Green Phoenix

by Poon, Alice;

  He was thinking that by acting modest and calm, he would get what he wanted. He was certain of Daisan’s support.

  Daisan stood to speak.

  “It is the tradition of the Aisin Gioro Clan to choose the most capable and valiant warrior to be the leader of our Empire. In terms of warfare merits, I would have to say that Dorgon and Jirgalang are unrivalled.”

  Hooge glanced over at him, startled. Savage fury enveloped him and he jumped to his feet.

  “My late father never liked Dorgon,” he thundered. “His decision to pass to me the two Yellow Banners is proof enough that he wanted no one but me to inherit his throne. Please do not forget that he also made me Chief of the Imperial Guards.”

  It was a threat that would have been better not made, and Dorgon stood to address him.

  “Be calm, Hooge,” he said. “I declare here that I have no interest in taking the throne. I would urge all Banner Chiefs to consider and support a decision that would ensure stability in our Empire.”

  Hearing that his arch-rival was withdrawing from the race, Hooge was momentarily taken aback, and hesitated for a second. Then he spoke:

  “I will submit to whatever decision the Banner Chiefs make by consensus and I will abstain from voting.”

  Hooge then strode away from the meeting in feigned indifference.

  Daisan addressed the gathering again:

  “I am sure that the last thing our late Emperor would have wanted to see is infighting and bloodshed among our clansmen. We are all well aware that the allegiance of the Bannermen under the two Yellows to Hooge is not necessarily total, while on the other hand, Dorgon, Jirgalang and Ajige are all respected military leaders of their respective Banners. The problem is that there is only one throne. If any Banner Chief has any suggestion by way of a solution, kindly speak out.”

  Jirgalang jumped to his feet.

  “I would urge all Chiefs to bear in mind the unprecedented success and glory that our late Emperor brought to our Empire with his visionary and valiant leadership. We would not be where we are today were it not for his great efforts and dedication. I was formally informed by Consort Zhuang of the last wishes of our late Emperor, which are for his son Fulin to succeed him on the throne, to be assisted by Regents. I suggest that we respect those wishes.”

  There was a murmur in the Hall. After a moment, Daisan proposed that all Banner Chiefs vote on Jirgalang’s suggestion, and there was unanimity in favor of acceptance. Dodo was sent to inform Hooge of the meeting’s decision.

  On hearing the news, Hooge lost all control of his emotions and ordered a siege of Dazheng Hall with his Imperial Guards. The Guards shoved their way through the packed Square to just beneath the flight of marble steps leading up to the Hall.

  Some of the soldiers of the Blue and White Banners in the Square drew their swords and moved to obstruct the Guards from proceeding up the steps, and a bitter altercation broke out between one irate Plain White Bannerman and one of the Imperial Guards. Blood was spilled as the Guard got stabbed in the arm. Angry shouting and clanging of swords followed. More scuffles. An all-out clash was on the verge of breaking out. Dodo dashed back into the Hall to report and all the Banner Chiefs inside could hear the commotion outside. Dorgon went and shut and locked the tall brass gates of the Hall.

  After a brief discussion among those at the meeting, Ajige went out on Dorgon’s bidding through a narrow opening in the gate to command the White Bannermen to stand down. He then negotiated with Hooge on the marble terrace. They finally reached agreement whereby the Bannermen of the two Yellows would vote on the meeting’s decision by a show of hands. Many of those Bannermen had been ultra loyal followers of Hong Taiji and about three-quarters voted in favor of Fulin acceding to the throne. Hooge then had no alternative but to acquiesce. He ordered the Imperial Guards to move back and left the Imperial Palace on horseback in a belligerent mood.

  Inside the Hall, the meeting continued to deliberate on the choice of Regents. Daisan now had a good sense of where things were going and promptly proposed that Dorgon and Jirgalang be appointed co-Regents. The proposal met with full approval from the meeting and the two swore an oath of allegiance on the spot to Fulin, a five-and-a-half year old child, and to his mother, the new Empress Dowager.

