Chapter Seventy-Seven: Rumors

Datong, Yanghe Pass—one hundred and fifty thousand troops were densely arrayed at the foot of the mountain pass, their formidable presence barely concealing the wavering of their morale.

For two days, groups of officials had taken turns kneeling outside the imperial tent, earnestly begging the emperor to return to the capital. Yet every petition was met with a firm refusal.

Since the imperial entourage first arrived at Datong, such scenes had played out daily, but now the fervor had reached a fever pitch. Nearly every civil official traveling with the army had joined the ranks of those kneeling in supplication, and even some military officers had begun to participate.

The emperor had reached Datong on the 26th; on the 27th, an edict was issued: the entire army was to march from Datong to Yanghe Pass and seek an opportunity for a decisive battle with Esen’s main force. The moment the decree was given, the civil officials erupted in protest.

Grand Secretaries Cao Nai and Zhang Yi, Minister of War Kuang, and other high-ranking officials, all took turns expressing strong opposition to the march. Their arguments, both written and spoken, were impassioned and forceful—even the more reserved among them pleaded with the emperor, their words heavy with anxiety. They questioned the wisdom of moving the entire army to an isolated outpost, especially when Esen’s whereabouts were unknown and when only recently forty thousand soldiers had perished there. They pleaded that the risk was too great, that although it was now autumn, the days still brought sweltering heat, and a sudden movement of such a massive force could lead to the outbreak of disease.

The emperor, however, remained unmoved by these protests. In the end, Minister of Revenue Wang Zuo proposed a compromise: if the emperor was determined to go to Yanghe Pass, he might first send a veteran general ahead with a detachment to scout the area. Only after confirming that there was no danger should the emperor himself proceed. The candidates for this mission were Prince Consort Jingyuan and Lord Wu Kezhong.

Prince Consort Jingyuan was a seasoned commander, the emperor’s great-uncle by marriage, highly respected and renowned for his bravery, beloved by the troops. Lord Wu Kezhong, heir of the late Lord Wu Yuncheng, though of Mongol descent, had shown unwavering loyalty to the Ming dynasty across two generations. He had served in the border armies for thirty years, rising to Vice Commander, and was promoted for his distinguished service against the Uriankhai. Both men were close to the civil officials and not mere rough warriors.

Either would have been a prudent choice. It was a wise and measured proposal, yet the young emperor, for reasons unknown, refused even this compromise, insisting on leading the march himself.

Unlike the civil officials’ unified opposition, the military commanders, even those who disapproved of the emperor’s personal involvement, maintained an unexpected solidarity regarding the move to Yanghe Pass. Not even Prince Consort Jingyuan and Lord Wu Kezhong—generals usually sympathetic to the civil officials—sided with them this time. The most vocal supporters were Duke Cheng Guogong Zhu Yong and Deputy Commander Guo Deng of Datong, who openly rebuked the civil officials before the emperor.

The venerable Duke of England, Zhang Fu, usually the prudent leader among the nobility, also refrained from supporting the civil officials. Though he did not confront them directly as Zhu Yong did, his silence spoke volumes to the emperor.

In truth, Duke Zhang Fu did not wish for the emperor to recklessly risk himself at Yanghe Pass, but he found himself unable to object: the emperor’s stated reason was unassailable—the Son of Heaven wished to personally honor the soldiers who had fallen for the nation. How could Zhang Fu oppose that?

So be it. Since the late emperor entrusted His Majesty to my care, I will do all I can during my remaining years to protect him. If Esen truly awaits at Yanghe Pass, then even at the cost of my own life, I will keep the emperor safe!

The stance of the Duke of England naturally swayed many of the accompanying nobles. Supported by both the nobility and military commanders, the civil officials’ protests were ultimately ineffective. On the 27th, the army marched from Datong to Yanghe Pass, some forty li away.

Upon reaching Yanghe Pass, the scouts and cavalry found no trace of Esen’s forces. Aside from a few small local tribes, the surrounding area was devoid of Oirat horsemen. This discovery eased the army’s anxiety somewhat, but the sight of tens of thousands of Ming corpses left rotting on the open fields immediately drove morale to its nadir.

Fortunately, the young emperor was not one to make empty promises. At his insistence, the army conducted a brief ceremony to honor the fallen on the 28th, then began the grim task of gathering the bodies of their slain comrades. An edict was issued to ensure proper posthumous care and compensation for their families. These measures quickly stabilized the troops.

Continuous rains had turned Yanghe Pass into a quagmire. Many corpses, soaked in water for days, had begun to rot and emit a foul stench. Over ten days had passed since the massacre; the sources of disease had faded, though the air remained unpleasant.

While the army busied itself with burial duties, the emperor himself was not idle. Yet instead of convening his officials to deliberate military strategy, he brooded within his tent, his anger simmering at the officials kneeling outside.

The previous day, only a few dozen officials had knelt outside the tent; today, their number had suddenly tripled. Besides the principal ministers, nearly every civil official present with the army now joined the ranks of the kneeling. Even a dozen or so military officers appeared among them. This greatly irritated the emperor.

Rumors began circulating in the camp: the army’s provisions had run out, and if the march home did not begin soon, the entire host of more than a hundred thousand would soon starve.

No one knew who had started the rumor, but a growing unease spread through the ranks. Soldiers, always prepared to face death in battle, feared not the enemy nor death itself—they feared only hunger. Better to die by the enemy’s hand than starve to death.

Without food, there is no morale; without morale, there is no army.

Some commanders, recognizing the danger these rumors posed, reported the matter to the emperor and did their best to reassure the troops. Yet rumors, the more they are denied, the more they are believed. In the end, the whispers spread like wildfire throughout the army, and panic began to take hold—not just among ordinary soldiers, but among officers as well.