Chapter 85: Gifts of Life and Death

Wang Zhen muttered to himself, but Guo Jing replied calmly, “Perhaps it was out of a father’s desperate love to protect his son.”

“So a father’s love is enough to deceive the Emperor? Is Yang Hong’s son more important, or is the Son of Heaven of the Ming dynasty more important?” Wang Zhen, upon hearing Guo Jing’s words, grew so enraged that he flung his fly-whisk to the ground, his face darkening as he thundered, “The loss of Dushi and the invasion by the Alatan are grave matters, yet Yang Hong dares to conceal them and not report—what is his intention, does he mean to rebel?”

He trembled with fury, his whole body shaking. Guo Jing, alarmed at the sight, feared that Wang Zhen’s rage might lead to some mishap. He quickly tried to soothe him, “Please, Lord Wang, calm yourself. I do not think Yang Hong is so muddle-headed. Perhaps his report has already been submitted, but was delayed by those civil officials, so you have not yet been informed.”

“Hmph, those people of the outer court, however bold, would never dare suppress a military report. I am certain Yang Hong never sent word of this at all.”

Wang Zhen knew all too well what sort of people the outer court officials were. They might scheme in secret, spread rumors, drag the army’s feet, find ways to trouble him, or even incite unrest among the soldiers, but as for directly withholding a border military report, they dared not—such things are too easily uncovered. None of those civil officials would be foolish enough to hand their heads to Wang Zhen for the chopping block.

“Eunuch Chen has already gone to retrieve the memorial from Xuanfu. Please, Lord Wang, be patient. Let us wait until Eunuch Chen returns, then discuss the matter. There is no use in being anxious now; what’s needed is to verify the facts before making plans.”

Though Guo Jing’s words were conciliatory, inwardly he was delighted. Heaven itself had granted him a great opportunity: Yang Hong’s concealment of military intelligence had come to light through his own mouth. This was a meritorious deed far more significant than that young Lu Qing’s earlier rush to bring news. After all, reporting news was only a matter of timing, but what Yang Hong had done was outright concealment. Were it not for Guo Jing, who knew how long the Emperor and Wang Zhen would have remained in the dark? The nature of the two acts was vastly different. If proven true, Guo Jing's service in exposing this would be on par with unmasking a traitor, enough to offset any previous mistakes.

Although he held little hope, Wang Zhen still sat back down with a bitter heart. The matter was too serious for any hasty decision; it was better to wait for Eunuch Chen’s return and deliberate together. After taking his seat, he asked off-handedly, “Is that young officer, the one who saved you, still in the camp?”

Guo Jing sighed, an expression of sorrow clouding his face.

Wang Zhen was puzzled. “Why do you sigh?”

Guo Jing’s face twitched with regret. “To tell the truth, Lord Wang, I fear that young man’s fate is already dire.”

Wang Zhen was taken aback. “What happened?”

“When Dushi fell, that young man fought desperately to help me escape…”

Guo Jing recounted to Wang Zhen the events following their escape from Dushi. When Guo Jing told of how the young man, in a fit of righteous anger, had drowned all the surrendering Tartars in a well, Wang Zhen was momentarily surprised, then showed an approving smile. He was no pedantic scholar who prattled on about benevolence and virtue, or about repaying evil with good. Those Tartars had slaughtered the people of Ming—no punishment, however severe, could be too much. How could their surrender earn them mercy? Had Wang Zhen himself been present, he would have thought even drowning was too lenient a fate for them.

Wang Zhen was a staunch hardliner in foreign affairs. He had once ordered the arrest of bandits masquerading as Oirat envoys, had forcefully argued for reducing horse prices, and had resolutely opposed agreeing to any of Esen’s conditions. After Esen raided the border, Wang Zhen had strongly advised the Emperor not to listen to the officials calling for peace, but instead to personally lead the army on campaign. Every action of his had been a show of strength, not only to establish the young Emperor’s authority at court, but more importantly, to rid the Ming of border threats and secure decades, even a century, of peace—for without stability on the frontier, the empire would know no peace.

One must remember: the Ming realm was won by the founding emperor with his own fists; its prestige secured by the Yongle Emperor through five personal campaigns; and the peace of the borders by the Xuande Emperor, who followed in their footsteps. Experience proved the Tartars only respected strength, feared force, not courtesy or virtue. Only a fist could make them submit—talk of winning their hearts, or treating them with ceremony, was utter nonsense. Without overwhelming might, would those Tartars ever fear or respect you?

Since the ascension of the current Emperor, the Three Yangs had dominated the court, empowering the civil officials and leaving the military with little say. As a result, Ming’s foreign policy had grown weak, border defenses had been neglected, and even someone like Esen dared challenge the might of the empire. Had the Yongle or Xuande Emperors still reigned, Esen would not have had the courage to provoke Ming, no matter how emboldened.

Wang Zhen had always advocated balancing civil and military power, especially a firm hand in foreign affairs. Never should those not of Han be treated as equals or placated with policies of appeasement; when it is time to fight, fight; when it is time to kill, kill; when slaughter is called for, do not hesitate—only thus could the Han dynasty endure and its spirit remain undiminished. With such beliefs, it was natural that Wang Zhen, unlike the bookish officials dulled by their Confucian texts, had no qualms about the killing of prisoners.

That young man, in fact, was very much to Wang Zhen’s liking. He squinted with approval, inwardly praising him. But then, hearing Guo Jing say that Lu Qing had risked his life for the sake of several hundred women from Xuanfu, Wang Zhen was surprised, yet could not help but shake his head.

A true man knows when to act and when not to. That young man was ruthless and decisive in killing, yet still retained some softness of heart. Did he really think that staying behind could save those women? With the nest overturned, how could any egg remain unbroken? The Alatan Tartars had already stormed Xuanfu; with so few men, how could he protect those women from their hands? What a pity, truly a pity.

“The young man was indeed remarkable—it is just such a pity,” Wang Zhen sighed, saying no more. In his view, the youth was likely already dead at the hands of the Tartars; all that remained was regret.

“If that young man had been willing to come with me to see Lord Wang, I would surely have begged you to bestow a reward upon him,” Guo Jing said, thinking of their days together, of the debt he owed him for saving his life. He turned away, wiping his tears with the black sleeve of his robe.

Seeing Guo Jing so moved, Wang Zhen decided to show him some favor. “It’s not too late to reward him. I’ll ask His Majesty to grant him a command of a thousand households. But… it will likely be only a posthumous honor.”

Whether a living appointment or a posthumous one, it was at least a token of gratitude for what that young man had done. Guo Jing bowed deeply, choking with emotion. “This old servant thanks you, Lord Wang, on his behalf!”

“No need for such formality. In national crisis, we remember able generals; in poverty, worthy wives. That young man may not be a great general, but he is rare in his loyalty and righteousness. Such a person, I too am willing to draw close to,” Wang Zhen said, waving his hand dismissively. A mere command of a thousand households was nothing in Wang Zhen’s eyes—just a word on his lips. (To be continued...)