  Bumbutai, dressed in full mourning garments, was pacing in the Yongfu Palace garden in a state of angst. She had sent Sumalagu to find out the latest news from the meeting hall. After what seemed like an eternity, her maid appeared. Her heart froze as she imagined the worst, her knees knocking with fear. Everything was in flux and nothing was certain. She remembered the initial shock on Jirgalang’s face the previous night when he had learned of Hong Taiji’s sudden death. If he had doubted her words in the least, it would tip the balance against her. It was only when she detected a smile on Sumalagu’s face that she was able to breathe easily.

  Her long-time confidante curtsied playfully before her.

  “Venerable Empress Dowager,” she said.

  Hardly had Bumbutai recovered her composure than she started worrying about the inevitable separation from her beloved son that would result from this change. She was not fooling herself. The title of Empress Dowager was purely for show. Dorgon would want to marry her as soon as possible, and once she became his Wife, she would not even be able to protect herself, let alone her son. She had to try and delay the marriage ceremony for as long as she could. The one excuse that Dorgon would not object to would probably be that the goal of conquering China should take priority, as that was his most cherished dream.

  Even with the succession issue now settled, Dorgon could not be at ease. He was fearful that Hooge might be plotting subversion and in the following months he progressively purged Hooge’s loyal followers from the two Yellow Banners. The remainder, who had voted for Fulin, were happy to respect the co-regency. Next, he set his mind to planning the crossing of the Shanhai Pass and an all-out assault on China proper.

  In the third lunar month of the eighteenth year of Chongzhen’s reign, the rebel leader Li Zicheng kidnapped the concubine Chen Yuanyuan and General Wu Sangui’s father and thirty-eight of his other family members. Li’s rebel forces were a million-strong and were itching to lay siege to the Forbidden City, the Imperial Palace in the heart of Beijing. By mid-month, Li’s forces had reached the outskirts of the capital and on the twenty-third day he sent an envoy to seek the surrender of the Chongzhen Emperor. The latter stoically refused. The next day, Li led his rebel army in a full-scale attack on the Forbidden City. Two days later, the Chongzhen Emperor stood on the terrace of his bed chambers and watched in despair as the Palace was ransacked and set on fire. He fell to his knees and wailed: “I am a disgrace to our ancestors. I’ve failed to protect my subjects and my Court. The Ming Dynasty has perished in my hands. I am a shame to our clan!”

  In a frantic fit, he took his gilded sword from the scabbard hanging on the bedpost and stumbled his way into the Consorts’ Palace. Blinded by frenzy, he slashed madly at any woman who came into his path.

  “I cannot allow the rebels to defile you!” he screamed. “Accept your fate!” His sword whirled around him, killing and maiming as it went. Screams and mass hysteria enveloped the ornate chambers. The Empress Zhou had already hanged herself in her bed chamber with a white silk rope.

  This happened to be the wedding day for the young Princess Changping. In the maelstrom, still dressed in her bridal garment, her left arm was sheared off. But she survived and would later be rescued and, under orders from the first Manchu Emperor installed within Chinese borders, be wedded to the groom to whom she had been betrothed, only to commit suicide along with him a year later, as a patriotic gesture to the fallen Ming Dynasty.

  As for Chen Yuanyuan, fate played with her too. Her earlier expulsion from the Imperial Palace ironically spared her from this slaughter. But her enviable beauty landed her right in the lecherous clutches of the rebel lead
er, Li Zicheng.

  When the Chongzhen Emperor thought he had accomplished his last mission, he hurried to Prospect Hill, behind the Imperial Gardens, carrying with him a long rope. There on the crest of the Hill, witnessed by no one except Mother Earth, he hanged himself from one of the trees.

  He probably had no idea at that moment that the fatal blunder of his reign had been the killing of the patriot, General Yuan Chonghuan.

  At this time, General Wu Sangui was stationed with a garrison at Shanhai Pass. When a courier from Beijing brought him news of the abduction of his father and his Concubine, he flew into a rage. Around the middle of the third month, he led his troops on a rescue mission to the Forbidden City on earlier orders from the Chongzhen Emperor. But on the way, he received news that the City had already fallen into the hands of the rebels, so he decided to head back to his base in Shanhai Pass.

