wait until March next year. This winter, we must establish a foothold in Shandong."
"This winter?" Ni Yuanlu exclaimed in surprise. "The weather is freezing cold, making marching extremely difficult..."
"The Qing army also feels the cold weather, so we shouldn't send troops." Li Ce smiled, his smile as cold as frost. "Then let's catch them off guard."
At 3:45 AM, Longjiangguan Workshop.
Liu Rushi was inspecting the newly arrived water-powered spinning wheel. The twelve cast iron spindles hummed as they turned, and Zhao Chenshi turned the handle, causing the yarn to gush out like a silver spring, fast and even.
"Mr. Liu," Zhao Chenshi said, wiping her sweat, her face flushed with excitement, "at this rate, producing eight thousand bolts of cloth a month is not a dream! Enough to make twenty thousand winter coats!"
Liu Rushi smiled and nodded, but in her heart she was calculating another matter: the workshop currently has three thousand female workers, if it is expanded to five thousand, the monthly output can exceed ten thousand bolts of silk. If branch workshops are set up in Suzhou and Hangzhou, the military supplies of Jiangnan can be self-sufficient within three years.
Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside the workshop. A fast horse galloped past, heading towards the palace, with three feathers tucked into the back of the messenger on horseback—a sign of urgent dispatches over 600 li.
Liu Rushi's heart stirred.
She recalled that three days ago, when His Majesty summoned her, he said, "The matter of Zuo Liangyu should have a result by the end of the month." Today is October 24th.
"Sister Zhao," she asked softly, "what do you think the soldiers fighting the Tartars in the north need most in winter?"
Without hesitation, Zhao Chenshi replied: "Warm clothes, hot meals, and good weapons."
"Then let's weave more cloth, and weave good cloth." Liu Rushi looked north, "so that they can be warmly dressed, and avenge us."
On the same day, at the Dengzhou naval camp.
Zheng Sen stood before the nautical chart, his finger slowly tracing a line from Dengzhou towards the Liaodong Peninsula. The chart was densely marked with shipping routes, reefs, tide times, and several dots circled in vermilion—those were the Qing army's granaries and docks in Liaodong.
"General," Lieutenant General Lin Cha presented the newly compiled battle report, "In the Battle of Bohai on October 15th, a total of 38 Korean grain transport ships were sunk or captured, and 40,000 shi of rice and 2,000 shi of beans were seized. Our army suffered 60 casualties and lost 3 warships, of which 2 have been repaired."
Zheng Sen nodded, his gaze still fixed on the nautical chart: "How did the Qing army react?"
"According to our spies, Dorgon has strictly ordered the Korean navy not to leave port again, and the grain transport fleet along the Liaodong coast has also stopped." Lin Cha paused, "However... the Qing troops in the Lushun and Jinzhou areas are reinforcing their coastal defenses and have deployed more artillery."
"As expected." Zheng Sen straightened up and walked to the window. Outside the window was Dengzhou Port, where dozens of warships were quietly moored, and sailors were repairing sails and counting ammunition. Post-war rest and recuperation was the navy's standard procedure.
"General," another lieutenant, Chen Hui, entered, holding a court gazette in his hand, "It just arrived from Nanjing. It says... Zuo Liangyu has surrendered."
Zheng Sen took the official gazette and quickly glanced through it. When he saw the headline "Zuo Liangyu surrenders, and his troops are reorganized into the new army," he raised an eyebrow.
"My father once said that this man is two-faced and cannot be trusted," he murmured.
"Then why did the imperial court still accept him?" Chen Hui asked, puzzled.
"Because we need him." Zheng Sen folded the official gazette and placed it next to the nautical chart. "With the Northern Expedition imminent, every additional army on land will reduce the pressure on the sea. As for loyalty... His Majesty has his own methods."
He recalled His Majesty's instructions before he left the capital: "Zheng Sen, your mission is not to conquer cities and territories, but to keep Dorgon awake at night. If his navy is weak, then you should target his sea supply lines; if his coastal defenses are strong, then you should attack from the east and west, keeping him constantly on the move."
Exhausted from running around.
Zheng Sen's gaze fell on the two characters "Lushun" on the nautical chart. That was the throat of the Liaodong Peninsula, the Qing army's largest maritime transport hub. If they could burn down Lushun's granaries…
"How many more days will it take for the ships to resupply?" he asked.
"As you instructed, gunpowder, fresh water, and dry rations have been replenished to 80%, and the granaries will be full by the day after tomorrow at the latest," Lin Cha replied. "However... winter is approaching, and the Bohai Sea ice storm is imminent. Heading north at this time is too risky."
"We must seize this last window of opportunity before the ice storm." Zheng Sen turned around, a sharp glint in his eyes. "The Qing army thinks it's too cold for us to go; we'll go anyway and catch them off guard. Once the sea freezes over, they won't be able to fight us."
He pressed his finger heavily on Lushun: "Order: all ships to complete resupply by tomorrow, and set anchor at dawn the day after. Target—all Qing army docks and granaries along the Liaodong coast. Remember, do not seek to occupy the city, only to burn the grain. Once the burning is done, leave, do not entangle with them."
"This subordinate obeys!"
The two lieutenants clasped their hands in greeting and withdrew.
