Section Six

After a period of turmoil, the situation in the capital gradually stabilized—at least on the surface. The shops had reopened for business, yet everyone knew that war was looming. Grain prices soared; a bushel of white rice now cost two taels and five coins of silver. The prices of daily necessities such as cloth, oil, and salt rose simultaneously. For a time, misery spread across Beijing, and the people suffered from hardship and deprivation. This caused Lin Feng and his companions much distress; they were forced to divert their attention from preparations for war to address the economic crisis born of panic.

Though the southern grain transport had been cut off, the situation was not as dire as imagined. Beijing was home to many wealthy families who possessed ample stores of grain. Furthermore, Lin Feng held authority over several large granaries left by Emperor Kangxi, so there was no immediate danger of famine in the capital. The real crisis was rooted in fear, exploited by grain merchants who stirred up trouble to profit.

The Han army responded to this crisis with iron-fisted resolve. Lin Feng and his subordinates were incensed; with battle imminent, these unscrupulous merchants continued to hinder the war effort as if they had grown weary of living. Lin Feng wondered: did these people truly believe their heads were harder than a blade? If they would not let the government be, then they would not be spared either. After some deliberation, Li Guangdi and Chen Menglei won over the wavering faction among the merchants and promptly imposed martial law throughout the city. Large numbers of soldiers stormed the rice shops and arrested the merchants’ entire families. After threats and intimidation, the grain prices gradually stabilized thanks to the merchants’ efforts. Meanwhile, under Li Guangdi’s comprehensive management, grain from the Tongzhou granaries was distributed into the city in a systematic fashion, calming the populace to a degree.

It is worth mentioning that the ten thousand new recruits enlisted in Beijing reaped benefits during this crisis. At Lin Feng’s insistence, the military government under Li Guangdi provided free grain and silver subsidies to the soldiers’ families. This preferential treatment caused some discontent, but it was well received within the army; the new recruits were moved to tears by the gesture.

During this period, Chen Menglei displayed remarkable talent in intelligence and propaganda. Lin Feng saw great potential in him, believing he could be cultivated into a figure akin to Goebbels. Under Lin Feng’s personal guidance, Chen Menglei quickly grasped the essentials of his work. He assembled an effective team during the last propaganda campaign, comprising theater troupes, comic performers, and other entertainers who roamed Beijing, expanding the Han army’s influence through performances beloved by the masses. Minor victories in county battles were exaggerated and publicized as grand triumphs, indirectly aiding Lin Feng in swiftly stabilizing the city’s political situation.

When news of the capital’s fall and Emperor Kangxi’s martyrdom spread, the Qing court’s rule descended into chaos and disorder. At first, the northern provincial governors did not fully believe the reports, but as the rumor was repeatedly confirmed, widespread panic seized them and their bureaucratic groups. Political life in many provinces quickly unraveled; officials were at a loss. Tradition dictated that their first duty was to rally to the capital and avenge the late emperor, but to retake the capital meant assembling a large army. The means of gathering such a force, and who would command it, became the central debate within the northern bureaucracy.

The Qing administrative system was peculiar. The supremacy of the Eight Banner Manchus was paramount; important posts were held by Manchus, and in more complex offices, two leaders might be appointed—one Manchu, one Han. The lower ranks were mostly filled by Han officials. With emperor and central court in place, this arrangement functioned adequately. But now, with central authority vanished, coordination faltered. At this critical moment, the provincial governors in the north were all Han. Overnight, Eight Banner officials developed a suspicion of those outside their ethnicity. Differences in emergency measures and attitudes emerged, sparking minor disputes. Though previously colleagues, the question of leadership now brooked no compromise; the Banner officers considered themselves natural leaders, while Han civil officials believed the crisis of the court demanded equality among all ministers.

Elsewhere, the situation was less tense, as the rebels were still distant. But Grand Governor Tong Dagang of Zhili was in a panic, his lips blistered from worry. His headquarters was in Baoding, suffering the most direct impact; the rebel cavalry from the capital could arrive within a day. Yet his mobile forces were pitifully few: the Grand Governor’s camp, including Banner troops and Green Standard soldiers, numbered less than three thousand, most old, weak, or sick. Furthermore, the supply of grain and pay was lacking. The counties under his jurisdiction had no real military, only security forces of about a hundred per post—useless even if mobilized. The only hope was the three thousand troops in Tianjin, but that city faced an even greater crisis. He had sent hundreds of requests for aid, but was embarrassed to divert them for the defense of his own headquarters. With the situation uncertain, Tianjin remained a vital stronghold; abandoning it without a fight would be indefensible. Should he relinquish his position, the imperial army might return, and his own head would likely be the first to fall.

Prince Kang Jieshu originally had no ambitions; as a descendant of Daishan and an iron-capped prince, his family had always stayed aloof from political struggles and was not interested in the throne. Yet the circumstances had changed dramatically. Watching the two old rivals stir restlessly on the verge of death, he grew indignant—were they not all descendants of the Aisin Gioro clan, heirs of Nurhaci? If these old men aspired to power, why couldn’t he, still in his prime? Besides, he was now based at Xianxia Ridge, commanding 140,000 cavalry and infantry, fully supported by Governor Li Zhifang of Zhejiang; his strength was not inferior to theirs.

After negotiations, the three princes realized each other’s resolve, but none were willing to yield. All understood that this was the most critical juncture, and a minor concession today could be a major defeat tomorrow. Political struggle brooked no retreat. Under these circumstances, the southern front entered a delicate stalemate. The Qing held the advantage on the battlefield, but the three commanders consolidated their main forces and fortified their lines, striving to preserve their power. All sent trusted advisors north, bearing gifts and orders, seeking endorsement from the provincial authorities.

The northern officials continued their squabbles and buck-passing, but suddenly received three separate orders, each under a different name. Only then did they realize a problem more severe than the rebel threat in the capital—the matter of allegiance. Though Kangxi’s death saddened them, supporting a new ruler was paramount. In Chinese officialdom, mistakes could be forgiven, but choosing the wrong side was fatal, forever barring recovery. Thus, while monitoring the rebels, most of their energy went into gauging the political winds. Based on recent intelligence, the capital rebels were just twenty thousand disorganized men, not yet a threat to their core interests.

During this period, the war-torn land of China miraculously quieted. Wu Sangui was busy consolidating his occupation of Hunan, Guangxi, and Sichuan. Geng Jingzhong and Shang Zhixin in Guangdong and Fujian waited and watched, and even Zheng Jing in Taiwan halted his mainland offensive. The fate of the empire was uncertain; none dared claim mastery over China’s destiny. Any move could trigger catastrophe, so all sides—with armies in the millions—faced each other, brewing the next storm.

On that day, Zhou Peigong’s prophecy seemed to be slowly fulfilled: in times of heroes, even the humble might shake the world.