  By the fourth month, after looting and wrecking many of the Beijing Palaces, Li Zicheng turned his attention to his nemesis, Wu Sangui. Outraged by the latter’s rebuff to his invitation to join forces against the Ming Army, Li spitefully retaliated by torturing Wu’s father and then decapitating him. He even had his head spiked on a stake in the capital’s execution ground.

  Before leading his army of 100,000 towards Shanhai Pass, Li had killed all thirty-eight members of Wu’s household whom he had earlier abducted. Chen Yuanyuan, however, was kept alive to serve him as a courtesan.

  Though deeply tormented by the news about his family, Wu still managed to keep calm. His survival instinct told him not to submit to Li without putting up a fight. He was certain that Li, being a depraved character, would not let him live even if he did surrender. With around 100,000 men under his command, half of them soldiers and half untrained civilians, he felt that his chances for victory would be much enhanced if he could enlist Manchu help. Consumed by a desire for vengeance, he wrote a letter to Dorgon pleading for military assistance.

  Dorgon received Wu’s plea for help. At this time, the Manchu Army was already on its way to Shanhai Pass under the dual command of Ajige and Dodo, with Dorgon as the Chief Commander. With the encouragement of Scholar Fan and General Hong Chengchou, Dorgon had spent much time studying maps and preparing the Banner troops for the assault beyond the Wall on the Ming forces.

  Ajige and Dodo each led a cavalry of 10,000 on the right and left flanks while Dorgon was in charge of the main column of 30,000 in the middle. Wu’s letter fitted in exactly with what Dorgon had been hoping for, and he immediately sent a reply encouraging Wu to defect. By the latter part of the fourth lunar month, Dorgon’s forces were only eight kilometers from the Shanhai Pass. That night the Manchu soldiers slept in their armor for only a few hours until being woken by their commanders shortly after midnight and ordered to press ahead.

  In the early dawn, the Manchu Army reached the gates of Shanhai Pass, where Dorgon accepted Wu’s formal surrender. With the conscious motive of personal survival as much as anything else, Wu opened the gates and welcomed the Manchu forces into China, an act that would change Chinese history in a monumental way.

  That afternoon, Wu deployed his troops in the vanguard to attack Li’s rebel army near the Sha River, west of the Shanhai Pass fortifications. The clash caused heavy casualties to Wu’s army as Li’s men, although in some disarray, were fierce and experienced fighters and the attack failed to break the frontline of Li’s forces. By late afternoon, it looked like total defeat was imminent for Wu, and Dorgon decided to act.

  “Ajige, Dodo, tell your men to stay put,” he shouted to his right and left-wing commanders. “Don’t make any move until I give the signal!”

  Since dawn, his troops had been perched on a small hill near the central gate of Shanhai Pass, from where he had a clear view of the battlefield. Beyond, he suddenly spied dark yellow clouds twisting over the horizon, hurtling directly towards the embroiled armies. His heart leapt for joy – sign of help from the heavens.

  Before long, a violent sandstorm blasted out of the plains, gales churning with desert sands creating a thick yellow veil over the battlefield that reduced visibility to almost nothing. At this critical moment, Dorgon raised the flag in his hand, signaling to his two commanders, and shouted “Charge!”

  The cavalry under Ajige and Dodo barreled downhill in an explosive headlong gallop and swerved around the right flank of Wu’s army to charge into Li’s left flank in full force. In less time than it takes for a joss stick to burn down half way, the left flank was shattered. Dorgon’s central column then ploughed into the rebel army’s right flank at lightening speed. The calvarymen were used to fighting battles in desert conditions and the sandstorm was of little concern to them. Wu had earlier ordered his men to wear a band of white cloth on their right arm so the Manchu warriors could distinguish them clearly from Li’s rebel soldiers. Li’s troops were flabbergasted to see the ferocious cavalrymen with shaved foreheads thundering towards them like wild beasts bursting from the earth. Fear on top of near-blindness occasioned by the sandstorm sent them into a catastrophic retreat, during which tens of thousands of the rebels were massacred. Li fled back to Beijing with the handful of survivors.

