Chapter Six: Intimidation

Beijing, since the Yongle Emperor relocated the capital over two centuries ago, had always been the illustrious heart of the Ming Empire. Its grandeur was unmatched—once, when Zheng He sailed to the Western Seas, all nations paid homage, a spectacle of overwhelming majesty.

Now, though the city walls remain tall and imposing, the spirit of the soldiers and civilians alike had long since faded. The battlements bore the marks of neglect, their stones mottled and weathered. The guards stationed both inside and outside the gates were mostly old and frail, their faces gaunt and pale.

At last, Gu Zhenhua and his companions arrived in the capital. Sitting astride his horse, he surveyed the desolation before him, his brow knitting in concern.

“Fourth brother, the capital's imperial guards once held a certain stature, but two years ago a plague swept through, wiping out nearly all the able-bodied men. This is what remains,” sighed Sun Cheng.

To avoid suspicion and keep their plans secret, Gu Zhenhua, Lu Yong, Sun Cheng, and Xue Biao swore brotherhood on the road, bonding like siblings despite their different sexes. Sun Cheng, the eldest, took the lead; Lu Yong came second; Gu Zhenhua was the youngest. This forged a tighter trust among them.

“Everyone, hurry! The city gates will be closing soon!” Lu Yong shouted.

“Lu Yong, it's only noon. Why close the gates already?” He Zhonghou leaned out from the carriage, puzzled.

“Uncle Liu, no need to ask. The city is terrified inside,” Lu Yong replied.

Gu Zhenhua added, “Second brother, let’s not waste time. We must enter the city quickly.”

At the gate, Lu Yong produced the waist token of the Duke of Cheng, and they passed through smoothly. Once inside, the gates slammed shut behind them.

Unease rippled through the group. Gu Zhenhua pulled Lu Yong aside, lowering his voice. “Second brother, when you report back, if Zhu Chuncheng inquires about the situation outside, just blame it on me.”

“Hm. Fourth brother, be cautious. Zhu Chuncheng isn’t easily fooled.”

“Rest assured,” Gu Zhenhua said confidently. He was well versed in the late Ming history; this was an asymmetric war. Though Zhu Chuncheng held the title of duke, he was no better than a foot soldier drinking foot bath water.

They wove through the narrow streets, encountering few pedestrians, but many beggars lined the roads, emaciated and near death. Soon they arrived at a magnificent residence, sprawling enough to occupy half a city block. Inside, the carved beams and painted rafters glittered with gold and jade, so splendid that Gu Zhenhua couldn’t help but admire.

Two centuries of noble heritage were evident here, yet it was a shame that soon this grand estate would fall into the hands of barbarians—a disgrace beyond measure.

As Gu Zhenhua pondered this, He Zhonghou and Lu Yong went ahead to meet Zhu Chuncheng. Turning the corner to the main hall, they encountered a rotund figure approaching—Zhu Han, the steward. Though under five feet four inches tall, he was broad and round, about four feet wide, like a living inflated ball, wheezing with each step.

“Old He, finally you’re back! You scared me to death these past days,” Zhu Han greeted.

He Zhonghou laughed. “Steward, I barely escaped with my life. But I have returned without dishonor. Is the duke available?”

“Yes,” Zhu Han replied with a troubled look. “Old He, the duke has been in a foul mood. The emperor keeps sending men to demand silver to support Wu Sangui’s loyalist forces at Shanhaiguan, but where is that kind of money?”

“Indeed, the emperor has no heart for his people.”

After a brief exchange, He Zhonghou and Lu Yong proceeded to pay their respects to Zhu Chuncheng. As they left, Lu Yong sneered, “Seeking money over lives—whether that’s true stupidity or feigned, I can’t tell.”

“Mind your tongue,” He Zhonghou whispered, and Lu Yong fell silent.

In the main hall sat a middle-aged man in the grand master’s chair. He bore three slender whiskers, presenting an air of refinement, yet his thin lips and hooked nose lent him a sharp, severe countenance.

This was Duke Zhu Chuncheng. Though just past sixty, his careful upkeep made him appear younger. Still, his face was lined with worry, bloodshot eyes betraying sleepless nights.

“We pay our respects, my lord. We have returned safely and report to you,” He Zhonghou and Lu Yong bowed hastily.

Zhu Chuncheng waved them off lazily. “Spare me the formalities. What of Shanxi?”