Zheng Sen remained alone in the chart room, his gaze shifting from Lushun to the more distant Pidao Island and the mouth of the Yalu River. His father, Zheng Zhilong, had once said, "Those who live at sea understand the tides best. When the tide rises, it is unstoppable; when it recedes, it carries away silt and sand."
Is the Ming Dynasty currently experiencing a rise or a fall?
He thought of the female workers in Nanjing who wove cloth day and night, the poor students in the military academy who studied military strategy diligently, and the cheers of the displaced people when Sun Chuanting distributed land in Henan.
The tide is slowly rising.
What Zheng Sen wants to do is push this tide further north.
On the same day, Shenyang.
Dorgon sat in the warm pavilion, a secret report spread out in front of him, his brows furrowed.
"Zuo Liangyu has surrendered to the Ming?" He sneered. "Good, saves me the trouble of having to be wary of him in the future."
"Your Highness," Fan Wencheng said in a low voice, standing beside him, "Although Zuo Liangyu has surrendered, his 30,000 troops are mostly from Huguang, and they may not be truly loyal to the Ming Dynasty. We can order Dodo to make a feigned move in Shandong to force the Ming army to divide its forces. At the same time... we should contact Wu Sangui."
"Wu Sangui?" Dorgon narrowed his eyes. "His father, Wu Xiang, is enjoying a comfortable life in Nanjing."
"That's precisely why," Fan Wencheng's eyes gleamed, "we need to test his intentions. If Wu Sangui is willing to surrender, we'll give him the honorary title of 'Prince of Pingxi' and let him fight the Ming army like dogs. If he doesn't surrender... we can still make the Ming emperor suspicious of him."
Dorgon pondered for a moment, then nodded: "Then let's give it a try. Tell Wu Sangui: if he surrenders Shanhaiguan, he will be granted the title of Prince of Pingxi and his fiefdom in Yunnan will be hereditary. If he refuses... let him think about his father's head."
"Yes, sir."
After Fan Wencheng withdrew, Dorgon sat alone in the warm pavilion, gazing at the "Landscape Map of Liaodong" on the wall. The map had only been painted the previous year, and it marked the Ming army's defense lines with cinnabar: Shanhaiguan, Ningyuan, Jinzhou... line after line, like chains.
The weakest point of a chain is often at the joint.
Wu Sangui is the link.
As dusk settled, at the General's Mansion in Shanhaiguan.
Wu Sangui sat in his study with two letters in front of him.
A letter from Nanjing, bearing the imperial seal and written in neat handwriting, reads: "If you submit, you will be granted the title of Duke of Liao, a hereditary title. Your father, Wu Xiang, has already prepared a residence in Nanjing and eagerly awaits your reunion. His Majesty has said: The Guan Ning Army is the backbone of the nation; I hope the general will not fail this honor."
A letter from Shenyang, handwritten by Dorgon, reads in a wild and unrestrained style: "If you surrender the pass, you will be granted the title of Prince of Pingxi, and you will be granted the permanent jurisdiction over Yunnan, with an annual salary of one million. If you hesitate, on the day the city falls, not even your chickens and dogs will be spared."
Two letters, two different fates.
Wu Sangui stared at the candlelight, motionless for a long time. The sound of patrolling soldiers' footsteps came from outside the window, orderly and heavy, their footsteps on the bluestone road like a heartbeat.
My father is in Nanjing. That's the key.
The Qing army is outside the pass. That's a knife.
The imperial court is in Jiangnan. Is that... hope?
he does not know.
At this moment, a guard outside the door whispered, "General, another envoy has arrived from Nanjing. He says he is... a messenger from Liu Rushi."
Liu Rushi? That famous courtesan from Qinhuai, now a female official?
Wu Sangui frowned: "Let him in."
The messenger was a boy of about seventeen or eighteen, with delicate features and polite manners. He presented a letter on light blue paper, which carried a faint scent of ink.
Wu Sangui unfolded the scroll, revealing only a single line of delicate small regular script:
"General, in the workshops of Nanjing, I see displaced women weaving and making clothes every day, saying, 'These clothes should be sent to the soldiers on the northern frontier.' They do not know your name, only that you are guarding the nation's borders. I hope you will not disappoint the people's trust."
There were no promises, no threats.
There is only one sentence: "Do not betray the people's trust."
Wu Sangui held the letter, his hand trembling slightly. He suddenly recalled that in the fourteenth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign, when he led the Guan Ning cavalry to aid Jinzhou, the people along the way offered him food and drink, and an old woman stuffed her only two cornbread buns into his hands: "General, eat your fill, then fight the Tartars."
At that time, he felt that the armor weighed a thousand pounds.
Now, the weight hasn't decreased, only some other things have been added.
"Tell Mr. Liu," he said slowly, "that Mr. Wu... understands."
The messenger bowed and withdrew.
Wu Sangui sat alone in his study, holding the pale blue letter close to the candlelight. The flame licked the corner of the paper, quickly spreading and turning it to ashes.
Then he picked up his pen and began writing a reply.
It wasn't for Dorgon.
It was for Nanjing.
Outside the window, the first snowflake quietly fell, landing silently on the eaves of the General's Mansion.
Winter has truly arrived.
Some people have already made preparations for winter.