  The next day, Wu gave orders for his surviving soldiers to shave their foreheads and join with the Manchu forces. Dorgon put Wu in charge of pursuing Li and the remnants of his army and also of chasing and neutralizing the Ming Imperial family and loyalists as they tried to escape.

  Beijing residents, relieved to see the back of the fleeing bandits, welcomed the triumphant troops into the capital. But they were baffled to see General Wu Sangui with the Manchu Army instead of with the Ming heir apparent.

  Before his departure, Li had set fire to many of the Palaces and Halls in the Forbidden City, leaving only the Wuying Hall in the Outer Court intact. Dorgon decided to set up his temporary Court there so that he could receive surrendering Ming generals and Court officials. He gave strict orders to his Banner troops forbidding looting and violent acts against civilians, in order to allow for the transition of sovereignty to proceed smoothly.

  A profound sense of pride surged inside him as Dorgon seated himself on a dais in the Wuying Hall. He later wrote a letter to Bumbutai sharing the moment with her:

  “The Aisin Gioro clan’s cherished dream has come true. Ming China is finally defeated. Five centuries ago, the Jurchens under the Wanyan Clan of the Great Jin Dynasty only occupied and ruled the northern portion of China. Now the whole of China will come under our Manchu Empire. I am the ruler of the three races. I hope you will rejoice with me over this hard won victory. I now look forward in earnest to the day of our formal nuptials.”

  Fourteen

  On the second day after the Ming Court’s collapse and submission to the new Qing Empire, Dorgon issued an order for all Han Chinese in Beijing and other areas under Manchu rule to shave their foreheads and wear queues in the Manchu style. Scholar Fan objected to this order, but Dorgon brushed him aside.

  “The Han are now a conquered race,” he shouted at him. “They have an obligation to follow our Manchu customs. This will be a good way to find out whether they have true respect for us.”

  To his mortification, though, he soon realized that the Chinese were very resistant to the order and many would sooner spill blood than have their hair cut in the Manchu way. Faced with an imminent full-blown uprising, Dorgon sulkily repealed it.

  The new Regent had never been a true believer in his late half-brother’s idea of benevolent rule. On the contrary, he believed strongly in using the tactic of luring Ming officials, military commanders and scholars with rewards of status and wealth into converting to Manchu customs and then coercing them to press their fellow countrymen into doing the same.

  During one Court session, Scholar Fan tried to offer him some relevant lessons from Chinese history, but Dorgon eyed him askance and said huffily:

  “Perhaps if you give me a Manchu version, I may read it. I do
n’t have the time or patience to learn the Han language.”

  Yet Dorgon also understood that in order to assert effective control over this vast population, there was merit in allowing the Ming model of governance to continue.

  “I am prepared to let the Ming government structure remain as it is, except that all government officials must speak the Manchu language,” he told Scholar Fan. “I trust you to take charge of the civil examination body. We need the organ to select administrative talent for our new Court.”

  To quell the dissatisfaction with heavy taxes levied by the former Ming government, Dorgon granted a big tax reduction for the peasants. But this meek effort was more than offset by land grabs by greedy Manchu Bannermen and their enslavement of Chinese peasants to work on their newly appropriated estates. Dorgon gave tacit approval to the land grabs and enforced slavery as a reward to the Bannermen for their efforts in achieving victory.

  He decreed that the vast swaths of land surrounding the Forbidden City in the center of Beijing be divided into four quadrants: the North portion to the Yellow Banners, the East to the Red Banners, the West to the Whites and the South to the Blues. Walls were built to enclose these areas to form what was to become the Imperial City, in which only the Aisin Gioro clansmen and the Manchu Bannermen and their families had the right to reside. This decree naturally bought Dorgon the loyalty and support he needed from the Manchu noble groups. But on the other hand, the consequence was also seething anger among the displaced Han Chinese, both nobles and commoners alike. There was not even any proper channel for lodging complaints for the loss of their homes and lands, let alone any decent compensation.

  For Dorgon as much as for Hong Taiji before him, China had been the single most coveted prize of all targets of conquest. But Hong Taiji had appreciated not only the vast tracts of fertile land and beautiful landscapes but also the long and rich history and cultural heritage. Dorgon, however, appreciated only the former.