“My lord, the seven parcels of land, totaling three million four hundred and twenty thousand mu, have been transferred to the Fan family. They will offset one million mu in the southeast.”

The duke smiled bitterly. “To think a duke must be exploited by merchants—it is both pitiful and enraging.”

“Better to transfer it than risk losing it all. What news did you hear en route? How far have the rebels advanced?”

“The rebels have broken through Ningwu Pass. Zhou Yuji and his entire family perished defending it. Word is they are regrouping, and their next target is the capital.”

Suddenly Zhu Chuncheng stood, pacing anxiously with restless steps.

“Have you seen the rebel troops? What are their rumors?”

Lu Yong hurried to answer, “My lord, we have not seen them, but on the road we met a young man named Gu Zhenhua. His home was burned by the rebels. Perhaps he knows more about their situation, so we brought him along.”

“Good. Bring him in. I want to question him thoroughly.”

Soon footsteps approached as the household staff escorted Gu Zhenhua inside. Upon entering, he immediately prostrated himself, partly from fear, partly from unfamiliarity with bowing, sprawling flat on the floor.

“My lord Duke, humble servant Gu Zhenhua pays respects.”

“Hm. Raise your head.”

Zhu Chuncheng scrutinized the young man—just over twenty, handsome features, an air of pride beneath sharply defined brows, yet with oddly cropped hair.

“You once a monk?”

“No, my lord. When the rebels set fire, my hair was burned. I rolled into a puddle, extinguishing the flames, but lost my hair.”

“Hm,” the duke nodded. “Tell me, how do the rebels treat local officials and wealthy merchants? Do they plunder?”

Gu Zhenhua’s mind flashed. Normally, a duke would ask about the battle’s progress, whether Li Zicheng could prevail. But this question was strange—an unusual sign. This duke might already be contemplating surrender.

Surrender? Dream on. Even if Li Zicheng spares you, I won’t.

“Your Grace, the rebels are notorious looters, sparing neither officials nor rich households. I heard that when the chief landlord of our county was captured, Li Zicheng’s men tied his wife and daughters to bamboo poles.”

“What for?”

“To extort silver, of course. If one hides even a tael, they cut their family. That landlord’s wife and daughters were chopped to pieces, fed to dogs before his eyes.”

The household staff nearby gagged at the horrifying tale. Zhu Chuncheng, though outwardly composed, furrowed his brows deeply.

“Is this true?”

“Most certainly. Li Zicheng preaches land redistribution and tax exemption, but soldiers still need provisions. Those costs fall on officials and wealthy families. I also heard he has a list prepared: once they seize Beijing, they will hunt down these targets and demand silver. The capital, as the richest city, must yield at least one hundred million taels!”

“What?” Zhu Chuncheng nearly rose from his seat, unsettled. How much silver did the Ming treasury hold? One hundred million taels! Even turning Beijing upside down might not suffice.

“Young man, don’t speak recklessly.”

“Your Grace, I dare not lie. A recently appointed scholar who joined the rebel king told me this.”

“A scholar? How learned can he be? Are the rebels foolish enough to govern with such men?”

“The rebel king says all former officials are corrupt, greedily exploiting the people, and so deserve death. Yet they cannot do without literati, so they recruit those unappointed—non-juren, even mere scholars—anyone who can read and write.”

At this, Zhu Chuncheng was speechless. He knew Li Zicheng’s chief advisors, Song Xianke and Niu Jinxing, were no great scholars. Given Li’s pattern, this seemed plausible. This was no concoction from a country bumpkin. He had no doubt in Gu Zhenhua’s words.

If Li Zicheng held such hatred for the elite, once he seized the capital, it would be a scorched-earth affair. The thought sent a chill down Zhu Chuncheng’s spine.

If even officials were not spared, what fate awaited a hereditary duke like him? Though it was March, he shivered as if in midwinter.

He glared fiercely at Gu Zhenhua. “Boy, do you know that knowing rebels is a death sentence? But since this is your first offense, stay quietly in the residence—no more chatter, or I’ll have your head.”

“I dare not,” Gu Zhenhua feigned fear.

Zhu Chuncheng glanced at Lu Yong, then commanded, “Take him to the backyard and keep watch.”

Lu Yong nodded and hurried with Gu Zhenhua out of the main hall. Once behind, he exhaled deeply, smiling. “Fourth brother, those few words of yoursI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.